Mystic Clover Honeypot

BRB

2011-02-19T04:39:00.002-11:00

My computer is all kinds of fucked up---fortunately I had all my tunes backed up elsewhere, but getting everything migrated and going again is taking a little time. Should be going strong again by the start of next month. Until then...

Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Can See

2011-02-03T12:51:00.002-11:00

from the LP When Disaster Strikes…, Elektra Records, 1997

Remember when MTV actually played music videos…? I know, that’s an overused quandary by people my age these days, but damn---the ignorant-ass shit that channel is laying on the youth of today has got to be a hundred times worse for them than even the edgiest or most unabashedly lewd music videos from back in the ‘80s & ‘90s. Although, that was an era when being a “music video director” still came with a lot of cachet if you did it well (not to mention money…), and the video for this eternally slammin’ cut from Busta is a perfect example. Director Hype Williams basically made his name in music videos, this one being among his finest; essentially a redux of Coming to America, the whole vibe of this track was magnified several times thanks to Williams’ psychedelic & surreal directorial vision (those tribal day-glo warriors sealed the deal for me). This song also happens to be the joint, with that Timbaland-inspired beat which never losses its freshness, and Busta’s ridiculously hot rhymes, “…hit you with the shit make you feel it all in your toes, hot shit got all you niggas in wet clothes; stylin my metaphors when I formulate my flows, if you don't know you're fuckin with lyrical player pros…” Word.

Anarchy in the U.K.

2011-02-03T12:45:00.001-11:00

from the LP Never Mind the Bollocks…, Warner Bros Records, 1977

I’ve purposely avoided posting these guys for nearly two years now, and frankly, I’m not even sure why I’ve decided to do so now… Much like the perennial “Beatles or Stones” inquisition, there has always been a similarly banal (and ultimately fruitless) deliberation given to us alternative folks, that being: the Clash or the Sex Pistols? Although I mostly loathe these social litmus tests (…Clash, obviously…), they do serve in clarifying for an individual part of what you look for in your musical experience, substance or symbolism. While I adored these ugly blokes as a teenager, their catalog hasn’t aged quite as well to my ears as has many of their peers’ stacks---granted, this lone LP was their only fully legitimate studio work apart from compilations, so one could argue that they are at a disadvantage there; and anyways, PiL was leagues more interesting & revolutionary than this stuff. That said, a couple of the more iconic numbers from this album, including this cut (my all-time favorite), will forever serve as ancestral anthems to the disillusioned, discombobulated, disenchanted & disgusted masses.

Murderous (Instrumental)

2011-02-03T12:39:00.001-11:00

from the CD That Total Age, Geffen Records, 1987

These jackhammer beats are the perpetual lifeblood of, shall we say, those less vanilla gay establishments (see: glory holes, leather harnesses, & the aroma of poppers all around you), a lethally propulsive mix of low- & high-ends which has served as the soundtrack to an unfathomable amount of anonymous & ambiguous sexual encounters over the decades. It’s safe to argue that these guys, British crew Nitzer Ebb, lifted some of their beats and, certainly, their neo-communist symbology from the duo DAF; however, while their addition of screamed lyrics set them apart in a crappy way (hence, the instrumental track you have before you), their minimalist use of emblematic iconography connected with audiences in a way that DAF never did. Given how tame both techno & house music from this same year sound when compared to this, it’s a wonder why early industrial hasn’t been given more props for inspiring the harder-edged techno which was to come, nor has this seen a full-fledged revival as of yet.

Astral Traveling

2011-01-29T07:00:00.001-11:00

from the LP Thembi, Impulse! Records, 1971

I have no way of knowing for sure, but if pressed, I would bet the farm that Pharoah Sanders dropped acid with John Coltrane---let’s look at the facts: Trane started taking LSD in 1965, around the same time that he asked Sanders to join his crew fulltime (after the recording of Ascension), then along with Sun Ra, Lonnie Liston Smith and Trane’s widow Alice, Mr. Sanders went on to give birth to the cosmic jazz movement (see: out there shit), laying the foundation for what some call “acid jazz”, this song being a textbook example of that approach. The whole affair almost feels as if it was recorded underneath the sea, with currents of electric keys, basslines & random percussion swirling about, Pharoah’s tenor sax fluttering around all of it like sunlight dancing off of the waves; whether this was influenced by a lysergic dream or not, the windswept result is never short of trippy.

Work For Love

2011-01-29T06:59:00.001-11:00

from the LP With Sympathy, Arista Records, 1983

Even though Al Jourgensen has consistently disavowed his contributions to the official release of this, his debut album under the alias ‘Ministry’, it’s hard to hate any exercise in post-Depeche Mode synthtastic lack of inhibition, particularly when the songs are as catchy as this; come on Al, editing quirks notwithstanding, this is the fucking schnizzle! Juvenile sex metaphors about “working overtime” aside, everything about this song pleases me: choice beats, creep-tastic synths, angular guitars, even Al’s faux-British accent does the job. Short of the dark ambiance, there aren’t really any indicators of the brash direction his music would take in the coming years, but that sharply removed distance only adds to the appeal of these primitive musical excursions, for me anyways.

I Am the Black Gold of the Sun

2011-01-29T06:54:00.001-11:00

from the LP NuYorican Soul, Talkin’ Loud Records, 1997

No discussion of American house music would be complete without focusing the microscope on NYC, and in particular, the masterminds known as Kenny ‘Dope’ Gonzales & ‘Little’ Louie Vega, rulers of the ‘90s beats scene under many monikers (most notably as Masters At Work), including this eclectic side project which focused on live instrumentation as opposed to knob twiddling, dubbed NuYorican Soul. From the insistent piano atop those loose breaks, to the epically sweeping string section, to the chorus-of-angels vocal delivery care of renowned disco diva Jocelyn Brown and some bad-ass backup singers, this track absolutely showers the listener with a torrent of sunny uplifting energy, and it garnered an awful lot of attention upon it s release (not to mention, a slew of remixes in every conceivable genre of electronica); this was actually a cover of an old Rotary Connection number from the early ‘70s, far more psychedelic in tone than what we have here & well worth tracking down also.

Fire In Cairo

2011-01-28T05:59:00.002-11:00

from the LP Three Imaginary Boys, Fiction Records, 1979

“F-I-R-E I-N C-A-I-R-O” The recent revolutionary fervor in Tunisia (which I was referencing a couple weeks ago) has now spread like wildfire into Egypt, with its largely college-educated population now equally at the end of their rope from decades of bureaucratic corruption and high unemployment, indicating the powder-keg potential of any successful revolt in the Middle East to snowball quickly across the region; most notably, to my sociological nature anyways, is the fact that in both countries, the catalysts for these masses of people taking to the streets were, in fact, single acts of self-immolation, echoing the protests of Buddhist monks in Vietnam over forty years ago (forever emblazoned on the cover of Rage Against the Machine’s debut album). This is a new tool of protest in the Arab world however, and something about its silent yet visceral impact has clearly struck a nerve with the people there---how could it not? Is there any more striking or profound display of dissent and absolute psychic exhaustion than lighting oneself on fire?! Many experts agree that Mubarak is far less likely to just leave the way Ben Ali did, and there are already reports this morning of widespread internet and cell-phone outages around large Egyptian cities, so we very-well could be in for a longer and perhaps bloodier situation than we’ve seen in Tunis---let’s just hope that whatever power structure results gives the Egyptian people more freedom, not less…

Progress

2011-01-28T05:57:00.000-11:00

from the LP Progress, Phonogram Records, 1975

Existing somewhat in the shadow of one-time collaborator Fela Kuti’s ghost, drumming legend Tony Allen is arguably every-bit as responsible for the construction of what we call “afrobeat” as was Fela, generating chunky rhythms from the vibrations of jazz, funk & highlife in such an addictive manner that it hypnotizes the listener entirely and thus, we never seem to notice how long most afrobeat songs actually are. Allen was beginning to grow tired of Fela’s unceasing narcissism by the mid ‘70s, but had his support in this and two other solo endeavors from that time period, which allowed Allen to utilize much of their well-rounded backing band, the Africa ’70. Tony Allen has enjoyed a resurgence of stature in recent years, being asked to collaborate with some notable musicians of late, including Jarvis Cocker, Damon Albarn, and the French space-synth crew Air. I dedicate this post to the brave people of Tunisia & Egypt, may your valor set you free!

In Complete Darkness

2011-01-28T05:55:00.000-11:00

from the 12” single, Uphoria Records, 1993

One of the first raves I ever attended was a tiny gathering of ~200 kids in the woods of northwestern Massachusetts during the early fall of 1993, put on at a time when parties were just beginning to get a foothold in the American psyche, and it was abundantly clear to many of us that this was gonna be our shot at experiencing something similar to what the generations before had done with “acid tests”. I remember this track getting spun: not the beginning of it so much, but the moment that sample from Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation dropped into the floor’s conscience there wasn’t a single blasé expression in the place---this was our childhood, remixed & repackaged, virtually re-imagined as MDMA’s clarion call unto a shared vision of empathetic unity, “…in complete darkness we are all the same, it is only our knowledge and wisdom that separates us; don’t let your eyes deceive you…” Being from Florida, and proud of the fact that I’d already been into beats for a couple of years prior, I marched boldly up to the booth and asked the DJ what this track was, and after getting a gruff reply I figured I would try to impress him with my knowledge of breakbeats, so I requested that he spin Smart E’s – Sesame’s Treet---BIG mistake. This dude turned to me and said something like, “sorry man, that cut is way too mainstream”. Ouch. I recoiled and slinked away, feeling decidedly un-cool for the next couple minutes, but I never forgot the name of this amazing track.

Fascinated

2011-01-28T05:52:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, The Summer Records, 1986

GUILTY PLEASURE ALERT Seriously people, I recognize that some of the stuff I post on here must give you pause… like, “is this cat for real?!” Yup, he sure is. I can’t help it that a lot of the music which filled South Florida airwaves in the 1980s would have been considered heresy in many other parts of the country, as that was all I knew at the time, embossing itself upon some of my happiest memories; this upbeat number is precisely one of those cuts! Not your average freestyle track, thanks largely to that pulsing 4x4 beat underneath all those luscious synths and synth-claps, this song was recorded in Hialeah (right outside Miami, ghetto) by producer Ish Ledesma; having become such a sensation at clubs & on local radio, it wound up getting national distribution through Atlantic records and became a #1 hit on Billboard’s Dance chart the year after its release.

Black Sabbath

2011-01-24T10:30:00.002-11:00

from the LP Black Sabbath, Vertigo Records, 1970

I will never forget the first time I heard this, the self-titled opening salvo from what was to become the world’s foremost dispenser of doom-laden rock: right about the point where we are confronted with the “…big black shape with eyes of fire, telling people their desire; Satan’s sitting there, he’s smiling, watches those flames get higher and higher…”, my typically unfazed adolescent mind became flooded with epinephrine & endorphins, seemingly released in time with my suddenly racing heartbeat, nearly echoing Ozzy’s sentiments, “…NO, NO, please God help me…” Granted, I was listening to it on headphones alone in my room after having smoked a couple bowls of schwag, but for a blazing moment (no pun intended) the boys in Sabbath literally made me feel Satan’s breath on my fucking neck; shit, everything about these guys was scary as all hell, from their name to their gloomy ambiance, and even that green-tinted witch on the album cover still terrifies me a little. Of course now, being old & wise & boring (see: not believing in pointy-tailed monsters who live in the core of the Earth), the content doesn’t pack the same creepy wallop, but the visceral impact of their music absolutely does: whether it’s the molasses-slow tempo of the song’s body, or the monstrous riffage of that insane breakdown about 4:35 into the track, this song (and indeed, the whole LP) marked the true beginning of heavy metal, in my humble opinion anyways.

I.O.U.

2011-01-24T10:24:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, Streetwise Records, 1983

If you grew up in the ‘80s and aspired to be cool, the cult classic film Beat Street was a definite must-watch: not as fresh as Wild Style but not quite as hokey as Breakin’, all genuine efforts to get the word out about then-new underground cultures which had arisen on the coasts. Sex kitten and daughter of stoner guru Tommy, Rae Dawn Chong had all of us captivated by her exotic looks and sassy flair, but like the other two above mentioned films, the dank music was the real star here. The only reason British electro jazz-funk crew Freeez had a song in there was due to this number’s producer, one Arthur Baker (of Afrika Bambaataa fame), who gave this slinky cut just the right amount of edge to be enjoyed by both mainstream clubbers and hardcore pop&lock-ers alike; thanks to a remixed re-release in ’87, this track was somewhat ubiquitous on urban radio throughout the entire decade, and appreciatively so.

Nothing but a Heartache

2011-01-24T10:17:00.001-11:00

from the LP Nothing But A Heartache, Deram Records, 1969

Maybe it’s just me, but nothing gives a lift to my chin & puts the pep in my step like a hot dose of soul music, and this striking mid-tempo cut by unsung trio The Flirtations is one of my favorites: recorded in London, by way of a NYC talent contest, these gals actually hailed from South Carolina originally, willing to follow the promise of success wherever it took them (and you can believe that swinging London in the late ‘60s would have seemed like another planet relative to the American South at that same time, let alone NYC); that devotion to a career meant they would abandon this majestic style of soul in the ‘70s when disco rose to the fore, but it’s these brass-heavy behemoths that really slay me to the core. “I’ve got a lot of those heartaches, I’ve had a lot of those teardrops…”

Raspberry Beret

2011-01-20T12:42:00.002-11:00

from the LP Around the World in a Day, Paisley Park Records, 1985

The song that took berets from second-hand stores to the racks at Macys (remember that shit?!), this smoking hot number captured my imagination and, if truth be told, my heart from the very first time I watched the weird music video for it---that psychedelic sky blue pantsuit with clouds across it that he was rocking was fucking incredible. It’s the string section that probably hooked me so hard, and those cellos still command my attention whenever this song is playing, surely evidence of his fascination with the Beatles at that time. The whole thing sounds a bit coy coming from Prince, the guy who had brought us determinedly lewd tracks like “Sister”, “Soft & Wet” & “Little Red Corvette” before, and I think that might be exactly what works for him here---it’s kind of a sweet song, considering the source; granted, relative to the rest of the pop music community, lyrics like “…she-e-e-e wasn’t too bright, but I could tell when she kissed me, she knew how to get her kicks…” aren’t exactly milquetoast.

Country Road

2011-01-20T12:40:00.002-11:00

from the LP Uphill All the Way, Transatlantic Records, 1971

My friends would tell you that I talk a lot of shit on James Taylor (sure love you Ms. Kate), and it’s true--- every fucking song that guy writes is the same goddamn tune, and not in a cool way like Van Morrison, but in an annoyingly practiced way that makes it very hard for my mind to accept him as either “cool” or “enjoyable to listen to”, let alone even conceive of this guy shooting dope (I know, it’s not a made up story, but seriously, can you imagine James Taylor asking you where you keep your sharps…?!). In all honesty though, a few of the variations on his monotonous theme are fairly agreeable, but his voice aggravates me to no end, so I found a rollicking cover of this breezy number by the stellar & criminally unknown UK crew, Unicorn (yes, weak name, but don’t hold it against them). The vibe is positively Laurel Canyon, so it’s kind of a shocker to picture them laying these tracks down across the pond, with the help of one David Gilmour no less; any fans of easy-going ‘70s rock would be well rewarded to track down all 3 of there albums.

April Skies

2011-01-20T12:35:00.002-11:00

from the LP From the Ashes of Electric Elves, Jackpine Social Club Records, 2003

First week back of the new semester, and my head is a spinnin’ like always… students often fail to realize that our brains are in the clouds just as much as theirs are these first few days back after the break, it’s true. Right now it is snowing like a motherfucker outside: low visibility, yard disappearing into a blanket of snowy ash, kashing bowls at the computer, you know the deal… Yes, I fully realize that the vibe of this song is pertaining to the sky in Spring, but it’s so wet beyond the window right now, and the snow is falling at the perfect velocity, so it just feels right. Oranger hails from the Bay Area, and the vibe of that city has definitely imprinted itself onto their brand of whimsical psych-tinged indie rock, pulling off reasonably difficult 3-part harmonies with seeming ease, adding depth to a sound that could easily sound flimsy or shambling in the wrong hands; instead, they successfully whisk the listener away with them, drifting along blithely into a kaleidoscopic swirl of guitars & keys…Oranger indeed, dig it!

Chloe Dancer > Crown of Thorns

2011-01-16T09:04:00.001-11:00

from the EP Shine, Stardog Records, 1989

“…he who rides the pony must someday fall…” A sorrowfully frequent tale amongst junkies is death by accidental overdose: either (1) of those recently released from rehab, with victims often forgetting to account for the loss of tolerance that such a time away generates, getting caught up in the eager adrenalin rush which is a relapse, or (2) individuals who get a bag of dope that is unexpectedly clean, transforming their standard dose into a fatal calamity, and paying dearly for it. Both scenarios often get brought up when discussions about the tragic & untimely death of Andrew Wood arise, singer of proto-grunge bands Malfunkshun and, more notably, Mother Love Bone (he OD’d only a couple of days before their debut album was to be released, with band members Stone Goddard & Jeff Ament then going on to form Pearl Jam), a person who by all accounts was one of the most talented, driven & all-around fun human beings that many of his pals had (have?) ever been around. Having watched a booter of MLB’s documentary entitled “The Love Bone Earth Affair”, which contains all sorts of wonderfully raw interview footage with him (including an interview he does entirely while holding onto a large stuffed animal named Freddie the frog), I have to agree, there certainly was a rather magnetic quality to his charisma, something which convincingly sucks the observer right into his glamorous world of glitter, stars & golden fruit; his stage persona was obviously influenced a lot by KISS and Queen, but the quirks to his glam-trash image and vocal styling come across awfully similar to Silverhead front man Michael Des Barres. “…but I'm proud to say, and I won't forget, time spent laying by her side…” Like many music fans in their thirties, I have a special set of memories relating to this epic song, thanks to its inclusion on the soundtrack for ‘90s grunge slacker opus Singles, heard at a time when I was gleefully smoking copious amounts of pot, tripping on acid, and duly flunking out of school. Chloe, those weeks spent stoned & laughing in the woods of NMH still rank among the most blissfully carefree of my entire outlandish life, thank you…

100,000 Years

2011-01-16T08:53:00.001-11:00

from the LP KISS, Casablanca Records, 1973

Had some exceedingly good crate-digging yesterday at a local record store, scored some dank jazz-funk LPs & a rare electro release, but the pièce de résistance was undoubtedly a surprisingly clean (NM) copy of this, KISS’ debut album, a totemic item which proved impossible to resist. Excepting for the useless inclusion of the cover “Kissin’ Time”, which early copies of the album wisely excluded from the mix, there isn’t a throwaway track on here, coming right out of the gate with everything already in place to take over the world, as this song ably demonstrates: powerfully creeping bassline, big rhythmic drums, gnarly lead guitar, and Paul Stanley’s inimitable NYC-ized vocal delivery. Well, everything was in place except Peter Criss’ makeup, which got fixed, thankfully; gotta love the breakdown by wasted-ness though, with Criss and Ace both lidded & bloodshot, Stanley maybe drunk, and Simmons sober as the day is long.

Slave Driver

2011-01-15T03:23:00.001-11:00

from the LP Catch A Fire, Island Records, 1973

Looks like another one of the world’s foremost neglectors of human rights, one Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, has been overthrown and sent running following months of unrest in the streets of Tunisia (nah-nah nah nah, hey hey hey, goodbye!), something journalists are already dubbing the Jasmine Revolution, after the country’s official flower; a relatively small nation for the northern African region where it lies, Tunisia (along with Egypt & Turkey) has been at the forefront of progressive Arab nations (see: firmly resisting theocratic rule) since it’s independence in the mid ‘50s, but Ben Ali had done much to dismantle that---not in the direction of religious rule mind you, but in the direction of other nationalistic figureheads (see: Chavez, Castro, Mugabe) who have horrendous human rights records, and habitually refuse to leave until they are forced out. As with all successful revolutions, it creates an instant vacuum of power which can be easily exploited and misused if the reigns fall into the wrong hands, but having an educated population in Tunis who won’t settle down until their desire for true freedom is satisfied, there truly is the potential for real & radical change. Raise a spliff (or a hash pipe, if you’re in Tunisia) to freedom!!

Dance the Mutation

2011-01-15T03:19:00.003-11:00

from the LP Cyborgs Revisited, Get Back Records, released: 2003, recorded: 1975

Americans tend to be astoundingly naïve about our neighbor to the north Canada, presuming that it’s just full of nice, aloof, white people living quiet, dimly humorous lives in a snow globe (largely thanks to the hilarious brilliance of Strange Brew, a film whose witty jibes at U.S. stereotyping many oblivious people here took literally… whoops); in fact, Canada (in the big cities anyways) comprises one of the most progressive & liberal nations in the world, not to mention diverse. Due to it’s proximity to Toronto, a major metropolis by any country’s standards, it shouldn’t be too surprising that Hamilton, Ontario would spawn a band as raw and ahead-of-their-time as was Simply Saucer, a group better known for being one of the now-famous Lanois brothers’ first production credits (essentially just hitting the “record” button at this primitive stage in their career). As a result of Saucer’s gritty and, at times, proto-punk leanings, critics constantly trace their lines of influence directly to acts like the Velvet Underground & the Stooges, and although they were clearly touched by those vibes as well, its entirely apparent to me that the Rolling Stones were really at the core of what they were trying to do here; this song in particular comes from that same sordid & squalid place that Mick & the boys called home before things got predictable, sounding like a further deconstruction of the Stones’ already well-damaged “Stray Cat Blues”.

At the Party

2011-01-15T03:12:00.003-11:00

from the 12” single, Enjoy Records, 1980

You gotta love when, in the pursuit of all things heady, you wind up stumbling across tributaries of lifelines which you never knew existed, clarifying a once-present state of confusion or merely coalescing vibrations in a profound way; with that in mind, I must admit that I had no clue Kool Moe Dee was dropping shit this far back until I began researching a post that was supposed to be for his 1987 cut “Little Jon”. I knew he had mad respect for being old school (back in the days which are now referred to as “old school”, making him old-old school I suppose), but I didn’t realize he was there at hip-hop’s actual genesis (Dee, along with Busy Bee, is the supposed originator of battling on the mic); thus, I landed upon this early number from his primitive crew the Treacherous Three, something which is actually way funkier than the track I was gonna put up, so that works out nicely! Similar in approach to the other Enjoy Records release I have posted on here (“Superappin”), this discofied cut is a waxen testament to hip-hop’s freewheeling halcyon days, long before money & notoriety changed everything for evermore (not saying that was a bad thing, just sayin’…). This is dedicated to the memory of dynamite producer Bobby Robinson, who laid down this and other seminal hip-hop tracks before the word was out, passing on a week ago at the ripe old age of 93---I’m just sorry he had to experience Soulja Boy Tell Em (see: “Gucci bandana, Gucci Gucci bandana, repeat ad nauseum) before he died… Let’s all do Bobby’s memory a solid by re-claiming the hip-hop mantle for people who actually have talent!

My Baby's Got E.S.P.

2011-01-11T05:57:00.000-11:00

from the 7” single, P&P Records, 1976

This early release finds spaced out disco-soul deity Patrick Adams standing with his feet firmly planted in two worlds: the 4-part soul harmonies in the vocal track & the insanely epic disco dwelling within those strings & percussion, chronologically moving away from the former and into the later, and though it’s lacking his signature Moog craziness, this effort is no less amazing or ambitious for it’s absence… okay, maybe one of Adams’ signature squiggly synthlines could take this to another level, but it still kicks ass. The violins really steal the show here (don’t they always…), taking what comes across as a relatively sing-songy keyboard riff and turning it into a real swell of emotive force; not surprisingly, those strings got sampled in more than one late ‘90s house track.

On the Beat

2011-01-11T05:55:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, Crash Records, 1983

Casiotone keyboards and CZ-101 synthesizers seemed to come out of nowhere in the ‘80s, given that the Japanese electronics brand had formerly only been well known for their compact calculators, and the old school heavyweights like Roland, Korg & Moog got taken very much by surprise when their high-end audiophile equipment was suddenly receiving competition from Casio’s budget set ups; I had the tiny PT-1 as a kid, and every last one of those programmed beats (i.e. rhumba, waltz, bossa nova, rock 2, etc…) are still imprinted onto my long term memory banks. Not everyone had access to 808s when they were first released (particularly in Italy, excepting for the mind-bending shit that Rago & Farina were dropping), and many italo producers were quick to adopt the more user friendly, low-end gear, leaving us an inexorably thorough documentation of all the potential that Casio machines offered. This track was cut by the little-known production team of Daniele Francesconi & Mauro Pilato, uplifting but just edgy enough to avoid deep cheese, and yet another ‘80s kitsch-centric cover for all you design whores.

The Ballad of Curtis Loew

2011-01-09T04:53:00.000-11:00

from the LP Second Helping, MCA Records, 1974

It’s incredible to me what a fucking swindle most classic rock-n-roll really was, a true & thorough pillaging of every last recorded blues note that had ever been plucked, and not a single one of them (Page, Clapton, Townshend, Richards, Beck, Lennon, Davies, et al.) ever had to pay those visionary brothers (or their families) a dime for getting butt-rich off of their lives’ harrowing truths & hardships. I suppose that alone wouldn’t be such a big deal in & of itself (past is prologue, and all that…), but those same bands were then so quick to turn around and sue the fuck out of (mainly) black men in the ‘80s & ‘90s (and they will still sue anyone to this day) who were merely sampling a few seconds of their already ripped off licks, hypocrisy of the highest order if you ask me. In actuality, those rock heroes owe much of their surreal privileged lives to brave and oppressed gentlemen like the one depicted in this essential cut by Skynyrd, cats who knew full well that their musical talent would never be enough to change their status in the culture which they then lived, resigned to the therapy of strum…and some wine…word.

X-Ray Eyes

2011-01-09T04:50:00.001-11:00

from the LP Passion Factory, Hansa Records, 1981

Although they later went on to follow a similar musical direction as the Pet Shop Boys and Erasure (see: Europop cheese at its finest), at this stage in their career the German duo of Sven Dohrow & Ronny Schreinzer, known simply as the Twins, still sounded very much like a Tubeway Army tribute band---that’s not an insult in the least, as Gary Numan fucking rocks, and so does a good portion of this debut album. Granted, the lyrics aren’t nearly as haunted or delicious as Numan’s are, but the music itself comes quite close, and there is a hint of the Cars’ influence to be found here as well, both inspirations fashioning a very melodic sound indeed. You just have to love the iconic cover photo, so fucking ‘80s man!

Live On Haight

2011-01-08T06:48:00.001-11:00

Side B, Housewares, 1998

“…play them vibes for us…” Yes, it’s another legendary DJ from Chicago…I know, I know, big fucking surprise. Look, it just can’t be helped that there’s so many heady dudes around spinning mad freshness who also happen to hail from Chi, it’s been the reality for nearly thirty years, get over it. Gene Farris blew up during that city’s second tsunami of house music maestros, in the mid ‘90s, proving himself as both a top-class producer of dank beats and a consistently crowd-pleasing DJ; he actually lived in Amsterdam for over 4 years, only recently returning from that sojourn, and a wise expatriation it was for him, developing a larger following in Europe than many other American house DJs. This mix was part of a lengthy archive of “Live On Haight” tapes & CDs that were put together by HouseWares co-owner Owen Maigrit, and although it was definitely recorded live in the Bay Area, I’m not sure whether it was at a party or an in-store appearance. I do know one thing though, “…I like the sound when we, clap our hands…”

Standing On the Verge of Getting It On

2011-01-07T10:41:00.001-11:00

from the LP Standing On the Verge of Getting It On, Westbound Records, 1974

“…music is designed to free your funky mind, we have come to help you cope; out, into another reality, you will be, through our music, we bring you hope…” What better mission statement than the above rhyme could one concoct when attempting to sum up the lasting importance of George Clinton’s P-Funk mothership, set to land around this area in about a month, and you better believe my ass will be there! These were Eddie Hazel’s last major song-writing credits with Funkadelic, so it’s a nice twist of fate that the riffs he laid down on this album (and particularly those found here on the title track) happen to smoke harder than a 16 year-old pothead fresh out of rehab; seriously, metal bands even got wet over this shit, it comes so hard. It’s almost unfathomable when you start walking through all the Parliament & Funkadelic albums and come to find yourself confronted with such an amazingly massive glut of top-notch tunes, I don’t hesitate to say that it easily eclipses James Brown’s discography in all-around funkiness, perhaps even equaling his legacy in cultural impact. Long live the Supreme Maggot Ministers of Funkadelia!! Free your mind and your ass will follow…!

Nugget

2011-01-07T10:37:00.001-11:00

from the LP Fashion Nugget, Capricorn Records, 1996

Always existing dangerously close to the region of contrived schlock inhabited by G-Love or Jack Johnson, and coming across a bit like Soul Coughing’s dumber drunk cousin, Cake were the toast of the town there for a second back in the nondescript mid ‘90s, post-Nirvana wastelands; yes, most of their stuff smacks so heavily of upper-middle class cynicism (see: angst ex nihilo) that it’s only digestible in small doses, but this particular lump of infuriated discharge always proves to be a cathartic listen. I mean, there’s always somebody in your life that needs to hear the primary message of this song, even if they’re just on the periphery (see: that crazy dude on the bus that always gets preaching real good), “…shut the fuck, ah yeah, shut the fuck up…” Shit, there are surely people that would like to say that to me at times (see: G-Love & Jack Johnson fans, lol). I guess these guys are still churning out albums, their upcoming release apparently being recorded entirely with solar energy---I guess all that white guilt wasn’t just irony after all…

Ego Tripping

2011-01-04T06:45:00.000-11:00

from the 12” single, Next Plateau Records, 1986

Any connoisseur of hip-hop will already be well familiar with one Kool Keith (a.k.a. Dr. Octagon), but many of today’s younger heads don’t understand just how far his legacy traces back, and even those of us who grew up loving this early stuff with Ced-Gee, as the Ultramagnetic MCs, still get our minds blown when one considers that this track was dropped in 1986. Not 1988, not 1987, but fucking ’86!!! You wanna know why the Beasties grew up so much between License and Paul’s Boutique? You wanna know about the steez that hip-hoppers were imitating for over a decade after this release? You’re listening to it right now. This was some next-level shit in the mid ‘80s, and Gee’s decision to loop the full glorious break from Melvin Bliss’ “Synthetic Substitution” literally changed the rap game. Yes, I am stoned and sturdy enough to declare that a single break altered the course of an entire genre of music, a break so fat that it should carry its own warning for those suffering from high blood pressure; not to mention, I think Kool Keith was the first rapper to ever name check a Datsun in his rhymes…word up. Clean copies of this single go for over $50, as this cut remains a gold standard, perhaps the perfect postmodern reduction of everything hip-hop has to offer.

I've Seen That Face Before (Libertango)

2011-01-04T06:43:00.002-11:00

from the LP Nightclubbing Island Records, 1981

Only someone as obstinate, adventurous & flat-out narcissistic as Grace Jones could make a song like this both entirely enjoyable and relevant, baring no resemblance to anything else inside the pop cosmos and released at a time when other cresting trends would seemingly make a mash-up of this nature (foreboding tango meets spacey dub) obsolete; and yet, I find myself returning to this track time & time again throughout my journey, it’s filthy feel being a perfect antidote to life’s doldrums. It was flawlessly scored into a number of scenes throughout the Polanski film Frantic, one of my all-time favorite Harrison Ford flicks (you get to see his ass), also featuring the alluringly irresistible Emmanuelle Seigner (see: Satan incarnate in The Ninth Gate). Frankly, if one had only heard this song and had never actually seen Grace Jones in person before, they could be forgiven for presuming she was some delicate petal, as opposed to the fierce genderless warrior-of-an-artist that she is. Maybe that was always Ms. Jones’s magic in the first place, an unpredictable and irrepressible ability to shape-shift at will, and in so doing, destroy everyone’s expectations.

O-o-h Child

2011-01-02T06:20:00.000-11:00

from the 7” single, Buddah Records, 1970

What is there to say? It’s 2011, which my best friend & I decided sounds farther out and more sci-fi than 2010 for some reason, and although it would be nice to think we may all get a reprieve from the tumultuous chaos of this past year, things actually seem crazier than ever all around the world right now, so perhaps don’t hold your breath. That’s okay though, I always have hope, because as the prophet Cornell West says, “…hope wrestles with despair but it doesn't generate optimism, it just generates this energy to be courageous, to bear witness, to see what the end is going to be…no guarantee, unfinished, open ended…I am a prisoner of hope…I'm going to die full of hope, there's no doubt about that, because that is a choice I make…” Word.

What I Got Is What You Need

2011-01-02T06:18:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, Prelude Records, 1983

Just got back to this icebox last night from a prolonged vacation in the sun, so my jetlagged ass needs something to keep me warm & cozy but still moving, which led me directly to this steamy number from Prelude’s abundant post-disco archives; this one’s been re-released on a grip of compilations over the last couple of decades, and for good reason, because this shit is HOT folks! The real magic here comes care of legendary garage-era studio team Nick Martinelli & David Todd, who deliver for us an immaculate example of what precision mixing is all about, making all those electronic noises sound affectionate and downright inviting; we also can’t forget to give props to the enormously prolific ‘Herbie’ Powers Jr. :^) , who mastered this track and cut the wax for thousands (literally, 1000s) of other underground dance hits from the late ‘70s & ‘80s. The perfect way to start a new year right, this one is absolutely begging for a re-edit from Rayko…

Can't Find My Way Home

2011-01-02T06:16:00.001-11:00

from the LP Blind Faith, Polydor Records, 1969

“How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. You can never go home again.” ---James Agee, A Death in the Family My apologies in advance for the following trad emotional rubbish, which you likely had to endure last year as well, if my memory serves me right… something about visiting the town you grew up in mixing with the unavoidable reeling and looks-back that the end of another year plies from our drunk & stoned minds, it always gets me basking in the strange melancholic glow that this song (and the above quote) radiates. Every time I go back to Florida I am reminded of this seeming fact of life, though admittedly, trying to get back to that place of reckless abandon which characterized my youth is always fun, albeit tamped down considerably by the present reality of being a semi-responsible adult; to be honest, the older I get, the less firmly I believe in the absoluteness of the quote which begins this post, as every time I reconnect with an old friend it thoroughly floors me with positive & encouraging energy, reminding me that there are no rules, there’s no parameters. I’m not entirely sure which angle was Winwood’s intention when he penned these lyrics, but he surely must have realized the timeless strength of a metaphorical phrase like “can’t find my way home”. Much love to Kristen M, whose enduring free spirit was the highlight of my trip!!

Muffin Man

2010-12-20T07:30:00.000-11:00

from the LP Bongo Fury, Discreet Records, 1975

Lost in the maelstrom of grading that becomes every teacher’s world for the last couple weeks at the end of each semester, I somehow managed to miss the unfortunate news that Captain Beefheart had died last Friday, after a hard-fought battle with MS. Given that tomorrow would have been Zappa’s 70^th birthday, I figured this song was an appropriate selection (Zappa’s mind-melting solo here is one of his best ever, and that’s Beefheart’s inimitable voice singing backup vocals at the end, “girl, you thought he was a man, but he was a muffin…”), taped live on the tour where their relationship, both personal & professional, basically fell apart; fortunately, the two men buried the hatchet previous to Zappa’s passing away. Plenty is being/will be written about the legacy of an artist as eccentric and anarchic as Beefheart was, so I will leave all the mushy eulogies about everything the world of modern music & art has inherited from him to the experts---suffice to say, the dude was far out man, and so was Zappa. Rest in peace fellas!

Summer Madness

2010-12-17T06:39:00.000-11:00

from the LP Light Of Worlds, De-Lite Records, 1974

It’s snowing outside, so this seemed like an appropriate diversion. This spacey instrumental jam has been sampled by a grip of hip-hoppers over the years (most markedly as the base loop for Will Smith’s “Summertime”), but it can easily stand on its own feet as a breezy reflection of the summer just passed, all the good times and fun in the sun, already looking forward to next year’s adventures & detours. Although they were previously a bare-bones, gritty hard funk crew, Kool & the Gang seemed to mellow increasingly with each passing year into the ‘70s, finding more success (but perhaps losing cred) as they softened their sound. So, all you analogue synthesizer sluts out there, you’d better put on a second pair of drawers because founding member Khalis Bayyan is gonna make you wet right here, just know that.

Red Alert

2010-12-17T06:36:00.000-11:00

from the LP Remedy, XL Recordings, 1999

How can this track not have been laced in Chi-town??!? To be perfectly honest, the same could be said for the majority of singles & EPs the boys in Basement Jaxx dropped in the mid ‘90s leading up to this, their debut long-player; being from London, their ability to work within the Chicago phatty-boom template was uncanny (too bad all their recent stuff has been shite). The only thing I can come up with is that DJ Sneak, who was spinning at their club nights in the UK as early as ’94, must have smoked them down with so much weed that his sets somehow infused into their DNA through the cannabinoid receptor system, thus leaving them helplessly beholden to that Windy City tracky-jack groove. Not a satisfactory answer for the elevated levels of dankness found within this song, I know, but it’s the best I got; many blissed out memories of this number though, sweltering parties packed with soggy ravers rolling face on double-stacked Mitsubishis…good times.

Dismantled King is Off the Throne

2010-12-17T06:30:00.001-11:00

from the LP The Strange Idols Pattern & Other Short Stories, Cherry Red Records, 1984

Last night was Larry King’s final evening on CNN, and even though I rarely made it through the whole hour of his interview show, he was obviously liked by some people in high places (see: former and current heads of state, movie stars, TV stars, musicians, etc…), so much so that it got me to thinking--- what does that say about our culture exactly? Or, increasingly, the whole damn world for that matter, given that the most surreal and head-spinning moment of Larry’s big send-off came not on the final broadcast, but last week when Vladimir Putin professed his love of the King; frankly, that whole exchange was so bizarre, I was speechless…a rare thing (wink). Not to dumb it down or anything, but my clearest memory of Larry King was his coverage of the O.J. Simpson car chase: my friend and I were baked out of our gourds on schwag and found the whole thing beguiling & impossible to turn off…so what does that say about me…? I suppose we all like sticking our noses where they don’t belong from time to time, but Larry King got to enjoy doing it for a living, for over 2 decades. So cheers to him, and cheers to living in a voyeuristic world.

Fade to Grey

2010-12-16T03:25:00.001-11:00

from the LP Visage, Polydor Records, 1980

If you study the etiologies of various musical subcultures over the last 50 years or so, you find that many genres initially found their footing within the confines of a single club (sometimes merely a club night), insular underground scenes developing the fulcrum of a full-fledged trend, often without realizing the extent of the exposure which was to come. The short-lived New Romantic movement of the early ‘80s, essentially a fashion-obsessed tributary of the New Wave, is a textbook example of this phenomenon, and the club promoters responsible for creating all that fuss (Steve Strange & Rusty Egan) just happened to also be (good at hiring…) musicians, calling themselves Visage---a name well chosen, given the scene’s propensity for androgyny, excessive use of makeup, and foppish period clothing (see: fancy tranny pirates). This song, Visage’s biggest and most enduring hit, is suitably over-the-top with that lone oscillating monosynth and high-drama lyrics, particularly the nonchalant delivery of some French spoken word. It was all a bit cheeky, and any unabashed celebration of the ersatz in music is usually doomed to a brief shelf-life, but having spawned such polarizing and famous figures as Boy George & Duran Duran, the impact was both real and wide-reaching. Go figure.

Ride My See-Saw

2010-12-16T03:23:00.001-11:00

from the LP In Search of the Lost Chord, Deram Records, 1968

No matter how impractical such a scenario would likely be, it’s easy to get tempted by the earnest idealism found within the concept of a psychedelic utopia, at least partially because some of the motivating factors which played into that equilibrium (i.e. war, poverty, and perhaps most notably, a disillusionment with the traditional rules & regulations) remain potent forces in many people’s lives today. The Moody Blues, having become rather notorious drug-takers by this stage in their career (love the acidy, proto-Alex Grey cover art), present a song here from the point of view of an older individual who, perhaps having turned on, realizes that he’s wasted his whole life, “…I worked like a slave for years, sweat so hard just to end my fears, not to end my life a poor man, but by now, I know, I should have run…”; thus, he admonishes some unseen young person to “…take this place, on this trip…ride, take a free ride…have my seat, it's for free…let’s find another place that’s free…” I doubt sitting around taking psychedelics all the time would be the solution to the world’s issues, but maybe we do need something radical, like having all the globe’s leaders eat mushrooms together, to begin the conversation…can you even imagine that?!!

Smoking My Ganja

2010-12-14T04:56:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, Greensleeves Records, 1978

Jeez, is it obvious enough that I don’t have to be teaching for a few weeks (re: sudden onslaught of posting drug-related tracks)?! It’s true, my marijuana consumption increases once the responsibility of standing in front of a classroom every morning wanes, and the ass-groove on our couch downstairs gets a little deeper. This heady anthem begins like many other weed-themed reggae cuts of that time, with the protagonist being chased down by the cops for his love of the sweet leaf, but once you arrive at the chorus things take a turn for the trippy, “…meanwhile I’m smoking my ganja, then I use, LSD…”; it’s no surprise, then, that the band responsible for this song, Capital Letters, hailed not from Jamaica, but instead Wolverhampton, in England. Even being one of John Peel’s most beloved British reggae acts wasn’t enough to garner them with wide-reaching popularity, and they only released a couple of albums before disappearing from sight; however, word is they have recently reformed and are planning to tour (knock on wood).

I (Fuck) Mountains

2010-12-14T04:54:00.000-11:00

from the LP The Pink Mountaintops, Jagjaguwar Records, 2004

Stephen McBean’s other band, Black Mountain, have never delivered for me on the promise that such a monolithic name carries with it (too much focus on a musical image, in my humble opinion), so when I was told by a friend about this album of his other stuff under the moniker of Pink Mountaintops, I was somewhat skeptical. Happily, it was surprisingly good, and where his other project comes off somewhat contrived, these songs really evolve organically. This particular song hits the nail on the head for me: lightly tribal percussion, cyclical bassline, gentle guitar, and mysterious lyrics (“…I fuck fire, and I, I fuck rain; if I had my chance, I’d get down again…but the A-bombs are comin’, oh oh, the A-bombs are comin’…”), coming together to create its own little drugged-out scene, sounding as if the Brian Jonestown Massacre went krautrock, or if Zeppelin’s “No Quarter” & Janes’ “Slow Divers” had a baby. Dig it.

Hips

2010-12-14T04:50:00.001-11:00

from the LP Juicy Fruit, Epic Records, 1983

When Dâm Funk recently stated in an interview that he felt Mtume’s Juicy Fruit was one of the most prolific and important albums of the last thirty years, he wasn’t kidding; granted, this style of sophisticated boogie is exactly the type of sound Funk aspires to in his own career, so I won’t go as far as him in describing the overall significance of this album, but Mtume most definitely brings the funk for us here. Coming off like some robot who composed an ode to the fluidity with which humans can move their bodies, this whole LP is unadulterated proof that being slick & being loose are, indeed, not mutually exclusive, and this vocoder-heavy track flawlessly lays out that dialectic for us; the blazing, Hazel-ian electric guitar solo at the very end (care of Ed ‘Tree’ Moore) comes out of nowhere and kicks my ass every time.

Voo Cego

2010-12-12T05:15:00.003-11:00

from the LP Vento Sul, Odeon Fonográfica, 1972

The cover art for this utterly captivating & enigmatic album is a good indication of what lies between the grooves: a swell of warm hazy vibrations from outer (inner?) space that slowly floods into the listener’s mind like a pool of cannabis-infused caramel, coating your brain with luscious layers of sunny melodies and sleepy beats; this particular track espouses the end of autumn like no other, that lightly strummed acoustic guitar shuffling through the piles of dead leaves as the patient rhythm section ambles along through the calm skies, wary of the storm ahead, heeding the wintry warning call of that creeping electric guitar. Marcos Valle is one of the most celebrated Brazilian musicians from the ‘60s & ‘70s, a perpetual hippie who found inspiration within a plethora of music scenes from outside his homeland, dipping his cup into some psychedelic prog-rock Kool-Aid on this stellar LP (backed by his fellow countrymen, O Terço). Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em…

Mary Jane

2010-12-12T05:11:00.001-11:00

from the LP Come Get It!, Motown Records, 1978

“…I’m in love with Mary Jane, she’s my main thing; she makes me feel alright, she makes my heart sing…” Can I get an “amen” for the high?!! I sometimes wonder how different things might look around us if it was 80% of the population smoking grass instead of drinking alcohol---I’m no fool, I know better than to presume that the restorative properties in cannabis alone would be enough to loosen up folks’ minds in the radical ways needed to transform macro-cultural structures like stratification and interpersonal violence (there are plenty of racist, sexist, homophobic idiots that smoke weed), but I still think that a society of tokers might ameliorate certain aspects of their surroundings & rituals, and there’s anecdotal evidence to suggest that there’d be a whole lot more creativity and innovation going on. Been switch-hitting with some Blue Dream and some Headband this morning, roughly my favorite strains of late, and I gotta tell ya: my heart is singing people!

Live Wire

2010-12-12T05:08:00.000-11:00

from the LP Bust Me Out, Mercury Records, 1984

Perhaps more than any other genre of music, hip-hop has always been saturated with “beef”, whether good old fashioned battling on the mic or the wanton trend of homicidal violence (and everything in between); at any rate, fights just seem part & parcel to the music business in general I suppose. A common scenario, particularly if and/or when older tracks enjoy a renewed popularity due to retro trends, is having people who feel that they never received their credit due, often correlating to a beef over someone else getting more props than they supposedly deserve. Grandmaster Flash is, undeniably, one of the most influential DJs of all time, but the songs for which he is best remembered (“The Message” & “White Lines”) were actually written, performed & produced by Duke Bootee and Melle Mel alone, no Flash or the other members from the Furious Five around; this fact has led many to determine that Mel & the Duke both deserve a lot more recognition than they’ve gotten---Duke in particular. His lone solo LP backs up that assertion, a buffet of electro beats & laser-synths that still sound fresh as hell to this day, and check out the phatty ghetto-blaster pictured on the cover…wish I still had mine!

Requiem

2010-12-08T12:27:00.000-11:00

from the LP Killing Joke, Editions EG Records, 1980

“…the clock keeps on ticking, he doesn't know why, he's just cattle for slaughter…” It’s finals week around campus, and by the looks on some kid’s faces you’d think it was the end of the bloody world: sunken shell-shocked eyes, slouched shoulders, heads shaking in disgust, furrowed brows & pouting lips as far as the eye can see (as a child, when I’d stick my bottom lip out in protest, my mom used to warn me, “…you better suck that lip in or a seagull is gonna come along and shit on it…”). I’m not the kind of teacher who pulls any punches on exams---fucking hated professors that tried hard to trip you up by asking misleading or trick questions! This elegy was the opening track on one of alternative rock’s most consistently namedropped albums, the self-titled debut LP from British crew Killing Joke, a crunch-n-munching dirge that presents itself like Motörhead meets Gary Numan’s darker stuff in a bottle full of Tuinals. That said, this is hardly impenetrable, and many of the tracks on this top quality album are so catchy you’ll find yourself humming their melodies long after the record stops spinning.

In Your Eyes

2010-12-08T12:22:00.002-11:00

from the CD Disaro, Disaro Records, 2010

Distance often impacts the vibrations of music, regardless of if one is speaking about a dissociated emotional ambiance or the literal void between sound waves and your ears, fashioning an emotional response in humans that people typically either take a lot of pleasure in or dislike intensely; I’ll bet you can guess what camp I fall into. A running theme in many “witch house” tracks is a severe sense of detachment, found in both the minimalist beats and, if included, the blasé vocals; to my surprise (a hipster I am not), a chunk of this scene comes from right here in the Denver area, including the band for which the genre gets its name, Modern Witch. This track is the easy highlight for me on their somewhat uneven debut album: pummeling beats, stabby synths, evil effects-laden keys, and the singing, which shows up just enough to hit the correct notes, and not an iota more. Everything about this song resonates for me, perhaps most of all their decision to skew the equalizers in such a way as to give the impression of being recorded in a tunnel, propelling us alongside their dark, neon-lit nightmare party.

Wooden Ships

2010-12-07T09:00:00.002-11:00

from the LP Crosby, Still & Nash, Atlantic Records, 1969

“…there's just one thing I got to know, can you tell me, please, who won…?” American children aged 10 and below have lived their entire lives with our nation at war; if you consider that we typically don’t become conscious of much outside our own lives until we are five or six years old, it’s essentially an entire generation of kids that have known only war---albeit, a rather detached vision of war, but war none the less. It doesn’t take a social scientist to know that that’s going to have some impact on their socialization, but speculating what that fallout will look like is anyone’s guess; you can bet that David Crosby, Stephen Stills & Graham Nash would prefer them to be a bit more disgusted by the ever-growing military industrial complex (both federal & private) in front of them. This anti-war tale, fittingly written on Crosby’s boat in conjunction with the Jefferson Airplane’s Paul Kantner (safe to assume they were all exceedingly baked), takes a different approach from many of its leftist musical peers of that time, tackling the idea of thermonuclear fallout rather than merely the Vietnam mess that was then at hand, “…wooden ships on the water, very free and easy; easy, you know, the way it's supposed to be; silver people on the shoreline, let us be, talkin’ ‘bout very free and easy...horror grips us as we watch you die, all we can do is echo your anguished cries, stare as all human feelings die, we are leaving---you don't need us…” This album remains rock solid from front to back, a relic of its time but, sadly, still relevant to unlearned lessons.

Michigan Avenue

2010-12-06T10:45:00.001-11:00

from the LP Gangster Love, Gold Plate Records, 1976

X-mas shopping is almost always a major pain in the ass. No matter how you cut it, the whole process is labor-intensive and generally annoying once the actual purchasing commences, mainly due to the ruthless nature of our fellow holiday shopping peers (not to mention, the understandably blasé demeanor of service staff who have been saturated & inundated by trashy people screaming at them about deals they supposedly saw in coupons that they, magically, now don’t have…ugh, get the fucking net). Pompous assholes from the higher SES bracket always get a bit crazier this time of year too, determined to find items that are so expensive as to eliminate the possibility of common folk flossing the same steez. With that in mind, I think the woman on this LP cover would be the ideal individual to have with you on any seasonal shopping adventure, perhaps on the Michigan Avenue of this song’s name (one of the higher-end destinations found within the Windy City), because she’s not the kind of woman to tolerate any sass---better believe this bitch will rob you. Porn-ish stringed licks & fatty brass tricks make this instrumental number a real barn burner, particularly toward the end, around 3 minutes in: get, get down.

Suicide Machine

2010-12-06T10:41:00.001-11:00

from the LP You’d Prefer An Astronaut, 12 Inch Records, 1995

Sticking with an Illinois theme, Hum are surely among the mightier unsung heroes to have never emerged from the underground, short a brief (and mostly forgotten) brush with fame via their lead single from this LP, “Stars”. One might think that having the almighty oracle of all things indie & Midwest, Stevel Albini, producing your demo would ensure eternal success, but you’d be wrong, and the story of Hum reads similar to countless other crews that also fell prey to lady luck’s emotionless divining. Where their Chi-area peers the Smashing Pumpkins always leaned more towards a Led Zeppelin frame of mind, Hum reached more for the stars, marrying Hawkwind’s brutal drugy riffage to Pink Floyd’s expansive dream, concocting a noise that sounds both sprawling & torpid at the same time, and employing cryptic lyrics which tease the brain, “…sleep comes to everyone while we wait for the Sunday afternoons… that's why the suicide machine is built for two, a simple sick device devised to overload on love, to bring us colored dreams and soundtracked waves of fun…and to the left where up is down, now stands a zebra made of shapes of me, and silver and the sun; so bring no guilt with you up above the flat-line, let's just hit the sky, exploding into one…and so I give myself away, to everybody everyday; and so I give myself to you, and you need it more than I do…” Psychedelic haze from the nation’s midsection: get high, raise volume, and exist…

Wah Wah Man

2010-12-03T08:10:00.001-11:00

from the LP Born Again, Cotillion Records, 1971

Even though many of us associate the advent of talk-boxes with Peter Frampton’s use of one on his inconceivably famous …Comes Alive set, their invention actually came several decades earlier, and they’d been used extensively across several genres of music before he made the things de rigueur; in fact, as this funky track skillfully demonstrates for us, Frampton wasn’t even the first to use a talk box in tandem with a wah-wah pedal. This slick-ass number from Young-Holt Unlimited deftly showcases both of the gadgets’ abilities and their appeal, adding a layer of jelly-kneed sleaze to the proceedings which couldn’t be generated by anything else, not even if they’d added dirty lyrics in their place. These cats were primarily an instrumental crew, something which certainly limited their appeal to wider audiences, but the confidant interplay makes up for any loss of storyline, in my opinion anyways.

Depth of Sound

2010-12-03T08:08:00.000-11:00

from the EP Overload, Network Records, 1990

Although often times overshadowed by its more well-known siblings (the 303 & the 808), Roland’s TR-909 was the drum machine most techno and house producers in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s ended up using to lay their beats, usually after having reached the limitations found on the other previously mentioned machines; frankly, the 909 is just easier to work with and has everything you need in one contraption. Midlands-based duo Altern-8 (Mark Archer & Chris Peat) probably know every last in & out of this particular device, all the fun patches and every last pattern, having employed one to craft many of the UK’s biggest rave anthems in the early days; these dudes used to show up at parties dressed in full-on, EPA style hazmat suits, including masks over their faces---which makes an old raver wonder, were they the first to start rocking those masks (pre-Vicks) which became ubiquitous at raves worldwide in the years following…? This track, and a grip of their initial wax, walks a fine line between techno & house: a bit too bouncy to be techno proper, but dark enough to sit pensively in the middle.

On the Run

2010-12-01T07:18:00.001-11:00

from the LP Straight Out the Jungle, Warlock Records, 1988

“Jungle Brothers on the run ya’ll, JB’s on the run…” Championed by heavy heads & critics alike upon their inception, it’s a mystery to me why the NYC-based Jungle Brothers never managed to parlay that acclaim into a longstanding legacy in the way that other crews from their Native Tongues posse did (see: Tribe or De La), because their rhymes and raps nearly equal the above mentioned crews; that Babe Ruth “Mexican” sample has gone on to become one of the most pinched breaks of all time, and you can never include too much Jimmy Castor Bunch, ever. As with so many of my early musical discoveries, the JBeez came to my ears care of my older nephew David (…my oldest sister, his mom, is 20 years my senior…we put the “fun” in dysfunctional in my family); he lived in California, the epitome of cool to a young Florida beach scrub in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. Every summer & Xmas, when our family would try to act like a family, we’d hang out and it was like musicology 101 for me, digging through his tunes and returning home afterwards with a head full of new songs; he had this album on cassette. In fact, he just had a b-day, so happy birthday Dave!

Pleasant Valley Sunday

2010-11-28T11:59:00.001-11:00

from the 7” single, Colgems Records, 1967

“…and the kids just don’t understand…” The suburbs have been topical fodder since their inception, the epitome of the American dream for some & indicative of the evil empire for others---the ironic thing about that being that families who live in suburbs are no more/less similar than yuppies living downtown or heads living in the hills, and it’s foolish to attempt painting them with a broad brush. That hasn’t stopped numerous songwriters & poets from decrying the presupposed malevolence that neighborhoods full of similar looking houses must presumably espouse, and this sprightly and delicious treat from the Monkees is a great example of that; written by Carole King & Gerry Goffin, it’s a sarcastic mockery of all things cookie-cutter, very of it’s time and place, and one in a long line of Monkees tracks that sound happier than a double rainbow but include heavy-ish lyrics. This single came right as the Monkees were beginning to show their countercultural leanings more and more, rocking love beads and dashikis all over the place, having grown tired of being seen as teen pop idols. Another pleasant valley Sunday indeed, only the “charcoal burning everywhere” is just as likely to be found alight in a hookah as it is on a grill.

Trees Come Down

2010-11-28T11:57:00.001-11:00

from the EP Burning the Fields, Tower Release Records, 1985

One (the only?) constant within the gothic subculture through the decades has been a heavy focus on one’s outer appearance, wholly conceding the importance of image as symbolism and rejoicing in the power that’s inherent to a deviant likeness, even though kids can now buy their outfits pre-made for them ala Hot Topic (looking scary used to require a great deal more effort). British rockers Fields of the Nephilim (that is one hell of a name) distinguished themselves from many other goth acts by embracing a more apocalyptic wardrobe, less bat cave and more WWIII morning-after; frankly, with those goggles and dirty leather dusters they looked a bit like extras from the set of Mad Max, but they’ve committed themselves to it ever since their inauguration unto the frowning masses, so way to keep that up! “Singer” Carl McCoy never has been able to carry a tune all that well, so it’s a good thing that he was singing about deeply twisted shit, and even better that drummer ‘Nod’ Wright happens to be a polyrhythmic prodigy on the skins. Put on your pout!!

Dreamin'

2010-11-28T11:54:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, Thrust Records, 1986

Okay, this song was everywhere in South Florida when it dropped, a big hit on the radio down there, so I apologize if those memories overly bias my opinion on the ultimate worth of this track, but dude…there’s no worth in denying that I still love this shit. Miami freestyle cuts like this one were notorious for packing an unfathomable amount of effects into the mix, as if the producers never met a hi-hat or synth-clap they didn’t passionately love, but that’s part of the appeal for me, because those sounds capture a specific (yet nuanced) portion of the mid – late ‘80s that I fondly remember. The one oddity surrounding this crew, essentially the work of radio DJ & producer Bob Rosenberg (with the help of some hired voices), is their choice of moniker---while most freestyle crews went by their own names or simplistic abbreviations thereof (i.e. Stevie B, Debbie Deb, Lisa Lisa, etc…), these guys decided to call themselves “Will to Power” after Nietzsche’s theory regarding human nature and our eternal pursuit of success…?!? I guess it’s fitting enough, having dropped in the middle of the most consumer-driven decade ever, but it never fails to make me wrinkle my nose.

Family Affair

2010-11-25T05:42:00.001-11:00

from the LP There’s A Riot Goin’ On, Epic Records, 1971

All of us define the word “family” differently: for some it just means their immediate family members while others include any known connection by blood (no matter how distant or embarrassing), and still others are willing to go farther out in their definitions, counting close friends and, perhaps, even pets (guilty) among their own family affairs. As indicated, I wholeheartedly fall into the latter category, having decided for myself at an early age that blood only meant something if they gave a shit about me, and that I was likely going to be depending on friends as much as my parents or siblings when I envisioned the arc of my life. The reality has wound up being pretty close to the prediction, and had it not been for the compassion, patience & understanding from all the dimensions of my family, I can safely say that yours truly wouldn’t be sitting here composing this post right now. As we prepare to enjoy some good times with the Colorado-based members of our family over the next few days, my thoughts are also with the rest of my family who are scattered about north, south, east & west: mom, dad, Karen, Kristy, Kathy, Dave, Kelsey, Ainsley, Walker, Jessica, Ezra, Stevie & fam, Susie, Lynz, Jeanie, Verratti, Arlie, Whit & Liz, Gavin, Lisa, Serena, Andrea, Starr, Molly & fam, Mama Mac, and all the Olson’s, sure love you guys and miss all of you!!

Give Thanks & Praise

2010-11-25T05:39:00.001-11:00

from the LP Why You So Craven, Arrival Records, 1981

I have a lot to be thankful for, particularly my happiness, health & freedom. Funny thing is, there was a time in my life when I used to scowl & complain about those individuals who always seemed to have a smile on their faces, something which I deemed (in my infinite wisdom as a juvenile delinquent…) to be a sign of ignorance and, probably, low IQ; fortunately, I’ve come to understand that those of us who smile a lot aren’t stupid, we’ve just come to realize the power of attitude adjustment. Some family of mine have been suffering through all manners of physical ailments lately, something which is always a sobering reminder of how much we often take our good, or least decent, health for granted---in all honesty, having packed on 40+ lbs in the last year or so, it’s about time to get off my lazy ass and take my physiological well-being more seriously. Maybe most of all I’m thankful for my freedom, knowing sharply and all too painfully what it feels like to have that most basic tenet of human experience taken away: the freedom to go where I please, behave how I choose, say whatever I want…shit, freedom to stumble down to the ‘fridge in the middle of the night, chug some milk, and pad back upstairs to a nice comfortable bed (it’s the simplest of things you miss most when you are locked up). Today, be mindful & thankful of what you’ve got. Eat, drink, puff & be merry!

Cosmic Dancer

2010-11-22T05:38:00.002-11:00

from the LP Electric Warrior, Reprise Records, 1971

The concept of having a “next big thing” has chewed up and spit out a myriad of artists over the years, the notion that there is always something just around the corner, waiting to be discovered and celebrated, while at the same time encouraging us to turn on that which we were loving only moments before, but must then scoff at as “so last year”. I’m sure all of us here are above having our tastes be impacted by changing trends (right, and monkeys might fly out of my butt…), but generally speaking, fads have a way of destroying musicians as quickly as they have made them into stars; this is nothing new, as even classical performers & composers fell victim to passing styles and new crazes. Marc Bolan was something of a paradox when it comes to this subject matter, clearly having been an individual that was keenly aware of all the things considered in-vogue at any given time, but also someone interested in helping to define whatever zeitgeist happened to be emerging; thus, even though he was quick to abandon his elfin-hippie persona once ‘60s psychedelia became passé, he imbued a number of his glam rock masterpieces with an underlying sense of dippy ephemera, something which clearly differentiated his work in T.Rex from that of other glam “rockers” that tread much closer to the bubblegum model. That mixture of pastoral and spacey acoustics cut with harder-driving electric tendencies was a combination that makes this album absolutely magical, as evidenced in this lilting number, particularly towards the end of the track with that mind-melting back-tracked guitar & violin filled coda, simply divine and utterly heady man!

Plástico

2010-11-22T05:36:00.002-11:00

from the LP Siembra, Fania Records, 1978

This was the biggest selling salsa album of all time when it was released, and it’s gone on to move tens of millions of units over the 30+ years since it dropped, perhaps the greatest release of Fania records’ entire discography; what Dark Side of the Moon is to North America & Europe, Siembra is to South America, Central America, the Caribbean, & parts of NYC…it’s that hallowed and revered. To the untrained anglo ear, this might sound like any old salsa record from the ‘70s---granted, with stellar production & arranging care of Willie Colón, but a large part of what makes this LP so relevant still today are the socially conscious themes found in many of Rubén Blades’ lyrics, speaking to the difficult lives of many Hispanic people in both New York and around the Spanish speaking world. It should come as no surprise that it’s the percussion that really hooks me in most Latin music, but the critically aware subject matter found here absolutely serves as the sweetened condensed milk to this slice of musical Tres Leches!

Big Cheese

2010-11-22T05:34:00.001-11:00

from the 7” single, Sub Pop Records, 1988

These early Nirvana tracks have never really come to sound dated, perhaps in part because the musical influences which served as grist for Cobain’s mill at this stage (Melvins, Meat Puppets, Dino Jr., Scratch Acid, etc…) have fallen so far off the radar that we’ve never been submitted to a proper revival, but one can’t deny the eagerness with which they attacked their instruments, a sloppy and unprejudiced expression of post-adolescent ambivalence. Speaking of which, aren’t we due for a resuscitation of all things flannel, unkempt & loose-fitting (in keeping with the twenty-year retro rule)? Anyways, back to the music, which always came first for Cobain, particularly early on, and it was something he often made reference to in interviews, wondering why in the hell reviewers kept vigilantly analyzing his words (often written on the spot, as an afterthought). With that in mind, forgive my hindsight here, but given the complications he wound up having with stardom later on, it’s glumly ironic that they came out of the gate with a song called “Big Cheese”--- obviously not intentional, but sadly prescient.

Polyphase

2010-11-21T04:15:00.001-11:00

from the 12” single, Mountain Records, 1983

While many bands who signed with independent labels have enjoyed large-scale success in the rock-n-roll landscape, the same has generally not been true for funk crews, and where DIY rock bands & labels actually increased their reputations by resisting the corporate empire, most of the small funk bands & labels out there proved unable to compete against the financial backing and prowess of the majors. Perhaps this has more to do with the intended audience (i.e. rocks fans being accustomed to digging through the underground for the next big thing, funk fans historically looking to the radio first & foremost), but the reality is that while loads of indie rockers have ascended the ladder of public achievement, often becoming as famous as their major-label peers, throngs of able funkateers have been wholly forgotten by the masses. Sadly, this pattern held true for bassist Aaron Broomfield and his siblings, who even went so far as to open their own record label (the Mountain records of this release); growing up in Miami Beach, Florida imbued Aaron with a real forward-leaning sense of funk, being told by numerous labels and radio station managers that his tunes were too progressive. In actuality, the wax he cut with his brothers & sisters (initially as Broomfield Corporate Jam, then just under Aaron’s name) is some of the dankest space boogie this side of Mars, easily right up there with the kind of stuff Zapp and Mtume were doing around this time. Aaron did an interview with danceclassics.net a few years back and closed by saying this, “…let your minds and your hearts be forever open…these are challenging and stressful times we are living in today, may all of you find truth and happiness in your daily lives…I hope my music will lift your spirit and awareness, and inspire you to do good things for yourself and humanity…” Word!

L'Elephant

2010-11-20T04:35:00.002-11:00

from the LP Tom Tom Club, Island Records, 1981

There aren’t a whole lot of husband & wife teams to be found in rock-n-roll, which isn’t terribly surprising because it’s difficult enough to build a successful marriage without also attempting to be professionally involved together. That said, Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz (longtime rhythm section for the Talking Heads) make it look easy; calling themselves Tom Tom Club, the couple signed to Island records and crash landed at Blackwell’s heady commune in the Bahamas (Compass Point), bringing in players from all over the Caribbean to help craft this entertaining slice of post-modern mayhem. In fact, none other than Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry was supposed to produce, but in typical fashion he never showed up---not that it seemed to matter much. This dropped at a time when all the lines between varying musical genres were blurred, allowing for the intermingling of all styles present, constructing new soundscapes which totally defied categorization. The lyrics are all in French, but I found a translation which essentially breaks it down like this: an elephant & hippopotamus, disguised as people, walked to a town where they came across children fleeing and crying, and when they asked what the deal was they were told that it was a war, and all the men were killing each other; wisely, some owls told the pair to shed their human costumes.

Know How

2010-11-20T04:32:00.001-11:00

from the LP Stone Cold Rhymin’, Delicious Vinyl Records, 1989

You’ve all heard me whine incessantly about the craptacular state of mainstream hip-hop today, and how things used to be so good, blah blah blah. Well, along with all the other danky stuff I’ve posted on here, this slice of old school wax should be enough to silence any of the doubters. Everything on this cut brings the freshness: the layered breaks, Young MC’s speedy (and noticeably clean) rap delivery, and the impressive mix of tasty samples, including The Ohio Players’ “Skin Tight”, The Incredible Bongo Band’s “Apache”, and those super-skeezy guitar licks pulled from Shaft’s theme song---sick! This entire album was chock full of similarly dope beats, breaks that made you want to move your feet, and it’s not going out on a limb to assume that the Chem Bros & Fatboy Slim found plenty of inspiration inside these grooves.

Deutschland

2010-11-18T08:00:00.002-11:00

from the LP Burn Berlin Burn, Grand Royal Records, released: 1997, recorded: 1995

Typically, when someone announces that they are an anarchist, it’s met with understandably doubtful expressions & exhausted sighs---even the Black Blockers I knew up in Minneapolis (deemed by some to really be “true” anarchists) were mostly just angsty, middle-class white kids acting out their pre-conceived notions of rebellion (i.e. “smell me, motherfucker…”). Thus, it was with a suspicious & cynical mind that I first laid ears on digital hardcore forbearers Atari Teenage Riot, although it was admittedly more enticing due to the press reports of them being banned in their own country following a spate of riots that had erupted after their performances; I don’t mean that I think riots are cool or anything vacuous like that, but when art causes people to lose it, I can’t help but take notice. The results, musically speaking, were a pretty mixed bag: much of the album (not an LP proper, but a collection of their previously released 7”s & EPs) was filled with jackhammer gabber-beats which proved to be near unlistenable to all but the most dedicated of hardcore fans (see: people high on glue), but a few of the tracks where they slowed things down have become a consistent part of my library over the years, including this song---the one which got their LP barred from stores in Germany. For us Americans, it’s like the Weather Underground going techno, radical slogans & brash tunes; frankly, somebody out there needs to sample Alec Empire (the band’s leader) when he says, “…we react very strongly to tranquilizers, you know…” Seriously though, given Angela Merkel’s declaration last month that multiculturalism in Germany is dead, and the rise of right-wing neo-fascism spreading across Western European politics like wildfire, maybe these guys weren’t just being paranoid or dramatic…

My Back Pages

2010-11-18T07:56:00.001-11:00

from the LP Another Side of Bob Dylan, Columbia Records, 1964

Full disclosure: I postponed getting into Dylan for as long as was humanly possible, due mainly, I suppose, to my contrarian nature, which recoiled at the sheer magnitude of praise which has been heaped upon his shoulders over each successive decade; along this same reactionary & juvenile train of thought, The Beatles & Stones both came purposefully towards the end of my classic rock education as well, excepting for particular hit songs which one just knows. In the case of Dylan, he had become a Christian during the halcyon days of my childhood, so by the time I was adopting metal, punk, & hip-hop there seemed very little place for this preachy, shaky old man whom I had decided probably didn’t deserve all the credit he received. “…Ahhh, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now…” Although his early tunes have become increasingly distanced from youthful ears, mainly just due to time, these lyrics are among the most astute & genuinely willing words of all modern music, “…crimson flames tied through my ears, rolling high and mighty traps, pounced with fire on flaming roads, using ideas as my maps; we’ll meet on edges soon, said I, proud 'neath heated brow, ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now…” The cliché is true, onwards from the apex of our adolescence, when we know everything, the older we get, the more we realize that we know nothing at all---we also become increasingly socialized, which sort-of leaves major forward progression at the feet of younger generations’ blind blazing idealism, short of us all resisting what’s come before anyways, which is always a safe bet. Love or hate his voice, but respect the dude’s unyielding insight.

Clap Song

2010-11-15T08:01:00.001-11:00

from the LP My Queen, Hotlanta Records, 1978

Look, up in the sky, is it a bird? Is it a plane? It’s…well, fuck if I know just what in the hell that’s supposed to be---some kind of winged, scantily clad, female afro-insectoid with giant antennae, Ugg boots & a whip…?! Perhaps they have come to bring us the funk… Maybe they’re related to the Thumpasaurus people, like distant cousins or something; in fact, these sentient beings have such a hardcore appearance that one could make a good case for their inclusion in a Blaxploitation version of Star Wars, call it Space Hustle or some equally ghetto designation. In all seriousness, it doesn’t surprise me in the least that the band responsible for this hot mess, Gaston, is from Atlanta; the humidity literally drips from those warped polysynths, trickling down into the heady stew of funk which is the behemoth rhythm section (more cowbell!). All I know is that, if this track is any indication of what life might be like in the distant galaxy from which those creatures hail, sign me up for an exploratory mission to their planet.