That Was Just A Dream

from the LP Bright Like Neon Love, Modular Recordings, 2004



I gripe a lot about how the vast majority of modern-day bands who are aping the styles & sounds of the ‘80s do a cosmically horrible job at it, but there are always exceptions to any rule; Cut Copy are such a glorious exception one can almost understand why so many other bands get caught up, wrongly assuming they can accomplish the same task. I have to presume that much of their gear is vintage, which is truly vital to any proper simulation of an earlier sound (seriously, don’t get me started on all the fools who think they can digitize the sound of an 808…). Australia has a winning reputation for churning out bands and musicians with a preternatural ability to be expansive and pleasingly melodic, and these guys follow that path nicely. Beginning a song with the sound of a telephone ringing is not new, but the impact never seems to diminish; how much of our life is spent hearing that noise I wonder…? Some solid live instrumentation layered on top of mechanized beats, and swirling underneath it all is an army of monosynths and polysynths; the vocal snippets which get chopped up and looped in & out of the mix are a perfect example of imitation taken to the highest level---it feels like a humid night spent at some underground dance club in the early ‘80s, and I mean that in such a good way! The mash-up of genres (disco, post-disco, italo, house) blend like a top shelf margarita, and though the production is filtered and effects-laden, it never overwhelms. The cover art of this album is perfect as well, providing a flawless image to parallel the music within, a trailhead for thrilling daydreams about glossy lips and skylines always lit. Living up to the suggestion of the song’s title, this track is short and ends very abruptly, leaving the listener to wonder if the song happened at all, or if they just slipped into an ‘80s-induced coma for a couple minutes…

Rhinoceros

from the LP Gish, Caroline Records, 1991



Ah, when I listen to this work of genius it really makes me pine for the days when Billy Corgan still had hair and the Smashing Pumpkins fucking ruled the rock universe; you know, way back before Mr. Corgan became a megalomaniac, proceeding to make crapier and crapier albums until the original (and in my opinion, only) lineup broke apart. What the fuck man, why do so many great ones turn out like that?!? It must be said however, that a lustrous song like this one makes it very easy for me to forget what a douchebag he’s become, instead being helplessly seduced for the millionth time by the magic these four individuals were able to conjure. Yes, as it’s been noted before and is still proclaimed often around the greater Chicago area, the Pumpkins surely borrowed a bit from the sound of fellow-Chicagoans Hum---you know what? The Pumpkins did it way better, and wound up creating something which is far more identifiable and, in my opinion, more memorable than what Hum produced (not to take away from Hum, because I also think they rock). This song fades in gently, like a drifting cloud, reserved drumming and simplistic bassline; the more psychedelic, atonal washes of guitar between the verses remind me quite a bit of the opening to Pink Floyd’s “Speak to Me/Breath”. The words are fittingly trippy and cryptic, “…planned a show, trees and balloons; ice cream snow, see you in June…” It’s all very dreamlike and eerily beautiful until about halfway through the track when the Pumpkins show us their teeth, bursting into a loose and heavy bridge, punctuated by a smoking guitar solo and a general swell of prog-like epic-ness. Amidst the tornado of layered and processed guitars erupts a specific riff which plays us out right before the coda; it begins at 5:16, as Corgan finishes chanting, “…she knows and she knows and she knows…”. This anthemic riff is not difficult, per se, but it peels off the guitar and out of the speakers so effortlessly my heart races faster every time I’m blaring this at loud volume. The extended coda of feedback and phasing-insanity at the end of the track almost feels like a prediction of the success-maelstrom which awaited them not far after this album was released. It’s easy to dismiss the later half of the Pumpkins discography, and everything else Corgan has touched (including the half-assed lineup he toured with under the original moniker last year), as rubbish; but for a moment there in the early ‘90s, the Smashing Pumpkins could do no wrong!

Lost in the K-Hole

from the LP Dig Your Own Hole, Astralwerks Records, 1997



Unless you were asleep through the second half of the ‘90s, you are well aware of the Chemical Brothers; remember, they were the ones (along with Fatboy Slim and Daft Punk) who made it okay for mainstream Americans to like electronic music, and in so doing brought about a second wave of the rave explosion over here. Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons were both DJs for about a decade before deciding to team up and produce the beats instead of just spinning them, and this was their second full-length album; in my opinion, it stands as the apex of their career. There isn’t a single throwaway on the album, but I am specifically partial to this track…hmm, I wonder why that could be? To be frank, this is both an honest attempt at a musical representation of a K-hole & also a fitting soundtrack if you find yourself in a K-hole---something my friends and I used to have a habit of doing on purpose, albeit, over a decade ago now…

Fools Gold

from the 7” single, Silvertone Records, 1989



The UK is well-known for cultivating musical trends, often to the point of complete hysteria, that never fully translate across the pond here in the States---case in point: the mash-up of musical influences that came to be known as “Brit-Pop”. With the glaring (and I don’t necessarily mean that in a good way) exception of Oasis later on, the so-called ‘Madchester’ scene and trends linked to it never got big over here; this band stands right at the center of any dialogue on that commotion. Starting their career with a sound much more indebted to the mid ‘60s, by the time this single was dropped they had adopted influences stemming from the rave scene, with a pronounced focus on all things beats-related. The guitar riff which loops throughout the song is irresistible, and matched with the tambourine and bongos it all compels you to get down. Great line, “…these boots were made for walking, the Marquis de Sade never made no boots like these…”

Play At Your Own Risk

from the LP Planet Patrol, Tommy Boy Records, 1983



You better just go ahead and dust off your old robot-dance moves for this one guys, because Planet Patrol will have your ass popping and locking all across the room! This single comes to us from a time when minimal bass ruled the land, and the direct influence of P-Funk’s outer-space odyssey was overly evident in the themes of nearly every electro release. I’m a big sucker for those Casio beats and laser-gun sounding effects which defined that subgenre, but 99% of the recent attempts by “musicians” to recreate this sound come out soulless and vapid sounding. This track gives it to you hard, the not-entirely-macho tale of a guy becoming emotionally broken at the hands of his woman, only to emerge stronger for it and warning that if she comes around again, well, “…girl, you better watch your step, play at your own risk…” These guys fused boogie with electro and got to record an entire album of it, rare in that world of 12” singles; for you heads out there, this record was produced by the same guy that did “Planet Rock”.

Don't Let My Rainbow Pass Me By (edit)

from the 12” single, Golden Flamingo Records, 1978



Patrick Adams and Peter Brown (a.k.a. P & P Records) are two of the most talented and distinctive producers to ever leave their mark upon dance music; their records walked a genre-bending line between funk, disco, soul, and even electronic post-disco. They were particular to using the synthesizer as a lead instrument, painting outlandish backgrounds for their sultry-sweet diva’s to sing over top of. I love almost every track that either of these men had their fingers on, but no matter how deep I dig, I can’t help but be drawn back to this bouncy number. The breakbeat is what does it for me: boom boom, boom-boom-boom!! That style of break got huge 20 years later with house music producers, showing just how ahead of their time these guys were; I love the bittersweet lyric too, a plea we all desire, “…don’t let this rainbow pass me by, not this time…”

Let It Out (Let It All Hang Out)

from the 7” single, Verve Forecast Records, 1967



This song is a fucking gem!! Awash in an ocean of no-hit wonders, this little ditty easily rises above the fuzzed out din which was the mid – late ‘60s garage rock scene in America. The Hombres were from Tennessee, and this song was to be their only brush with minor success, but what a stellar track they made here. It starts out with a wacky man proclaiming that we are to receive someone named John Barleycorn, nicotine, and “the temptations of Eve”---followed immediately by that terrific noise one can make when you stick out your tongue and blow. The lyrics are totally tripped out and funny, but the thing that keeps me coming back for more is the uber-catchy loop the band grooves on: sunny guitars, farfisa organ, snappy drums, and a couple of people rockin’ the handclaps. It’s over before you know it, and I often find myself hitting the rewind button to hear it a few more times.

Daisy Chain 4 Satan

from the LP Confessions of a Knife…, Wax Trax Records, 1990



When you look over the entire 30 years or so of musical output which falls under the label of “industrial”, it can be a bit dizzying and, ultimately, a problematical task to try and find a common thread which ties everybody together. One thing that certainly crops up in industrial music from every decade is found sounds or samples of things like television or radio; at this particular point in the late ‘80s – early ‘90s, industrial music had adopted a very pop-oriented underpinning which might have made many early experimental-industrial artists cringe. I love it however, and the more twisted the better, which TKK do extremely well, including everything but the kitchen sink in this mix: screaming, maniacal laughter, evil processed vocals, backmasking, homicidal threats, and a really dark sample rollicking through the entire track, “…I live for drugs, it’s great, it’s great…I freaked out very very badly, freaked out, on acid...I live for drugs, it’s great, it’s great…I’m the white rabbit…”

Neptune City, NJ

from the cassette II, Future Sound Recordings, 2008



Lately I’ve noticed a burgeoning fad of lesser-known bands/musicians recording their albums on cassettes again---yes, those relics of the ‘80s you spent countless hours with, slaving over a boombox, trying to make that perfect mixtape for your best friends. For all intensive purposes, Ducktails is the work of one Matthew Mondanile, and his tunes run the gamut from lo-fi indie pop to more ambient and atmospheric stuff like we have here. I always like when music guides me into a trance, and Ducktails often succeed in doing that for me; the high-pitched keyboard sounds almost remind me of the whistle/ocarina from Super Mario Brothers, and indeed, the whole vibe is kind of child-like and innocent in this song, bubbly, dreamlike.

The Any Several Sundays

from the EP Selected, File 13 Records, recorded: 1990, released: 2003



That snowstorm we had last week has given way, temporarily, to summer-like weather around these parts, and it feels marvelous! My job has me driving on the highway every week, so over the process of the last few years I’ve found several songs which work particularly well when one is flying along the road, windows down, sun ablaze in the sky---this track is most definitely one of them. The Lilys (yes, I know the band’s name is not “The” Lilys but rather just “Lilys”, only, if I write it that way I sound like I’m writing about a fucking flower) were hatched in Philadelphia in the late ‘80s by founding member Kurt Heasley; incidentally, he remains as the only original member still found within the Lily’s ranks. They are notorious for being musical chameleons, dropping a mod-revival album here, shoegazer tributes there, and plenty of melodious “indie rock” in between it all. This specific track was released on the odds and ends EP Selected, and was apparently played very often at their live shows in the early days; no wonder, because this track is blissfully hypnotic and deeply mesmerizing. The 12-string guitar is right up front sound-wise, layered, jangly, pushing the drums, bass and even the vocals far to the back in the mix. When you are driving down the interstate with this song blaring at high volume, it really makes you feel lifted; the tambourine is an exceedingly nice touch. I searched in vain all over the infernet for lyrics to this track and couldn’t find a damn thing, but it’s the timbre of his voice here which means the most to the track, never hitting more than 3 or 4 notes in total, mumbling, the vocal equivalent of being bleary-eyed. The most obvious influence here is the Byrds, no doubt, but one can also hear the Jesus & Mary Chain, Rain Parade, even some Giant Sand. I haven’t been able to follow along full-heartedly with every twist and turn of the Lily’s archive, but they hit the mark here: old as new as old.

The Message

from the 7” single, white label, 2002



There seems to be an ever-dwindling number of hip-hop producers willing to use samples when lacing beats, a trend which started a while ago but really gained speed after the Neptunes style blew up; this is a sad fact, in my humble opinion, because so much of what I love about early hip-hop is the remixed beats. Thankfully however, there are a handful of producers out there that remain on the quest, eternally digging in crates, seeking the rarest and dopest samples of all time---both of the gentlemen involved on this track belong to that club and sit near the top of the pile. Jay Dee (a.k.a. J Dilla) and Madlib (a.k.a. Quasimoto), known collectively as Jaylib, are responsible for some of the most soulful and farthest out beats ever put to wax, respectively. This particular single wasn’t included on the full length 2xLP they released called Champion Sound, and my guess for why that is the case centers around the topic above; namely, musicians are so lawsuit-happy anymore, there’s no way they could’ve paid for the rights to either the song this is based upon, or the sample employed within the track. Dilla handles the production tasks here, and does an astounding job at re-imagining the classic hip-hop single of the same name, a monumental task if you consider the importance of that original; no way to know for sure, but I have to think Grandmaster Flash & Melle Mel were impressed with the way this remix of their masterpiece came out. The beat is based around a loop that Dilla pinched from one of my favorite bands, that being Stereolab, and this alone is proof of Dilla’s incredible depth and breadth of musical taste---how many hip-hoppers do you think recognized that loop?...not many. Madlib throws down his typical stoned, montone method of rapping, and gives us a nice revision of the original chorus, “…don’t push me just ‘cause we close to the edge, I’m tryin’ not to lose the skin I’m in…it’s not worth it sometimes it makes me wonder if we’re all going under…” The track ends with a very strange coda of tribal-sounding mayhem, like we jetted into a hut in the Amazon somewhere, very weird and excellent. Best line, by far, “…rats in the front room, vultures in the back, crackhead’s in the alley with the baseball bat…” R.I.P. Dilla, there will never be another…

Lonesome L.A. Cowboy

from the LP The Adventures of Panama Red, CBS Records, 1973



This entry (and about half of these guy’s songs) could have served as my post for 4-20, but since some friends and I were actually seeing the New Riders in concert that night, I waited. NRPS spun out of the same drug-soaked surroundings as the Grateful Dead, and the band was initially launched as a vehicle for Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh & Mickey Hart to explore the more rustic and countrified vein of influence which took them in at that time; by the recording of this track and album however, they had coalesced into their own band, apart from the Dead but still very closely intertwined through concerts and, presumably, “business” (wink). Where the Dead had Robert Hunter and John Barlow penning lyrics which recalled timeless American tales and epic sagas, the Riders basically wrote about the lifestyles of themselves and their buddies---namely, running drugs and/or whiskey, consuming drugs and/or whiskey, growing drugs and/or manufacturing whiskey…oh, and being hurt by evil women, of course. Essentially, if you were into taking drugs in the 1970s than you have probably listened to a New Riders album; if you were also into dealing drugs in the 1970s, than you probably owned said album. This song tells the near-comical tale of a modern day cowboy, lost amidst the lights and libations in the city of angels, only instead of the traditional hooch and bottom lip stuffed full of chewing tobacco this cowboy is rolling spliffs and doing lines of blow…you know, updating the image for us. Only two of the original members still remain in the touring lineup, Dave Nelson on guitar and Buddy Cage on pedal steel; bassist Dave Torbert and drummer Spencer Dryden have both passed on, and John Dawson has major health issues which keep him sidelined, although he sends his blessings to the tour. And what a great show it was for 4-20, people smoking joints and even bongs openly in the bar, the band still sounds excellent, looking every bit their age & part as pied pipers to heads and dealers with forklifts everywhere!

It's So Nice to be Stoned

from the LP White Witch, Capricorn Records, 1972



In honor of the holiday today, I felt it was pertinent to find a marijuana-related song which flies under the radar. Sure, I could’ve just as easily pulled out some Cypress Hill, or some Sublime, but I think this track is far too obscure and warrants a little more attention than it has received. My guess for why this song is mostly unknown lies mainly with the overall album on which it falls---an unsuccessful attempt at heavy blues rock by a bunch of dudes that look like extras from a Harry Potter movie set, almost “metal” due to the screeching vocals of Ronn Goedert, who comes across as part hoot-owl, part Rob Halford’s less-talented sibling. This is literally the only track from the album that I keep on my computer, but it’s a great song; frankly, his voice is really much more suited for the kind of kitschy, vaudevillian comedy you find here. No double entendres or reading between the lines needed here, just an endearing plea for all non-heads out there to cool out and turn on, “…up to 99 years in jail, for illegal possession or sale, oh, how can they think they’re right when they’re wrong? I guess they’ve never been stoned…” I’m sure in those turbulent times the band couldn’t have imagined a day where everyone who shares their sentiments would be more-or-less permitted to congregate in large groups in public and get high during the veritable ganja celebration of 4-20! Unfortunately, due to my status as a college instructor I can’t partake in the day’s festivities quite as openly as I used to; truth be told, I actually asked my students if they knew what was abreast, and did my damnedest not to look disappointed when it became clear that some of them would be attending the smokeout in town---dashing any possibility of my presence there. No worries though, you can rest assured there will be plenty of skunky merriment around the casa de Greenthumb today! Everybody have a safe day out there, and like White Witch says, “…guns and tanks and riot gas, can’t stop you from smoking grass; ah, listen to me brothers and I’ll tell you true, marijuana is good for you, oh yeah, marijuana is good for you…let’s get together now and take a toke, of that magic smoke…”

Forget the Swan

from the LP Dinosaur, Homestead Records, 1985



The concept of uncontaminated sincerity in music feels like an ancient myth more & more these days, so that when you hear tunes which do completely embody a purity and spirit of newness and exploration, well, it just feels so good. Even now, more than two decades after this release, Dinosaur Jr’s music gleams with the energy and unbridled adventure of youth; they were sued over use of the name ‘Dinosaur’, so being young smart-asses they merely added the ‘Jr.’ to keep clear of legal static. Their early releases are a gumbo of varying genres and lofty ideas: they retained more than a little of their roots from the hardcore punk scene (when they were known as ‘Deep Wound’…nice), threw in some classic and psychedelic rock touches, minor chord melodies, distortion for days and, perhaps most important of all, lots of LOUD. A good friend and I got to catch these guys on their 2005 reunion tour, and as we anxiously took our place right at the front of the stage after the opening band was done, one of the techs that was setting up the speakers and monitors looked down at us almost pityingly and boomed, “you guys might wanna move”. We motioned towards our ears, proudly indicating that we came prepared and had plugs in already---he pondered this for a moment, dispensing with his warning once again, “seriously, you guys still might wanna move.” This particular song rips through time signature changes, an extended bridge (where we get our first taste of the brittle and precarious approach to singing of guitarist J. Mascis) and volatile soloing, allowing the listener a peek into Dino’s wide-ranging playbook and giving us hints as to the many types of sounds and elements people would soon come to immediately associate with this band. I never got into Sebadoh as much but I love when Lou Barlow (bassist) sings, and minus the bridge where J takes a turn, he does a great job here sounding both fragile and eager; taking a look at the picture of all three guys on the back of this album, one would be hard pressed to find an uglier, geekier bunch of awkward-looking teens anywhere. That vulnerability remains readily apparent underneath the countless layers of flanging, screaming guitars and bombastic drumming. Problems between J and Lou were at the center of this initial lineup’s demise back in the late 80s, and that friction was still easily noticeable at the show I attended, as they each took guard on opposite sides of the stage, never looking at each other, relying upon their drummer, Murph, for each song’s cues. It sounds cliché, but I think that very tension is what forged the matchless combination of inimitable sonic elements we recognize as the sound of Dinosaur Jr.

Tarantula Scream

from the 12” EP, Iron Curtain Records, 1984



We just went through a minor spring blizzard, the kind that is so friggin’ wet it creates those mutated, monster snowflakes which are the size of potato chips; heavy as fuck, just the kind of stuff you need to make a snowman or punishing (bruising) snowballs. I can’t help but be affected by the grey and damp tones outside, rather positively, seeing as how this sort of weather is the exception around these parts, it’s very agreeable. I’ve been very blessed to get my hands on some excellent tunes lately which personify the current climate in a fantastically suitable manner, and this track happens to be the one I just can’t get out of my head. A driving, tribal drumbeat pulsates with such mechanical accuracy it almost doesn’t feel human, providing the song with a backbone as thick as an elephant’s neck; the guitars are so heavily processed it almost sounds like a refinery, smashing steel, screeching wheels on aluminum tile. A polysynth plays what sounds like a duet of melancholy violas or cellos, pushed to the back of the mix as atmosphere more than anything. It completely blew my mind when I learned that these guys were based out of Santa Barbara, California---not exactly the sound that immediately comes to mind when I think of the coast, but the more I listen to it, I can feel the vibrations of the 101, gazing out across the Pacific through the car window, waves crashing against the shore. Original copies of this 12” EP sell for over $1000, which seems awfully ridiculous right about now, but all hype aside, this one track makes the whole EP for me; the other tracks are good too, cold and danceable darkwave all around, but this number feels like gloomy salve for my soul. Looking out over mounds of intimidating and abhorrent sludge, the long intro is just fine, taking my mind adrift, far away, detached and distant. The lyrics are too murky for me to make out clearly, and my searches on the infernet came to no avail, so we’re left with just a few clear lines, “…hey filthy spider…screaming in his veins…you’ll be sorry when he’s through…and now you’d better run…I heard a tarantula scream, I heard a tarantula scream…” The monotone vocal delivery adds properly to the darkness, and matched with the simplistic & repetitive music, it generates a near-disinterested vibe that suits this kind of composition impeccably!

The Game Mixtape

Side A, 1998



Perhaps more inspiring to me than any other DJ out there, Charles ‘Feelgood’ Fields is truly a jack-of-all-trades, a renaissance man of sorts who spins several types of electronic music, lays his own beats, remixes other people’s beats, and owns his own record label---hell, he even owns his own nightclub! Feelgood is from Baltimore and was spinning records at house parties all the way back in the mid ‘80s, so by the time the rave scene was exploding in the US he was already a headlining act. Along with legendary DJ Scott Henry, he opened a weekly party/event called Fever which ran from 1992 – 2001; any promoters out there know how insanely long of a haul that is. I first heard Feelgood when I lived in Orlando, circa ’94, and I was hooked from the first eardrum-shattering bass drop; seriously, he always delivers the goods, I’ve seen him spin close to 20 times and never a letdown. As my blog indicates, I am a person who loves all different kinds of music, so I have always appreciated Feelgood’s ability to cut and mix between several varying styles of beats. This mix is a really good showcase for that diverse approach, as he blends flawlessly from tech-house to disco house, from speed garage to funky breaks…he even closes with some hypnotic Chemical Brothers madness that includes a sub-bass which can actually make you feel a little like you’re rolling, if you have good speakers. This is only one of several mixtapes that Feelgood dropped over the years, many others of which I also love---I always grabbed the Feelgood ones ‘cause they were guaranteed to be dope; for those interested, Side B of this tape was mixed by none other than Terry Mullan. Charles is still out there busting his ass, consistently being ranked in BPM & DJ magazines’ Top DJs lists, spinning at clubs from Ibiza to Moscow, Paris to NYC, and plenty of American hometowns across the United States. Behind all of it, and most importantly of all to anyone that’s ever had to deal with entertainers, Feelgood espouses his namesake to the fullest in every encounter: be that dealing with the promoters, the hipster vampires, or giving the crowd on the dancefloor what we are begging for…Charles always makes us feel good!!