It's the Time of Your Life

from the LP Banana Moon, Byg Records, 1970



The original pothead pixie, gnome-like in appearance and steeped in mystical mushroom madness, Daevid Allen remains a one-of-a-kind entity within the archival halls of rock music freakdom. Along with helping found the seminal jazz-rock band Soft Machine, he helmed the “reigns” of band-happening Gong during their most interesting period (in my humble opinion) of the early ‘70s; on this, his first solo album, he invited a few Gong members to come play with him, along with underground hero and pal Robert Wyatt & Gary Wright from Spooky Tooth. Wyatt’s drumming is absolutely balls out, and so is Allen’s guitar playing---frankly, you will rarely hear him rock harder than he did here on any other recording. Carpe diem is the theme of the day, “…it’s the time of your life, you know, when we gotta choose between yes and no…cats walkin’ in the world you find, feels much better when you’re out of your mind…won’t you help me sing this song, soon we will be gone…” Muito obrigado to C.F. for this one!!

Modern Living

from the LP Prototype, Short Circuit Records, 1982



Back in the 1980s, didn’t it seem like the future, a seemingly glorious and resplendent thing, was arriving all at once?! Surely, we thought, if personal computers and portable phones are a reality, it wouldn’t be long at all until we were all living in a modern-day translation of the Jetsons…right? Wrong. It almost seems like, as soon as the cold war began to thaw and the threat of thermo-nuclear annihilation de-escalated, innovation just stopped---well, other than making things smaller or thinner. I remember being in school in the ‘80s and doing reports on what our lives would look like by the year 2000, a nebulous and sci-fi concept back then: 3D hologram televisions, flying and/or electric cars, bloody utopic technocracies powered by the wind & the sun for christ’s sake! Not quite a decade on from that marker, a friend of mine recently summed it up best in wondering, “Where the fuck is my hooverboard?!”

Don't Break My Heart

from the 12” single, Cutting Records, 1986



A synthesis of electro beats, Miami-bass, and sugary-sweet pop melodies, “freestyle” was a genre of dance music which lasted only a short time in the mid – late ‘80s, but if you happened to lived in NYC or where I grew up in southern Florida, it was the hottest shit pumping out of the radio back then (r.i.p. Lazer 93.5)! In fact, to this day, I am totally convinced the reason why Florida rave kids were always so obsessed with big phatty breaks more than any other genre of beats was due to us all being fully saturated with this stuff. I have to admit, some of the studio effects haven’t aged terribly well, but that Miami-bass still puts the thump in your trunk, both literally and figuratively; listening to this now, I can almost taste the saltwater in the air at the beach…

Bump & Hustle Music

from the LP Tommy Stewart, Abraxas Records, 1976



What is it about a steady mid-tempo pace that makes everything feel so sultry and lascivious? I mean for real, they could be singing about Jesus and I’d still think they were trying to get in his pants, or robe, as it were. Tommy Stewart was a record producer/label owner in the Atlanta area, and although the rest of this album consists mainly of throwaway disco cuts, this track remains as one of my all-time favorite pieces of funk. The bassline and steady drumming keep your body moving, a couple of horns and a flute jazz things up a bit---but not too much, and I’m eternally glad he didn’t add any violins in the final mix, as the rest of the album is a freaking army of strings. In the liner notes to the reissue in 2003, Tommy Stewart said this track was sort of an accident, jamming in the studio to fill up album space, yet it became the only song with legs outside of that era & and persists to this day as a secret weapon for any DJs arsenal.

Lexicon Devil

from the 7” single, Slash Records, 1978



If ever there was an American rocker that truly espoused Neil Young’s sentiment of, “…it’s better to burn out than to fade away…”, Darby Crash was it---baring his needy soul to the masses for a brief, blinding flash of guttural salvation, then promptly overdosing a couple months past his 22^nd birthday. This was the group’s second single, and having changed his stage name from Bobby Pyn to Darby Crash, he mockingly rails against cults of personality, “I’m a lexicon devil with a battered brain, and I’m searchin’ for a future, the world’s my aim; so gimmie gimmie your hands, gimmie gimmie your mind…gimmie gimmie this, gimmie gimmie that…” Pat Smear’s guitar playing was full of nuance and style even back then, and Lorna Doom’s bouncing bass sits right upfront in the mix; they got drumming help from The Weirdos’ Nicky Beat, having lost their first drummer, one Donna Rhia…clearly, nicknames were compulsory.

Don't Even Know Which Day It Is

from the LP Edgar Broughton Band, Harvest Records, 1971



Subtlety was not something the Edgar Broughton Band was known for, hence the cheeky and metaphorical, Where’s Waldo-esque cover photo (“Waldo” in this case being Broughton brother Steven, hanging amidst the slaughtered cattle carcasses); if you happen to be a vegan that’s easily nauseated, I’d advise you to skip the search for Steven and just avert your eyes altogether. Perpetual cynics and skeptics, they made a reputation for themselves based mainly upon playing free gigs and shows for radical anarchists and revolutionaries; at first glance, this song would appear to be about drugs and being wasted, but it’s really a statement on collective behavior and identity formation, “…who’s the lad who’d kill his dad for the sake of the right to belong to the new confusion?...do you trust in a world that turns about when another mother’s sons are being borrowed?...can you laugh aloud while you’re crying inside for the years that you tried to belong to the old confusion?...”

Shatter the Lovely

from the LP Today It’s You, Secretly Canadian Records, 1999



Sometimes a song creeps inside your mind, wrapping you up in unfathomably soft cashmere, lulling your subconscious into a state of stoned contemplation, leaving you aloft on pillows of wonderment and myth. Sounding like it wafted in on the breeze all the way from the Himalayan mountains, this offering from the Indiana-based Marmoset curls around the listener like smoke from burning incense. Backed by an unusual yet pleasing melody, the words reveal little and add to the surreal mood “All the people wondering, they ask me questions, and I don’t know what they say, even when I listen…” The song gently fades away, awash in strings and mild touches of feedback, recoiling into its dragon cave.

Eyes of Glass

from the 12” single, ZYX Records, 1985



Riding the line between italo and the darker side of synth-pop, the duo East Wall wasn’t afraid to do some genre-bending, creating a seductively moody single here that currently trades for over $200 on the collector’s circuit; this song wouldn’t feel out of place on a Visage or Rational Youth album actually. The man handling the beats and synths is Fabrizio Chiari, a former member of the equally non-genre-specific Kirlian Camera; the other half of the duo is Wilma Notari, sounding both powerful and ethereal in her broken English, “…eyes full of tears, eyes alight in the night…eyes of glass, eyes of glass…” The age of italo was nearing the end when this record dropped, but it shows the quality never went away, only that dance music was heading in a new direction.

Red Eyes

from the LP Forever, RAS Records, 1991



While so many reggae bands fell prey to the prevailing dancehall trends that began in the early ‘80s, Israel Vibration took only a brief detour there, instead crafting an inspirational and elevated form of roots reggae that ably communicates serious messages in a humble and playful tone. All three members of Izzy Vibe had been stricken with polio as kids, a bond which gave them an obvious and gleaming gratitude for everything around them and in their lives; I can personally attest to the fact that their physical disabilities don’t cripple them in the least on stage, as their sets have oft-been my favorites at the annual Reggae on the Rocks concert out here. This song finds them celebrating marijuana and its correlation to reggae culture, backed by the always tight and dubwise Roots Radics, and I can’t help but wholeheartedly agree, idealistic though it may be, when they proclaim, “…this collie herb is the healing of the nations…”

Groove is in the Heart

from the LP World Clique, Elektra Records, 1990



Beamed to Earth from a distant galaxy more funky than our own, ostensibly the result of both good luck and chemical enhancement (wink, nudge), Deee-Lite delivered to us a slice of dance music heaven with this song, and it moves my ass as much today as it did nearly 20 years ago upon its release! The story goes that his majesty, Bootsy Collins, was given a demo of theirs through a mutual friend and he dug their vibe enough to contact them, agreeing to get involved on their debut album; his bass playing never wavers, but it’s his deep-throated funktastic backing vocals that give me the most pleasure. Although clearly influenced by the burgeoning rave scene in NYC at that time, these beats are much slower and point towards the breaks-based stuff Fatboy Slim perfected a few years later; Q-Tip’s flow during the breakdown is seamless, “…feelin’ kinda high, like a Hendrix haze; music makes motion, moves like a maze…”

Rocket Reducer #64 (Rama Lama Fa Fa Fa)

from the LP Kick Out the Jams, Elektra Records, 1969

“After some good tokes and a six pack, we can sock 'em out for you ‘til you're flat on your back; you know I got to keep it up ‘cause I'm a natural man, I'm a born hell raiser and I don't give a damn…” So much has been written about this ragtag bunch of white boys from Detroit that attempting to add anything new or uniquely enlightened to that discussion just seems a bit trite; with that being said, please forgive me the masturbatory indulgence of that which follows. Taped live over a handful of nights in the fall of ’68 at the MC5’s stomping grounds, the Grande Ballroom in Motor City, this revolutionary album endures as a mammoth middle-finger to the entirety of establishment. The liveliness & power of the crowd’s energy was matched only by the MC5’s willingness to give it their all every night they played, rocking out with their cocks out, a living concept album both about and for catalyzing multiple orgasms; lead singer Rob Tyner fucking lets you know, “…I’m the man for you baby, yes I am for you baby; said I’m the man for you baby, yes I am for you baby…I’m the man for ya…” The spellbinding dual-lead guitar attack of Fred ‘Sonic’ Smith and Wayne Kramer pulverizes your ass into a sopping-wet, bloody puddle of mush; they just give it to you, over and over, ‘cause they know we can take it. The perpetual debate over where exactly punk rock began always includes the MC5, along with Motown compatriots The Stooges, the entire mid ‘60s garage rock scene, and often the Kinks---as useless as such discussions prove to be, I’d bet the farm on these cats…come on, nobody else was saying things like, “…kick out the jams, motherfuckers!!” back in 1968…!...okay, the Fugs probably were, but they were too busy jerking off in front of Russian tanks in Prague to be bothered…but I digress… The velocity, the anarchic political stance, their grubby-nappy-asses---these dudes were punk a good 5 or 6 years before such a thing was a formal scene. Although they never changed their anti-authoritarian posturing, a slew of unsupportive record deals & the imprisonment of their mentor/manager John Sinclair proved to be enough to unravel the mighty momentum they fashioned in these, their halcyon days. Anyone with even an inkling of rebellion or sass in their souls cannot help but be stirred and enlivened by the fortitude found within the grooves of this LP; truly, both the feel & message of this recording are nearly unmitigated in their ability to stir the pot, as it were. “Total assault on the culture by any means necessary, including rock-n-roll, dope, and fucking in the streets…" Dig it, man!

Alisa

from the CD House Arrest, Ball Bearings Piñatas Records, 2002



“It's the audio experience that matters…it's what I experienced underneath my headphones, twelve at night, after being with my friends smoking a joint…that's when I was loving the art form…” So speaks one Ariel Rosenberg (a.k.a. Ariel Pink), from a 2006 interview with nerve.com, and I couldn’t do a better job of summarizing the aesthetic his otherworldly music aims for. Virtually any musician with a 4 or 8-track recorder who releases their own tunes is dubbed “lo-fi”, but that mantle is in no way big enough for all the ideas Ariel Pink comes to the table with; his songs weave familiar pop melodies into dark perverted forests, constructing misshapen and deformed odes to all that’s come before him. The comparisons to R. Stevie Moore, another artist who has always managed to avoid pigeonholing by music critics, are both valid and confirmed (from the same interview as above “…I'm dedicating my career to him… he happens to be one of the best songwriters that ever was… it feels like a conspiracy, why he isn't better known…”), and the two men are actually friends. Strictly musically speaking, he wears his obsessions on his sleeve: The Cure, Bowie, Psychedelic Furs, Simple Minds, Prince, and, in childlike spirit at least, early Ween recordings. Crackling to life like some second-rate French disco record that was very cheaply produced, this song is one of my favorites of his, not of least of which because of his warbled and fervently heartfelt vocal delivery---he sings all the parts here, in addition to handling guitars, bass, keyboards, and some “cymbals” which he beat-boxes himself, to superb effect. It all mixes together nicely, sounding very convincingly like it had been recorded 20 years before; the minimal beats and polysynths make it sound almost like Level 42, only they just did a bunch of nitrous. The chorus is so dramatic, full of dead-on ‘80s style allure, “Alisa, you’re in my heart, you’re in my dreams, you’re in my soul…” As twisted and amateur as much of his music may sound on the surface, repeated listenings will uncover a depth and skill at songcraft which seems undeniable to me; however, the numerous puzzled looks I’ve received from many of the people that I’ve tried to turn on to his music tell me that it’s an acquired taste, at the least. There is something so adventurous and carefree about his vibe, flamboyant and self-serving though it may be, you can tell his musical endeavors keep alight in him the radiance and naïve confidence of youth. Even with all the effects, what you see is what you get with Mr. Pink; he’s not being ironic, he’s just having fun. Again, the essence of this is best communicated through his own words (Discorder interview, 2005) “I like to do stuff, to create; but even if I didn't want to do that, if I wanted to sit and watch TV all day, it would just be because I want to be happy…”

I'll Get By

from the LP Crazy Horse, Reprise Records, 1971



“I get high, don’t you? As sure as the sky is blue…” Spirits have a tendency to haunt the careers & discographies of many well-known and loved rock stars: The Allmans, Skynyrd, post-Syd Floyd, and most definitely the mid-‘70s output of Neil Young---in his case, the phantom which troubled & consumed his soul was that of Danny Whitten. Danny was the guitarist for Crazy Horse, Neil’s backing band, who overdosed on heroin shortly after this, Crazy Horse’s first album without Neil along (not that Neil wasn’t involved, but the band wrote all the songs). This from-the-street love song was penned by Whitten, a sweet slice of countrified rock containing some arrestingly real and, in hindsight, harrowing lyrics; “…I’m gonna die, aren’t you? As sure as the sky is blue…”

Cuts It Up

from the 12” single, Celluloid Records, 1982



This track is so hot I literally just burnt my hands…okay, that wasn’t entirely true, but the ambiance engendered by this scorcher drags my happy ass back to another place and time, full of windmills, headspins, and foxtail hats! Probably best-known and remembered as the DJ responsible for the magnificent scratching on Herbie Hancock’s crossover hit “Rockit”, Grandmixer DST (born Derek Howells, alias Showard) is basically the reason for such unorthodox DJs of today like Swamp, Kid Koala or Qbert; he was one of the first DJs to attack the records throughout the songs rather than just basic scratching, even using his elbows, forehead or feet to mix with. The Infinity Rappers hold it down nicely, but the Night Rider-esque synthscapes are what steal the show for me.

The Only One I Know

from the 12” single, Situation Two Records, 1990



There is something about the sound of a church organ, so urgent, so dramatic---it’s as if someone was screaming, only it sounded lovely; the Charlatans always employed its sound to great success. Sure, their vibe is a direct rip-off from the first wave of C86 bands like Inspiral Carpets or Primal Scream (shit, even the slip to this 12” was a near copy of the cover done for the Stone Roses’ Sally Cinnamon 12”), but they imitate the sounds wonderfully and, candidly, they outdo many of their influences. Seemingly about an obsession over some girl, the song whirls around in a haze of delay and wah-wah, emulating the visceral impact of being in love quite well. I first owned this on a cassette single, which I promptly bought after seeing the video on MTV’s revolutionary show 120 Minutes; speaking of which, MTV has sucked stale farts for so long now, playing music videos actually seems like a novel idea again!

Dancing in Outer Space

from the 12” single, MCA records, 1979



Sampled by hip-hoppers and house-heads alike, this delicious jam contains one of best-known and most addictive melodies in dance music history; a winning combination of tight jazzy drumming, sexy saxophones, and a slinky bassline so low it could win a roller-skating limbo competition hands down. The accents are nice too, monosynths and clacking wooden blocks, making the whole affair feel like an afterparty on the moon. There is a reggae-inspired bridge/breakdown towards the beginning of the track which is just sublime, indicating the number of varying influences which seasoned the minds of Atmosfear. Founding-member and guitarist Andy Sojka co-produced a number of spacier dance tracks in the late-70s and early 80s, but Atmosfear (who went on to make boogie records after this) never sounded as innovative again as they do here.

N.W.O.

from the LP ΚΕΦΑΛΗΞΘ, Sire Records, 1992



Evolution is a process which, in my humble opinion, virtually every matter-holding entity, in any universe, is subject to the powers of; in the case of Ministry, one could never have predicted this level of aggression if you had only been subjected to Al Jourgensen’s early singles (from 1980 – 1986). Any semblance of the new romantic, synth-pop foundation from which he sprung are cremated in a metallic blur of growling guitars, industrial drumming, and found sounds like burglar alarms & audio clips from real life riots. Ministry had long been hardening their sound up to this point, but they had never sounded so consumed as they did on this, their strangely-titled fifth album. This song is proving to be prophetic, as globalization has put us all prone at the feet of a new world order…

Orgasm Addict

from the 7” single, United Artists Records, 1977



“Well you tried it just for once, found it alright for kicks; but now you found out that it’s a habit that sticks, and you’re an orgasm addict.” Thus begins the tale of Johnny (he will fuck you always and always…), and every other young boy on the planet once the cat is out of the bag. The usual stipulations and rules which had made many rock stars masters of the double-entendre over the years went out the window with punk music, and the Buzzcocks leave no doubt in anyone’s mind as to the level of obsession within their main character here, “…you're makin' out with school kids, winos and heads of state; you even made it with the lady who puts the little plastic robins on her Christmas cakes…” Extra points for the sassy cover art, and I have to agree, “…it’s a labor of love fucking yourself to death…”!

Disko Kosmische

from the CD on Moonshine Records, 1997



Back in the ‘90s, if there was one DJ whose name would never appear beneath any other, it was Derrick Carter; seriously, I know more than one crew that fraudulently put his name or picture on their flyers, just to ensure a sell-out crowd. The word “tribal” gets thrown around a lot, but never more fittingly than when it’s used to describe the unique style of house music Derrick spins; whether the tracks are inspired by disco, jazz or afrobeat, he always manages to capture a certain je ne sais quoi in his sets that tends to leave dancefloors the world over both very sweaty & with sore legs the next morning! Dropping beats that make you stomp your feet for over two decades now, Mr. Carter will forever sit tall among Chicago’s crown jewels of house music.