from the LP Kraftwerk 2, Philips Records, 1972
It’s always an illuminating experience to seek out the earlier recordings of a band who went on to become massively influential or popular, even if the music itself bears little resemblance to what came later, imbued with an adventurousness that typically gets sanded down after more time in the music business. Freed from the limitations of using real drummers, Kraftwerk (which is German for “power station”) really begin to come into their own on this, their second LP; to be honest, I doubt they would have changed their sound so quickly if not for the departure of drummer Klaus Dinger (to form his own band, the legendary NEU!), but it put machines at the helm of their rhythms, leaving Ralf & Florian free to experiment with all manner of other instruments & electronics. The influence of producer Conny Plank can not be over-stated, as he worked with virtually every electronic musician of that period, cross-pollinating the vibes of several krautrock crews; my guess is that the early work of Popol Vuh or Kluster served as their biggest inspiration here, perhaps too much so, as Kraftwerk have been known to refer to these early albums as “archaeology”. As young & abstract as this piece comes across, you can’t deny the inherent warmth found within that droning repetition, an approach the boys would later perfect after a little more time in the studio.
from the 12” single, Elektra Records, 1997
Other than the Neptunes, no production team or single individual had more influence over the evolving sound of hip-hop beats in the ‘90s than did Virginia native Timothy ‘Timbaland’ Mosley; coincidentally, him & Pharrell actually went to the same high school. Likewise, you’d be hard-pressed to find a female rapper that did as much to push the game forward, during the same time period, as did Melissa ‘Missy’ Elliot, delivering rhymes in a cut-up, collage style that almost reminds me of Doom at times: never stuck on one flow for very long, but taking great care to spit funky phrases full of words that aren’t expected. One of the first collisions of Tim & Missy’s talents occurred on Aaliyah’s debut album, which they mostly wrote & produced, but it wasn’t until this single and subsequent LP that the duo would be working all for themselves. Although not known for traditional sampling, Tim grabbed a smoking hot loop from Ann Peebles’ “I Can’t Stand the Rain” to serve as the foundation for this track, overtop of which he laced what would later become his signature skitter beats, along with some thunder and a continuous cricket chirp; meanwhile, Missy unleashes some of the smoothest & most endearingly quirky raps you ever heard, “…when the rain hits my window, I take a {inhaling a hit & coughing} me some indo, me and Timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle, we so tight that you get our styles tangled; sway your dosie-do like you loco, can we get kinky tonight, like CoCo, so-so, you don't wanna play with my yo-yo, I smoke my hydro on the d-low…”
from the LP Melted, Goner Records, 2010
This kind of fuzzed out garage rock revivalism, which was largely incited by the coming of the White Stripes at the end of our last century, shows no sign of letting up anytime soon, and few do it as well as Ty Segall, a young man who really does this genre justice by his lo-fi, high-on-drugs (exclaiming in one song 'I'm on drugs, Lemmy from Motorhead gave em to me') approach to the music. Although a grip of crews playing this type of lumbering mess often come off as insincere, or at the very least like they are merely going through the motions, Mr. Segall comes across as if he is playing to save his stoned soul…I fucking FEEL you man!!! Coming to life on a shoestring acoustic hook and tinker-toy drumming, it could almost be precious--- well, that is until Ty opens his mouth: full of pouting Jagger-esque (perhaps more accurately, Johansen-esque, although he was merely aping Mick in the first place I suppose, but I digress…) strut one second, then collapsing into shambling Mascis-ian brokenness the next. Segall’s sharp ear for a catchy melody is affirmed in spades here, and he fucking knows it, turning the bridge of a chorus (starting around 1:10) into an extended coda because it’s so goddamn addictive; frankly, he could’ve rode that last bit into the ocean for another 10 minutes or so and we’d still be begging for more! Bring it motherfucker!!
from the LP Radio City, Ardent Records, 1974
What a pisser man---just 4 months after the passing of lead singer & guitarist Alex Chilton, the founding bassist in Big Star, Andy Hummel, died on Monday from complications related to a long, hard-fought battle with cancer. While I have to admit that “power pop” has never been my favorite genre of music, these guys brought just enough hasty distress & nihilistic irony to their proceedings that all the sugar felt successfully balanced by some smoked salt; and man was this stuff sugary, harmonies so sweet they could send Belle & Sebastian or Paul McCartney running to the dentist with rotting teeth! This song is probably the band’s best known cut, perhaps the most defining slice of power pop ever put to wax, cotton candy chord progressions tempered by Chilton’s lascivious lyrics, “… September gurls do so much, I was your butch and you were touched; I loved you, well never mind, I've been crying all the time…when I get to bed, late at night, that's the time she makes things right… December boys got it bad, December boys got it bad…” Even misspelling the word ‘girls’ in the title was a wry, cutesy move that makes it hard to tell if anything beyond the music was meant to be taken seriously (as well as revealing their glam rock / bubblegum pop influences). Their music has inspired generations of artists, from having ambient influence over the Paisley Underground & mod revival scenes, to being the absolute reason for a band like Teenage Fanclub’s existence, securing Big Star the recognition they didn’t receive back in the day.
from the EP Jar of Flies, Columbia Records, 1994
It didn’t take an intuitive genius to know that Alice in Chains lead singer Layne Staley was a tortured man, being that he wore his heart on his sleeve no matter how damaged & injured it might have been, baring his soul to us fans in a way that few performers dare even approach; as time wore on, his consistently worsening physical appearance was enough for anyone with half a brain to understand. That said, it didn’t make things any less shocking or depressing when hearing the news of his death in 2002, after an extended period of alienation from friends & family. This track was recorded at a time when Layne’s addictions were just beginning to get the best of him, and having become something of rock star he watched his personal struggles become fodder for the eager press, something which none of us “regular folk” who struggled with drug problems can even conceive of. Maybe that’s why he just faded away, more content to die alone rather than blowing up in front of the cameras, “…we chase misprinted lies, we face the path of time, and yet I fight, and yet I fight this battle all alone; no one to cry to, no place to call home…my gift of self is raped, my privacy is raked, and yet I find, yet I find, repeating in my head: If I can't be my own, I'd feel better dead…” We all know what it feels like to hate yourself, or parts of yourself, from time to time, or that feeling of sickening embarrassment when others learn your dark secrets, the unrelenting shame felt when you let down people who you respect; in hindsight, it’s tempting to presume he may have meant the words he sings here, but an interview he gave closer to his death reveals a more complex picture, (given just months before his death) “…drugs worked for me for years, and now they’re turning against me; now I’m walking through hell… I know I made a big mistake when I started using this shit; it's a very difficult thing to explain…I know I’m near death…I know I have no chance, it's too late…I never wanted to end my life this way…” May he rest in the peace he couldn’t find here on Earth.
from the 12” single, XL Recordings, 1992
This one was friggin’ HUGE people! Along with their smash “On A Ragga Tip”, this track by the Essex-reared duo of Slipmatt & Lime (a.k.a. SL2) proved to be an instrumental transition point at the genesis of breakbeat’s evolution into jungle. Producers were just beginning to experiment with different time signatures around this time, and after snagging a perfect loop from Wayne Smith’s “Under Me Sleng Teng”, SL2 constructed a groove which sounded ever-so slightly different from the standard breakbeat tracks going around at that time, a rhythm & vibe which would prove to be wholly prescient in the year or so after this release; it’s mind-blowing when one realizes the staggering amount of worldwide influence that music made on the tiny island of Jamaica has had over the years! Big ups to the old school jungle & breakbeat massive!!!
from the LP Specials, Two Tone Records, 1979
Getting arrested is no fun when you’re an adult---I suppose most people would argue that it’s never “fun” to get popped, but when you’re a dumb adolescent kid it can be a real rush, particularly given the badge of honor that such events bestow upon one in the eyes of other young delinquents, but you also know it will be erased from your record as soon as you turn eighteen (shit, so many people celebrated their 18th’s even harder due to the sudden clean slate, and fittingly, most of us had fucked that up within the year…d’oh). I found myself sitting in a downtown Cleveland jail well before my 19th birthday, on a minor possession charge that would’ve normally been a ticket, but I still had an out of state ID so they threw my ass in jail, on a Friday night no less (double d’oh). It would have been smarter to heed the advice that the Specials were giving rude boys & rude girls in this famous cover track, “…stop your messin’ around, better think of your future; time you straightened right out, creating problems in town…” Although the lesson was duly noted, it took a couple more big fuckups & seven years of ducking the warrants that were trailing me before the lesson was truly learnt. Frankly, tucked away in my nest of a suburban life these days, it all seems so far away. This one goes out to a particular niece & nephew of mine, although I think you’ve both mostly sharpened your games accordingly; sure love you guys!
from the LP Body Talk, R&B Records, 1981
It’s been hotter than a motherfucker lately, and all the weather people are telling us that there’s no end in near sight, so it seems appropriate to roll out one of my all-time favorite proto-house cuts. Taking one look at the cover photo for this LP, one wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that perhaps the UK-based crew Imagination was the gayest group ever & that “Burnin’ Up” was possibly not just a fittingly flammable choice for a song name but rather the band’s mantra (I’m queer, so I can say that…), but the tunes these guys churned out in the early ‘80s were both dancefloor staples and highly influential to the then-nascent beats scene; the main piano riff from this track wound up inspiring an awful lot of early house producers, being oft-sampled and becoming an iconic melody unto itself. Better go buy your sunblock in bulk honey!
from the LP At War with the Mystics, Warner Bros. Records, 2006
Part of being a good entertainer is knowing what your audience digs, what they hate, what will make them smile & what really makes them grooooove; well, it’s no secret that Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne has got that part of the equation completely figured out, so much so that recent tours of theirs have resembled a lysergic circus as much as a rock concert (I realize this is a point of contention for some---get over it, have some fun). I’ve always been very “hit or miss” when it comes to the Lips discography, tending to lean towards the early indie stuff more than the last decade or so of orchestral madness, but when they do hit it for me, it hits hard. Knowing that Coyne famously roomed with one of Texas’ larger LSD chemists for a while back in the day makes me wonder if their gradual evolution, from abrasive punks to cartoon-like anti-paranoia superheroes, has had less to do with getting recognized than it has with keeping an acid-damaged mind happy and far from the heebie-jeebies. Whatever the raison d'être, I was totally blown away by their presentation a few summers ago when they shared a bill with Ween at Red Rocks (note: it took the stage crew longer to clean up the Lips’ mess than it took to assemble Ween’s entire set): opening with “Bohemian Rhapsody”, the confetti cannons, the giant hands (which, incidentally, is what your extremities start to feel like when you’ve been using ketamine a lot…), the dancing aliens & santa clauses, and closing with a cover of “War Pigs” while images of Bush, Cheny, Condoleeza, et al. flashed continuously on the screen behind them---all of the above tricks pointing to a truly cagey performer, which at least partially explains their place as one of the strangest and longest-running alt-rock bands still in existence.
from the LP Frumpy 2, Philips Records, 1971
Many musicians, writers & artists in post-war Germany have been, justifiably, consumed with issues relating to human rights and the continuing plight of many groups around the globe, including what is perhaps the worst treated ethnic group in all of Europe: the Romani, or ‘Gypsies’. With lineage stretching back into northern India, this group of people began migrating west around 250 BCE, and they’ve been met with hostility at virtually every step of their journey it seems, culminating in the murder of over half a million Roma in Hitler’s concentration camps during WWII; however, unlike other groups afflicted by the Nazi disease (i.e. Jews, gays, the disabled, etc…), the Romani people have continued to face prejudice and hatred from all corners of the continent. Inhabiting the same, more western sounding, corner of the Krautrock hash den as Jane, the Hamburg-based Frumpy delivered a touching story here, establishing something of a creation myth for the Roma, conceiving of them as being higher than the rest of us, “…God saw that everything was nice, but there had to be a creature who looked like me and you…so he took some earth, and put it in a form, but the oven wasn't hot enough, so the white man was born…so he took some earth, and put it in a form, but the oven was too hot now, so the black man was born…I have to build another creature…he has to get a special blow…so he took some earth, and put it in a form, an the oven was right now, so the gypsy was born…go to the top of the mountain and look, do you see this land around? Go where you like to be, 'cause you and the gypsy will be free…” Yes, that is a female singing, the indomitable Inga Rumpf!
from the LP ’93 ‘til Infinity, Jive Records, 1993
A good example of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Oakland crew the Souls of Mischief brought a decidedly golden age vibe in a time when West Coast gangsta rap had just dethroned their old school sound, leaving this insanely talented crew to be largely forgotten by the mainstream; had these cats rolled out a few years before, and in NYC instead of the Bay area, I’d have bet the farm on them being huge, yet they somehow remain even less known than similar late-comers like the Pharcyde. This entire album is a fluid display of hip-hop mastery, from the hot potato rhyming scheme to the sick ass beats (the title track here features a very spacey Billy Cobham sample), sounding much more like a polished veteran set as opposed to a debut; also, lots of weed talk, which always endears an artist to me, “…yo, I can dig it, here's a 40, swig it, ya know it's frigid, I got em chillin’ in the cooler; break out the ruler, damn, that's the fattest stoke I've ever seen; the weather’s keen in Cali, gettin’ weeded makes her feel like Maui, now we feel the good vibrations, so many females, so much inspiration; I get inspired by the blunts too…” Anyone who loves Tribe-era rap but is unfamiliar with the Souls would be well served to procure this LP immediately, if not sooner.
from the LP The Hunter, Blue Thumb Records, 1969
“Sock it to me biscuit!!” Everything about this woman captivates me: her humidor of a voice, the wild wigs, those legs which can make even the gayest of men pant & moan, Beyond the bloody Thunderdome for fucks sake (“…but how the world turns; one day, cock of the walk, next, a feather duster…do you know who I was? Nobody, except on the day after, I was still alive; this nobody had a chance to be somebody… ain’t we a pair, raggedy man…”)!!! It can sometimes be difficult to square the image of this howling & screeching woman, sounding every bit the bold soul sister, with that of a battered wife---but, it’s true that Tina wound up suffering through Ike’s bullshit for nearly another decade beyond this LP’s release, and therein lies the human complexity so common to all of us, yet never any less confounding. That being said, the fact that she left him and managed to re-emerge in the ‘80s as an international superstar (the likes of which Ike never saw) always warms my heart; you gotta love the statement she released through a spokesperson upon Ike’s death in 2007: “Tina hasn’t had any contact with Ike in more than 30 years. No further comment will be made.” That pretty much sums it up.
from the 12” single, Factory Records, 1984
Propelled along by their rhythm section’s brisk pace (the minimal production of which does very little to help their argument about not being Joy Div / New Order wannabes… I’m just saying…), Scottish crew The Wake clearly didn’t miss a beat after losing their original bassist right before this single dropped: that being none other than Bobby Gillespie, who went on to play drums with the Jesus & Mary Chain before fronting Primal Scream. In fact, this sound is remarkably tighter than that found on the Wake’s first album (sorry Bobby), indicating the maturation which would present itself in full on their next LP. Hath my whore-like lust for synthesizers any point of cease? HELL to-the NO! That melodica heard in the background, tooting only 2 notes…slays me.
Sole Unlimited Tapes, 1999
Was Dave ‘3D’ Sewell the hardest working junglist in the Midwest? It sure as hell seemed that way back in the mid - late ‘90s, running Forte Records with fellow Chi-town alum Mike ‘Snuggles’ Shum and playing up to 4 parties a week when things were at their peak around ’98/’99, many of them parties he helped to organize; however, while other jungle DJs of that time (like Dara, Dieselboy, AK1200, et al… most of whom were younger than Dave) were releasing major-label CD mixes and going on world tours, the Windy City All-Stars remained firmly entrenched in Chi. I’ve heard guys from the East coast say that when given the opportunity to partake of the growing success, Dave & others scoffed at the notion of leaving Chicago behind---well, as much as coming from a town like Chi or Detroit does engender a certain level of cocksure attitude in its DJs, it’s more likely that their fierce localism led to a dearth of offers rather than merely them shunning the mainstream. Whatever the truth is, I think it’s a fucking shame that Dave 3D won’t be remembered by most when thinking of the best American junglists, as he surely deserves mention in the same breath as the big-wigs listed above. These Jungle Book boxsets (vols. 1 -3) were the epitome of the Midwest’s jungle scene, and not surprisingly, he appeared on each volume; Dave is content living the quiet life these days, amidst the lakes of northern Illinois.
from the LP Suburban Tours, Olde English Spelling Bee Records, 2010
Sounding like a mix between Ariel Pink, Ducktails & early Ween, with a healthy dose of krautrock (ala Electric Sandwich) thrown in there, all melting together on a sunny summer’s day, this lo-fi gem of an album comes to us from the capable hands of Texas native Joe Knight; now a resident of the Bay Area, this album was an extension of him looking around at all the changes which had taken place, (in his own words) “…I had just moved to San Franciso — which is a real, dense city — from Dallas — which is really just a suburb — so I was probably thinking about the built environment around me and how different it was now, and how fucked up it was then…” Although some have tried grouping him into the chill-wave set, I don’t think those comparisons pan out at all--- particularly given the fact that he’s openly admitted to ripping off Chic for much of this album, rather than trying to ape elevator music like some would have you believe. Whatever the inspiration, it’s sloppy in all the right ways, like those door-chimes that sound their lazy call when you enter a liquor store: woozy, weathered & letting one know that good things lay before you…
from the 12” single, CBS Records, 1984
Even though rap music, with beats & an MC, has certainly triumphed far beyond any plausible measure of success, I would argue that it was hip-hop’s cyborg cousin, electro, which has wound up influencing a much broader range of musical subcultures in its wake: breaks, techno, Miami bass, and freestyle all used pieces of the electro template for varying portions of each scene’s particular blueprints. One of the first, and probably most successful & remembered, freestyle acts was Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam, produced and assembled by the famous NYC crew Full Force; although they are most remembered for their #1 hits “Head to Toe” and “Lost in Emotion”, it’s this debut single which has never let me go, eternal favorite to the pop-n-lock set and all around explosion of bump. Puerto Rican power baby!
from the 12” single, Nettwerk Records, 1987
One of the more successful experimental crews from the ‘80s, Australia’s Severed Heads had already transitioned into a more mainstream sound (albeit, no less dark) by the time of this hopping single (laugh at the bad pun), one which undoubtedly had a major impact on Trent Reznor as he was preparing his debut album. Composer, and long-standing band member, Tom Ellard explains the name choice, “…we were called Mr. & Mrs. No Smoking Sign, because that was really ugly; then, we wanted to fool people that we were industrial, and it worked… Severed Heads was a really dumb name, so that’s what stuck, forever… I hate it, by the way…” With that sarcastic vibe in mind, I’m leaning towards this track being merely metaphor, although it could espouse something darker & kinkier all together (re: pediculophilia, ala Lords of Acid’s “Crablouse”), “…I am covered in filth, at least it's my own; my smell, well, you know you can't get higher…one day in my life is six in your world; with filth, it's all a little faster…I am off the leash, and hot with fleas, family couldn't be stronger; I am off your leash and hot with fleas…” Ellard has been quoted as saying that this track was written at a bad time for feelings, but a good time for wising up, which is a perpetual state of being for some of us.
from the LP Alive!, Casablanca Records, 1975
Following along with the bloodsucking theme above, this smoking hot number from my first true musical obsession, KISS, leaves no doubt at all as to the allegory being made herein, “…she'll always be there, tryin’ to grab a hold; she thought she knew me, but she didn't know… parasite lady, parasite eyes…” This was the album that saved KISS’ ass, and even with them having admitted to over-dubbing some of the crowd noise and guitar parts (big fucking deal), it still provides some of the most terrifyingly fast & dark versions of their early album cuts that one can experience; this was one of Ace Frehley’s initial attempts at song-writing for the band, although he was still too unsure of his own voice, so he gave Simmons the track to sing. Not only is the main riff menacing enough to warrant its own restraining order, but the blistering solo Ace peels off (starting at around 2:15) is so crushingly heavy that, I swear, you can almost see the mountains around here recoiling in fear when I play this loud enough…
from the LP Kraftwerk 2, Philips Records, 1972
