Murderous (Instrumental)

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Work For Love

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.

Fascinated

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.

I.O.U.

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.

Raspberry Beret

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.

Chloe Dancer > Crown of Thorns

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…

At the Party

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!

On the Beat

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.

X-Ray Eyes

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!

Ego Tripping

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)

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.

What I Got Is What You Need

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…

Dismantled King is Off the Throne

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

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.

Hips

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.

Live Wire

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

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.

On the Run

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!

Trees Come Down

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!!