from the CD Walking On A Dream, Astralwerks Records, 2009
Yes, this is absolutely some major peak-time, mid-summer, hands in the air type of shit, but I forgot to post it last summer, and then again this summer (d’oh); no worries though, because this remix, care of the incredible Atlanta-based Treasure Fingers, bumps like a motherfucker, so we can enjoy this groove all year round. Banging four-to-the-floor beats, windchimes, handclaps, and that bouncing Madonna-esque synthline all make for an awfully habit-forming song. Admittedly, the art on Empire of the Sun’s full length LP looks like Adam & the Ants meets Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon in Never-Never Land, and the lyrics are total cheese (i.e. “…all we got is tonight, that is right, ‘til first light…is it real now, when two people become one; I can feel it, when two people become one…”), but no worries, these guys are just having fun---check out the music video for the original version of this track on youtube for more proof of that (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMJjF4LHOkY&ob=av2n). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the Aussie music scene is clearly one of the healthiest in the world right now, and there seems to be no stop in sight.
Live @ Red Rocks, Morrison, Colorado, 9-26-2010
Fifteen or twenty years ago I would’ve been (or at least acted) rather nonplussed by a “Touch of Grey” encore, considering Deadheads my age weren’t supposed to like this track due to its getting so much play on MTV & VH1, and with it still being something of a catch-all love for fairweather fans of the band---but fuck that, it sounded just right (albeit, we were predicting a “U.S. Blues” encore, and are still surprised they didn’t pull one out in 3 nights up there…)!! We caught the last evening of Phil & Bobby’s trio of shows up at Red Rocks with their latest post-Dead tribe, dubbed ‘Furthur’, made up of some very familiar faces including the irrepressible Jeff Chimenti on keys, and it was my first time seeing guitarist John Kadlecik outside of his work with DSO…he continues to nail the essence of Jerry in an organic way (him singing on “He’s Gone” is surreal and amazing). It was a great show, both sets, and the crowd a fittingly stoned, happy (smelly) barefoot mess, smiling & dancing hippies as far as the eye could see. That night we were treated to a moon rise over the Denver skyline that had trippers melting into puddles of radiant bliss, the perfect closer to another season of concerts at the inimitable Rocks, our eighth year, and that mountain magic remains just as strong!
from the LP Summer Breeze, Warner Bros Records, 1972
We always tend to enjoy an Indian Summer out here in Colorado, but this is getting ridiculous: another high above 90 degrees today, UGH! It could be worse though, so I’ll quit my belly-aching and look at the silver lining---I can still get away with blaring this guilty pleasure, the windswept harmonies of which never fail to make me feel better. This song is just so fucking pleasant & agreeable, come on people, you know it’s true!! No shame in my game. This fancy-free smash hit was brought to us care of Jim Seals & Dash Crofts, easy rock maestros from Texas who were both converts to the Bahá'í Faith, something which they both got progressively more involved with over time, eventually leading them to leave the music industry altogether (excepting for one brief reunion). Thankfully (you all know how corny I think organized religion is), there’s really no sense of it in this song. It might be because this track was featured in the stoner classic Dazed & Confused, but I always feel the urge to take a big, slow hit on some tasty green whenever this track comes on…
from the LP NEU!, Brain Records, 1972
Come along and take a drive on the super-stoner highway, where we be hazin’ & phazin’ though the galaxy at twilight (thank you Choo Choo), prompted forth by the metronomic pulse of Klaus Dinger’s drumming, dubbed ‘motorik’ by those who needed it to have a name. Few krautrock bands have managed to acquire the level of veneration, both critically and amongst the underground, that his band NEU! has come to behold, and it’s no wonder---ah, that progressive post-war German spirit really comes alive here, literally and metaphorically. There aren’t a lot of touchstones which you can point to that would be indicated as influences for this manic crusade: maybe the Velvets, maybe compatriots Can to some extent, perhaps Pink Floyd most of all, having just dropped Meddle the year before this came out. Or maybe, so much LSD was being ingested that the players merely needed a way to keep moving along while being stuck inside the studio, and this persistent driving rhythm was the result. Who can say?
from the LP One Bedroom, Thrill Jockey Records, 2003
Following along with the theme above is one of my all-time favorite crews, The Sea & Cake (yes, it sounds like you are saying “the ‘C’ in cake” when it’s verbalized, and yes, it’s intended, re: Gastr del Sol’s song of the same name), something of a post-rock supergroup who counts John McEntire (brain of Tortoise) as their drummer, along with other Chicago area rock nerds like Sam Prekop (Shrimp Boat) and Archer Prewitt (the Coctails). These guys likely consider post-Bitches Brew Miles Davis as an equal influence to bands like NEU! or early Kraftwerk, but some tracks really belie their love for krautrock more than others, and this is one of ‘em; shit, they get so lost in the dreamy wonderland of opening bridges that they don’t even get around to singing a word until about 3 minutes into the song, but how about those sick-ass breaks!?! Where NEU! comes across like a car firmly attached to the ground, these guys’ penchant for synthtastic madness leaves the impression of flying through outer space…
from the LP Mommy’s Little Monster, 13th Floor Records, 1983
Darlings of the entire punk rock universe, and for good reason, Social D has been feeding the angsty masses for over three decades now (excepting for a brief recess in the mid ‘80s while singer & guitarist Mike Ness got off dope), endearing themselves to each successive generation and providing the template that Vans-era crews like Pennywise & The Offspring have used to much accomplishment; as much bickering as there was between all of punk’s subgenres through the years, I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about Social D, no lie, they were (are) truly that revered. This was their first full-length album, and though the vibe might be a tad bit immature for someone my age these days (re: “…well I love the sound when I smash the glass, if I get caught they're gonna kick my ass; my mommy's worried ‘bout the way I drink, my daddy can't figure out the way I think…they wake me up, tell me, "get to work," I slam the door, say, "shut up you jerk"; I can't wait ‘til the show tonight, when I'm with my friends every things alright…”), this shit is like the fucking BIBLE when you’re a misunderstood teenager, and so it remains timeless, like much of this great band’s lengthy archives
from the 12” single, Free Spirit Records, 1976
Tommy Stewart was one of the smoothest producers around at the outset of disco-funk, and virtually everything he touched still sounds incredible, including this mid-tempo burner from his alias ‘Cream de Coco’ with fellow producer Marlin McNichols. Hailing from Birmingham, where he still performs regularly to this day, Stewart actually taught high school for over a decade before getting involved with music seriously, an unorthodox path if there ever was one, and something that makes me respect this man in a HUGE way; imagine if all (or, frankly, a few) of the sports stars and musicians out there today gave even half a decade of their time to educating the youth! Granted, there’s definitely a sizeable chunk of entertainers I wouldn’t let near my houseplants, let alone my kids if I had any, but you know what I’m saying, in theory. This song nearly blinds you with its silky sheen, like a velvety soft down comforter covering your body and carrying you away, it could easily serve as a how-to guide for aspiring groovy cats: thick breaks, loose bass, wandering synth, shades of brass, and easy to understand instructions, “…let’s go, and do the disco strut…disco, disco…”
from the LP Funky Technician, Wild Pitch Records, 1990
Founder of the terminally hip “Diggin’ In The Crates” crew, Lord Finesse has spent the last 15+ years behind the glass in a studio, but back in the Golden Age this Bronx-bred rapper came on like he was born to rhyme, not to mention his ability to know talent when he saw it---dude had Premier, Showbiz & Diamond D laying beats for him here, long before any of them had fully blown up. DJ Mike Smooth (no relation to CL Smooth) knew his place, showing great restraint behind the decks and never over-scratching an inch. This masterful title track was the crafty work of Diamond D, and it remains absolutely mesmerizing: those ubiquitous James Brown horns, but also some killer samples from Juice crew members Biz Markie (“…damn it feels good to see people up on it…”) and Marly Marl, a very courageous choice given Finesse’s roots (re: Bronx vs. Queensbridge wars back then). The gritty & swinging beats match seamlessly with Finesse’s rhymes, which come hard as fuck, predicting the Wu-Tangs and Mobb Deeps of the world that would soon follow, including one of the earliest declarations of “…nigga, please…” on wax. Kick back, relax, and enjoy some masters at work!
from the EP oOoOO, Disaro Records, 2010
To quote Beck, a true master of the headiest steez, “…I'm just talking about a chorus like, 'Can you feel my bass drum?' That's potent, you can't even mess with that. There's things embedded in that that you can't communicate in any other way…” Can you FEEL my motherfucking bass drum?!?!! This is a ridiculously sultry cover/re-edit of a late ‘80s freestyle track by Nocera called “Summertime Summertime”, and although the original is fresh as well, this redux is some serious panty-droppin’, bottle service-havin’, slo-mo-slangin’ moistness, on the real. Having one of the more cryptic (and difficult to know how to pronounce) names in modern music, oOoOO is actually Chris Greenspan of San Francisco; this newer style of eerie electronics, essentially a mashup of hip-hop beats and coldwave synth-pop, is being called “drag” and “witch house” in the press---both of which suck as names. How about calling it “Ouija beats”? Just kidding. Whatever you want to dub this, it’s hard to deny those macabre & detached, yet strikingly bucolic & melodic, beats! His new EP drops in a week, so don’t sleep… I realize that summer is now officially come and gone for another year, but come on, “…take me, take me to the par-ty, summer time, summer time…” That’s a vibe I can get behind all year!
from the LP No Rest for the Wicked, Montross Records, 1976
As much as society is inclined to worship the champions of any given pursuit (music, writing, acting, sports, etc…), one has to wonder just how many prodigious individuals, perhaps some with talents even eclipsing the stars we know, have been denied ultimate success and, thus, fallen by the wayside; scientifically speaking, the firm probability is that there are exponentially more human beings with equal (or paramount) skills who never get the acclaim, and those precious few that make it are near assuredly not the “greatest of all time”, strictly speaking anyways. Bored yet? That was a long (baked) way to say: Iowa guitarist Billy Lee Janey & his power trio deserve more props than they get. I briefly lived in Indiana back in the ‘90s, and I had a weed connection in a town called Kokomo that had me driving over there (in a borrowed car which I should have treated better) about once a month to re-up, and the guy’s uncle was a HUGE Truth & Janey fan; apparently, he’d worked the stage at a joint in Bloomington back in the day where these guys played a few shows in the mid ‘70s, and it left such an imprint on him that he never tired of re-telling us the same bone-headed tales of endless Thai stick and stacks of Marshall amps. The Midwest is a tough place to make it big, even though it’s their population that has largely floated the perpetual touring of classic rock and metal bands over the years, the fact is: you often gotta move to one coast or the other to improve your chances, something these talented young men never got around to. These riffs are massive man, bigger than King Kong, and countless more are found scattered throughout this entire album, their sole full-length offering and a true testament to the real working ‘70s rock underground.
from the LP When the Red King Comes, Elephant Six Recording Co, 1997
“It seems like I'm in danger, distracted by all that I see, and even the nodding strangers can tell what is happening to me; well, the boats we ride have been leaking lately, and the tunnel of frozen time has been increasing greatly…” Warbling along in a gauzy psychedelic haze made up of acoustic guitar, a xylophone & some heavily processed (damaged) effects, this song fully hits the mark for me: a perfect combination of existential, near quasi-paranoid, lyrics and bittersweet minor chord melodies, emerging like the taciturn parable of some ‘luded hermit prophet. Coming along in the second wave of Elephant Six crews, Athens’ own Elf Power always stood out from the pack for me, and though they still relied heavily upon the shared neo-psych sensibilities of that entire collective, their songs always seemed a bit more ethereal and spacey than their peers’ more fey endeavors; that said, most of the heavyweights from that scene had cameos on this LP, including Jeff Magnum (that’s him sitting in on guitar and tossing off one of his signature lilting harmonies in response to the lyric, “…then, to my friends, I'll be gone, and they'll gather and put me away; I hope Jeff will sing me a song, and everyone else will play…”). Anyone who’s gone through rough patches in life for long enough to make trouble your friend knows that always-sinking feeling which often follows you onto a better path, waiting for the other boot to fall, ‘cause it always did, “…there’s a knot in my throat, and the arrow files close, closer all the time…”
from the 12” single, Sound Proof Quality Records, 1983
The resurgence of vocoders in popular music has got my mind divided: on the one hand, when used atmospherically or oddly (see: Black Moth Super Rainbow), it can still be a thing of strange beauty---but, when utilized in place of actual talent or ability (see: 90% of the crap they are calling “hip-hop” these days), it begins to grate on one’s nerves. Thankfully, this minimal Italo nugget from established producer & record label owner Alessandro Novaga and his partner in crime Giorgio Paganini falls into the former category, employing the vocoder mainly as another level of rhythm, but also in a creepy manner which makes the words mostly undecipherable; frankly, there’s an ominous vibe running through the core of this whole track, like an ‘80s horror movie on speed or something. This duo, known here as ‘Cellophane’, also mixed and/or produced a handful of other in-demand Italo cuts under a string of differing aliases, but this song is my absolute favorite.
from the 7” single, Buddah Records, 1971
With so many media sources telling them where to go, how to act, what to wear & who to like, it’s become increasingly difficult for young people to feel comfortable in their own shoes at any given moment, always plagued with an obligation to perform as life becomes gradually more plugged in 24-7, becoming something like a large-scale reality series. I’m glad to not be growing up in these times, and although they sometimes get on my nerves (what with those skinny-ass jeans making the college halls look like a damn parade of chicken legs…), I can empathize with these kids’ condition---it’s a tough time to be an adolescent. Famed multi-instrumentalist & singer Curtis Mayfield knew that troubling times often left the youth of our nation in the hardest of jams, and in many ways he spent his career speaking to those in need, shining a light for listeners stumbling through the dark; when he tells you to “move on up”, he isn’t speaking literally, dig? “…hush now child, and don’t you cry, your folks might understand ya, by & by; just move on up, towards your destination, though you may find, from time to time, complications…” Take heart my young brothers & sisters, war is not eternal, and neither are the judgments of other people---you are all beautiful. Word.
from the EP The Visit, New Hormones Records, 1980
You’d be hard pressed to find a musical movement in the past century or so that encompassed as many differing sounds & influences as did the post-punk scene, where having no boundaries or limits on one’s creativity and experimentation was the norm; in so doing, that scene fashioned some of the most memorable (and least classifiable) groups in rock history, including the exceedingly bizarre and enigmatic Ludus. Formed in Manchester by the radical feminist artist named Linder (she’s the proudly responsible party behind that incredible collage which adorned the cover of the Buzzcocks’ 45 for “Orgasm Addict”), their music was expansive, aggressive, assertive, but always funky & jazzy as well; it’s hard to front on lyrics like these, “…abuse my sexuality, I’ll use my sexuality…you take it and make it, you take it and make it…commodity, I am your property, commodity, I am your property…”
from the LP Fly Like An Eagle, Capitol Records, 1976
Some musicians have remained utterly ubiquitous, through successive generations, in the collections of people who like to have a good time: Bob Marley, The Stones, AC/DC, and many others, including perennial party-time favorites the Steve Miller Band. One can be fairly certain that, at any given social gathering which includes alcohol and/or weed, a sizeable majority of the people there (regardless of age or gender) will own, at least, the Greatest Hits album. Miller grew up and cut his chops in the country’s midsection, being born in Milwaukee, living in Dallas for a period, then winding up back in Wisconsin for college; presumably, his experiences there played a large role in his capable ability to craft songs which seemed uniquely American, and yet timeless, “…this here’s the story ‘bout Billy Joe & Bobbi Sue, two young lovers with nothin’ better to do, than sit around the house, get high & watch the tube; here’s what happened when they decided to cut loose…” We went to see him play at Red Rocks a few summers ago, a blissful experience made almost religious by the sheer power of having an entire crowd of thousands sing along to nearly every song the man played us, a haphazard unison of loose (see: not square) souls, including Miller himself, who humbly & sincerely comes off like he’s still just one of us.
from the LP Songs from the Big Chair, Mercury Records, 1985
Regular readers of this blog know that I don’t often wade into the slurry pit of bullshit that is American politics, so please forgive me this one instance to share a couple of thoughts I’ve had after learning more about some of the fucktarded nutbags who won a few of our nation’s primary elections last night and over the past couple months: (ahem…) okay, um, REALLY??!!? Given the statistics we’ve recently heard regarding how one fifth of our population actually believes that our president is a foreign-born muslim, it must be those same lurching imbeciles who are turning out to vote, which is fucking scary people. I’m not a cheerleader for the Dems either---as I’ve previously stated, I think virtually ALL politicians at the federal (and increasingly, the state) level are crazy douchebags and narcissists of the highest order; that said, the alternatives on the other side appear to be far more harrowingly stupid and out of touch, which is what makes a GOP sweep in November such a sincerely frightening & horrifying probability. Not to mention the fact that our Supreme Court is now heavy with young social conservatives… The deeper, and more petrifying, reality this wave symbolizes is the failure of our educational system, en masse; poor people voting against their own interests out of some delusional resolve that we need to go backwards instead of forwards…I won’t even venture into the sickeningly elevated levels of religious zealotry that is linked to that crowd. In order for a democracy to work correctly, the people have to be well educated--- otherwise, we become held captive to the reactionary perils of emotional idiots. (deep sigh) Okay, ‘nuff said.
from the 7” single, Grape Records, 1969
“…the ladder get high, the ladder get high…” Leading, and attempting to encourage, a discussion on race & ethnicity with 18-25 year olds is awfully difficult these days, with them all having been saturated by the credo of political correctness since their inceptions, kids are so afraid of potentially sounding racist that conversation is wholly diminutive & stalled out. The trouble with that lies in the fact that we, as a culture being far more diverse than any other nation on Earth, desperately need healthy and informed exchange on race more than ever. The simplistic notion that electing a black president would somehow catapult society into a post-racial existence was both amateurish & uninformed in scope, because the real latent effect of said presidency has been an uncovering of many Americans’ hidden fears & long-standing prejudices, attitudes that our P.C. culture had disguised as increased tolerance, revealing a sizable fraction of the nation that’s almost every bit as prone to histrionic fallacies of logic when dealing with race-based issues (um, concocting stories about beheaded white people in the Arizonan desert much??!?) as we were 40+ years ago. I never have found any solid information on Carlton Alphonso, other than that he was a rock steady singer from Jamaica in the late ‘60s, releasing this and at least two other singles. I can listen to these early, rough reggae cuts all the day long…
from the LP Ladies Choice, Montage Records, 1982
Big guns and lingerie seem like too obvious a match, but the combination really sets it off on the cover of this early ’80s boogie LP from Detroit funkateers Shotgun; similar in style and approach to other rust belt funk crews from the era (i.e., Ohio Players, Dayton, ADC Band, et al.), they never had any major charting singles, thus leaving their ample discography to languish. This, the title track to Shotgun’s sixth album, got some decent play on urban radio stations upon its release, but it represents a clear shift away from the heavier funk-rock found on their earlier releases. Admittedly, the cover photo is perhaps more memorable than the music, but this still grooves pretty good.
from the CD Walking On A Dream, Astralwerks Records, 2009
