Slave Driver

from the LP Catch A Fire, Island Records, 1973



Looks like another one of the world’s foremost neglectors of human rights, one Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, has been overthrown and sent running following months of unrest in the streets of Tunisia (nah-nah nah nah, hey hey hey, goodbye!), something journalists are already dubbing the Jasmine Revolution, after the country’s official flower; a relatively small nation for the northern African region where it lies, Tunisia (along with Egypt & Turkey) has been at the forefront of progressive Arab nations (see: firmly resisting theocratic rule) since it’s independence in the mid ‘50s, but Ben Ali had done much to dismantle that---not in the direction of religious rule mind you, but in the direction of other nationalistic figureheads (see: Chavez, Castro, Mugabe) who have horrendous human rights records, and habitually refuse to leave until they are forced out. As with all successful revolutions, it creates an instant vacuum of power which can be easily exploited and misused if the reigns fall into the wrong hands, but having an educated population in Tunis who won’t settle down until their desire for true freedom is satisfied, there truly is the potential for real & radical change. Raise a spliff (or a hash pipe, if you’re in Tunisia) to freedom!!

Dance the Mutation

from the LP Cyborgs Revisited, Get Back Records, released: 2003, recorded: 1975



Americans tend to be astoundingly naïve about our neighbor to the north Canada, presuming that it’s just full of nice, aloof, white people living quiet, dimly humorous lives in a snow globe (largely thanks to the hilarious brilliance of Strange Brew, a film whose witty jibes at U.S. stereotyping many oblivious people here took literally… whoops); in fact, Canada (in the big cities anyways) comprises one of the most progressive & liberal nations in the world, not to mention diverse. Due to it’s proximity to Toronto, a major metropolis by any country’s standards, it shouldn’t be too surprising that Hamilton, Ontario would spawn a band as raw and ahead-of-their-time as was Simply Saucer, a group better known for being one of the now-famous Lanois brothers’ first production credits (essentially just hitting the “record” button at this primitive stage in their career). As a result of Saucer’s gritty and, at times, proto-punk leanings, critics constantly trace their lines of influence directly to acts like the Velvet Underground & the Stooges, and although they were clearly touched by those vibes as well, its entirely apparent to me that the Rolling Stones were really at the core of what they were trying to do here; this song in particular comes from that same sordid & squalid place that Mick & the boys called home before things got predictable, sounding like a further deconstruction of the Stones’ already well-damaged “Stray Cat Blues”.

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!

My Baby's Got E.S.P.

from the 7” single, P&P Records, 1976



This early release finds spaced out disco-soul deity Patrick Adams standing with his feet firmly planted in two worlds: the 4-part soul harmonies in the vocal track & the insanely epic disco dwelling within those strings & percussion, chronologically moving away from the former and into the later, and though it’s lacking his signature Moog craziness, this effort is no less amazing or ambitious for it’s absence… okay, maybe one of Adams’ signature squiggly synthlines could take this to another level, but it still kicks ass. The violins really steal the show here (don’t they always…), taking what comes across as a relatively sing-songy keyboard riff and turning it into a real swell of emotive force; not surprisingly, those strings got sampled in more than one late ‘90s house track.

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.

The Ballad of Curtis Loew

from the LP Second Helping, MCA Records, 1974



It’s incredible to me what a fucking swindle most classic rock-n-roll really was, a true & thorough pillaging of every last recorded blues note that had ever been plucked, and not a single one of them (Page, Clapton, Townshend, Richards, Beck, Lennon, Davies, et al.) ever had to pay those visionary brothers (or their families) a dime for getting butt-rich off of their lives’ harrowing truths & hardships. I suppose that alone wouldn’t be such a big deal in & of itself (past is prologue, and all that…), but those same bands were then so quick to turn around and sue the fuck out of (mainly) black men in the ‘80s & ‘90s (and they will still sue anyone to this day) who were merely sampling a few seconds of their already ripped off licks, hypocrisy of the highest order if you ask me. In actuality, those rock heroes owe much of their surreal privileged lives to brave and oppressed gentlemen like the one depicted in this essential cut by Skynyrd, cats who knew full well that their musical talent would never be enough to change their status in the culture which they then lived, resigned to the therapy of strum…and some wine…word.

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!

Live On Haight

Side B, Housewares, 1998



“…play them vibes for us…” Yes, it’s another legendary DJ from Chicago…I know, I know, big fucking surprise. Look, it just can’t be helped that there’s so many heady dudes around spinning mad freshness who also happen to hail from Chi, it’s been the reality for nearly thirty years, get over it. Gene Farris blew up during that city’s second tsunami of house music maestros, in the mid ‘90s, proving himself as both a top-class producer of dank beats and a consistently crowd-pleasing DJ; he actually lived in Amsterdam for over 4 years, only recently returning from that sojourn, and a wise expatriation it was for him, developing a larger following in Europe than many other American house DJs. This mix was part of a lengthy archive of “Live On Haight” tapes & CDs that were put together by HouseWares co-owner Owen Maigrit, and although it was definitely recorded live in the Bay Area, I’m not sure whether it was at a party or an in-store appearance. I do know one thing though, “…I like the sound when we, clap our hands…”

Standing On the Verge of Getting It On

from the LP Standing On the Verge of Getting It On, Westbound Records, 1974



“…music is designed to free your funky mind, we have come to help you cope; out, into another reality, you will be, through our music, we bring you hope…” What better mission statement than the above rhyme could one concoct when attempting to sum up the lasting importance of George Clinton’s P-Funk mothership, set to land around this area in about a month, and you better believe my ass will be there! These were Eddie Hazel’s last major song-writing credits with Funkadelic, so it’s a nice twist of fate that the riffs he laid down on this album (and particularly those found here on the title track) happen to smoke harder than a 16 year-old pothead fresh out of rehab; seriously, metal bands even got wet over this shit, it comes so hard. It’s almost unfathomable when you start walking through all the Parliament & Funkadelic albums and come to find yourself confronted with such an amazingly massive glut of top-notch tunes, I don’t hesitate to say that it easily eclipses James Brown’s discography in all-around funkiness, perhaps even equaling his legacy in cultural impact. Long live the Supreme Maggot Ministers of Funkadelia!! Free your mind and your ass will follow…!

Nugget

from the LP Fashion Nugget, Capricorn Records, 1996



Always existing dangerously close to the region of contrived schlock inhabited by G-Love or Jack Johnson, and coming across a bit like Soul Coughing’s dumber drunk cousin, Cake were the toast of the town there for a second back in the nondescript mid ‘90s, post-Nirvana wastelands; yes, most of their stuff smacks so heavily of upper-middle class cynicism (see: angst ex nihilo) that it’s only digestible in small doses, but this particular lump of infuriated discharge always proves to be a cathartic listen. I mean, there’s always somebody in your life that needs to hear the primary message of this song, even if they’re just on the periphery (see: that crazy dude on the bus that always gets preaching real good), “…shut the fuck, ah yeah, shut the fuck up…” Shit, there are surely people that would like to say that to me at times (see: G-Love & Jack Johnson fans, lol). I guess these guys are still churning out albums, their upcoming release apparently being recorded entirely with solar energy---I guess all that white guilt wasn’t just irony after all…

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.

O-o-h Child

from the 7” single, Buddah Records, 1970



What is there to say? It’s 2011, which my best friend & I decided sounds farther out and more sci-fi than 2010 for some reason, and although it would be nice to think we may all get a reprieve from the tumultuous chaos of this past year, things actually seem crazier than ever all around the world right now, so perhaps don’t hold your breath. That’s okay though, I always have hope, because as the prophet Cornell West says, “…hope wrestles with despair but it doesn't generate optimism, it just generates this energy to be courageous, to bear witness, to see what the end is going to be…no guarantee, unfinished, open ended…I am a prisoner of hope…I'm going to die full of hope, there's no doubt about that, because that is a choice I make…” Word.

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…

Can't Find My Way Home

from the LP Blind Faith, Polydor Records, 1969



“How far we all come. How far we all come away from ourselves. You can never go home again.” ---James Agee, A Death in the Family My apologies in advance for the following trad emotional rubbish, which you likely had to endure last year as well, if my memory serves me right… something about visiting the town you grew up in mixing with the unavoidable reeling and looks-back that the end of another year plies from our drunk & stoned minds, it always gets me basking in the strange melancholic glow that this song (and the above quote) radiates. Every time I go back to Florida I am reminded of this seeming fact of life, though admittedly, trying to get back to that place of reckless abandon which characterized my youth is always fun, albeit tamped down considerably by the present reality of being a semi-responsible adult; to be honest, the older I get, the less firmly I believe in the absoluteness of the quote which begins this post, as every time I reconnect with an old friend it thoroughly floors me with positive & encouraging energy, reminding me that there are no rules, there’s no parameters. I’m not entirely sure which angle was Winwood’s intention when he penned these lyrics, but he surely must have realized the timeless strength of a metaphorical phrase like “can’t find my way home”. Much love to Kristen M, whose enduring free spirit was the highlight of my trip!!

Muffin Man

from the LP Bongo Fury, Discreet Records, 1975



Lost in the maelstrom of grading that becomes every teacher’s world for the last couple weeks at the end of each semester, I somehow managed to miss the unfortunate news that Captain Beefheart had died last Friday, after a hard-fought battle with MS. Given that tomorrow would have been Zappa’s 70^th birthday, I figured this song was an appropriate selection (Zappa’s mind-melting solo here is one of his best ever, and that’s Beefheart’s inimitable voice singing backup vocals at the end, “girl, you thought he was a man, but he was a muffin…”), taped live on the tour where their relationship, both personal & professional, basically fell apart; fortunately, the two men buried the hatchet previous to Zappa’s passing away. Plenty is being/will be written about the legacy of an artist as eccentric and anarchic as Beefheart was, so I will leave all the mushy eulogies about everything the world of modern music & art has inherited from him to the experts---suffice to say, the dude was far out man, and so was Zappa. Rest in peace fellas!

Summer Madness

from the LP Light Of Worlds, De-Lite Records, 1974



It’s snowing outside, so this seemed like an appropriate diversion. This spacey instrumental jam has been sampled by a grip of hip-hoppers over the years (most markedly as the base loop for Will Smith’s “Summertime”), but it can easily stand on its own feet as a breezy reflection of the summer just passed, all the good times and fun in the sun, already looking forward to next year’s adventures & detours. Although they were previously a bare-bones, gritty hard funk crew, Kool & the Gang seemed to mellow increasingly with each passing year into the ‘70s, finding more success (but perhaps losing cred) as they softened their sound. So, all you analogue synthesizer sluts out there, you’d better put on a second pair of drawers because founding member Khalis Bayyan is gonna make you wet right here, just know that.

Red Alert

from the LP Remedy, XL Recordings, 1999



How can this track not have been laced in Chi-town??!? To be perfectly honest, the same could be said for the majority of singles & EPs the boys in Basement Jaxx dropped in the mid ‘90s leading up to this, their debut long-player; being from London, their ability to work within the Chicago phatty-boom template was uncanny (too bad all their recent stuff has been shite). The only thing I can come up with is that DJ Sneak, who was spinning at their club nights in the UK as early as ’94, must have smoked them down with so much weed that his sets somehow infused into their DNA through the cannabinoid receptor system, thus leaving them helplessly beholden to that Windy City tracky-jack groove. Not a satisfactory answer for the elevated levels of dankness found within this song, I know, but it’s the best I got; many blissed out memories of this number though, sweltering parties packed with soggy ravers rolling face on double-stacked Mitsubishis…good times.