“XX” by the xx (2009) Never heard this album or heard of this group. Minimalist, airy, intentionally lazy, anti-energy vocals, with mechanical bass & drum—not a vehicle for any display of talent, but a cool enough sound. Lyrics rather plain. Guitar work very plain. Kind of a lazy New Wave—like putting Eurythmics and Edie Brickell in a dark room and piping in opium smoke. This album is okay for background music (though it wouldn’t boost production) or to lower my blood pressure. Not the kind of music that would bring an emotional response out of me. I could write more, but I don’t seem to have the energy. 2/5

Well, of course. Unlike other albums in the 1001 Albums project that I’ve commented on thus far, this album is one that I’ve owned and listened to hundreds of times over many decades. So these comments will be of a different nature. They will not reflect an analytical and synthetic appraisal of a new experience. Instead, they will bring (nearly) a lifetime of experience to bear on the declamation of a capstone assessment. I will not, however, charge tuition. Listened to in context from a distance of 53 years, it is plain to see that this album was artistically definitive at the time. Lennon and McCartney turned the musical world in a direction we are still following. It elevated mainstream rock from “culture-caused” to “culture-causing”. The tracks on this album are discrete, in that they each represent distinct musical compositions. This distinguishes it from the previous Sgt. Pepper and Revolver, each of which had unifying elements of composition and style. Despite this, it is revealing that no worldwide distribution singles were ever released from this album. More on this below. What unifies The White Album is not composition and style, but its determination to assert freedom from recording a “product” and forcing the production team to attend to the needs of the music itself. On every track, the musicians are now in charge. The White Album has been described (justifiably) as the first postmodern rock album. While this is true, many of these observers don’t seem to understand what postmodernism is. Without going into a long discussion on the philosophy of history, a brief description will enhance any listener’s appreciation of this particular album. Postmodernism is the philosophical/cultural development of the twentieth century that is characterized by the transcendence of the ‘settled’ verities of the Enlightenment (that is, it goes beyond modernity). Hence, it is “post-“ modern. A highly respected progressive Methodist pastor once asked me how was it possible that something could be “post-“ modern (He mistakenly equated “modern” with “up-to-date”). I explained it like I did in the previous paragraph and he nodded in a sincere attempt to overcome the disconnect I had just created in his entire worldview. Shortly thereafter he began losing his mind, although I’m not sure the two events are related. Anyway, The White Album is postmodern. Listening to it today with the digital tools we have at our disposal (Wikipedia, Genius, etc.), ‘boomers like me learn some things about the music we never knew before. We can correct some erroneous assumptions. For example, I never knew Ringo Starr did not play drums on “Back in the U.S.S.R.” Running out of time here, so I’ll continue this in another venue as time allows.

Led Zeppelin IV [conventional title] by Led Zeppelin (1971) In 1982, eleven years after this album’s release, a 17-year-old ‘big man on campus’ named Benny walked into his private-school math class singing: “Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove”. His stern, no-nonsense Intermediate Algebra teacher (me) turned from writing the day’s assignment on the blackboard to shoot Benny a disapproving glare. Benny sheepishly clammed up. But as I turned back to the blackboard to finish, I sang softly: “Ah, ah, child, way you shake that thing Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting” As I put down the chalk and turned again toward the class, smile met smile as Benny and I shared a trans-generational moment of awareness of the power of Led Zeppelin IV. Benny ended the semester with a surprisingly good ‘A-‘ in math. It would have been a ‘B+’, but his anachronistic love for Led Zeppelin tilted the scales in a positive direction, and I don’t regret it one bit. There was a time when I considered Led Zeppelin IV to be the greatest album ever, and I’m not sure that that time is past. Young people today should do themselves a favor and develop such a strong a familiarity with this record that they will be able to recognize each track from its opening strains, like Beethoven’s Symphony #5 or Bach’s Toccata and Fugue. It’s that good. Few albums have ever had both the variety and cohesiveness of Led Zeppelin IV. Each listen is an immersive experience, striding through an aural gallery of head-banging rock, moan-inducing blues, culture-resonating folk, and a time-transcending mysticism that carries perennial fascination. And tying all these disparate features together is a musical synthesis of sounds of today (the ‘now’) and images of the misty past (the ‘then’—see below). As musicians, each of the six performers (including Sandy Denny, ethereal backing vocal on “The Battle of Evermore” and Ian Stewart, piano on “Rock and Roll”) executes at peak virtuosity. The four members of Led Zeppelin (Jimmy Page [guitar], Robert Plant [lead vocals], John Bonham [drums], and John Paul Jones [bass & keyboards]) are each individually on lists of the ‘greatest of all time’ in their respective categories of performance. Yet no rock group (other than The Beatles) ever played better together. From the electro-windup intro on the opening track “Black Dog”, the listener knows he/she is in for a thrill and a treat, in that order. Robert Plant’s inimitably powerful yet soulful a cappella lead vocal storms onto the scene, grabbing the ears. Then, struggling to discern the meter, the listener immediately discovers the groove, even though it seems that John Bonham’s ingenious rhythmic composition is performing a different song altogether, ignoring the standard gum-chewing backbeat of early rock. But everything is in miraculous sync, as Page and Jones muscle on, all pausing to let Plant do his thing before kicking back in with pure power rock. We teenagers listening to this in 1971 had never heard anything like this before, because there never was anything like this before. Then, without letting up, we hear the smashing rock & roll of “Rock & Roll”, where Bonham reminds us that the backbeat still lives, and Page cooks like never before with wild guitar solo work. Page later said the track was written and recorded in fifteen minutes. I would have paid serious money to sit in a room with Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, and Chuck Berry to watch them hear this track for the first time. And by the way, the most convincing cover of this song was done by Heart (the closing track of Greatest Hits/Live [1980]). And just when we think the album is going to mash out hard rock from beginning to end, we are jolted into a little fantasy medievalism with the next two tracks, “The Battle of Evermore” (check out the Tolkien, Lord of the Rings references) and “Stairway to Heaven”, where Page’s first-time (!) experience with mandolin and iconic solo electric guitar passages wrap around Plant’s mystical lyrics (Plant was only 22 years old at the time). “Stairway to Heaven” is in the rock ballad canon because of its dramatically drawn out development and increased intensity over a steady chord structure. It’s one of the greatest songs ever, not because of profound lyrics, but because of its incomparable instrumentation and vocal performance. Yes, it has been overplayed and over analyzed, but it still moves. The amazing guitar solo (at 5:55) and the wailing lead vocal on the closing bridge (at 6:45) still bring shivers after a thousand listens. Side two begins with “Misty Mountain Hop” providing an explanation of the contrast on side one between the ‘now’ of the first two tracks and the ‘then’ of tracks three and four. After a tale of a druggie’s awkward encounter with a cop in the mundane ‘now’, the artist concludes with a flight to ‘then’: “So I'm packing my bags for the Misty Mountains Where the spirits go now Over the hills where the spirits fly, ooh” And the listener, clutching a copy of Tolkien, The Hobbit, is glad to go along for the ride. The ‘now/then’ duality is beautifully pictured in the cover art, where the front side shows the weathered ruins of an interior wall adorned with an old painting of a seemingly even older man, contrasting with a modern but dull and overcast cityscape where buildings battle with trees on the back side. And between concern for “when the river runs dry” (in “Four Sticks”, featuring Bonham’s superlative drumming with four drumsticks in 5/8 alternating with 6/8) to the droning blues dread of what will happen “When the Levee Breaks” we hear of a search for the perfect woman as the acoustic guitar (Page) and mandolin (Jones) accompany the softly melodic tune “Going to California”: “To find a queen without a king They say she plays guitar and cries and sings... La la la la Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born.” When in fact she has been born, and her name is Joni Mitchell, and Robert Plant knows it. But he can dream, and so can we. I will listen to this album till the day I die. 5/5

“Sticky Fingers” by The Rolling Stones (1971) Since this is one of the greatest albums of all time, I’ll take a different approach here. This album is one with which I’m very familiar. I know it by heart. My older sister bought it for me when it first came out in 1971, and, since my record collection was quite limited at the time, I listened to it thousands of times. It became a very important part of my musical, cultural, and spiritual formation, although I didn’t realize it at the time. For those who have never listened to this music as an album, it might only be familiar through the tracks that became hits, such as “Brown Sugar” and “Bitch”. Or those who are keenly attentive to music may be familiar with other songs such as “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, or “Sister Morphine “, which have entered the cultural consciousness of the 21st century. But as an indicator of the influence of this album, one should observe that every song on the album has a separate Wikipedia article of its own. That’s saying something. This album qua album should be listened to from start to finish. Rock ‘n Roll. Decadent and dirty. Crystallized toxic masculinity with only a hint of redemption. Now, to understand this album, let me take you back in history (1970): Meredith Hunter was dead. An 18 year old African American, he was killed by Hells Angels member Alan Passaro on December 6, 1969 in front of the stage at the “Altamont Free Concert”, featuring The Rolling Stones. Hunter had pulled a gun, and Passaro stabbed him five times in the back (later acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defense). The Stones were performing the misogynistic “Under My Thumb” at the time. How would The Rolling Stones respond to this terrible event in their next studio album? Artistic humility and lamentation or supercharged indifference? You be the judge. Brian Jones was dead. The quirky, talented, inventive, and unstable founder and multi-instrumentalist for The Rolling Stones had died in July 1969 (at the age of 27). Lead guitarist Mick Taylor took his place. That is the number one reason why this album is great. Lead singer Mick Jagger, drummer Charlie Watts, and bassist Bill Wyman knew that the replacement of Jones would make or break the band, so they were highly motivated to excel on this first studio album with the new lineup. How to integrate Mick Taylor to a well-established rock ‘n roll band? It was an artistic and existential challenge, and the Stones were up to it. Now Keith Richards, rhythm guitarist, worked with Taylor to ‘roll’ him into The Rolling Stones’ unique sound of ‘weaving’ lead and rhythm. The chemistry between these two became magical. I probably listened to this album several hundred times before I began to get an inkling of this. Listen closely and you’ll hear it. Richards/Taylor. Rhythm/Lead. That’s the music of this album. The rhythm section (Charlie Watts on drums and Bill Wyman on bass) provides quintessentially steady, if inelaborate tempos and grounding throughout. Keith Richards provides suitable chord structure and underpinning of the melodies in his execution of rhythm guitar. Vocally, Mick Jagger is a mess. But that’s the point. His deliberately exaggerated flaws in his vocal stylings, chaotic diction and tone, loose approach to pitch, and sometimes random exclamations are all calculated to produce the intended effect—adolescent male angst (however far out of touch he is with his own). In “Brown Sugar”, misogyny and racism are wrapped into one hard driven musical wallow with a rollicking beat. In the lyrics, the Anglo narrator reflects on the cultural roots of his present day sexual infatuation with a young Black woman, connecting it back to the sexual liberties of white male slave owners, and further back to the violent sexual domination by white slave traders over their helpless victims. It was the musical answer to the question, “Why is sex with black women so appealing to white men?” (Answer: the screams). It was recorded December 2-4, 1969. Then the Stones were ‘off to Altamont’ where they performed this song live, musically presiding (not incidentally) over the scene where a white man killed a gun-toting black man in front of the black man’s white girlfriend. Now put all that together, bro. The message of “Sway” is that evil, even demonic attacks of depression can only be conquered by love. Set in a bluesy environment, the music is accentuated by the weaving of two guitar lines: bottleneck slide (Taylor) and electric rhythm (this time by Jagger instead of Richards). The song ends with a masterful slide guitar solo by Mick Taylor and an effective string background as it fades. A beautiful and under-appreciated anthem. On “Wild Horses” a serious listener (with headphones) can get a sense of Taylor and Richards ‘weaving’, especially in the first verse, with Richards on twelve string acoustic in the right channel, while Taylor provides blended lead and licks on slide acoustic in the center of the stereo mix, adding overdubbed color (with the lower four strings tuned an octave higher) in the right channel. It becomes a tender setting for the message of devotion a man to his woman in the midst of her suffering. Notice the emotional progression from the insensitively nasty in “Brown Sugar” to hopefulness in “Sway”, and then on to deep compassion in “Wild Horses”. On “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, we hear more ‘weaving’. Listen for Richards on the right channel and Taylor on the left channel. At 2:42, Taylor drops out for Richards to set up the remarkable Bobby Keys tenor sax solo. Taylor and Richards both provide underlying colorings to the sax, followed (at 4:40) by an iconic Taylor guitar solo, with Richards providing rhythm support, until Keys rejoins (at 6:00) for a fine jazz romp to the final splash cymbal by Watts. (If you wanted background music to a collage of scenes of mob violence, this would do nicely. And that is exactly what Martin Scorsese did with it in “Casino”. Chilling.) The last two minutes of the track, it is reported, were unplanned. The musicians were unaware the tape was still rolling. God exists. With “Bitch”, we have uninhibited nasty rock, enriched by a sassy horn section over more ‘weaving’ by Richards and Taylor. The musical setting and lustful lyric provide a suitable vehicle for Jagger’s raw vocals. These words depict a driving passion for the beloved that is reduced to autonomic reflex (“like a Pavlov dog”). For God’s sake, woman, throw the dog a bone. “I Got the Blues” is a dirge-like blues ballad, guaranteed to lower your blood pressure after “Bitch”. Again, with beautiful horns, and some exquisite Hammond organ soloing by Billy Preston. And speaking of blood pressure, “Sister Morphine” is a track that could send you to the hospital. A haunting minor key lament of a drug addict’s agonizing withdrawal, addressed to his longed-for but absent Sister Morphine. Mournful tone on the Richards’ strummed acoustic, with accompanying electric slide, this time by the incomparable Ry Cooder. In his delirium, the song’s protagonist is possessed of a sudden terror (“What am I doing in this place? / Why does the doctor have no face?”). If this song doesn’t produce a shudder, you’re already dead. And speaking of dead, the next track, “Dead Flowers” is a piece of lazy passive aggression, presented in a funked up country mood. Jagger’s narrator can’t contain a mocking disdain for his former girl who has apparently moved up the better life, leaving him in some basement “with needle and a spoon”. Vocals with an exaggerated affected southern accent highlight the mockery. The only hint of redemption here is his (vain) hope to someday put roses on her grave. Why am I skeptical? The final song on “Sticky Fingers” is “Moonlight Mile”. Painfully slow, a man living “on the road” longs to be home with his beloved. Fine acoustic and electric guitar work by Taylor. The expansive string arrangement over a gut wrenching piano brings his hope to an almost victorious conclusion, punctuating the powerful bridge before softening at the very end, bringing this song, and this album, to a melancholy conclusion. In its creative conception, the lyrics (as well as the cover art, dangling tongue logo, and other marketing strategies) are unabashedly lascivious and drug-centered. But they are tempered by reflections of darker and even dangerous moods—a perfect concoction for exciting the libido of most every 16-year old American male (like me at the time), who imagined that it was his own picture on the cover. “Sticky Fingers” by The Rolling Stones is, of course, a classic. 5/5

“Blood on the Tracks” by Bob Dylan (1975) It takes a remarkable talent to produce poetically powerful emotional scenes and evocative narratives in a musical idiom, and that is what is on display in this album. A bit of advice for those who are not Dylan fans: Listen to the stories. Listen to the expressions of love fulfilled or frustrated. Generate images in your mind, guided by the lyrics. Anticipate and cherish the moments when you say to yourself, “I never thought of it that way before.” You’ll find life expanding within you. And if you find Dylan’s vocals unbearable, start with “Tangled Up in Blue” and “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts”. Listen to the creative variations in the synchronization between the poetic rhythms and the musical rhythms. You may not ‘get’ all the obscure references, but you’ll feel the feeling. Then you might be ready to embrace the passion of a man who sings to his estranged wife at the end of a failed marriage (in “Idiot Wind”): You’re an idiot, babe It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe. . . . We’re idiots, babe It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves. Try to put words to the development from the first two lines to the last two lines. This is not music for dancing, partying, getting stoned, lifting one up, easing one down, or background while one works. This merely culture-causing music fit for a serious listen. But if this album is over the heads of pop music consumers with three-minute attention spans, they should feel free to move on. I’ll stay awhile. Shelter from the storm. 5/5

The Champ

Why this album by the Roots rather than “Things Fall Apart” which contains the Grammy-winning romantic rap ballad “You Got Me”??

Whoever said this group was “Led Zeppelin with estrogen” (e.g. John Pareles, Nick Kent) was way off. Karen O has nowhere near the range or blues sensitivity of Robert Plant. Nick Zinner can’t touch Jimmy Page. Brian Chase isn’t in the same universe as John Bonham. Having no bass player (Yeah Yeah Yeahs would be a lot better if they had one) there’s no way to compare John Paul Jones. And as a group, they’re too mechanical. YYYs completely lack LZ’s dynamic vitality. So let’s just quietly set aside the Led Zeppelin comparison, intending no offense to politically correct critics desperate to promote a “female rocker” (which is almost an oxymoron, anyway). On its own merits, the album is interesting enough, worth a listen, even if just for the sake of gender diversity. But I myself have heard (indeed played) better ‘garage rock’ and ‘garage punk’ in actual garages. I give it a ‘two’.

I remember an essay by a music critic in 1974 that set fourth a chronological listing of the great pioneers in rock: (1) Elvis Presley; (2) Bob Dylan; (3) John Lennon; and (4) David Bowie. Well, that may be how it looked to some folks at the time, but even then I thought Bowie didn’t belong on that list. Still don’t. This album is unquestionably innovative and well crafted, but it doesn’t stand the test of time. For a nice “pop vs. pop” comparison, listen to Bowie’s version of Ron Davies’ “It Ain’t Easy” and the version by Three Dog Night. 3/5

Nice voice, but his stylings are studiously lazy. Grating on the ears. Never heard “Fred Neil” by Fred Neil before, but I did know that Harry Nilsson was disappointed that Neil’s “Everybody’s Talkin’” was chosen for Nilsson to sing as the title song of “Midnight Cowboy”, rather than his own composition, “I Guess the Lord Must Be in New York City”. Nilsson’s version of “Everybody’s Talkin’” is much better. Lyrics utterly unpoetic. I remember seeing Fred Neil in the background of some old Bob Dylan footage, never knowing that Dylan actually got started in New York playing backup harmonica for Neil. Interesting reversal. The album “Fred Neil” doesn’t wow me now. I doubt it would have wowed me in 1966. 2/5

This album, (which I’ve never heard in its entirety—only the tracks that made it to “Timepieces”), is simply great. Clapton’s compositions and performances on this record are each classic productions from a blues/rock icon. His work here is musically deepened by his then-recent recovery from bad experiences with heroin use. As a guitarist, he’s the master, bar none (sorry, Rolling Stone, Clapton’s better than Hendrix!). Perfect intonation on this album in very different and difficult modes—electric and acoustic slide, bends, subtle wah, finger picked acoustic, 12-string rhythm. Always on the beat, with perfectly clean moves from note to note, and brilliantly constructed blues riffs. As a vocalist, Eric Clapton is very good, superlatively aware of his limitations. Soulful, with simple stylings. No hard rock super-range screeching (à la the great Steven Tyler) and no elaborate scaling and fluctuations (à la the even greater Beyoncé), Clapton confidently gives a vocal performance perfectly suited to the lyrics and the musical setting, especially in his own compositions. 461 Ocean Boulevard is further enhanced by the backing vocals of Yvonne Elliman (of “Jesus Christ Superstar” fame). She shines on “Get Ready” (which she co-wrote with Clapton) and “Let It Grow”. I almost bought this on the iTunes Store today, but they only sell the $19.95 “Deluxe” edition. Too bad. Maybe someone can convince me to splurge. An excellent album. A classic. 5/5

Never heard this album, never listened to The Cure. Horror, hatred, misanthrope, nihilism, pessimism, sadism, despair. My kind of music. Synth goth rock in a Götterdämmerung frame of mind. I think Richard Wagner would have appreciated this. Musical settings emphasize minor keys, heavy echo, driving rhythms, haunting sustain—a perfect vehicle for the grim and even deranged lyrics. Makes me want to go out and get my eyebrows pierced. Speaking of the lyrics, they are suitably dark and dreary, but at times border on the trite. They tap into the lyricist’s horror, but not quite the listeners’. Robert Smith’s lead vocals are limited in range and flat in pitch and timbre. He’s not really a singer, but he is depressing, and I suppose that’s the point. Melodies and chord structures are rather repetitive. The most impressive musician in the group is Lol Tolhurst on drums. Guitar work (Smith) is disciplined but lacking in virtuosity. Good execution of synthesized colorings, tremendously enhancing the dark mood. By the end of the album, Smith’s vocals become monotonous—literally and figuratively. Black Sabbath, Metallica, and Nirvana do this kind of music much better. Impressionable adolescents who listen to too much of The Cure risk a serious contraction of their intellectual horizons—but it’s still great fun if one doesn’t take The Cure’s deathly seriousness too seriously. But overall, a good album. A really cool album. I’m glad I heard something by The Cure before my death—an event which, in the mood of this album, is to be languidly embraced. There’s your Pornography. 3/5

Well, of course. Unlike other albums in the 1001 Albums project that I’ve commented on thus far, this album is one that I’ve owned and listened to hundreds of times over many decades. So these comments will be of a different nature. They will not reflect an analytical and synthetic appraisal of a new experience. Instead, they will bring (nearly) a lifetime of experience to bear on the declamation of a capstone assessment. I will not, however, charge tuition. Listened to in context from a distance of 53 years, it is plain to see that this album was artistically definitive at the time. Lennon and McCartney turned the musical world in a direction we are still following. It elevated mainstream rock from “culture-caused” to “culture-causing”. The tracks on this album are discrete, in that they each represent distinct musical compositions. This distinguishes it from the previous Sgt. Pepper and Revolver, each of which had unifying elements of composition and style. Despite this, it is revealing that no worldwide distribution singles were ever released from this album. More on this below. What unifies The White Album is not composition and style, but its determination to assert freedom from recording a “product” and forcing the production team to attend to the needs of the music itself. On every track, the musicians are now in charge. The White Album has been described (justifiably) as the first postmodern rock album. While this is true, many of these observers don’t seem to understand what postmodernism is. Without going into a long discussion on the philosophy of history, a brief description will enhance any listener’s appreciation of this particular album. Postmodernism is the philosophical/cultural development of the twentieth century that is characterized by the transcendence of the ‘settled’ verities of the Enlightenment (that is, it goes beyond modernity). Hence, it is “post-“ modern. A highly respected progressive Methodist pastor once asked me how was it possible that something could be “post-“ modern (He mistakenly equated “modern” with “up-to-date”). I explained it like I did in the previous paragraph and he nodded in a sincere attempt to overcome the disconnect I had just created in his entire worldview. Shortly thereafter he began losing his mind, although I’m not sure the two events are related. Anyway, The White Album is postmodern. Listening to it today with the digital tools we have at our disposal (Wikipedia, Genius, etc.), ‘boomers like me learn some things about the music we never knew before. We can correct some erroneous assumptions. For example, I never knew Ringo Starr did not play drums on “Back in the U.S.S.R.” Running out of time here, so I’ll continue this in another venue as time allows.

Never heard of Milton Nascimento nor Lô Borges nor this album. Genre: Música popular brasileira Very pleasant sounding. Nice experience. Almost bought this for $5.99 on iTunes, but they only offer the 15-track edition, excluding six songs from this double album. Am I missing something? Without a translation of the lyrics, it’s difficult to assess the artistry as a whole, but the sound is novel (at least to my ears). Some similarities to Sérgio Mendes, without the dramatic percussion of Brasil ‘66. On some tracks I felt frustrated not having a translation of the lyrics. Intricate chord structures, very nice progressions, avoiding the temptation to overdo; chiefly composed for voice and guitar. There are some tuning and pitch problems (serious on the orchestral backgrounds especially harsh-sounding on “Um Gosto da Sol”), and ‘buzzing’ on the acoustic guitar. But overall, the instrumentals are entrancing and satisfying, with great variety. Vocal quality is okay, a little too airy, weak on the Iberian ‘moorish’ fluctuations and trills, and lacking in both range and timbre. It’s satisfactory for a jazzy sound, but not stellar. Falsetto particularly weak. Recording technology not up to British or American standards of the time, but that’s to be expected. Is it me or does Portuguese lack a poetic sound? I wonder how these songs would sound in German. 😁😁 In sum, this is a good album, and I’m glad I was introduced to it. 3/5

Never heard this album, nor listened to Ryan Adams. The first track, “To Be Young”, is a good example of the mood of the music and the mood of the lyric completely and intentionally opposed to one another. Not sure to what purpose, but intriguing. Good instrumental settings and performances. Good acoustic guitar with sensitive coloring backgrounds—well-produced. Vocally pleasing, effective use of hushed melodies. Not a trained voice, and lacking range in the natural register, but effective, given the genre. Emmylou Harris’ backing vocal on “Oh My Sweet Carolina” is not an example of her better work. (I suspect her agent was trying to keep her relevant, when by 2000 she was over the hill.) Kim Richey does better on “Come Pick Me Up”. The lyrics are vague enough to allow multiple interpretations, more of a collage of impressions than a conveyor of meaning. Adam’s frequently tries to be Dylan-esque (“Damn, Sam”, “Don’t Ask for the Water”, etc.) in lyrics, guitar finger-picking, vocal style, and in harmonica accompaniment, but he’s obviously not in the same league. (Although I bet he makes Dylan wish he’d learned to play the banjo.) “To Be the One” is powerful. “The empty bottle misses you, and I’m the one it’s talkin’ to”. That hit home. “Shakedown on 9th Street” and “To Be Young” demonstrate that Adam’s can rock. He should do more. Overall, a good album. 3/5

Ah, another Bowie joint. Never heard this album. As an unreconstructed proletarian in the 1970s, I never really joined in the Bowie mania. I always thought Bowie was much more popular in the U.K. than in the real world. (I mean, I’m grateful for the Brits putting us up for several months before we kicked Hitler’s ass and all, but . . . ) Ok, enough levity. The title of this group is “serious-listen, so here goes: Everything good about this album (“Heroes”, 1977) is in the synth and the lead guitar (in other words, Brian Eno and Robert Fripp), which are very, very good. I almost wish Bowie hadn’t gotten involved. Seriously. I invite anyone to listen to this album while imagining that Bowie’s voice and lyrics were gone. It would be a much better album. In this album he seems tired. Bowie’s vocals are uninspired (and uninspiring), and his lyrics sound like they were simply thrown together—the kind of mishmash we used vomit into our theme books in mid-afternoon 10th grade Civics class. I don’t often use the word ‘vapid’ and ‘insipid’ in the same sentence, but in this case I’ll make an exception. Bowie put out too many (eleven!) albums in the 1970s. That pace exceeds the creative capacity of any one man. In the ‘70s, even Bob Dylan only put out ten, and David Bowie is no Bob Dylan. I’ve held this opinion for a long, long time. Bowie had a lot of cheerleaders rah-rahing for him to become ‘the next big thing’, but history has demonstrated that the last book on the enduring musical legacy of the 1970s will put Bowie in the endnotes. I will agree that as an entertainer, as a concert performer, Bowie is up there with the best. But this project is about ALBUMS. Albums are for listening. His albums don’t cut it. He’s certainly had hits; and he’s certainly prettier than Eric Clapton, Bob Dylan, Duane Allman, Keith Emerson, Janis Joplin, Carlos Santana, David Crosby, Aretha Franklin, Mick Fleetwood, Roger Waters, etc. etc., but as a musician and a recording artist, he’s second-tier. This album makes the point. Lunkheaded lyrics on “Beauty and the Beast” are too binary, lacking any philosophical sophistication or even subtlety in expressing the relationship between good and evil. Has he never read Nietzsche? No, probably not. “Joe the Lion” demonstrates Bowie’s lazy approach to pitch and diction. This track has a nice driving beat and excellent lead guitar work (but the lead is unfortunately pushed to the background in the mix. Too bad). The ‘poetic’ theme of “Heroes” is that of a man pushing a vain hope of ultimate happiness (why “if only just for one day”?) in order to win his lover, “and the guns shot above our heads (Over our heads); And we kissed, as though nothing could fall.” That’s a sad formula, elevating the forlorn to the heroic. And certainly not persuasive as a love ballad. Not for me. The poetic protagonist and his lover kissing by the Berlin Wall should have reflected on the fact that the “Heroes” were not the ones suffering in the Cold War. The heroes were the ones fighting the Cold War, and dammit, we won. The Wall came down. Bowie’s lyric trivializes the monstrous oppression of Soviet communism. This is the only song on the album which has any popularity on the Apple iTunes track listing. I’m not sure if that says more about Bowie’s listening public or iTunes’ algorithms, but it does reveal something about the album as a whole. Bowie’s voice is so nasal it sounds like he’s swallowed his tongue. With a classic lack of self-awareness, he refers to “one-inch thoughts” in “Sons of the Silent Age”, which is itself a lyrically banal collection of half-inch thoughts. David Bowie is not a thinking man’s lyricist. The second side of the original LP showcased Brian Eno. Very nice soundscapes and aural colorings (at least for 1977). “V-2 Schneider” is one of the best tracks on the album, evocative of the horror of Nazi Germany’s weaponry unleashed on British non-combatants (The threat was minimal, but the fear was real.) The next track, “Sense of Doubt” is even better (notice that there’s virtually no singing from Bowie on these two tracks?). And “Neuköln” (misspelled) works well as a sonic landscape of Cold War angst (again no lyrics or singing), as seen from Bowie’s perspective in West Berlin in 1977. This is a much better track that “Heroes”. Brings back memories—not all of them good, but most of them important. “The Secret Life of Arabia”, has a wonderful funkadelic vibe, well-recorded, but sadly spoiled by Bowie’s superlatively bland lyrics and whining tone-deaf vocals. For David Bowie, it’s past time for someone to say that the emperor has no clothes (or rather, in Bowie’s case, the clothes are all he’s got). This is an almost good album. Glad I got to listen to it before I die. 2/5

“Electric Warrior” by T-Rex. Never listened to this album. I’m only familiar with their hit “Get It On”, which is good, but kind of canned pop. It was all over the radio in 1971. (Interesting side fact: In the U.S., it was titled “Bang the Gong” to distinguish it from “Get It On” by the American band Chase—a MUCH better song! I strongly urge you to listen to it. Horn virtuosity par excellence!) Anyway, this album is only ‘okay’, in my opinion. Instrumentals lack variety and individual performances are so-so (except Ian McDonald’s great baritone & alto sax work). Drums and bass are mechanical, sans any semblance of creativity. Whoever thought of putting bongos on a country rock setting (“Jeepster”) should be shot. Rick Wakeman is listed as doing backing piano on “Get It On”. Rick Wakeman (later of Yes and much solo work) is a genius. I bet he regrets his cadaverous contribution to this piece of pop. Orchestral background on “Cosmic Dancer” is pallid and derivative. Listen to Moody Blues instead. (Or METALLICA, for God’s sake!) Same with choral backing on “Monolith”. Marc Nolan’s lead vocals are bad. When he doesn’t overdub himself, I feel like I need a chalkboard to scratch in order to drown him out. “Lean Woman Blues” is so far from the blues, it’s yellow. Lyrics are formulaic, lacking depth—kind of like flowered wallpaper. No mystery. No sense. Words seem to be chosen simply for their aural texture (on the generous assumption that they actually thought about it). These lyrics remind me of Bruce Springsteen’s “Blinded by the Light”—ear candy. Production value is primitive, even for 1971. Listening to this album today makes me want to go out and buy me some bubble gum. When I was 16, I probably would have thought it was cool. But then, at that time I was wearing bell-bottomed pants and paisley shirts. 2/5

“Among the Living” by Anthrax (1987) Never heard this album, nor anything by Anthrax, as far as I know. Since I’m not very familiar with the thrash genre, these comments will be limited in context. The musical settings are appropriately harsh and foreboding, evoking the rage of the generation that had had just about enough of Ronald Reagan. High energy and aggressive beats. Makes me want to just sit back and listen. A little Anthrax in the morning! Very entertaining, with plenty of variety in tempos (mostly fast) and rhythms (mostly driving) with extremely abrupt turns and shifts. No toe-tapping to this music. The only dancing one could do to these rhythms would be in a mosh pit. Drums and bass very disciplined, and excellent lead guitar colorings. Nice synchronization of rhythm guitar and bass. Drum work displays significant virtuosity; very well rehearsed. Overall, the band is talented, consistently able to carry the creative motivation of each song to its intended effect. Excellent technical production. Drums recorded with good separation and depth. Good mix. Lead vocals are suitable for the genre, a little weak on diction. Backing vocals are crisp, with good pitch control and range. “I Am the Law” is appealing, intentionally derivative of the artistic theme of the Judge Dredd character from “2000ad”. Musically and lyrically it captures the milieu. “N.F.L.” is a generationally appropriate homage to the life and death of John Belushi. Kind of a “thrashumentary”—a fitting tribute. I think Belushi would have liked it, and then paid tribute in return by satirizing it. The intro to “Medley: A.D.I./Horror of It All” all is a refreshing variation in the album’s sound texture, before jolting back into the thrash style. Nice work on acoustic twelve string. The Anthrax approach to musical and lyrical composition seems to be “commentary” on well-chosen cultural events and the common themes of rebellion and “anti-establishment” protest. But they don’t express it as well as predecessors Bob Dylan, Stephen Stills, Joni Mitchell, etc. Lacking subtlety and nuance in its moral judgments, Anthrax would seem somewhat immature to more thoughtful adolescents and young adults, who might be put off by the denunciatory and condescending sermonizing. “Imitation of Life” is a great example of this shortcoming, but it runs throughout the album. Overall, a good album, but not on par with Black Sabbath or Metallica. I liked listening to it. 3/5

“Songs of Love and Hate” by Leonard Cohen (1971) I recommend that you don’t play this album as background music while you’re working. This album should be listed to on a cold and/or rainy day, wrapped in a blanket and drinking herbal tea—staring out the window. I’ve never listened to this album before, although I’ve long respected Cohen’s work, chiefly his more popular works like “Suzanne”, “The Future”, “First We Take Manhattan”, and “Democracy”. This album does not disappoint. Cohen is a poet and a prophet (in that order). His genius in this album is found in the dark musical and lyrical moods which he crafts with an entrancingly low baritone voice and skillful acoustic guitar stylings. His production team has found the perfect combination of echo and reverb to accentuate his unique vocal style. Cohen strugglers with pitch control, but more than compensates with sonority. His backing instrumentals and vocals are first-rate (including, I was pleased to learn, Charlie Daniels on bass and fiddle). But the focus here is on the lyrics. The listener is compelled to think about each line, and Cohen’s slow tempo and metrical space provide opportunity for this. The word pictures are evocative, prompting his audience to enter into the narrative as a front row observer, if not a participant. The symbolism is rich and imaginative, if not always decipherable, and finely tuned to the overall theme and mood of each composition. I recommend “Avalanche” and “Joan of Arc” for a serious listen. In his lyrics, he frequently makes reference to historical, literary, and cultural markers in order to serve his poetic expressions, revealing an intellectual engagement with the human drama that is as deep and sonorous as his voice. The lyrics of “Avalanche” would stand alone as poetry, inviting the hearer to consider how his or her physical imperfections affect one who has pity. He writes this poetic monologue in such a way that virtually everyone can relate to both sides of a pointedly touching encounter. The line “You must learn what makes me kind.” is hortatory without being preachy. I’d love to lie on the couch in his office. “Joan of Arc” is a wonderfully inventive love ballad imagined between St. Joan of Arc and the fire that consumed her as she was executed by being burned at the stake. It plays on the theme of ‘love as a flame’, with echoes of St. John of the Cross “The Dark Night”, stanza 3, and “The Living Flame of Love”: “¡Oh llama de amor viva! . . . Matando, muerte en vida la has trocado.” The serious listener will make a penetrating if tearful comparison with Loreena McKennitt’s “Dark Night of the Soul”: “The fire ‘twas led me on . . “ I need a break. Anyway, this album is very good. If you’re interested in digging deeply into your soul, Leonard Cohen is standing there with two shovels. And a match. 4/5

“Metallica” by Metallica (1991) I’m very familiar with this album, which I first listened to on the recommendation of a good friend a couple of years ago 😁. This album is top quality in texture, production values, composition, and theology. Yes, theology. Instrumentals and vocals, well-produced and mixed, deliver a powerful and dark ambience, clean distortion and overdrive. Intense lead vocal and driving rhythm guitar by James Hetfield, with robust percussion by Lars Ulrich. Exquisite lead guitar with some fine solo work by Kirk Hammett. Explosive yet steady bass by Jason Newsted. “Enter Sandman” is a nightmare-inducing thrash lullaby, expressing the disturbing irony of a father’s loving and comforting bedtime words to his young son, which are compromised by the horrors that lie behind daddy’s own feigned verities. Set in a minor key (Em—the perfect key for soulful guitar), the song reveals radical disconnect between the soothing and encouraging things parents say to their children at bedtime and the terror and dread in their own psyches. It’s further accentuated by the lyrical suggestion that the ironic disconnect is intentional. It’s as if the father is telling his young son, “I’m here to give you assurance and security, but your fears are completely justified, heh-heh.” Why do we ask our children to declare each night “If I should die before I wake . . .”? What horrible and perverse suggestion. It’s probably the most terrifying use of the subjunctive in the history of English discourse. This song is one of the few Metallica songs my real-life adult son actually likes. A voice inside me says, “What the hell does that mean?” “Don’t Tread on Me” begins with a riff from Leonard Bernstein’s “America” (mixed meter 6/8-3/4) from “West Side Story”, hinting that a jingoistic anthem is on its way. And Metallica delivers, Yankee Doodle Dandy. America—deadly, war mongering, and all at once celebrating and threatening the Spirit of ‘76 as symbolized by the Gadsden flag (“Don’t Tread on Me”). If the lyrics are read without irony, the only thing that’s missing is “God Bless America”. Popular piety at its worst, but you’d better take it seriously. On “The Unforgiven” there seems to be a good number of references to Hollywood westerns, from the obvious title (same as the 1960 film with Burt Lancaster and Audrey Hepburn) to the lyrical theme of the classic western hero. It’s interesting that Clint Eastwood’s “Unforgiven” was released the year after Metallica’s “The Unforgiven” (Connection?). The percussion instrumentation and guitar arpeggios echo Ennio Morricone’s scoring of “The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly” and “For a Few Dollars More”. This merits further exploration. I think Eastwood and Metallica should collaborate on a western movie. I’d wear a mask to see it. Even if it situates inner moral conflict in the context of lethal one-on-one confrontation. Prepare to meet your God as “The Unforgiven”. Setting God aside for a moment, “Nothing Else Matters” is, of course, a rock classic. Anthem status. The musical composition is brilliant, with intriguing choices (for a metal band) in the instrumentals, including acoustic guitar with reverb and orchestral background throughout. Again, in the very guitar-friendly E-minor, the arrangement provides the perfect setting for this love ballad, demonstrating an expansive creative range for a band known for “heavy metal”. Interestingly, this song only charted at #34 in the U.S. (#1 in Poland, though—that says a lot about the political and cultural scene in 1992). “Holier than Thou”, a little toxic masculinity goin’ out to all the Elmer Gantrys of the world, is a well deserved rage against the righteousness that lacks humility. This song gives expression to a sentiment that justifies the whole thrash genre. With dizzying tempo, we hear great lead solos by Kirk Hammett, and Jason Newsted keeps right up on bass guitar. Two middle fingers up. “The God that Failed” an anguished and complex musical reflection by James Hetfield on the personal experience he had with parents whose intense religious ‘faith’ (Christian Science) collided with reality. Cancer is personified, rendering mom’s misplaced faith impotent. Where was dad? And where was Dad (the ‘God’ that failed) when mom piously rejected medical treatment and suffered an agonizing death? Great backstory to this, but what Hetfield does with it is musical genius. It pulls the empathy right out of the listener’s guts. Likewise, “My Friend of Misery”, a metaphysics-embracing lament that reminds us: redemptive suffering isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. Pastoral Theology 101. The closing track, “The Struggle Within” is (obviously) introspective, but can’t even seem to find a time signature. Like my (your?) struggle within. How can drummer Lars Ulrich keep up? So much more could be said about this album, one of my personal favorites—a classic. 5/5

"Music Has the Right To Children" by Boards of Canada (1998) Never heard of this album or this duo. First, about that title. The duo has stated that the titles of their works are significant, and that “‘Music Has the Right To Children’ is a statement of our intention to affect the audience using sound.” Well, as laudable as that may be as an artistic objective, the bluntly metaphysical claim that music has the “right” to “children” has a quaintly pompous and yet menacing tone (not to mention a certain lack of sensitivity to those frustrated in their desire for children or the pathology of those who reduce children to instrumentalities as an exercise of their “rights”). A musician may and should “intend” to affect the audience, but it’s hardly a “right”, especially when the artist expresses it toward human persons (the “children” to whom the musician has a “right”). Maybe I’m misunderstanding this, but please don’t object that I’m reading too much into it. This musical endeavor self-consciously begs to be ‘read into’. If you can’t stand the heat, get off my couch. Interesting cover art. Faceless Scots in bell bottoms. I’d be the guy on the far left. If you’re not allowed to have a face, turn away. It’s a fitting image for the Covid-19 pandemic era, although that was obviously not the intention. No lyrics here, so all the poetic clues are in the titles, most of which seem to be intentionally opaque and unevocative (like ‘inside jokes’—hardly a means of affecting a audience). Synth beats and sampling, it’s like Scottish hip hop. Mind boggling (or, as they say in Scotland, moind boag-lin’). Now about that sound: “Wildlife Analysis” - no structure, no categories, thus no analysis. And where’s the wildlife? Unless we’re the wildlife. Or you’re the wildlife. Or it’s actually “wild” “life”. About those beats—hey, we’ve got guys in America who can do all that stuff with nothing but tongues, teeth, and microphone. After listening to a few tracks, I think I finally get it. You gotta be stoned. I’m glad I listened to this before I die. 1/5

“Third/Sister Lovers” by Big Star (1978) Never heard this album nor this group, although I loved lead singer Alex Chilton’s #1 hit “The Letter” (1967) with the Box Tops when Chilton was only 16 years old (and I was only 12!). For an album produced in 1978, though, the recording and mix is not good. Too little separation, and primitive, unimaginative mixing. But musically, it is inventive. One can only imagine how much better this would have sounded if it were produced at Abbey Road, or The Hit Factory or even Muscle Shoals. Lyrics lack depth and originality. The suggestion is out there that “Thank You Friends” is a sarcastic condemnation of how badly Big Star was treated by the recording industry. Listened to from this perspective, it’s much better than if heard as a straightforward expression of gratitude. “Jesus Christ” is listed, but not playable, on Spotify. What’s up with that? The lyrics suggest a hymnic reflection on the singing of angels at the birth of Christ. It would be nice to hear it. One can get a taste of it in the twenty second sample on the iTunes Store. It’s not that impressive, chiefly because of the poor production. Too bad. “Femme Fatale” provides a good example of the band’s musical skills, and they are so-so. Alex Chilton’s simple lead vocal shows that he struggles with pitch at the softer end of his dynamic range, and the backing vocals (including his girlfriend Lesa Aldrege?) are even worse. Bass playing by Jim Dickinson is really good. His contribution to the band’s sound is probably a main reason for whatever success they had. “Holocaust” uses the systematic murder of six million Jews as a metaphor for the feelings of a woman whose mother just died a natural death. Yuck. This kind of pretentious appropriation is what gives much popular music a bad name. “Stroke It Noel” employs backing strings which are very poorly performed, and even more poorly recorded. I have keep reminding myself that this album was released in 1978. It would be a bad recording even if it had been released ten years earlier. Anyway, the lyrics on this song, the chorus of which is based on (uncredited) Bobby Freeman’s 1958 song “Do You Wanna Dance?”, are trite. The lines “Keeping an eye on the sky/Will they come, oh the bombs?” is anachronistic. By 1978, the fear of nuclear war was very much diminished from what we experienced in, say 1963, thanks to the U.S. effort in the Cold War, which is largely unappreciated today. (Full disclosure: I participated in the Cold War for the four years prior to this album’s release. But no hard feelings [smirk].) A pattern emerges here. Big Star takes hugely important issues and reduces them to triviality. This was ok in the 1950s and early 60s, but they seem to be lacking self awareness and compositional maturity in 1978. And for a band to call itself “Big Star” when it was anything but is, well, sad. Overall, I’m not sure why this is considered a cult classic, but cult defies justification anyway. Coulda died without this one. 1/5

“XX” by the xx (2009) Never heard this album or heard of this group. Minimalist, airy, intentionally lazy, anti-energy vocals, with mechanical bass & drum—not a vehicle for any display of talent, but a cool enough sound. Lyrics rather plain. Guitar work very plain. Kind of a lazy New Wave—like putting Eurythmics and Edie Brickell in a dark room and piping in opium smoke. This album is okay for background music (though it wouldn’t boost production) or to lower my blood pressure. Not the kind of music that would bring an emotional response out of me. I could write more, but I don’t seem to have the energy. 2/5

“There’s a Riot Goin’ On” by Sly and the Family Stone (1971) Never heard this album, but very familiar with SFS through radio airplay and their “Greatest Hits” album of 1970. This album is very good music qua music. Listen to the LYRICS. Deeply introspective personal reflection plus insightful social commentary without being hortatory. This album represents a development from the popular funk of the early SFS. Excellent, beautiful, soulful funk, executed by extraordinarily talented musicians and vocalists, but much more serious than their previous work (although there’s some great comic relief in “Spaced Cowboy “, where we’re treated to a funked-up country piece complete with Sly Stone yodeling the chorus. Yodeling. I shit you not). Experimental musical sounds and recording technique—very well crafted (although there’s an annoying level of tape hiss due to overdubbing—one of the shortcomings of analog). This is a good demonstration of the art of the studio album. Meant to be listened to without distractions. Not party music. Bass bends and guitar wah unsurpassed. Especially on “Africa Talks to You”. Trumpet and sax understated, but effective coloring. The title track “There’s a Riot Goin’ On” is four seconds of silence. This is so profound for 1971. There were many riots in America 1966-1970. But in May 1970, National Guard troops fired on demonstrators at Kent State University, killing four. Fewer riots after that. The years 1971-1976 were a relatively quiet time for civil unrest in America. Not that there wasn’t anything to riot over. It’s hard to imagine a Daft Punk without SFS funk (listen to “Family Affair” and compare to “Get Lucky”). But SFS is heavier and more evocative. Elaborate vocal stylings, but lacking the endearing ‘silliness’ of their earlier work. “Thank You for Talking to Me, Africa” is a dark reset of their earlier hit “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)", which itself features a pastiche of titles of their previous hits. Sort of an SFS diary entry that reviews previous entries, with a more mature perspective. Africa begins to talk to SFS, and they (and we) are listening. Throughout the album, the lyrics reflect deep levels of meaning, expressing the emerging self awareness of Black America. I’m no expert on this, but it seems that this album should have been a huge influence on young urban artists who would go on to produce the hip hop genre. Here SFS grows into an assertive voice, instead of a merely entertaining voice. Sorry I didn’t listen to this when I was young. Very glad I listened to it before I die. 4/5

“Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” by Lucinda Williams (2006) Never heard of this album or this artist. I took a different approach with this one: I read the Wikipedia article on the album and the one on Lucinda Williams, plus I checked out the lyrics, all before starting to listen. I was expecting something nice. I was disappointed. In the first couple of songs, the vocal quality is worse than not good—it’s uninteresting. Later in the album she does some vocal stylings in the upper parts of her range which are good, which reveals that her usual lazy, out-of-tune style is affected, not natural. It’s off putting to me. It lacks authenticity. Her voice is much better when she’s forced to blend with another singer—another indication that drunk-sounding style (as on “Drunken Angel”) is a put on. Also, she intentionally varies the degree of her southern accent. She really pours it on in the song “Concrete and Barbed Wire”. Creepy. In “Greenville“ her vocals are better, because, I think, in this case she’s forced to blend with Emmy Lou Harris. As in “Heartbreaker” by Ryan Adams (reviewed a few days back), here’s Emmy Lou again, putting in a mediocre backup performance. Williams and Harris don’t blend, but at least Williams appears to try. Standard chord structures and rhythms with good backing instrumentals and recording quality, but her contribution to the music is limited to guitar—not much to showcase. The songwriting is what she’s known for, and she does have some talent here, painting poetic pictures of southern lower middle class ambiance. But there’s nothing here that has power. Only pity. This recording won the Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Album of 1998. Hmmm. 2/5

“Exodus” by Bob Marley and the Wailers (1977) I’ve never heard this album, and I’m only marginally familiar with Bob Marley’s more popular work. Musically, the song and sound on this album are very good. Instrumentals are well arranged and well recorded. The basic groove is somewhat repetitive, but very magnetic. Lead vocals by Marley are well executed, but lacking variety. Good, tight backing vocals. No distracting flaws. The music is a suitable vehicle for the message of each of these songs, which is the main point of this album. Bass and drums predominate, characterized by heavy runs and clean fills. with rhythm guitar steadily emphasizing the backbeat. Classic reggae. Good lead guitar arranging and execution, with heavy use of wah and phase shift. Horns and piano performed with precision and subtlety. Now, to the message. From the beginning (“Natural Mystic”—and please note that it’s not “Supernatural Mystic”!), the lyrics draw us into the metaphysical realm, evoking images from the Apocalypse of St. John and Gnostic mysticism. Moving on to a reflection (in “So Much Things to Say”) on the examples of Jesus Christ, Marcus Garvey, and Paul Bogle, Marley explicitly challenges hearers to take the message of these heroes to heart. The appeal utilizes a carefully selected series of biblical themes, focusing on one facet of the Black Liberation Theology movement—revolution. The title track, “Exodus” coveys the main theme of Black Liberation Theology, which is a cry for deliverance from the oppression of the dominant (White, colonialist, capitalist) culture. It is a lyrical theme that is in tune with the political/economic philosophy of Jamaican-born economist Donald J. Harris (father of Kamala Harris, who was 13 years old when this album was released. I can’t imagine she wasn’t influenced by it). This movement of deliverance emphasizes the revolutionary stance on the part ‘the people’, meaning those in the oppressed class. They are described in the lyrics as “Jah people”, meaning people of Yahweh (or the LORD as most English translations render it in the Bible). Like most popular expressions of liberation theology, its Marxist roots are disguised. And what is lacking in this overtly political lyric is an honest acknowledgement that Black Liberation Theology is quite distinct from and even opposed to the historical meaning of the symbolism it appropriates. This lack of candor, whether intentional (deceptive) or unintentional (naive), is a serious artistic flaw, robbing the lyric of much of its power. In “Guiltiness”, Marley declaims to the oppressed the guilt of the oppressor. The poetry is eloquent enough, but lacking nuance. The oppressors are spoken of in the third person (“they”) rather than the second person (“you”), a departure from the prophetic mode. Again, Marley misses an opportunity to create a strong and profound poetic vision. If “Jammin’” were simply a jam, it would be fun. But it turns into inflammatory discourse, inciting revolutionary compulsion. “Waiting in Vain” and “Turn Your Lights Down Low” are a welcome relief from the disordered politics of this album, expressing the patient endurance of a lover who’s willing to wait for fulfillment, if only he can be assured of ultimate success. It’s beautiful (and not entirely unconnected with the politics of the first six tracks). “Three Little Birds” is a paean to optimism. Nice. With “One/People Get Ready”, we’re back to politics, bringing together the revolutionary themes of tracks 1-6 with the romantic themes of tracks 7-9, making for an extraordinarily well crafted album as a whole. A lot of artistic excellence here. This album is formally evangelical, assembled in a sermonic fashion. It proclaims a putatively saving faith that is rooted in the western theological tradition. But it is marred by its errant selectivity. In sum, Bob Marley’s album “Exodus” is a beautiful vehicle that is unfortunately headed in the wrong direction—back to Egypt (Numbers 14:4). And that is a poverty. 3/5

“Veckatimest” by Grizzly Bear (2009) I’ve never listened to this album nor heard of this group. Marked by rhythmic intricacy, instrumental complexity, innovative chord structures, and elaborate vocal arrangements, this album is very well conceived, composed, and performed. It defies genre (one of the requisite elements of what makes a classic). Only time will tell. The sonic landscape is endlessly diverting. The genius here is in the ability to compose and effectively perform an extraordinary range of chords and instrumental sounds without sounding random. Bass player Chris Taylor consistently accomplishes two things in this album: First, he ties together the rhythms from the percussion to the rest of the composition. And second, he provides a steady tonal grounding so the listener doesn’t get lost in what could be chaotic chord development. These compositions are experimental without being arbitrary and aimless. The music is well integrated within each song. It would take several listens to assess whether this integration extends to the entire album. I think I’ll give a whirl. Guitar, keyboards, and percussion flourishes are all performed with precision, with controlled pitch and tone—not an easy feat with this elaborate compositional structure. These guys have real talent, both at the ‘drawing board’ and in the studio. The lyrics, however, are underwhelming. On this album, words mainly serve to convey a semblance of vague meaning to the music. But it’s not necessary. I’d like to hear a symphony composed by this group (followed up by an a cappella compilation, because their voices are that good). Vocally, they intuit the chords (some of which it sounds like they invented). These vocal arrangements are evocative of David Crosby. It’s probably a mistake to refer to “vocal arrangement” because the vocal sounds are not put together to support a lyric melody. They actually become an instrumental group within a symphonic orchestra. Lyrics stress themes of returning to a beloved locale, with reflections on settings space and time. Abstract, but never jarring, clunky or trite. Listen to the predominance of major seventh chords on “Southern Point”. This is like the best of progressive jazz. “Cheerleader” is compositionally spare, but rich in instrumental variety, with very effective use of the Brooklyn Youth Choir as background coloring. Bear on drums gives an entrancing performance here. The second track, “Two Weeks” settles back into a relatively standard chord structure, allowing the lister to better assess individual compositional contributions and performances, which are excellent. Vocally, they sound like a jazzy Beach Boys. Whatever they lack in individual vocal virtuosity, they more than make up with their ability to ‘hear’ with their voices. “I Live with You” has influences from David Bowie and Harry Nilsson. Another brilliant incorporation of the Brooklyn Youth Choir. Percussionist Chris Bear displays a superior ability to move from one rhythmic setting to another flawlessly, rising above the standard task of merely keeping a groove to the achievement of becoming an essential component of the compositional effort. I’ve listened to and rated 26 albums on this list. “Veckatimest” is the first one I’ve decided to buy. Grizzly Bear does for contemporary music what Arnold Schoenberg did for symphonic music. Many will hate this music. The rest of us want to stay young. 5/5

“Sticky Fingers” by The Rolling Stones (1971) Since this is one of the greatest albums of all time, I’ll take a different approach here. This album is one with which I’m very familiar. I know it by heart. My older sister bought it for me when it first came out in 1971, and, since my record collection was quite limited at the time, I listened to it thousands of times. It became a very important part of my musical, cultural, and spiritual formation, although I didn’t realize it at the time. For those who have never listened to this music as an album, it might only be familiar through the tracks that became hits, such as “Brown Sugar” and “Bitch”. Or those who are keenly attentive to music may be familiar with other songs such as “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, or “Sister Morphine “, which have entered the cultural consciousness of the 21st century. But as an indicator of the influence of this album, one should observe that every song on the album has a separate Wikipedia article of its own. That’s saying something. This album qua album should be listened to from start to finish. Rock ‘n Roll. Decadent and dirty. Crystallized toxic masculinity with only a hint of redemption. Now, to understand this album, let me take you back in history (1970): Meredith Hunter was dead. An 18 year old African American, he was killed by Hells Angels member Alan Passaro on December 6, 1969 in front of the stage at the “Altamont Free Concert”, featuring The Rolling Stones. Hunter had pulled a gun, and Passaro stabbed him five times in the back (later acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defense). The Stones were performing the misogynistic “Under My Thumb” at the time. How would The Rolling Stones respond to this terrible event in their next studio album? Artistic humility and lamentation or supercharged indifference? You be the judge. Brian Jones was dead. The quirky, talented, inventive, and unstable founder and multi-instrumentalist for The Rolling Stones had died in July 1969 (at the age of 27). Lead guitarist Mick Taylor took his place. That is the number one reason why this album is great. Lead singer Mick Jagger, drummer Charlie Watts, and bassist Bill Wyman knew that the replacement of Jones would make or break the band, so they were highly motivated to excel on this first studio album with the new lineup. How to integrate Mick Taylor to a well-established rock ‘n roll band? It was an artistic and existential challenge, and the Stones were up to it. Now Keith Richards, rhythm guitarist, worked with Taylor to ‘roll’ him into The Rolling Stones’ unique sound of ‘weaving’ lead and rhythm. The chemistry between these two became magical. I probably listened to this album several hundred times before I began to get an inkling of this. Listen closely and you’ll hear it. Richards/Taylor. Rhythm/Lead. That’s the music of this album. The rhythm section (Charlie Watts on drums and Bill Wyman on bass) provides quintessentially steady, if inelaborate tempos and grounding throughout. Keith Richards provides suitable chord structure and underpinning of the melodies in his execution of rhythm guitar. Vocally, Mick Jagger is a mess. But that’s the point. His deliberately exaggerated flaws in his vocal stylings, chaotic diction and tone, loose approach to pitch, and sometimes random exclamations are all calculated to produce the intended effect—adolescent male angst (however far out of touch he is with his own). In “Brown Sugar”, misogyny and racism are wrapped into one hard driven musical wallow with a rollicking beat. In the lyrics, the Anglo narrator reflects on the cultural roots of his present day sexual infatuation with a young Black woman, connecting it back to the sexual liberties of white male slave owners, and further back to the violent sexual domination by white slave traders over their helpless victims. It was the musical answer to the question, “Why is sex with black women so appealing to white men?” (Answer: the screams). It was recorded December 2-4, 1969. Then the Stones were ‘off to Altamont’ where they performed this song live, musically presiding (not incidentally) over the scene where a white man killed a gun-toting black man in front of the black man’s white girlfriend. Now put all that together, bro. The message of “Sway” is that evil, even demonic attacks of depression can only be conquered by love. Set in a bluesy environment, the music is accentuated by the weaving of two guitar lines: bottleneck slide (Taylor) and electric rhythm (this time by Jagger instead of Richards). The song ends with a masterful slide guitar solo by Mick Taylor and an effective string background as it fades. A beautiful and under-appreciated anthem. On “Wild Horses” a serious listener (with headphones) can get a sense of Taylor and Richards ‘weaving’, especially in the first verse, with Richards on twelve string acoustic in the right channel, while Taylor provides blended lead and licks on slide acoustic in the center of the stereo mix, adding overdubbed color (with the lower four strings tuned an octave higher) in the right channel. It becomes a tender setting for the message of devotion a man to his woman in the midst of her suffering. Notice the emotional progression from the insensitively nasty in “Brown Sugar” to hopefulness in “Sway”, and then on to deep compassion in “Wild Horses”. On “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking”, we hear more ‘weaving’. Listen for Richards on the right channel and Taylor on the left channel. At 2:42, Taylor drops out for Richards to set up the remarkable Bobby Keys tenor sax solo. Taylor and Richards both provide underlying colorings to the sax, followed (at 4:40) by an iconic Taylor guitar solo, with Richards providing rhythm support, until Keys rejoins (at 6:00) for a fine jazz romp to the final splash cymbal by Watts. (If you wanted background music to a collage of scenes of mob violence, this would do nicely. And that is exactly what Martin Scorsese did with it in “Casino”. Chilling.) The last two minutes of the track, it is reported, were unplanned. The musicians were unaware the tape was still rolling. God exists. With “Bitch”, we have uninhibited nasty rock, enriched by a sassy horn section over more ‘weaving’ by Richards and Taylor. The musical setting and lustful lyric provide a suitable vehicle for Jagger’s raw vocals. These words depict a driving passion for the beloved that is reduced to autonomic reflex (“like a Pavlov dog”). For God’s sake, woman, throw the dog a bone. “I Got the Blues” is a dirge-like blues ballad, guaranteed to lower your blood pressure after “Bitch”. Again, with beautiful horns, and some exquisite Hammond organ soloing by Billy Preston. And speaking of blood pressure, “Sister Morphine” is a track that could send you to the hospital. A haunting minor key lament of a drug addict’s agonizing withdrawal, addressed to his longed-for but absent Sister Morphine. Mournful tone on the Richards’ strummed acoustic, with accompanying electric slide, this time by the incomparable Ry Cooder. In his delirium, the song’s protagonist is possessed of a sudden terror (“What am I doing in this place? / Why does the doctor have no face?”). If this song doesn’t produce a shudder, you’re already dead. And speaking of dead, the next track, “Dead Flowers” is a piece of lazy passive aggression, presented in a funked up country mood. Jagger’s narrator can’t contain a mocking disdain for his former girl who has apparently moved up the better life, leaving him in some basement “with needle and a spoon”. Vocals with an exaggerated affected southern accent highlight the mockery. The only hint of redemption here is his (vain) hope to someday put roses on her grave. Why am I skeptical? The final song on “Sticky Fingers” is “Moonlight Mile”. Painfully slow, a man living “on the road” longs to be home with his beloved. Fine acoustic and electric guitar work by Taylor. The expansive string arrangement over a gut wrenching piano brings his hope to an almost victorious conclusion, punctuating the powerful bridge before softening at the very end, bringing this song, and this album, to a melancholy conclusion. In its creative conception, the lyrics (as well as the cover art, dangling tongue logo, and other marketing strategies) are unabashedly lascivious and drug-centered. But they are tempered by reflections of darker and even dangerous moods—a perfect concoction for exciting the libido of most every 16-year old American male (like me at the time), who imagined that it was his own picture on the cover. “Sticky Fingers” by The Rolling Stones is, of course, a classic. 5/5

“White Light” by Gene Clark (1971) Never heard this album. This was one that I missed when I was young. I never knew of Gene Clark by name, but his association with The Byrds, as well as Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and Bob Dylan puts him very good company. As I approach this album, my expectations are high. The highlight of this album is in the lyrics. As a songwriter, Gene Clark utilizes simple melodies to carry elaborate lyrics, like a Bob Dylan or Gordon Lightfoot. But Clark’s poetics are flawed. There is too great a reliance on the device of placing the object before the verb and subject. For poets, this a device sometimes used to maintain the rhyme and meter. But Clark doesn’t use a strict rhyme or meter structure anyway, so it comes off as pretentious and distracting. On the opening track “The Virgin”, we get a story with no ending. On the title track “White Light”, we get an elaborate and thoughtful depiction of an imaginary scene, but without coherent meaning. Clark fails to tie it together. He’s trying to channel Dylan. He’s no Dylan. I thought the lyrics to “Tears of Rage” were better, then I found out that unlike the rest of the songs on this album, these lyrics were written by—Bob Dylan. Musically, the settings are so very plain. Country folk rock three chord monotony. No innovation. Simple to the point of lacking depth and passion. I wish he’d put down the harmonica. Clark’s voice is timid. He struggles to find the notes, high and low. Melody on “Because of You” has the curious ending to each verse on the fifth—not resolving to the tonic until a repeat of the last line of the song. That doesn’t count as innovation. That’s just weird. A melodic doodle. Yawn. I’m glad I heard this album before I die. It reassures me that some of the music I missed when I was young was actually worth missing. 2/5

“Dance Mania” by Tito Fuentes and his orchestra (1958) Never heard of this album or artist, but I could see that this was going to be fun immediately upon dropping the needle on the record. I can dream, can’t I? The album came out when I was three years old, and this was a musical world with which, in later years, I would become only marginally familiar. My sister and I would dance cha-cha-cha in pre-adolescence. I got bongos for Christmas one year, learning the difference between cha-cha-cha, mambo, samba, and rumba (and the difference between the two bongo drums, macho and hembra, the full significance of which would only become clear when adolescence was over). Musically, I was taken by the rich depth of the brass (exclusively trumpets, with the lower tones all carried by reeds. Interesting.) The rhythms are not the hard driving Latin beats of Santana. This is dance music. Mostly mambo (listen for the syncopation on beat four in each measure) and cha-cha-cha, in slightly varying tempos from song to song. Sensuous, undulating. For dancers, forget your feet. It’s all about oscillation between the chest and lower abdomen (euphemisms). I’d better stop. Skillful marimba and vibraphone by Fuentes. All musicians play with precision and professional self discipline. Excellent jazz piano by Raymond Concepción. Very well recorded (for 1958), with excellent use of the newly developed stereophonic technology (generally brass on the right and reeds on the left—cool). Can you believe we actually used to listen to music in mono? Lyrics: Well, I’m certainly limited here, but the lyrics are meaningfully prominent on two songs. This is enough for me to gain an appreciation of the fact that Latin dance is more than just ‘happy music’, regardless how much cowbell I hear. On “Cuando Te Vea”, we have: Mañana cuando yo te vea Permite, que pueda explicarte Los momentos de amargura Que pase por ti mujer Yo comprendo, soy un hombre Lo que quiero nena linda Es disculparte Por los momentos de amargura Que pase por ti mujer (Tomorrow when I see you Let me explain The moments of bitterness Let it pass for you woman I understand, I am a man What I want pretty baby Is to apologize For the moments of bitterness Let it pass for you woman) Cuando te vea Fuiste mala mala y embustera Cuando te vea Mañana por la mañana Cuando te vea Te fuiste de mi vida mujer bandolera Cuando te vea (When I see you You were bad bad and a liar When I see you Tomorrow morning When I see you You left my life, shoulder bag woman When I see you) Here is a message that conveys sympathy, regret, chastisement, and resentment all within the same musical mood. Wow. (Somebody please explain to me “mujer bandolera”) On “Agua Limpia Todo”, Water cleanses everything—even the tongue of the people. Something to remember in the age of Twitter. Very good music. Very gratifying listen. 4/5

“Nebraska” by Bruce Springsteen (1982) I’m familiar with Bruce Springsteen’s hits, but I’ve never listened to this album. Based on what I know about Springsteen, my expectations are low. In the title track “Nebraska”, Springsteen sets the mood with a forlorn ballad about a man condemned to death for murdering ten people. No redemption, no meaning. Lower middle class nihilism. Poor poetics (sounds like it was written on a single afternoon, with sloppy meter and clunky phrasing). Poor recording quality. I’ve never been impressed with Springsteen’s vocals, and I’m not surprised here. It’s ok to affect a Southern accent if it’s done well, but here it’s not. Has Springsteen ever been to rural Nebraska and Wyoming? You couldn’t tell from this song. He’s from Jersey, for God’s sake. Shake my head. More of the same on “Atlantic City”, which is at least set in more familiar territory. Distracting microphone pops and gimmicky howls in the background. Guitar work perfectly unrefined. I think on this album, Springsteen imagines himself taking the baton from Dylan. Springsteen drops it. A little background might be helpful. At the time this album was released, Columbia Records had both Springsteen and Dylan under contract. Dylan had been recording his “evangelical Christian” music for several years, and one can imagine that Columbia executives were anticipating that Dylan was on the way out. They needed someone to carry the baton, and Springsteen might fit the bill. “Nebraska” has so many marketing parallels to Dylan’s earliest work, one can’t help but see here a chance for Columbia to keep the folk-rock-prophet-poet franchise going. Find a replacement for Dylan that would satisfy the market that had Dylan had made lucrative at the start. Springsteen failed. With numerous irritating flubs on harmonica, primitive three-chord compositions, completely derivative melodies, the only thing ‘creative’ about this album is the lyrics, and while they’re shockingly despondent, they just ain’t that good. In “Johnny 99” we’re treated to a reprise of the underwhelming phrase “I’ve got debts no honest man can pay” (previously used by a different crook in “Atlantic City”). What, Bruce, did you think it was so clever you had to use it twice? Come on, man, if a guy gets drunk and murders a night clerk because he’s unemployed, we can’t muster sympathy for him because he’d rather be executed than serve 99 years. The attempted pathos is simply too implausible. Likewise in “Highway Patrolman”, we’re supposed to feel good about a cop who lets his brother escape to Canada after a murder. Doesn’t make sense. Note to Bruce: On “Highway Patrolman”, “Shortwave” radio is not used for local communications. The music is monotonous, the production is completely amateurish, the lyrics beg pathetically to be taken seriously, and the instrumentals sound like they were all performed by the same person in one or two takes (they were). My low expectations were justified and satisfied. Don’t waste your time, young ones. This boomer says “Nebraska” is a dud. 1/5

“American Idiot” by Green Day (2004) Not familiar with this album or this group. Punk political opera - intriguing. Good music, shallow politics. But the music is good enough to persuade the listener to overlook the political naivety. These gentlemen would have been well advised to read a few lines of Zbigniew Brzezinski on the Iraq War before writing this opera. They still would have been wrong, but at least they would have sounded intelligent. Or are they affecting intentional unintelligence? Are they just joshing? Anyway the music is very entertaining. Head banging punk rage, with a unifying operatic theme. Plenty of creative innovations. Some real gems here. “A steady diet of soda pop and Ritalin” is a great line. Conceptually this album follows the line of “Tommy” by The Who, without being overly derivative. “Dearly Beloved” is truly good music. Integrating acoustic guitar in this genre is a stroke of genius. And the glockenspiel! Ya-ya. But check out this quatrain: Oh, therapy, can you please fill the void? Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed? Nobody's perfect and I stand accused For lack of a better word, and that's my best excuse One could step back and reflect on that for awhile. Very good drum work. Bass contributes much counterpoint. Vocals appropriate for the genre. Billie Joe Armstrong can really sing. Extraordinary musical range for punk (admittedly, my experience with punk is limited), reminiscent of what The Beatles did for rock ‘n roll on “Sgt. Pepper” and “Abbey Road”. I enjoyed this one. 4/5

“Back in Black” by AC/DC (1980) I bought this album when it first came out, because my students (at a private Christian high school) had expressed alarm that if you play it backwards there were discernible messages from Satan. This was in the heyday of the evangelical Christian “backmasking” conspiracy theory. Anyway, I played parts of it in class (forward and backward), demonstrating that what they had been told to listen for (repeated references to “666”, etc.) were actually just cymbals and other sounds that only coincidentally sounded like words. Some of them remained unconvinced, and thus I learned a valuable lesson about religious fundamentalism: People will believe the craziest shit under the right conditions. But the music on this album is very good. Brian Johnson has a voice that seems to do violence to both his throat and the listener’s ears. But it is a very disciplined violence, with excellent range, diction, and breath control, and that makes it musically attractive. The guitar work of the Young brothers displays a particular virtuosity, especially for the time. Clearly one of the standout heavy metal guitar duos. Listen carefully for Angus Young’s deftly executed ‘quick bends’ on individual notes in the scales of his lead riffs. Exquisite. The rhythm section is exceptionally tight and steady, with enough variety to keep it interesting. The lyrics, on the other hand, are simply unconnected expressions of misguided manliness, angry arrogance, and cultural chaos. Even lyricist Brian Johnson is reported as having described the lyrics on the title track “Back in Black” as nonsense. And Johnson’s lyrics on “Hell’s Bells” are an unconvincing paean to evil. Consider the line “'Cause if good's on the left, then I'm sticking to the right”. Brian, if you’ve ever had children (and he did), then we all know you’re full of shit. What holds these lyrics together are the standard heavy metal themes of unrestrained individuality, untempered judgmentalism and the irresponsible abuse of what little they know. It’s not art. If you want to hear a message from Satan on this album, don’t play it backwards. Play it forwards. But the sound. The sound. It is metal done to perfection. 4/5

“Step in the Arena” by Gang Starr (1991) Never heard the album or this duo, and my familiarity with the hip hop genre is quite limited. Musically, the producer in the duo, DJ Premier, puts together a fine background, providing solid rhythms and scratching, with some tentative forays into sampling. I’m sure this was innovative in 1991, and likely very influential, but it doesn’t seem to stand the ‘test of time’. Guru’s voice lacks expressive range, and in rapid phrases he frequently mumbles to retain the tempo. His tone is subdued, letting the startling nature of the words carry the artistic freight. That’s appealing. In terms of meaning, his lyrics are marked by self absorbed boastfulness, with an expansive range of metaphors from gladiators to those who covet luxury vehicles. It’s illustrated in the title track, “Step in the Arena”, which compares rap competition to lethal one-on-one combat. But the lethality serves no goal other than entertainment. There’s no consideration of the moral standing of the purveyors and consumers of these nihilistic spectacles. The meaning is “I’m the best” and that is to your detriment. He seems to want his listeners to want to adopt the same attitude. Here’s a significant line indicating that he is aware, even in 1990, that the rap/hip hop world was overpopulated with junk: “Abreast of the best in this rap mess Oversaturated market full of wackness” There is a form of intellect on display here. Skillful use of internal rhyme and other poetic devices without being mechanical. This is not doggerel. Plus, Guru is a keen observer of his culture. In “Who’s Gonna Take the Weight?”, Guru advances key themes of the message of the Nation of Islam. After an opening sample of a couple of lines from Malcolm X, Guru declaims, “I was raised like a Muslim”, which is highly unlikely, given his solid middle class background, but the selective appropriation of NOI themes continues. Ultimately the lyric lacks persuasiveness, chiefly because it is so self focused. Guru needs to enter the heart of the listener. These lyrics generally lack drama. There’s plenty of violence, and elaborate imagery, but little storytelling, redemption, conflict resolution, or artistic closure. It’s simply a catalogue of unanswered questions and unsolved problems (unless the answers and solutions boil down to “give everything to me”). The poetry usually evokes little emotion other than pity and perhaps fear. The one grand exception to this bleak assessment is the track “Just to Get a Rep”. It tells a powerful tale of a man who unnecessarily uses lethal force on a victim merely to enhance his own reputation. The victim recovers and returns to kill him, also motivated by the desire “just to get a rep” (reputation). The poetic composition powerfully invites the listener to consider whether it’s worth it. Of course it’s not. But one wonders how many listeners were persuaded in that direction. Not the greatest hip hop, in my admittedly limited experience. 2/5

“Fuzzy” by Grant Lee Buffalo (1993) Never heard of this album or this group. Some innovative instrumentation, but the drums and bass lack the creativity that is evident in guitar and keyboards. Virtually no lead guitar, nearly all acoustic strumming, done competently enough, but it’s monotonous by the end of the album. Melodies are uninspired, necessitated by Lee’s limited vocal range. The lyrics on this album are needlessly opaque. The only interesting cut is the 17-verse “Dixie Drug Store” which tells a coherent story with a not entirely unpredictable twist. But it lacks soul. This entire album barely skims the surface of emotion. We could all pass on this one. 1/5

“Very” by Pet Shop Boys (1993) Never heard this album or this group. Commercial disco synth-pop. And I mean VERY commercial. What is entertaining about this album is the modestly creative tapestry of synthetic sounds, recorded over mechanically steady rhythms. I found myself ignoring the inelegant drum and bass lines, eager to hear what’s innovative in the melody, ‘orchestration’, and lyrics. I was generally disappointed. Eventually every musical aspect of the sound fell into the background, so that nothing at all stood in the foreground. The compositions are generally repetitive. The third track, “Liberation” seems to be the most ‘produced’ cut on the album, but the orchestral backing is uninspired. The lyrics sometimes try to be profound but the silliness of the sound gets in the way. For example, “Dreaming of the Queen”, a reflection on the plausibility imagined despondency of Princess Diana, could have been quite moving had it been arranged with acoustic guitar with backing vocals and strings, but instead we get canned pop. Diet pop at that. There is one track worth a serious listen. “The Theatre” is a song I actually backed up and played several times with volume turned up. You see, a ‘theatre’ is where fictional second-tier realities are played off one another. And we get to decide which of those realities we will choose to elevate to the top tier. This song compels the listener to do exactly that. It’s in the class of the disco elements in Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall Part 2”. Yes, it’s that good. Anne Dudley’s orchestration is excellent—reminiscent of Hans Zimmer (although I would have boosted the trombones and timpani in the mix). Internal chord and key transitions closely track the development of the lyrics. The first chord of the chorus gave me goosebumps. Then a sob. Then flat out weeping. It shows they have the ability. This song made me stop and consider the obvious, but also whether “Phantom of the Opera” is art. It also made me reassess my admiration of the haut bourgeois (and wannabe) patrons of, say, Luciano Pavarotti. But come on, Pet Shop Boys, I can’t imagine actually dancing to this song. How would I feel as I left the discotheque? (That’s the point, dude.) I had to listen to it several more times. Then I bought the track on iTunes. But overall, “Very” is very—mediocre. On this album, The Bee Gees take Yes out to dinner and a movie, and agree never to date again. 2/5

“Rust Never Sleeps” by Neil Young & Crazy Horse (1979) I’m a big fan of Neil Young, but, interestingly, I’ve never listened to this album, primarily because when I was compiling my Neil Young collection in the late 1990s, I generally stayed away from live albums altogether. So this will be a serious listen with fresh ears. If you’re not already a fan of Neil Young, this album is probably not for you. I would suggest “After the Gold Rush” (1970), “Harvest” (1972), “Harvest Moon” (1992), and “Prairie Wind” (2005) instead. “Rust Never Sleeps” is a reminder that if you fail to pay attention to the encroachment of old age, decay will catch up with you. Neil Young was 33 years old when this album was released. Ha. Now he’s 75 and still rocking (and not in a chair). He’s neither burning out nor fading away. The songs on “Rust Never Sleeps” are ‘sandwiched’ between two versions of the same melody and lyrical theme (the acoustic “My My, Hey Hey” and the electric “Hey Hey, My My”). Message: Rock ‘n Roll endures (even if it’s purveyors don’t). Musically, the live acoustic tracks on “Side One” are quintessential Neil Young, whose acoustic guitar style is characterized by carrying melodies on the lower strings, with the higher strings provide color and chord structure. The electric tracks of “Side 2”, performed with Crazy Horse, haven’t aged well. Ironic, isn’t it? Young’s voice is not very good, especially live, but like Dylan and others, he puts his limited vocal talent to effective use in expressing his poetry. And his poetry is usually very good. The overall effect is like sitting around the campfire listening to a good friend do what he can with voice, guitar, and songs that are important to him. In a September 1980 Playboy interview, a famous rock star was asked, “What do you think of Neil Young’s line ‘It’s better to burn out than fade away”? His answer: “I hate it. It's better to fade away like an old soldier [ref. General Douglas MacArthur’s farewell speech to the U.S. Congress in 1951] than to burn out. If he was talking about burning out like Sid Vicious, forget it. I don't appreciate the worship of dead Sid Vicious or of dead James Dean or dead John Wayne. It's the same thing. Making Sid Vicious a hero, Jim Morrison—it's garbage to me.” That rock star was John Lennon, who was gunned down three months later. Young’s original 1979 lyric was part of a reflection on the rise of Johnny Rotten, with an oblique reference to the 1977 death of Elvis Presley. In April, 1994, Curt Cobain concluded his suicide note with “It’s better to burn out than fade away”. One lesson here is that lyrics can have a life (or death) of their own. They can transcend the expressive experience of the writer. Whether the sentiment of this line conforms with reality or not, it evokes serious consideration in an existential crisis. With songs of protest against injustice that would sound clunky to PETA (“Pocahontas”) and feminists (“Welfare Mothers”), Young seems to be departing that genre for the rock of the aged. On “Rust Never Sleeps”, he hasn’t yet arrived. A little disappointing, by still a good Neil Young album. 3/5

“Africa Brasil” by Jorge Ben Jor (1976) Never heard this album nor this artist. But wow, welcome to my ignorance. The basic thrust of this album is the integration of western American and European) musical motifs into Brazilian urban samba. From the opening bars of "Ponta de Lança Africano (Umbabarauma)", the listener might expect an American country rock ballad with instrumentation and chord structure like Creedence Clearwater Revival. But eight bars in, Brazil steps up with lead and background vocals. Track two is funk Hermetica. Sounds like a Sly and the Family Stone take on 2nd century B.C. Egyptian mysticism. Apparently Jorge Ben Jor had earlier devoted an entire album on this theme (“A Tábua de Esmeralda” (1974)). Worth exploring if you’re into that sort of thing (as, obviously, I am). Listen to the first few bars of "O Filósofo" (1976) and the opening bars of “I’ll Take You There“ (1972) by The Staples Sisters and you’ll see what’s going on here. Personally, I think a little appropriation is cool. "Meus Filhos, Meu Tesouro" is a celebration of his three children (“My Children, My Treasure”). Great sound and sweet lyric. "O Plebeu" gives us a happy tragedy of the collision between poverty and affection, as the penniless poet joyfully resigns himself to the fact that his love for a rich girl must remain unrequited. Interesting take on a classic theme. ‘Xica da Silva” tells real-life story of a wealthy 18th century Brazilian woman welcomed in the royal court, but excluded from her parish church because she was a black former slave. According to Wikipedia, “Xica was banished from the parish church, which was reserved for Caucasians only. To show the locals Xica’s power, [the white nobleman] João Fernandes built a luxurious church attended just by herself.” The song celebrates this act of trans-racial loyalty, and thus becomes a protest against racial exclusivity among social elites. Powerful. Compare the happy autobiographical reflections of a child who was ‘different’ in Jorge Ben Jon’s "A História de Jorge" (1976) with the tragic autobiographical reflections of a child who was ‘different’ in Juanes’ "La Historia de Juan" (2002). Fascinating. However, the most powerful track on the album is the title track, "África Brasil (Zumbi)". We’re treated to angry, driving rhythms and chord structure, with suitable vocal tone. According to Joel Sattler, “Zumbi was the last leader of the Quilombo dos Palmares runaway slave refugee colony in Alagoas, Brazil that also harbored fugitives and deserters. Born a free man in 1655, captured and sold into slavery at the age of six, baptized by his missionary owner, he learned Portuguese and Latin and the Bible. Escaping at 15, he returned home and became a military leader and renowned warrior. When the local governor offered freedom to the colony, Zumbi distrusted the Portuguese and refused to accept the offer while other Africans remained enslaved. He took over leadership of the quilombo and ruled for 15 years until the Portuguese military destroyed the central settlement of Cerca do Macaco with an artillery assault. The colony fell, Zumbi went to ground and led a rebellion for two years, evading capture until betrayed by one of his followers. He was beheaded by the Paulistas, and his head taken to Recife and displayed as a warning to all other slaves. The date of his execution, November 20 1695, has become the equivalent of our Martin Luther King Day.... https://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewpoetry.asp?id=279469 Brazilian rock. This album teaches and connects. Very nice. 4/5 Bonus connection for those familiar with Juanes: Joga bola, jogador Joga bola, corocondô Joga bola, jogador Joga bola, corocondô (from "Ponta de Lança Africano” by Jorge Ben Jor (1976)) Yo te doy todo mi amor Luna de mi corazón Yo te doy todo mi amor Si tú me lo cuentas todo (from “Luna” by Juanes (2002))

“Ladies and Gentlemen we are Floating in Space” by Spiritualized (1997) Never heard this album or this group. You know how sometimes you get high and an idea pops into your head and you think wow, man that’s a really great idea and you resolve to put the idea into practice when you’re no longer stoned and you even write down some notes about the idea because it’s so cool and then you run across your notes while you’re throwing out the pizza boxes and pop bottles and Doritos bags from the previous evening and you read those notes and you read them again and you scratch your head and you throw it all away and head to the medicine cabinet and you take an aspirin? That’s this album. Here we are treated to elaborate soundscapes with multiple countermelodies, in tightly controlled chord structures. The musical objective seems to be to draw attention to the layers. I found myself continually asking “What is producing that particular piece of the sound?” (While that is entertainingly diversionary, it was sometimes distracting. The composition is sometimes a bit repetitive.) It’s pretty, like electronic lace. Well conceived and recorded, it is evident that a lot of musicians put a lot of work into this product. A key feature is that there are so many things going on at the same time, yet avoiding chaos by strict tonal discipline and standard progressions. Also, with plenty of sustain and drawn out chord presentations, the music is further tied together. The chief weakness in both the instrumental and vocal performances is they lack emotional depth. It seems too mechanical, even in places where you would expect some passion, such as the title line on “I Think I’m in Love”. But in “Electricity”, the disciplined elaborations get in the way. It doesn’t rock. Guitar work is competent, but not particularly adroit. The skill on display is the variations in the pedal effects. Flange and chorus effects predominate. Lead vocals not good, backing vocals superb. Often (e.g., “Home of the Brave”) the lead vocal sounds like a poor imitation of Kurt Cobain. The lyrics are pretty standard, lacking originality and depth. Could’ve been written by third rate band in the 1960s. I was really looking forward to the potentially powerful and profound lyrics on “No God Only Religion”. There weren’t any. Damn. The track least afflicted by this poetic malady is “Cool Waves”, but even it is a lyrical swing and a miss. Definitely headphones music. Meant for meditation. I couldn’t listen to this while working, reading, cooking, or doing needlepoint (and I don’t even do needlepoint). Maybe driving. Across Kansas. It’s okay music, not great. This album might be an example of shoegazing, but it’s far from omphaloskepsis. 2/5

“The Stooges” by The Stooges (1969) Never heard this album, and I’m only slightly familiar with the later work of frontman Iggy Pop. Proto punk is anti-music. I get it. But after 50 years, this album is an archaeological artifact. Heroin always screws up the music. Always. “We Will Fall” should have ended with the sound of your dad pounding on the bathroom door, yelling. “Hey! How long you gonna be in there?” At some point, Iggy Pop must’ve said to himself, “Ya know, I bet I could make enough money to keep me stoned just by doing a bad imitation of Mick Jagger and Jim Morrison.” And so he did. Southeast Michigan produced Motown, MC5, Grand Funk Railroad and Bob Seger. Could’ve skipped the Stooges. That’s all that comes to mind after listening to this mindless album. 1/5

“Tapestry” by Carole King (1971) Very familiar with this artist and album. Isn’t everyone? “Tapestry” is superb. Stands the test of time. Soulful, well crafted songs with highly evocative lyrics and creative, forward looking melodies. The recording quality is first rate, with brilliant, properly balanced contributions from studio musicians. Fine touch in the mix. Piano work is iconic, even if it doesn’t demonstrate a studied virtuosity. Lead vocal, likewise, perfectly delivers the feel and meaning of each composition, without exemplary power or range. Excellent pitch control and diction, even on blues bends and subdued passages. The tracks are arranged well on this album, taking the listener on a journey that is definitely laid out in two major sections, Side 1 and Side 2. This a skill that’s rather under appreciated in this era when one doesn’t have to ‘flip the record over’. I have no wisecracks about this album. I’m not worthy. 5/5

“All Hope Is Gone” by Slipknot(1980) New experience for me. Bad done well. 3/5 These guys have real talent. What a shame. Self contradictory (hope/no hope) the marketing of evil, done with precision, elaboration, finesse. An intriguing listen. It seems like metal has caught up with hip hop. The message is incoherent, undefended and indefensible. Expressing virtually no redemption, no resolution. “Snuff” is the closest thing to beauty on this album (even if the opening groove is a flat ripoff of Nirvana’s “Something in the Way”), but is fatally flawed by its nonsensical lyrics. How can one feel sorry for a guy who gives such a lame and internally inconsistent expression of his sadness? To his woman? I pity the woman.

“Mask” by Bauhaus (1981) Never heard this album or group. I’m familiar with Bauhaus, the original early 20th century German art movement, and this group attempts to do a similar thing in the 1980s. Formal order to the point of monotony, accentuating the surrounding chaos. It’s cool. Fascinating, even. Proto-goth rock, anyone who enjoys both Jane’s Addiction and David Bowie will enjoy this album, if he or she has the patience for nearly unending minor keys and mechanical proto-disco rhythms. Thoughtful lyrics, even if frequently obscure. For example, in “Fear of Fear”, we get a hopeful message, encouraging the listener to overcome his or her insecurities or anxieties, bringing to mind that strange advice from Franklin Delano Roosevelt, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”, which is the silliest advice ever to receive public acclamation. I think Bauhaus would agree. Nice ‘tribute’ to Debbie Harry on “Harry”, although I’m not sure how she would feel about the line “They'll line you up and strip you down and then you'll see / That you're still the horny two-eyed bitch you used to be”. The song "1. David Jay 2. Peter Murphy 3. Kevin Haskins 4. Daniel Ash" is very cool. Actual backmasking as an art form on “4. Daniel Ash”. Wonderful fishcake recipe on “2. Peter Murphy”. Highly recommended. Musically, the album is inventive (this 1981, remember), and it is performed with exactitude, both in the solid grounding of the rhythm section and the sometimes ethereal melodies and harmonic flourishes. Lots of 1980s electronic experimentation. A good album, if somewhat dated. 3/5

‘Pearl” by Janis Joplin (1971) Very familiar with this album and artist. It will be a struggle here to focus on this album as an album, simply because there is so much worth saying about Janis Joplin and her times. But here goes: “Pearl” is stellar, even without context. Joplin’s soul soars in this recording, which is, almost incidentally, very well produced and arranged. The songwriting is first rate (only “Move Over” was written solely by Joplin herself), and the instrumentals of the Full Tilt Boogie Band excel. Top notch lead guitar, with some great solo riffs. Elaborate bass lines, always in concert with steady and dynamic drums. Nice colorings on Hammond organ. All very professional. But the chief topic of interest here is the vocal performance by Joplin. Her inimitable tonal characteristics are on full display. She does things with her voice that literally no one else can do. Tightly disciplined yet delicate trills. Effortless execution of singing two pitches simultaneously (e.g., hear the first word of “Cry Baby”! I actually did). Dynamic variation as an art form in itself. Listen to the constant interplay between the soft and the loud on “Me and Bobby McGee”. Few singers (or listeners) pay attention to that nowadays. There’s only one way to articulate the line “Windshield wipers slappin’ time”, and it’s the way Janis Joplin does it, though others have tried. Here we’re treated to Joplin’s prodigious range and exemplary pitch control, with vibrato that is customized for each phrase. Moreover, none of her vocal stylings are affected or artificial. It’s as if each song has been internalized, and thus it springs from her soul with minimal interference by her considerable physical singing tools. Listen for what’s going on beneath her breathing, vocal cords, oral and nasal cavities, and phonetic mechanisms. It’s passion. And passion rules over the body as the sound comes out. It’s not just ‘singing the blues’. It’s the blues emerging as song. Her frequent exclamations and extra-lyrical flourishes are not contrived. They seem unrehearsed. She is feeling, and we have the privilege of hearing what her feelings sound like. There is a maternal aspect to her singing. Mom can scold, comfort, rage, caress, and lament with abandon. So does Janis Joplin. But also, there’s plenty of eroticism—of a kind that is not bound by constructs like identity or even gender. It’s lust without heavy moral overtones. I’ll resist the urge to be more specific. This album is superb work of art. Recommend on every level. 5/5

“I Never Loved a Man the Way I Loved You” by Aretha Franklin (1967) Never listened to this album, but familiar with Aretha Franklin through hits and radio airplay. Powerful vocals across the tonal range. The performances here are impressive and unquestionably influential, lacking only the stylistic variety that would be discovered and developed by those following in her considerable wake. Backing vocals, however, are weak, lacking tonal blend, and are much too prominent in the mix. Backing instrumentals lack density and are recorded with too much of a ‘small studio’ sound. Somebody please tune that damn piano (especially on “Do Right Woman, Do Right Man”). The mix is too simple, frequently ‘stuck’ on an inappropriately dominant feed of certain instruments, which distracts from the real music—Franklin’s wonderful voice. But what a voice. A better cover of Sam Cooke’s classic “A Change Is Gonna Come” is to be found on “Suitable for Framing” (1969) by Three Dog Night. Much better. In every way. I recommend that you listen to this album for its historical importance, but to 2021 ears (begging indulgence, your majesty), the Queen lacks soul. 2/5

“Red Dirt Girl” by Emmylou Harris (2000) I’m familiar with Harris’ work as a background vocalist (for Neil Young, Bob Dylan, etc.) and her early hits, but I’ve never heard this album. Emmylou Harris was 53 years old when she recorded this album, and she exudes both youthfulness and maturity in her songwriting and performance. Harris has one of the most recognizable background voices in music of the 70s, with her easy timbre and flawless pitch control. In this solo production of her own composition, she rises to the occasion. She has exceptional strength in her lower range, with good control in her very occasional forays into the highest reaches of her range. It is very plain to hear on this album why she was a favorite for backup and duet work with male artists like Dylan and Young, whose vocal skills were both limited and idiosyncratic. She could make a frog sound sweet. As a songwriter, her compositions on this album are characterized by unsurprising yet moving melodies in major keys, with typical country/folk harmonies. This recording is innovative for Harris, primarily because of its experimental percussion and electronic soundscapes. Very well produced and recorded. The lyrics are serious, reflective, and powerfully feminine, with standard country meter and rhyme. I really liked listening to this. 3/5

“The Downward Spiral” by Nine Inch Nails (1994) I’ve heard of this group (and have seen a lot of NIN bumper stickers) but have never listened to this album. This album goes beyond what I’m able to assess. I can only observe. Generating complex layers of unidentifiable (to me, at least) electronic sounds, the music serves as a suitable vehicle for the extraordinarily dark, obscene, nihilistic, murderous, and suicidal lyrics. I’m sure it was a commercial success. The instrumentals that I can recognize seem competently performed (drums, synthesizers, bass guitar). The vocals are unimpressive, but I can’t imagine the singer had any intention of impressing a listener like me. The lyrics are what I used to call evil, culturally destructive, harmful, hateful, and immature. I don’t use those terms anymore. The anti-cultural (anti-human) mindset of Nine Inch Nails has prevailed. My side lost. I’m reduced to sitting in the back row watching the shit show. Consider the lyric “God is dead and no one cares.” Well, this assertion can be accepted only by someone who chooses to ignore the plain evidence. A lot of people care that God is dead, including all public atheists, and also including the author of this lyric. The assertion can thus be reduced to nonsense. The lyrics on “Big Man with a Gun” don’t quite rise to the level of pornography. Self destruction is contrary to nature. But for lyricist Reznor, “nature” is probably a construct that is not even worth deconstructing. Just throw it away. Or rather leave it lying in the anti-cultural sewer for someone else to deal with. Reznor is rather occupied with self absorbed self loathing (and getting rich off it. Why, in bumper sticker sales alone, he can comfortably retire). One of the several strengths of this album (in addition to creative use of time signatures, etc.) is the conceptual unity, progressing to a self-hating conclusion. That was a difficult sentence to write. This album sounds like it could have been recorded at the site of the earlier Manson murders. It sounds like it could have contributed the mindsets of later mass murderers, thus influencing a whole string of mass murders. It was and it did. 1/5

“Beauty and the Beat” by The Go-Go’s (1981) Not familiar with this album. I’ve heard of this group. This album is pop. Musically, very simple, reminds me of The Archies and every other commercial pop group of the late 1960s. Instrumentals are plain. Lead and backing vocals lack talent. Poor diction and pitch control. No power. No vibrato. Songs seem to be written specifically for singers with limited range. Good engineering and mixing. Well-produced. Actually these are the talents on display in this album. “Lust to Love” had the potential for a powerful, driving rock song, but the vocals and instrumentals weren’t up to it. Almost every song ends with a too definite slam on the tonic. I wanted to say “cha cha cha” after each one. Lyrics are sappy. Even when they strain to sound profound, the “pony” and the “watusi” are so desperately retro. Cringe. I can only think of one reason why any record label would have wanted to sign them. 1/5

“Another Music in a Different Kitchen” by Buzzcocks (1978) Never heard this album or group. There’s a lot wrong with this album. Lead vocals barely carry the cookie cutter melodies, performed (and I use that term loosely) with a tone that repels. Drums fail to maintain tempo, and bass is robotic. Guitar work is on the lower end of the garage spectrum. Lyrics are adolescent, with numerous errors in grammar, syntax, and usage. This is not intelligent music. I can imagine that some young and very inexperienced ears were attracted to the ‘rebelliousness’ of the sound and marketing, so this album might be nostalgic for some, but when those listeners are dead, this ‘music’ will be too. 1/5

“Brilliant Corners” by Thelonious Monk (1957) Never heard this album, but I’m marginally familiar with the progressive jazz of Thelonious Monk. These instrumental compositions are intricate and alluring. Monk’s progressions are very accessible to those who are not familiar with New York jazz of the mid-twentieth century. His virtuosity is to be heard in his flourishes, arpeggios, and scales. Melodies on this album seem to exist as a mere framework for jazz riffs, producing a nice 50s bebop feel. A very broad definition of harmony, especially for 1957. Listen for simultaneous adjacent chromatic notes on the celeste on “Pannonia”. They might sound like flubs until one begins to hear the patterns. To get a good taste of Monk’s piano work, check out “I Surrender, Dear” (which I think should have been the opening track, to give the album some forward momentum, but okay . . . ). His technique is accomplished, with crisp execution (perhaps too staccato), but lacking in dynamic variation. Compare with Earl Hines, Oscar Peterson, and Herbie Hancock for a timeline of jazz piano. Monk is not quite in their league, but he’s very good. Saxophonists Sonny Rollins (alto) and Ernie Henry (tenor) unquestionably display talent on this album, even if they are frequently not quite in tune with one another. Several pleasing solo breaks by sax, bass, and drums. This is a fine album, well worth a listen. 4/5

“Elvis Is Back” by Elvis Presley (1960) I’m very familiar with Elvis Presley through radio airplay, TV, movies, and hits when I was growing up in the 1960s, but I’ve never listened to a whole album of his music. And I don’t suppose anyone should be content to die before listening to an Elvis album, so I’m grateful for the experience. But it’s not his best stuff. This album is a product. And as a product, it is clearly well produced. Strong presence of backing vocals and top notch studio musicians. The songwriting is good, basically a collection of current songs by professional writers. So Elvis’ artistic work here is mostly that of a front man for a collaborative project. However, the art of Elvis Presley is not so much what he emitted, but rather what he evoked. He tapped into something in his audience that was latent and repressed—something that emerged as chaotic and histrionic mania. He put the boom in Boomers. He did for music what Van Gogh did for painting. Elvis’ voice at this stage of his life is better than it was in the middle 1950s, but still marked by an annoyingly rapid high-throat vibrato which one suspects he depends on to maintain pitch on sustained notes. Nice sonorous tone in the lower end of his range, but rather whiny on the highs. This is a good album. But it does not demonstrate what made Elvis a cultural icon. It lacks the energy and seductiveness of his earlier live and television performances. And it lacks the showmanship of his later Vegas years. If this album were the only Elvis Presley music to which you were ever exposed, you’d likely think, “Meh.” And that would be a shame. 3/5

Not gonna listen to an album with that cover. Sorry. 1/5

“Moving Pictures” by Rush (1981) I’m only slightly familiar with Rush; never heard this album. I had always planned to listen to more Rush, on the recommendation of some respected friends, but I never got around to it until today. I’m glad I did. This is progressive rock, well structured around the concept of turning what is visual into what is musical. The concept is developed lyrically by pairing the scenes, perceptions, and narratives of the lyrics with sounds that connect well (after a couple of hearings and a willingness to step beyond convention). The lyrics of themselves lack depth, but they accomplish the purpose of holding together this basic concept. Nice use of non-standard time signatures (7/8, 5/4, etc.), executed with discipline and precision. No backing vocals (too bad), and the lead vocal is high pitched, lacking natural resonance, but with excellent elocution. However, the primary thing that makes this album so good is the musicianship of the instrumentals. With only three members, this band produces a cornucopia of highly skilled playing—all three of them showcase their virtuosity on almost every track. If you only have a little time, listen to the first three minutes of “YYZ” (with headphones, of course. Loud.) Incredible execution. Close your eyes; visualize. A very good listening experience. 4/5

“Amerikkka’s Most Wanted” by Ice Cube (1990) I’m marginally familiar with this artist and lyrics (Ice Cube: “political hip hop” [TAR, 416]), especially “The Nigga You Love to Hate” and “This Is a Man’s World”. Most people are not consistently aware of the fact that socio-political propaganda has two dimensions. First, obviously, propaganda includes the promotion of set of views, which may or may not involve deception. But there is a second, more hidden dimension in which propaganda seeks to employ devices of socio-political power to downplay, distort, demean, or deny a voice to the views of others. The first dimension can be simply recognized as free speech (or advertising). But it is the second dimension that should be the focus of our analysis. Ice Cube’s lyrics, to state the obvious, are intentionally and self consciously angry, shocking, and offensive—entertainingly so. For this dimension of Ice Cube’s propagated views he gets five stars. Without question this album is a well executed, innovative, influential, and well performed expression of socio-political sentiment. Good poetry, vocals, production values, which still, 30 years later, have a solid fundamental appeal. Excellent listening experience. On the other hand (second dimension), these lyrics scare white people. They should. They are intended to. And apart from the fact that some racially aware white people (I’d like to think I’m one of them) feel guilty about how white people treated black people for at least the past 400 years, artists like Ice Cube have, using the second dimension referred to above, learned how to effectively tell white people to STFU. Out of unironically serious respect to the artistic integrity of this artist and album, therefore, I will. 3/5

“Emergency on Planet Earth” by Jamiroquai (1993) I’ve never heard of this album or this group. Sounds like a white guy trying to make money pretending to be black. And sometimes what it sounds like is exactly what it is. Cultural appropriation at its worst. His faux Stevie Wonder impersonation is embarrassing. Derivative ripoff. I had to skip ahead. It got worse. This album screams. “Look at me! I’m British and I’m so fashionably and counterculturally cool! Buy my CD so I can pay my session musicians!” Good bass player. Nice fluegelhorn. Strings are terrible. There’s a lot that I could say about how poorly this was composed, arranged, performed, mastered, and mixed, but I just don’t want to. Regarding the, ah, lyrics—they lack poetry, and the social commentary is like skipping rocks on a fetid pond. The self awareness in his self aware lyrics is aware of a pretty silly self. “Blow Your Mind” should’ve been titled “Blow Your Alleged Mind”. This album SUCKS. 1/5

“Copper Blue” by Sugar (1992) Never heard this album or artist. This is a Mould joint. Musically, he wants to be (as successful as) Curt Kobain, but the chops aren’t there. This ‘group’ is basically a guy on vocals & guitar with a hired rhythm section. It’s not a band. Lyrically, Mould can’t put two words together without doing it again doing it again. It’s actually fun to watch to watch. Most of these songs are first person frustrations expressed to the one he loves the one he loves. I can’t stop giggling stop giggling. Sugar is to Nirvana what Jamiroquai is to Stevie Wonder. Overall, meh. 1/5

“Kick Out the Jams” (Live) by MC5 (1969) Ok, folks, listen up. If you’re from southeastern Michigan (or otherwise sentient) and think you ‘get’ the cultural revolution of the 1960s without knowing this album or group, you are undereducated. This is an important album. There are eight tracks, which can be summarized as: Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, Sex, Revolution, Sex, and Fantasy. Sex is the vehicle; Revolution is the substance; Fantasy is the prognosis. Focus on the substance. In “Motor City Is Burning”: “Ya know, the Motor City is burning people There ain't a thing that white society can do Ma home town burning down to the ground Worser than Vietnam Let me tell you how it started now ... It started on 12th and Clairmount that morning It made the beat cops all jump and shout Ah said, it started on 12th and Clairmount that morning It made the pigs in the street freak out The fire wagons kept comin', baby But the Black Panther snipers wouldn't let them put it out Well, there were fire bombs bursting all around Ya know there were soldiers standing everywhere I said there was fire bombs bursting all around me Ya know there was National Guard everywhere Ah can hear my people screaming Sirens fill the air, fill the air, fill the air Ah said, the Motor City is burning, people I ain't hanging round to fight it out Ah said, the Motor City is burning, people Just not hang around to fight it out Well, I'm taking my wife and my people and they're on TV Fireman's on the street, people all around Now, I guess it's true I'd just like to strike a match for freedom myself I may be a white boy, but I can be bad, too Yes, it's true now, yes, it's true now Let it all burn! Let it all burn! Come on baby! Come on baby!” A frank recognition here of the understated strategy: the way to ‘let it burn’ is to shoot the firemen. This music inspired me as a teenager. Nixon, however, was not pleased. 5/5

“The Score” by Fugees (1996) First time listen. Nice grooves, interesting reggae feel, well recorded and mixed. Sampling is not overdone (but really, Enya’s “Boadicea” on “Ready or Not”?). It’s hip hop I could listen to on a long drive. Tasteful reverb. Very good sound. But what stands out on this album is Lauryn Hill’s voice—powerful, throaty, and resonant. I could listen to a lot more of that. Hill’s “Killing Me Softly” is better than Roberta Flack’s. It’s that good. I bought it. Lyrics are full of references that require the listener to pay attention and maybe do some research, which is appealing, but they often lack significance. Or sometimes I wonder if the artists are even aware of the fact that, for instance, the skillfully rapid “la-las” on the chorus of “Fu-Gee-La” came straight off the intro to Billy Stewart’s cover of “Summertime”(1966). But again, to what end? It’s cool, but why? It’s rather like Mozart to a guy who is more into Mahler. I could do with less of the standard 1990s rap lyric boastfulness, but maybe it (or I) will develop. This is very good album. In the history of American recorded music, Fugees are here to stay. I love this country. 4/5

“Destroy Rock & Roll” by Mylo (2004) First time for this album & artist. Music to listen to while on hold. Music to listen to while on hold. Music to listen to while on hold. Music to listen to while on hold. Music to listen to while on hold. 2/5

“Sign ‘O’ the Times” by Prince (1987) At the time of Prince’s tragic and untimely death in 2016, I observed to a friend that I had never heard a song by Prince. He insisted I listen to the song “Purple Rain“, so I did, and I thought it was good, but not great. That’s the extent of my exposure to this great artist. Upon listening to this album (or at least the 10 out of 16 tracks that Spotify would allow me to access), I can say some positive things about Prince. He has a good voice, if lacking in power. Pitch problems on “The Cross“. Wonderful R&B stylings on “Adore”. He is reputed to be a great guitarist, but the only solid demonstration of his guitar work on this album is on the track “I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man”, and it’s good, but not great. Acoustic on “The Cross” is out of tune. Drum machine is annoying. It’s more than ironic that he has a photo on the album cover that includes an elaborate drum kit. The best song on the album is the final track, “Adore”. Really nice. Also, and probably not coincidentally, it seems to be the most collaborative song in this collection There’s a lot of mystery about this guy. 3/5

“Pink Moon” by Nick Drake (1972) First time listening. An hour’s worth of music in a 28-minute recording. That is, 28 minutes listening and 32 minutes thinking about what I just heard. Musically spare, simple melodies, and gentle folk/jazz chord progressions. Virtually no backing instruments, and hardly any need for mixing, but some of the finest recording of accompanying acoustic guitar I’ve ever heard. Vocals are airy, weak, and withdrawn, with clipped phrase endings, a likely accommodation to limited control. But this underperformance is fitting for each song. This is not entertainment. Drake is putting his world on tape, inviting us in, take it or leave it. Very pleasant, resonant, and clean acoustic guitar, with some stumbles and drops in tempo, but otherwise very well played. Objectionable fret buzzing on “Know” (which cries out for backing instrumentals), but otherwise first rate. The poetry in the lyrics is generally of good quality, but it’s tragically underdeveloped (exceptions: “Things Behind the Sun” and “Parasite”). Drake successfully evokes a symbolic image, points the listener in a certain direction, but then leaves him/her hanging. Maybe that’s where he wants us. This album is a fine example of how very good music can be lost to culture, because business interests fail at “promotion”. A sad reflection on the music industry (an oxymoron if there ever was one). Almost a “five”. 4/5

“Close to You” by The Carpenters (1970) I’m embarrassed to say how familiar I am with this album. For most of my adult life these delicacies topped the grocery list of songs ‘most likely to make me change the station’. With starchy and otherwise unremarkable instrumentals, lyrics and melodies mostly snatched off the plates of others, and a compulsion to sample everything on the arranging buffet, these siblings offer high calorie fare for mass indulgence. Karen’s voice, a syrupy contralto, is spiced with touching croaks. Richard’s easy-to-imitate keyboards and backing vocals are like gravy on quaaludes. The opening track, “We’ve Only Just Begun”, is sugar-coated sugar, played at way too many weddings while bride and groom stuffed into each other’s mouths all that cake with extra frosting. The message is so unrealistically idealistic that many marriage veterans must have felt the urge to purge. The other super-hit from this high carb collection is the title track, “Close to You”, which should be banned for metaphor abuse. The rest is ear candy at best, if not intravenous sonic glucose. This is an album that, unfortunately, will stay with us forever, like middle age paunch. 1/5

“Skylarking” by XTC (1986) First time listen for this album and group. The question is, which album am I listening to here? The original vinyl release (without “Dear God”), the updated release (with “Dear God” but without “Mermaid Smiled”), or one of several digital re-releases which have “Dear God” in various positions among the last four tracks (or simply tacked on at the very end in the Spotify version)? For a concept album, it makes a huge difference, especially since “Dear God”, “Mermaid Smiled”, and “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul” are the three most interesting songs on the album. What we have here is twelve pathetic attempts to sound like the Beatles, supplemented by three works of genuine creativity. In terms of sound, this album lacks melody, coherence in chord progressions, and meaningful lyrics. It’s tough to make up for these huge deficiencies with innovative color, but they try. The end result is like a palette without a canvas. “Dear God”, despite all the “controversy”, is a sophomoric and self contradictory squeal about the problem of evil as evidence against the rationality of belief in God. There are much better treatments of this theme in contemporary music (John Lennon’s “God” on “Plastic Ono Band”, for argument-ending instance). I wonder if Virgin intentionally created the controversy as a marketing strategy. Now, “Mermaid Smiled” and “The Man Who Sailed Around His Soul” are definitely worth listening to, despite the extraordinarily weak vocals. But two tracks do not an album make. 2/5

“The Wall” by Pink Floyd (1979) (Superlatives alert!) This concept album is a genre-defining progressive rock opera that became a classic immediately upon its release. It is an exquisite work of art, treating of the theme of individual introspection on a level with Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment”, St. Augustine’s “Confessions”, and the book of Job. Sublimely harnessing all aspects of production, “The Wall” excels in composition, musicianship, engineering, storytelling, and performance. But the album’s power lies in its symbolic exploration of the human psyche, summarized in its central metaphor—traumatic phenomena which are defensively reduced to symbolization as “bricks in the wall”—as the cumulative antisocial and life denying effect of anesthesia, denial, and isolation. While the dramatic vehicle (autobiographical reminiscences of a ‘fictional’ rock star) can be fairly criticized as self indulgent, pretentious, overblown, and narcissistic, “The Wall” shares these features with other introspective works of art. Can one imagine trying to fully understand the works of Van Gogh without a progressive series of his self portraits? In order to come to grips with the human condition, the artist must look inside. And others might be put off by what the artist sees. But does the artist see with clarity? Does the artist see what might also be seen within the viewer/listener? Does the artist see the good, the true, and the beautiful? In “The Wall”, this vision becomes vivid. And it leads to redemption, if only in the discovery of the safe haven of stasis. We are richer, healthier, and more integrated as a result of joining Pink Floyd on the journey. Rock music as art doesn’t get any better than this. Music as art doesn’t get any better than this. Art doesn’t get any better than this. 5/5

“Madman across the Water” by Elton John (1971) Long familiarity with this album, which I owned on cassette tape and listened to endlessly on a mono portable deck. Bernie Taupin wrote the excellent lyrics, Elton John composed brilliant melodies and performed the songs with passion, while producer, arrangers, studio musicians, choir, orchestra, and engineers put together one fine collaborative audio production. This one of the earliest albums where the mixing board becomes a musical instrument on its own (the producer, Gus Dudgeon, knew exactly when to ‘tell’ the piano to sit back and let the backing musicians take over). If it weren’t for a couple of clunkers (“Razor Face” and “Rotten Peaches”), this album could’ve been a classic. Elton John has characterized himself as a pianist: “I’m a pounder.” He’s right. He never developed his left hand, and his right hand is chord-heavy. But his piano/vocal composition, dynamic synchronization, and blend are magical. His vocal melodies are enthralling. As an experiment, try to listen to just the melody, while filtering out the vocal trills, runs, and stylings. Then also filter out the chords and background musicians, and you should touch greatness. Sequences of cascading and unanticipated intervals, always leading home to the anxiously expected tonic, frequently supplied only by the instrumentals. The melodies of “Tiny Dancer”and “Levon” will live forever. In terms of psychological horror, the title track “Madman across the Water” is profoundly angry, and fittingly under appreciated. Taupin shines (“Is it in your conscience that you’re after another glimpse of the madman across the water?”), while Sir Elton’s melody and vocal performance scares the hell out of you. And the social justice sensitivity of the sad and angry ballad “Indian Sunset” moves to tears (even if it’s tainted by a historically uninformed and anachronistic confusion of the plights of Iroquois, Sioux, and Apache cultures). I can’t listen to the line “Peace comes with a bullet hole” without a tissue. Fine album. 4/5

“Remedy” by Basement Jaxx (1999) Completely unfamiliar with this. Likely to stay that way. This is dancing and drinking music. Electronic ‘sounds’ and four-on-the-floor rhythm machine foundations. Compositionally, this is is an elaborate musical doodle. Some interesting and innovative samples, like “Merengue” on “Bingo Bango”, but I’ve gotta draw a line here: Whose music am I assessing? These sounds (not songs) provide a background for more important things, like looking/smelling good at the club and hoping to get lucky. Lyrics are inconsequential. Two stars for some interesting sonic distractions. Now another shot of Axe and back to cruising for honey. 2/5

“Back to Black” by Amy Winehouse (2006) Always wondered what all the fuss was about. Winehouse’s vocals are interesting enough, a kind of metallic contralto, with little pitch and dynamic range, but adequate control. In terms of composition, there are many familiar jazz, R&B, (early) rock, and even swing structures here, but nothing truly innovative. Some tracks bring to the ear immediate associations with earlier music, especially “You Know I’m No Good”, evocative of the retro swing Squirrel Nut Zippers’ Katherine Whalen on “It Ain’t You” and “Blue Angel” (on the album “Hot” [1996]). Not entirely derivative, but clearly from the same mold. Winehouse’s vocal performance is a distant second to Whalen’s, however. Lyrics aren’t bad—sassiness on display. Not exactly virtue-forming, and attempting to evoke little sympathy, but entertaining enough, if the listener is willing to suspend charitable feelings. A good album and artist, but not great. 3/5

“Blood on the Tracks” by Bob Dylan (1975) It takes a remarkable talent to produce poetically powerful emotional scenes and evocative narratives in a musical idiom, and that is what is on display in this album. A bit of advice for those who are not Dylan fans: Listen to the stories. Listen to the expressions of love fulfilled or frustrated. Generate images in your mind, guided by the lyrics. Anticipate and cherish the moments when you say to yourself, “I never thought of it that way before.” You’ll find life expanding within you. And if you find Dylan’s vocals unbearable, start with “Tangled Up in Blue” and “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts”. Listen to the creative variations in the synchronization between the poetic rhythms and the musical rhythms. You may not ‘get’ all the obscure references, but you’ll feel the feeling. Then you might be ready to embrace the passion of a man who sings to his estranged wife at the end of a failed marriage (in “Idiot Wind”): You’re an idiot, babe It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe. . . . We’re idiots, babe It’s a wonder we can even feed ourselves. Try to put words to the development from the first two lines to the last two lines. This is not music for dancing, partying, getting stoned, lifting one up, easing one down, or background while one works. This merely culture-causing music fit for a serious listen. But if this album is over the heads of pop music consumers with three-minute attention spans, they should feel free to move on. I’ll stay awhile. Shelter from the storm. 5/5

“Queens of the Stone Age” by Queens of the Stone Age (1998) Marginally competent stoner rock, but this ain’t Nirvana. Composition needlessly repetitive. Too much l/r separation and hanky-panky in the mix. Pathetic vocals. Senseless lyrics. I preferred the original vinyl LP cover art. 2/5

“Graceland” by Paul Simon (1986) Please listen. I became very familiar with this fine album when it first came out in 1986, and it has been a favorite of mine ever since. Very well recorded and produced, with sublime if quirky lyrics and ear-opening instrumentation, “Graceland” pioneered a refreshing development in popular folk/rock. The most striking aspect of the work as a whole is its ready deployment of African musicians, such as the vocal group Ladysmith Black Mombazo (led by Simon Shabalala), guitarist Ray Phiri, and superb fretless bass player Bakithi Kumalo. Listen to Kumalo’s run at 3:43 on “You Can Call Me Al”. Tell me if it’s like anything you’ve heard before. Indeed, listen to this entire song for the inimitable bass playing. Also, listen to the first 27 seconds of this album (Forere Motlohelo on accordion [!!], Vusi Kumahlo on drums, Bakithi Kumalo on bass). Loud. You’ll know you’re in for a treat. Highly referential lyrics—South Africa, 1970s & 80s, Apartheid—perfectly bound to the melodies and phrasing. As subtle as it needed to be. God, this good music. And screw the accusations of cultural appropriation. Those accusations are just another glaring instance of liberals unnecessarily and inconsequentially eating their own. The African National Congress can sit on it. (The only ‘appropriation’ I objected to was when the 2000 Al Gore for President campaign used “You Can Call Me Al” as a theme song. Simon no doubt approved, but hey . . . Spoiled the song for me.) Overall, great album. Wanna decrease racial tensions? Get together across the racial divides. Produce music together. Solve problems together. Make babies instead of killing them. Peace, dude. 5/5

“Broken English” by Marianne Faithfull (1979) Banger alert. It’s hard to believe this album was released in 1979. If it had been produced today, the closing (banned in 1979) track “Why’d Ya Do It?” would be placed first, and perhaps have become the title track. This track alone is Exhibit A for the case that women belong in rock & roll (and hip hop, while we’re at it). The Go-Go’s should be shot. You’ve got to listen to this album as if you’d never heard Cyndi Lauper, who copied Faithfull in many ways. But Faithfull’s destroyed voice came honestly. Smoking, alcohol, and heroin will do that. Faithfull’s version of “Working Class Hero” is better than John Lennon’s. Seriously. Her voice is better suited than Lennon’s to express anger, angst, and ambivalence. And the instrumental production is a vast improvement over Lennon’s solo guitar. Jeez. The title and lead track here, “Broken English”, is best heard in the 1979 context of western perplexity over the young woman Ulrike Meinhof of Baader-Meinhof terrorist gang (“Red Army Faction”) taking up the cause of Marxism. Boomers with boom (demonstrating that women have a place in terrorism, too), they killed more than thirty people over course of their career. These kids made today’s Antifa look like a bunch of kittens. “Guilt” reflects on the formal distinction in theological anthropology between objective guilt and subjective guilt feelings. Take a moral dive into this song, and you’ll come to the surface with enhanced self awareness, maturity, and contentment. “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan” echoes “A Streetcar Named Desire” and anticipates “Thelma and Louise”. Nuff said. God, this music makes you think. 5/5

“Tragic Songs of Life” by The Louvin Brothers (1956) Most younger listeners should pass this one by, but there are some notable observations. As a sibling singing duo, The Louvin Brothers provide a good example of perfectly matched diction, a phenomenon rarely found in paired singers who didn’t grow up in the same home. Each vowel is identically mirrored, and the rounding of every diphthong is timed in a perfect match. This contributes to an exquisite tonal blend, and is very pleasing to the ear. As individual voices, however, their tone is sub par, with high throat and nasal whininess that is grating, and a near total lack of sonority. Harmonies lack variety. In terms of composition, there is a heavy reliance on the lilting 3/4 time signatures so popular in early country music, the dancing mood of which is a definite mismatch for serious ballads. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Mostly laugh. Guitar work is unremarkable, but mandolin is skillfully executed, and likely had a modest influence on subsequent musicians. Let me save y’all some time: listen to one track and move on with the rest of your day. Sad to say, it doesn’t even matter which track you choose. 1/5

“Slippery When Wet” by Bon Jovi (1986) First a word about that album cover. American listeners got a toned down version. But the original cover (which I’ve included here) is better suited to the artistic thrust of the music. Prudish marketing decision again gets in the way of the art. The opening track sets the stage for highly competent stadium rock. References to Bach (“Toccata and Fugue in D Minor”) and The Doors (“Break on Through”) provide evidence of thoughtful glam rock (if that’s not a contradiction in terms). The album satisfies. High quality performances by vocalists, keyboards, and guitar. Rhythm section is solid, if not particularly creative or adroit. Lyrics are actually very good. A good rock album. 3/5

“No Other” by Gene Clark (1974) Country/folk rock of a bygone era. Neil Young meets Carlos Castaneda. Lyrics are thoughtful, if austere and unduly melancholy, demonstrating a certain intellectual curiosity, but treated unsystematically, even chaotically. There is frequently a definite mismatch between the emotional tone of the lyrics and the musical setting. Well performed backing instrumentals and vocals. As for Clark’s voice, it’s rather unremarkable. The album overall is very well arranged and produced, with plenty of texture to support the rather simple melodies. No ‘bangers’ on this record. The title track is somewhat innovative (for 1974), but seems to try to blend too many styles. Nice exploration of an elaborate chord structure in “Strength of Strings” on top of a Neil Young-ish melody. In sum, this is an album to listen to when you’re having trouble getting to sleep. 2/5

“The Healer” by John Lee Hooker (1989) This album is an okay introduction to the blues, performed by one of the blues legends in American music. As an album, however, it is tainted by its collaborative nature, undoubtedly driven by commercial concerns. It should have been described as “by John Lee Hooker and Friends”. Carlos Santana, Bonnie Raitt, Canned Heat, Los Lobos, and George Thorogood all made musical contributions. Unfortunately, these contributions had an adulterating effect on the pure blues artistry of John Lee Hooker. If the listener can focus on his performance instead of the backing music and collaborators, he/she can get a sense of what made John Lee Hooker great—and greatly influential. Now, the happy result of this sad collaborative feature is that the production provided recognition (and income) for Mr. Hooker in his waning years. He was 73 years old when the album was released. The title track’s lyrics help explain why listening to the blues is an uplifting experience. To more fully understand this, it helps to have lived south of, say, Mayflower, Arkansas and then moved to Detroit, Michigan. Some readers of these notes will understand the reference. Hooker’s guitar and vocals are nearly superlative. Pure Hooker can be heard on the last three tracks. Among these, “Rocking Chair” stands out. On “Rocking Chair”, one gets a good feel for how classic blues performers can (intentionally) drop tempo altogether, uniting guitar and voice in strict service to the ‘soul’ of the blues. This ambience had origins in Southern Protestant preaching, and should be approached from that perspective. Guitar on “My Dream” is distractingly out of tune. On “No Substitute”, you can feel the struggle against the maintenance of tempo between vocal and guitar on the one hand, and whoever is tapping rhythm (maybe Hooker himself?) on the other. For my money (and listening pleasure) just let the damn tempo go. This album is more accessible than classic blues, but for the real thing, try “House of the Blues” by John Lee Hooker (1967). 3/5

“Lust for Life” by Iggy Pop (1977) Is this the second best thing to come out of a trailer park In Ypsilanti, Michigan? Most of the music (chords, melodies, arrangements) was composed by David Bowie, so you’ve got that going on, then the sad work of The Stooges taken one step further, with lyrics that are an admittedly intelligent mess, blared out by a lead vocal that is, well Iggy Pop. Ho-hum. Vocally, Pop in “The Passenger” channels (poorly) Jim Morrison, but without the sensuality. Vocally, Pop in “Tonight” channels (poorly) David Bowie. Surprise, surprise. And about that lyric, Iggy: If your baby’s turning blue, don’t celebrate your heroic pastoral sensitivity—call 911. Jesus. Modestly accomplished rhythm section that sounds like the offspring of Soupy Sales (they were) and guitar work that is intentionally bombastic to the point of irrelevance (must not upstage the frontman, you see). Here we have the makings of commercial success, though Bowie and Pop (in that order) would probably prefer that motivation remain undisclosed, despite the glimpse we get in “Success”. “Turn Blue” is another reminder that heroin always screws up the music, and in this case, the lyrics too. Punk puts the toxic in toxic masculinity. Someday this will be regarded as silly, but we’re not there yet. 1/5

“The Rising” by Bruce Springsteen (2002) Nothing subtle about the marketing eroticism of the album title and cover. At the age of 53, he might have more truthfully pitched “The Falling”, or “The Unending Search for Relevance”. This album is almost entirely a collection of songs of love’s longing, with plenty of images of bells, blood, empty spaces, and anticipated journeys. A quintessentially American album. Released six months after 9/11, there are several references to what was on every American’s mind. In the aftermath of catastrophe, Springsteen endeavors to focus our passions on edifying affections, and he’s mostly successful. Musically, the album is well composed, arranged, and produced, even if the vocal and instrumental performances are less than stellar. I think I’ll always be put off by New Jersey native Springsteen’s poorly affected Southern accent and weak, overused falsetto. Melodies are all very typically Springsteen. On “Lonesome Day”, the post-9/11 sentiment of “A little revenge and this too will pass” was ok for the moment, but then the sad history of war in Afghanistan, the Iraq War, and the excesses of the USA Patriot Act emerged, and, well, we all needed some loving. Still do. Also, “Into the Fire” is inspiring, even if it borders on exploitation. Meaningful, nevertheless. So this album has some enduring satisfaction. Overall, a good album from an America worth loving, then and now. 3/5

“C’est Chic” by Chic (1978) R&B/early disco, with lyrics basically consisting of “I want you, baby; Let’s dance!” and other inane dance club pickup lines. But the music is very well done, if you can get past the New York City Club 54 pretentiousness. Excellent lilting bass and feathery guitar, if somewhat excessively repetitive. “Savoir Faire” displays some nice rhythmic variations, and fine jazz lead guitar solo. This track is really the highlight of the album. This album makes me want to dance, but it’s 5:37am, and I got nobody. Overall, good. 3/5

“Isn’t Anything” by My Bloody Valentine (1988) This is foreign territory for me, but an album as innovative as this has to be a classic in the technical sense of exploratory and experimental music which subsequently becomes influential in establishing a genre (shoegaze). Lyrically, there’s not much to say, because the poetics consist of clipped expressions lacking cohesion in either sound or imagery. Rather, the thing which draws our focus here is the creative sound, unhindered by ordered melodies or compositional structure. My suspicion is that the only people who ‘get’ the artistry are the artists themselves and their close initiates. That said, the tonal landscape is extraordinarily interesting. Vocals are (intentionally, I assume) usually quite subdued in the mix. Someone doesn’t want us to concentrate on what or how these ‘songs’ are ‘sung’. Drums are weak. If the band’s intention is to highlight their innovative sound, their rhythmic structure needs to avoid drawing attention to itself. But the unsteady tempo of the drums (e.g., “Cupid Come”) distracts. Some have described their electronic effects as ‘ethereal’, but it could just as well be described as ‘subterranean’. If you’re familiar with this album, and find it creative and influential, I’m with you. If you’re not familiar with it and aren’t in the mood for a somewhat disappointing adventure, skip it. This album could have been better than it is. 2/5

“Made in Japan” by Deep Purple (1972) As live albums go, this one is excellent, but it still has the weaknesses inherent in all live rock recordings. The 2014 remaster is a great improvement over the original, and the Osaka, Japan audience is generally better behaved than your typical American audience, so it’s not as bad as many other live albums. “Smoke on the Water” is of course, a classic. But even here, the audience clapping on the intro drags against the tempo. Plus, the gain is a little light. Everyone needs to listen to this track especially. Over and over. Hard Rock History 101. 3/5

“I Should Coco” by Supergrass (1995) Well, this is fun. In the genre of unserious rock, this competent trio entertains the listener with artfully executed shallowness. It can be described as thin slices of nothing you’ve never heard before, pasted together with deliberate incoherence, producing an overall effect of “Oh, what the hell.” Musically, we have up tempo compositions with good rhythm guitar, better bass, and not quite so good drums. Lyrics are frequently an inscrutable pastiche of conversational tidbits that don’t quite rise to the level of wit—but that’s okay, because this is all about fun anyway. Lots of lyrical references to what is “strange”, indicating both a fixation and a certain naive lust for life, but hey, these are kids. The track “Strange Ones” is almost interesting. Along with “Sitting Up Straight”, it’s a song that starts off with musical potential before quickly crashing back into unalloyed silliness. I enjoyed listening to this, but I don’t think I’ll ever listen to it again. 2/5

“Rock ‘n Soul” by Solomon Burke (1964) This guy has a great voice. Excellent control and timbre across his considerable range. Better rock than Elvis; better soul than James Brown. As an album, however, it lacks variety and has a rather monotonous arrangement of backing vocals and instrumentals. A good album, for its historical value if nothing else. 3/5

“Rapture” by Anita Baker (1986) More great music out of Detroit. Anita Baker is a gem, bringing the serious listener a classic taste of R&B, no matter what mood you’re in. Her voice is beautiful, instantly and effortlessly moving from soulful resonance to piercing wail, kind of like your heart, if you’re human. Backing vocals and instrumentals exquisitely performed and mixed, this is an extraordinarily well produced collection of love songs. Delicate hand on the reverb. Great separation and depth. But the voice. The voice. I just bought this album on iTunes and put in on loop. Leave me alone for a couple hours. 5/5

“Dookie” by Green Day (1994) Nice punk. Eloquent internal contradictions. Good vocal harmonies, matched in untrained tonal shallowness. Lyrically, of course, this album is an unedifying celebration of psychosexual disorder, descending into a scatological rage that disvalues all values. There is, however, an almost redemptive flash in “Sassafras Roots”, where the singer asks “May I waste your time too?”, seeking companionship in nihilistic misery. Uplifting. However, the musical composition, arrangement, and performance all contribute to a fitting synthesis and cohesion. While lead guitar is inelegant, the bass and drums are wonderful in their wild synchronization with the driving vocal melodies. It makes this album good to listen to. Nice touches of variety, in music that seems like it calls out for repetitive monotony. I really enjoyed “Basket Case”. It made feel like I was 16 years old again, looking forward to the distant future when at, say, age 22 I might be mature enough to produce this kind of art myself. On the cover, guest artist Curious George asks “Throw?” Sure, George, why not? 3/5

“Real Life” by Magazine (1978) Lyrics are good—frequently demonstrating artful juxtaposition of unexpected pairs of images. On “My Tulpa”, the line “My skin wants to crawl back to Ma” nicely demonstrates this. This feature forces the reader to read slowly, or the listener to listen more than once. But alas, the feature is almost undone by the musical compositions, which can obscure the words, or occasionally drive past them at breakneck speed. Magazine works hard to overcome this potential weakness through slow or half tempos, good mixing, and the almost comically exaggerated diction, all with partial success. So a serious appreciation of this album takes a lot of work. But it’s not quite worth it, especially since time and distance (UK of 43 years ago) make many of the idioms and references incomprehensible. The musical settings seem quaint today, utilizing then-innovative progressions and effects that are now dated, forcing us to adopt the same kind of ears we must use to appreciate, say, harpsichord renditions of compositions we’ve heard on piano. In term of performance, intentionally shabby vocals and ballpark tunings of guitar and bass require some getting used to. Guitarist John McGeoch should put down the saxophone. I’m not sure why at the outset I wanted to find this album ‘good’, but only ended up with a rating of ‘fair’. 2/5

‘Life Thru a Lens” by Robbie Williams (1997) Hyper-produced pop—the kind of thing you’d expect from a boy band member gone solo. Pleasant enough to listen to, but not seriously. Williams’ voice is a high throat mewl, desperately chasing the melody, with varied quality across limited range, and incapable of either of mellow lows or powerful highs. Lyrics are too dependent on forced rhymes, and lack depth. Overall, so-so. But a nice collection of cameras on the album cover. 2/5

“Every Picture Tells a Story” by Rod Stewart (1971) Oooo, this is a gem! This album excels from start to finish, with no bumps in the road. Sir Roderick’s voice is proof that one can be a great singer without the natural gifts of a Pavarotti or a Crosby (Bing, not David). Stewart’s (in)famous raspiness enhances the soulfulness of his melodies, à la Janis Joplin. Ronnie Wood (with The Rolling Stones for the past 30 years) shines on guitar, and who knew in 1971 that mandolin could rock? Now youngsters listening to this album for the first time will likely be struck by the initial thinness of the mix (and subdued bass), but please notice how this engineering choice enhances the individual instrumental performances. You’ve got to listen to this album with headphones. Lyrics are second only to Dylan. Flaws? Well, sure. Bass is seriously out of tune at the end of “Seems Like a Long Time” (but strangely not at the beginning). Recording on “Amazing Grace” is not clean—a lot of distracting background noises. Some tracks have wobbly tempo. There are even a few embarrassing vocal flourishes. “Maggie May” is a classic love ballad about a teenage boy who has regrets about falling for a significantly older bimbo. What 16-year-old boy (me) could resist this tune? “Mandolin Wind” is epic. Still brings tears. And Stewart’s cover of “(I Know) I’m Losing You” rocks and rocks and rocks. Better than The Temptations or Rare Earth. Complete your education. Listen to this one. 5/5

“Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs” by Derek and the Dominos (1970) It will be hard to focus on this as an album, since it contains one of the best rock songs of all time, “Layla”. Another thing that makes this a challenge is that it features two of the top rock/blues guitarists of all time, Eric Clapton and Duane Allman (d. 1971). Indeed, the music of this album is best heard as an electric guitar duet between these two. The serious listener may thus be distracted by the temptation to spend too much attention to distinguishing their contributions on each song. And rock aficionados may be surprised that many of the dominant guitar lines are performed not by Clapton (right channel dominant, with heavy fretted bends) but by Allman (usually hanging out on the left channel, and recognized by ultra high slide). Also, on “Keep On Growing” and “Thorn Tree in the Garden”, the lead vocal is not Clapton, but Bobby Whitlock. The lyrics are beautiful expressions of love, found (“Keep on Growing”), lost (“I Looked Away”), requited (“Little Wing”) or not (“Layla”). Love, longing, pain, passion. No politics. No philosophy. No pretense. Musically, the compositions are exquisite, experimental (This is 1970), and performed with technical excellence and soul. A classic fusion of rock and blues, with the most fitting acoustic final track ever. Clapton’s dominant voice (admittedly strained) is helped by quality backing vocals. Solid rhythm section, but listen, listen, listen to the guitars. This a great album. No argument. 5/5

“Fuzzy Logic” by Super Furry Animals (1996) bad vocals bad lyrics bad instrumentals bad composition bad arrangements excellent commercial appeal 1/5

“The Stone Roses” by The Stone Roses (1989) Toying with horror yet failing to rise to the level of meaningfulness, this album is a work of art without coherence, much like the Jackson Pollock-inspired cover. This sound is interesting enough, given the limited talents of the band members. The drums stand out, however, avoiding standard rhythms mostly by subtraction. Interesting. We hear a sometimes-innovative arrangement of backing vocals, but nothing unexpected in the melodies or chord structures. The performance is generally tight. The group seems to exert a great deal of creative energy in trying to avoid typical pop sounds, without completely offending your average pop audience. (Cha-ching?) “Elizabeth My Dear” (“Greensleeves”) clearly reveals the serious limitations in the lead singer’s vocal abilities. The solo at 2:37 on “Made of Stone” clearly reveals the serious limitations of the guitar player. He was saved by the phase shifter. “Don’t Stop” is a silly backmasking gimmick. I had to stop. Nice rhythm section on “Shoot You Down”—it started off well enough, then the vocal and guitar proceeded to screw it up. This album would appeal to someone in the late 1980s who longed for an updating of the pop music of the mid-1960s. But not me. 2/5

“Buena Vista Social Club” by Buena Vista Social Club (1997) Music by artists in their 70s looking back 50 years. Painful. An interesting project, but not the kind of soulful musical experience it could have been. Recording technique is (deliberately?) retrograde, apparently having all musicians performing together in one take, with all the attendant flaws of the method (fret buzzing, unplanned distortion, uncontrolled mixing, shallow texture, little to no separation, etc.). Songs lack variety, and individual performances are only fair. This album is mostly of interest to those who are nostalgic for pre-Castro Cuba. I’d prefer to throw out the communists and let young Cuban musicians develop a natural creativity. But I’m not in charge. 1/5

“I Against I” by Bad Brains (1986) Hard driving punk rock setting for Rastafarian edification, this album is extraordinarily interesting. Very good musical performances of compositions that are melodically spare and sometimes repetitive. Lead vocals by “H.R.” have an exquisite variety of textures, with powerful vibrato that sometimes becomes an instrument on its own. Excellent recording of drums, with a lot of depth and separation. Fine power chord electric guitar work by Dr. Know, featuring a wide range of effects and competent solos. Songs, however, lack a groove, reducing their popular appeal, and thus requiring concentration, but this can be a plus for serious listeners. Lyrics are thoughtful and surprisingly compassionate and uplifting, if the listener is willing to enter into Rastafarian spirituality. This is a good album, well worth a listen if one has the time. 3/5

“The Hissing of Summer Lawns” by Joni Mitchell (1975) Lyrics. Lyrics. Lyrics. To appreciate this album is to immerse oneself in the Lyrics. Here Joni Mitchell demonstrates her superlatively intelligent transformation of serious thoughts and feelings into meaningful sound. Her poetry is smart without being pretentiously erudite. She employs highly referential subject matter in service to exquisitely feminine introspection and evocation. Each line is vivid. Each phrase punctuated by perfectly placed consonants, begging a listener like me to shut down my interior (male) voice and surrender my attention to her. Joni Mitchell could get me to do anything. If I were so fortunate as to take her out on a date, my first words to her would be “Conquer me, Scarlett.” Musically, this is a very well produced album, well executed and recorded, and very appealing (if the listener has developed a taste for both jazz and folk—in that order). Dispensing with standard structures and melodic conventions, she walks her own path. Glad to follow. 4/5

“Walking Wounded” by Everything But the Girl (1996) Electronic jazz/pop, chiefly interesting for its innovative and highly contrasting sound textures, but limited by the underwhelming melodies, with their restricted tonal range and and performed with an airy reverb-enhanced voice to match. Heavy emphasis on synthetic drums and bass lines, dynamically stark. Lyrics show moments of cleverness, but seem detached from the music, as if musical compositions and lyrics on each song were two separate projects This is done to an even comic extent on “Good Cop Bad Cop”—really funny, with Thorn lazily complaining about her bad feelings while Watt is making little fart sounds on his gizmo, assisted by his favorite speedy snare roll thing. I laughed my butt off. Some electronic sounds are used rather frequently, as if Watt needs a bigger bag of tricks. Not unpleasant to listen to, but nothing profound here. I bet it sold well in Japan. 2/5

“Odelay” by Beck (1996) Lyrics are poetically well articulated, if nonsensical. Playfully self abusive, hence not self loathing, he directs the emotional violence inward for comic effect. Also, he sporadically throws in a repellent image that is appropriately jarring. Mildly evocative. Musically, the album is a relentless struggle for new sound, occasionally hitting the mark. Vocally substandard. I can see from this album that Beck probably has his fans. Makes me glad to be old. 2/5

“My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy” by Kanye West (2010). My first time listening to the music of Kanye West. Excellent album. Expansively produced. Horizon stretching. Near epic theatricality. My education in hip hop is only on a third grade level, but I appreciate music enough to recognize that this is really good. It’s well constructed as an album, starting with a beautifully engaging, poetic and choral intro. I couldn’t write. I had to zip it and listen. (However, imagine Mila Kunis doing the spoken intro instead of Nicki Minaj, and tell me what you think.) The album then builds in tension and intensity, expressing rage (of course), rack, resentment, regret, remorse, redemption and resolution. Very good collaborative writing and innovative production without being gimmicky. It’s all in service to the music. Many extraordinarily clever turns of phrase in the lyrics, which are intricately woven within the selected constraints of well chosen and disciplined rhyme schemes. Very accessible poetics. Thoughtful and culturally well grounded lyrical themes. Entrancing intros precede conventional but powerful hip hop rhythms. The cello and piano intro to “All of the Lights (Interlude)” followed by the synth-brass/vocal choral (Rihanna and friends) intro to “All of the Lights” is superlative (Elton John [!] on piano after verse 3 and the outro). The howling, haunting male chorus intro to “Monster” is another great example. And what the piano does in the intro to “Runaway” (and throughout) is superb. Let’s have a toast. I like this album, bought this album and intend to listen to it over and over. Moments of weeping and sobbing on only the second listen. So much more could be said, I might follow up with a supplement. The only weakness worth mentioning (and it’s not minor) is that Kanye West’s voice lacks timbre, range, control, and power. He compensates by bringing in better vocalists, but the weakness is pervasive. Otherwise this album would have been a “five”. 4/5

“CrazySexyCool” by TLC (1994) An album that is like window shopping in Amsterdam. This hyper-produced girl group puts out a sound that is interesting for low-pitched vocal register—a feature that presents musical problems, but is pleasing enough. Lyrically reinforcing every embarrassingly slutty stereotype in the urban lexicon, it’s clear what and to whom they (their managers) are trying to sell. But the listener forms no connection to the artists as persons. This is poverty. But it’s crazy; it’s sexy; it’s cool. Truth in advertising. I’m happy to take a hit. 3/5

“Cosmo’s Factory” by Creedence Clearwater Revival (1970) Boomers’ delight. With lyrics from the hallucinatorily loopy (“Lookin’ Out My Back Door”) to the profound (“Who’ll Stop the Rain?”), CCR provides a colorful collage of intelligent entertainment. John Fogerty’s talents on lead vocal, lead guitar, harmonica, and even saxophone are on full display. This band is not afraid to include extended jams and tempo variations, lifting their arrangements above the standard top 40 dance along ho-hums. The Fogerty’s brothers’ duets on the choruses of “Up Around the Bend” and “Who’ll Stop the Rain?” are another fine example of ‘sibling blend’ that provides choral vocal cohesion. This is music that endeavors to make your head bob along, nearly always with success. Chord structures and lead licks are simple enough to inspire teenagers to play along, and we did. Virtuoso cowbell performance on “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” by Doug Clifford. Just kidding. (Actually, I’m not. Listen to the whole thing). This album takes you back, or (if you’re younger) gives you a good introduction to what it was all about as the 60s came to close. 4/5

“Low-Life” by New Order (1985) First impression: extremely weak lead vocals, poorly recorded. Perfect mismatch between the message and musical settings. Lyrics are okay; music is terrible—a rare combination. Actually, by the end of the album I changed my mind. The lyrics are bad too. Their electronic/disco tracks are better suited to dancing than listening. Highly programmed, one can move the body without engaging the mind, while one’s soul is focused on the gyrations of one’s dance partner(s). Hope he/she/they are hot, cause the music’s not. God, these lead vocals are horrible. Words fail. By the middle of track four, I began looking for the cameras. I was sure I was being punked. 1/5

“Raising Hell” by Run-DMC (1986) As a musical product, the work begs to be examined for its commercial strategies with Adidas and Aerosmith. Lyrics are marginally interesting but rather unaccomplished rhyme play expressing comic boastfulness. Variations on the theme “We’re so good at what we do”. The only serious lyric on the album is “Proud to Be Black”, but even it lacks depth. I do like the line in this song “I’ll say it in a rap because I do not sing.” Significant explanatory power here. This album seems to be a successful attempt to bring hip hop into the mainstream, mostly by jettisoning the seriousness, violence, and obscenity (mostly) that gave rap its honesty and artistic power. Call it hip pop. Meh. Nevertheless, it’s well executed and moderately entertaining for a listen or two. 3/5

“Talking with the Taxman about Poetry” by Billy Bragg (1986) Stylistically, this is the closest thing to Dylanesque that I’ve ever heard coming out of England. Not in the same league, but headed in that direction. Some very good art on this album. I would have bought this album, but iTunes jacked the price by adding a bunch of bonus crap. Not playing that game. Now, Billy Bragg simply can’t sing. And musically, there’s little to compensate for this weakness. His vocal flubs alternate between distractingly irritating and irritatingly distracting. He needs a little backup. Lyrics, however, are very well crafted, with some true flashes of brilliance. And, there are some seriously engaging musical arrangements in his love songs. But sadly, when he gets into politics (“Ideology”, “Power in a Union”, Help Save the Youth of America”), his verse becomes clunky, shallow, and preachy, with canned melodies and chord structures pulled out of the vertical file marked “Recycle Bin”. And by the way, Mr. Bragg (“Help Save the Youth of America”), we’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: We don’t need the British telling us how to do our politics. The “Youth of America” can hold their fire until they see the whites of British eyes. But the next time you need to invade Normandy, give us a call. 4/5

‘’The La’s” by The La’s (1990). La? Why La? (inside joke for fans of Derek and the Dominos). “La” is “lad” in Liverpool dialect. I might rather have titled this album “The Ho’s” by The Hums. The songs feature lyrics that employ excessive obscurity in the dutiful service of meaninglessness. The point is, one must assume, not the words, but the sounds. And the sounds are a slight improvement over bad rock from the 60s. On a song entitled “Timeless Melody”, a serious listener would naturally have high expectations for the melody. But nope. Subpar lead vocal which absolutely requires reverb—not good. Otherwise, competent instrumentals and backing vocals, but nothing to applaud. One highlight on this album: “There She Goes” is cool, but when she’s gone, there’s not much left. A one hit wonder from a one album blunder. This album is Herman’s Hermits trying to learn from U2. Keep studying, lads. 2/5

“Apocalypse 91 . . . The Enemy Strikes Black” by Public Enemy (1991) Unfocused rage draws attention to the raging subject, not the object, blunting its political force. Clownish braggadocio undermines the message. Peppered with irrational dichotomies, this apocalyptic screed struggles to execute judgment and fails to persuade or redeem. It’s perfectly clear what their interests are, and it’s not a flattering picture. Chuck D’s voice is good, given the genre, but Flavor Flav’s voice is simply bad. There’s a well executed and rational but desperate call for social justice to be heard on “How to Kill a Radio Consultant”. If you understand the sarcasm in that last sentence, you’re intellectually equipped to articulate everything wrong with this album. 1/5

“Super Fly” by Curtis Mayfield (1972) Now this is how urban ‘social justice’ music is done. A concept album with a coherent, humanistic concept. Soulful poetry painting vivid scenes of the heartbreaking reality of the pain and hopelessness of black ghetto life. No pontificating on ‘root cause’; no rage directed at dubious agents of evil; no thinly disguised Marxist political posing; no plea to do wrong in order to set things right. Mayfield touches the individual heart with moral guidance that is edifying and redemptive. “Freddie’s Dead” is so much more than funeral dirge or eulogy. From the abyss of urban lament, It announces salvation. And check out the rap in the intro to “No Thing on Me”. Beats anything I’ve heard from the 90s. And the music soars. Mayfield’s vocals push and pull real tears. Very well controlled falsetto transcends gendered chains. Instrumentals are arranged with symphonic expansiveness, and (even if somewhat dated) are richly varied—and exquisitely performed. The well executed mix draws the listener with relentless mystery. I wish “Junkie Chase” (at only 1:41) would go on for another ten minutes. But alas, real junkie chases probably don’t last that long. For those into folk rock, the acoustic guitar work (Mayfield?) on the intro to “Think” is very well done, setting up a pleasantly surprising stylistic transition. There is so much good music on this album. And this is not the voice of nostalgia speaking. This may shock you, but . . . 5/5

“Tubular Bells” by Mike Oldfield (1973) Autobiographical review: I bought this album when it came out in 1973, chiefly because of the brilliance of the single release (used as theme music for the movie “The Exorcist”), but I’m pretty sure I never listened to the whole album. I lacked the patience. This morning, I don’t know if I have the patience, but I do have the time. Almost entirely instrumental, it’s basically an experimental composition with a wide variety of keyboard and guitar sounds, woven together in a richly textured pastiche of tones. A dubbing picnic. On the plus side, this work is extraordinarily innovative (for 1973), with some very creative instrumentation, recording techniques, time signatures, and chord progressions. It’s very interesting to listen to this album and ask oneself how he’s making this or that particular sound. Definitely cool. On the minus side, there is little percussion (none on side one), and there is a complete lack of cohesion—a random mixture of moods that are missing a symphonic theme. It’s composed and arranged as if it were a high tech hobby. Some pitch problems on the backing vocals and lower end fretted string instruments. And the gimmicky voiceover naming added instruments is pedantic. When it finally gets to what one might call prog rock at 14:00 on side two, it’s substandard. Remember, we’d already heard Emerson, Lake & Palmer and early Pink Floyd. Most of the album doesn’t rise to the quality of the first four minutes. Very disappointing. So while the album is definitely good, it’s finally unsatisfying. Now on the other hand, if I were high . . . 3/5

“Moon Safari” by Air (1998) Robot music with flashes of beauty. Spare barely-lyrics, apparently designed to briefly and very occasionally engage the mind. Some nice bass guitar work over colorful percussion, with electrojazz keyboards. But the keyboard arrangements are relatively simple and soulless right-hand paste ups. Chord structures are inelegant and repetitive. This is music to listen to when your brain is doing something else. Emotional engagement is minimal, mostly as a spectator sport. “Sexy Boy” feels like it was written about a male love doll or a Steely Dan. Vocals by Beth Hirsch (“All I Need”, “You Make It Easy”) are very engaging. Actually these two tracks stand apart on this album, relegating the electronic music to the background where, frankly, it belongs. Excellent tuba (I kid you not) solos by Patrick Woodcock on “Ce Matin-là”. Overall, though, this album does not inspire. 2/5

“A Short Album About Love” by The Divine Comedy (1997) Love songs including such laughably memorable lines as “If you were a horse, I’d clean the crap out of your stable” and “You are the way, the truth, and the life” (Where have I heard that line before?). Look, a good love song has to have lyrics you’d imagine singing to your beloved. Not on this album. These songs tread aimlessly in the broad space between passion and goofiness. Frontman/lyricist Neil Hannon is either joshing, deranged, or both. Quirky compositions with startlingly conventional arrangements poorly sung with backing instrumentals performed with eye rolling you can actually feel. Orchestra abuse. This sound is a late 1990s throwback to the worst aspects of late 1960s commercial pop. Not fit for a serious listen. He’s putting us on. 1/5

“Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash” by The Pogues (1985) Are you into sailing? Serious listeners who don’t immediately recognize the reference in the title will be behind the curve, but this album is very good—sailor songs, mate, in the finest traditions of the British navy—rum, sodomy, and the lash. Songs that tell a story—sometimes coarse, sometimes passionate, sometimes horribly abrasive, but always ballsy and always entertaining. With lyrics that are somewhere in the broad sea between doggerel and epic (it ain’t Kipling), the music is in the folk Irish style, meant to be sung and heard while inebriated, pounding pewter mugs on the nearest horizontal piece of oak. Lead singer Shane McGowan has a voice like your average drunk boatswain’s apprentice, but with soul. Everyone should listen to at least one track of this (I recommend "The Sick Bed of Cúchulainn") to get the flavor. Musically, these performances feature a heavy dose of accordion, tin whistle, and banjo, with standard chord structures and conventional melodies. And it’s so well done. Picture yourself on a British man o’ war in 1870, gathered with your shipmates on the fo’c’sle before the third watch after your issue of grog. Obviously, this isn’t for everybody, but within its very narrow genre, it excels. 4/5

“The Soft Bulletin” by The Flaming Lips (1999) The geek who desperately wanted to be cool, not comfortable in his own skin (or why not all STEM students are artists). Sprinkled with very occasional profundity, the lyrics are outside the mainstream, reflecting thoughtfully on topics that frequently don’t merit reflection. No soul, son. They display a certain fondness for non-referential paronomasia (meaningless puns) and the kind of logical puzzles that occupied the minds of the brighter students in middle school. Not much to really grab on to. There’s one interesting and progressive reflection (“The Spiderbite Song”) on how events in other people’s lives affect their relationships with us, but it lacks depth. And the lyrical weakness is not helped by the music. Vocals are very weak (like Neil Young on a very bad day) and the engineering is flawed by both excessive separation and the fact that the percussion sounds like it was recorded on one mic in gymnasium. Hugely distracting. The composition and arrangements are creative, but the result is mere idiosyncrasy. Overusing synthetic strings, they seem to be attempting the ethereal, but end up with soggy cereal. 2/5

“The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” by Pink Floyd (1967) As big a fan as I am of Pink Floyd, I’ve never listened to this, their debut album. So this will be fun. Lyrics have poetic moments, but are a far cry from their later work in quality. One must keep in mind that this is from 1967. The album is chiefly to be valued for its historical significance, clearly demonstrating the development of Pink Floyd toward their monumental works (“Dark Side of the Moon”, “The Wall”, etc.). This music is experimental, while only occasionally becoming random and chaotic—no mean feat in 1967. “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” is much more mature than, say, its contemporary rival “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” by the Beatles (sorry if I’ve offended anyone [not really]). Disciplined performances and tight cohesion, thanks to drummer Nick Mason and bassist Roger Waters (both of whom are too subdued in the mix—this deficiency would be remedied with a vengeance on “Dark Side of the Moon”). A note is appropriate here: The version of this album available on Spotify is the 2011 remastered version. It would be best to listen to the original mix on LP. I can only dream. Longtime fans of Pink Floyd will find this to be an engaging curiosity. Others will be satisfied to remember Pink Floyd for their later (and much better) work. 3/5

“The Color of Spring” by Talk Talk (1986) A good album that has its flaws, mostly conceptual. In those places where the message tiptoes close to meaning (tracks 1 and 2), we find categorical moralizing without substance—they clearly want someone to feel bad, but who? Somebody wants to say something, but band mates (or managers) smother that baby in the bassinet. For the rest, there are only hints of feeling for another; only small attempts at expressing soul. But the music is good, well executed, incorporating elements of jazz, and effectively utilizing silence in distinct layers of the mix. Good dynamic contrast. Lead vocals are decent, successfully avoiding distracting from the soundscape (which, along with the excellent rhythm section, is the real musical feature here). The synthesizer arrangements were done by someone who really knows the instruments, creating sounds which merge well with the mood. Lots of free-form melodies and chord structures—but could use more harmony. Nothing jarring or out of place. Anxiety free music. This would be a good album to play in the background while working on the more routine aspects of a creative project. But I couldn’t figure out why the color palette of the cover (brown, yellow, orange) was used on an album entitled “The Colour of Spring”. I’m content to let it go. 3/5

“The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter” by The Incredible String Band (1968) I actually listed to this album. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to a concept we call ‘pitch’ . . . Ah, forget it. Pffft. 1/5

“Bookends” by Simon & Garfunkel (1968) Exhibit A in the art of album making, “Bookends” is a prototype of the ‘concept album’. Here we’re treated to a truly poetic treatment of life’s polarities, with images straining to burst through the bonds of beautifully unyielding metric structure. Paul Simon is a storytelling poetic genius (even if he’s a bit of a showoff). It’s too easy to love this album for the striking beauty of “Mrs. Robinson”, “Old Friends”, and “America” (which still makes me weep). But listen to the album from start to finish, and you’ll appreciate it as so much more than a collection of ‘tracks’. Simon’s performance on acoustic guitar is genre-defining, and Art Garfunkel’s tenor harmonies are angelic. Prepare yourself for shocks as you walk through this garden of delights, ending “At the Zoo”. This isn’t just a folk duo anymore. On this album, the excellence of S & G’s transition beyond their initial folk success surpasses Dylan’s. Those of you who know my love for Bob Dylan are welcome to pick yourselves up off the floor. And as an aside, the backing musicians, arrangements, engineering, and production on this album provide evidence for my reluctant acknowledgment that New York is indeed the greatest city in the world. Ever. Kleenex. 5/5

“Shadowland” by k.d. lang (1988) Here we have a collection of better than average but unrelated love songs (written by others), well covered and produced, but I suspect most of them were bettered covered by others. lang’s voice is the focus, and it’s very good. Good range and control, with some very ambitious stylings in the higher mezzo-soprano reaches. Patsy Cline redivivus. A couple of country-clever lyrical flourishes (“Tears Don’t Care Who Cries Them”). Excellent backing instrumentals and vocals, if you’re into commercial country, pop, and a pathetic smack of blues. Arrangements are exactly what you’d expect from a production team trying to fuse country and jazz. Most of these songs would be good selections for the juke box on a 3:00am visit to an Oklahoma truck stop. But her forays into jazz (“Black Coffee”, “Shadowland” “Busy Being Blue”) fall flat. There seems to be a disconnect between her singing and what’s really on her mind. Too programmed to be considered a really good album. And the cheesy flaunting of Loretta Lynn’s collaboration at the very end makes one cringe. There really is such a thing as too much steel guitar. 2/5

“Blood Sugar Sex Magic” by Red Hot Chili Peppers (1991) Here is an album with a diverse range of styles, from white hip hop (which doesn’t quite rise to the level), to white funk, to hard rock, to metal. One thing can be said about Red Hot Chili Peppers: the instrumentals are consistently excellent—bass, drums, guitar are very well performed. Bass and guitar solos on “Naked in the Rain” are very good. I wish they had been extended. But the compositions are uneven. Rap lyrics seem amateurish (although “Give It Away” is better). Sex references, while ubiquitous, are exceedingly shallow, as if love making is a hobby. It seems to be in perpetual search of shock. When I was young, I was more interested in doing it than hearing about it. Mindless lust is overrated. Has its cool moments. The album, that is. 3/5

“Picture Book” by Simply Red (1985) One of the benefits of doing daily reviews of music selected randomly by someone else is that every once in a while, you across music that is good, but that somehow you missed over the years. This is one of those good albums. Good grooves, tight but colorful rhythms, thoughtful lyrics. Lead vocal is good, marred only by airy lows and tinny highs. Arrangements are elaborate enough to sustain interest, featuring well executed keyboards and trumpet. If I had heard this in 1985, I’d like to think I would have been a fan of Simply Red. That's all I have today It's all I have to say 3/5

“The United States of America” by The United States of America (1968) If you’re a fan of “American Metaphysical Circus” by Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies (1969), you might want to know that “The United States of America” was Byrd’s immediate predecessor album. Very narrow niche appeal. But wow. You should not listen to this music while on acid. I make that recommendation on good advice from someone I trust, not from any personal experience (heh, heh). This experimental musical product was an early exploration of synthesized sounds and the John Gage school of what I call anti-music music. It’s really cool. Weird, avant-garde, whimsical, chaotic, and horrifying to boot, performed by musicians who actually know what they’re doing and seem to not give a shit. This is an effort to go exponentially beyond Sgt. Pepper, but unlike The Beatles, these folks really want to mess with your mind, and they have some seriously political burrs in their saddles. Serving up induced psychosis, nymphomania, sadomasochism, “queer” appetites to satisfy, and other naughty bits in the lyrics, they deliver sonic distortion as an art form, with frequent departures from melody altogether. Very nice (undistorted) fretless bass by Rand Forbes throughout, and quite pleasing lead vocals by Dorothy Moskowitz. Oh, and I should mention—they’re communists. God, I love this country. One can discern numerous synchronization and pitch problems, but this is still in the analog epoch, baby. Anyway, not only does this music not age well, it was rendered obsolete as the vinyl was still cooling, but who cares? “And the price is right: The cost of one admission is your mind.” 3/5

“Kind of Blue” by Miles Davis (1959) Classic jazz, with exquisite performances by Davis (trumpet), John Coltrane (tenor sax), Cannonball Adderly (alto sax), Bill Evans (piano). Listening today, we can recognize the roots of much of what was to come in music. Don’t look for chord structure or melody. This is pure improvisation by the above named musicians, taking turns leading the adventure, seeing how scales can be elaborated. It’s beautiful. That’s not to say that every note is perfectly attacked (or even chosen—surely the musicians would have improved details on a subsequent take or a dub, but that would violate the integrity of a jazz performance). Focus on the leading scales. The recording is unfortunately marred by distortion (especially on Coltrane’s feed), and the use of a minimum number of microphones results in a lack of definition, especially for the drums, which are very subdued in the mix. But overall, this album is an essential piece of our musical culture. Listen. Seriously. 4/5

“Born in the U.S.A.” by Bruce Springsteen (1984) With appealing performances by the E Street Band—heavy driving rhythms, memorable grooves, tasteful background vocals, this is music that rocks. It’s an ironically excellent invitation to a stadium concert. Max Weinberg’s drumming is so good, strong, and consistent on the backbeat that after listening, I’d be willing to pitch in to buy him another snare head. Musically, while these tracks lack variety, they are uniformly powerful. Melodies are attractive, if somewhat predictable. “I’m on Fire” is a refreshing departure, punctuating the rock with somber folk. Nice. Springsteen’s lyrics tell vivid first-person stories, depicting working class characters who are alternatively lamenting or celebrating circumstances that are readily understandable to a wide audience. Evocative of thoughtful reflections of the listener’s younger years, whether near or distant. “Dancing in the Dark” is powerfully introspective, clearly the most poetically effective song in the collection. And “My Hometown” provides a sensibly easy closing track. Lead vocals cry out on track after track, as if Springsteen is very much aware of his relatively unidimensional attack and timbre (Again, “I’m on Fire” is a colorful exception—I’m sure I’m in the minority here, but I think this track is the highlight of the album). This album will undoubtedly remain a standard of the era. 4/5

“Fragile” by Yes (1971) From the opening sounds, this album grabs the listener’s attention. Steve Howe on guitar and Rick Wakeman on keyboards dazzle with innovative arrangements, cementing their reputations as pioneers in progressive rock—PURE progressive rock in “Heart of the Sunrise”. This is intelligent music. What it lacks in soul and profundity of message it more than makes up for in technical perfection. For 1971, this record set the pace for much of what was to come in the 70s and 80s. The running footsteps across channels on “We Have Heaven” preceded those on Pink Floyd’s “On the Run” by two years (for those who like to keep track of such things). Squire and Bruford’s rhythm section is solid solid solid. Squire even gets in on the harmonic coloring (“Heart of the Sunrise”) and jazz improvisation (“Five Percent for Nothing”). Jon Anderson’s lead vocals are pure and disciplined if lacking sonority and steady vibrato—but with excellent diction. He provides solid melodies and the group chimes in with mesmerizing harmonies, rivaling Crosby, Stills and Nash (in the studio, that is!). Chord progressions and time signatures that simply prohibit the simultaneous chewing of bubble gum. Exemplifying recording wizardry, this is a clean and crisp mix, with excellent separation that simply must be heard on studio headphones (or Klipsch equipment, but for us mere mortals . . . ). As an album, “Fragile” demonstrates that one can produce a record that starts with a leading track lasting 8:35 and sustains interest throughout. And the end of the closing track welcomes a replay of the opening track, and over and over and over again. These are great musicians who clearly enjoy making great music. 4/5

“Cypress Hill” by Cypress Hill (1991) West coast hip hop with (of course) attitude. Dispensing with the moral outrage (pro or con), let’s listen to the artistry. Violence and drug use depicted with elaboration and panache, with a healthy attention to detail, these lyrics are not simply fashioned to fit groovy music. They raise wallowing to an art form, even if the topical range is oh so limited and predictable. Interesting (to me) that “Hole in the Head” and “Ultraviolet Dreams” do NOT receive an “explicit” advisory. The group Cypress Hill receives no treatment in Bradley and DuBois, “Anthology of Rap” (Yale University Press, 2010), and this is telling. I’d rather listen to Lauryn Hill than Cypress Hill. Excellent production values, and plenty of evidence of professional collaboration. Background vocals are very well arranged, with intricate weaving of several competent voices. But the vocals are too diminished in the mix. Effects are too subdued. There is much that is too puzzling about this album to attract an interest beyond the all too limited range of the lyrics. There’s much better hip hop out there. 2/5

“Jazz Samba” by Stan Getz and Charlie Byrd (1962) Most readers of these reviews are unfamiliar with this kind of music, but if you’re serious, you should give it a listen. This is especially the case if you have both a burgeoning interest in jazz and already have an interest in classical guitar and Latin music (Ya sabes de quién estoy hablando). At least put it on in the background while you work. Historically, bossa nova came and went, but the beauty of it remains on timeless recordings such as this one. Today’s listeners will be put off by the objectionable level of tape hiss and the somewhat muddy mix and buzzing in the bass, but just imagine yourself in a New York jazz club after a couple of cocktails and you’ll get beyond these defects (This kind of music is why Klipsch speakers were invented). The musical formula for success here is the melodic weaving between the two star performers Stan Getz (tenor sax) and Charlie Byrd (guitar), both giants in the genre. Their melodies are fashioned around chord structures that are more predictable and thus more steadily accessible than progressive jazz—heavy bass on the downbeat, steel brushes on the snare head, gentle syncopated rim shots (and did I mention tasteful and sensuous cowbell? I could use some more cowbell). I breathe a sigh over this music. History is more than the past. It informs who we are in the present. 4/5

“Station to Station” by David Bowie (1976) Bowie’s work on this album features some well executed soundcrafting for 1976, but is easily dated. Nice musical variations, but lyrics are (once again) unrelentingly self absorbed, with clunky phrases and even a grammatical howler in the chorus of “Word on a Wing” (Can you spot it?). When he transitions to classic rock and funk strains, the arranging and recording lack the dynamism of his contemporaries, but it’s pleasant enough to listen to. I think the problem with Bowie’s singing is an excessive self confidence in his modest gifts. He seems to be unaware of how silly some of his (uniquely Bowie) vocal stylings sound. Maybe cocaine does that. Can someone with experience enlighten me? “Golden Years” is a fine track, chiefly because he finds an interesting groove and sticks with it. “Word on a Wing” is an interesting and even engaging hymnic reflection, but it lacks the convincing authenticity of the contemporary Keith Green and 2nd Chapter of Acts, or later artists such as Jars of Clay or Caedmon’s Call (or even Bob Dylan in his Christian ‘phase’). Still, this song is a refreshing inclusion. The rock strains in “Stay” are excellent, exemplifying the album’s general avoidance of idiosyncratic distractions—a definite plus. Overall, a good recording—one of Bowie’s better efforts (in my admittedly limited experience). 3/5

“Time (The Revelator)” by Gillian Welch (2001) Maintaining the bare essentials of folk, this album moves the serious listener beyond Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, and Judy Collins into the twenty first century. And it makes the serious folk fan wish that time would not only reveal, but stop, dammit. Welch’s singing and songwriting are respectable exemplars of the genre, sometimes (“Revelator”and “April the 14th, Pt. 1”) bringing to mind David Crosby’s more thoughtful work. But the performances are under-rehearsed. Nearly every track could have used at least one more take. Lots of clunkers in there. Lyrics are neither deep nor clever, but are suitably poetic, with plenty of intriguing images and reverie. David Rawlings’ support on guitar is shaky, with more than a few flubs in his all too improvisational accompaniment. But his backing vocals are well suited to Welch’s compositions, providing occasionally mesmerizing harmonies. Welch’s banjo playing (especially on “My First Lover”) is not particularly accomplished, although her banjo break in the unsubtly sarcastic live performance of “I Want to Sing That Rock and Roll” is outstanding. Really. “I Dream a Highway Back to You” is beautifully evocative, if you have the patience to sit through 14:39 of mournful reflection. Since I did, I paid the price in sadness. I need another cup of coffee. 2/5

“This Year’s Model” by Elvis Costello & The Attractions (1978) Now here’s some music with a real message: Clever, well-informed anger, with compositional features to match. Costello gets it. He puts the rock in rock & roll (and, of course, ‘rolling’ into it plenty of obscene innuendo). I hope serious listeners of the 21st century will not be misled by his dismissive and sarcastic denunciations of everything that brings power and pleasure to the definers (owners) of culture. Beneath his neo-prophetic blast is a mind seeking the good, the true, and the beautiful. He pisses off all the right people with extreme prejudice. Musically, Costello is fond of the compositional device of ‘bending’ classic rock & roll sonic tropes toward the irrational. It’s more sophisticated than mere mockery. It reflects a redemptive abandonment of mid-60s popular culture’s self inflicted illusion of hopefulness. It’s a musical expression of the reason why a question mark is curvy and an exclamation point is straight. Now, Costello’s voice is so-so, and he overuses cocky stylings to compensate (It would be interesting to hear Henry Rollins cover Costello tunes). But his band, The Attractions, is great, and his own guitar work is more than competent. Given the 1978 date of this album, I think it can be seen as a precursor to intelligent punk and grunge. This album is definitely worth a listen, and probably worth some thoughtful reflection. Unless you’re already familiar with the Book of Jeremiah. 4/5

“Immigrés” by Youssou N’Dour (1988) Gipsy Kings, meet Bob Marley. The West African country Senegal is the grand exception to the dictum “The worst thing you can be is a former French colony”. And Senegal is perhaps is the world’s best hope for an exemplary and peaceable Mohammedan nation. Out of Senegal comes N’Dour (one of Paul Simon’s collaborators on his album “Graceland” [1986–percussion on “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes”]—Simon may have “appropriated” African musicians, but it sure didn’t hurt their subsequent careers). N’Dour is an able vocalist who has assembled a sizable team of performers in this rhythmic treat. This is your horizon-expanding opportunity to enlarge the musical palate. The lyrics to the opening song “Immigrés” playfully give sage advice to those who are contesting a disputed election: Have a cookie and get over it. I laughed out loud. However, I was unable find any other lyrics online (too bad—they are in Wolof, I believe, and are essential for seriously assessing this work), but the real substance of this album is the colorful and exciting instrumental work, especially percussion. The four tracks are multidimensional, well-composed, evocative, and extended. Sorry, I had to give up on “Taaw”—I could never find the groove. Play this as background music while you work, and you’ll not only be efficient, but you’ll also be eager to wrap your arms around a world of music. Who could ask for more on a Monday morning? 3/5

“Merriweather Post Pavilion” by Animal Collective (2009) Sometimes asking oneself “What the hell IS this?” prompts an exploration that yields unexpected (if unsurprising) insights. This album is a case in point. If you’re not familiar with this album or this musical style (as I am not), I recommend starting with track two, “My Girls”—it’s much more accessible than the opening track. Three guys, two of whom (I believe) operate twin sampling decks (probably mixed with each dominating one of the two stereo channels), and one in the middle on electronic keyboards. The lyrics are basically first person reflections of a family man who loves his wife, his children, his brother, and his now deceased father—wholesome affections seeking wise expression, and very conscious of his own personal responsibilities. The music is complex and innovative. Its central quality, however, is that is so extraordinary. If it ever becomes ordinary, it will age quickly and lose its power. Melodies studiously avoid the expected. Unremarkable voices, but arranged in harmonies that are attractive (Beach Boys comparisons are apt, especially on “Guys Eyes”—Beatles and Jane’s Addiction on “Taste”). Mechanical rhythms. Several tracks segue successively, rather than just break, giving the album a cohesion that fits well with lyrical thematic unity. But as long as you guys are sampling, you could have used some really cool African drums on “Lion in a Coma” and “Brother Sport”. This is the kind of album that will require time to fully appreciate, but likely worth it. 4/5

“Under Construction” by Missy Elliott (2002) With lyrics full of self-contradictory complaints, braggadocio, and slutological/pharmacological initiative, Elliott is the señorita of sass. One wonders what’s going on inside. On the outside, she’s putting on bling and excess pounds. The poetry of her rap, while prodigious, is of low quality, with overly opportunistic rhymes, limited thematic scope, tedious repetition, eighth-grade vocabulary, and stunted vision. One great lyrical disappointment is that she opens the album (“Intro/Go to the Floor”) with a hopeful anticipation of approaching the land of seriousness and then proceeds to wander away into the wilderness of self absorbed carnality and tasteless superfluity. One suspects she’s spent a lot of time there. She does provide a helpful (if unconvincing) apologia (at the end of the slutfest “Pussycat”) explaining her predominant lyrical themes, but what they actually boil down to is: “I’m so stoned, so satisfied, so victorious, so satiated, and so oppressed”. And how many times does she have to introduce herself? BUT her sound is well crafted, with vocal skills that are considerable, if under-utilized. She shows an excellent sense of dynamic range and variety. Backing/accompanying vocals and instrumentals are excellent. Very creative grooves. As pornosonic ear candy goes, this stuff is pretty good. 3/5

“GI” by Germs (1979) This is a supremely enjoyable album. The cover art perfectly expresses the amount of music on the record (pause for laughter), but the lyrics, man, are primo. Lyricist (and ‘singer’) Darby Crash gives us some of the most politically and psychologically astute conceptions ever expressed in commercial music—all in service of anarchism and nihilism, ideologies rejected by most thinking people, and most non-thinking people too. I mean, the substance is atrocious. But it’s done so well. It’s like reading Nietzsche between the lines: Do a line, read a few paragraphs, then do another line. I would suggest not listening to this album, but rather printing the lyrics and quoting selected gems at random to friends, family members, and co-workers (“You are what you’ve seen”; “Progressed to the point of no distinction“; “I'm looking through Communist eyes”; “Calculate the thrones”; “Bite the hand that needs you”; “Evolution is too slow”; etc., etc.). Crash provides angry, antisocial, cynical, morbid feelings expressed in fine poetic cast, by reaching widely across the English language for sayings, idioms, and lexical choices that perfectly fit the staccato rhythm of rage. It’s evil, falsehood, and ugliness conveying the good, the true, and the beautiful. It’s simply great. Here’s a small sample (from “Media Blitz”): Don't steal your eyes off the TV screen Can you realize we're what we've seen Take an injection from the mad machine Don't read the papers read between the lines We're vision rapers and we seed the signs You'll play your part in the master mind We feed the science We deal in riots We play by ideal time We're a government fix All social convicts Watch the idle rhymes Hip hop artists could learn a lot from this poetry. Sadly, a year after recording these lines, Darby Crash killed himself (the day before John Lennon was murdered, so there wasn’t much press for Crash’s demise). Well, at least his lyrics live on. As an album, this is terrible. But as art, it soars. 1/5

“Connected” by Stereo MC’s (1992) It’s almost embarrassing to listen to the British so desperately attempt to cash in on authentically American art. On this album, the funk is too clunky. The drums are way too mechanical. Horns sound like a suburban high school lab band. Some nice compositional grooves, but poorly performed, with super weak vocals, (especially the backing vocals, which seem to have been recruited on the basis of something other than talent). Lyrics are plastic, with faux Ebonic appropriations that prompt a cringe. Listen to the main rap in “Everything” or “Sketch” and tell me if the unsuccessfully suppressed British accent doesn’t give you the heebie jeebies. Let me boil this down: Two white British guys making money pretending to be East or West coast urban rebels. Sheesh. I just wasted an hour. 1/5

“Fear of Music” by Talking Heads (1979) With clean and crisp percussion and electronic effects, this music sounded new in 1979. It still works, even if only for a non-serious listen. Talking Heads sounded LIKE robots, but now we have REAL robots making music, so a bit of contextualization is in order. New Wave mocked convention, so we have to laugh along to appreciate it. The lyrics are generally good, prompting occasional speculation and eyebrow-raising—but nothing deep (“Animals” is fun). Compositionally, this work is flawed by needless and ineffective repetition of short phrases—you could get a complete sense of the music and the lyrics by editing out three fourths of the tape. But the exploratory chord structures and progressions are intriguing—a definite plus for this album. Lead vocals (David Byrne) are very weak (“Air” is atrocious), even when lapsing into the all too frequent atonal ‘conversational’ mode. The album is very well produced (Brian Eno); except for the engineering of the lead vocal, but Eno didn’t have much to work with. Bass guitar lines (Tina Weymouth) are very well composed, arranged, and performed. Actually, the bass is the musical highlight of the album, making it a good selection for a long road trip. Good, but in no sense a classic. 3/5

“Buffalo Springfield Again” by Buffalo Springfield (1967) One of the more interesting results of this project of seriously listening to a random album each day is that sometimes I discover that the music of my youth is not as good as I thought it was. This album is an example. Buffalo Springfield, featuring the great Stephen Stills and the even greater Neil Young, was not a uniformly excellent band. This album (lacking any cohesive unity) has some songs that shouldn’t have made the cut. Don’t get me wrong; it’s good. It’s just not that good. The songs that were not included on later compilation albums (“Retrospective” and Young’s “Decade”) were omitted for good reason. These less than stellar tracks roughly coincide with the list of those written and sung by Richie Furay (“A Child’s Claim to Fame”, “Sad Memory”, and “Good Time Boy”), plus the Stills songs “Everydays” and “Hung Upside Down”. They just don’t fly. Why are these tracks only ‘okay’? In my view, the use of rhyme is contrived; themes lack passion; and performance imperfections are right up front and uncompensated. They were operating outside their comfort zone. If this album were played at a party in 1968 (stoned or not) these weaker songs would provide opportunity for a bathroom break, or arranging one’s ride home, sooner rather than later. Now the good stuff on this album (“Mr. Soul”, “Expecting to Fly”, “Bluebird”, “Rock & Roll Woman”, and “Broken Arrow”) is very good indeed—approaching classic status. But I just don’t want young people seriously listening to form the impression that fans of Stills and Young (like me) are completely crazy, even if we used to be. 3/5

“Joan Baez” by Joan Baez (1960) I don’t know what you were doing in 1960, but with this album, Joan Baez was launching her career as a folk icon. Actually, she wasn’t. She was simply singing beautiful traditional folk ballads and laments with her inimitable voice and deftly executed acoustic stylings. Her ‘career’ was simply the loving conversation that the world had with her musical magic. This recording is both tasteful and tasty in its simplicity, its resonance, and its depth. Her lyrics, melodies, and chord structures are all, of course, features of well-selected traditional folk songs (Her songwriting would come later). But it’s what she did with these songs that yanked on the heartstrings of millions—and still does. Vocally, her characteristic rapid vibrato over an equally characteristic sonorous timbre wrings every drop of passion out of the poetry. When she attacks the melody in her upper register, she freezes the listener in his tracks, like the ears of a deer caught in the headlights. Her dynamic variation is frightening—going from soft and sweet to a powerful wail in the space of a skipped heartbeat. Accompanying herself on acoustic guitar, she chooses and performs fingerings and fills that are perfectly suited to each composition. Beginning guitarists would be well advised to listen to her, learn, practice, and aspire—in that order. This was Joan Baez’ first album. Most tracks were recorded in one take, with voice and guitar together. No dubbing. No effects. No frills. Folks, this is as pure as folk music gets. 5/5

“School’s Out” by Alice Cooper (1972). I was a junior in high school when this came out, and the people I hung out with thought that the Alice Cooper name/makeup/violence shtick was kinda lame (Back then, “Alice Cooper” referred to the band, not frontman Vince Fournier). We didn’t take the music seriously, but the riff of the title track was appealing, and it was in everyone’s head. That summer, after school was out, I ran away from home, headed for L.A., but that’s another story. Now at the age of 66 I listen to this seriously for the first time. Lyrics basically declaim, “I’m bad, I’m violent, ergo, I’m cool.”—a basic Rolling Stones posture, but shallower and more explicit. Some of the subtle paronomasia is silly. This not good poetry, nor does it prompt much thought. But the hard driving rock, with plenty of great rhythm grooves and power, evokes the mood of lower middle class suburban youth searching really, really hard for something to complain about. Lead singer Furnier has an excellent raspy rock tone, and both lead and rhythm guitars are well done. Solid rhythm section and excellent guest musicians (e.g., “Blue Turk”). This album displays plenty of variety in composition, arrangements, and production. With very colorful musical forays into jazz (“Blue Turk”), time signature shifts (“My Stars”), and big band (the exquisitely orchestral “Grande Finale”) give (shocking?) evidence of influence of Leonard Bernstein. They even rip off “West Side Story” in several places (“Gutter Cat vs. The Jets” and elsewhere). These guys have a very eclectic musical sense, and the ability to put it on tape with class. This album is better than I thought it would be. 3/5

Kenya by Machito (1957) In the vein (if not quite the league) of Tito Puente and Xavier Cugat, this recording is Latin (‘Afro-Cuban’) jazz—the kind of music you’d hear as background in black & white film noir detective movies in the late 1950s. Cool. No lyrics, just endless layers of semi-progressive jazz produced and arranged in the big band style. There is an under emphasis on melody in favor of the variations—yet not the sometimes incomprehensible variations of pure progressive jazz. We hear steady rhythms dominated by unadorned congas, bongo, and timbales; but the spotlight is on the horns (mostly a bouquet of trumpets, with plenty of alto sax lead licks and other woodwind color). The musicians are uniformly superb, flawlessly executing standard stylings. There are many opportunities on this album to sit back and admire the technical proficiency of band members. But the primary weakness here is a lack of variety in arrangement—Machito has a successful formula and he sticks with it, but it’s not the kind of music you’d want to listen to for hours, and it doesn’t inspire much thought (or passion, for that matter). It’s just cool. But very, very cool. This the music that rich New Yorkers paid to listen to on their summer vacations in the Catskills, spicing their evenings with formal attire and pizazz while putting down cocktails and planning God-knows-what. You know, the post-WWII ‘victory’ culture. They paid for it—we get to enjoy it. Thanks, guys. 3/5

Olympia 1964 by Jacques Brel (1964) Belgian crooner’s live performance of French chansons before a very enthusiastic crowd. Recorded with full applause interludes, much of this 28-minute album is wasted space. While I can’t comment on the lyrics (beyond observing that some of them appear to be of admirable poetic quality), I can observe his voice, and it’s only okay. He’s no Sinatra (or Como or Martin or Torme or Davis or Bennett or Williams or Streisand). His live delivery is dramatic enough, but he struggles with pitch, sacrifices tone to drama, and lacks dynamic variation. Yes, I know that was the style. But it was a poor style. Very good backing orchestra, playing excellent arrangements, which are well executed with sensitivity to the many tempo changes. It’s more of a Broadway style than a solo vocal performance, and thus it fails as an album. Don’t get me wrong—he’s probably great in the studio (i.e., producing an actual ALBUM, which is, after all, the focus of these reviews). Yes, ladies, I know, he was a hottie with very kissable lips but let’s be fair and objective. After all, Blondie doesn’t get any extra points just because Debbie Harry is stunningly beautiful. Just like Bob Dylan, Carole King, Janis Joplin, and . . . (Oh, never mind). It would certainly have been a better musical experience to have been in the audience. (I guess you had to be there!) 1/5

“This is Hardcore” by Pulp (1998) Lyrically, there are two basic themes here: (1) Titillation is never what was advertised; and (2) What you end up getting is alienating and meaningless. Ironically, these themes apply to both recreational sex and this album. The message fails, because it is devoid of either redemption or closure. It’s simply depressingly vapid. It’s a fruitless (but apparently lucrative) artistic endeavor—expressing disillusionment that intelligent young people figure out for themselves just after they have the means to pay for this kind of crap. Musically, the compositions (too frequently) alternate between major and relative minor keys, with spare melodies delivered in even more spare vocal attacks. There’s too much slow tempo on this album to attract a second listen. Lead vocals lack both quality and concern. Flights into high drama seem to not care that the listener isn’t coming along. Rhythm section is flat and boring. Now there are some nice arrangements of backing orchestral and keyboard overlays, but it’s good icing on bad cake. This album is not a waste of talent. It’s just a waste. 1/5

“Blues Breakers” by John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers (1966) This album is an essential piece of the history of recorded music. Featuring guitar work by Eric Clapton and bass performance by John McVie (later the “Mac” of Fleetwood Mac), “Blues Breakers” helped carry African American blues through England, and then into the cultural consciousness of the late twentieth century musical world. And it arrived just in time to serve as a cultural corrective to the Anglo-American ‘victory years’. What is “blues” and why is it important? The blues style is a feature of melodic composition which colors the major chord progression by lowering the expected pitch of the third, fifth, or seventh note by half a tone, giving the song a ‘mournful’ mood, or an ironic accent. Ask a musician to play “Three Blind Mice” with a few “blue” notes thrown in, and it will change forever the way you hear contemporary music. This compositional innovation come through the American South in the 19th century (likely originating in Africa). Slaves and their descendants popularized the style in spirituals, love songs, laments, and ballads. It’s very timely that this album came up for me on a June 19th. Nazis hated the blues, for very good reason. The music here deliberately incorporates blues stylings (frequently including another blues feature, the AAB verse structure—can you identify it?) into songs arranged for rock and roll instrument combinations (drums, bass, guitar, and keyboards). John Mayall’s voice has significant flaws (e.g., he frequently hits the non-blue notes with a flat pitch, seriously diminishing the blues effect). But the keyboard, guitar, and bass consistently deliver classic blues rock. Clapton provides lead blues licks (rapid scales, artful bends and superhuman sustain) with unsurpassed mastery. The drum solo work on “What’d I Say” is very weak, and indicative of the fact that blues rock drumming (think John Bonham of Led Zeppelin) developed later than keyboards and guitars. This is probably not music that you’ll want to play in the background while you work, nor is it catchy or danceable. But it is part of the foundation of much of the music we love. Makes you want to shrug off the temptation to world domination. These guys were pioneers. Good music for when I’m too tight (and too white). 3/5

“Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon & Garfunkel (1970) There are no dull moments in this musical smorgasbord of aural delights; and no serious listener of recorded music should fail to become familiar with this well constructed album. One would be hard pressed to come up with any other album in the history of recorded that has such a universal scope. Styles include gospel, reggae, rockabilly, Latin jazz, Andean folk, and a superbly recorded live cut (Ames, Iowa) in which the audience actually knows how to clap. The engineering/mixing alone cements this work as a classic. The leadoff title track “Bridge Over Troubled Water” is a powerful lyric of love. Its selfless, giving message is rendered in perfectly pitched angelic tones by Art Garfunkel, and energized with an ever-expanding intensity, utilizing echo-enhanced percussion and a superlative orchestral arrangement. The recording of the bass lines is unequalled. Play it loud. The second track, “El Condor Pasa” invites the listener to take a (needed) deep breath, becoming entranced by the ethereal, wooden sounds of Peruvian instrumentals (performed by Los Incas, or “Urubamba”). Carango and dueling quena flutes never sounded so good on an American album. Next, for a shift in mood, “Cecilia” raises silliness to art, taking heartbreak to a comic level through the ingenious use of percussive sounds that defy identification. The only thing it’s missing is cowbell. Great song. On the rockabilly pot-dealing lament “Keep the Customer Satisfied”, pay attention to the nonstop build. And prepare yourself for the bombastic horns on the outro, splayed out before your ears from stomping bass trombone to the sky high wailing of the lead trumpet. Wonderfully mixed. Then just when you need to rest your hands from clapping, bossa nova slides in with the weirdly evocative “So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright”, a moving eulogy to a genius (in architecture, of all things). Is there any genre Paul Simon can’t creditably perform on acoustic guitar? Bongos, jazz flute, and string quartet flavor this mellow reflection. Obituaries don’t get any better than this. Side two (remember, this is an album) begins with “The Boxer”, in the ‘old’ Simon & Garfunkel vocal/guitar style of folk duo, flavored with sultry baritone sax and muted bass drum providing an anxious heartbeat—and that shudder-inducing snare crash in the chorus. The orchestral arrangement and recording technique on the first part of the extended outro are paralyzing. Simon presents here a dramatically poetic first person ballad that transitions to the third person in the final verse for the knockout punch, the surprise of which I will not spoil. The comical “Baby Driver” is up next, which rivals anything The Beach Boys put on vinyl, with stepping, thumping bass and a swingin’ baritone & tenor sax duet in the bridge. Here, at the age of 16, I discovered the synthetic nexus between sex and drag racing. Vroooom! Then we settle in again to a quietly reflective “The Only Living Boy in New York”, the first song I chose to learn to play and sing for performance (in a bar in Subic City, Philippines—There’s a story there that I won’t go into). “Hey, I’ve got nothing to do today but smile”is a line everyone needs to hear more often. (By the way, “Tom” is Garfunkel, who had gone to Mexico to film “Catch-22”, a career move that contributed to the split up of S&G later in 1970.) “Why Don’t You Write Me” is back to more musical whimsy, with teasing internal rhyme and the cleverest baritone sax duet in the bridge you’ve ever heard. A wild and live cover of the Everly Brothers hit “Bye Bye Love” follows, with deft mix of electric bass and muted drum, segueing into the all-too-brief “Song for the Asking”, with Paul Simon closing out the album with his signature acoustic stylings accompanied by delicate Garfunkel harmonies and tasteful strings in the background. Makes you want to play the album over again, which I just did. Twice. If you can’t fall in love with this album, you should give your heart to someone who can make better use of it. 5/5

“Fever Ray” by Fever Ray (2009) Electronic music by Swedish vocalist and songwriter Karin Dreijer , who plays an identity game in her public persona, which is both reflected and contradicted in her sub par lyrics. On the plus side, Dreijer enlightened me to the fact that the poet now gets to decide the preferred pronouns of her characters, rendering the ambiguity of how many people we’re dealing with meaningless. It also artificially limits her poetry by minimizing the use of the third person, as if she’s fully aware of the grammatical bind she’s gotten herself into. The self absorbed “When I Grow Up” should be retitled “If I Grow Up”. She’s fashioning a lyrical world I’d prefer not to inhabit (How’s that for reader-response criticism?). Anyway, the lyrics are uninteresting, so a few thoughts on the sound: While there is some innovation here, the compositions are lazily repetitive. There is clearly a lack of development in each track. She sets a mood and stubbornly sits on it like a pouting child. Her voice is so adulterated by electronic effects that it ceases to express human thought or feeling, if the lyrics had any. “Ah, ah, ah”, she laments (on “If I Had a Heart”), continuing “If I had a voice I would sing.” Well, perhaps. But what’s your rationale for foisting your non-singing on a serious listener? Let me know when you learn to sing, compose, arrange, or play an instrument or hire some people who can, and I’ll take another crack at this. 1/5

“The Visitors” by ABBA (1981)   This one stopped me in my tracks. I was predisposed to dismiss ABBA as mindless pop (which is not to say I haven’t listened to “ABBA Gold” countless times). But this album is much better than I expected.  Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty of silliness in the arranging. It’s still ABBA. But this collection demonstrates a maturity in their musical sense that is more fitting for their undeniable vocal talents. Here we have pioneering digital recording with tasteful backing instrumentals, making good use of ‘instants of silence’ that have now become commonplace in recorded music. Full use of 32-track mixing.  And the vocal arrangements for which ABBA became famous (or infamous) now display a willingness to step outside the conventional. Moreover, the lyrics reflect depth, cultural sensitivity, and insight into horrifying geopolitical realities—from a Swedish [!] perspective. It gets better the more I listen.  For an example of ABBA’s insight into the international scene: “The album's title track [“The Visitors”], according to [ABBA songwriter] Ulvaeus, refers to the ‘secret meetings’ held against the approval of totalitarian governments in Soviet-dominated states.”  [Wikipedia, “ABBA”] Poland? East Germany? Czechoslovakia? Hungary? Puppets of the Soviet KGB were ”The Visitors”. And they were not amused by your ‘secret meetings’. So musically, is this how it felt in 1981 when the Stasi came around?  (Or the FBI after you used a credit card to make a 1/6/21 trip to D.C.?) And the fourth track, “Soldiers” gives evidence of a political awareness that is apt for 1981–a moment in time when the less powerful western European nations began to tell the bullying Soviet Union “Enough is enough”. With the 1989 destruction of the Berlin Wall, this crisis had a temporarily good outcome before it got screwed up again in the early 21st century, but it’s inspiring nostalgia nonetheless. “‘Cause if the bugler starts to play, we too must dance.”  NATO was not then a paper tiger, even if it seems to be today. I wonder if Taiwan has a ‘pop’ group like ABBA . . . [Full disclosure: This reviewer is a veteran of the Cold War.] Less politically, the verses in “I Let the Music Speak” have melodic lines with difficult vocal intervals, skillfully executed by lead singer Anni-Frid Lyngstad, with extraordinarily creative orchestral arrangement.  Theatrical, transcendent, sweeping.  “One of Us” is a well developed song of sadness, anticipating and executing the end of a failed relationship. The third listen brought a tear. Is the “us” the man and the woman, or the two persons within the woman?  You tell me.  “Two for the Price of One” is back to more gimmicky ABBA silliness, with a hilarious ending that can be taken in more ways than one, which adds to the humor.  And anyone who’s raised a child will be drawn in to “Slipping Through My Fingers”.  “Like an Angel Passing Through My Room” is simply beautiful—melancholic, evocative, poetic, symphonic, expansive. It is reportedly the inspiration for the cover art.  I’m going to stop writing now, and just listen.  5/5

“Headquarters” by The Monkees (1967) Formulaic pop which is not representative of the ‘Summer of Love’ in the American cultural scene. We regarded this music as immature even then. We can now add to our disdain the recognition that it was, from the beginning, a corporate project. I feel sorry for the artists, but the music is too formulaic to be called art. Still, it’s pleasing enough to listen to. Once. For old time’s sake. On the way out the door. Lyrically sappy, G-rated pulp. Musically, it would be fun to play a party game with 70-year-olds identifying which Beatles songs the Monkees are ripping off in each track. Mickey Dolenz’ drumming is poor (that’s why it’s wisely subdued in the mix) and bass is played by B-grade session musicians, demonstrating that the producers didn’t take the rhythm section seriously—a fatal flaw for rock music. Guitar arrangements performance are amateurish. All vocals are weak. Mr. Jones, please put down the tambourine. Okay, now that that unpleasant task is done, we can, at a minimum, celebrate the fact these guys were at least pretending to have fun. But they were being paid to. 2/5

“The Atomic Mr. Basie” by the Count Basie Orchestra (1958). Exquisite big band jazz and swing, this music places the serious listener smack in the middle of a Woody Allen movie, and then escorts him/her/them straight to heaven. These are beautiful and intricate arrangements, with disciplined and precise performances, featuring sublime solo work. Each soloist knows exactly what a soloist should and should not do. Rock, folk, synth, and hip hop artists should appreciate the value of the planning and execution of the big band style, perfectly exemplified by the CBO. Basie's piano playing is deft and sensitive, articulating the passion behind Neal Hefti’s visionary arrangements. Strictly professional. All music lovers should cultivate an appreciation of this contribution to American music—it helps to define the entire era of recording, from the 1930s to the present. That album cover, however, didn’t age well. The promo guys got a little carried away. 5/5

“Scream, Dracula, Scream!” by Rocket from the Crypt (1995) Well, this is new (to me). And it’s good, although I don’t recall that Dracula ever needed Van Helsing’s encouragement. I always thought the scream was a reasonable and expected, if spontaneous response. The scorpion in the cover art is a nice touch. Nonsensical lyrics are okay when the verbalizations are carefully chosen to reflect the meter and mood of the music. That is definitely not the case here. “You put a bullet through your nose” (on “Used”) is one of the few meaningful lines on the record. Hmmmnn, redemptive. And the title of the track “Come See, Come Saw” is clever, but a greatly missed lyrical opportunity. But the album is characterized by high quality, hard driving rock (and even pop and ska) progressions and riffs, well supported by a strong rhythm section. Very competent, but not genius. Plenty of engineering and mixing variations, with tasteful and powerful distortion. Some creative end-of-track fades. “Young Livers” (another clever title) is well arranged, with colorful backing vocals and horn section. Indeed, the backing vocals and horns throughout this album are what favorably sets it apart from so much else. This album is a nice execution of what they’re trying to do, if a serious listener is in the mood to treat his/her angst by being submerged into someone else’s. Kind of a sonic self-medication. Just don’t get addicted. 3/5

“Led Zeppelin III” by Led Zeppelin (1970) Clearly the most underrated album by Led Zeppelin, this work deserves a serious listen by every music lover. Venturing into an eclectic mix of rock, blues, and even Celtic folk, Page, Plant, Jones and Bonham produced music of the highest caliber. “Since I’ve Been Loving You” is arguably the best blues rock song of all time—listen to the buildup to the most soulful scream ever recorded (at 5:30-6:20). Jones on bass & keyboards and Bonham on drums give exquisite, inventive performances, and Page’s guitar playing (rhythm AND lead) is stellar. But Plant’s unique vocal quality and range pull the passion right out of you. Dark & dank comic relief on “Gallows Pole” followed by the wistful “Tangerine” and the soul-wrenching “That’s the Way”—music to turn you inside out and back again. This is not top 40. This is actual music. 5/5

“Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd (1975) Music for thinking—heavy, synthetic, slow, deep, expansive. Languid chord progressions providing space for lament and reflection. This is a concept album in the purest sense: Pink Floyd wishes founding former member Syd Barrett were here, and bemoans the reasons why he isn’t (his mental illness and the dehumanizing realities of the recording industry). These are reasons why, in answer to Rodney King’s famous plaint, “we can’t just get along”. “The Machine” you see, welcomes you, sucks you in, rolls you around on the tongue, chews you up, and spits you out. And the sooner in life we learn this, folks, the better. Pessimism, skepticism, and cynicism are justified justified by their aborted progeny. Contentment is only a commodity for those willing to invest in wisdom. On the negative side, this album lacks the depth of the preceding “Dark Side of the Moon”, and the later “Animals” and “The Wall”. Also, it is too (communally) self referential, and relies too much on the inside backstory, so its feelings translate to the uninformed listener but obscurely. And comparing this to the rest of the Pink Floyd oeuvre reveals a certain unfortunate reliance on a repeated tropes and grooves (Haydn had the same problem. Beethoven definitely did not). But the precision, musicality, superlative studio work, and virtuosity of Waters and (especially) Gilmour make this a very good album. Sagacity is wasted on the young. 4/5

“One World” by John Martyn (1977) Lyrics range from Hallmark card vapidity to static repetitions of phrases that someone finds clever. Completely uninspiring for such a pompous album title. Nothing revolutionary. Martyn’s wheezy voice delicately dances around soft jazz melodies with predictable but pleasant enough stylings. Easy listening progressive folk/jazz. The chief attraction of this album is the modestly interesting instrumentation and arrangements, with cool electronic sounds peppering the musical landscape, but the novelty doesn’t last long. Nice background music, but Van Morrison does this kind of music much better. If this were the first music I heard in the morning, I’d go back to sleep. Good night. 2/5

“You Want It Darker” by Leonard Cohen (2016) If you want to hear music written, sung, and recorded by an 82-year-old Canadian Jew sitting in his living (dying) room crippled by fractures in his spine and counting the few painful moments he has left, then this album is for you. And if you don’t want to hear music like that, then shame on you and this album is for you anyway. The expression “You want it darker” is typically what a lover might say to his beloved at the outset of their lovemaking—his accommodation to her sensitivity as he presents himself to her in the darker-ness and says with his mind and body, “Here I am”. For Cohen, this image serves as a prayer to God. Cohen is dying, and God wants it darker. It’s a touching reversal of the God/man Lover/beloved metaphor, and the poet/prophet pulls it of with beauty and horror. This is going to hurt. Death is like lovemaking, and Cohen is ready. “Hineni” (Hebrew for “Here I am”), he says, in resignation to the supreme Will, and with the courage of the prophet (Isaiah 6:8), he faces, embraces the agony. If there’s to be a lullaby, it’s a “lullaby for suffering”. It doesn’t get any darker than that. Cohen wishes there was a “Treaty” between God’s love and his own (There is one [Jeremiah 31:31-14], but I’m not sure Cohen signed it—there are hopeful hints in “Seemed a Better Way”, as he advises himself, “I better lift this glass of blood”, but “not today”). At least he takes it seriously. “My ‘don’t’ was saying ‘do’”, he complains of the temptation contest, but he is quitting the game (“Leaving the Table”) anyhow. And through it all, God’s love has made it real (“If I Didn’t Have Your Love“). Cohen is setting out on the road to death, but he’s “Traveling Light”. His parting advice on his way out the door (to his heart, but more importantly, to you, in case you’re not getting it), is that you should “Steer Your Way” one year/month/day/thought at a time. The outro of the closing track reprises “Treaty” with compelling mystery: “We were broken then but now we're borderline”. So where will you (we? me?) be tomorrow? His voice has been reduced, through age and pain, to whispers punctuated by well pitched basso profondo. But he retains his famous timbre, which compellingly invites the listener to consider, to ponder, to figure it out. It beckons, and you’d better not decline. It’s not just excellent poetry—it’s poetry that grabs you and shakes you a bit. It goes beyond—all the way to the declarative prophetic focus on the past and present in the face of an unknown future. Prophets were generally and unjustly disregarded. Here is your opportunity to rectify. There are negative things to say about this album. But not by me. Leonard Cohen died three weeks after its release. 5/5

“(What’s the Story) Morning Glory?” by Oasis (1995) Lyricist Noel Gallagher is consumed by his own cleverness in his unsuccessful struggle to find rhymes. Yes, ‘sister’ does rhyme with ‘blister’, but what context can possibly be invented to bring these two words together with any semblance of sense? These lyrics do have potential, showing progression and creative resolution, but are frequently marred by internal incoherence and the use, overuse, misuse, and abuse of cliches. And there’s even a daft adherence to correct grammar (“I know the roads down which your life will drive” Really? Did they teach you that at Eton?). Setting aside the moronic poetry, this album provides some musical delights. Chord progressions, while not particularly inventive, show pleasant variety. Supported by a solid rhythm section, the clean (rhythm-heavy) guitar performances carry the music well. There are some jarring but aimless compositional transitions that tend to distract. Liam Gallagher’s lead vocals, while not high quality, are sufficient for the (undemanding) musical task. Brother Noel must be really impressed with that strumming acoustic intro, since he uses it on four tracks. And remember what I said about the beauty of sibling vocal blend? Forget it. But the music flows adequately for soft rock—enough to give it a listen. Once. 2/5

“The Doors” by the Doors (1967) One look at the facial expressions on the album cover suggests to the listener that it’s time to put away the bubble gum. Jim Morrison’s lyrics on this album are of uneven, but mostly high, quality. His metaphors are not cheap, unlike most mid sixties rock songs. They reveal a mature mind working in an under-traveled metier, and the results are arresting. Rock and roll is now demanding to be taken seriously. These are not songs for teenagers, in 1967 or in 2021. From a distance of almost 55 years, it may be difficult to discern how revolutionary this music was, and much of it withstands aging. Morrison’s vocals are only average, salvaged by enormous passion, and punctuated by screams and wails that definitely do not age well. But try to put yourself in 1967. Maybe try listening with a little inebriation (I said this wasn’t for teenagers). There is virtually no bass guitar on this album, which might have been a fatal flaw. But gifted keyboardist Ray Manzarek plays all the bass lines on a keyboard bass. And he pulls it off. Excellent guitar riffs and solos (especially on “The End”) by Robby Krueger, and generally well-executed drums by John Densmore (He occasionally drops tempo on elaborate fills—a frequent weakness of 1960 rock & roll drummers). When listening to “Alabama Song (Whisky Bar), it might be helpful to know that it is the only song on the album not written by Morrison. It was written by Berthold Brecht and Kurt Weill (in German) in 1927, originally as an anti-bourgeois parody of sermons of Martin Luther. This was back in the day when Germany was eight years into their first (unsuccessful) experiment with democracy, and five years before Hitler ‘successfully’ said, “Enough is enough”. Brecht was a communist, being awarded the Stalin Peace Prize in 1954, after 40 years of artistic labor, pioneering Marxist dialectical aesthetics. But back to the music: There’s a wonderful and entrancing middle section on “Light My Fire” which is not to be missed. But the artistic centerpiece of this album is the closing track “The End”. It helps to be familiar with the plot of “Oedipus Rex” by Sophocles (429 B.C.). Set aside twelve minutes, put on headphones, and listen to this. Loud. Francis Ford Coppola’s decision to use this song in the opening scene of “Apocalypse Now” (1979) helped to fix this work in the American psyche of the Vietnam era. It worked then, and it still works today. 4/5

“Southern Rock Opera” by Drive-By Truckers (2001). This is the kind of music that makes you wonder if the South takes itself too seriously. It amounts to an operatic paean to Lenard Skynard, the tragic backstory of the plane running out of gas, and the lyrical themes that made them famous. The music is neither beautiful nor innovative. It’s strictly conventional. But the artistic device is the political thesis that the South gets a bad rap for being, among other things, ubiquitously racist, and Drive-By Truckers are here to do something about it. Sigh. Lynard Skynard at least showed some restraint. Sassiness as a substitute for testosterone. There some cleverness, but it’s pretty lowbrow. Too ambitious. Too unsubtle. Poorly recorded (especially the vocals) and even more poorly mixed. Lead guitar way too subdued the three-guitar mix.

“Dire Straits” by Dire Straits (1978) I’m not sure why I missed this growing up. Eclectic blues and jazz rock, with a little reggae thrown in. Definitely for listening to in the evening when alone, with an adult beverage, on a good home hi fi setup. I hear Dylanesque composition and arranging, without aping, laid down in ever-changing grooves, and tremendous dynamic sensitivity. Lyrically, it’s a collection of referential and thought-provoking word pictures, effectively giving voice to the musical settings. But they lack movement and resolution, so a serious listener might be disappointed—if lyrics were the focus of this work. But they’re not. The most striking thing on this album is the lead guitar lines played by Mark Knopfler—silky and spare, with inventive fills and exquisite slides and bends. He knows how to pull the listener in on the quiet parts. His solo work on “Sultans of Swing” and “In the Gallery” is superlative. Great percussion by Pick Withers, who is never monotonous, always seeming to find color appropriate to the mood. Lead vocals are gravelly and lacking power, but I was almost relieved that they didn’t provide a high-quality distraction from the two guitars, bass, and drums. These guys produce a lot of music with only four instruments and minimal dubbing. And the person who mixed this album is a genius. A nice listen. Rock doesn’t have to be hard to be good. And this is very good. 4/5

“Purple Rain” by Prince and the Revolution (1984) A Prince fan recently told me that one cannot understand the message of “Purple Rain” without seeing the movie. Uh, okay, but since this a review of the ‘album’ and not the ‘album+movie’, I’ll set the message aside, other than to say that the lyrics are thoroughly unimpressive. Musically, Prince’s guitar stylings are outstanding (if underutilized), and flawlessly performed. He has real guitar skill. And the pop arrangements, heavy with keyboard support and occasional string ensemble backing have undoubted popular appeal. Drum machine, however, is a definite minus. Seriously. Lead vocals by Prince, while demonstrating expansive tonal range, evoke soulless pretension, providing the listener with baroque frills, but with tragically understated passion. Rhythm section is uniformly mechanical. Prince the arranger seems to think a rhythm section is an annoying necessity. “When Doves Cry” is (apparently) entirely composed, arranged and performed by Prince alone. It has plenty of flair, but its lacy decorations seem to grate against the meaning of the lyrics. Perhaps the movie explains this awkward tension. Likewise on “I Would Die 4 U”. Actually, the same could be said for much of this album. “Purple Rain” comes at you like a heroically expansive gospel anthem dressed to kill. It has a very nice string arrangement in the outro, marred by dubbed audience approval (giving the listener a hint). But in order to get excited about this song, I’d have to know what the hell it’s about. Maybe you really do have to see the movie. I’ll do movie reviews after I die. 2/5

“ΚΕΦΑΛΗΞΘ (Psalm 69)” by Ministry (1992) In case you’re tempted to think that this is Contemporary Christian thrash metal, think again. The title, “ΚΕΦΑΛΗΞΘ” is a mildly humorous obscenity best left unexplained here, and the alternative title “(Psalm 69)” is no reference to the Bible, but rather to the sexually charged chapter 69 in a book by Aleister Crowley which will likewise remain unnamed. The subtitle is “The way to succeed and the way to suck eggs”. Use your imagination. No, don’t. This album title (along with title track) is one of the more egregious examples of theomockery which was all the rage in the early 1990s. Now don’t get me wrong, mockery has a long and honored pedigree in literary history. But when you take on the divine, and when you make a scatological assault on the foundations of Western civilization, you’re going up against a pretty distinguished group of opponents. This review will consider how well they do what they ought not do. How good is their naughtiness? (Reviewer pauses to listen, listen, listen, Hmnn, listen, okay . . .) Actually, it’s quite disappointing. If, like me, you’re mildly titillated by the opportunity to critique some really creative blasphemy, you’ll be sad to discover that only the title track falls squarely into that category. And it’s pretty ignorant. Two potent sacrilegious images and a cascade of uninformed impieties. Is this really the best you guys can do? You suck at evil. It’s as if the band got together in a focus group session to consider the question “How can we maximize inanity in marketing anti-Christian shock?” The results are impressive. Musically, this album provides a (very) few good thrash grooves, but it is unrelentingly repetitive. Vocals sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks doing impressions of Ozzy Osbourne. The ambience can be likened to spending 44 minutes watching a screaming clock. 1/5

“The Slider” by T. Rex (1972) Here is an album produced to please without requiring much of the listener. Sometimes that’s just what the doctor ordered. Lyrically, we have common words and phrases nonchalantly sprinkled over melodies and rhythms as a sort of artless garnish. There’s no meaning here, no passion—nothing to think about (exception: “Ballrooms of Mars”. But don’t waste your time. It’s no big deal). The words are simply a delivery vehicle for the sound. And the sound is undoubtedly pleasing. Simple backing vocals and easy orchestral arrangements provide a comfortable texture. An occasional unexpected chord progression and time signature variation provide spice, but nothing that shocks the senses. It amounts to ‘easy listening’ pop/rock. Lead guitar riffs and solos are rather uninspired, but are well supported by a disciplined rhythm section. Lead vocal is interesting. Marc Nolan’s airy tenor completely lacks timbre or any sonorous quality, but he raises these weaknesses to an art form. Frequent mic pops reveal a voice with virtually no natural power. Seemingly obligatory ‘screams’ and ‘wails’ are laughably puny. Backing arrangements seem designed to compensate for this huge flaw. But it’s still entertaining, albeit with an occasional chuckle. Certainly not ‘bad’—almost ‘good’. Definitely not ‘very good’. I’m so torn. 2/5

“The Slim Shady LP” by Eminem (1999) Well, obviously this is not for the squeamish, the qualmish, the prudish, or the priggish. But it is intelligent entertainment with a coherent critical worldview, albeit one marred by the Marxist propensity to interpret morality through the lens of class consciousness. In Eminem’s case, the class in question is the transracial American proletariat [full disclosure: That’s me]. On a record produced for profit. How utterly bourgeois. Setting that huge internal contradiction aside, this is a very good album. The cover art depicts a man taking a break during an outing with his toddler daughter, the purpose of which is to dispose of her murdered mother’s decaying corpse (reference “‘97 Bonnie & Clyde”). Like I said, this is not for the squeamish. The songs on this album are fictional character sketches and narratives which are intended to express the feelings of many in the contemporary ‘under’ ‘class’ who will consequently go out and spend ten bucks or so (which they can ill afford) to be entertained by this. And the ‘middle’ ‘class’ youngsters can toss some disposable income in the direction of the guy who broke the race barrier in the rap industry, thus assuaging their subliminal white guilt. And the ‘upper’ ‘class’ disregarders of culture can double check to make sure that Universal Music Group/Interscope Records is included in their stock portfolios. In the meantime, Marshall Mathers III has a big royalty check. I get it. Eminem’s voice is initially disappointing—a cartoonish tenor framed in an accent that is suspiciously eclectic. His “Slim Shady” character’s intonation sounds like he can’t decide where is in the black/white binary or which side of 8 mile he came from (sorry, someone had to say it). But his voice on “If I Had” sounds more natural. He seems to be able to take rap further along its original trajectory. Shock is not the objective. Expressing the rap themes with less inhibition than his predecessors. For a guy who thinks “God sent me to piss the world off”, this production is satire reminiscent of National Lampoon Comedy Hour, but deeper, danker, and more repulsive. Yet while it repels, it is easy to see its magnetism, like a monopolar particle force. Beats created by Dr. Dre sometimes approach the sublime, evoking an ethereal mood (“‘97 Bonnie & Clyde”)

“The Man Machine” by Kraftwerk (1978) Love that cover art—Oh, wait. The American version doesn’t have German band members dressed in uniform shirts and ties standing in formation facing to the right (which is their left) in militarized synchronization, close-coiffed hair, mock feminine makeup, and grim expression, all but shouting “S.A., S.A., S.A., . . . !” Wonder why. I love German music. I played Kraftwerk’s earlier “Autobahn” over and over in 1974, driving my roommate crazy. Synth pop, the early days. “The Man Machine” represents a slight evolution, but the mechanistic composition/technical flair, so impressive in 1978 doesn’t stand the test of time. This is one of the main reasons why albums that rely on tech for their appeal don’t have the enduring quality as music. They are easily and quickly surpassed. Unlyrics that have only an ambivalent tinge of the political (“Я твой слуга; Я твой работник”) become passé in ten short years. Minimoog riffs become passé in ten short months, and the overall listening experience becomes passé in ten short minutes. Pretty well fatal for a 36-minute album. Anyway, plowing through it, one finds occasional delights: the comic (to English ears) German tongue roll on the word “robots” (“The Robots”); sensitivity to tonal range in composition; accelerating scales and arpeggios evolving into complex chords (at the beginning of “Spacelab” and “Metropolis”); careful attention to phasing between instruments (no easy feat, especially in 1978). But the vocals are poor—and they should stick to German instead of attempting English (“but the Marketing Dept. says, . . . “ or “Aber die Marketing-Abteilung sagt, . . . “). No, boys, “Autobahn” worked precisely because the minimal lyrics were in German (I’m still singing „Wir fahren, fahren, auf der Autobahn“ in mein kopf.). This is background music for assembly line work. Feeling-crushing monotony. Cool. 2/5

“Vento De Maio” by Elis Regina (1978) Great music in the genre of Brazilian jazz, but without a translation of the lyrics, it’s difficult for me to assess this as an album. Elis Regina’s voice is very nice, especially in the lowest end of her considerable range, almost if she has ‘pedal tones’ down there. She’s a little unsteady on pitch, but has excellent diction and fine command of very challenging melodies. She has fine vibrato, which, interestingly, she rarely uses, indicating she doesn’t rely on it for pitch control. Some of it you have to hear to believe. One of the huge strengths of this album is the glorious jazz orchestral arrangements, beautifully executing formidable time signatures, rhythmic shifts, and unusual harmonic colorings. Highly professional—and beautifully recorded and mixed. This, along with spare but tasteful backing vocals, makes it an excellent listening experience. Too bad this album is not available on in the iTunes Store (although there is a compilation album which has most of these songs. I bought it and plan to add it to my small but growing Brazilian jazz collection. I highly recommend Elis Regina. Tragic end at age 36, though. Don’t do drugs, folks. 4/5

“Legalize It” by Peter Tosh (1976) Finely sung songs of complaint are evocative only when the artist finds common ground and empathetic response in the listener. Peter Tosh doesn’t rise to that level. Whether he’s lamenting the law, the injustice of the enforcers, his failed relationships, or his loneliness, a serious listener will discern that his political and psychosocial critique comes across as puerile, petulant, and lame. And his religious summons to praise his god (“Igziabeher”) is self-serving, selective, and menacing. One may agree with his position, but it’s hard to pity. Now, the music is very appealing. Fine reggae grooves and clean, disciplined performances, especially in the percussion and the bass lines. Nice lead guitar stylings (“No Sympathy” and “Till Your Well Runs Dry”), with extraordinarily sensitive wah-pedal (“Burial”). Nice country/reggae fusion on “Till Your Well Runs Dry”. One could listen to this all day, if one could get past the utterly unpersuasive message. Don’t legalize marijuana because of its medical benefits or because God intends for us to smoke it (eye roll). Rather, legalize it because (1) it’s enjoyable (so I’m told—teehee); (2) we should live in a free society; and (3) the negative consequences of criminality outweigh the benefits. Stop kidding yourself. Or at least stop trying to kid everyone else. I’m not buying your argument, but I agree with your conclusion. Legalize it. However, just because I’m on your side doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re full of crap, bro. 2/5

“Shake Your Money Maker” by The Black Crowes (1990) Good rock. The main lyrical theme here is of a man opening up his soul to/about his woman. Honest, reflective, and sassy, these all work well in the rock genre. Think early Rolling Stones. Pretty standard structure and arrangements, delivered well enough. Fine guitar grooves, with plenty of distortion and sustain. While Chris Robinson’s lead vocal has an appropriate and legitimate southern rock attitude (sorry, Boss), it is certainly missing variety, making it (accidentally and sadly) one of the more recognizable 1990s voices out there. “Seeing Things” tries to be a gospel-spiced anthem, but it doesn’t quite make it. Their cover of Otis Redding’s “Hard to Handle” cooks without boiling over, demonstrating that Rock and Roll perdures (but “Thick n’ Thin” is even better). And with the obligatory acoustic-heavy ballad lamenting some poor soul’s drug addiction (“She Talks to Angels”), the Crowes complete their rock album punch card. After 30 years, this is one to put on the shelf just to keep the collection complete. 3/5

“Celebrity Skin” by Hole (1998) There’s a lot of pain, frustration, anxiety, and writer’s block in these lyrics, as if Courtney Love just wants to get it over with. Here we have a superior poetic intellect that doesn’t quite succeed In reaching its potential. As a lead singer, Courtney Love’s approach to pitch is to execute lazy looping slurs, hopeful that the correct note is in there somewhere. It usually is. But I wouldn’t want to listen to this voice everyday. If I were forced to, I’d probably end up shooting myself. Very good use of rhythm electric guitar effects (chorus, sustain) that help stabilize an otherwise marginal performance. Very good drum work by Patty Schemel (or whoever). Nice production elements make some tracks rise above the barely listenable. This is competent rock, but not a classic. 3/5

“Live Through This” by Hole (1994) Let me say at the outset that I don’t believe the rumor that Kurt Cobain ghostwrote tracks on this album. My reasons for this skepticism are probably not what you think. But there are striking similarities between Cobain’s compositional style and Cortney Love’s. How to account for this? She copied him, dude. Courtney Love is good, but she’s not in Cobain’s league. Now there’s nothing wrong with copying compositional style. Good grief, the history of recorded music demonstrates this over and over. But if the copying is accompanied by an insufficient level of innovation, the overall effect is unduly derivative, and thus is of less artistic merit. And Love’s compositions on this album are unduly derivative: Cobainesque screaming over Cobainesque barre chord progressions and intervals with Cobainesque dynamic explosions and Cobainesque blending of acoustic and electric rhythm grooves. I could go on. Love’s artistry is explicitly feminine. Cobain’s artistry transcends gender segmentation. I am aware of how some feminists would perhaps challenge this assessment, but I’m 66 years old, and I really don’t care. I don’t do affirmative action art. Now Love’s lyrics have some flashes of poetic microbrilliance (“violet/violence”; “death rattle/spittle on his bib”; “My bitter half has bitten me”; “I fake it so real, I am beyond fake”; “fetal stress/legless caress”). And in general, Love’s lyrics far surpass the average rock and roll fare. Her songs here are both introspective and relatable, plaintive and evocative, repulsive and attractive. The album has a thematic coherence, and production & performance qualities that are far better than average. It is just plain good. 3/5

“Blood and Chocolate” by Elvis Costello and the Attractions (1986) Breakup songs that get the anger out, but will endear you only to women who have no self respect. You may be into that. Go for it. Thoughtful, if sneering, these are lyrics that treat the listener with some good enough poetic ideas, but lacking poetic sounds. Too bad. It’s half great. And the music fails to do justice to the work that went in to the lyrics. It’s too plain. Compositions lack flavor and aroma, like a case of Covid. The exception is “I Want You”, which could have been so much more powerful with better production. Costello’s voice is not great, and the studio guys do him no favors. He too frequently attempts to exceed his limited range. I suspect he had too much control over the vocal track processing and overall mixing. I can picture an engineer pleading with the producer to add just a little reverb. Somebody might be able to sing these songs, but not Elvis Costello. This album could have been so much better. It’s a shame. It’s like a collaboration between Bob Dylan and The Monkees (sorry if that made Dylan fans cringe—or Monkees fans for that matter). Overall, this album is exquisitely unsatisfying. 2/5

“Talking Heads 77” by Talking Heads (1977) It was new. It was different. It was influential. And it (almost) stood the test of time. Here’s an album that’s like a scary clown. You know the comedy is a pose, but you’re not sure if or when he’ll bring out the knife. Lyrical obscurity works well when it draws the listener in. On this album, songwriter David Byrne is mostly successful. In “Don’t Worry about the Government”, for example, he doesn’t even mention “government”, but rather the “I”, and “me”—satisfied, conveniently situated, and balanced. His protagonist IS the government, and hence the ominous undertones begin to percolate upward in the psyche of the listener. This is a parody, but it is not a joke. And it is more meaningful now than it was in 1977. Good stuff. Musically, it’s a mixed bag. Vocal dubbing is sometimes necessary, it is hard work, and on this album, where it is attempted, it fails. Calling it “new wave” does not relieve one of the obligation to sing. Byrne’s voice seems to always strain to reach up to the pitch. It makes the listener tired. But the instrumentals are quite good. The musical highlight of the album is the understated but supremely effective bass guitar of Tina Weymouth. Produced in 1977, this debut album by Talking Heads clearly demonstrated that they were going places. But not yet. 3/5

“Dig Your Own Hole” by The Chemical Brothers (1997) Well, here’s an album that forces the serious listener to revisit his or her definition of “recorded music”. And since it is no doubt “recorded”, what is under examination here is one’s understanding of the term “music”. Is this “music”? Well, not in the conventional sense. It is excruciatingly repetitive, mechanical, unrelenting, static, and almost entirely at one tempo (about 120 beats per minute, but who’s counting?). It would be good background sound for a boring workout, or the first ten minutes of the evening’s endeavor to get lucky. And since The Chemical Brothers all but concede that lyrics are irrelevant, one can add meaninglessness to the list of this album’s characteristics. The lyrics to the track “It Doesn’t Matter” pretty well sum it up. But out of an artistic respect for the possibility that this is precisely the point, perhaps one can assess whether The Chemical Brothers are successful at conveying mindless alienation devoid of intelligible content or feeling of any sort. They are not. I know this album peaked at #1 on the UK charts, but maybe that says more about the UK than it does about this album. 1/5

“Joan Armatrading” by Joan Armatrading (1976) With lyrics that are rich in passion, Armatrading inundates the listener with images that spring forth from particular moments of experience. She freezes emotional time. It’s as if she’s beginning to swoon, and an entire song issues forth in the brief instant that she’s falling to the floor. Makes you want to rush over and catch her before she hits the deck. Can’t help yourself. Powerful. Whether the feeling is anxiety (“People”), dejection (“Down to Zero”), panic (“Save Me”), apprehension (“Water with the Wine”), or longing (“Love and Affection”), she touches, grabs, pierces the heart. If you’re human. And, boys, she devastates your cockiness with both whimsy and panache in “Tall in the Saddle”. We are all suitably chastened. Here’s a sample (from “Somebody Who Loves You”): “Cozy corner your arms around you So tired of one night stands Left with longing from misspent passion With one more human to despise . . . “ Dancing between folk, funk, and jazz, she harnesses powerful alto vocal stylings (pleasantly croaky on the bottom) in company with sensitive arrangements, to serve up tasteful musical confections. Very nice acoustic stylings (especially on “Like Fire”). And has anyone ever sung the word “insane” (“People”) with greater fidelity? Shivers. This is music one should not listen to all day, but rather on well chosen melancholy occasions when you need to be reassured that in your yearning and pain, you’re not alone. 4/5

“The Poet” by Bobby Womack (1981) R&B, funk, jazz, finely performed by Womack, with plenty of excellent backing support. These are mostly love songs that are presented with soul and flair. Womack’s lead guitar is nice to listen to, as well his not-quite-mellow-enough baritone voice. And the backing vocals are angelic. “Stand Up” cooks—makes ya wanna dance. These tracks are well arranged, but some idiosyncrasies (like overused harp glissando) mildly detract. And while the lyrics are suitably passionate, they lack depth and lexical variety, hence the album title “The Poet” is somewhat pompous. The track “If You Think You’re Lonely Now” is interestingly equivocal. Is it sympathetic or menacing? The listener can decide. But it’s good music that gets under your skin. Womack’s “Just My Imagination” (1981) is strikingly similar to The Temptations’ “Just My Imagination” (1971). Are the attorneys on top of this or is it just my imagination? A very enjoyable album. 3/5

“Live at the Star Club, Hamburg” by Jerry Lee Lewis (1964) Jerry Lee Lewis is a rock and roll icon. But here we have a record that is, in a word, horrible. This museum display is evidence of everything that’s wrong with albums made from live recordings. I’m sure the concert (qua concert) was great, but this record (qua record) is organized crime. It’s a fecal fossil. If this is your first exposure to Jerry Lee Lewis, please don’t listen to it. Please, please do not listen to this album. In an attempt to capture lightning in a bottle, it ends up with a few fireflies in a leaky butterfly net. Comparing these live recordings with the studio originals reveals the poor quality: none of the classic Sun Records lead vocal reverb, and a very bad mix with too little guitar and virtually no bass, tinny drums, sloppy pitch control, extremely limited tonal and dynamic range on the piano and (ironically and fatally) virtually NO audience interaction. It’s a blasphemous denial of Jerry Lee Lewis’ genius as a recording artist and as a musician. Also, the tracks on this album scramble the order of the songs from the original concert (and the Spotify abridgment gives only eight of the album’s thirteen songs), thus denying Jerry Lee Lewis’ chosen set arrangement. It slaughters his artistic integrity. Lamentable. Jerry Lee (age 85), I hope you read this, and I join you in shaking a fist and raising a finger at Smash/Mercury. 1/5

“Public Image: First Issue” by Public Image. Ltd. (1978) Kid atheists are so cute. I just want to kneel down, give them a hug, and tell them to go play outdoors, but don’t run in the street. They’re so sweet at that age. Actually, “atheist” is not quite the right term for these fellows, since it’s not THEIR belief or non-belief at issue here, but rather it’s the belief or non-belief of OTHERS that they’re singing about. And that’s a different matter. They’ve graduated from thoughtful consideration of metaphysical commitments to evangelistic iconoclasm (“Religion I” and “Religion II”). They could have learned a lot from John Lennon’s “God” on the album “Plastic Ono Band” (1970). They like to stand outside the Church throwing spit wads at stained glass because they see hypocrisy, blindness, avarice, absurdity, and (one could add) ephebophilia. Well, boys, you should see what it looks like from the INSIDE. Your critique would become more intelligent. Their self-proclaimed “Theme” is summarized: I wish I could die I wish I could die I wish I could die I just died Terminal boredom You see, they’ve traded their illusions for a nullity. These mental rug rats have grown ‘up’ to go beyond Sex Pistols (lyricist John Lyndon) to semiautomatic Nerf Knockoffs. It’s like watching reruns of Scooby-Do. John Lyndon characterizes his antagonists (and this album is all about antagonism) as egomaniacal anarchist bourgeois morons with shit for brains (his terms, not mine). These enemies are subject to his “Attack”. But his weapons are so weeny. I almost don’t care who wins. John, spend some time in the totalitarian universe of your antireligious compatriots and get back to me. We’ll talk. 1/5

“Pink Flag” by Wire (1977) If music can be compared to a meal, this album provides a 21-course repast, spicy and varied, inviting and adventurous. Of mixed quality, yet in small servings, these dishes are paced rapidly enough to sustain interest. Twenty one underdeveloped songs in thirty five minutes. Whew. Now I need to breathe deeply and maybe smoke a cigar or take a walk. There is an interesting lyrical preoccupation with numbers, perhaps giving meaning to the title track, “Pink Flag”, asking “how many dead or alive?”. Since this track and “Strange” are the longest tracks on the album, one suspects that there is an anxious expression of concern about what the hell is going on in this most lethal century in human history. It’s an attractive anxiety. Melodies are minimalist or lacking altogether. The chief musical aim seems to be the display of a dizzying variety of rhythm guitar sonic textures and grooves, with a heavy use of effects. Lyrics, vocals, and rhythm section are all relegated to a secondary, supportive function. Punk vocal stylings are, well, punk. And not good punk at that. This ain’t Henry Rollins. But this album is definitely worth a listen or two, if only to experience some of the entrancing things that can be done with simple barre chords on an electric guitar, even without a high level of physical dexterity. 3/5

“More Songs About Buildings and Food” by Talking Heads (1978) The title is a big clue. Of course there’s no mention of either buildings or food throughout this entire album (mostly boy/girl evocations) until you get to the final track, which is all about the contrast between the city (where they build buildings) and the countryside (where they produce food). This is a great example of the use of obscurity to draw the listener in, and this last, climactic track is the closest you’re ever likely to get to New Wave Country/Western. This ultimate theme of the urban/rural distinction is more than just demographic curiosity. Remember, ‘parody’ does not equal ‘joke’. Think Soviet Union in 1933 or China in 1960. Mass lethality. But this is an American band, these Talking Heads. And so there is something to celebrate when songwriter/lead ‘vocalist’ David Byrne says “I wouldn’t live there [in the country] if you paid me.” He has the freedom to choose. That’s what’s “big” about “The Big Country”, where folks that produce the food sustain the people who build the buildings. For a fee. Then he trails off in the finale (“goo goo ga ga”), leaving the listener wondering who’s being infantilized. Maybe it’s all of us. This not deep, but it does provide opportunity for meaningful reflection, which is high praise for popular music. And by the way, if you’re sucked in into buying the “Bonus Edition” (2005), this artistic structure is ruined. The album is well produced (Brian Eno), and marks a significant advance over their immediately preceding debut album. The use of backing vocals definitely improves the sound (especially by Tina and the Typing Pool on "The Good Thing"). The head-bobbing, danceable rhythms showcase once again the gifted Tina Weymouth on bass (“Found a Job”!). She gleefully abandons the standard 1-4-5 thump-a-thump for some fine countermelodies and signature chromatic riffs. She’s really good. Ya gotta listen on studio headphones (none of those “earbuds”), and flatten the EQ. Clean and playful guitar. A fine listening experience. I could play “Songs About Buildings and Food” all day, and probably will. 4/5

“I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got” by Sinéad O’Connor (1990) It’s hard to think of Sinéad O’Connor without recalling the infamous SNL incident where she ripped up a photo of Pope John Paul II. This act was (as demonstrated in her alteration of the lyrics of Bob Marley’s “War”) intended to be a protest against the “child abuse” in the Roman Catholic Church. It was mostly lost on a stunned public (and now of course we know that her concern was baseless, right?). Well, the stunt flopped and, worse, it was bad art. But that 1992 event is not what this 1990 album is about, so let us remain focused. These intensely self-reflective songs are awkwardly transparent, producing within the listener a strong dose of detrimental empathy, where the art is obstructed by our feelings for the artist. With a voice marred by excess airiness and a struggle for control, she nonetheless evokes strong feeling. And that feeling is disordered by the extraordinarily painful but limited scope of her 24-year-old soul. The album’s theme is highly, uncomfortably personal, lamenting her recent divorce (“The Emperor’s New Clothes”, “Last Day of Our Acquaintance”) and the haunting affection/grief for the three children she had aborted (“Three Babies”). Her social protest (“Black Boys on Mopeds”) misses the mark by drawing an overly strained moral equivalence between Margaret Thatcher and the Chinese autocrats overlooking Tiananmen Square. It’s overwrought, and it dangerously invites an even worse reaction. Effective protest songs should avoid such recklessness. She’d have been well advised to learn from Bob Dylan’s more respectable work. On the plus side, there is an embrace of serenity (“Feels So Different” opens with Reinhold Niebuhr’s “Serenity Prayer”) and contentment (the title track “I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got”). Nevertheless there is something tentative about the redemption she experiences. She sings as if matters are settled, which of course, they aren’t, and cannot be. Even if this album is emotionally on target, it lacks maturity. There are so many caveats and distractions that ultimately it does not succeed. Too bad. 2/5

“Oracular Spectacular” by MGMT (2007) Rolling Stone magazine maintains its existence by casting about for innovation, like a surfer scanning for the next big wave on the musical seascape. In the relentless search for something new, on cue, MGMT rolls right onto the beach in this synth pop party boat of aural diversions. But these guys are smart enough to not stray too far from classic rhythms, chord structures, melodies, and harmonies. Nothing categorically aboriginal. Sounds like a formula for success to me. Playful (over?)use of echo and celesta-sounding garnish. Sometimes the fuzzy ‘quiver’ effect sounds like objectionable distortion, but maybe that’s just my 66-year old ears. Indeed, the album title aptly describes what they are trying to achieve, but they are only modestly successful. Lyrics that are frequently impenetrable, except for the opening track (“Time to Pretend”) that, as parody, rises to the level of the provocative and even the profound. I dearly hope they’re neither serious nor accidentally prophetic. And, despite the promotional cover art and music video, the referential connections with William Golding’s “Lord of the Flies” are unconvincing. Beelzebub would be Beelzebored. The lyrics on the rest of the album stay pretty close to the shore. There are plenty of poetically palate-pleasing pieces to chew on, but, as they ask, “Pieces of What”? However, it’s far from a nihilistic wallow. There are some expressions reflecting genuine appreciation of what’s good, true, and beautiful. These lyrical themes will not damage your soul. But the sounds on this album? Andrew VanWyngarden’s annoyingly whiny lead vocal almost becomes almost endearing toward the end. And there are plenty of sonic textures to entertain. But the collection is neither portentous nor revelatory, and hence not oracular. And while it’s good, it’s a bit shy of spectacular. 3/5

“Maxwell’s Urban Hang Suite” by Maxwell (1996) R&B with a smooth jazz flavor. Very nice. Compositions and arrangements with foundations that could have been generated in the 70s are developed and matured with late 90s colorings. Truly beautiful. Maxwell has a very good voice, bringing forth standard R&B stylings with precision and flair. But he offers no real vocal surprises, which is mildly surprising for an R&B album from 1996. Shimmering waves of electronic background like fluid reflections of urban lights, undulating comfort and gratification. Summer. Nighttime. Driving slow. Mmmm. The album is an excellent example of thematic cohesion and development, moving from lovers’ introduction through courtship and (monogamous, mind you) romance, pain in separation, joy in “Reunion”, leading to marriage proposal in the final track. The album tells a story. And it’s a wholesome one, produced in an era that was famous for its urban cultural vectors that were misogynistic, violent, and dehumanizing. Maxwell, for one, respects his lady. Cool. The basic message of this album is that I have deep feelings, baby, and my best ones are coming your way. I wanna make love to you “Till the Cops Come Knockin’” (Now there’s an under-considered justification to defund the police. The social worker may as well stay home too.). An essential feature of any music in this genre is well designed and well executed bass lines. And this album excels in that department. All other performances are likewise first rate. Now I know that the return to vinyl has been all the rage for some time, but when scratches and pops are programmed in at 33rpm in order to simulate the LP experience (“The Urban Theme”), I’m distracted, disappointed, and mildly amused. I hope this is a fad that fades. Also, and fatally (in both the iTunes download and streaming on both Spotify and Apple Music), there’s an annoying repeating flaw in the left channel beginning at :29 in track 9 that continues through track 11, making them simply unlistenable. And it’s not the ‘simulated LP’ effect. What’s going on? It’s in the 2021 remaster, because it fades with close of tracks 9 and 10. What a spoiler. Brings the album down from a “5” to a “3”. This could have been a great album. But the listener is still left with one unanswered question: Did she say “Yes”? 3/5

“The Holy Bible” by Manic Street Preachers (1994) Hateful, foul, cruel, profane, Here’s an album that takes some pretty nasty passions and puts them on public display. This artistic impetus is well informed, intelligently constructed only occasionally losing its poetic footing. Lyrics are meaningful, erudite, expansively referential, and horrifying. The title is a bit of misdirection, generating within the potential listener a vain wish for some serious anti-Christian attack. But what one gets is merely anti-human. "Ifwhiteamericatoldthetruthforonedayit'sworldwouldfallapart" is a song marred by the improper use of the apostrophe.

“Liege and Lief” by Fairport Convention (1969) Well, this is a minor jewel. British folk rockers doing what they do best. Mostly traditional songs, telling tales well told and well worth telling, with your usual chord structures and folk stylings. These are songs that are easy to play and hear, likely performed in pubs and coffeehouses by a whole generation of youngsters in the 70s who would ultimately aspire to quality punk. And it’s good. If the female lead vocalist sounds strangely familiar, it’s Sandy Denny, who has been heard by hundreds of millions of music lovers in duet with Robert Plant on the “The Battle for Evermore” (Led Zeppelin IV [1970]). Her voice has a purity and sensitivity that is not quite Judy Collins or Loreena McKennitt, but is fine nonetheless. Easy on the ears. Listen carefully for the electric guitar blues riffs in “Come All Ye” for a nice stylistic synthesis that makes the music more progressive than simple “traditional” folk. There’s a very nice up tempo extended outro arrangement on “Marty Groves” that shows what fiddle and guitars can do with a lot of manual dexterity (and rehearsal). And the well arranged “Medley” on track 6 anticipates the fine work of The Pogues and other successful Celtic punkists. This album is a good example of how rock is transformative—taking musical traditions (Celtic, blues, jazz, country/western, etc.) to new levels of creativity and innovation. Definitely worth a listen. 3/5

“Berlin” by Lou Reed (1973) Grimy and decadent. This is not to say it’s devoid of merit. Grime and decay deserve their day, especially in that grimy and decadent cultural débâcle known as the mid-20th century. Let’s have a wallow in the squalor before we step off the cliff (Roe v. Wade). This concept album approaches opera, as it tells a story of Jim and Caroline, whose imperfect (to say the least) relationship provides the mood for scattered evocations reminiscent of the dark side of art from Berthold Brecht to Andy Warhol. Caroline is a drug addled whore of a mess, aspiring to better lovers than Jim. But she’s Jim’s queen—a sentiment that doesn’t keep him from beating her black and blue when she’s under the influence. Feigning apathy in the face of the cruelty of fate, Jim congratulates himself that he didn’t break both her arms. There are some fine musical moments here, (e.g., the outros of both of “How Do You Think It Feels” and “Sad Song”), but not enough to pull this one out of the gutter. Or the back alley. Or whatever. Resolution without redemption, as fits the genre, but on the infinitesimal chance that you might want to listen to this fictional journal of schizophrenic ideation, I won’t spoil the ending. Excuse me while I go disinfect my headphones. 1/5

“Are You Experienced?” by The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1967) In 1967 there were older people, authority figures even, who were contemptuously dismissive of music like this, regarding it as cacophonous nonsense. They refused to listen, refused to engage. They were wrong. The worst (and best) thing about the Silent Majority was their silence. They merely produced within the psyches of young music lovers a visceral commitment to never close their ears to the next generation of musical creativity. Please pass the baton, kids. Listening back, “Are You Experienced?” is clearly one of the best albums in the history of recorded music, almost entirely due to the artistic genius and virtuosity of Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix is, as demonstrated on this album, one of the top four or five electric guitarists of all time. He did many things with the instrument that had never been done before and he did one or two things that will likely never be done again. Hendrix had a sublime sense of what it takes to fill a measure with guitar sounds, utilizing only two other musicians on this record, and with only slight dependence on them to boot. His flawless and deft leaps from the lower strings to ballistic highs, and skillful weaving of effects (listen especially to the interludes in “Third Rock from the Sun”). His guitar arrangements were capable of generating multiple layers through harmonics, feedback, fuzz, phase, wah, echo, backmasking (“Are You Experienced?”!), and the sustain of previously played notes. None of it is random or accidental. My mom was wrong. This is not “noise”. It is symphonic. His fret work was nearly unsurpassed in his day, leaving the gluttonous listener yearning for just one more lead passage in each song. But the mature listener will recognize the mastery of restraint. A snippet of his own lyric expresses it well: “Feeling, sweet feeling drops from my Fender's fingers”. And feeling plays off of dynamic variation. Feeling is not bombast. It knows when to back off. Hendrix’s voice is not stellar, requiring reverb and sometimes other effects, but he uses vibrato sparingly and effectively, always suitably passionate. He carries the lyric with impact, but never gets in the way of the music. Now the recording is flawed by some of the unnecessary weaknesses peculiar to the late 1960s: excessive separation and isolation in the mix, gimmicky left/right alterations & reversals (“May This Be Love” is silly in this regard), and a “hollow” studio sound. Also, Mitch Mitchell’s drum performance frequently drops tempo on fills. But these are quibbles. Jimi Hendrix more than compensates with his potency and adroitness. No dull moments here. “Are You Experienced?” Is rock and roll history. It still moves today. 5/5

“Parklife” by Blur (1994) Quality pop that apparently took off in the UK, but not in the US, which apparently has a lower tolerance for ditzy grooves generated by toddling about in an era of geopolitical stability. It could have been enhanced by one or two ominous overtones. What, me worry? Overall, this album is a pleasant enough listen, entertaining without quite rising to the level of good music. I spent considerable time wondering which dog on the cover was my favorite (conclusion: the one on the right. He’s winning!). Well crafted arrangements, with deft but not overbearing dissonance. Nicely done on “Magic America”. Refreshing departures from standard chord progressions, while maintaining popular feel. Nice balance. On the album’s only attempt at introspection (“Badhead”), it seems there’s not much in there to introspect. “This Is a Low” is interesting, highly referential, and stuffed with layers of meaning, chiefly for those living (or interested) in a maritime culture. This song is the highlight of this otherwise lowlight album. Vocal harmonies excel, even if lead vocal quality is limited. The strain for pitch on “To the End” is unbearable. Nicely recorded and produced, but to what end? The songs Herman’s Hermits would have produced If they’d been unleashed by the guys in the suits. 2/5

“Here’s Little Richard” by Little Richard (1957) This album is classic for good reason. In this, his debut album (although he had released several successful singles), Little Richard introduced a number of innovations that have remained hallmarks of rock and roll to this day. Among other creative initiatives, (1) He took the shuffle out of boogie woogie and replaced it with steady but explosive backbeat. (2) He developed vocal stylings that added raspy and gravelly accents, making the lead vocal an additional percussion instrument. And also, (3) with his left hand-heavy piano technique, he opened the door to more innovative bass lines. The net effect was to elevate the rhythm section (drums & bass) of the band to a new level of importance. This is why we love rock. This album pounds those innovations into the ears of the listener, forcing him or her to get sensitized to the new direction popular music would henceforth be going. The best way to listen to this today is to try to imagine how it contrasts with what preceded it, and how it was appropriated by what followed it. It’s one of the reasons that seriously listening to popular recorded music produced over nearly a century can both sustain interest and feed the soul. From a distance of 61 years, this music may sound trite and repetitive. But heard as the foundation of what was to come, it is compelling. 5/5

“Mott” by Mott the Hoople (1973) With above average lyrics and above average instrumentals and sound, this album manages to be somewhat below average in quality. But it shouldn’t be ignored. Lyricist/lead vocalist Ian Hunter provides provocative images and actual poetic structures, although he has a habit of trailing off near the end of each song with thoughtless repetitions of key phrases. Gimme some resolution, dude. Nevertheless, his lyrics are intelligent, if annoyingly stuck in the first person. For all his fixation with the aura of rock n’ roll (tracks 1-4 and 6-8), he celebrates the transcendent in “Hymn for the Dudes” (Notice that it’s not “Hymn to the Dudes”). In this slyly Trinitarian psalm (yes, actually), he proclaims “God ain’t jive, for I can see his [the Father’s] love . . . And the king ain’t lost his throne”. Then he proceeds to warn the typical famestruck rock star, “Cross over shame like the wise dove [Holy Spirit] Who cares not for fame, just for shy love . . . You ain't the Naz [Jesus], you’re just a buzz, some kinda temporary”. While calling out his peers over the delusions of stardom, one rightly suspects he’s speaking to himself as well. And listening. But the decidedly unredemptive “Violence” is a well performed disappointment (“Violence, violence, it’s the only thing that’ll make you see sense”). Just because it rhymes doesn’t justify raising it to the level of a poetic theme, dude. The album ends with the almost wholesome “I Wish I Was Your Mother”, giving voice to a longing for the kind of love formed, found, and fulfilled in family. There are a number of musical strengths on display here, including expansive guitar and horn arrangements, and chord structures that sometimes approach anthem status. Some great lead guitar riffs by Mick Ralphs add spice, and the album could use some more. The guitar instrumental “El Camino Dolo Roso” (sic—should be ‘Doloroso’) is wonderful. The same could be said about the contributions of percussionist Buffin Griffin (check out the intro to “Driving Sister”). But the biggest music killer on “Mott” is the vocal performance (both lead and male backing). The serious listener hears poor pitch control, poor synchronization, poor diction, and poor dynamic variation—a grand slam of vocal underwhelmingness. Sounds like Dylan attempting to cover Bowie tunes (Ear bleach, please). It’s a record that appeals to those who rock in their socks and roll their eyes at the questions “Which one is Mott?” and “What’s a Hoople?” 2/5

“Hotel California” by the Eagles (1976) “Hotel California” is a prime teaching example of what can make an “album” great. It delivers excellent performances of inspired songs by gifted artists, with state of the art production. All that is a given. But the temptation with this recording is to deal with it as a mere collection of songs, with ‘hits’ and ‘misses’, and to ignore the conceptual unity that holds it all together (even in the reprise of “Wasted Time” as you turn the LP over from side one to side two). Here’s a record with brilliantly brooding thematic cohesion. It powerfully declaims its main topic: the dark side of the American ‘paradise’—a darkness that nevertheless resolves into redemptive hope by the album’s end (but not without a well deserved prophetic dig at a misguided American version of pop Christianity). This is a sermon in sound. Lyrically, there are multiple levels of meaning in virtually every line. Don't let anyone tell you a given expression means ‘x’ or ‘y’ or ‘z’. It probably means all three and more (the song “Hotel California” is notorious for spawning countless hermeneutical ‘certainties’). These lyricists (primarily Henley, Frey, Walsh, and Meisner) were all intelligent enough to be aware of the referential overtones. Take, for example, the clause “She came from Providence", the opening line in the closing track “The Last Resort”. Songwriters Henley and Frey explicitly tell us in the next line “It’s the one in Rhode Island”, but it’s not just a meaningless reference to a random city. Do they really want us to ignore why Roger Williams (in 1636) named it “Providence“ in the first place? It was a testimony to the fact that God has mercifully provided what is good, true, and beautiful. Now this is a theological datum which, admittedly, got transmogrified in history into pseudo-pious sloganeering like “Manifest Destiny” and “Go west, young man!”. But in what other country could you get rich by calling that out? Despite America’s record of huge injustices and flaws, scores of millions have striven to get here, and still do, with no end in sight. Carly Simon was also right (in “Let the River Run”): “We, the great and small/Stand on a star/And blaze a trail of desire/Through the dark'ning dawn.” Contrast the flip side of this same coin as the Eagles deride the namers of ‘paradise’ who watch “the hazy sun, sinking in the sea.” The Eagles (Check the symbolism of the group’s name) are well aware of this tension, and have put it to good use in the pursuit of their music and their successful careers. And later in “The Last Resort” they ask “Who will provide the grand design?” We know intuitively. Patience and Providence are both rightly attributed to God who loves. The Eagles employ a variety of compositional styles, from the unique flamenco rock of the title track, to their signature country rock (“New Kid in Town”), to jazz rock (“Wasted Time”, beautifully symphonized in the reprise), power riff rock (“Life in the Fast Lane”), stadium rock (“Victim of Love”), with elements of blues rock, folk rock, and protest rock. But it all rocks. And it’s all harnessed in service of expressing the sadness, disappointment, fear, and disillusionment in the main theme. Vocally, this gang would be a choir director’s delight—and also his nightmare. With widely different timbres and projection styles, these five tenors pound their voices into a unified blend that is magical (“Try and Love Again”). Vocal solos consistently demonstrate the fruitful labors of singers who potently evoke within their limitations. Are they better than CSNY? On this album, yes. Listen to “Pretty Maids All in a Row” and tell me how one could put a more perfect choral texture behind the voice of Joe Walsh—Joe Walsh, folks! Instrumentally, the Eagles show stunning virtuosity, from innovative percussion arrangements (Henley) and bass lines (Meisner) to the splendid guitar work by three masters (Felder, Frey, and Walsh). And the guys in the control booth did their part, with skill application of effects. This is a near perfect collaborative product. If you haven’t yet heard this album when it comes time to die, you should apply for an extension. 5/5

“Ray of Light” by Madonna (1998) Would it be shocking to say that techno-pop seems artificial? It sounds cool, but where’s the soul? But first let’s deal with the message of this novel collection of songs that beg to be taken seriously. The artist behind this album comes across like the girl in eighth grade who was pretty, but was dismissed by everyone because she was conceited. With lyrics that are often inane (“There's no greater power than the power of good-bye”) and internally contradictory (“Let your judgments go, that’s how our future should be”) she reveals an intensity that lacks humility. The multiple themes are uniformly self absorbed and completely uncompelling. How else does one treat a complaint such as “I had so many lovers who settled for the thrill of basking in my spotlight”? How does a mere mortal relate to such a sadness? Or how about this one: “the students rape their teachers . . . while the churches burn their preachers”? As a burned preacher, I take serious umbrage with that one. I think the message can all be summed up in this truly brilliant line: “Why do all the things I say sound like the stupid things I've said before?” Thank you. We hear on this album some genuinely attractive melodies, delivered with confidence and colored with elaborate if overly artificial electronic pop arrangements. So far so somewhat good. But they are laid down with a stunted creativity that sounds as though her paid collaborators are reluctant to offend her. The result is gimmicky. Whatever power there is in her pleasant enough voice is frequently smothered by dance floor whiz-bang sounds. She has nice control in the lower part of her range (less so upstairs), but it’s often supplanted by the too-heavy effects. This, along with some irritatingly idiosyncratic diphthongs (e.g., “er” sounds like “ewer” and “ai” sounds like “aeeyai”), results in her demotion to the second tier among female vocalists. The bass lines frequently have too much gain and sustain, muddying the sound and at times even clouding the chord changes. It would be more danceable if it were crisper. The exaggerated techno environment puts one the mood for cardio, not dance. Twenty years after its release feel like fifty. The lyrics and melody of “Little Star” are very good—a simple lullaby, beautiful even. Why did it have to be spiced up with heavy traffic techno gizmos? After all, she’s the one who complains (in “Mer Girl”) about “my daughter that never sleeps”. No wonder. Turn down the Moog, Mommy. There are nice eastern influences in some of the compositions and arrangements, but it would have more authentically produced with actual eastern instruments and musicians. Maybe her cultural appropriation budget was limited. I think she either misspelled or mispronounced Vunde gurunam caranaravinde Sandarsita-svatma-sukhavabodhe Nihsreyase jangalikayamane. Change my mind. 2/5

“Searching for the Young Soul Rebels” by Dexys Midnight Runners (1980) “Dexys” is a term that apparently refers to kids in northern England who were recreational users of dextroamphetamine in the late 70s and early 80s. They wanted to stay awake all night to dance energetically, I suppose. I recently read somewhere that during the WWII Battle of Britain (July-October 1940) the British RAF aircrews used dextroamphetamine (Benzedrine), while German Luftwaffe aircrews used methamphetamine (Pervitin). Everybody stayed high during the flights and the fights. But since dextroamphetamine leaves the system faster than methamphetamine, RAF crews could sleep the next day, but Luftwaffe crews could not. The result was long term German fatigue. If it had been the other way around, the title of this album might have been “Auf der Suche nach den jungen Seelenrebellen”. The photo on the cover art depicts an Irish Roman Catholic boy being forced from his Belfast home in 1971. These bits of background have significant explanatory power for one seeking to understand the creative impetus behind “Searching for the Young Soul Rebels”. You don’t have to search very far for the rebels. They’re the ones making the music, along with all serious listeners. And the music is a call for the hesitant fence-sitting warrior to get his ass back in the fight for the long term. The best poetry in these Kevin Rowland lyrics comes to the listener in the imperative mood—anger on uppers. In “Keep It”, he scolds: “You give credit for might, inspiration and sight But you miss the point You won't join the fight . . . You hear the sounds, miss all the hooks Your best is what you least understand You hate the graft, won't join the race You're scared to scar your pretty face Safe now cause your head is in the sand”. Okay, Kevin, you’ve got my attention. Now what? Your best is what I least understand. Help me, here, dude. Well, on “There There My Dear”, we get “You're always so happy, how the hell? You're like a dumb dumb patriot . . . You're supposed to be so angry, why not fight?” Alright, then give me a weapon and point me in the right direction. Crickets. I personally wish he had been more explicit and less obscurely referential about what the hell we’re supposed to be fighting for, or even who the enemy is. But he apparently wasn’t writing for boomers raised in the Midwest U.S. (like me). This does not, however, diminish the art. It appeals to rebellious old guys with young souls. I can attest. Spoken poetry on “Love Part One” is angrily potent, demanding a second listen. And a third . . . It’s good. The sound throughout most of this album is refreshingly dominated by trombone of all things, ably performed by “Big” Jim Patterson (with significant use of dubbing, to good effect) and saxophones by Jeff Blythe and Babyface Spooner (Love that handle!). Added to this are the very musical bass lines by Pete Williams, resulting in a very attractive mix. Vocals are uniformly bad. Don’t even get me started. This album isn’t for everyone, which is fine by me. But it’s very good. I am so pissed, and I don’t even know why. And finally, don’t do drugs, kids (unless you’re hurtling through home skies at 350 mph in a single engine Spitfire defending western civilization from the horrors of fascism—then we might make an exception). 4/5

“Darkness on the Edge of Town” by Bruce Springsteen (1978) Any Bruce Springsteen album should be assessed in the context his huge popularity, his outsized aspirations, and his copious ego. Here, once again, he comes up short. Comparisons with Van Morrison and Bob Dylan make it perfectly clear that Springsteen is not in their class. His songwriting definitely strives to be poetic, but the striving gets in the way of the poetry. Morrison and Dylan make it sound easy because to them it is. His voice is unendingly mumbly, sloppy, and unconvincingly snarly. I think I figured out what he was chasing in “Something In the Night”: a note sung at the right pitch. The one plus on this album, its only saving feature really, is the clean backing by the E Street Band. These guys are really talented professionals, and they alone save this album from a rating of “1”. But even this aspect of the recording seems constrained, as if there were a reluctance to displease the Boss (I refuse to capitalize “the”). Once again, Springsteen tries to appeal to and pose as the working class hero, but ends up as marionette wearing a hard hat that doesn’t quite fit. “Factory” is so inauthentic it could only appeal to non-proletarians, mindless proletarians, and mindless non-proletarians. Expressing one’s yearning is fine, but pretending to have attained what one yearns for is off-putting. I’d like for him to write a song entitled “I Wish I Had Worked a Day in My Life”. His treatment of a biblical theme (“Adam Raised a Cain”) is trite. Such a great poetic idea, so pitifully written. The pompous dirge “Racing in the Street” has a flat tire from the starting line. I can’t imagine anyone ever shed a tear over this. In “Streets of Fire”, he wants to sound like he’s drunk, with implausible screams that produce a physical autonomic cringe, repeated over and over until he gets it right, which, of course, he never does. This is a hugely flawed album from a solo artist who’s sitting on top of the world. 2/5

“Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” by Soft Cell (1981) Send the kids out of the room. This is not because “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” is the least bit titillating, but rather because it is a wail against the dehumanizing effects of misdirected desire. It consists mostly of first person laments about the seemingly invincible bondage of lust. Not that lust is, according to these guys, offensive to God, or the good, or even nature, but that it is an offense against convention. And that is a social critique that didn’t last long. Cultural puppet masters in recent years have simply altered convention to (selectively) tolerate, and even weaponize lust. Soft Cell’s parody had a very short shelf life. So as an artistic expression, the album is weakened by lack of foresight and limited imagination. One could rightly ask these guys “What did you expect?”. We hear nice synth pop grooves, with mostly very plain melodies, sung by Marc Almond with adequate quality and power, giving the album an overall good sound, especially on a second listen. Soft Cell’s powerful cover of Gloria Jones’ 1964 flop “Tainted Love” is, of course, excellent (Although Marilyn Manson’s 2001 version is even better). It reinvigorates one’s belief in resurrection. There’s a very nice jazz clarinet performance by David Tofani on “Seedy Films”—just right for the mood. Saxophone wouldn’t cut it. This was one of several good production choices on this far better than average album. “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” depicts the banality of soulless sex. It invites the consideration that the climax of sex is not orgasm. It’s birth. 3/5 (almost a 4)

“Live at the Harlem Square Club” by Sam Cooke (recorded in 1963, released in 1985) Sam Cooke was great. He is rightly called the “King of Soul”. Now here’s an album that, to be generous, gets beneath the manicured artificiality of studio production and provides a raw, free expression of live performance. But it still has the weaknesses of all live recordings, which are considerable. So as an album, it fails on a fundamental level. Nevertheless it does offer a glimpse of something beautiful. “Live at the Harlem Square Club”, as a collection of songs, serves as a partial answer to the question “Why is soul music called ‘soul’ music?” Cooke’s songs are soulful, which is to say they magnify the passions. Each song is focused on a particular feeling, without the distracting consideration of counter-feelings, equivocations, internal contradictions, rational coherence, or systematic analysis. Hence they do not prompt deep or complex thought. Most frequently, they avoid treating of the feelings of others as well, so while they are intense, they are conceptually simple. But most importantly, they lay bare the passions. “Don’t fight it, we gonna feel it.” In other words, don’t let the mind or the will get in the way of the emotions. The lyrics of these songs provide a discursive foundation for a wonderful musical elaboration that evokes feelings in the listener. The best expression of this may be found in the second track, “Feel it (Don’t Fight It)”. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Sometimes there is a bit of a mismatch here, like Cooke’s verbal intro to “Chain Gang”, which he says is “designed to make you feel good”. I’m sorry, Sam, but a song about men sentenced to hard labor doesn’t exactly make me feel good. Rather, it makes me feel sympathetic, and perhaps angry at the possible racial inequities and other potential injustices. I’m not particularly enthusiastic about the virtues of ‘re-education through labor’, as practiced in Stalin’s gulags, Mao’s laogai, or American chain gangs. This is not to say that virtues cannot be found and cultivated in these contexts. But that’s not the first thing that comes to mind (or soul). If I had been present at the live concert, I would have been reluctant to join in the festive “Hoh ah, hoh ah”, as Cooke encouraged the audience. Solzhenitsyn was rarely in a festive mood. Musically, these tracks are far, far inferior to their studio versions. It’s painful to listen to “Cupid” or "(I Love You) for Sentimental Reasons". This inferior quality is not merely a function of the unavoidable limitations of recording in a live setting. It is also reflected in the vocal and instrumental flubs (and the seriously out of tune guitar and saxophone) which cannot be corrected through dubbing or ‘one more take’. The key feature of live performance is live presence. You can’t (yet, anyway) capture that on a recording. [I recently watched a virtual attempt at this with a mini-concert event by Ariana Grande on the interactive online video game Fortnite. It was, to say the least, disappointing.] Cooke’s jabbering between (and even during!) songs pitifully begging the crowd to get more ‘into it’ is embarrassing. But even worse is his ad lib (at 2:53 on “Somebody Have Mercy”): “Somebody have mercy and tell me what is wrong with me (I ain’t got leukemia, Hah-hah).” There’s a reason why RCA Victor kept these tapes in the can for 22 years. I’m sure the 1963 audience got the feeling. But I wasn’t there. 1/5

“Ragged Glory” by Neil Young and Crazy Horse (1990) This is not Neil Young’s best. But it’s a prime example of what he likes to do when he’s in complete control: good garage rock, capturing the spontaneity, improvisation, and cohesion of four guys playing their hearts out, heedless of the deleterious effects on their (and our) ears. Lyrics on this record are typical for Neil Young—thoughtful, mature, and focused, laid down over unsurprising, plain melodies and chord progressions, but not likely to be remembered. There are no earworms here. Vocally, as usual, he has a sloppy approach to intonation, especially at the ends of phrases, where his downward slur cuts out before he reaches pitch. To this one could add a complaint about his idiosyncratic locution, which is a burden to those not familiar with Neil Young’s singing. (He has a tendency to ‘add a syllable’ in the middle of vowel-consonant blends, but I’m from Missouri so it doesn’t bother me. It drives New Yawkers crazy.) His lead guitar solos are soulful, but not very demonstrative of creativity or a high skill level. It seems like every song ends with extended distorted sustain with plenty of drawn out feedback—a nice device, but it’s overused on this album. Exploratory and experimental, it could have been replaced by a tasteful fade on several tracks (like he does on “Mansion on the Hill”). Crazy Horse provides steady and reliable instrumental and vocal backing, without much flourish. “Mother Earth (Natural Anthem)” is a pretentious, if not pompous, hymn that could have been appropriated by the Green New Deal lobby if it had been performed without the Jimi Hendrix-style solo distorted guitar. But it has nice choral sound. If you’re a Neil Young fan like me, you’ll find this album, well, comfortable. If you’re not, you could skip it and Rest In Peace. 2/5

“Tellin’ Stories” by The Charlatans (1997) Here we have more eye-rolling British pop from the last millennium. With super safe lyrics that studiously avoid controversy or offense, these Charlatans give us words around which to wrap music. Sometimes it’s an ill fit. It’s as if they really don’t have anything to say, but they want to say it with style. Tunes are composed with pleasant enough melodies, and the chord structures sometimes go beyond the ordinary, but without a mood to match. It seems random. Even the jazzy experimental compositions “Area 51” and “Rob’s Theme” fall flat. And the Dylanesque “Get On It” is thirty years too late. Are these guys coasting on previous success? The unrelated collection of songs on this album are conventional enough to guarantee popular airplay. They’ve got the fundamentals down. And it’s well produced, but with little dynamic variation. The biggest weakness here is lack of groove or dominant riffs—nothing to grab the listener. Hoping for something special, one comes to the fadeout of the last track asking, “Is that it?” 2/5

“Neu 75!” by Neu! (1975) This piece of krautrock is cool, and worth at least one listen. Innovative for the time, these tracks are completely soulless, but puzzling enough to attract. Musically, this can be characterized by steady rhythm, slow chord progressions on keyboards and synthesizers with plenty of seemingly random effects and sampling. I think they wore out their (way overused) phase shifter. The two simultaneous tempos on the instrumental “Seeland” (metronome and wood block[?]) are interesting, and resolved at end of the track with a sampled rainstorm, which, of course, has an infinite number of tempos. This is very curious, and then it segues into “Leb’ Wohl”, with sounds of rhythmic waves on a seashore, again overlaid with metronome. Sensing an invitation from Neu! to reconsider the relationship between tempo and progression, I think I’ll turn it down. I’m going to have a headache that evening. Or will I be washing my hair? Vocals are positively offensive in both content and quality. Enough said. Unfortunately, the digital presentation of this album completely obliterates the emphatic ‘side 1/side 2’ distinction of the LP. The two very different styles are indicative of the progressive evolution the ‘band’ was experiencing at the time. Does evolution have a reverse gear? I hope so. 1/5

“Raw Power” by The Stooges (1973) Ok, which album am I reviewing here? Is it the David Bowie mix or the Iggy Pop mix? Both are available on Apple Music, and they sound quite different. For a bit of an education about the importance of mix, I recommend that you listen to the first ten seconds of each version. Go back and forth between them. They are two different musical conceptions. And they are both deficient, likely because they were originally recorded on too few tracks. Even for 1973, the engineering was substandard. And if you try this comparison between the two mixes with the song “Penetration”, you’ll hear the snare drum delayed in the right channel of the Bowie version. It’s terrible. On the other hand, the Iggy Pop mix is too muddy. They both suck. So, to quote Hillary Clinton, “What difference, at this point, does it make?” With heavy guitar riffs and good (but poorly recorded) lead lines, these songs head off in the direction of what would later become punk, then grunge, but we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. On this album, what you get is hard and heavy rock from guys that don’t have the skills of a Jimi Hendrix (or even a Neil Young). It is musical, but it’s not accomplished. As a vehicle for rage, it almost suffices. Iggy sings, “Look out honey, cause I'm using technology!” Uh, no, Iggy, you’re using David Bowie. Your use of technology is, well, see above. Pop’s wimpy voice is not up to the violence in the lyrics. His screams sound histrionic. On “Gimme Danger”, you’re not the Jim Morrison you’re pretending to be. I can understand how this album was influential. But that doesn’t make it good. 1/5

“Countdown to Ecstasy” by Steely Dan (1973) I was attracted to Steely Dan as soon as I became aware of the sexual innuendo in the meaning and derivation of the band’s name. I liked being ‘in on the joke’. It was something you couldn’t discuss in mixed company, at least back in the 1970s. But I always thought their best stuff was the music that didn’t get played on the radio. The more they leaned toward pop, the less attention they paid to experimental composition. And the less attention I paid to them. Now, since this album produced no hits, perhaps it’s the best of their best. There’s plenty of contempt, erotic subtext, judgment, erudition—just the thing for college students, especially for those (like me) who were starstruck by the the idea that by mastering the liberal arts we could harness success. We were idiots. This is music by and for the cool kids whose parents actually paid for their upper crust education. That’s not a knock. It’s just context for their smugness. It was quite appealing to me in my early twenties, not so much in my sixties. Do we really any longer care (“My Old School”) about the late 1960s relative status of Bard and William & Mary? They’re both woke now. This album is full of good music. Dual lead guitar riffs are colorful—solo lines are clean and well played, and the jazz keyboard contributions excel. The instrumental passages are wonderful. And the instantly recognizable vocal harmonies carry a lot of freight in these songs. They do tend to overuse the typical Steely Dan chord progressions. Jazzy enough, but enough is enough. “Bodhisattva” is a mockery of the fascination young Americans had with the deformed pop Buddhism of Alan Watts. But its lack of resolution leaves you dangling. “Razor Boy” (the Grim Reaper, wink, wink) is another cleverly condescending advice song. “King of the World”, a suitable closing track, is a post-apocalyptic romp that actually sounds like the amateur radio ambience in which it’s situated. Give it a listen. This is good jazz/pop fusion, but its musically limited scope and lyrical immaturity make fit for an only occasional visit. 3/5

“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” by Eurythmics (1983) Even if we set aside the popularity of the title track, this album stands on its own as a fine musical production. It’s best heard from start to finish, noting the fittingness of the attention-grabbing opening track (“Love Is a Stranger”), the LP-flipping start of side two (“Sweet Dreams”), and the wistful goodbye of the closing track (“This City Never Sleeps”). The cohesion is in the sound. It’s wonderfully constructed. Annie Lennox is a first rate lyricist, presenting intriguing and unsubtle metaphors that bring the listener to well considered conclusions. She knows not to overwork the images. An example is the didactic line (in “Sweet Dreams”) “Everybody's lookin' for something”, followed by a compelling explanatory quatrain that sounds like it burst into her consciousness after a fresh reading of Aristotle’s Categories: Some of them want to use you Some of them want to get used by you Some of them want to abuse you Some of them want to be abused As a progressively potent breakdown of the relationship between universal desires and the listener’s role in their fulfillment, that about covers it. But what questions remain! What feelings haunt! The grooves are dominated by synthetic bass lines that drive from the basement and provide a (usually dark) background for freshly gathered sonic bouquets. Dave Stewart is a masterful composer/producer. Lennox has a fine voice, with exceptional contralto range that is notably powerful on the low end. And while dubbing melodies in three octaves (“The Walk”), she still has room for soaring descants. Freddie Mercury comes to mind. Choral directors salivate. This album is proof positive that synth and pop can be excellent music. 4/5 (almost a 5)

“Damaged” by Black Flag (1981) Fully aware that this review will be ignored by a majority of readers, allow me to lament that poverty from the start. Here’s an album that is punk on steroids. If you want to understand punk, this would be a good place to start. It marks the emergence onto the musical scene of lead singer Henry Rollins (only 20 years old at the time), whose interpretive intelligence and vocal athleticism are on full display in this album. Passions are well harnessed into expressions of: mockery (“TV Party”), pathetic complaint (“Thirsty and Miserable”), despair (“What I See”), depression (“Depression”), rage (almost every song on the album), and various other angst-ridden states of the heart. In terms of the underlying psychology of this collection of songs, when one burrows through the naivety and overwrought sense of seriousness, one lands on some relatively potent commentary: Black Flag counterposes chaotic youthful volition (supercharged by emotional intensity, beer, and who-knows-what other mind-altering substances) with the standard obstacles to their momentary juvenescent happiness. They are excessively intense. But I am forced to call to mind the fact that never in the history of calming down has anyone ever calmed down by being told to calm down. In “Room 13”, we doubt the sincerity of “I rely on your judgment/I've got none of my own/Don't know what I'm doing/It's hard to survive/Don't know if I can do it/I need to belong”. But we applaud the transparency. In “Damaged II”, likewise, we hear “I’m confused. Confused. Don’t wanna be confused. Don’t even feel a thing. No I don’t wanna see. But you can't make me long for your life and security. . . . Stupid feelings, Stupid illusions.” Doesn’t it make you want to sympathize, to seek to understand? If this had been expressed by a troubled child (and it was), would you not be moved to compassion or perhaps join in the misery? What would Jesus do? The rhythm is fast and energized, with instant tempo changes (very difficult to pull off with a combo) and unconventional time signatures that nevertheless make sense. There’s nothing random about these innovations. One could dance to these tunes only if one defines ‘dance’ as people basically bumping into each other. It was and they did. The cover photo depicts Henry Rollins driving his fist into a mirror. Now there’s something on which to reflect. Weaknesses on the album include compositional atonality in lead guitar solos, subdued lead vocal in the mix, and unison backing ‘vocals’ (actually yells) of low quality. It’s by no means perfect. But there’s no doubting that this production is musically expressive. It is very well done, within its genre. I nod my head unsteadily. And I am concerned. 3/5

“Nothing’s Shocking” by Jane’s Addiction (1988) Well, of course nothing’s shocking on an album that’s almost fully intended to shock. Check your scruples at the door. That’s the conceptual point by lead singer/songwriter Perry Ferrell, who in this debut outing is good, but has not yet hit his lyrical stride. Now this exercise in non-shock is performed with shocking brilliance. There was something deep within rock aficionados in 1988 that realized this was where it was heading all along. From the opening track, the listener is treated to symphonic sounds from only three instruments. Expansively arranged, with echo, sustain, reverb and chorus effects. This is great studio work. Very heavy and very cool, with occasional interruptions of acoustic purity. Dave Navarro’s lead guitar riffs are intricate and compelling, and his power rhythm is variegated and energizing. Bass by Eric Avery and drums by Stephen Perkins are outstanding. Listen to the first thirty seconds of “Ted, Just Admit It”, then listen to the rest of the album with a new appreciation of how a ‘rhythm section’ can do much more that just ‘keep the beat’. The compositions and arrangements excel even when they slow down (e.g., “Summertime Rolls”). When they drop the energy, they flower. It’s beautiful—reminiscent of Pink Floyd. The song “Jane Says” is a rough explanation of the meaning of the band’s name, depicting the hopelessness and painful baggage of an untranscendable bondage to fleeting pleasure—in this case, the real life heroin addiction of the real life Jane Bainter. Melodies are underdeveloped and lazily repetitious—stuck on the fifth (‘sol’). This results in stunted lead vocals. One senses that Ferrell has the talent, but isn’t using it. Since he wrote the songs, there is no one else to blame. While this album is not quite as good as the follow up “Ritual de lo Habitual” (1990), it still excels. It’s not suitable for philosophers, theologians, political theorists, or schoolmarms, but for mere mortals, it sings. (And please don’t be shocked that the chair on the cover rocks sideways.) 3/5

“At Mister Kelly’s” by Sarah Vaughan (1957) As live albums go, this one’s not bad, and of course jazz vocalist Sarah Vaughan is stellar. A somewhat haphazard collection of great songs by great songwriters is exquisitely performed by Vaughan, backed by understated piano, soulful double bass and beautifully restrained drums (although one of the backing guys occasionally and annoyingly hums throughout). The recording quality and the mix are better than one might expect. And the audience at Chicago’s Mr. Kelly’s is well behaved (they were warned that they were being taped). Under-rehearsed and nicely improvisational, these songs engage the listener, who can’t help but to ‘lean in’ to the synthesis between the composition and the performance. It captures an essential element of jazz. Sarah Vaughan’s voice is great. Her stylings are fresh and her tonal quality is superb. She hits impossible intervals with precision and apparent ease. In her diction, there’s a slight but persistent lisp (listen to end of the word “stars” on “Stairway to the Stars”) but hey, this ain’t the Met. Major flubs (in “Willow Weep for Me” and “How High the Moon”) are pulled off with humor and panache. She sings, “according to that [the lyrics sheet] I’m through, but they’re still playin’, so I’ll keep on singin’”. I laughed out loud; so did the audience and so will you. It completely blew the melancholy mood of the song (“Willow Weep for Me”), but what are you gonna do when you’ve already bumped a mic stand, the audience is staring nervously at you and the tape machine is rolling? This album is an artifact of a fine piece of entertainment that makes me wish I’d been there. 3/5

“Bitches Brew” by Miles Davis (1970) You’ll have to set aside some time to listen to this 94-minute smorgasbord of experimental jazz, influenced by rock and electronic effects. These six instrumental tracks average over 16 minutes each (The expressionistic “Feio” was not on the original double LP release). They are intricate improvisational compositions, each one involving contributions from ten or more musicians, frequently doubling bass lines (electric and double bass), two electric pianos, and two drum sets. The doubling of these instruments is widely (and helpfully) separated into left and right stereo channels. The greatest level of complexity here is in the rhythm section. This is not just ‘cool trumpet music’. To the listener who is not familiar with jazz, this album will seem to be rather inaccessible. But it has definite rhythmic structure. Stay grounded to snare and cymbals and you won’t lose your way. It’s clear from the horn solos that they are not following a rigid plan. Some minor flubs (a couple in the control booth!) are nicely ironed out. I don’t imagine there were any second takes. What I’d really like to hear is a recording of Davis’ directions to the group immediately prior to the rolling of the tape machines. One of the more fascinating aspects of these sessions (recorded over three days) is that the musicians rarely step all over each other, even when they’re all on board. They work as a team, even through changes in dynamic level and mood. Each musician knows intuitively when to lay back, when to throw in his unique spice, and when to stride in and just plain take over, dammit. My mom would’ve called this ‘noise’. My dad would’ve smiled and leaned back in the recliner. With a cigar. 4/5

“Document” by R.E.M. (1987) The political critique that permeates this album is faddish and lacks a sense of both proportion and historical perspective. Remember, it was released in the seventh year of Ronald Reagan’s presidency, when his “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall” challenge had not yet borne its full fruit, and the nightly news was all about Iran/Contra (yawn). And the pop left had not yet discovered that Joseph McCarthy was right (no pun intended). There actually were communists in the State Department. And the Department of Defense. And Hollywood. Look, young people, don’t embarrass yourselves before posterity. No, R.E.M. lyricist/lead vocalist Michael Stipe comes from the school of ‘let’s get political because it sells’ (“Hang your dollar on me” in “Welcome to the Occupation”). The reason it sells is that ‘getting political’ gives the artist an otherwise undeserved social gravitas, if one is smart enough (and he is) to make the references obscure enough. Yeah, it works. It’s a formula. But it’s bad politics, and even worse in this context, it’s bad art, at least in the case of R.E.M. Lead vocal by Stipe has an idiosyncratic (and thus interesting) timbre, but is a little unsteady. Ok, it’s very unsteady. And his two-, three-, and four-syllable diphthongs are like fingernails on multiple chalkboards. Drummer Bill Berry’s backing vocals are not good. Sorry, Bill. Your drumming, however, is excellent. Compositions are heavy on plain, guitar-friendly chord progressions, including some silly pop throwback (“Exhuming McCarthy”). As an arrangement, “Oddfellows Local 151” stands out as very good. It could have been improved with a soaring lead guitar solo on the outro, but that probably exceeded the limited capability of guitarist Peter Buck. Throughout the album we are treated to nice, if simple, engineering and mixing of percussion (especially the cool intro to “Lightnin’ Hopkins”), with clean electric rhythm guitar. Overall, there are very good production choices, with a few nice supplemental instrumentals. But one could listen to this once, and that is enough. 2/5

“It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back” by Public Enemy (1988) This is another recording that must be listened to in context. From a distance of over thirty years it sounds trite, boastful, and limp. But in its day it was revolutionary. The emphasis on the album is not the music (which is mostly out of a can), but the poetry, which is powerful, and powerfully delivered by Chuck D. (rah-rah comic foil Flavor Flav, not so much). Chuck D.’s diction and elocution are good enough so that his poetry can be heard rather than read. That is a huge plus. Only by hearing can we grasp the anger and the prophetic dynamism. This album is political poetry. The message here is the potent assertion of blackness. And the beats, rhymes, samples, and topics are well selected to serve that end. Whatever one may think of the notion of the ‘blackness’ they are asserting, there is no denying that it has coherence and power. And how is it ‘political’? The German political philosopher Carl Schmitt, in defining the conceptual essence of the ‘political’ said: “[T]he specific political distinction … is that between friend and enemy. [and further], The enemy is solely the public enemy” (The Concept of the Political, 1927, 2007 ET, pp. 26, 28, emphasis added). Then, in favorably noting the famous 1853 dictum of Carl von Clausewitz, Schmitt elucidates: “‘War is nothing but a continuation of political intercourse with a mixture of other means.’ To be precise, war, for Clausewitz, is not merely one of many instruments, but the ultima ratio of the friend-enemy grouping.” (Ibid, p. 34, n. 14). Schmitt became a Nazi in 1933, and was very influential in the actualization of the Nazis’ political aims. We all know how the Nazis treated their enemies. The political poetry of this album is radical and revolutionary in that the poet takes up Schmitt’s political conception, and then, with stunningly innovative boldness, defines himself as the enemy—and a very public enemy at that. It’s a marvelous moment of clarity. Public Enemy is a cultural extension of the black nationalist political philosophy of Louis Farrakhan and Malcolm X, not the nonviolent activist liberalism of Martin Luther King, Jr. If you keep all this in mind as you listen to the album, you will be well tuned in to their artistic purpose, unsettling as it might be. 1/5

“That’s the Way of the World” by Earth, Wind & Fire (1975) This is some of the best soul music ever. Listen to it as an antidote to the nightly news. Celebratory themes lift up the listener, giving gentle encouragement with soul. Earth, Wind & Fire preach (yes) a message of living a well integrated life with a funky groove. I’m in. If you’ve ever spent much time in an African American Baptist or Methodist church, you know exactly what’s going on here. This is neither Oprahfied self esteem nor the anger inducing kerygma of Farrakhan’s NOI Incorporated. It’s actualized joy. These songs come at us in a wholesome and upbeat mood only slightly tarnished by astrological and pseudo mystical wackiness. The closing track (“See the Light”) is either gospel or heliolatry, depending on your perspective. And there’s a love for newborn babies sprinkled throughout. And who doesn’t love newborn babies? (Ok, you smart alecks in the back row, put your hands down!) Lead and backing vocals display an extraordinarily diverse palette of timbres, including ghostly baritone, croaky-to-sassy-to-silky tenor, and entire gospel choirs of falsetto flavors. It’s not a stew. It’s a buffet. On top of that, we hear heavenly horns, tastefully arranged, with potent punctuation in interludes. Some of the ‘fill’ comes across as dated, but it still has nostalgic value. It’s only a minor flaw. But the standout instrumental performance on this album is the inventive bass lines by Verdine White, one of the greatest bassists of all time. He synthesizes progressive jazz, funk, and (believe it or not) classical symphonic music. It’s worth listening to this entire album with both ears trained on the electric bass. I dare ya. The album is well constructed, with the splashy lead track “Shining Star”, and the meditative end of “All about Love” to finish out side one, while side two begins ‘back to the splash’, winding up (and down) to the beautiful resolution of the closing anthem “See the Light” (starting with a rapid 7/8 that I actually wanted to dance to. You’ve got to hear it to believe it). The choral arrangement of the closing bars before the outro are ethereal. One could wrap this up with an ‘Amen’. 4/5

“Play” by Moby (1999) Desperately disparate, this commercialized collection of tracks is like spike proteins racing through the cultural bloodstream, looking for a capillary to clot. As it was peddled to movie makers and product marketing teams, the listener hears something oddly familiar and asks, “Didn’t I hear that on a TV ad?” And the answer is probably “Yes”. “Play” is not so much an album, but a project. The only unifying theme here is the serendipitous whim of the artist. His general method is to take sampled snippets of old recordings, repeat them over and over, and then add electronic beats and textures. It suffers from the same malady as most techno productions. Once the innovations have been picked up by others, it is no longer interesting as music. Compositionally, it is too repetitive. The only movement in each track is in the adding of layers of electronic mood sounds. And without lyrical or melodic support, these progressions are merely random. What he does on “Natural Blues” is a sacrilege. He takes a classic sample of blues and renders it in a perfectly unnatural way. The vocal sample (the a capella spiritual “Trouble So Hard” by Vera Hall) is not in perfect pitch, which is fine if it doesn’t clash with other tones. But then Moby adds perfectly tuned chords and fills that only serve to accentuate the flaws of the original sample. This should be illegal. Anyway, fall in love with this ‘music’ at your aesthetic peril. 1/5

“Hunting High and Low” by a-ha (1985) After scanning the lyrics and listening to the first two disco/techno/pop tracks, I was prepared to skewer this album. But I have to confess that my appreciation increased as I listened—so much so that I had to erase my initial impressions and start over. Now I have a nice addition to my road trip playlist. Lyrics, melodies and chord structures are mostly supplied by songwriter and guitarist Pål Waaktaar. He shows ample creativity in tonal structures and melodies, yielding more than a few pleasantly head-scratching moments. (Yes, head scratching should be pleasant for a serious listener!) Disappointment over the lyrics can be set aside, since poetry and song in the English language is not to be expected of a Norwegian band. However, it should be said that lyrical non sequiturs are illogical in any language. I would like to hear this re-done in Norwegian. Guitar is not much on display on this album, which is baffling, given guitarist Waaktaar’s centrality in the creative process. Mood-appropriate vocal harmonies are compositional highlights. And there’s the nice oboe solo work by Claire Jarvis on the very cool “Living a Boy’s Adventure Tale”. Snappy programmed ‘drumming’ with EQ pleasantly cranked up on the treble end, but it lacks dynamic variation (and thus passion) in the emotional peaks. Where’s Phil Collins when you need him? Programmed bass likewise lacks life, but there’s plenty of danceable rhythm here, if you can keep up. Cascading, shimmering electronic backgrounds and counter melodies add needed color. It’s all well recorded and mixed, although I’m listening to a 2015 remaster of a 30 year old original, so there might be some cheating going on. Vocals by Morten Harket are remarkable. His more than adequate range has a curious timbre at the lower end of his range, making his tenor voice sound deceptively baritone, to nice effect. At the same time, he is quite weak (and flat) on the higher end of his natural range, but he has a strong, almost piercing falsetto. The chorus of the opening track “Take on Me” demonstrates all this. Fascinating. The title track “Hunting High and Low” has a nice jazz chord progression (seasoned with major seventh chords), and an entrancing melody, but it tends to wander aimlessly. The beautiful acoustic intro reveals Waaktaar’s guitar-based compositional approach, but after the intro, it almost drops out entirely (at least in the mix). It’s arrestingly odd. My favorite tracks (3, 5, 7, 10) are the ones that are definitely not ‘dance tunes’, nicely distributed to provide animation to the record’s construction. The closing track “Here I Stand and Face the Rain” is potentially powerful, but the first four lines of the second verse need to be replaced. My assessment went from “1” to “4” in 45 minutes. I don’t think that’s ever happened before. I hope this album is within your budget. 4/5

“Paranoid” by Black Sabbath (1970) When I listened to this as a teenager, my moral superiors were scandalized that I was sinfully indulging an embrace of the satanic. They were ignorant. This is not evil proudly standing as evil. This is evil as a genre pointing to the good, in the classic, gothic sense. “War Pigs” excoriates the fomenters of mass destruction, likening them to workers of the dark arts (It is Satan, not God, who laughs at their vain appeals for mercy before divine judgment). “Paranoid” is the empathy-evoking lament of a man losing his mind. “Planet Caravan” is morally neutral pagan sci-fi. “Iron Man”, also sci-fi, is a morality tale about the deadly potential of technology turned against us. “Electric Funeral” is simply apocalypse. “Hand of Doom” and “Fairies Wear Boots” are poetic sermons warning against the use of drugs (Would that he had heeded his own message). What’s not to like? You uninformed cultural moralists need to get off your high horse. While the prophetic voice in this message is rather too simplified, it’s not nearly as graphic as some portions of Sacred Scripture (slowly read Deuteronomy 28:47-57 before proceeding to The Lamentations of Jeremiah and the Revelation of St. John). Call me if you need counseling. The aesthetic question here is whether the mood of the message properly harmonizes with the mood of the music. Boy, does it. It is dark. It is heavy. It is horror harnessed in sound. Tony Iommi is one of the greatest guitarists of all time. If you want to play guitar like Iommi, all you have to do is cut off the ends of the first two fingers of your fretboard hand, and use homemade prosthetics and banjo strings in order to compensate. Simple. The pain of that horrible experience might just give you a sense of what a guitar can accomplish as a conveyor of human passion. Feedback and sustain on power chords (“War Pigs”, “Iron Man”) provide space and invite reflection, and exquisitely colorful lead riffs and solos amaze the listener. Jazz solo lines in the outro of “Planet Caravan” are exemplary for dynamic fluctuation and improvisation. Anybody can play the groove chords on “Iron Man”. But nobody can play them like Tony Iommi. Ozzy Osbourne has precisely the right voice for conveying these lyrics and melodies. He has a strong, snarly voice, and pitch control is a secondary concern. He understands the power of the emphatic consonant. Bill Ward’s heavy drums, with masterfully synchronized fills, provide fearsome rhythms and a fine solo break (in “Rat Salad”). And Geezer Butler’s virtuosity on electric bass set a standard for metal music, mastering the art of ‘pairing’ bass and electric rhythm without simple aping. Listen to how Butler’s pulsing bass vibrates the rattle wires of Ward’s snare drum on the intro to “Hand of Doom”. The engineers intentionally didn’t correct it. Masterful. Listen to this album. Today. Remove your hat; you’re in the presence of rock nobility. 5/5

“When I Was Born for the 7th Time” by Cornershop (1997) The main problem with music on this album is that it is extraordinarily weak on the low end. There’s no bass guitar, and the foundations are only provided by the lower tones on a pump organ and electronic keyboards. Ray Manzarek of The Doors and John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin can pull this off. Cornershop simply cannot. Droning sitar and tamboura seem inexpertly composed and inelegantly performed, but ask a suitable authority. The album is dominated by all-too-simple pop melodies and chord progressions, with dull repetitions and mostly mindless lyrics. Ravi Shankar would (should) be embarrassed by this awkward adulteration of south Asian music. “Butter the Soul” is a waste of time. “Funky Days Are Back Again” is anything but funky. For a good laugh, listen to Asian British singer Tjinder Singh put on a faux southern US accent to deliver the country tune “Good to Be on the Road Back Home”. Accompanying vocalist Paula Frazer apparently has no shame. And I literally howled at Cornershop’s Punjabi cover of the Lennon/McCartney “Norwegian Wood”. Pederast Allen Ginsberg provides some nice poetic recitation on “When the Light Appears Boy”, rendering the theme of The Village People’s “YMCA” with lyrical seriousness and musical silliness both at the same time. (The light, you see, is the inner spark of same-sex attraction shining forth from the toxic darkness of your heteronormativity, young man. It’s stealth homoevangelism.) I’m normally a fan of transcultural music, but this is affirmative action crap. I’ll check back after you guys are born the 8th time. 1/5

“Either/Or” by Elliott Smith (1997) Can a guy with a very bad voice sing well? This album comes as close as possible to answering that question in the affirmative. Elliott Smith has such a quiet and airy voice, yet he’s still able to sustain each strangely selected pitch. And that’s not all. Unconventional melodies predominate, and the listener is continually wondering if the next chord will be another one that he/she will be unable to identify. This is a radically uncommercial product. And it’s mesmerizing. Singer/songwriter/multiple instrumentalist Elliott Smith puts together a fascinating product. And he basically did it all himself. He plays all the instruments and sings all the vocals, with just a bit of help on mixing and mastering. He sounds comfortable with his whispering voice. And there’s a very cozy relationship between lyrics, melody, voice, and acoustic guitar. I almost feel like I’m invading his personal space. And it’s a pretty sad space. This is pure studio music. I can’t imagine hearing this in a concert. I also can’t imagine this music being performed by a group. It’s too idiosyncratic. But it is strangely musical. It’s not for the casual listener. The album is not one to listen to while working or even driving. It’s too densely complex. From Wikipedia: The album's title derives from the Søren Kierkegaard book of the same name, in which "either/or" refers to the contrast between aesthetic/subjective experience and ethical/objective. And from Kierkegaard’s text: “What is a poet? An unhappy man who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music…. And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’ – that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.” I may need to consult a philosopher to analyze this message. But as for “Either/Or”, I choose both. 3/5

“Pretzel Logic” by Steely Dan (1974) The chorus of the opening track is one of the most irritating earworms in the history of recorded music. It got waaaay too much airplay, even on FM. So I won’t annoy you by mentioning its title. Apart from that, this album is good. After all, it’s Steely Dan, albeit with a more ‘pop’ sound than their better albums (especially the earlier “Countdown to Ecstasy” and the later “Aja”). Cool jazz and funk grooves populate this music—well composed, arranged, and delivered with elan. “East St. Louis Toodle-Oo” is a nice homage to Duke Ellington, but it’s apparent Steely Dan never spent much time in East St. Louis in the 70s. By then it was way past time to retire “Toodle-Oo”. Nice guitar riffs and solos are contributed by Jeff Baxter, who was soon to take off for The Doobie Brothers, where he was undoubtedly more appreciated. Listening to this record is a nice blast from the past. But it doesn’t inspire. Sadly, after hearing the last song, the album started over and now I’m stuck again with that damn earworm! 3/5

“H.M.S. Fable” by Shack (1999) This work is another offering from the UK that doesn’t quite capture the world’s attention. It lacks groove and soul. With lyrics that are mostly one side of a conversation without reference, forward movement, or resolution, these songs don’t say much (exception: the closing track, “Daniella”, but poorly performed). And, as might be expected, they are haphazardly arranged. Sibling vocals (Michael & John Head) have a nice duet/dubbed blend, with some highlights in the relatively standard harmonies (“Comedy”, “Beautiful”). But it ain’t The Beach Boys. You could play these songs in the background while doing something else, but it would enhance neither your interest nor your efficiency. There are some interesting Liverpudlian moments (e.g., a haunting try at the chantey genre in “Captain’s Table”), but not enough to raise the record to the level of worthiness. This album desperately wants to be expansive, entrancing, profound, and popular. But it misses the boat. 2/5

“Gold” by Ryan Adams (2001) If you’re in the mood for country/pop/rock that’s smoother than Bruce Springsteen but not as intelligent as Neil Young, this album is worth a try. Ryan Adam’s’ poetry is better than that found in most pop music, but it has its flaws. There’s a nice enough cadence and sound, but he seems to write with limited vocabulary, conceptual depth, and synthesis. Several images are used repetitively (personified ‘night’, ‘breaking glass’), indicating a truncated imagination. Musically, the album is reminiscent of Bob Dylan and Van Morrison, with country flavorings, arranged and performed with adequate professionalism, and assisted by a large assembly of session musicians. Adams’ voice lacks control and resonance, but is well matched to the instrumental arrangements, as if producer/instrumentalist Ethan Johns was well aware of the limitations he was working with. And is there any instrument Johns doesn’t play? The album is well enough constructed, building in intensity and variety as it proceeds, stepping out of its initial country mode into the territory of classic and experimental rock. “Nobody Girl”, at over nine minutes, is about five minutes too short. Seriously. This review only covers the album as originally released. I’ll leave the sad and silly dispute over the five tracks of “Side Four” to Adams and Lost Highway Records. Sheesh. It’s not a classic, but it’s easy on the ears, and will help you get through your working day. 3/5

“Fisherman’s Blues” by The Waterboys (1988) This is a good eclectic mix of Irish/Scottish/Welsh/Celtic folk, with a solid grounding in rock. It’s as if their rock sensibilities provide the rhythmic backbeat structure for folk flavorings, with lyrics that evoke proletarian themes—love songs for simple people. If you ain’t simple, feel free to go back to Steely Dan or Kanye West. Melodies are static and weak, sometimes painfully delivered, by a Bono-channeling lead vocal. But the arrangements are wonderfully laid out with a pleasant variety of instrumentals (violins, mandolin, accordion, and even some horns) and a few really fine moments for backing vocals. “World Party”, however, seems out of place on this album. The sound gets more ‘folky’ as the record progresses, giving it nice forward (backward?) movement. It gives the serious world-aware listener a clue as to where American country/Western music came from. I wish “Dunford’s Fancy” were a lot longer. But not necessarily more fancy. There’s very expansive cover of Van Morrison’s “Sweet Thing”, perhaps better than the original, with an entrancing violin/mandolin duet throughout. And W.B. Yeats’ “Stolen Child” is given a beautiful interpretation, which, in my opinion, would have been a better ending to the album than the sloppy and out-of-tune cover of Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land” on the closing track. Well worth a listen. Or two. Or three. 3/5

“Highway 61 Revisited” by Bob Dylan (1965) This album is widely regarded as one of the greatest albums of all time, for very good reason. It is. Bob Dylan’s poetry, both personal and prophetic, is set to music. But Dylan is careful to not let the music get in the way of the poetry, and that’s what makes it so hard for first time listeners to appreciate it. The only ‘hit’ on this record is the opening track, “Like a Rolling Stone”, but that says more about the people who define the ‘hits’ than it does about this album. The are many musical flaws here, from Dylan’s loopy, nasal, slurring, pitch-approximating voice with his sometimes laughably bad stylings, to Al Kooper’s amateurish rookie outing on organ (“Like a Rolling Stone”), to Mike Bloomfield’s painfully out of tune electric guitar (especially on “Queen Jane Approximately”), etc., etc. But the Columbia Records executives wisely let Dylan do his thing (even marketing an album with a monumentally uncommercial title). This could make you (and millions of others) hate this record. But you would be wrong. The album is the lyrics. They tell stories and weave images. They are ironic, humorous, piercing, counterintuitive, wide-angle, sometimes all of this at once, without being chaotic. They are highly referential, intelligent, evocative, and most importantly, they lead the listener to trust the poet, who embraces and expresses feelings and concerns that ring true in the listener’s soul. What the listener lacks in understanding, he makes up for in a certain compulsion to keep listening. Who hasn’t, at one time or another, felt the sneering mockery of “Like a Rolling Stone”? Who hasn’t had feelings of alienation, as in “Desolation Row”? Who hasn’t brooded over death while so much remains unexplained (“Tombstone Blues”)? What man hasn’t been grateful for plain old love from a woman (“From a Buick 6”)? Or felt like telling the woman you love to set aside what she wants and come to you for what she needs (“Queen Jane Approximately”)? You see, each of these songs is eminently relatable, inviting imaginative constructions to visualize Dylan’s little screenplays. And just when you think you’ve exhausted the visual possibilities of the song “Highway 61 Revisited”, listen to it one more time. Speaking of Highway 61, it helps to know that U.S. Route 61 is the old north-south artery from Minnesota to Louisiana, which intersected with east-west artery U.S. Route 66 at St. Louis, Missouri. It summarizes America. Westward expansion meets the struggle to unite a nation once divided by slavery. This the heart of the blues. Black people thinking, “Yeah, this ain’t slavery, but it still sucks.” White people thinking, “Yeah, I hear ya. Let’s experience this together, and maybe fix a thing or two.” The album is not about race. It’s about humanity. And Dylan is always aware of the background. The climax of “Desolation Row” (verse 9) reads: “Praise be to Nero’s Neptune The Titanic sails at dawn Everybody’s shouting “Which side are you on?” And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot Fighting in the captain’s tower While calypso singers laugh at them And fishermen hold flowers Between the windows of the sea Where lovely mermaids flow And nobody has to think too much About Desolation Row” Situational alienation and its preferred mode of expression (Pound vs. Eliot) become irrelevant at death’s doorstep. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Dylan’s facial expression on the cover is a cross between “Yeah, what of it?” and Jesus’ look at the sad rich ruler (as I imagine Luke 18:24). I keep going back and forth. After listening to “Ballad of a Thin Man” for most of my life and being puzzled (along with others) over the identity of ‘Mr. Jones’, I think I have finally figured it out—It’s me. Highway 61 Revisited is an album that will do profound things to you, over and over again. 5/5

“Loveless” by My Bloody Valentine (1991) This is good Irish/British shoegaze pop. An album with a title that is not the same as the title of one of the songs included on it frequently gives the listener a needed clue to a unifying theme. In this case, My Bloody Valentine succeeds, without sophistication, in depicting the sadness of isolation, with a somewhat hopeful resolution on the final track. With lyrics that are very spare, emotional snapshots really, the words prompt momentary and static consideration, nothing more. But they are well enough composed as discourse designed to steer the listener toward the sounds of the music—and those sounds are remarkable. This group does unique things with electric guitars and keyboards that initially sound like mistakes—like alternative tunings and fleeting tone ‘dips’ that sound like the tape got stretched (or the LP is warped, for those of us from that era). But through deft repetition and rhythmic consistency, a first time listener soon discovers that they are intentional, and they go beyond the mere experimental. It seems that the musicians have studied and become adept at creating a sound environment that takes us beyond convention. And it’s a nice trip. It’s not exactly atonality (it sticks to standard progressions), and it’s certainly not cacophony. Each departure from the expected is sustained long enough for the listener to get used to it before moving on to the next one. They go slow. Sampling is utilized (e.g., on “Touched”) to counterpose standard compositional techniques with the stunningly intricate innovations that the group brings to the ears. Vocals, bass, and drums remain steady throughout, giving these songs a pop appeal. After listening through the entire album, however, it seems that certain of their innovations are overused (especially the ‘dips’—why not try an occasional ‘bump’?). It would be interesting to compare this music with the group’s later work. While “Loveless” is certainly fascinating, it’s definitely not for everyone. You could listen to this while you work, but it might distract you from your livelihood. Use with caution. 3/5

“If You Can Believe Your Eyes and Ears” by The Mamas and the Papas (1966) Any album that contains three megahits (‘Monday, Monday”, “Go Where You Wanna Go”, and “California Dreamin’”) is worth a serious listen. And after 55 years, “Monday, Monday” and “California Dreamin’” still hold their own as superlatively listenable songs, evoking reverie and wistfulness in the hearts those who listen to them, even if they’ve never heard them before. Stepping back and reviewing the entire album, it is clear why this is the case. The four members of this singing quartet had backgrounds in the folk vocal ensemble revival of the early 1960s (Journeymen, Mugwumps, Big 3), which singer/songwriter John Phillips harnessed into a powerful blend. It goes way beyond “Hootenanny” and “Shindig!” His arrangements were inspired. Some of the flaws are indicative of the age—unfortunate static in the right channel on the intro to “Monday, Monday”; too much separation in the stereo mix; gimmicky and dated syncopation; limited instrumental colorings; the improper use of the apostrophe on the cover text (okay, that’s a bit picky). But there are no songs on this record that are truly ‘clunkers’. John Phillips has superb arranging skills. Harmony. Harmony. Harmony. A number of folk purists might have been disappointed to hear jazz chords in the vocals, but these are probably the same people who turned against Bob Dylan when he went electric at the July 1965 Newport Folk Festival. In fact, The Mamas and the Papas were propelling popular music in the direction it was destined to go, and commercial folk was dying. The forward-looking eclecticism of this record is part of its genius. Vocal performances on the album are legendary. The unison pairings (J. Phillips/Doherty and Elliot/M. Phillips) are very tight, and the slightly rapid vibrato of all four singers, while too sparingly utilized, is remarkably synchronized. Denny Doherty has fine voice, singing lead on both “Monday, Monday” and “California Dreamin’”. But here he lacks a soulful embrace of the meaning of what he was singing. He famously said of “Monday, Monday” that “it was a dumb fuckin’ song about a day of the week.” Boy, did he miss the point. Michelle Phillips brings a sweet (albeit not powerful) soprano to the blend. But the star vocalist in this quartet is, of course, Cass Elliot. At home as a contralto, she has great range and power that place her as one of the greatest female vocalists in pop/rock history. I suspect that the stereo mix on the album was deliberately intended to be dramatically different from the mono mix of the 45 rpm single and AM radio airplay. In any case, a serious listener today needs to studiously ignore the exaggerated separation. It’s altogether a fine work of art, standing as a monument to the soul of the sixties. 4/5

“Hypocrisy Is the Greatest Luxury” by The Disposable Heroes of Hiphopistry (1992) This album is not so much recorded music as it is a collection of lengthy poems which can be characterized as politically motivated doggerel, with very occasional highlights of cleverness and thought provoking synthetic connections. Lyricist/MC Michael Franti’s political claims are too frequently unsubtle, confused, and governed by a tendentious selectivity that amounts to cookie-cutter left wing radicalism. This criticism applies as well to his positions with which I personally agree (such as “Television, the Drug of the Nation”). But Franti’s politics lack both internal consistency and nuance. For example, although television as a ‘cathode ray nipple’ is a powerful metaphor, it is spoiled by confusion with previous line “imagination is sucked out of children”, where the sucking goes the opposite direction. It’s incoherent. The one grand exception to this admittedly grim assessment is the masterful “Music and Politics”, where we get a glimpse of humility, transparency, and a healthy dose of self deprecation, almost turning the rest of the album on its head. But the most potent passages of this track are too obscene to use here as illustrations. It is both curious and nice, however, to simply note that humility and obscenity are not mutually exclusive. There are some powerful grooves, but once they start, they are unrelentingly repetitive and monotonously unmusical. Talented performances of jazz electric guitar (especially “Music and Politics”), bass, and drums are the only good musical features on this otherwise lamentable record (although it is relatively well produced). In a recording such as this, diction is essential, and Franti’s diction could stand much improvement. Performed poetry loses potency when consonants are swallowed by gluttonous vowels. While there is so much that could be improved, given the political impetus, one must ask “Should it?” 2/5

“Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” by Wilco (2001) Here we have songs consisting of conversations with oneself about oneself and treating of the imperfect love of imperfect lovers—the songs of a man who needs to vent his dissatisfaction and express his unsuccessful yearning for something better. The listener may be excused for thinking that the man’s prospects for happiness are not promising. If you, like I, grew up in a world where such sentiments are best expressed in a slow 3/4 with pedal steel weeping along, you might be surprised by this album. A clue to their approach can be discerned in the splendid irony of the band’s name, “Wilco” (an old military radio portmanteau meaning “[I/we] will comply”. Somehow I don’t think that’s likely). The musical creativity here is notable not for melodies, harmonies, or chord progressions, but rather in the colorful selection of accompanying sounds (synthesizer doodlings, violins, bells, steel drums, static, feedback, buzz, phase loops, and sampled broadcast noise). It is sometimes discordant, sometimes incommensurate with the sad mood of the lyrics, sometimes chaotic, but always interesting. And it never seems merely random. There’s the occasional descent into upbeat pop (“Kamera”), experimental electronic (“Radio Cure”), and even a whiff of disco (the exquisitely ironic “Heavy Metal Drummer”). Altogether cool. Lead singer/songwriter Jeff Tweedy does not have a good voice, and he keeps it suitably subdued. Rhythm section and guitar work are tidy, but not stellar. The country roots of Wilco are evident (“I’m the Man Who Loves You”), but not overwhelming. The backstory to the release of this record is a fascinating tale that shows that in some rare instances the artists can stick it to the suits, but that’s not under review here. If I were sad, this album would make me sadder. That’s a compliment. 3/5

“Teenager of the Year” by Frank Black (1994) This silliness doesn’t even merit the adjective ‘quirky’. 1/5

“Chicago Transit Authority” by Chicago (1969) (Alert: What follows is not a critical review. It’s more of a prose ode. Sorry, but I get carried away talking about how much I love my baby, oo-wah, oo-wah.) This debut double album starts off (the aptly titled “Introduction”) as enticing jazz, with a (smallish) big band flavor, teasing the ears with unconventional chords, rhythms, tempo shifts, and meter, heavy with improvisational bass and wildly expressive percussion. But the horns are both deft and and powerful—wonderfully synchronized, from the initial ensemble groove to the soulful jazz trombone, trumpet, and electric guitar solos. And it only gets better from there. One can imagine first time listeners taking a deep breath and softly exclaiming, “Whoa!” The confidently discordant piano solo intro to the next song (the hit single “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?”) has been sadly removed from airplay versions the song. The ‘hit’ version intro is actually a transition. This album is much better than the singles. Nevertheless, the hit version cut still stands as a brilliant example of pop/rock jazz fusion, despite its inane lyrics. By the prophetic third track (“Only the Beginning”), the listener is comfortable, pleading to be taken where Chicago is going, and it’s only the beginning of the journey in more ways than one. One can’t help but embrace the classic extended outro. Turn it up, then turn it up again, then turn it up one more time. Cowbell, claves, and wood block never sounded so welcoming. And then it’s time to turn the record over. And cook. (Listeners who ‘stacked’ the LPs, listening to sides one and three before flipping both discs to hear sides two and four were missing the perfectly arranged flow.) The natural fade on the last note of “Questions 67 and 68” is captivating. And Terry Kath’s guitar playing on “Listen”, “Poem”, and “Free Form Guitar” (with no pedals!) prompted Jimi Hendrix to say “He’s better than me.” That’s not an urban legend. “Poem 58” inspired generations of university lab bands for its innovation and virtuosity. And while most people can do without “Free Form Guitar”, that would be a mistake. It’s a masterful demonstration of the studio interplay between electric guitar and amplifier that would influence rock and roll forever. No wonder Hendrix was impressed. Terry (“the gun actually was loaded”) Kath and Jimi (“should I try to do some more?”) Hendrix both left us too soon. Damn. The blues band styled “South California Purples” is well executed, with excellent lead vocal by keyboardist Robert Lamm. But on “I’m a Man”, the pot nearly boils over. The first 1:19 always gives me goose bumps. What. A. Groove. And the percussion interlude from 3:08-5:28 outclasses Iron Butterfly’s Ron Bushy (“In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” [1968]) in so many ways. I dare you to air drum it. Side four is an improvisational delight, perfectly punctuated by the (uncredited) belch at 0:19 on the fourteen-minute closing track, “Liberation”. Chicago then proceeds to blaze away into the sunset. If you can’t fall in love with this album, there’s something wrong with you. 5/5

“Tarkus” by Emerson, Lake & Palmer (1971) Musical excellence does not always yield artistic excellence, and this album, while very good overall, is a case in point. For example, the thematic bashing of religious hypocrisy, deceptive symbolism, and the dilemma of theodicy seems to be a hobbyhorse (in “Tarkus [IV. Mass]”, “The Only Way (Hymn)” and elsewhere), and it’s quite understandable in the target-rich Anglican environment. But the obscene “Jeremy Bender” puts sexual deviancy in a categorically Catholic context. I would have liked to hear them explore this in greater depth. As it is, they just skim the surface. For it to be art, Emerson, Lake & Palmer would have to take a deeper dive into the tensions inherent in sex and religion, and drag us along with them. I wouldn’t put up too much of a fight. This is their second studio album. In contrast to their debut album (“Emerson, Lake & Palmer”), these compositions seem to be more rhythmic, relying on drummer Carl Palmer to provide structure, to generally good effect. But the rapid 5/4 (several places in the 20-minute long “Tarkus”) is very taxing on the listener. It takes a lot of energy for two ears to keep up with five beats in every one step. Keith Emerson demonstrates on this album why he is one the two greatest progressive rock keyboardists of all time (the other being Rick Wakeman). His compositional and performing skills, combining classical, jazz, and prog rock, are outstanding. He isolates Hammond organ overtones and harmonics into one channel (e.g., the left channel on “Tarkus [III. Iconoclast]”) for a signature sound. Guitarist/bassist/vocalist Greg Lake is another giant in the genre. On guitar, he has some stellar solos. Marvel at how he utilizes sustain and reverb on “Tarkus [VI. Battlefield]”. Frequently, though, his lead vocals are driven back in the mix, forcing the listener to lean in to the music in order to get to the song. Plus, his struggles with pitch (“A Time and a Place” and elsewhere) require a certain amount of strain for the listener to grab the melody. It’s all very tiring. Regarding the two instances of comic relief on this album, “Jeremy Bender” begs to not be taken seriously. But “Are You Ready Eddie?” is genuine fun—throwback rock and roll on the theme of (of all things!) the work of the studio engineer. This is excellent music, if you’re willing to expend the energy. Now it’s nap time. 4/5

“Ace of Spades” by Motörhead (1980) With an appealing and relentlessly upbeat punk/metal/rock sound, Motörhead preaches a ‘gospel’ of lechery, rashness, violence, and an obliterated sense of personal responsibility in this caricature of a caricature by a bunch of musical cosplay cowboys. Their unattenuated gunslinger testosterone and other fired up hormones (“Dance”), as expressed in their lyrics, give evidence of dehumanizing recklessness, and their fast-paced—if undisciplined—musical vibe holds it all together, albeit like duct tape. From sex with underage girls (“Jailbait”), to treating women as disposable commodities (“Bite the Bullet”), to a murderous synthesis of love and hate (“Love Me Like a Reptile”), they replace the good, the true and the beautiful with the good, the bad and the ugly. We endure pathetically elemental stuck-on-one-note ‘melodies’ and almost interesting chord structures. Vocally supplying snarl and rasp where power is unavailable, lead singer/songwriter/bassist Lemmy Kilmister (his real surname) is consistently wimpy. Drums provide blazing tempo, but sloppy fills, and lead guitar riffs too often abandon the rhythm, as if it were a foot race in which every runner is disqualified. This album screams to the intended adolescent listener: You too can destroy yourself and others, but preferably not in that order. And “that thou doest, do quickly.” 1/5

“Mermaid Avenue” by Billy Bragg & Wilco (1998) This album presents to the listener a collection of fine folk lyrical compositions by Woody Guthrie, set to music 30 years after his death, by collaborators (Britisher) Billy Bragg and the American band Wilco, at the behest of Guthrie’s daughter Nora. On the one hand, it can be said that Guthrie was a good writer of folk songs, and these songs are good—a fitting tribute to a fine artist. On the other hand, this project could be characterized as the last (posthumous) gasp of an undeconstructed Stalinist, concocted by his daughter to wring the last few pennies out of a legacy best left in oblivion. I hold both views simultaneously. According to Bob Dylan (Chronicles, vol. 1, p. 99): “On one of my visits [to Guthrie at a New Jersey hospital in early 1961] Woody had told me about some boxes of songs and poems that he had written that had never been seen or set to melodies—that they were stored in the basement in his house in Coney Island and that I was welcome to them. He told me that if I wanted any of them to go see Margie, his wife, explain what I was there for. She’d unpack them for me.” Well, Margie Guthrie wasn’t home when Dylan got there—only the babysitter and thirteen year old son Arlo, both clueless. So the songs sat for decades until younger daughter Nora Guthrie got them produced on this album. How music history might have been different if Margie had been home that day. These songs would have been much better curated in Dylan’s hands. Guthrie’s naive, utopian, millenarian, and anachronistic (i.e., Communist) politics are occasionally on display here, but they’re not in your face. A nice anti fascist and feminist sentiment (without the perversions of pink hats and Antifa) is expressed in “She Came Along to Me”: “Never could have it been done If the women hadn't entered into the deal Like she came along to me And all creeds and kinds and colors Of us are blending Till I suppose ten million years from now We'll all be just alike Same color, same size, working together And maybe we'll have all of the fascists Out of the way by then.” But the most serious political excursion is in the left-wing “Eisler on the Go”, which prompts thoughts of the horrors of both sides of the mid-20th century left/right political construct. This song will require you to do some homework, and it’s not for amateurs. [Research hint: siblings Gerhart Eisler, Hanns Eisler, and Ruth Fischer] Now what Bragg & Wilco do musically with this set of lyrics is another matter altogether. Basically, the weak attempt at imitating folk settings for more contemporary ears is formulaic—desperately so in “Christ for President”. Some tracks (“Walt Whitman’s Niece”, “Hoodoo Voodoo”) are musically quite disappointing. Others (“California Stars”, “Birds and Ships”) aren’t bad. But sadly, Bragg and Wilco set aside the best of their talents for this project. There are none of Bragg’s good lyrics (since, obviously, they’re all Guthrie’s) and very little of Wilco’s innovative colorings are present. And Bragg still can’t sing. Sometimes (“She Came Along to Me”) there’s a gross mismatch between lyrics and musical settings. And the workers’ union rallying song “I Guess I Planted” simply cannot be sung unaccompanied by amateurs—a fatal weakness for a protest song. That slight tremor I just felt must be Guthrie cringing in his grave. On the other hand, “Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key” (with good backing vocal by Natalie Merchant and mournful violin by Eliza Carthy) would have made Guthrie proud. And “Ingrid Bergman” is a hoot, with its procreative sexual innuendo and voyeuristic reference to camera work (or am I reading too much into it? No, I don’t think so). All in all, the album falls flat, and that’s a shame. I wish Margie Guthrie had been home that cold Coney Island day. 2/5

“I See a Darkness” by Bonnie “Prince” Billy (1999) Sometimes, legitimate poetic expressions seem to sit high on a throne of non-referential, non-allusive obscurity, holding a scepter of grammar-be-damned nonsense and crowned with a greater than ordinary vocabulary. But that doesn’t make them good as lyrics. A lyricist has one shot at grabbing the listener by the passions, and on this album, Bonnie “Prince” Billy has missed wildly. He sings as though he would have preferred to not come into the studio that day. No he doesn’t. He doesn’t sing at all. He mumbles over some tonal doodles, undecided as to whether he’d prefer to vibrate or croak out the end of each phrase. To call the arrangements ‘spare’ would be overly generous. Off-pitch backing vocals are completely (and intentionally) out of sync with the lead, as if that’s some sort of stylish adornment. There’s way too much left-hand piano and electric bass pounding out a melancholy dirge. After listening to the album “I See a Darkness”, I don’t see a darkness. I hear a silence. Sorry to have wasted your time, dear reader. 1/5

“Imagine” by John Lennon (1971) When this album was released in 1971, teenage music lovers like me filed in to the metaphorical world auditorium in respectful lockstep, reverently silent, hushed before the opening track, inhaling half a breath then holding it—this was, after all, John Lennon. No one was disappointed by the first song, the title track “Imagine”, with its unsurprising yet inspiring theme of world peace, universal love, shared prosperity, and a hopeful feeling of fellowship, transcending transcendence itself. Then the album kinda went to crap. We began to smell an odor we had never smelled before. By the end of the record, the stink had a name—sanctimony. Now don’t get me wrong, it was very well executed sanctimony. But it was a sanctimony that most of us did not want to hear from a working class hero like John Lennon. We were used to the first-person anger, iconoclasm, and individualized angst (from the far superior album John Lennon Plastic Ono Band), but now, on Imagine, he was preaching at us, telling us how to think and act, transitioning from truly artful expressions of his own personal hatred of God to a demand for us to dispense with God (and country) as well. I grew uncomfortable. Within four years I had joined the Navy, started college (history major), and found Jesus. It wasn’t until much later that I discerned that Lennon’s challenge on this album to abandon metaphysics and political identity was deceptive. He was, knowingly or not, enticing his audience to commit to an uncritical exchange of one metaphysical/political worldview for another. It was naive and dangerous. And it was effective. Too much Marx and not enough Confucius. Lennon’s love for Yoko Ono (“Oh My Love” and “Oh Yoko”) is both embarrassingly transparent and powerfully explanatory. But his insensitivity toward the handicapped and his unreflective attitude of white privilege (“Crippled Inside”) could stand deconstruction [Malcolm X had already made it clear, before CRT, that you should be judged by the color of your skin, John. You’re white.] Plus, his rude and nakedly vindictive slam of Paul McCartney (“How Do You Sleep?”) is lacking both humility and maturity. Now there are some fine musical performances here, from George Harrison’s heavenly electric and slide guitar to Klaus Voorman’s solid bass, to orchestral backings by members of the New York Philharmonic (humorously dubbed “Flux Fiddlers”). But Lennon’s overly-dazzled and under-informed ego dominates. The album (and song) “Imagine” has attained the status of an anthem. I think I’ll take a knee. 2/5

“Nevermind” by Nirvana (1991) In my eighteen years as a Protestant minister, I experienced, on dozens of occasions, the responsibility/privilege/horror of that moment in funerary rituals where ‘the preacher’ stands at the head of the open casket, aiming to project empathy and comfort, and looking into the eyes of each mourner filing past and gazing upon the deceased. Some of those eyes were inconsolably sad, some were forlorn, some loving, some fearful, some resolutely formal, some unconvincingly nonchalant. But there were those occasional eyes, easy to spot, that expressed a feeling of being cast off, alienated—emoting an anxious disconnect with the universe of human interrelation. The expression of that precise feeling is the artistic achievement of Nevermind. Throughout this album, singer/songwriter/guitarist Kurt Cobain evokes, battles, and embraces abjection, like snapshots from the biblical Book of Jonah (e.g., 1:16; 2:4-6a; 4:7-9). And he does it with a lyrical and musical integration that grips the listener and won’t let go. By the fifth measure of the first song (“Smells Like Teen Spirit”), the listener is hooked. Punk power chords, heavy bass and raspy, blood chilling screams prompt the sympathetic listener to engage the mystery, dangerously tilting toward the irrational (e.g., the completely capsizing outro to “Territorial Pissings”). Variations in mood and dynamics march us steadily toward the wilderness of alienation. Even in mocking the listener who doesn’t understand, but just thinks it’s cool (“In Bloom”), Cobain is relentless in his darkness and brutality. And the rage of this track is immediately and necessarily followed by the almost convincing invitation (“Come as You Are”) to the friendly fellowship of the remembrance of things past, horrifying though they may be. “I swear”, he says, “I don’t have a gun.” Fearsome apathy in the face of erotic longing (“Breed”) is followed by an anti-therapeutic prescription (“Lithium”) for the poet’s psychotic pose In the line “I'm so happy 'cause today I found my friends, they're in my head”. Recorded music doesn’t have to be redemptive or morally uplifting to soar as art. The listener calls to mind literary analogies (think of Mailer, Capote, Burgess, Poe, Wolff, and even the Bible, if one has a little imagination [Hint: the Book of Ecclesiastes]). But it does have to have resolution. And on Nevermind, the closing dirge (“Something in the Way”) resolves in the despair of a barely-surviving homeless man who nevertheless musters a certain level of sensitivity to the animals he encounters. He cannot bring himself to eat or otherwise damage sentient creatures. There’s ‘something in the way’. Listen to this dark, dark album to fortify an appreciation of the Light. The experience will, perhaps counterintuitively, make you grateful. Like Jonah in the belly of the fish (Jonah chapter 2). 5/5

“!!!Here Are The Sonics!!!” by The Sonics (1965) I wonder how many people would have bought this record if they had left off the six exclamation points? This album is of interest only to those recorded music ‘genealogists’ who fondly ponder “Who influenced who?”, a topic which is overrated and of limited critical value (especially when it comes to punk). Only four of the twelve songs in this non-cohesive collection are original. The eight covers are not covers of obscure compositions (which can be artful), but are rather recycles of major hits by other artists, whose performances are far superior to The Sonics. As a matter of fact, the attempt to seriously listen to The Sonics perform The Contours’ “Do You Love Me?”, Chuck Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven”, etc. is impeded and distracted by memories of the original sounds. These covers are pop music at its worst. (“Night Time Is the Right Time” is painful. Please don’t listen to this track. You’ve been warned.) So why do we pull !!!Here Are The Sonics!!! out of the attic? I’m not sure. With primitive engineering that completely muddles the mix, and a small-room ambience that induces claustrophobia, the record was bad from the get-go. One wishes that the people who produced the first digital version would have inserted scratches and dust pops to suggest the ‘sound’ of musty ‘smell’. It is worth noting that in the original compositions “Strychnine”, “Psycho”, and “The Witch”, singer/songwriter Gerry Roslie pushes a few lyrical boundaries, but in retrospect, it’s rather inconsequential. Other groups at the time were far more revolutionary. And if I have to listen to one more screamed “Wow!” by Roslie, I swear I’ll warp this vinyl with a blow dryer and play it for my in-laws. Put this one back in the attic. 1/5

“Bongo Rock” by Incredible Bongo Band (1973) This album is highly entertaining, and if you can’t dance to it, you’re comatose. But, except for percussion, the music here (there are no lyrics) is completely sappy, corny, schmaltzy, and twee. What it could really use is a vocal performance by Alvin and the Chipmunks. And the percussion is—well, ‘formulaic’ would be a generous compliment. The gimmick on this record is to take tested tunes and render them with lots of bongo playing and other colorful percussion (uncredited but performed by quite creditable session musicians). It requires steady (I.e., boring) tempos and soulless attention to meter. Thus we have knockoffs of “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida”, “Dueling Banjos”, “Wipeout”, “Apache”, etc. This is ‘music’ best enjoyed at old style parties for boomers, preferably after everyone is two sheets in. I believe the only country where any of these tracks charted was Canada. I’ll leave it to the reader to draw the appropriate inferences. There is humor here, but it’s at a small college marching band level. It’s the kind of thing serious musicians do on their time off, or when they’re bored, depressed, unemployed, or insufficiently talented (or all of the above and failing to connect the dots). This record might have improved productivity in a 1950s Soviet gulag or Chinese laogai, but I doubt it would have been allowed. Actually, it would make for a great YouTube video as a soundtrack to clips of chain gang workers from the Paul Newman movie Cool Hand Luke. Roofers and carpenters, however, should not play this as background music while working. It could cause seizures. 1/5

“Surrealistic Pillow” by Jefferson Airplane (1967) This album put the ‘love’ into the ‘Summer of Love’. Now, psychedelic accoutrements (blacklight posters, strobes, spiral illusions, chroma key video, ingested chemicals) are not needed in order to delve deeply into this music, although I’m told (heh, heh) they help. “When the truth is found to be lies, and all the joy within you dies, don’t you want somebody to love?” In the 2009 Cohen brothers sadly under-appreciated film A Serious Man, the aged Rabbi Marshak quotes these words of wisdom to the young (and stoned) Danny Gopnik at the conclusion of his bar mitzvah. It’s as if the ancient rabbi suggests that in the midst of Danny’s pubescent crises he should ask himself whether giving love is the great healing balm that erases any perceived deficit of the good, the true, or the beautiful. Stop cringing, Danny, and get out there and make LOVE. The end of boyhood, boys, comes with the transition from receiving to giving—shifting gears from the passive to the active. Put your testosterone to work. That’s how God made you. And it takes a woman named Grace to enlighten us. Apart from the rock classics (“White Rabbit”, “Somebody to Love”, and “Embryonic Journey”), the remainder of this album excels as well. There’s great stylistic variation and development in the order of the tracks. Plus, this is a very well constructed album, begging to be heard start to finish (as originally released—join me please in hating rearranged reissues and ‘bonus’ tracks!). With consistently excellent vocal ensemble blend and percussion that goes beyond simply keeping the beat, this music glides on sonic thermals. Grace Slick’s powerful contralto both dominates and blends. When she solos, she switches on a vibrato that’s like a nervous system on speed and acid simultaneously (one imagines). Her tightly controlled grace notes (no pun) are simply unsurpassed. From the angry (“White Rabbit”) to the earnest appeal (“Somebody to Love”), she’s on top of each composition with soul and style. Marty Balin’s seductive and resonant tenor on “Today” and “Coming Back to Me” has inexplicably escaped the notice of many ears (including mine, folks. Why are we so addicted to ‘hits’?). Jorma Kaukonen’s superb solo acoustic “Embryonic Journey” is a must study for all aspiring folk rock guitarists. And stealth support on guitar by Jerry Garcia (Grateful Dead) on several tracks adds to the musical airscape. This album is another classic. The only flaw is that the bolero-structured “White Rabbit” should have been five minutes longer. But that’s perhaps a greedy quibble. 5/5

“Call of the Valley” by Shivkumar Sharma (1967) Here’s a way to expand your world musical horizons and have instrumental background music while you work, both at the same time. For Western ears, it’s helpful to know that this is basically a quartet of guitar, hand drums (Indian tabla) flute (Indian bansuri), and santoor (an Indian instrument like a dulcimer, played by striking the strings with light mallets [Wikipedia]), all colored with occasional atmospheric vocals and simple string/electronic backgrounds and some nature sounds thrown in. With sometimes humorous pop chord structures and jazz stylings (e.g., “Nomads in the Valley”), these fusion compositions are engaging without being gripping. They are eclectic, and not classical Indian (all mostly Western jazz, folk, and even Celtic chord structures and melodies), but they helpfully introduce to the West instruments from the Indian subcontinent. Supposedly a concept album (a day in the life of a Kashmiri shepherd), I’m sorry to say that the concept eludes me. I would rather have guessed a long elevator ride by a Delhi marketing executive. But I’m ignorant. It’s not exactly dance music, but I could imagine swaying hips from time to time. Syncopated tabla has a bit of swing to it. The instruments are well recorded and mixed, especially for the ‘pre-digital’ age. No tracks really ‘stand out’ here. There’s little variation in tempo or dynamics, and little movement track to track. So it’s ornamental rather than dramatic. A cool experience, sort of like a Kashmiri Gipsy Kings, but not life-transforming. 3/5

“Home is Where the Music Is” by Hugh Masekela (1972) Music lovers may be familiar with ‘African Jazz’ trumpeter Hugh Masekela from his pop hit “Grazing in the Grass” (1968) (which, incidentally, has the most virtuoso cowbell performance ever). Or more internationally engaged listeners may know his anti-apartheid protest song “Soweto Blues”, or his political anthem “Bring Him Back Home” (the “Him” being Nelson Mandela, that is). But on this album, the title “Home is Where the Music Is” reminds us that the South African Hugh Masekela was unable to pursue a career in his home country because of apartheid. In 1960, after the Sharpeville massacre, South African authorities selectively banned “gatherings of ten or more” people in the townships, effectively killing the career of an aspiring jazz musician (illustrating what happens when governments prohibit freedom of assembly in the guise of “public safety”). So Masekela left South Africa and became an international agent of jazz, soul, and social justice. On this record, Masekela successfully resists the temptation to hog the spotlight, thereby revealing the not inconsiderable talents of other members of his jazz ensemble. Pianist Larry Willis is exquisite (the first 2:23 of “Minawa” would make Franz Liszt proud). Drummer Makhaya Ntshoko has innovative rhythms and percussive colorings for every mood (with shining solos on “Blues for Huey”, the end of which contains [almost] the only lyric on the album: “Call an ambulance!” You’ll laugh out loud.) But when Masekela steps up with brass, it’s breathtaking. His pitch-approximating approach to melodies, especially in duet phrases with alto saxophonist Dudu Pukwana, requires some getting used to. But Masekela’s languid vibrato, piercing staccato, double-tonguing, lip bends, trills, mini-slurs and dips are entrancing. What he lacks in range he more than makes up for in mellifluous resonance and flair. “Unhomé” is some of the saddest music you’ll ever hear. Yet “Maseru” grooves, swings, and otherwise romps through jazz progressions that are dazzling. If you’re unfamiliar with jazz, please, please listen to this track for its sheer entertainment value. Hope it hooks ya. The most ‘African’ track is the closing children’s song “Ingoo-Pow-Pow”, delivered with such humorous drama, that I’d love to know what in the world they’re saying to the kids (before playing it for my grandchildren!). The only significant weakness here is that bassist Eddie Gomez seems to be intent on ‘lifting’ the group’s pitch throughout the album. In an ensemble that revels in the “flats”, Gomez seems to be pushing the “sharps”. I hope it’s not just my faulty aging ears. This is good music for all humanity, folks, especially for “gatherings of ten or more”. I don’t give a damn which governments don’t think so. 4/5

“The Genius of Ray Charles” by Ray Charles (1959) This album is structured not according to theme or development, but by its style of delivery; side one being ‘big band’ instrumentation (brass & saxes), while side two being more fully orchestral with strings, low woodwinds and choral backgrounds. Side one is black tie & dinner jacket; side two is white tie & tails. All of this is deployed in support of Ray Charles’ piano/vocal covers of popular tunes. It’s great music. Very listenable. But it’s not the genius of Ray Charles. The album title is marketable but misleading, in that it uses his well deserved nickname “The Genius” to denote only a small portion of his highly eclectic oeuvre. And it’s his eclecticism (blues, rock, jazz, country, swing, pop) that merits the moniker. This was clear even in 1959, by which time he was well known as a songwriter and composer. But none of the songs on this album were written, composed, or arranged by Ray Charles. The main course of side one is overpowered by the splash & bash garnish. Ray Charles’ signature ‘wandering’ approach in his vocal stylings on well-known melodies is of great interest, giving a fresh take on classics like Cahn/Jones’ “It Had to Be You” and Irving Berlin’s “Alexander’s Ragtime Band”. But the big band/swing arrangements (by others, including Quincy Jones) are simply too overwhelming. It’s like soundtrack bits to B-movies in the detective film noir mode. I don’t want to hear one more diminished chord blast by six trumpets and four trombones. It’s too much. For God’s sake, just let the man sing! The orchestral arrangements on side two (all by Ralph Burns) are not as dominant, but the switch from the bombastic to the pallid is not much of an improvement. One this side we get a better taste of the incomparable vocals of Ray Charles. His wide-ranging baritone is famously rough but expressive, slightly raspy but abundantly sensitive. The penultimate track “Am I Blue?” has the most excellent arrangement on the album, but, sadly, the weakest vocal performance. A much better example of this genre is the retro “A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night” by Harry Nilsson (1973). Ray Charles is among the giants in the history of recorded music. Would that this album had done justice to his extraordinary talent. 2/5

“The Very Best of the Gershwin Songbook” by Ella Fitzgerald (1959) The great Ella Fitzgerald sings 12 great songs written by the great songwriting duo (the great George Gershwin and the great Ira Gershwin), arranged by the great Nelson Riddle performed with the backing of his great orchestra released in the great year 1959 delivering great sound produced by the great Norman Granz for his great record label Verve. Do you get an idea of where this is headed? But, it must be noted, the album is a collection of the ‘top’ 12 tracks from the 59 songs included on the original five-LP “Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Songbook”, and thus is sort of a “greatest hits” compilation. It stretches the standard selection criteria of the 1001 Albums project. Now, to the main point of assessing a product like this: Ella Fitzgerald’s voice has everything—resonance, control, range, diction, power, soul, dynamic scope, and metaphysical transcendence (well, perhaps that’s overdoing it a bit). Her delivery can be characterized as sultry, but still capable of expressing laughter through the words and tones. She hits every curveball that tag team relievers Gershwin, Gershwin, and Riddle throw at her. George Gershwin composes melodies with intervals that are challenging for any singer. And while Barbra Streisand and Ella Fitzgerald can both master these intervals in the studio (e.g., “Someone to Watch Over Me”) only Fitzgerald can do it live (not heard on this album, but well worth exploring). In sum, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice is simply amazing. Riddle’s quasi-humorous inclusion of strains of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” in the outro to “The Man I Love” probably elicited an eye-rolling giggle from Fitzgerald. But Riddle’s arrangements are, in fact, superb. He is likely, for instance, surpassed only by Glenn Miller in his effective use of solo bass trombone. Some of his humorous countermelodies are a referential stretch, but entertaining every time. Ira Gershwin mastered the art of stretching to reach a rhyme, and he rarely enters the realm of the profound. But he’s a dutiful slave to meter, if that’s a good thing. Listen to the first ten seconds of “Embraceable You” if that’s all the time you have (and if that’s truly all the time you have, I feel sorry). The only flaw I spotted in this album was that the song “They Can’t Take That Away from Me” should have been arranged in a key that is one whole step higher. Fitzgerald can’t quite descend to the tonic with confidence. But even for a quasi-“greatest hits” collection, this recording is still top notch. 5/5

“Pieces of the Sky” by Emmylou Harris (1975) This major label debut by superstar Emmylou Harris is a fine collection of covers of worthy songs, with excellent country instrumental arrangements providing plenty of clear space for individual flourishes (pedal steel, banjo, mandolin, strings, and you name it). The meaty midsection of the album is passionate and potently evocative. Harris’ voice is outstanding, with tremendous use of dynamic variation (e.g., “Too Far Gone”), touching stylings, dreamy resonance, bold interjections of power, and country-honest inflection. It’s all demonstrated on this record, which goes a long way toward explaining why she subsequently became one of the most sought-after backing vocalists in the history of recorded music. Her selection of songs by other artists provides a suitable vehicle for the passion of her performance, eclectic yet well ordered. She teases us into it with the opening track “Bluebird Wine”, a shuffling thank you note to liquid (and cheap) intemperance. The album ends with “Queen of the Silver Dollar”, a raucous and recklessly triumphant celebration of lower middle class (im)morality written by Shel Silverstein (of all people). God, I love the proletariat. Merle Haggard’s “Bottle Let Me Down” is delivered by Harris with sugar and sass, reflecting on the bad feelings one has when the alcohol doesn’t quite ease the pain. Maybe she needs to graduate from wine to port. The one song on this album written by Harris is “Boulder to Birmingham”, a beautifully poetic lament, grieving over an unexpected loss (the demise of her mentor Gram Parsons). Sadly flawed (by a gimmicky rapid oscillation between left and right channels applied to the Rhodes keyboard), it still gets a sob and tears on only the second listen. And again, she goes from wail to whisper in an instant, and then back again as she storms into the chorus: “I would walk all the way from Boulder to Birmingham if I thought I could see your face”, she sings. But it ain’t gonna happen, she knows, as she looks out the airplane window at the prairie and the sky. “The hardest part is knowing I’ll survive.” Hard for you, Emmylou. Fortunate for us. Harris gives a sublime interpretation of Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors”, a touching alternate take on the biblical story of Jacob’s preferred son, Joseph, and the envy of his brothers (Genesis 37:3-4, KJV). It’s a rich embellishment of the notion of poverty, suitable for Everyman. If you’re not (yet) a fan of country music, this album just might make you one. 4/5

“Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” by The Beatles (1967) Is this the greatest album of all time? Yes and no. Considered as to its historical setting and its advancement of the artistic form, yes. Considered as to its musical and artistic merit, listenability, structure, poetic depth, and engagement of the human condition, no. But even here, it’s still on the list of the top five ‘greatest albums ever’. Young listeners today should be made aware of the chronological context of what preceded and followed the date of this album’s release. It was 1967. The world had never heard anything like it (‘groundbreaking’ would be an understatement). And the world liked it and continued to like it, to imitate it, to develop from it, and to return to it as an evaluative standard, making ever new discoveries in its creative tapestry. That is what we mean when we use the word ‘classic’. And I can’t think of an album that is more of a ‘classic’ in this defining sense. “Sgt. Pepper” is supremely well crafted. Its conceptual setting (a fictional concert by an amateurish military-style band from early 20th century Great Britain) is strong enough to stand without requiring a narrative. In this way, the work invented the form of the ‘concept’ album—a forward-looking creative mode advancing beyond opera and Wagnerian ‘music drama’. In this artistic mode, the listener’s ears are the stage. The visualization is in the mind, not through a proscenium. And the mind targeted by this album is a broad canvas, stretched on a frame from the Indian classical strains of George Harrison’s “Within You Without You” to the genre defying “She’s Leaving Home“. To explore this just a tiny bit, listen to the opening title track on headphones. A serious listener will discern that the fictional audience (representing the listener him/herself) is included in the recording of the fictional concert, which, after sounds of the band ‘tuning up’ and anticipatory crowd assembly sounds, begins with a well balanced four-bar rock intro. But something is intentionally amiss. The fictional emcee begins his introduction of the band seemingly stuck in the right channel of the audio. Then the brass/vocal ensemble enters, and now suddenly, it is seemingly stuck in the left channel. But when the vocals begin to express the band members’ fondness for the audience, the balance slowly, expansively, and captivatingly shifts to the center, culminating with the line “We’d like to take you home with us; we’d love to take you home”. The effect of this recording strategy is to create a bond. I mean, consider: the listener has just returned from the record store (taking The Beatles ‘home’) and lovingly lowered the disc onto the turntable, and has ardently put the needle into the opening groove. Then The Beatles begin the album with corresponding affection. [If you missed the progressive eroticism in this paragraph, read it again.] Did anyone ever have the audacity to turn it off at this point and never listen to it again? I don’t think so. This masterful overture is suitably followed by the comfortably pop “With Little Help from My Friends”—meaning a group of friends which, by this point, already includes the listener. With these two beginning tracks, is there a better album ‘hook’ in the history of recorded music? I don’t think so. Like the start of any concert (or party), the appropriate mental mood is essential, and so we have the decidedly non-pop psychedelic “Lucy In The Sky with Diamonds” to help the artists “get high with a little help from my friends”. Has there ever been a more artful reference to hallucinogens? I don’t think so. And it gets better with “Getting Better”, right about the time that the listener notices the audience is gone (but not forgotten), and the community now consists only of him/herself and the musicians. Does he/she mind? I don’t think so. “Fixing a Hole” is a song for meditative old farts who are “taking the time for a number of things that weren't important yesterday”. Does that mean that young people should skip this one? I don’t think so. Full stop. “She’s Leaving Home” is superlatively poignant, vivisecting loneliness, disappointment, the willful pursuit of limited happiness, and an incommensurate attachment to gratitude—lessons in love that are meaningful not just for the good-looking, the popular, the successful, the wealthy, and the wannabe characters in gothic romance, but also for the rest of us. This why we weep when we hear it. Could the song have been accompanied by anything other that a mournful string ensemble? I don’t think so. Now, can I give you a ready explanation as to why “Mr. Kite” is stuck in the right channel? Well, maybe I’ll be able to when I’m seventy-four, but as for now, I don’t think so. But listening to “When I’m Sixty-Four” on the far side of that reverie-inducing benchmark gives the song a completely different effect. Would I like to go back? (All together, now), I don’t think so! And should we dispense with a consideration of the symbolism of “Lovely Rita” and the nihilistic banality of a simple “Good Morning”? We shouldn’t think so. In the “Sgt. Pepper” reprise, the crowd is suddenly back, and the listener is summoned to prepare for the sad but necessary return to the artless and sober existence he/she had before starting this enterprise. But not before “A Day in the Life”, which is a mini opera in itself, requiring full orchestra and some of the best drumming Ringo Starr ever drummed. John Lennon’s lead vocal moves oh so slowly from the right channel to the left, followed by Paul McCartney’s bridge, in which he remains stubbornly and steadfastly in the right channel (Was this the beginning of the end for these two?). The discordant but progressive orchestral climax shouts a reverberating triumph before the mechanically repeated “never could be any other way” (paced at the panic-inducing 33 1/3 rpm) ends the album with both an exclamation point and a question mark. God, the artistry. On top of all this, one could spend hours meditating on the cover photo alone. Are there any negative things to say about this album? I don’t think so. 5/5

Physical Graffiti by Led Zeppelin (1975) Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti displays the most mature and artistically developed rock sound produced by one of the greatest rock bands ever. This double album cooks on three of its four sides. It’s the album that convinced me at the age of 20 to give up my old belt-driven record changer and move up to direct drive single-LP turntable. Oooh, baby. What was it that made the signature Led Zeppelin sound on this record? On the creative side, it sprang from a determined willingness to abandon the ‘popular’, and to rely instead on a well earned confidence in the previous success of their experimental innovations. Non-standard time signatures and rhythms (masterfully superintended by drummer John Bonham), gripping effects on electric guitar (designed and flawlessly performed by Jimmy Page), and the musical genius of bassist and multi-instrumentalist John Paul Jones, all provided the perfect environment for the uninhibited, inimitable, and soulful blues rock vocals of Robert Plant. On the technical side, Led Zeppelin made full use of non-standard instruments, imaginative engineering strategies, and newly developed processing techniques—all crafted in the unique environment of the former workhouse Headley Grange in Hampshire, England. One of the most identifiable sonic features is the barely detectable split second delay in the drums, created by distancing the drum microphone(s) from the ensemble. Genius. Their path of development from the debut Led Zeppelin I all the way to Physical Graffiti, their sixth studio album, is a lesson in the history of hard rock. Unencumbered by artificial airplay time limitations, these compositions are free to develop at a pace suited to each song. The traditional “In My Time of Dying”, for instance, was given 2:40 on Bob Dylan’s 1962 debut album, but it receives a full 11:04 on Physical Graffiti. Its languid opening passage takes a full three minutes before heating up to its hard rock core, revealing at 7:30 the logic of the opening passage, and slowly turning the power up and up and up, until it unleashes a manic torrent of praise for the incarnate Son of God (You weren’t expecting that, were you?). The groove of “Trampled Under Foot” is the most rockified funk ever laid down on magnetic tape. And the Asian-influenced “Kashmir” and “In the Light” are better syntheses of east and west than the earlier experiments by The Beatles. The acoustic solo “Bron-Yr-Aur” by Jimmy Page is another ‘must study’ for folk guitarists, approaching the excellence of Jorma Kaukonen’s “Embryonic Journey” on Jefferson Airplane’s 1967 album Surrealistic Pillow. Listen to them back to back, pickers. The only clunkers on this record are the unimaginative slow shuffle “Down by the Seaside” and the formulaic “Night Flight”. There’s a good reason why these outtakes were left off Led Zeppelin IV. But “The Wanton Song” and “Boogie with Stu” make me want to do some wanton boogie of my own, although I don’t think it would be allowed. And I’m not sure I’d end an album with a celebration of a grownup’s lust for a minor teenage girl (“Sick Again”), just like ZZ Top shouldn’t have started Rio Grande Mud (1972) with the same theme (“Francine”). I know, it was a different world then, but still . . . Oh, well, you can’t have everything. 4/5

OK by Talvin Singh (1998) It only takes one listen to India tabla playing to recognize its potential for fusion with techno/pop, and OK by Talvin Singh almost shows how it can be done. But first, a correction: The world is not sound, contrary to the theme-establishing lyrics on this album (in the opening track, “Traveller”). The singer (Singh?) sings “The world is sound. . . Leave the troubles behind”. This is a clumsy ode to the musician’s conceit. Of course “the world” is much more and much other than “sound”. The opening eleven-minute track insufficiently introduces what is clearly important about the album. By relying on the saucy background provided by the Madras Philharmonic Orchestra, it points the listener in the wrong direction. The album really takes off with the second track “Butterfly” and picks up speed with track three, “Sutrix”, adding vocalizations, techno flourishes, and standard western trap drum accompaniment, with a modified backbeat. The female choir on “Soni” has some serious pitch problems (although the spoken poetic conclusion of this track is interesting). And the rather manic and obscene Kama Sutra-‘inspired’ “Decca” fails musically on the erotic level. But the highlight of the record is “Light”, which capably provides the flavor of the project—heavy on tabla and flute. I recommend listening to this track first and then starting at the beginning if it meets your taste. Hearing the album twenty three years after its release, one gets a sense that it could have been better if it had incorporated influences of hip hop. It seems to be pulling in that direction, but it doesn’t even really leave the station. It sounds more like a suitable soundtrack to a Bollywood sci-fi epic, if there even is such a thing. The album is suitably titled. It’s OK (barely). 2/5

Tres Hombres by ZZ Top (1973) Unapologetically grungy, grimy, greasy, and grotesque, Tres Hombres is philosophically shallow, poetically stunted, theologically unsophisticated, and entertainingly nasty. Posing as a group of hard living country-proletarian party boys with a complete lack of self awareness, ZZ Top speeds us down a Texas two-lane in pursuit of the baser passions, all the while keeping a nervous eye in the rear view mirror for any sign of the transcendent. There’s a lot of heaven, hell, and mercy in the midst of death defying recklessness (“Master of Sparks”—Hold my beer) and rollicking indulgence in the low range of even lower pleasures. This album is celebratory of the bright moments in the otherwise dull lives of barely employed lower middle class American males (i.e., “Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers”). There’s virtually no reference to love or romance (none at all if one thinks that “Precious and Grace” refers to something other than a couple of chicks—and one might well be right). Furthermore, one could ask how appropriate it is to appeal to Divine Mercy for a speedier trip home on public transport “with my brown paper bag and my take home pay” (“Have Mercy”). Perhaps a better mercy would be for an increase in the virtue of patience, but at least the listener can relate. However: Drummer Frank Beard (the only member of the trio who’s generally pictured without one) is wildly dynamic, yet precise. Bassist Dusty Hill (d. 7/28/21, R.I.P.) clearly mastered the art of doubling the groove of the electric rhythm guitar, while deftly negotiating the volatile relationship between drums and melody. And guitarist Billy Gibbons excels in both rhythm and lead passages. It’s hard to imagine how only three musicians can produce so much quality sound. So what we have here is an exquisite and highly relatable musical and lyrical expression of the dissipated life—well worth the listen, and rising to level of art (kind of like, in its day, Bizet’s Carmen or Puccini’s La Bohème, without the plot or tragic resolution). In “Jesus Just Left Chicago”, we hear a prayerful enough petition to join our Savior in his incarnate embrace of everything he created, all the way to (of all places) New Orleans. “You may not see Him in person, but He’ll see you just the same. You don’t have to worry, ‘Cause takin’ care of business is His name.” (Did I say this album was theologically unsophisticated? Maybe I’ll rethink that.) But the highlight of the album, of course, is the seductive, understated, and growly advertisement for the famous cathouse outside of “La Grange”. (It’s only a “rumor”, but “you what I’m talkin’ about”.) Now, intros come and intros go, but the first 37 seconds of this track are historic. We’re gonna need a bigger set of speakers. The sly reluctance in the lyric to be more explicit might be designed to enable the quasi-pimp to avoid the law, but it’s also designed for ZZ Top to avoid the opprobrium of the American Family Association (or, more likely, disc jockeys and the FCC). But now, I might be mistaken (A-haw haw haw-haw). 4/5

The Wildest! by Louis Prima (1956) Sicilian jazz? Who knew? African American and Italian American cultural influences come together in New Orleans, then off to New York, and now settling into Las Vegas, synthesizing smiles all the way. Recorded at The Sahara, where vocalist/trumpeter Louis Prima, along with his wife, vocalist Keely Smith, and the band Sam Butera and the Witnesses performed numbers from their stage show (sans audience) giving it ‘live’ feel, without the live distractions. They produce a big band sound with a small ensemble. This is music that is foot tappingly raucous, sprinkled with Sicilian lyrical jokes, scat improvisations, and melodic references to pop and light classical tunes—seriously funny. There’s a wonderfully peppy and adept jazz trombone solo by James Blount, Jr. on “Body and Soul”. Other solo work (tenor sax, piano, trumpet) is more than competent. ‘’(I’ll Be Glad When You’re Dead) You Rascal You” Why? Because you eat all the ravioli and meatballs. This indignity justifies trumpet lip slides by Prima that rival Blount’s trombone work in a dueling horns WWF slingfest. Very, very nicely done. Save this one for a sad day after 5:00pm when someone has gravely disappointed you. Then play it loud. If you’re not giggling by the time you’re two shots in, seek professional help. 3/5

“I’m Your Man” by Leonard Cohen (1988) This album does not disappoint on any level. Leonard Cohen’s strong poetic lyrics on this record are, as always, deeply immersive. With scrappy and sometimes scattered allusions that successfully beg for the listener’s thoughtful reflection, his songs are always perfectly cadenced and well synthesized, each one tied together by unifying (and frequently quite dark) themes. From the understated horror of the pretense of normality in the midst of a plague (AIDS, in “Everybody Knows”) to the tortured feelings of a man who still loves a woman he knows he’ll never get back (“I’m Your Man”), to the insidious insertions of jazz riffs into pop fusion compositions (“Jazz Police”), Cohen is consistently intriguing. The musical settings all sustain interest (although “Take This Waltz” struggles in this department). And all are capably performed by Cohen, with his signature croaky baritone, and his excellent backing musicians. But the song that commands all the attention on this album is the opening track “First We Take Manhattan”. Cohen himself called it “a terrorist song”—a ballsy response to the (anti-Semitic/anti-Israel) terrorism that was growing in the 1980’s. From the 1970 Munich bus attack to the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre to the 1980 Munich Oktoberfest bombing to the 1982 bombing attack at Berlin’s Mifgash-Israel restaurant to the 1985 Frankfurt Airport bombing, Jews in the West had understandably had enough. In response to that physically violent terrorism (for which he had a qualified respect), Cohen offered this song as an act of retaliatory ‘psychic terrorism’: “First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin”. In an interview, Cohen explained the song with an analogy to a poem by his friend and mentor Irving Layton (“Terrorists” in The Pole-Vaulter, Toronto, 1974) which he paraphrased: “Well, you guys blow up an occasional airline and kill a few children here and there, But our terrorists, Jesus, Freud, Marx, Einstein. The whole world is still quaking...”. The references to “you guys” and “our” should be obvious. The sentiment that Cohen inherits and alters (from Layton’s poem: “Jewish terrorists, ah: Maimonides, Spinoza, Freud, Marx”) is that while anti-Semitic terrorism kills the body, Jewish ‘terrorism’ changes the cultural soul (cf. Matthew 10:28). [Hat tip to Prof. Louis Schwartz of the University of Richmond for the Irving Layton poem connection]. Now whatever one thinks of this hyper-volitional notion of cultural “Jewish terrorism” Leonard Cohen delivers it both vocally and musically with shudderingly haunting power. Cosmic, apocalyptic, militaristic, and almost gleefully anticipatory of the moment of vengeance, Cohen’s lyric calls us to take stock of the world soul in the midst of this conflict. You don’t want to go there. But maybe you have no choice. This one track, “First We Take Manhattan”, is reason enough to listen to I’m Your Man, not just for entertainment, but for insight, no matter whose ‘side’ you’re on. 5/5

“Meat Is Murder” by The Smiths (1985) The irony of the cover photo is that a phrase cribbed from the graffiti on the helmet of a spindly Vietnam War grunt is appropriated and transmogrified into a vegetarian scold. Wince. Death-longing gives many of these songs a serious side, but it’s hard to sustain this seriousness in the midst of idiosyncratic moralizing. Disregard for human life is somewhat in tension with excessive regard for animal life. It fails. And the misuse of a word “prophesies” is only fitting for these decidedly un-prophetic lyrics. Morrissey clearly dislikes corporal punishment, either from teachers (“The Headmaster Ritual”) or parents (“Barbarism Begins at Home”). Perhaps his point is that “unruly boys” who undeservedly get “a crack on the head” grow up to wear helmets and inflict a little Barbarism on the Third World. I don’t know. You figure it out. And he obviously despises meat eating (“Meat Is Murder”), hoping to persuade us with a dubious syllogism begging for a minor premise. The song could well have been left off the album, but then what would you do for a title? The lines “I'd like to drop my trousers to the Queen/Every sensible child will know what this means” (“Nowhere Fast”) completely elude me. Don’t they frown on this sort of thing over there in the U.K.? I must have lost my sensibility long ago. But supporting these sometimes self defeating lyrics are musical compositions that are groovy, outré, and accessible all at once (especially “The Headmaster Ritual”, “Well I Wonder”, and “That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore”). Morrissey’s voice has an interesting timbre, but curiously, his frequent falsetto frills continually run to the sharp side of the pitch. This happens so often, the listener simply relaxes into it. I’m not sure that is a good thing. On “Barbarism Begins at Home” (musically the best track on the record), Johnny Marr’s inventive guitar work is pleasant and precise, and the superbly melodic bass by Andy Rourke gives variety to a rhythm that might otherwise be monotonous. Very listenable, but sadly inane. I’m gonna run out for a burger. Anybody want anything? 2/5

“Space Ritual” by Hawkwind (1973) On top of all the weaknesses inherent in making live performance into an ‘album’, the flaws here are compounded by an almost complete lack of musical sense. Plus, it’s a dopey pulp sci-fi concept and the band’s name is mawkish (I can’t get the image of raptor flatulence out of my mind). No depth, no soul, no passion (except maybe mindlessly monotonous wonder). The lyrics on the track “Space is Deep” are shallow. I laughed out loud at the faux Shakespearean delivery of the vapid spoken “10 Seconds of Forever”. These guys take themselves way too seriously. Dave Brock’s lead vocals and guitar work are paradigmatically mediocre. No groove, no hook, no order. The engineering and mixing are terrible (Well, it was live). Bass and guitar are frequently and painfully out of tune. The creative concept seems to be “Let’s see how many weird noises we can throw against the wall—maybe some of them will stick.” Del Dettmar fribbles aimlessly away on his synthesizer, and his solos are deplorable. You’ve got to remember that by the time this album was made, Emerson, Lake and Palmer had been producing prog rock and synthesized arrangements for over three years. Hawkwind (that name!) was not only low quality, the band was outdated. This album is contemporaneous with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. Compare the two. No, don’t bother. In my imagination, I picture the audience at the live performance all looking at their watches at the same time. I sat through this entire (double!) album so you don’t have to. 1/5

Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A. (1988) These artists are engaged in a competition to see who can be the most gleefully vitriolic. This is groundbreaking gangsta rap, and it is very well done. It sounds great. It features concussive beats, precise rhythms, colorful (if obscene) lyrics, innovative sampling, a superb sense of meter, inventive, complex rhymes, and even a couple of relatively harmless tracks (“Express Yourself” and “Something 2 Dance 2”). But overall the album carries a message that disqualifyingly nihilistic. It is not resignedly nihilistic. It is not despairingly nihilistic. It is intentionally and programmatically nihilistic. And it is hateful. And it is violent. And it is cruel toward entire classes of people. More importantly, as an exercise in the poetic arts it is rhetorically deficient: it attempts to persuade and dissuade while failing to make elementary distinctions; it is self-contradictory; it makes dubious assertions unsupported by evidence; and it is peppered with non-sequiturs. What results is a display of high intelligence that is highly misguided. The phrase “cancel culture” has gained currency of late. But that’s not what’s going on here. What we have here is “torture culture”. This is an album that deserves to be heard (at least once) by the serious listener because of its undeniable social influence and because its engagement is required for any honest endeavor to see where the tens of millions of followers ‘are coming from’. Ignore it at your peril. People who refuse to listen to ‘this crap’ are, at best, shielding their souls at the cost of redeeming the souls of others (including children and grandchildren). A thoughtful assessment of the messages in this album will justify within you a healthy dose of skepticism, pessimism, and cynicism: skepticism to the limit of sin against faith; pessimism to the border of sin against hope; and cynicism right to the horizon of sin against charity. In the fifteen years prior to this record’s release, there were millions of unborn children in the U.S. who were killed in the womb with legal sanction. The value of human life in this nation was thereby grossly diminished. This record, therefore, should not shock you. It should, however, prompt you to connect a few dots. And contemplate the Paschal Mystery. 1/5

Scott 2 by Scott Walker (1968) For those of you who would dismiss this as ‘elevator music’, I should warn you that if you and I heard this in an elevator, I would press the Emergency Stop and ask you to be quiet for a minute and just listen. Scott Walker is a pop crooner with an actual brain. As a lyricist, he is poetic and insightful, like a cross between Jacques Brel and T.S. Eliot. (In fact, three of Brel’s well-chosen songs are included among these twelve tracks: “Jackie”, “Next”, and “The Girls and the Dogs”). Walker’s four original songs (“The Amorous Humphrey Plugg”, “The Girls from the Streets”, “Plastic Palace People“, and “The Bridge”) are likewise dark, brooding, fearless, and entrancing, expressed in poetic lines that, like those of Eliot, take punctuated and unexpected images and resolve them with lucidity from the shadows, as it were. Walker explores a decadent world populated by equally decadent characters and emerges with a fuller embrace of humanity, with all its internal tensions and moral disappointments. All twelve of the songs on this album are thoughtful and visually dramatic. “The Girls and the Dogs” is a simply delightful song, delightfully sung. I won’t spoil it for you. Musically, Walker delivers these well crafted melodies in a pleasing, not-too-deep baritone. He lacks the chops of a Sinatra, Bennett, Como, Crosby (Bing, not David), Martin, Tormé, Williams, or (I must include) Harry Nilsson. But he succeeds in the vocal heavy lifting nonetheless. Tom Jones surely wished he could have been this good (while still raking in the cash, the airplay, and the tossed panties). Scott Walker is backed by orchestra on this record, yet not in a typical Burt Bacharach or Henry Mancini style (although Walker covers one song from each of these composers on Scott 2). His arrangers step away from the piano-heavy Bacharach approach and the strings-heavy Mancini technique, and instead provide orchestration that celebrates soulful horns and seductive guitar. It’s beautiful music, even if it fails to capture 21st century ears. Listen to this album and tell me which track was banned by the BBC. 4/5

Two Dancers by Wild Beasts (2009) Here the listener is subjected to artless, conversational, non-metrical, and underdeveloped lyrics written by some guys who clearly haven’t heard enough hip hop, metal, punk, or classic rock (this list could go on and on). They want so badly to be bad. But they choose the wrong métier. They write and sing (and sound!) like kids. They’re not old enough to be reprobates. Their swagger is weenie. The misogyny is ambiguous. And now is not the time for ambiguous misogyny. With such a sad poetic foundation, their music is even sadder. It’s hard to imagine a greater distance between sonic ambience and discursive meaning. The groove is cool enough, until lead singer Hayden Thorpe opens his mouth and starts ‘singing’ airy and lacy falsetto anti-melodies. “We’re just brutes”, he sings (“Hooting and Howling”) in a lilting, faux feminine lilt. It’s almost funny. No, it is funny. No, it’s damn hilarious. And Tom Leming, who takes on lead vocals in four of the eleven tracks, tries this same trick, and the results even more (is it possible?) laughable. Where’s the gong? Chris Talbot’s drumming is good. Look, folks, this album would be worth listening to if you took away the lyrics, compositions, arrangements, lead vocals, backing vocals, and most of the music. I’m being generous. 1/5

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John (1973) At the :57 mark of the symphonic opening track (“Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding”), the serious listener in 1973 would have known right away this was something special. And I’m not sure if it was David Hentschel’s waxing and waning ARP synthesizer, the haunting lament of Davey Johnstone’s guitar, the all-too-familiar right-hand-heavy piano chording of Elton John, or the (uncredited) castanets at 3:44, but by moment of the triumphant tonic at 5:08, that same listener would have discerned that this album was a game changer. I speak from experience, and I am not alone. This extraordinary musical smorgasbord contains ballads revealing the dark side of fame (“Candle In the Wind”, “The Ballad of Danny Bailey”), cautionary tales for lusty metrosexuals and their suppliers (“Goodbye Yellow Brick Road”, “Sweet Painted Lady”, “All the Girls Love Alice”), contemplative reflections on personal responses to entertainment media (“I’ve Seen That Movie Too”, “Roy Rogers”), and ironic paeans to the underclass (“Dirty Little Girl”, “Social Disease”). These are songs that undoubtedly changed lives, however imperceptibly, for the better. Bernie Taupin is probably the greatest pop lyricist of all time. He treats extraordinarily interesting themes and characters with a cinematic imagination—bringing enough light to force the listener to celebrate, lament, enthuse, wallow, and boast right along with the creatures of his contrivance. Master of the metaphor, he provides a ready and unifying connection to the inner meanings of a bewildering array of cultural phenomena. But these wonderful lyrics would go nowhere as songs without the supremely gifted musicality of Elton John. His musical sense employs melody and chord progressions that actually take the listener toward a goal. He provides meter to some decidedly un-metrical phrases, as if that were the plan all along. His arrangements and production choices are Elysian. And the contributions of bassist Dee Murray (“Grey Seal”) and drummer Nigel Olson (everywhere) are both essential and hugely creative. Together, they make a grooving success of the two pure rock (and wonderfully back-to-back) tracks “Your Sister Can’t Twist (But She Can Rock and Roll)” and “Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting”. Davey Johnstone’s guitar compositions and performances superbly executed and remarkably versatile. I’m sure he didn’t grow up playing banjo, but just listen to “Social Disease”. Now Elton John displays little virtuosity on piano. He plays mostly chords and standard flourishes with the right hand, and the left hand generally just keeps a steady beat and harmonic grounding. But with his voice providing deft stylings (in both pitch and diction) on colorful melodies, the combined effect is mesmerizing, even if it does require the added arrangements, effects, and backing vocals that we consistently hear on this recording. Double albums are tricky. Sometimes they are released as a double because there’s slightly too much material for one LP, but have added tracks (of lesser quality) to fill them out. Not so here. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road has no filler. Plus, this is the kind of album that provides true favorites that are not among the more ‘popular’ songs—my personal ones are “Grey Seal” and the wonderful closing track “Harmony”, a song the ending of which is fully deserving of its title. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road provided a sorely needed contribution to Anglo-American culture in 1973. Still does. Always will. 5/5

Tusk by Fleetwood Mac (1979) By 1979, bassist John McVie and drummer Mick Fleetwood had engineered the evolution of Fleetwood Mac from pioneering British blues in 1967 to global pop dominance, chiefly and ingeniously through the addition of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks in 1975. This yielded two of the greatest albums of all time, Fleetwood Mac (1975) and Rumours (1977). In the production of Tusk in 1979, however, Lindsey Buckingham steered the group in a new direction—or rather his ego jumped into the driver’s seat. With tracks written as love poems (Stevie Nicks), guitar songs (Buckingham), and piano tunes (Christine McVie), it seems on this album that John McVie and Mick Fleetwood are just along for the ride (exception: “Tusk”). And that’s a shame. John McVie should have shortened Buckingham’s leash. A number of failed experiments (“The Ledge”, “Save Me a Place”, and, well, most all the nine songs by Buckingham except “Tusk”) and several sonic rehashes (“Over & Over”, “Think About Me”, “Sisters of the Moon”) leave the first-time listener disappointed, and likely to become a last-time listener. “Sara” and “Sisters of the Moon” are not songs for people who like music. They are songs for people who like Stevie Nicks. She’s likable enough, but the earth doesn’t shake. “Not That Funny” is not that good, but it is funny, in that tries to be pop and punk at the same time. It attempts to synthesize the un-synthesizable. And “That’s Enough for Me” is enough for anyone. Christine McVie seems to be the only member of the band who retained artistic integrity and creative flair (“Brown Eyes”, “Never Make Me Cry”, and “Honey Hi” are really good). On this album, Fleetwood Mac became fragmented. All five of the band members finalized splits from their significant others during the making of this record. It shows. But they still had to pay the bills. 2/5

White Ladder by David Gray (1998) When a singer/songwriter begins an album (“Please Forgive Me”) with a self application of the first of the seven last words of Christ (“Forgive . . . They know not what they do” Luke 23:34), followed by the anti-rhetoric rhetorical device of ironic self deprecation (Antony: ”I am no orator, as Brutus is . . .” Shakespeare, Julius Caesar Act 3, scene 2), the careful listener knows he/she is in for some seriously persuasive soul-baring. I don’t know if David Gray melted the heart of his former love, but he nearly melted mine. And so he proceeds, step by step, humbly, with musical quality and apparent honesty: confessing, bleeding, pleading, agonizing, fearing, and soiling the listener with his personal emotional dirt—completely devoid of gems or nuggets. Now I, for one, am willing to get dirty. And I’m sure we can all relate. But does he go too far? Does he repel the audience with overwrought transparency? Does he produce a certain detrimental empathy, if only in the hearts of his more sensitive hearers (i.e., those who are the only ones likely to ‘get it’ in the first place)? Perhaps so. Feelings of exile (“Babylon”) are not quite right, especially when, in your inebriation, you “can’t tell the bottle from the mountaintop” (“We’re Not Right”). Is this why White Ladder was so hugely popular in Ireland? Perhaps the real lessons of the Babylonian Exile and the Betty Ford Center are being missed here. Is it only a matter of discipline and accountability? I don’t think so. David Gray seems reluctant to embrace the good, the true, and the beautiful. A whole album full of this is unbalanced. Even faith (“Sail Away”) is tormented by a history of shattered trust. Even hope (“Silver Lining”) can only grope about for a dark cloud in which to wrap itself. Even love (“This Year’s Love”) is encumbered by the anxiety of ephemerality. And even in the eloquent kiss-off of the closing track (“Say Hello Wave Goodbye”), Mr. Gray is depressingly and unrelentingly self absorbed. Don’t listen to this album if you’re blue, unless you just need to be reminded that someone’s life sucks more than yours does. 2/5

Le Tigre by Le Tigre (1999) Tiny tiny voices scream histrionic bleats about god-knows-what, from a flash-in-the-pan morality that not only doesn’t age well—it doesn’t age at all. Their pronouns are so offensive. The litany of heroes in the musically mechanical “Hot Topic” makes their cookie cutter political/cultural stance clear, but could we get some depth? Or even a bit of detail? Here’s a revealing snippet from “Eau D’Bedroom Dancing”: “There's no time for me to act mature. The only words I know are "more", "more" and "more". No one to criticize me then.” Read some Rimbaud, girls. I picture these songs being sung while the young ladies are on the playground jumping rope. The ‘music’ is stumbled across, not composed; canned, not performed. The recording is flawed with distortion on the lead ‘vocals’ and a horrible mix. The best voice performance on this record is the intro to “Phanta” (you’ll have to listen to get the joke). No gimmick on this 1999 album hadn’t already been done over and over. Even girls cussing in a junior-high-school-sounding timbre. They seem unaware of (more likely unconcerned by) the way this comes across to men. There’s a certain menace at work here. It validates every misogynistic trope. 1/5

Arthur (Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire) by The Kinks (1969) The Kinks get on board the ‘concept album’ train with this interesting piece of work, sort of a Broadway musical soundtrack. It has coherence, but it doesn’t say much. This ain’t Der Ring des Nibelungen. Nor is it Tommy by The Who (1969) or Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles (1967). Bob Dylan did this much better in the last verse of “Black Diamond Bay” (Desire [1976]). But then, Bob Dylan does everything much better. It was the late 1960s, and this little piece of aspiring avant-garde artistry by The Kinks illustrates the disconnect between peace and prosperity on the one hand, and fashionable ennui and acedia on the other. For the mainstream middle class, times seemed so bad, but history shows times were really quite good. So the mockery (in “Mr. Churchill Says”) of Churchill’s WWII leadership of thirty years prior is more than a little obtuse. The same could be said for the politics of nearly every song on the album. Dramatically, then, this playlet lacks depth, compactness, engagement, power, and resolution (Have I left anything out?). But musically, it is modestly interesting, coming as it does between “You Really Got Me” (1964) and “Lola” (1970), the two songs for which The Kinks are most famous. There is a nice extended jam in “Australia” (the song, not the country). With this recording, containing painful vocals (e.g., “Some Mother’s Son” [!]) but colorful compositions and horn-flavored instrumentals, the listener can, with slight determination, make it through the twelve tracks before moving on to something that is more productive, meaningful, edifying, and/or otherwise of interest. 2/5

This Is Fats Domino! by Fats Domino (1957 [sic]) Reviewing this album is problematic in that its 1956 (not 1957) mono release (Imperial #LP-9028) consists of a particular selection of songs, mostly previously released as mono singles. There was a later ‘reissue’ (Liberty #LP-12389, 1969) with synthetic stereo effects and a spliced composite of “Blueberry Hill” (Wikipedia, “This Is Fats Domino!”). This Is Fats Domino! is not available as an album on Apple Music or Amazon, but it is cobbled together on a Spotify playlist of other recordings of these same songs (in stereo) helpfully compiled by Spotify user “Rice” (hat tip to you, Rice). The Spotify ‘album’ linked to the 1001 Album Generator (2020 version) only allows play of six of the twelve original tracks, unless you have Spotify Premium, and I’m not playing that game. This review will treat “Rice’s” stereo collection and order as the ‘album’. Shame on everyone for their irrational fear of mono—the recording technique that Fats Domino and Imperial Records actually (and unavoidably) employed for the first fifteen years of his career. ‘Monophobes’ are the kind of people who would prefer a ‘colorized’ version of the black & white parts of The Wizard of Oz. Fats Domino was a giant (no pun) in the history of rock and roll, which he preferred to call “rhythm and blues” (These terms would undergo change in the 1960s). He was hugely (again, no pun) influential for later rock artists from Elvis Presley to John Lennon to Robert Plant, and all who in turn followed them, so basically everybody. His voice is quite pleasing (“What’s the Reason [I’m Not Pleasing You]”), with its confident tone and Creole-spiced diction. It is perfect for mono single play on classic jukebox and AM radio, especially on warm summer evenings down south, where a cold drink, minimal clothing, a handy hanky, a single bare ceiling bulb, flypaper, and a window fan would complete the ambience. This music puts me there, and it’s a nice place to be. Put away the headphones; this is small-speaker music. Domino selects keys that are vocally comfortable for his somewhat limited range, which results in occasional sharps on the bottom tonic, but it’s okay in the mix when the tenor sax has its own pitch approximations on the sharp side. One gets used to it. The ten tracks written by Domino himself are nice, simple lyrical constructions—classic versifications of standard R&B poetic tropes. There’s some very nice solo lead guitar on the closing track “Trust In Me”, sadly marred by the following trio of saxophones that are not quite together tonally. Overall, while not quite rising to the status of a classic, this very fine collection of songs is a rewarding listening experience. 4/5

Jack Takes the Floor by Ramblin’ Jack Elliot (1958) Ramblin’ Jack Elliot is the phony that folks accused Bob Dylan of bein’. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot is the young Bob Dylan without the brains. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot sounds like he came from Missouri, ‘cept he don’t sound like that to people who been there. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot knows how to tune a guitar, but he don’t. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot learnt everythin’ from a Madison Square Garden rodeo clown except how to avoid the bull. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot shares the politics of Woody Guthrie in there somewhere, but it’s kinda hard to find. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot is important for the history of somethin’ that really ain’t that important. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot has fans who know exactly what I’m talkin’’bout. 1/5

American Pie by Don McLean (1971) Most boomers are so familiar with the opening track “American Pie” and the third track “Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)”, that I recommend listening to this album starting with the fourth track “Crossroads”, then proceeding to the end before hearing tracks one through three. It’s a rewarding experience. As a a folk/rock singer/songwriter, Don McLean surpassed his mentors (Pete Seeger et al.) in several notable ways. His voice is resonant to the point of being powerful without being strong. His acoustic guitar stylings are well chosen and performed. His poetry is highly descriptive, allusive, and evocative. And it is sung with phrasing that is conversational, spontaneous, and varied. One can easily imagine that his live performance of these songs would inspire other great songs in turn. (McLean’s concert rendition of track six [“Empty Chairs”] was allegedly the inspiration for “Killing Me Softly” performed by Lori Lieberman, Roberta Flack, Lauryn Hill, and others.) The album is superbly recorded, with microphones capturing the tiniest tidbits of resonance and timbre in voice and guitar, from one edge of the fretboard to the other. Pianist Warren Bernhardt (on “Crossroads”) puts the ‘piano’ in ‘pianoforte’. And the engineers at The Record Plant caught it all. Even after fifty years, “Vincent” draws a tear from my eye still. Perhaps it always will. In several ways, the famous opening title track “American Pie” is one of the two weakest cuts on the album (the other being “Everybody Loves Me, Baby”, for similar reasons). Is it possible for a poem like “American Pie” to be too cryptically allusive and cheaply ambiguous? Do some of the alliterations and rhymes border on triteness? Can a chorus can be repeated once or twice too often in an 8:33 recording? Even if the answer to all these questions is ‘no’, McLean’s delivery of the backbeat rock ambience is second-tier. Given that his purpose was to convey a sense of loss, it could have been presented in a less sprightly way. Nevertheless, it’s still a classic. For the identification of the allusions, see Wikipedia references to the mountains of literature on this. My overall take on the meaning of the song “American Pie” is that if you don’t want to be disillusioned, you should avoid having illusions in the first place. But if one listens to this album in all its intended unity, and not dominated by two ‘hits’, one will experience folk with soul—a twofer suitable for any old day. 4/5

Siamese Dreams by Smashing Pumpkins (1993) Smashing Pumpkins (probably better titled “The Billy Corgan Project”) deliver a signature sound on this album. The Corgan sound is characterized by a near-symphonic texture of guitar overdubbing and the idiosyncratic lead vocals of Mr. Corgan, driving a message of cathartic honesty that borders on the uncomfortable, if not narcissistic. The lyrics are nearly embarrassing (for the listener, not Corgan) for their transparency and reckless lack of reserve, but that feature does little harm because Corgan’s abandonment of diction makes the words (sans lyrics sheet) all but indecipherable anyway. His voice alternates between two timbres, which are both substandard and extraordinarily interesting at the same time. One timbre is airy and elvish; the other is whiny and harsh. Supply your own synonyms. It is a voice that is well suited the very limited melodies Corgan has composed, which are all-too-heavily reliant on favorite intervals and loopy slurs. Blah. Having said that, this is still a very good album, if for no other reason than the technical excellence of the sound. It is galvanizing and pleasing. Hard driving rock riffs are layered over and over with multiple electric rhythm guitar tones. This record reveals the beauty of rock guitar. And while the technique could have been monotonous, this foundational Corgan sound is flavored with striking and innovative variety, including well performed if understated solos. The solo section at 3:04 on “Mayonaise” (sic) is great. And I don’t even like mayonnaise. One extraordinary highlight on this album is the integration of elements of symphony orchestra on “Disarm” and “Luna”. On these two tracks, strings are not simply added as background—they are woven into the composition itself. They actually become more magnetic than the melody and lyrics. Drummer Jimmy Chamberlain is flat-out excellent (listen to track #11!). Guitarist James Iha and bassist D’arcy Wretsky, however, are not even utilized on almost half of these tracks, on which those parts are performed by (you guessed it) Corgan himself. I suppose Iha and Wretsky were needed for live performances of these songs, however. It’s worth celebrating their humility in accepting such an arrangement. 4/5

Debut by Björk (1993) Dazzlingly eclectic and playful instrumentals and arrangements over snappy dance beats carry lame lyrics, anti-melodies and pop-ish vocals across the finish line on this relatively cool album. But the attempted cover of Johnny Burke’s “Like Someone In Love” reveals the serious limitations of Björk’s voice. Shoulda left this one off the record. “Violently Happy” is lyrically fascinating, but spoiled by a melody stuck on the fifth. Makes me want to grab one. As for the rest of the Björk’s vocals, well, it’s not Cyndi Lauper. 2/5

At Newport 1960 by Muddy Waters (1960) Muddy Waters, the Mississippi blues guitarist/vocalist par excellence, performed this set live at the Newport Jazz Festival in July 1960. “Live” means the listener must filter out crowd commotion, off-beat hand claps, mic stand rumbles, wind noise, and other sundry distractions, but as live albums go, it’s not too bad. On this recording, we are treated primarily to Waters’ blues vocals and ‘compositions’ (primarily his, but also some by Willie Dixon and others—even Langston Hughes gets in on the act). It should be noted that these songs are characterized by significant melodic and lyrical borrowing from traditional Deep South blues. The performance reflects the evolving quality of blues music by 1960. It is both nostalgic and evocative, clearly demonstrating what it was that made such an impression on the next generation of popular music makers. That in itself is one of the most valuable aspects of this album. Muddy Waters’ voice is well suited for the temper of the blues. It has an authenticity that translates the mostly masculine emotions in relatable topical settings. In singing these songs, Muddy Waters occasionally drops the meter, requiring the band to add extra beats (e.g. “I Got My Brand On You” at 1:04), but the ensemble seems so used to this that they're able to work through it flawlessly. That’s what bluesmen do. Also, At Newport 1960 unfortunately hides the guitar in the mix. If you really want to hear a mature Muddy Waters on lead guitar, listen to After The Rain (1969), tracks 3, 5, 6, and 8. (By 1969, of course, he had been surpassed in his blues guitar skills by many of those he had influenced early on, including Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page, Johnny Winter, Duane Allman, and a host of others.) But we have to strain to hear his skills on this album. But if you really, really want to hear the genius of Muddy Waters as a guitarist, you must listen to The Complete Plantation Recordings: The Historic 1941-1942 Library of Congress Field Recordings (Chess Records release, 1993). This album, with its fascinating interviews, would be a much better choice for 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die (if it’s not already included). If the mood in the live performance At Newport 1960 seems subdued, it might be related to the fact that Ray Charles’ set the previous evening was disrupted by a drunken riot prompting a police response that included: (1) water hoses, (2) tear gas, and (3) the calling of the National Guard, (4) the Marines and (5) the U.S. Navy Shore Patrol, with 200 arrests and 160 injured. Seriously. This was Newport Rhode Island, folks. Somebody besides Muddy Waters had his mojo workin’. If for no other reason than its historical significance, this record is well worth a listen. 3/5

The Joshua Tree by U2 (1987) The American spy plane with the designation “U-2” is an instrument of war designed to peer surreptitiously (from 70,000 feet) into things the enemy doesn’t want you to see. As the name of an Irish rock band, U2 is potently and multi-valently symbolic of what they’re trying to do. From the high altitude of their aesthetic perception, they endeavor to make these things seen by ‘you too’. And boy, do they succeed. When I first listened to this album at the time of its 1987 release, I concluded immediately that it was one of the greatest recordings I had ever heard. My judgment hasn’t changed in 34 years. Lead singer/lyricist Bono’s words stand as poetry on their own. Technical innovation by guitarist The Edge more than compensates for any deficiency in virtuosity. Adam Clayton on bass and Larry Mullen, Jr. on drums/percussion together provide a rhythm section that goes far beyond foundation, making compositional contributions that round out the near-symphonic sound. And Bono’s vocal delivery is infused with passion, sincerity, dynamism, and color. When one focuses all this Irish talent toward a not-so-surreptitious gaze at “God’s Country” (that would be the USA), guided by producer Brian Eno, the result is high art. What makes the sound so great on this record is the subtle use of silence. It creates distance, scope, and room for the reverberations and echoes. The Edge finds a way to make a guitar sound like chimes, church-bells, and pipe organ, all of which require sonic space. And Eno gives us plenty of it. Longing for a transcendence that leaves linguistic tags behind, the first-person opening track (“Where the Streets Have No Name”) summons the listener to join in an adventure of seeing—together. “When I go there I go there with you .” It’s part of what makes us human. But we’ve not yet seen clearly (“I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”), even if we’ve gazed intently into the Paschal Mystery. There are lots of angels and demons on this trip, helping us to see what some say ain’t even there. Plenty of metaphysical strife. And we’re caught right up in it. The beginning of the bridge at (1:47) on “With Or Without You” produces a shiver, as even the first-time listener knows what’s coming. And the gradual buildup in the dirge for a junkie “Running to Stand Still” (2:14 to 3:04) resolving in the hushed climax is powerfully poignant. Bono’s wailing lead vocal on the chorus of “Red Hill Mining Town” leaves one cold. And the screaming lament over Chilean singer/songwriter Victor Jara (at 4:09 on “One Tree Hill”) fires our passions. Jara was one of the “poets [who] speak their heart then bleed for it” (actually the bleeding wasn’t the worst part—he was tortured before being shot). These are musical moments of naked drama. And there are so many more on this record. How many tears ya got? In terms of socio-political outlook, this album gives unreconstructed Reaganites something to think about whenever America considers the use of lethal force to confront undoubted evils in places like Nicaragua and El Salvador (“Bullet the Blue Sky”, “Mothers of the Disappeared”). While such force may have produced measurable gains for good in Berlin, Moscow, Warsaw, and Prague, what would be the effect in Kosovo, Baghdad, and Kabul? And what lessons can be applied today in response to injustices in Xingjian and Addis Ababa? Do we “stoop so low” in order to “reach so high”? One should always listen to this record immediately after reading George W. Bush’s Second Inaugural Address. Because of The Joshua Tree, this U2 will persistently be there to help us see the innocent human element and “hear their heartbeat” (in “Mothers of the Disappeared”), even if the enemy prefers we look (and listen) elsewhere. This not just great music. It is has a cultural, political, and spiritual potency that gives voice to the world-soul. 5/5

Antichrist Superstar by Marilyn Manson (1996). This is sophomoric wordplay and shamelessly derivative eschatological schlock. Marilyn Manson appears to be confused about the nature of ‘Antichrist’ (which is only to be expected, since the Antichrist himself will likely be confused about the nature of ‘Antichrist’). Antichrist is not, I repeat not, a dualistic opposition to Christ. It is not like the Zoroastrian dualism of Ahura Mazda/Ahriman, or the Taoist dualism of Yin/Yang, or even the Kabbalist opposition of tsim/tsum (despite Manson’s moniker for new guitarist “Zim Zum”, replacing Daisy Berkowitz for the album’s promotional tour). Marilyn Manson is a theological Nestorian. Granted, he is both anti-human and anti-divine, but his pretentious conception of Antichrist fails (as all conceptions of antichrist fail) in that he bifurcates the human and divine, focusing on the ‘anti’ and ignoring the Christ. Nietzsche (to whom the album is dedicated, albeit without a share in the royalties) shared this flaw, but at least Nietzsche had a measure of coherence. If you attack Christ as human, he’ll just die on you. If you attack him as God, you’ll be the one dying. But if you attack him as the One who is fully human and fully divine (two natures united without confusion, change, division, or separation in one divine Person), you’ll end up changing your mind. Hopefully before it’s too late. You see, “antichrist” is, at best, pretense. This is why St. John summarized the “spirit of Antichrist” as denial of the incarnation (1 John 4:2-3). Memorize this fact before you mess with the term. Marilyn Manson and G.K. Chesterton share a common quality—they both have a talent for and preoccupation with discerning paradox. Manson’s paradoxes are solidly and invariably on the dark side, however, while Chesterton’s paradoxes (generally by an indirect route) strive for redemption. Plus, Manson’s paradoxes are of a much poorer quality. But the rhetorical thrust is the same, and the effect is similar, especially as Manson aims for a somewhat lower brow. I set out to highlight all the trite expressions on my lyric sheets, but my highlighter ran out of ink. Antichrist Superstar is not countercultural. It stands firmly on one side of a cultural divide, but it is definitely expressive of a ‘culture’. It just doesn’t happen to be the culture that some would prefer (like Democratic Senator Joseph Lieberman and Republican former Secretary of Education William Bennett, who famously described this album/group as “disgusting” and “sick”). What do you expect in a country that sanctions the destruction of its own offspring? This artistic/commercial endeavor is simply capitalizing on a cultural development that had already taken place. Cha-ching. It has some formal trappings of rock ‘opera’, but it’s lacking so many essential elements of narrative or drama that I’m not buying it. Listen to this once (if you must) and move on. 1/5

Sheet Music by 10cc (1974) This what you might call zany British pop, nostalgic for some, perhaps, but if you’ve never heard it before (like me), you’re likely to not like it. It’s very experimental, and most of the experiments fail. It’s hard to take a record seriously that seems to laugh at itself. “We’re the worst band in the world”, they giggle. They exaggerate, of course, but that’s part of the joke. 1/5

The Velvet Underground & Nico by The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967) If one is careful to keep in mind that this was produced in 1967, one can appreciate its positives while observing its many negatives. On the plus side, the music of The Velvet Underground, led by singer/guitarist/songwriter Lou Reed (of the great hit “Walk on the Wild Side”, 1972), successfully breaks from the sometimes stifling confines of 1-3-5 chord structures and Scotch-Irish melodies (tracks 4, 10, 11). The group deploys a groundbreaking ‘droning’ compositional structure (tracks 5, 6, 7, 10) that would be (more successfully) followed by others (e.g., the last six minutes of “Three Days” by Jane’s Addiction) And the lyrics make a more explicit dive into the hitherto under-explored themes of opioid use and sadomasochistic ‘sexuality’ (Some will argue that this is not a ‘plus’, until one admits that since these themes are part of our culture, it would be a poverty if artists were forbidden to treat of them). On the negative side, these works are poorly performed. Nico (tracks 3, 6, and 9) cannot sing. And her voice is not helped on “Femme Fatale” by the serious distortion on her channel (too much gain required?). Sterling Morrison’s rhythm guitar is frequently out of tune; likewise John Cale’s viola is suffering in the intonation. Maureen Taylor’s drumming is good and innovative, but it fails monstrously in the attempt to keep the group together, especially in passages where there are frequent and complex tempo changes (e.g., on “Heroin”—although it could be argued that this was intentional, to produce a ‘heroin effect’, in which case it was a bad musical choice, and it confirms my dictum that heroin always screws up the music). I suspect that Reed and Taylor paid little attention to one another in the studio. I also suspect that this rhythmic disjunction was so bad that on several occasions Taylor was dropped from the mix altogether. The recordings are under-rehearsed and sloppily improvisational. The musical ad lib is fine for concerts, but an album is an album. And finally, it’s terribly obvious that the group needs a good (and brave) bass player. Brian Eno famously said of the influence of this album that while only 30,000 people bought it, they all went out and formed rock bands. To the extent that that’s true, it could have been because those 30,000 thought anybody can do this. Listen to the closing track “European Son” (as much as you can stand) for an illustration. Brian Eno should stick to producing. 2/5

The Yes Album by Yes (1971) Progressive rock can only be assessed in retrospect. It is not ‘progressive’ in a political (Marxist) sense, where the end is already in view and the object is to get there as soon as possible by any means necessary. But neither is progressive rock merely experimental. It breaks into new ground where others follow. The Yes Album was a step into that new territory. The Russian poet Osip Mandelstam (1891-1938) described his poetic compositional process as beginning with a ‘hum’ or a ‘ringing in the ears’, followed by a sound that, in turn, prompted a ‘moving of the lips’, and called forth words (Nadezhda Mandelstam, Hope Against Hope, p. 71 [Unlike Solzhenitsyn, Osip Mandelstam did not survive the Gulag.]). One gets a clear sense that a similar process is at work in the development of the music of The Yes Album. The sound informs the selection of words—lyrics that beg rhythmic elaboration. Narrative is incidental. Euphony is paramount. Passion is subterranean—indeed it is shifted from the heart of the artist to the heart of the beholder. The music of Yes is like a mind workout—a labor of the intellect, after which the soul feels refreshed. Heavily colored with close vocal three-part harmonies led by Jon Anderson, virtuoso guitar by Steve Howe and melodic bass lines by Chris Squires, this music challenges the listener with elaborate yet sensible variations in tempo, key, and balance—a delight to the ears. And what Tony Kaye adds on piano, organ, and synthesizer (e.g., “I’ve Seen All Good People” and “A Venture”) is heavenly. This is music that succeeds without hooks and grooves. You’re not likely to whistle these tunes, but the music sticks. I remember in high school when this album came out, there were those who dug Yes and those who dug, say, Three Dog Night. Those who dug The Yes Album were likely to also like classical music. Those who dug Three Dog Night were likely to get sent to the office for chewing gum. 4/5

A Love Supreme by John Coltrane (1965) The great saxophonist John Coltrane leads (on tenor) this quartet, comprising McCoy Tyner (piano), Jimmy Garrison (double bass), and Elvin Jones (drums, percussion) in a complex fantasia of jazz wonder. Coltrane is careful not to dominate, giving plenty of space for individual virtuosity, thus satisfying a wide range of musical curiosity for 33 minutes. A very nice listen, well worth repeating. I did. Jones’ restless drumming provides energy throughout, sometimes sounding as if he had three hands. Tyler’s piano is intelligent, leading the listener through elaborate and sometimes blazing chord changes and dazzling solo scales. Garrison’s bass sometimes feels like it’s trying to keep up, yet is excellent on intonation, faithful providing fullness at the bottom of the tonal range. But Coltrane’s tenor sax shines, establishing the guiding motif at the beginning of each of the four ‘movements’ on this album (delayed in #2 and #3), and then exploding into sonic poetry. The progressions are inventive without being shocking or chaotic. Each phrase seems to make sense. I remain perplexed by the shift in the balance at 5:43 of the opening track, but other than that, the recording and mixing seems to be first rate for 1965. Most listeners (like me) shouldn’t presume to understand all of what’s going on here, but to simply affirm or deny whether the music has accomplished Coltrane’s stated goal of producing happiness in the heart. I say yes. 4/5

With The Beatles by The Beatles (1963) In retrospect, With The Beatles had all the elements that would establish The Beatles as the generation-defining musical group they would ultimately become. They would be no flash in the pan. Delicately exploring variations from standard chord structures, they were innovating without leaving the audience behind. They performed with flawless rhythm and grounding. And their melodies were and remain inspiring. The album is not without its flaws. The vocals lack maturity and discipline (especially in doubling dubs, the percussive ‘wows’ and ‘yeahs’, and a few diction flubs). The engineering is stuck in a formulaic rut, with instrumentals in the left channel and vocals in the right (exception: “Money”—the best mix on the album). Almost sixty years later, some of this sounds quaint. But nostalgically quaint. The most soulful original lyric is George Harrison’s “Don’t Bother Me”—the rest are relatively shallow, zeroed in on romantic adolescent male desire. It’s no wonder these songs drove the girls crazy. Their covers of other artists’ songs (six of the fourteen tracks on this record) are usually not as as strong as the originals, and the Lennon/McCartney vocal blend needed development (especially when they sang in unison). But all the essential elements were there—solid guitar by Harrison, and instinctively tight rhythm by Ringo Starr (drums) and Paul McCartney (bass) with vocal and rhythm guitar leadership by John Lennon all put together the complete rock and roll package. The musical standout on this album is “All My Loving”. Listening on headphones for the first time, I was pleased to discover the importance of the sixteenth note played by Harrison on electric rhythm guitar just before the beginning of each measure in the verse, but left off at the start of each phrase. He creates a rhythmic anticipation that drives the already rapid pace. Underrated genius here. He was only twenty years old. While not the best of The Beatles, this work stands as a rock and roll staple, and provides tremendous explanatory power for much of what followed. It shouted, “Wait till you hear what’s coming, folks.” 4/5

Headhunters by Herbie Hancock (1973) Here we have accessible jazz in a funk/pop spread. The groove and two-chord alternation in the opening track “Chameleon” are both recognizable and memorable. I suspect, however, that jazz purists would be disappointed by the album’s overall simplicity, repetitiveness, and electronic gimmickry. Herbie Hancock creates a pleasing enough sound, with colorful whiz bang electronic keyboard and off-base percussion, but the improvisations and solos are tonally elementary, except Bennie Maupin’s soprano sax and Hancock’s keyboard solos on “Sly”—excellent. There are several moments of comic character; one hopes that this was intentional. The bass lines are monotonous, especially when played on keyboards. But Paul Jackson’s bass guitar performance is very good. The key feature on this album is its accessibility. It cooks. Everybody can dig it, tapping feet and fingers (thanks to Harvey Mason’s excellent and precise drumming). The best track is the relaxed and reverie-inducing closing track “Vein Melter”. But the dated sound (Fender Rhodes and ARP synthesized strings) robs it of any potentially enduring quality. Hopefully a serious listen to this album will prompt one to explore Hancock’s more compositionally developed work. 3/5

If I Could Only Remember My Name by David Crosby (1971) In 2010, during the pontificate of Benedict XVI, the leading Roman Catholic periodical L’Osservatore Romano listed this record as #2 on “Top 10 Greatest Pop Albums of All Time”. That should get the attention of a few of the readers of these reviews. The PG-rated lyrics of the first two tracks (language, nudity, violence, sexual situations) present themes of charity and justice that land shakily on the right side of Catholic moral thought, however lacking they may be in poetic depth. The rest of the album is truth, peace, love—you know, hippie stuff. Heavy, man. Don’t Bogart; pass the joint. Musically, the album is sometimes excessively repetitive, but with nice improvisational flourishes from a wide range of rock superstars (Graham Nash, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Jerry Garcia, Grace Slick, and many others climbing on board the David Crosby train). Crosby comfortably dispenses with lyrics altogether on four of these nine tracks, revealing his true genius in composition, vocal harmony, and expansive instrumentation. His jazz-influenced melodies and chord structures are typical Crosby—one can readily identify other Crosby songs that have a doppelgänger on this record. That’s nice for reminiscence, but those familiar with his oeuvre would have appreciated a fresh palette. The traditional song “Orléans” is a missed opportunity for a canon perpetuus sung with really fine voices. See if you’re as disappointed as I was. The closing track “I’d Swear There Was Somebody Here” is too brief, but it gives a nice idea of the music that swirled in David Crosby’s head. It’s really beautiful, but one could do without the twang. The cover art is a nice photomontage suggestive of a joyful tear falling from the eye of the artist beholding beauty—reflections of a sunset over the sea. (Or is it a sunrise? You decide.) In sum, this album is good, but not great. L’Osservatore Romano is not, after all, infallible. I don’t believe Acta Apostolicae Sedis rates albums. Let me know if they ever do. 3/5

System of a Down by System of a Down (1998) Four young American men of Armenian extraction have some serious beefs with religion, politics, social constructs, interpersonal relationships, and historical indignities. Some of these beefs are entirely justified (e.g., the Armenian Genocide in “P.L.U.C.K.”). They choose heavy metal, an appropriate métier, to express their ire, and on some levels, it works. While it cannot be denied that System of a Down takes metal to another level, their work is tainted by Serj Tankian’s limited (and elvish) vocal delivery, and an anti-melodic savagery that distracts from the art. Apart from that it’s pretty good, and it has its moving moments. But then they move on. A listener struggles to laugh and rage simultaneously. 2/5

A Rush of Blood to the Head by Coldplay (2002) Looking at the title and cover art, one might expect that someone has found a vapid solution to the problem of “A Rush of Blood to the Head”, but one would prematurely be selling this album short. It’s really very good. The lyrics demonstrate a fondness for development and closure. They thoughtfully express the need to love and be loved. And not without an element of both humility and hope. But if you’re lonely, they could make you sad. So be careful. These are songs that penetrate to the soft parts of the soul. While compositional structures are generally colorful and predictable, with steady tempos and rhythmic variety, melodies frequently feature unexpected line endings—a real plus. Simple string arrangements provide a soothing background to a number of tracks. Chris Martin’s lead vocals are strong enough to deliver both the message and the music. Several of these songs could well find their way onto playlists for background while you work. “Don't ever say you're on your way down when God gave you style and gave you grace And put a smile upon your face” Yes. He does that. 4/5

Live and Dangerous by Thin Lizzy (1978) As live albums go, this one is very good, but it’s still a live album, which means, for hard rock, it’s not very good. Importuning chatter with the audience, lame verbal song introductions, even lamer band member introductions, off-tempo handclaps, applause interruptions in the quiet moments, lowbrow yelling, artificial endings, etc., etc.—all this takes away from the music. Technically, it is generally well recorded (for a live album) but there are many weak spots, including, for example, a far too subdued saxophone solo by John Earle on “Dancing In the Moonlight” and harmonica solo by Huey Lewis (yes!) on “Baby Drives Me Crazy”. What a waste of electrons. Thin Lizzy gives powerful performances, tight and experienced. God, these guys rock! Lead vocals by Phil Lynott are strong but lacking variety in his melodies and stylings. (Why do the lead solo parts all sound like “The Boys Are Back In Town”?) Bass (Lynott) and drums (Brian Downey) are outstanding. Guitar performances (Brian Robertson and Scott Gorham) are top-notch professional (especially in tandem!), even if they sometimes sound like they were recorded with microphones placed here in the listener’s living room, while the guys were playing in the high school gymnasium next door. The live version of “The Boys Are Back in Town” is far, far inferior to the studio version. Dud. Brian Downey’s superb drum solo on “Sha-La-La” (with fantastic slow phase shifting) is superbly screwed up by a hand-clapping audience that gets lost on the tempo change. Everybody laughs and has a good time, but I’m steaming. The point of this criticism is that nowadays, with streaming, the listener can put a collection of tracks together as a playlist of readily available studio versions. Why even listen to a tax-minimizing product (They admit it!) that amounts to a not-so-greatest hits compilation? The takeaway emotion here is regret either (1) that I wasn’t listening to the studio recordings, or (2) that I wasn’t at the concerts. Maybe there should be a list of “1001 Concerts You Should Have Attended But Didn’t—Now Go Die!” 2/5

Electric Music for the Mind and Body by Country Joe and The Fish (1967) McDonald’s moniker “Country Joe” is a reference to Joseph Stalin, and Barry Melton’s moniker “The Fish” is a reference to Mao Zedong (Wikipedia); you see, mommies, daddies, and managers were post-WWII socialists. This was music that was loved at the time because it was so ‘counter-cultural’. And it was loved by people who celebrated their difference from the mainstream by imitating each other. This mindset was perfectly parodied by Dick Shawn in the 1967 Mel Brooks classic “The Producers”. The ‘message’ is carried by trite lyrics that clunk along and stop just short of expressing feeling. It’s what you get when you turn red diaper babies loose in the studio. Lyrically, the album seems to be excusing itself by saying, “Since I’m stoned, I don’t have to make sense”. There’s one weeny stab at amateur political satire of LBJ (“Superbird”) that can be reduced to “I don’t like you, nyaah, nyaah”. And when a songwriter says (“Sad and Lonely Times”), “I can’t find the words to tell you how I care”, the listener can’t help but say, “Well, keep searching and get back to me”. Lead guitar has some nice moments (“Death Sound”, “Bass Strings”) with sparkling blues runs, inventive rapid tremolo and tasteful reverb, but it’s slapped against lead vocals that utterly lack soul. Plus, the bass strings on “Bass Strings” are seriously out of tune (actually, this is the case on most of the album). And there’s often an annoying mismatch between the gimmicky guitar effects (e.g., “Porpoise Mouth”) and the lyrical mood. Organ and harmonica on the pretentiously ‘psychedelic’ extended “Section 43” are strictly amateur. The closing track “Grace” (supposedly a tribute to Grace Slick) is so bad I can picture Slick saying, “Thanks, but no thanks.” It’s all about love, peace, getting high, stop the war, yada yada. And it’s all so plastic—an album that begs not to be taken seriously. 1/5

Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea by PJ Harvey (2000) These songs are edgy enough, and sometimes as dark as their New York-themed atmosphere, with about half the tracks consisting of love songs that produce emotional harmonic overtones in the hearts of male listeners. There’s nothing formulaic about these frequently striking compositions, although there’s sometimes a disjointed relationship between the meter of the music and the meter of the lyrics. She’s fond of 6/8 time. In “Kamikaze”, for instance, she can make 6/8 rock—not a conventional approach. Lead vocal melodies are inelaborate, and styled like Edie Brickell-esque lazy loops. Harvey does not have a naturally strong voice. There’s a tremendous difference in quality between the sultry lower stretches and the weak and sometimes off-pitch upper regions of her contralto range. The syncopated 7/8 (over 3/4 on a single tone) on the verses of “One Line” is hypnotic—difficult to pull off, but she succeeds. Harvey excels on this album when she steps away from convention. Her more ‘pop’ compositions are okay, but the songs “One Line”, “Beautiful Feeling”, and the fittingly hopeful closing track “We Float” are all very good. They have an analgesic vibe. Her guitar playing is not flashy, but it sustains interest, with variety in chord structures and deft use of effects. It calls to mind The Edge of U2. The chief artistic merits of this album are PJ Harvey’s guitar and piano colorings, and their expansive tone. It is interesting. It’s nice. And good. I think I’ll listen again. 3/5

Since I Left You by The Avalanches (2000) On the plus side, there is a remarkable consistency on each of these tracks in tempo and tonality. On the minus side is everything else. 1/5

Ágætis byrjun by Sigur Rós (1999) It’s a rare album that can induce tears on a first listen, but this is it. A first person narrative beginning in the womb, a boy anticipates nativity with an awareness of transience, reticence, impatience, and the explosive violence of birth, followed by experiences of the comforting softness in his early sensations. Then, as a toddler, an awakening in his nursery room is marked by the image of an elf running toward him, strangely without getting closer. And in his reflexive effort to check his surroundings, he notices that something is missing—the walls. And we’re only four minutes into the third track. I strongly recommend listening to this album while following an English translation of the lyrics (unless, of course, you know Icelandic!). The dramatic development of the narrative is set to a composition that makes just enough contact with Western traditional music to keep it accessible, with string octet, bowed guitar, and brass ensemble providing the dominant settings. Not without horror, disappointment, and reverie, Sigur Rós walks us toward a celebratory contentment with what God provides. I won’t spoil any more of the experience of a first listen, other than to say that this slow tempo sonic masterpiece will take considerable time to absorb. En það verður ei gott að fórna sér Dagarnir eru langir (But someone has to sacrifice himself The days are long) 5/5

The Specials by The Specials (1979) Revival Ska is an acquired taste. Accents on the offbeats dominate, spiced by horn flashes, and driven by walking bass lines and rapid, steely percussion fills; it’s music that makes you dance, but not feel or think. The Specials pull off this self-mockingly comic mood without monotony (quite an accomplishment), chiefly because of the excellence of Horace Panter’s bass playing, and very good performances by John Bradbury on drums and Rico Rodriguez (underutilized) on trombone. Having Elvis Costello producing certainly helps. But two things kill this album: horrible singing and idiosyncratic, anti-redemptive preachiness. The less said about this, the better. This not an album for the ages. I’m sure in 1979 is was very cool. 1/5

2112 by Rush (1976) Dazzling performances by prog rock trio Rush carry this very listenable album. The opening twenty-minute suite “2112” is held together by a dystopian sci-fi narrative based on the Ayn Rand novella Anthem. The story line is rather banal, but the ambiguous ending leaves the listener with a positive message whether it is technically comic or tragic. Music, Rush reveals to us, “does” something to the human soul: “Listen to my music And hear what it can do There's something here that's as strong as life I know that it will reach you” And of course, it’s fitting that the discovered instrument for opening the heart of the protagonist is a guitar. The rest of the album (side two) lacks the cohesion of (and with) “2112”, but it still has its highlights. The power, diversity, intricacy, and musicality of these three artists is on full display. Wild diversity of rhythms alone are enough to sustain interest. And with blazing fills on drums (Neil Peart) and extraordinarily inventive guitar and bass (Alex Lifeson and Geddy Lee), Rush once again demonstrates the potential of a rock ensemble to drive sound straight into the soul. 4/5

On the Beach by Neil Young (1974) I’ve always been a fan of Neil Young, but I’ve never heard this album, which is shame, because it’s really good, if understandably unpopular. This is music that would have helped at times when tough decisions had to be made. Young does despair with panache, and causes the listener to take a deep breath, turn in the right direction and “Walk On”. The hope is but implicit (except the last line of this otherwise unpolitical record—take that, Nixon! [The headline on the 3/20/74 newspaper in the cover photo reads: “Sen. Buckley Calls On Nixon To Resign”. Three weeks after the release of this album, he did]). The Wurlitzer electric piano with its sometimes weirdly exaggerated tremolo spoils the dreary mood on several of these tracks (2, 3, 6). But the mournful slide guitar (Ben Keith) and Young’s uniquely forlorn voice fittingly provide the dark atmosphere for these compositions. Young explores the lower end of his vocal range on “On the Beach”, “Motion Pictures”, and “Ambulance Blues”. For those of you who don’t like his singing, you should listen to these three tracks before writing him off. This is music for a cold, blustery autumn day, when you’d like some good news, but there probably ain’t any. 3/5

Sweetheart of the Rodeo by The Byrds (1968) Just because an album is influential doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s good. It can be (and has been) argued that without the pioneering country ‘rock’ of Sweetheart of the Rodeo, there never would have been The Eagles or America or The Doobie Brothers or etc., etc. Well, maybe. But this little piece of cultural appropriation just doesn’t stand on its own. There is no original songwriting on this record, although the opening and closing tracks, as country-styled covers of Bob Dylan songs, reproduce a formula that had made the Byrds successful in earlier years—making Dylan somewhat more accessible to the pop world. This works for “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” (the best track on the album by far), but the Byrds just can’t pull this off when covering Woody Guthrie, Merle Haggard, The Louvin Brothers, or even traditional songs. Roger McGuinn’s lead vocals (on six of these eleven tracks) are not that good. He lacks the soul (yes, soul) of classic country, and his faux Alabama accent on “The Christian Life” is teeth-grindingly annoying. And the lead vocals of Gram Parsons (on three tracks) are only marginally better. But the standard country vocal harmonies are above average, albeit with sync problems (did they miss David Crosby?). Arrangements that include pedal steel, banjo, mandolin, and fiddle are artful and appealing, and mostly performed by competent session musicians. This feature alone is what makes the album listenable. The Byrds’ performance of “The Christian Life” by The Louvin Brothers is completely unconvincing. And “The Prison Life” sounds even more insincere (Frilly country shuffle and suicidal thoughts don’t make a good combination.) “One Hundred Years from Now” is the only track that really shows a country-rock fusion. The rest are inexperienced attempts to reproduce a country sound. I’d much rather hear Dolly Parton or Merle Haggard or Buck Owens or Johnny Cash—each for different reasons. The Byrds, however, as country artists, simply sound amateurish. It’s sad to note that a great group like The Byrds (in their brief Gram Parsons period), performing these great songs, put forward such a disappointing musical effort. 2/5

Who’s Next by The Who (1971) [Is this the best album cover ever?] How many of us first heard this album in our formative years, when we began to discover that hard rock was an art form, a catalyst for serious reflection on answers to the big questions, for markers along the trail toward maturity and contentment, for companionship in the pursuit of truth that we could not get from our teachers, pastors, coaches, father-figures, counselors, and drill sergeants? How many of us sat at the feet of a sage like Pete Townshend when we had tried and failed to distill life’s lessons from George McGovern, Walter Cronkite, Malcolm X, T.S. Eliot, Karl Marx, and Saints Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John? How many of us were there? And how many of us are left? We learned from the songs we absorbed. We learned that the nature of love is sacrificial (“Bargain”), that love for spouse and offspring is not passive but active (“Love Ain’t for Keeping”), that in the midst of the anger and the vengefully voided conscience of being misunderstood, self restraint is wiser than violence (“Behind Blue Eyes”), that adolescent angst is only a ‘teenage wasteland’ (“Baba O’Riley”), and that this Revolution too will pass when the ‘slogans are effaced’ and ‘the beards have all grown longer’ (“Won’t Get Fooled Again”). Of course, all these truths could have been found in the Christian faith, but the searching was hard when the more popular theologians and moralists of the mid-twentieth century had so royally screwed it up. So how many of us became atheists who had to seek these truths elsewhere? But these priceless truths would be inaccessible without a suitable vehicle of expression. It had to be heavy (“Getting In Tune”), dexterous (“Going Mobile”), and punctuated with comic relief (“My Wife”). So this is where the music comes in—guitar, bass, drums, piano, synthesizer (yes, we were ready for that), and voices that could both melt hearts (“The Song Is Over”) and produce involuntary cris de coeur. Putting yourself in the context of a post-revolutionary survivor, patiently listen to “Won’t Get Fooled Again” (loud!) and take note of what happens in your upper thoracic region at the 7:43 mark. I dare you. The physicality is astonishing. The best (and most paternal) transition from Side One to Side Two in the history of recorded music: “The song is over Excepting one note, pure and easy Playing so free, like a breath rippling by . . . I’m singing this note . . . But I’m in tune, and I’m gonna tune right in on you.” This is the album that first compelled me to listen seriously. What album did that for you? 5/5

Five Leaves Left by Nick Drake (1969) British folk singer/songwriter Nick Drake accompanies himself on dreamy, floating, and clean acoustic guitar. Lyrics are reflective, fatalistic, and mostly sad, but lacking maturity (He wrote them before he turned 21). They’re metrically loose, but too strongly attached to simple rhyme. Evoking sympathy, if not empathy, they bring out the paternal in the soft hearted listener, but there’s no need to get all weepy. Not yet, anyway. Chord structures are jazz/folk eclectic, sometimes bordering on the arbitrary (especially on the opening track “Time Has Told Me”, “Three Hours”, and portions of others). He keeps the listener on his/her toes. Spare but inventive instrumentals (strings, double bass, congas, piano, flute, double reeds) are well arranged, providing striking and fulsome background to Drake’s vocal and guitar stylings—very intelligent choices here. The melodies and instrumentals are as humorless as the words, except on “Man In a Shed”, which is a bit of a mismatch between lyrics and musical setting, but is entertaining enough anyway. No drumsticks are heard on this record, except very subdued on the slow closing track “Saturday Sun”, with delicate vibraphone and trap set. Cello and vocal hum duet at the end “‘Cello Song” is hypnotic—I’ve never heard anything like it. Drake’s voice is recorded without reverb or dubbing, producing a clean and smooth timbre reminiscent of Leonard Cohen—a safe choice when one’s pipes lack classic range, strength, and vibrato. It takes a lot of breath, but he never seems to run out. I don’t know why, but on first listen, I frequently wanted to hear some of these songs performed by Judy Collins. Or maybe Kenny Rankin. Or maybe you & me. Yeah, you & me. The album is over fifty years old, but if you had told me it was recorded last week I wouldn’t have doubted you. I’m afraid if I listen to this too many times, I’ll fall in love with it. Too late. One time did it. I downloaded it and added eight of these ten tracks to my “Wooden Music” playlist for a long drive on two-lane highways in the Far West. Alone. This is a good album. Where are the suits when you need them? 4/5

Darklands by The Jesus and Mary Chain (1987) It’s refreshing to hear baritone voices in a rock mix, but drum machine and lack of bass lines destroy this relentlessly boring attempt at music by two archetypically untalented sibling guitarists. Lyrics make you wonder what was on their alleged minds. Because they are ubiquitously expressive of completely numbed souls—delivered with an equally numb vocal tone quality. They sink this dud into a muddy abyss. Slowly. Don’t listen to this album before you die. Save it for Purgatory. 1/5

Sunday at the Village Vanguard by The Bill Evans Trio (1961) For those who, like me, have limited but pleasant experiences of progressive jazz, this album is a treat, however difficult it is to fully understand. Hopscotching in an orderly manner around the circle of fifths, Bill Evans on piano leads the trio with delicate and colorful elaborations, paced by steady but subdued rhythms on (mostly) snare and cymbals by drummer Paul Motian. But the most entrancing work on this record is delivered by bassist Scott LaFaro, whose virtuosity is dazzling. His composition “Jade Visions”, the closing track, is mesmerizing. Sadly, LaFaro died in a car accident ten days after this performance. The most melodically accessible track “Alice in Wonderland” is a good place to start. For those who love drum solos, check out the trio’s cover of Cole Porter’s “All of You”—skillful if not ambitious. As a live album, it is burdened by the distracting audience noise, droning along in the background by the small assembled crowd who are obviously not engaged in a serious listen. They’re not just ordering drinks. And their tepid, polite, and seemingly obligatory applause at the end of each number is anticlimactic. But that’s live jazz. Sigh. 4/5

Boy in Da Corner by Dizzee Rascal (2003) If you’re tired of standard East Coast/West Coast hip hop, Dizzee Rascal offers a little variety. His Ghanaian/British accent and idiosyncratic background sounds are arresting. On the other hand, this debut outing is lacking in the production quality of mainstream American rap/hip hop. And his unalloyed meanness is unconvincing, clothed in a significant amount of sonic goofiness (e.g., “Hold Ya Mouf”). His compositions include flavorings from the Far East, Africa, 20th century European choral music, and a heavy dose of urban America. It’s really a wild display, by a young and conflicted soul. Rascal’s voice lacks menace and power, but he displays sufficient rhythmic sense to carry the songs in the absence of dominant beats. He seems to have discovered that overpowering percussion sometimes gets in the way of vocal performance. This is a plus. In the hypersonic “Jus’ a Rascal”, his athletic diction is given a full workout. Many American rappers could learn from him in the “percussive consonants” unit of Elocution 101. On the other hand, his vowels, blends, and diphthongs are frequently lost at sea somewhere between the English Channel and the Cape of Good Hope. “2 Far” is an interesting techno/hip hop fusion piece, rationalizing antisocial behavior while being accompanied by what sounds like Alvin and the Chipmunks. I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or grab my .45 and inventory my family members. Interesting, but not enduring. 2/5

Rock Bottom by Robert Wyatt (1974) When Robert Wyatt so self-assertingly identified (then, anyway) as a Communist (not the ‘Eurocommunist’ variety, but the hard core unreconstructed Stalinist ‘Tanky’ type), he invited an assessment of what’s beneath the apparent nonsense on this record. When confronted with innovation, a serious listener will seek to understand. This involves, at minimum, a look into the artist’s cultural context. Now, this is not a political album. It presents itself as experimental, psychedelic ‘rock’. And to be fair, I discerned two moments of beauty in the midst of all the failed experiments on this record. But what kind of over-compartmentalized mind produces these remaining sonic doodles? The listener must set aside the (totally justifiable) pity for the artist’s personal circumstances and assess why is there all this disorder? Why must simple scales be punctuated with seemingly arbitrary and certainly inconsistent atonality? (This ain’t Arnold Schoenberg or Alban Berg.) As an analogy, the same question might be posed upon viewing a Jackson Pollock painting in 1955 or Vincent Van Gogh in 1890. It’s not that it is necessarily bad art. It’s that the ‘why’ of the art is yet to be discerned. A turn to the poetry of Osip Mandelstam is instructive, on the flip side of the Stalin phenomenon. Nonsense can indeed have sublimely potent meaning. But I’m not seeing or hearing it at Rock Bottom. Why, I would ask Mr. Wyatt, is there all this chaos, all this disregard for conventional (at least) conceptions of what is good, true, and beautiful? Surely it’s not merely a Bolshevik revolutionary desire to destroy classic liberal notions of art. Surely it’s not merely Capitalist avarice. Surely it’s not a neo-Gnostic triumph of undefined spirit over matter. Surely it’s not a Socialist grab at the affirmative action brass ring. Critics are at a loss to explain this (I am not alone; and, in the interest of full disclosure, I, too, was a Communist. When I was 11. I grew out of it). One is left scratching one’s head. I really want to know. You got my attention, but briefly. Was that the point all along? 1/5

Qui sème le vent récolte le tempo by MC Solaar (1991) Cet album est fascinant, en raison de sa fusion de hip hop, jazz, reggae et funk. Pour les anglophones, le fait qu’il soit composé et interprété dans Français n’est pas vraiment un obstacle au plaisir. Il est particulièrement remarquable pour avoir été produit en 1991. C’était assez tôt pour avoir une influence significative sur les rappeurs britanniques et américains. Nous y étions en 1917 et 1944. Avec ce disque, MC Solaar rend la pareille. Merci. La chanson-titre est une tournure intéressante du proverbe biblique « Qui sème le vent récolte la tempête » (Osée 8,7). MC Solaar échange « tempo » contre « tempête », une petite synecdoque astucieuse qui fonctionne poétiquement sinon exégétiquement. Je suis sûr qu’Osée avait autre chose en tête. MC Solaar n’a pas de type de voix que les Américains associent habituellement au rap ou au hip hop. Il a une qualité plutôt apaisante, ce qui rend l’expérience d’écoute très accessible. Certaines de ces chansons ont des arrière-plans éthérés et des rythmes sensuels. Dans « Quatier Nord » et « Ragga Jam », MC Solaar démontre une grande habileté à l’articulation rapide des consonnes. Ses styles vocaux sont polis et bien assortis à l’ambiance de chaque composition. C’est un disque qui élargit ses horizons musicaux. Ce serait un excellent album pour la musique de fond pour le travail. Pardonnez mon expression dans Français. 4/5

Surf’s Up by The Beach Boys (1971) The Beach Boys are loved for their signature style of ‘surfer rock’: hot rods, surfboards, summertime, pretty girls. But that’s not what we get on this album. Indeed the only mention of surfing is in the single, unnecessary, and mournfully obscure line in the closing title track: “Surf’s up, mm-mm”. Unconnected. Embarrassingly ironic (as in ‘Surf may be up, but we’ve run out of daffy things to say about it, so here are some daffy things about more important stuff’). The phrase is awkwardly out of place in an expressionistic pastiche about everything but the joys of catching a wave. Indeed the only track that remotely touches the subject of surfing is the environmentalist alarum “Don’t Go Near the Water”. What’s going on here? We get plenty of their simple and pretty (if sophomoric) melodies, goofy effects and a decent dose of their beautiful vocal harmonies. And we even have some very nice, dreamy chamber choir/jazz fusion (“Surf’s Up”). But this album qua album takes The Beach Boys in a new direction, and I don’t think I want to follow. We get student protest (“Student Protest Time”) which, like everything emanating from students, clearly reveals that they aren’t finished learning. Those of us who were students at the time quickly came to the realization that Revolution is for professionals. In this song, The Beach Boys reduce protest to farce. Listen to MC5 and grow up, dudes. We get tree-hugging (A Day in the Life of a Tree”), in spades. They’re trying so hard to be sincere. We get proletarian lament “Lookin’ at Tomorrow (A Welfare Song)” that is waiting till next semester for Econ 101. This record is self iconoclasm, if not self loathing. 2/5

Grace by Jeff Buckley (1994) The voice is simply astonishing. Jeff Buckley’s four-octave range, crisp diction, superhuman breath control, and confident timbre are a perfect fit for the execution of his grandly innovative melodies. Freddie Mercury would’ve been impressed. And Buckley’s performances on guitar, keyboards, and (even) percussion are all combined to produce entrancing, genre defying music. Do not play this album while working, driving, or babysitting. This is Saturday afternoon alone music, when you’ve got time to think and feel at once. Karl Berger’s sublime string arrangements are kept slyly hidden until they need to bloom, sometimes explosively. The lyrics lay bare the sadness of a man who lacks the means to satisfy his overwhelming desire. That man lives in you and me. He selects the darkest five of the 80 verses that Leonard Cohen penned to the classic “Hallelujah”, and he delivers them with powerful effect (even subduing the sometimes, frankly, trite rhyme at the ending of the third line of each verse—a masterful example of ‘correcting’ the poet in the delivery, a difficult and dangerous enterprise approaching the finest work of great Shakespearean actors). And he holds the softly spooky and airy “lu” on the penultimate “hallelujah” for a full 25 seconds—long enough to get in his own guitar solo. Did he have some sort of oxygen infusion? His most soulful song (“Lover, You Should’ve Come Over”) captures the mournful response to loss of love and life. And his effort to put his love behind him (“Forget Her”) is frustrated by the unshakable awareness that “She’s out there somewhere now”, searingly shifting from the third to the second person in the last line of the song (and the album). The listener wants to lift him up in his sadness, only to be foiled by the horror of Buckley’s accidental death a couple years later, at the age of 30. I wish he’d lived to write a happy song. 4/5

My Life in the Bush of Ghosts by Brian Eno (1981) Is there any religious sentiment Brian Eno fails to mock? It’s like skeet shooting at beach balls. Big ones. Listening to this album forty years after its release, it sounds like the experience of rummaging through your grandfather’s tool box. It’s sometimes curious, once or twice intriguing, but oh, so dated. Cool cover art, though. The subsequent releases omit the verboten track “Qu’ran” (sic-should be “Qur’an”), at the request of The Islamic Council of Great Britain because they found it ‘blasphemous’. This track (unsurprisingly) cannot be found on Apple Music, Spotify, or Amazon Music. Damn shame. If that ethical sensitivity had been applied to other tracks on this record, there wouldn’t be any album left. [UPDATE: It can be found on YouTube. Shhhh!, before they take it down. I listened to it for you (you’re welcome), and it’s as milquetoast as the rest of the tracks.] Overall, Pfllrt. 1/5

Our Aim Is to Satisfy by Red Snapper (2000) These eleven British techno/electronic tracks, which one could hardly call ‘songs’, are mildly interesting, but hardly musical. Having no proper lyrics, one can only assess them by submitting one’s ears to each of these sonic bits out of a sense of duty. The chief characteristic of each bit is the central groove, which is generally set forth with little development or even dynamic, rhythmic, or melodic variation. That’s the most eloquent way I can think of to describe unrelenting monotony. The bits do have ‘titles’, which seem completely unrelated to the sounds that are generated. A fun party game might be to play a portion of each bit and ask the guests to come up with alternative titles. For example, instead of titling bit #8 as “I Stole Your Car”, one could substitute “We Stole T.S. Eliot”. Others possibilities include “Fleeing from the Paris Paparazzi” or “The Net Contribution of the British Empire” or “Joining the Americans in Iraq” or “Hitting One’s Arse with a Brexit” or “Where Are All the Statesmen Like Tony Blair?” or “Thank God Donald Trump Was Not Born in Manchester” or “Scotland the Brave (Part 2)” or “Getting South Africa Back” or “When Cambridge Was Kind to Communists” or “Anglican S&M” or “Too Much Stiff on the Upper Lip” or “Can I Get an Amazon Refund on the Duchess of Sussex?” or “Camilla Returns Biden’s Favor”. I’ll leave it to the reader to figure out which suggested alternative title goes with which bit. The untitilatingly pornographic bit (titled “The Rough and Quick”), however, is humorous enough on its own—the title is apt. Send your daughter out of the room so she doesn’t get curious about why you’re rolling on the floor in stitches, howling in comic anguish. Wonk, wonk. 1/5

Siembra by Rubén Blades and Willie Colón (1978) Este es un álbum verdaderamente fascinante. Uno normalmente no asocia la música salsa con profundas advertencias filosóficas contra la pobreza del materialismo, pero observe esto (“Plastico”): Que fallo Era una ciudad de plástico de esas que no quiero ver De edificios cancerosos y un corazón de oropel Donde en vez de un sol amanece un dólar Donde nadie ríe, donde nadie llora Con gente de rostros de poliéster Que escuchan sin oír y miran sin ver Gente que vendió por comodidad Su razón de ser y su libertad Así que si valoras tu libertad y tu « raison d’être », deja de perseguir cosas elegantes. Y este tema se hace eco en la última canción del álbum, "Siembra". Es una maravillosa homilía sobre la virtud de sembrar, plantar y la plenitud de la vida. Acompañado por el simbolismo en la portada del álbum, solo un imbécil perdería el punto. Dios es pro-vida. Así es como nos creó. "Pedro Navaja" es un latín "Mack the Knife", sin los matices socialistas de Berthold Brecht. Es una adaptación muy exitosa de una canción de la "Beggar’s Opera" original de John Gay del siglo XVIII al alemán de la era de Weimar "Die Moritat von Mackie Messer" al español. Qué bien. Agregaré esto a mi colección "Mack the Knife". ¡El antihéroe vive! Y además de letras fascinantes, escuchamos música espléndida. El álbum comienza con un estilo disco deliberadamente irritante, luego se instala rápidamente en salsa de calidad. Hay buenas actuaciones en cuernos, con trombones pesados en la mezcla. Y ritmos de percusión maravillosamente cómodos. No puedes escuchar esto mientras haces algo que requiere que te quedes quieto. 4/5

Eagles by The Eagles (1972) This is the album that made country rock respectable. The three hits from this record, “Take It Easy”, Witchy Woman”, and “Peaceful Easy Feeing”, were hits for a very good reason: they expressed manful first-person emotions with a fine vocal harmonic blend and top notch guitar & banjo playing that resonates in the listener’s soul. No gimmicks, no recording artifices, no glam—just pure, unadulterated songs, changing both rock music and country music for the better. With smooth melodies combining A- voices into an A+ mix, The Eagles entered the rock scene turning all ears in their direction. And after nearly fifty years, it still sounds fresh. With “Nightingale”, for instance, The Eagles take a song that could’ve been very bad, and make it very good, with creative arrangement and flashes of (well tuned!) guitar and vocal brilliance—tight, disciplined, sober. These four guys were born for studio recording. One key to their success was that all four instrumentalists were also employed in vocal performance. They were all invested in making both wings of the sound soar. The moniker “Eagles” was symbolically apt. And they have a salient talent for making slow tunes interesting (“Most of Us Are Sad”, “Train Leaves Here This Morning”, and “Take the Devil”). These well performed but less popular tracks justify pulling this album out and listening straight through every once in awhile. I’d pay good money to watch a young person listen on headphones to “Peaceful Easy Feeling” for the first time ever. I’d be watching a soul expand before my very eyes. I may try it out on my grandkids this Christmas. 4/5

Appetite for Destruction by Guns N’ Roses (1987) One cannot decide if this appetite for destruction is a subliminal warning or a superliminal wallow, but in any case it cannot be both. It is stuck in liminality. It is incommensurable. But it still rocks. There’s an interesting coherence and organizing principle in this album, as the first side (Side “G” for “Guns”) is lyrically dark and dangerous, while the second side (Side “R” for “Roses”) is sentimental and lustful. It’s all unified by an overarching adolescence. Depravity protesting its innocence fittingly deserves a glance, as a listener can’t help but wonder where the artist finds contentment. Money, sex, booze, drugs, and the misogynistic infantilization and reduction of the woman to an instrumentality are all tried and failed. The failure remains unacknowledged. In “Mr. Brownstone”, the heroin addict regards his dependency as a nuisance that nevertheless has its positive side. And the pornosonic “Anything Goes” is expressive of the unending hunger for new sexual experiences. All this is well performed and recorded in the hard rock métier, but the compositions and arrangements are, disappointingly, rather standard. It must be said that lead vocalist Axl Rose has a fine rock voice, and lead guitarist Slash is supremely adept. But in the final analysis, this record amounts to a talented delivery of biker bar tunes. If that’s your thing. 2/5

Doolittle by Pixies (1989) One can explore these highly referential lyrics to discover their connections in literature, religion, and ecopolitics, but to what end? Lyricist Black Francis himself shook off notions of deep meaning in these references. His inspiration for the opening track “Debased” was “my stupid, pseudo-scholar, naive, enthusiast, avant-garde-ish, amateurish way” of viewing an early 20th century motion picture. And as to the chorus of the most popular song on the album. “I’m Your Man”, he says, “I don’t even know what that means”. So pardon us if we don’t care. This doesn’t rise to the level of surrealism. It is simply ham-fisted word smithery—jabberwockian without the euphony, syntax, and meter. Now the music, well, with a mix heavily dominated by inelegant bass-plucking and annoyingly intense backbeat snare, the limpid vocals and almost-tuned guitars are gratifyingly shoveled into a muddy background. The best way to listen to this record is with the volume turned down—to zero. 1/5

Marquee Moon by Television (1977) Well, to be kind, this is not good. It’s not as bad as, say, cannibalism, but as a listening experience, it is most unappetizing. Even the band’s name repels. I mean, who wants to ‘listen’ to ‘Television’? It’s like naming a motorcycle bar “The Hubcap Pub” (unless of course hub caps were part of the underdressed entertainment—I’m told there actually was one of these in the 1990s in Wichita Falls, Texas, although I swear I have no memory of it). If you can make it through the ten minute title track “Marquee Moon” you should be congratulated. With drummer Billy Ficca wandering all over the tempo, and lead guitarist Richard Lloyd struggling to compose a solo on the fly, lead vocalist Tom Verlaine is spared some of the negative attention from his embarrassingly bad singing and worse lyrics. The rest of the songs decay in descending order. ‘Melodies’ uniformly seem stuck on one note, which Verlaine almost hits from time to time. A serious listener wonders if he/she is being pestered, punked, or programmed. 1/5

Teen Dream by Beach House (2010) The languid sounds produced by this duo have a remarkably attractive quality. Slow tempos and lush legato phrasings seem to wash over the listener with warmth and comfort. Even the peculiar wavering pitch effect (“Norway”) is disciplined and not off-putting or distracting. Melodies, chord structures, and arrangements are sufficiently atypical to keep the listener on his/her toes. Verdant, voluptuous keyboards and simple but competent guitar lines soothe the ears. Percussion is understated and bass is well subdued. Victoria Legrand’s vocal performance may lack formal excellence, but she makes even grievances seem maternal and honest, with sufficient feminine strength to sustain interest. The overall effect would make a man sit down and shut up. A couple of tracks have what sounds like hum and tape hiss, a puzzling (intentional?) feature in the digital age. Lyrics are neither flashy nor deep, and appropriately visual—obscure, and packed with enough inscrutable metaphors to keep a fan of Ezra Pound intrigued. This album makes for a very pleasant first-time listen. If your hair is long enough to cover your earbuds, you could listen to this album during a boring Zoom session. Try it and tell me how it goes. 3/5

Miriam Makeba by Miriam Makeba (1960) “A diversification among human communities is essential for the provision of the incentive and material of the Odyssey of the human spirit. Other nations of different habits are not enemies: they are godsends. Men require of their neighbours [1] something sufficiently akin to be understood, [2] something sufficiently different to provoke attention, and [3] something great enough to command admiration.” — Alfred North Whitehead, Science and the Modern World Why should a serious listener from the West give heed to a debut album from sixty years ago by a then 28-year-old singer from South Africa? Professor Whitehead, above, has given us part of the answer. The remaining part can be found in the fact that this record is just plain enjoyable. She sings in English, Xhosa, Sotho, and Zulu (as far as I was able to figure out), but the music is wonderfully accessible to all ears. Miss Makeba has an outstanding voice. With power in the lower end of her range, with highs that run the gamut from delicate to harsh, she displays a natural vocal talent that is, in Whitehead’s terms, understandable, provocative, and admirable. It is not for nothing that she later earned the moniker ‘Mama Africa’. Her songs are not political, even if her acceptance in the West was (one should ask her mentor Harry Belafonte about both of those claims). It was only later that she was forbidden to return to her native land. Those white South African blokes took apartheid seriously. The calypso-flavored track “The Naughty Little Flea” could be considered subversive if one subscribed to the military philosophy described in Robert Taber, The War of the Flea (1965). It is interesting to compare & contrast this song with how apartheid actually fell. Nevertheless, with a smile, Brigitte Bardot really was “a delicious beast” (Ya just gotta listen). And for giggles, “Just One More Dance” (Charles Colman is a scream—he rivals Jim Backus/Phyllis Diller in “Delicious [The Laughing Song]”). This must be one of the funniest turn downs evah. But I strongly recommend that the first-time listener start with track #4, “Unhome”. This solo a cappella delight commands respect—politics and giggles be damned. If you’re in the mood for something more familiar, listen to her cover of “House of the Rising Sun”—much more convincing that Bob Dylan (are you shocked?) or the Byrds. Or try track #7, “Mbube”, and see if you can discern why someone like me would have 23 recorded versions of this song in his digital library. But this one is my new favorite. Even my nine-year-old granddaughter (with patience) recognized it. Can you? To ignore this album would be a cultural poverty. 4/5

Like Water for Chocolate by Common (2000) If the listener can get beyond the seemingly obligatory profanity, braggadocio, and revolutionary apocalypticism, he/she will discover some serious thought. This is a plus. Now the music lacks the innovation and intricacy of, say, a production of Kanye West, and the rapid pace of the delivery precludes a full understanding of the message on a first listen. One needs to slow way down and listen repeatedly to get the excellent effect of Common’s meaning. This characteristic, however, diminishes its quality as an album. There’s beauty to behold here, but it takes work. 3/5

Suede by Suede (1993) Not doing this one. 1/5

Rip It Up by Orange Juice (1982) More British yawn pop, this time from Scotland (not generally known for the export of orange juice), this album is so-so, if kinda cute. Squeezable, even. With all the pulp filtered out.  Our thirst is quenched by cool and splashy dance beats, dripping with lively bass lines and quirky guitar effects, with fay lead vocal stylings and harmonies stirred in. Musically, it’s altogether goofy, but with plenty of variety. Perfect for a teen party with nothing serious going on.  The leading title track is really the only song of note. The one attempt at social/cultural engagement “See How Hard They Cry” is spoiled by the frolicsome mood and silly effects. The same incommensurability applies for every attempt on this record to treat serious themes.  Listening to guys in their mid-twenties singing “How I wish I was young again” (“Breakfast Time”) is adorable. They’re so precious at that age.  What this album needs is citric acid: less sweet, more tart. And maybe a shot of vodka.  2/5

Eternally Yours by The Saints (1978) I like the horns (some don’t, you see—pigeon holers think they’re not ‘genre appropriate’).  This fast-paced Australian rock delivers well-aimed complaints against deceptive advertising, systemic exploitation, freedom-denying conformity, and manipulative lies. And that’s just side one.  Snarly Jaggeresque vocals, proto-punk power chords, sloppy lead guitar garnishes, and other typical rock stylings. Nothing fancy, but plenty of energy.  In “Orstralia”, we hear a nice, perverted, patriotic anthem “We got no problems, got no wars/And you don't need your brain no more. What’s not to like? And for a (small) bit of a change, the track “Untitled” is a love song carried by speedy 12-string acoustic that somehow manages squeeze in some anger and angst. Poor girl! The closing track “International Robots” suitably and not subtly demonstrates that The Saints don’t take themselves too seriously. Nor should the listener.  This is serviceably mindless music for uptempo driving when you really need to get somewhere fast.  2/5

Run-D.M.C. by Run-D.M.C. (1984) We have here an album that was likely revolutionary when it came out, but it didn’t age well, because its imitators quickly went far beyond it in quality. The beats are well enough suited for cheerleaders. Effects are spare and primitive. Melodies do not exist on this record. Vocals are remarkably unremarkable. The inflections are almost totally lacking in variety. Rhythms are spicy, but unduly repetitive. The singular guitar groove on “Rock Box” is a great example of unrealized potential. Lyrics almost rise to the level of doggerel, with mechanical end-line rhymes that don’t have to stretch too far to be trite. Themes include such edifying topics as boastful put downs of competitors, boastful commentary on style, boastful self promotion, boastful celebration of success, boastful announcements of academic accomplishment and light skin tone (no kidding), and more boasting. One grand exception is the track “It’s Like That”, which observes the obvious in hard economic times, but then exhorts the listener to get a good education and work hard—well, then, it’s not all bad. But there’s not much on this album that qualifies as ‘good’. 1/5

The Idiot by Iggy Pop (1977) Iggy Pop as The Idiot? With apologies to U.S. Senator Lloyd Bentsen (1988): “I served with The Idiot. I knew The Idiot. The Idiot was a friend of mine. Iggy, you’re no idiot.” Which is to say, for a kid who grew up in a trailer park in Ypsilanti, Michigan, he was one of the “Dum Dum Boys” (opening track of side two), but while he was smart enough to turn out dark and serviceable poetry as lyrics, he was no Dostoevsky (whose poetic oeuvre was scant anyway, but you get the point). Nor was he as innocent as Prince Myshkin, the protagonist in Dostoevsky’s novel The Idiot (1869). Myshkin’s innocence was mistaken for idiocy by his cultured acquaintances. I know this is a lot to keep up with, but hang in there; it’s worth it. Pop’s poetry might be called pop poetry—unafraid of shocking references (Nazism, incest, global despotism), he can wrap frivolity in menace (“Nightclubbing”, “Funtime”, “China Girl”). One wonders if there wasn’t some opioid influence (there was—the best). But the penetrating psychological spadework goes deep, if the listener is willing to open up. Be careful. But setting aside the proletarian pomposity in the title, the lyrics, the cover art, Iggy Pop does produce a good sound. It helps to have a friend in producer David Bowie (who I suspect used this recording project as an experiment for his own future works). He (Pop? Bowie? Take your pick) understands the importance of a solid bass foundations, slow tempos, and the mood-inducing legato of the chord progressions and synthesized backgrounds. Unfortunately, Pop’s voice is recorded with a muddy tone and with a bit too much reverb that are only transcended in the highs (as in the excellent last verse of “China Girl”, a song which is way, way better than Bowie’s later version [1983]). And the production would have been vastly improved with real instead of synthesized strings. When this album was released, it sounded like the future. Forty-five years later it doesn’t quite sound like the past. It remains attractive, mysterious, enigmatic, and haunting. It only and intentionally seems like idiocy to the cultured. Yet it pries into the listener’s soul and suggests a horrifying climax and denouement—but I don’t want to spoil the ending of Dostoevsky’s novel. Listen to this album when you’re in the mood to brood. Then pick up a good book. 3/5

Maxinquaye by Tricky (1995) This hip hop joint from Great Britain is well composed, moody, deliberate, sensual, smooth and almost uniformly slow. With lust-protest-drug lyrics that are highly introspective, delivered mainly by the sultry lead vocals of Martina Topley-Bird, this record is not your run-of-the-mill rap. It’s highly eclectic, drawing from jazz, blues, prog rock, funk, reggae, you name it. These tracks have a huge variety of sounds, including delicate scratch that actually makes sense. Tricky has clearly done his audio homework. If you want just a taste, I recommend “Hell Is Round the Corner”, a languid, introverted slow squeeze of a song. But you could start almost anywhere on this record. There are no clunkers. Even the upbeat “Brand New You’re Retro” is so far off the beaten path, it summons with a sense of adventure. And it puts the ‘hop’ in hip hop. We hear very nice jazz flute work by Tony Wrafter on “Aftermath”. And even the pornosonic profanity (“Abbaon Fat Tracks”, “Suffocated Love”) is tastefully done. And “Strugglin’” is a (bad) drug trip stream of consciousness ‘dance with insanity’ that surpasses the paranoia-induced explorations of this theme from the 1960s. Way cool. I’ll be adding this album to my library. Of the several dozen rap albums this boomer has ever heard, this is one of the two or three most listenable. Pour yourself an adult beverage and close your eyes. 4/5

Jagged Little Pill by Alanis Morissette (1995) Vocally prodigious, Alanis Morissette delivers bold but sputtering lyrics on this breakout album, convincingly expressive of teenage angst. She was only a kid at the time. Assisted by a talented tag team of studio musicians and creative producers and engineers, the effort yields a fine collection of tracks. Compositionally, there are flashes of brilliance (e.g., the unique rhythmic variations on “Mary Jane”), but most of the marketable creative elements are in the vocal stylings and innovative arrangements. Her vocal quality slips a bit on soft airy passages (“Perfect”), but when she snarls, she soars. Bleating and cursing her way into angry relationship-starved plaints (like “You Oughta Know”), she reveals a soul that seems to know what it wants, but is a little short on the wants of others—not exactly narcissistic, but intensely self focused. Is there such a thing as toxic femininity? (No, I think that must be a contradiction in terms.) These are songs that lead the listener inward, for better or worse. Young men who listen closely (especially “Head Over Feet”) might well give up. Her religious reflection, “Forgiven” is horrifyingly clever, but is clearly the product of an under-catechized conscience. Boomers like me might celebrate the explanatory power of the Gen X sentiments expressed in these songs—an essential task before even hoping to understand Millennials, Gen Z, or my Generation Alpha digital native grandchildren. She sings “What it all comes down to is that I haven’t got it all figured out just yet, ‘cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket, and the other one is giving a peace sign”. I’m not quite following the logic here, but I can embrace the perspective. One can only wish her happiness. 3/5

Homework by Daft Punk (1997) This is a notably curious record—French electronic/techno ‘house music’, basically consisting of amateurishly robotic dance beats. It puts the “less” in “mindless”. A review of the lyrics is kind of fun, since most of the tracks are instrumentals, and the remaining ones treat words as either meaningless rhythmic repetitions or, in one case (“Teachers”), a mere litany of recording artists who influenced the duo. It would be interesting to hear the Litany of the Saints in this fashion (not really, although in some celebrations of the Church’s litanies, I’ve gotten a similar vibe. And who knows? Some of the saints might think it’s kinda cool!). Musically, it’s all about grooves, and some of them are quite good (e.g., “Around the World” - but it’s too damn long!). Sometimes (“Daftendirekt”) the meter is confusing—a good dancer might be embarrassed to discover a minute into a track that he/she is boogying to the wrong woogy. The dentist’s drill background track “Rock ‘n Roll” is definitely NOT rock ‘n roll. Occasionally (“Revolution 909”) the artists provide their own dance club sonic ambience, with sorry effect. This music needs some vocal overlay (like from, oh, I don’t know, Pharrell Williams?). But that would require melody; and on this album, that’s in short supply. The biggest weakness is the lack of (or slow pace of) development and variation in these admittedly creative tracks (a minor 20-second exception starting at 6:05 on “Rollin’ and Scratchin’”). Hypnotic cohesion is basically all you get from Daft Punk. It is daft. And the listener has been suitably punked. Keep the first half of “Around the World” and throw away the rest of this album. I’ve done my duty. If you play this record on a long drive, you run the risk of killing someone. 2/5

Live at the Witch Trials by The Fall (1979) You can add this one to the list of albums that aren’t worth taking the time to put on a list. The Fall (basically Britisher punker Mark E. Smith and his Britisher punker buddies du jour from 1979 to 2017) has made a steady living shoveling feces our way since this debut album “Live at the Witch Trials”. Pity. There’s good punk rock out there, but this ain’t it. The less said about the ‘lyrics’ and the ‘vocals’, the better. Musically, most of these tracks amount to anti-melodic discord lazily draped over an almost competent rhythm section (The drummer, you see, is afraid of his own fills). And it sounds like the entire album was recorded in one day (It was). A clue to their version of artistic seriousness is the last three lines of the closing track: “Six minutes! 6:40! Ok, studio, that’s plenty.” Now to be fair (I always try to be fair), there’s some beautiful honesty in the titles of some of the tracks (“Crap Rap 2”, “Rebellious Jukebox”, “No Xmas for John Quays [junkies, get it?]”, and “Two Steps Back”), but that’s where the beauty ends. I think I hear the witches screaming, “Either turn that crap off or light the damn fire!” But no, this is one of the 1001 albums they must hear before they die. 1/5

Reign in Blood by Slayer (1986) For a thrash metal album that is mercifully short (under 29 minutes), Reign in Blood packs plenty of variation, compositional innovation, and enough moral turpitude to offend pretty much everybody. From the Hannibal Lecter/Josef Mengele School of Cultural Excellence, Slayer indulges in an orgy of pain, gore, insanity, blasphemy, sadism, Nazism, disease, Satanism, torture, and (need I mention?) death. It is all done very well, with highly commensurate composition and arrangements, and stellar guitar performances by Kerry King and Jeff Hanneman, a demented duo that also wrote the lyrics and the music. Blazing dual riffs dominate whatever melody might be found on this record. The alternating lead solos between these two guys at 3:34 on the opening track “Angel of Death” dazzle and astonish. And the drumming by Dave Lombardo is not just impressive—it is superlatively elaborate and energized. His dual bass drum rolls are unsurpassed (Do an image search for “Dave Lombardo Drum Kit” and prepare to gasp). Added to this musical excellence, we get the driving bass of Tom Arraya (How can he keep up with Lombardo?) and his genre-bound non-melodious rapid-fire screaming vocals, yelling and enunciating simultaneously. Try this sometime when no one’s around; it ain’t easy. We hear the band performing rhythmic halts, jarring stops and starts, inexplicable tempo and time signature changes, requiring long preparation and rehearsal. All four musicians had to be supremely disciplined and in sync. It is really quite amazing. The blasphemous “Jesus Saves” is performed at such a blinding speed that one suspects the band needed to lay it down on tape quickly, lest He return suddenly and spoil all the fun. The last two stanzas of “Epidemic” prompt interesting reflections in this era of the Covid pandemic (cf. the hauntingly predictive “Years will pass before it can be cured”). The guys who listened to this as teenagers likely grew up to interrogate captured Al-Qaeda operatives. This is not to claim that the art is necessarily good or bad, but one does note the marginal utility. 3/5

Germfree Adolescents by X-Ray Spex (1978) It’s the kind of thankfully obscure, coprophagic, and hard-to-find British punk album that justifies the flagging of my interest in this 1001 Albums project. I soldier on. I will simply point out here that (1) it is actually possible to tune a saxophone, and (2) melody (by lead vocalist Poly Styrene [sheesh!]) involves more than belting out mere approximations of the major fifth and the tonic. Beefeater and quinine, anyone? 1/5

Can’t Buy a Thrill by Steely Dan (1972) This debut album from a group that chose to name itself after a sex simulation device begins with a splash (“Do it Again”) and quickly proceeds to the deep end of the pool, doing synchronized swimming with intricate, acrobatic compositions that are influenced by jazz, country, rock, samba, and God-knows-what-else. Sublimely cool. Steely Dan burst on the scene with highly crafted studio techniques and good musical sense. With some nice vocal ensemble arrangements, and some pathbreaking chord structures, they nevertheless did not wander far too from pop. Lyrically intelligent, if somewhat obscure, the songs provoke thought but not passion. Not without humor (“Only a Fool Would Say This”), these works are engaging, especially for 1972. Compared to later Steely Dan studio albums, Can’t Buy a Thrill has more variety (with its attendant unevenness and weak spots) and thus is not stuck in what would later become a Fagen/Becker compositional rut. This debut collection makes fine use of a full band lineup and a variety of highly competent session musicians. I wish they’d stayed together—in the studio! Guitarists Dias and Baxter and drummer Hodder would leave the group within two years. The guitar solos in “Reelin’ In the Years” are classic. The biggest negative in listening to this record in 2021 is that the three mega hits (“Do It Again”, “Dirty Work”, and “Reelin’ In the Years”) dominate the less familiar material. But if the listener can discipline him/herself to imagine it as an original unity, as an album, the beauty shines through. The less-than-stellar closing track “Turn That Heartbeat Over Again” subliminally suggests turning the LP over again, to listen one more time to the opening track “Do It Again”. And again, and . . . Yes, I could listen to this all morning long. I think I’ll wax the car. 4/5

Blue by Joni Mitchell (1971) One must set aside the admittedly fascinating backdrop to this album and assess it on its own merits. Having done that, one must conclude that this is simply one of the greatest albums of all time. Top ten. Easily. Best thing to ever come from a Canadian recording artist. It puts the ‘class’ in ‘classic’. Why did Blue chart better in the UK than in the USA in 1971? Because in 1971 the British still had better taste and sense than we Americans. How things change. Delightfully poetic lyrics, unsurpassed vocal performance, masterful acoustic guitar/piano arrangement and execution, superbly crafted and unexpected melodies all characterize this superlative record. It all comes from the mind and heart of one person—Joni Mitchell. And if one needs to add instrumental color (“Carey”), one might as well get it from James Taylor and Stephen Stills. The poetics harness the rhythms with authority and without awkwardness. And the album is sprinkled with hugely entertaining metaphors and word pictures. The warm chord behind the lyric “warm chord” (second verse of “My Old Man”) exemplifies the perfection of synthesis between poetry and music. Likewise, pay careful attention to the music behind these powerfully poetic lines: “I could drink a case of you and still be on my feet” “I want to get up and jive . . . wreck my stockings in some jukebox dive” “I want to shampoo you” “But when he's gone/Me and them lonesome blues collide/The bed's too big/The frying pan's too wide” “Just a little green/Like the nights when the Northern lights perform” Listen to this record after waking from a bad dream. It will cure you. And Joni Mitchell’s skill on acoustic guitar is so sublime that it discourages amateurs and shames professionals. The delicacy and precision of her finger picking is flawless. And her piano attack and sustain are extraordinarily sensitive. Why don’t people hum these tunes? Because they’re beautifully unhummable. Nobody can do these melodies. Joni Mitchell composes music for precisely her voice alone. She never attempts to exceed her considerable range (even on the exquisitely delicate ending of “California”). She has one of the most recognizable voices in the history of recorded music. Her tone and pitch are endearingly winsome and precise. And she appreciates the importance of the initial consonant for both rhythm and diction. Listening in anticipation during the approach to one of her impossible intervals is like watching Simone Biles sprint toward the vaulting horse. You know what’s coming, yet you’re still dazzled. Why is the song “California” not the official anthem of the Golden State? Because nobody but Joni Mitchell can sing it. Her song “River”, with its regret, longing, introspection, the “Jingle Bells” theme in both the intro and outro, and the deft croak on the final sung note, is simply brilliant. Graham Nash must have shed more than one tear (for reasons we set aside in the first paragraph, but I digress). “River” is a song that should replace Mariah Carey’s nauseatingly ubiquitous “All I Want For Christmas Is You” as the secular pop Xmas carol du jour. But it won’t. We’re so unworthy. What do Barbra Streisand, Céline Dion, Diana Ross, Janis Ian, Roberta Flack, Cyndi Lauper, Loreena McKennitt, and Kenny Rankin all have in common? They all wish they could sing as well as Joni Mitchell. I needed this one. 5/5

Hounds of Love by Kate Bush (1985) American listeners like me may have missed this album when it came out because the people who defined our tastes were directing us elsewhere. (We have less of that nonsense today, but these same people have given us other problems that are worse.) It is no small comfort that we can catch up to culture by going back thirty five years and giving a serious listen to really good albums like this one. In a word, this album is rich. We hear nicely arranged drum machine layers, with synthesized strings spread over the top, and brilliantly selected samples and effects, peppered with intriguing instrumental flourishes. And that’s before we even get to the excellent vocals. Kate Bush’s voice is of high quality and very seductive—expressive in many modes, which are frequently delivered with jarringly swift (even Lauper-esque) shifts. It keeps the listener on his or her toes. But the lead vocal doesn’t hog the spotlight. It is rather blended into the overall sonic experience. Makes me wonder what Kate Bush would sound like doing an album of jazz standards. The second side (tracks 6-12) is a fascinatingly reflective keyboards-dominated suite exploring the emotions of a victim lost at sea. It is extraordinarily visual, with clear and engaging dramatic development, and I won’t spoil the controversial ending. My favorite track on side two is “Waking the Witch”. It comes very close to capturing the mental experience of returning to consciousness after being deprived of oxygen. (If you’ve never experienced that, well, forget it. Pick your own favorite. There are plenty from which to choose.) The closing bridge and spoken outro (at 3:02) on “Jig of Life” is poetically potent. Listen to it over and over. Please. What she does with “Hello Earth” is enthralling, especially in retrospect, after the disasters of the space shuttles Challenger (four months after this album’s release) and Columbia (in 2003, but samples of audio from its 1981 maiden mission are included at the beginning of this track). Spooky. And it’s joltingly followed by the musically counterintuitive “Morning Fog” to close out the suite and the album. Bravo. The most notable flaw on this record is that the lead vocal is sometimes too subdued in the mix, especially in passages sung in the airy lower part of Bush’s range. But the artistic wealth remains. This is really good. 4/5

The Fat of the Land by The Prodigy (1997) Presented with a British electronic punk album having an opening track entitled “Smack My Bitch Up” and with ‘lyrics’ that simply repeat the phrase “Smack My Bitch Up” eight times (and “Change My Pitch Up” only six times), what’s a stunned but serious listener to do? The phrase “Smack My Bitch Up” is clearly the central, attention-grabbing focus of the song. Well, in the first place, I had to turn it down so my wife couldn’t hear it. Even with headphones, the ladies would be able to tell that “Smack My Bitch Up” was being played (again and again, apparently, since this album hit #1 in the weekly charts in the US, UK, and, well, pretty much throughout the world). In 1997, a lot of women were aware that their men were listening to “Smack My Bitch Up”. If I were playing “Smack My Bitch Up” loud in the car in my driveway, my wife, daughter, and son could have heard what I was playing from inside the house. If I had been playing “Smack My Bitch Up” while pulling in to a gas station, everyone, male and female, would know. I’m sure this happened millions of times, as this album was so popular. Now, writing as one who has never “Smack[ed] My Bitch Up”, I should perhaps merely confess that I can’t relate and move on. But that wouldn’t be fair to the art. “Smack My Bitch Up” does have a pretty cool groove. And the wailing, non-verbal Asian female vocal in the last half of “Smack My Bitch Up” by Shahin Badar is very nice, but it makes me wonder if she was aware of the ‘lyrics’ when she laid down her non-verbal contribution to “Smack My Bitch Up” (or whether she was even given a choice by the artists who were laying down “Smack My Bitch Up”—she might have been somewhat intimidated). Now to be fair, in response to the obvious outcry over “Smack My Bitch Up” (by the National Organization for Women and many others), I read on Wikipedia that the men comprising this band persistently interpreted the phrase “Smack My Bitch Up” as “doing anything intensely”. Think about that. It seems disingenuous, if not outright deceptive. No, let’s call a spade a spade: That’s bullshit. I mean, “Smack My Bitch Up” should pretty well be interpreted as “Smack My Bitch Up”, right? On the other hand, I might have been tempted defend “Smack My Bitch Up” by claiming ‘at least it doesn’t say “Smack My Bitch Down”’. There’s a huge irony in the fact that the phrase “Smack My Bitch Up” is not even performed by the band members. It is sampled from “Give the Drummer Some” by Ultramagnetic MCs (1988), where it goes: “Smack My Bitch Up, like a pimp”. I suppose The Prodigy understood that the pimping in question was being done “intensely”, as in “Smack My Bitch Up? You must be doing some pretty intense pimping there, dude”. This is an intensity that eludes me, and I join with the National Organization for Women in challenging the toxic masculinity that is evident in this work. But we should not be surprised that notoriety is lucrative if it is adroitly monetized. I understand there are other tracks on this album, but we’re out of time. 1/5

In the Wee Small Hours by Frank Sinatra (1955) Twenty-first century listeners to this collection of 16 tracks from over 65 years ago are invited to consider the concept of the ‘concept album’. Frank Sinatra selected songs for this record (actually two monophonic records when released) that are all about lost love—introspective reflection once a man has realized that it’s all over. But within this overall theme, there is a painstaking ordering and arranging of the tracks that provide rhythm, development, climax, and resolution. We get paradox (in “Glad to Be Unhappy”), irony (Can’t We Be Friends?”, “Last Night When We Were Young”), philosophical musing (“What Is This Thing Called Love?”), and other lyrical devices that tear away at heartstrings. And the songwriters behind these tracks include many deservedly famous names like Ellington, Rodgers, Hart, Carmichael, Porter, and Kahn. But it’s Sinatra who brings it all together. The four songs recorded with a small jazz ensemble—“Glad to Be Unhappy”, “Can’t We Be Friends?”, “I’ll Be Around”, and “Dancing on the Ceiling”—are carefully spaced among the more lush orchestral arrangements, giving the album a sense of breathing or pulsing. The closing track “This Love of Mine” provides resignation, resolution, and catharsis, as love lost is accepted and the artist turns questioningly toward an uncertain future. The beauty of Frank Sinatra’s voice Is on full display. While the mood of these particular songs precludes the bombastic and triumphant timbre evident in many of his later and more popular hits, the mellow and delicate vocal quality he brings to In the Wee Small Hours is fully expressive of a sorrowful, lamenting soul. Brooding, mourning, reflecting, wondering, and praying, he sings his sadness. Nelson Riddle demonstrates his superlative orchestral arranging skills, from steady double bass pulsing to soaring high strings, harp, muted horns, and bright percussion. The only humor on this record is provided by Riddle’s orchestra, as it sometimes seems to say, “Cheer up, Frank. It will be better after you’ve slept it off. Someday you may look back on this and proclaim “I Did It My Way!” With cover art that captures the melancholy, Sinatra’s tie is loosened and his hat is pushed back, abandoning the ‘cool’ and ‘cocky’ look. He stands, pensive and alone in the pre-dawn urban mist, wondering what went wrong with a love that’s now gone. Having just taken his first drag off of a cigarette, he’s now prepared to ponder, and we get to listen in. We feel his disappointment and pain. I suppose calling it quits with Ava Gardner will do that to you. 4/5

Guitar Town by Steve Earle (1986) This album was probably appealing in 1986 because it was one of the first digitally recorded country albums. And indeed it does have the clarity and sonic space of a digital recording. Also, it was likely embraced by younger country/western fans, who could appreciate its innovative rock flavorings. But musically, it doesn’t offer much, and the lyrics are sub par. Singer/songwriter Steve Earle has a competent backing band, but there’s inadequate genius at the artistic center. The closing track “Down the Road” stands out, but the a cappella solo passages are too brief, and they could have used at least one other voice in harmonic backing. Disappointing. For an album titled Guitar Town, there is precious little guitar virtuosity here, basically just strumming and plain, simple riffs. And Earle’s vocals are overly affected, with a sassy twang yet insufficient range, especially on the low end, in the ill-chosen (but easy to play) key signatures. There’s lots of mumbling toward the ends of phrases, as if Earle doesn’t take his own thoughts seriously. So why should the listener? Underwhelming. 2/5

Tea for the Tillerman by Cat Stevens (1970) This is a beautiful album, which I first heard in 1970 or 1971, thanks to my older sister. I’ve listened to it hundreds of times since, and it always inspires. The Austrian composer Anton Bruckner (1824-1896) was once approached by a man after a concert who made a critical observation: “Herr Bruckner, your symphonies are too long!” Bruckner replied, “On the contrary, my good man, it is you who are too short.” It takes patience and a willingness to sit still, if you want to ‘get it’. Any critic (e.g., Robert Christgau, The Village Voice, 6/10/71) who complains that Tea for the Tillerman is ‘repetitive’ and ‘melodically uninteresting’ is merely revealing a similar weakness as a listener. Lovers of music must not have the attention span of a gnat. Singer/songwriter Cat Stevens displayed rare talent on this breakout album that goes far beyond the ‘hits’ “Wild World” and “Father and Son”. Indeed, most people who love this record probably have other more beloved tracks, and there are plenty from which to choose. For me, it’s “Sad Lisa”, but that’s probably due to what some would call my paternalistic and condescending misogyny. Tough. To fully appreciate Tea for the Tillerman, the listener must sit still. Please do. Stevens’ comfortingly baritone voice has a slightly croaky timbre and lacks tonal precision, but is unquestionably authentic—essential for grabbing hold of the penetrating and thoughtful (if sometimes overly didactic) lyrics, like: “The answer lies within, so why not take a look now? Kick out the devil’s sin, pick up a good book now.” (and not just any Book will do, Yusuf). There are some splendid arrangements, with eloquent strings and expressive yet restrained percussion. On “Sad Lisa”, sit still and listen carefully to delicate features such as the suddenly tripled piano arpeggio at 1:07, the violin solo at 1:52, and pizzicato strings at 3:30. And that’s not to mention the deft percussive clicking and barely discernible guitar plucking. Someone paid a lot of attention to arranging this track, even if the performance is minutely flawed by dropped tempo and two stumbles on the piano. I was pleasantly impressed on this listen with the extraordinary contributions of Alun Davies on fingerstyle acoustic guitar and backing vocals, correcting my earlier mistaken assumptions. Davies did much to create the classic ‘Cat Stevens’ sound. I’ll have to give a fresh listen to Teaser and the Firecat this afternoon. Look at irony in the cover art (painted by Stevens himself). Soil-shaping tiller-men are likely not known for taking tea (I dunno; ask the British). Whenever a broad shouldered tiller-man does take tea, however, I suppose he is most suitably pictured with an oversized mug fitted for large rugged hands and beefy fingers. With such an accommodation, he can savor all the delicate sensory pleasures, just like your Aunty. If he sits still. 4/5

Fleet Foxes by Fleet Foxes (2008) If you like unplugged woodsy wooden music with elaborate four-part vocal arrangements, this album’s for you. The Seattle-based avant-garde folk band Fleet Foxes made quite a splash with this eponymous debut release. Lyrics are outdoorsy and visual enough, but they lack depth and there are frequent mismatches between the natural meter of the lyrics and the meter of the melodies (especially blatant on “Oliver James”—I was impressed with the lyrics but disappointed with the melody to which it was set). We get high reverb, spooky vocal harmonies constructed with inventive but sometimes aimless chord progressions. This is all pleasantly diverting, but where is it heading? The truly outstanding track on this record is “White Winter Hymnal” for its vocal blend and vivid lyrics, with a curious canon head fake at the beginning. This composition could have gone a completely different direction, but I’m kinda glad it didn’t. The only way it could have been improved would have been with a few portable tanks of oxygen. Oh, well. In terms of production and performance, what it lacks in polish and virtuosity it more that makes up for in entertaining quirkiness—kind of like the Pieter Bruegel the Elder painting on the cover. Most of these songs come alive when the rhythm section kicks in. Altogether it’s a good mix of vocals, percussion and plucked strings. Robin Pecknold doesn’t quite have the vocal power to pull off the solo a cappella on the closing track “Oliver James”, but it’s haunting nonetheless. I can’t remember ever hearing a song about discovering a child in a cradle exposed to the elements and then preparing his body (for life? for the grave? for both?). Fascinating. Almost like the Mystery of the Incarnation. 3/5

Risqué by Chic (1979) This disco album is yawningly simple in composition, but supremely danceable, which, I suppose, is the whole point of disco. I don’t think that when it was produced anyone thought it would be given a serious listen forty-plus years later. But here we are, so we dutifully note its excellent qualities within the genre: it is clean and bright, with top-notch (for the time) production values, predictable arrangements and technically correct instrumental performances, including schmaltzy, poorly intoned violins telling me what to do with my feelings, very nice drums telling me what to do with my feet, and groovy electric bass telling me what to do with my butt. This record didn’t make me want to dance, but if I had to dance, this music would be adequate to the purpose. Hence, I suppose that if someone held a gun to my head and demanded that I absolutely had to have one disco album in my collection, this one would do, although “C’est Chic” by Chic (1978) is beaucoup mieux. 2/5

Blonde on Blonde by Bob Dylan (1966) I suppose that a young listener hearing this recording for the first time might wonder what all the fuss is about, included as it is on nearly every list of the greatest albums of all time. I can suggest two reasons for this perplexity: (1) Many of Dylan’s creative innovations have become so standard that they now seem routine, and (2) Twenty-first century ears have not yet caught up with twentieth-century poetry. However, surely everyone agrees that at least until the boomer generation (i.e., mine) completely dies out, this double LP will be regarded as one of the greatest albums ever produced (but see below). What makes this music great is that it consists of a first-rate synthesis of first-rate poetry with first-rate rhythmic and melodic construction. These three elements combine exponentially in Blonde on Blonde. Bob Dylan’s music blows rather than sucks (please, dear reader, try to avoid profane associations with this image). Most popular music sucks. That is to say, it inhales from its musical culture those elements that have proved successful—mixing, arranging, and elaborating on them in interesting and entertaining ways. Dylan’s music, on the other hand, blows. It exhales into its musical culture a spirit/wind/breath of substance—vivifying, enlightening, and nourishing the soul of the listener. Where pop music takes (symbiotically or even parasitically), Dylan’s music gives. It evokes passion in the listener by rendering him or her passive. The listener gasps. The listener receives. The listener learns. The listener grows. If one wants to begin accessing Dylan’s poetry in Blonde on Blonde, I might suggest starting with track #5 “I Want You” and focus on everything he says other than “I Want You”. Nothing is here by accident. And it isn’t until the last line of the final verse that we discover that his desire for his woman is the cause of all these deceptively random and seemingly nonsensical reflections. Throughout this album, from the reassuring observation that undeserved suffering is the common lot of humanity (via the playfully paronomastic “Everybody must get stoned” in “Rainy Day Women #12 & 35”) to the insight that “She says ‘your debutante just knows what you need, but I know what you want’” (“Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again”), we hear such lyrical delights as oxymoron raised to an art (“Temporary Like Achilles”) and the hymnic encomium of “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands”. We weep more than once. In terms of images, can we not exult in picturing the “jelly faced woman with the mustache say ‘Jeez, I can’t find my knees’” (“Visions of Johanna”)? And surely there’s no more inventive lament than this: “And here I sit so patiently Waiting to find out what price You have to pay to get out of Going through all these things twice” Please note the exquisite yet subtle change in the final chorus of “Just Like a Woman”, after he has said to his ex-lover, “I believe it's time for us to quit, but when we meet again, introduced as friends, please don't let on that you knew me when I was hungry and it was your world . . . “. Now after all this praise, I hope the reader will not be disappointed or stunned when I say that this is not Dylan’s best. He stumbles over his own poetry at least twice, and the studio musicians appear to just be along for the ride, especially Al Kooper on keyboards (overrated at this stage of his career). Much better albums by Dylan both before and after Blonde on Blonde include The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963), Highway 61 Revisited (1965), Blood on the Tracks (1975), Desire (1976), and Time Out of Mind (1997). I don’t think it’s just a matter of taste. But this album is worth a serious listen, time and again. 4/5

The Modern Lovers by The Modern Lovers (1976 [1972]) This little treat of American protopunk (recorded in 1972 but not released until 1976) is suitably and simultaneously mindless and groovy. The lyrics are unduly simple and repetitive. They lack insight, intricacy, or even humor, even though one gets the sense that they try (e.g., “Pablo Picasso” and “Girlfriend” [lyrically spelled “g-i-r-l-f-r-e-n”]). So, okay, this is not thoughtful poetry. The overly dominating chord progressions and melodies are likewise unduly simple and repetitive. With subpar solo vocals that far too frequently descend into non-tonal verbalizations, the ‘songs’ rarely rise to the level of music. The instrumentals are, however, interesting. There is consistently fine electric bass grounding, deft, precise drumming, and sometimes haunting, droning layers of keyboards and inelaborate electric guitar elements. But there’s no real virtuosity evident here. The grand exception to this wallow in mediocrity is the song “Hospital”, which actually has tempo, time signature, and rhythmic variations, as well as lyrical depth and development. It has a probing theme—a contradiction in love, noting the first-person lover’s distinction between the beloved’s being and the beloved’s actions. (“I can’t stand what you do, but I’m in love with your eyes”). But the song is still flawed by melodic monotony, and it was recorded with an unnecessarily high level of hum and tape hiss. All in all, this album doesn’t quite qualify as cool. 2/5

Horses by Patti Smith (1975) Pope Francis invited Patti Smith to sing at the Vatican’s 2014 Christmas concert, where she performed a soulfully convincing rendition of “O Holy Night”. That might seem improbable for an artist who began her career by delivering the first line of the first track of her first album with the words “Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine”. However, hang in there. It gets good. Smith’s debut album “Horses” is in the genre of punk rock, but somehow I feel that punk is simply the ungilded cage from which the canary sang. Any other cage would have sufficed. She certainly doesn’t sound like what punk became. It may be that ‘punk’ is simply a term used for recorded music by artists who are determined to dispense with conventional notions of ordered beauty—adopting a minimalist, bratty, antiestablishment mindset. I don’t know. But to understand and appreciate Patti Smith (and especially this particular album), it is better to be familiar with Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Eliot, Dylan, Baraka, and Burroughs than to be conversant with Stooges, Ramones, Sex Pistols, and Clash. This is because “Horses” is not, primarily, music. It is poetry. One could appreciate the art here even if it were presented as simply the spoken word (although sometimes the word spoken has something to say about the mid 70s ‘wrong turn’ of rock ‘n roll). Take this quatrain and tell me if I’ve gotten off at the wrong stop: “It was as if someone had spread butter On all the fine points of the stars 'Cause when he looked up They started to slip.” Patti Smith as a poet presents feelings with vividness and authenticity, revealing an excellent mastery of metaphor, and cool command of word choice, cadence, and color. And in each of the nine compositions on this record she is in control of the movement from verse to verse, satisfying the hearer’s need for development, suspense, insight, and closure. Plus, of course, it doesn’t hurt for the poet/performer to have a good ear for euphony. Musically, most of these tracks begin with a compositional head fake toward jazz, then quickly settle in to decently performed rock strains (progressive, avant-garde), as the listener eagerly follows wherever Smith is leading. And despite the apparent (I would argue, ironic) blasphemy of the first line, there is vicarious atonement throughout. Somebody suffers for someone. It seems she is capable of a theological head fake as well. I could play this album all day. And think about it till next Tuesday. 4/5

Young Americans by David Bowie (1975) It’s probably just a matter of taste, but I personally prefer this funky R&B sound over David Bowie’s earlier sci/fi ‘space persona’ material. On Young Americans, Bowie takes up more mature themes and shows greater compositional depth and more solid collaborative arrangements and production. These features are evident chiefly in the two very nice hits from this album, “Young Americans” and “Fame”. With stylish backing vocals designed by then-unknown Luther Vandross, the opening track “Young Americans” cooks without boiling over. And teaming up with John Lennon (during his blessed 18-month hiatus from Yoko Ono), Bowie exposes the downside of rock stardom in “Fame” with groove and more than a little panache. This collaboration, however, is not as successful on their joint cover of “Across the Universe”. Yuck. As for the rest of the album, there are lush and elaborate settings (“Win”, “Fascination”, “Can You Hear Me”) for some seriously reflective lyrical motifs. The backing vocals on “Can You Hear Me” are angelic. Bowie’s voice on this album is simply entertaining—not as self absorbed as his previous work. “Somebody Up There Loves Me” at least gets me thinking about the mystery of the Incarnation, even if that almost certainly wasn’t the intent. This blast from the past is suitable background music for cleaning up after a party. Or driving through the car wash. Or packing away your summer clothes for the winter. Or paying bills. But not for riding in an elevator. People would think you’re weird. 3/5

Rattus Norvegicus by The Stranglers (1977) As Britpunk yobs who revel in comparing themselves to brown rats (Rattus norvegicus), these Anglo male sense assailants are down on everybody from ugly women to Jews. Misanthropic images and attitudes abound in this cinematic orgy of self loathing, morbidity, lust, and contempt. That about covers the lyrical themes on this album. But the music is well constructed and executed, like a (somewhat spare) combination of The Doors, Yes, Black Sabbath, and Jethro Tull. If you like innovation and compositional intricacy (I do), there’s enough on this record to sustain interest, especially in the bass lines, keyboard colorings, and (even!) backing vocals. If there is such a thing as prog punk, this is it. The Stranglers nicely sum up the Good, the True, and the Beautiful in the delightful song “Ugly”: “Don't tell me that aesthetics are subjective; you know all the truth when you see it, whatever it is.” Heavy, man, but sheesh! And wrapping up the symphonic closing track, we hear the most fittingly malodorous ending ever: “See you in the sewer”. 2/5

16 Lovers Lane by The Go-Betweens (1988) For American listeners, this Australian light pop album is likely unfamiliar, but engaging enough if you’re in the mood for something fresh. Reverb provides a smoothness to the sound on each track, with a sameness, however, that becomes tiresome by the end (Reverb fails as a substitute for vocal blend.) The singer/songwriter duo McLennan/Forster put together this relatively random acoustic-heavy collection of songs that are not too deep lyrically, and not too elaborate melodically but adorned with an appropriate variety of instrumental touches, especially by multi-instrumentalist Amanda Brown. The album could easily be pushed into the background if the listener needs to occasionally concentrate on something else. The big weakness on this record is in the lead vocals, whether by McLennan or Forster. They become easy to tune out, which is okay, because their lyrics and melodies are not strong anyway. Amanda Brown can make an oboe sound like bagpipes in a bathroom stall, which is not a good thing, as in the dud of a closing track “Dive for Your Memory”. Worth a listen, but not overly impressive from down under. 2/5

Tracy Chapman by Tracy Chapman (1985) “One of the [slaves] struck up a song, appearing to make it up to his own pleasure, generally hitting on rhyme, without much attempt at reason … as if the poor, dumb heart, threatened, —poisoned, —took refuge in that inarticulate sanctuary of music, and found there a language in which to breathe its prayer to God. There was a prayer in it, which Simon Legree could not hear.” —Harriet Beecher Stowe, Uncle Tom’s Cabin (1852) I first became acquainted with the music of Tracy Chapman from a mix tape that was put together for me by a treasured friend in the late 1980s to ameliorate the ignorance imposed upon me by my ill-advised flight from commercial popular music. Chapman’s stark, woeful strains evoked a peculiar pain—not of social protest or redemptive lament, but of unadulterated suffering. The genius of this album lies in its fusion of suffering and song. With an exceptionally strong contralto voice, Tracy Chapman sings out from a background of (only) occasionally inventive but non-distracting acoustic compositions. That is, unless she’s delivering an a cappella wail (“Behind the Wall”) about domestic violence that makes you want to defund the police and call a social worker instead. Never mind. The ambulance is here. The opening track “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution” is not programmatic protest but an expression of the victims of social evils crying out in pain. It may serve as a warning to those with ears to hear, or soften the hearts of those who may someday be in a position to effect change, but don’t hold your breath. “Finally the tables are starting to turn” is anything but a victory lap. The Revolution is still a whisper. In America, when the poor people “rise up and take what’s theirs”, we just import more poor people. Welfare, unemployment benefits, and The Salvation Army are illusory. Chapman has settled in on the anger and frustration of the poor, laying their case before the cosmos. Who’s listening? Please pay attention to the popular second track “Fast Car”. It is not (as it might seem on a cursory first listen) about the hope of escape. Rather, it’s about the despair of being trapped in the same domestic horror that once bound the lyric protagonist’s mother. The singer’s ‘rescuing’ husband, like her father, has now himself become a drunk, leeching lazily off her, the ‘working mom’. And compare the drunkenness of this leech who “stays out drinking late at the bar” to the drunkenness she once felt in the passenger seat of his ‘fast car’. The fast car that once was a metaphor of deliverance has become a metaphor of rejection—“I’d always hoped for better…so take your fast car and keep on driving.” The theme here is the pain resulting from the vanity of misdirected hope. From such pain potent prayers emerge. Racial barriers are nakedly exposed in “Across the Lines”. There are, in fact, those who would dare to go “across the lines, under the bridge, over the tracks” (and the strategically planned urban segments of the interstate highway system) “that separate the whites from the blacks”, but they’re not in view when “the riots begin on the back streets of America”. Chapman has the fortitude to give explicitness to things that, in Bob Dylan’s phrasing, are “better left unsaid” (“Union Sundown”, Infidels [1983]). Even when she seems to embrace traditional themes of repentance, the rejection of envy, and love (“Baby Can I Hold You”, “Mountains O’ Things”, “For My Lover”, and “For You”), there is a studied equivocation and abandonment of intellect and reason that reveals—you guessed it—pain. Prayer after prayer on this extraordinarily painful record. If one can listen to this entire album without succumbing to moral fatigue, one will have grown. Simon Legree, however, still cannot hear. 4/5

Close to the Edge by Yes (1972) I didn’t have time to seriously listen to this progressive rock album when I was young. Most people I knew who did have the time to develop an appreciation of Close to the Edge did so due to (1) the strength of Yes’s earlier works, and (2) the ready availability of mind altering substances. For sober me, it was too complex. I was rather interested in more accessible music like Dieterich Buxtehude, Anton Bruckner, Leonard Bernstein, and novels by Herman Hesse, like Siddhartha (which is ironic, since I now discover that many of the images and metaphors on Close to the Edge come from that book). And now, listening in my twilight years, I find the complexity of Yes’s fifth album Close to the Edge (1972) to be unnecessary. The recording is primarily a collection of standard Yes lyrical and compositional tropes from their first three albums, but immeasurably enhanced (and given its coherence) by the superlative keyboard contributions of Rick Wakeman (who had an integral role in their immediately preceding fourth album, Fragile [1972]). The inexhaustible Wakeman did all this 1972 work while touring and cranking out The Six Wives of Henry VIII. There’s no gainsaying the artistry of Anderson, Howe, Squire, and Bruford. But Wakeman is the musical star of this group. In my view, he edges out Keith Emerson as the greatest progressive rock keyboardist of all time. Listen to Wakeman’s extended interlude at 12:10-15:53 of the first track “Close to the Edge”, with pipe organ that becomes doubled with synthesizer at 13:54, followed by a glorious synthesized romp to the end. Drummer Bruford struggles to keep up. This snippet is music for the ages. Ethereal. I want Rick Wakeman on my team. Close to the Edge is good, but overall, as an album, it’s far from a classic. 3/5

Bone Machine by Tom Waits (1992) Ya gotta love Tom Waits. With uninhibited, poetic lyrics surrounded by God knows what musical inspiration, each song is wonderfully discomfiting and attractive. There’s just enough rhythmic and melodic convention to keep it from falling over the edge—which seems to be just where Mr. Waits wants us. I, for one, am content to sit there with him and enjoy the auditory panorama. It is reported that when Waits was informed that he won the Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Album for this record, he replied, “Alternative to what?” (Uh, pretty much everything, Tom). One wonders what kind of natural disaster caused the uniquely sour baritone timbre of Waits’ voice, but it’s worth celebrating. And his fascination with sticks (yes, sticks) on an album that is fixated on bones leaves the listener with an aural theme that’s unmistakable. If you only listen to one track on this album, try “The Ocean Doesn’t Want Me”, to get a sense what it must sound like for a guy who yearns for death by drowning, but who’s foiled by an uncooperative body of water—an excuse, of course, which is a mask for some other unexplained something that is, if nothing else, hideously humorous. Three cheers for the “strangels” and the “braingels” and the ocean which will all still be there tomorrow. “Goin’ Out West” is a must addition to your road trip playlist, especially in the ‘annoy the bejeezus out of the passengers’ mode. And special appreciation is due to Keith Richards for co-writing, guitar accompaniment, and backing vocals on the closing track, “That Feel”. He sounded old thirty years ago, and will likely sound old thirty years from now. Give this album a listen when you’re tired of everything else, or oftener if you please, and I hope you do. 3/5

Treasure by Cocteau Twins (1984) This Scottish trio’s third album is colorful and weirdly soothing, but it’s not that good. Maybe you could give it a listen when you’re recovering from heart bypass surgery (I speak from experience). On this recording, lyrics are hidden in more ways that one. There is (1) a “fondness for idioglossia” (a medical condition in which words are so poorly articulated that speech is either unintelligible or appears to be a made-up language) as well as (2) a fondness for sprinkling in obscure references from a wide variety of relatively unknown tongues. There is plenty of debate as to what the lyrics even are, much less what they mean. This and the fact that they are quite subdued in the dreamy mix force the listener to rest content in only the musicality of the vocalizations, while suppressing a giggle or two. I mean, some of this gibberish is really laughable. In terms of sound, while it may be (and has been) described as ‘ethereal’ and ‘angelic’, what with its high reverb and wailing but sensitive soprano vocals, it’s more like Enya on Red Bull. And the drum machine that gives it that energy is highly artificial and mechanical. Both of these features have their pluses and minuses. Mostly minuses. No tracks stand out. They’re all equally pretentious. When two of the members of the trio later described this album as “an abortion” and “arty-farty pre-Raphaelite” (a pretty arty-farty expression itself), one feels comfortable listening to it once and rating it ‘one star’. 1/5

Illmatic by Nas (1994) Here we have intensely local East Coast hip hop brought to the listener by a variety of producers supporting the considerable talents of 20-year old Nasir Jones, ‘Nas’. With relatively smooth beats, and softly pulsing R&B and jazz keyboards rocking in the background, these tracks are generally free of production gimmicks, tending to focus the lister’s ears on the poetry of the lyrics. And the lyrics are every bit poetic. With a consistent meter that isn’t evident on the printed page, we hear a mature mix of cadence, alliteration, creative visual figures, syncopation, and exquisite internal and external rhyme. Nas delivers his poetry with crisp diction and disciplined spoken tone. It helps to have an ear for urban slang and street life references, but there are resources available to the serious listener who wants to understand (I recommend a critical use of the Genius app). Several nice touches are heard here in the midst of the violence, drugs, and sex, like the outro to “Life’s a Bitch”, with a very nice low register jazz trumpet performance by Olu Dara Jones, Nas’ father. It’s a “keepin’ it real” declamation of the criminal, violent, and drug-saturated facts of life for the young men living in the low-cost high-density habitation of the Queensbridge Houses (‘projects’) on the eastern banks of New York’s East River. Who was the genius who decided to keep these people poor and far from Fifth Avenue but close enough to Manhattan to make a daily commute for doing the dirty work? The unified field theory of 20th century American urban planning is cheap labor. Nas draws vivid pictures of the results. “Life’s a bitch and then you die; that’s why we get high, ‘cause ya never know when you’re gonna go.” “Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined; I think of crime when I'm in a New York state of mind.” “My strength, my son, the star will be my resurrection; Born in correction, all the wrong shit I did, he'll lead in right direction.” One may recoil, or wish it away, but this is an integral element of the artistic trajectory of our day. And on this album, it is done well. 4/5

Harvest by Neil Young (1972) This is a great country/rock album. Neil Young has a talent for selecting the perfect tempo. The opening track “Out on the Weekend” is thoughtfully slow, preparing the listener for more slow, thoughtful tracks to follow. Listen with your feet propped up, preferably with an adult beverage within languid reach. The third track, “A Man Needs a Maid” is probably one of the most sadly misunderstood songs ever. It is not, contrary to countless shallow critiques, a misogynist manifesto. Think of it rather as a all-too-revealing want ad—a lament over lost love, expressing the self doubt and insecurity of a man who can’t seem to come to grips with his failure as a loving partner. Young accompanies himself on piano with delicacy and drama. Then, fittingly, he is assisted beginning at the first chorus by The London Symphony Orchestra, with powerful use of a solo piccolo (at 3:04) in anticipation of a heaving orchestral sob. It’s not flowery; it’s damn catastrophic. On “Heart of Gold”, harmonica and pedal steel guitar enhance the longing in the lyrics, capped off by cameo backing vocals by James Taylor and Linda Ronstadt for (only!) the last four lines. This track is followed by the comic relief of “Are You Ready for the Country?”, calling on his old buddies Crosby, Stills, and Nash for vocal flavor on the choruses. The beginning of Side Two lowers the blood pressure once more with “Old Man”, bringing Taylor and Ronstadt back again for this philosophical inter generational reflection. Taylor’s banjo guitar accompaniment is uniquely apt. I loved this song when I was a young man. Now that I’m an old man, the mysterious parallels between the ages are multiplied, but the searing loneliness of isolation is more intense. Not until the third track of the second side (“Alabama”) do we get to hear Young’s dirty electric guitar. I will admit that this song amounts to ‘piling on’ the white guilt cred after “Southern Man” (After the Gold Rush [1970]). Lynard Skynard had a point when they sang “I hope Neil Young will remember: A Southern man don’t need him around, anyhow” (“Sweet Home Alabama” from Second Helping [1974]). A diplomatic kiss off to these dueling perspectives might be found in older wisdom literature: “Alabama, good-bye! I love thee well! . . . Welcome and home were mine within this State, Whose vales I leave—whose spires fade fast from me; And cold must be mine eyes, and heart, and tête, When, dear Alabama! they turn cold on thee!” (Mary Ann Harris Gay, The Pastor’s Story and Other Pieces [1871], sardonically quoted in Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer [1876]) Oh, well. They were just kids, after all. But the emotional capstone of this record is not the hits “Old Man” or “Heart of Gold”, or even the political commentary “Alabama”, but rather the doleful elegy “The Needle and the Damage Done”, recorded live in early 1971. A threnody for heroin addicts dead from overdose (some of whom Young knew personally), the song captures the heartache of the living and releases it into the soul of the listener. If there’s one song you listen to on Harvest, this should be it. Neil Young’s artistry on this album is for the ages. 5/5

Arise by Sepultura (1991) Wow. Brazilian death/thrash metal with virtuoso performances by drummer Igor Cavalera and lead guitarist Andreas Kisser, and solidly paired overlay by bassist Paulo Jr. and rhythm guitarist Max Cavalera, this driving, pounding descent into nihilistic rampage is breathtaking. Blinding tempos and growly, yelling lead vocals by Max Cavalera lack variety, but hey, that’s thrash. If the first few tracks become boring, hang in there. The sixth track, “Altered State” and seventh track “Under Siege (Regnum Irae)” are nice compositions, the latter including some modest theological reflection on the hypostatic union, but with predictable results. Lyrics consist mostly of litanies nasty noun phrases, ill-connected, but all equally harrowing. One must include the ‘bonus’ closing track, a cover of Motörhead’s “Orgasmatron”, because it was included on the Brazilian release, even if not in the UK or US. It’s anti-religious kerygma that seems unaware of its internal contradictions, but it’s the only track on the album that actually has a message. Cool, but don’t let your mother catch you listening. 3/5

Pump by Aerosmith (1989) Why is it that when I review the love lyrics of Aerosmith’s Pump I have this famous snapshot in my brain of the Duke of York with his royal arm wrapped around the bare midriff of an underage Virginia Giuffre, with Ghislaine Maxwell grinning in the background? The sexual innuendo and dopey double entendre on this record (tracks 1-3, 7) are a cross between vulgar sailor ditties and lame Dad jokes. Even the cover art is a groaner. I mean, lead singer Steve Tyler was in his forties. Where’s the subtlety? Plus, the ‘power ballads’ and shallow treatment of socially conscious themes (“Janie’s Got a Gun”, “Hoodoo/Voodoo Medicine Man”) are even more plastic. These guys were incapable of embarrassment, but apparently not repentance and redemption, given Tyler’s philanthropic initiative with “Janie’s House” twenty-five years later. If Aerosmith didn’t have so much musical talent, this album would be simply wretched. But the talent carries the day in this glam rock extravaganza. Steve Tyler’s voice is a happy freak of nature, harnessed to solid rock rhythms and blazing electric guitar riffs and solos. Joey Kramer’s drumming is simply outstanding. And the arrangements and technical aspects are all top-notch, especially for 1989. There are quality touches of prog innovation in “Dulcimer Stomp” and “Hoodoo/Voodoo Medicine Man”, but after a few bars, it’s back to money-making hard rock. There’s nothing here that speaks to the soul, but I suppose it sufficed to make the teenagers go crazy in the arena. 2/5

A Grand Don’t Come for Free by The Streets (2004) It had to happen. I wonder what took so long. This is rap opera. And it’s not bad. It has a plot. It has humor. It has closure. It has characters that develop and (petty) conflicts that resolve (barely). But it is hugely stunted in the relevance department. Not like Wagner. Not even like Rossini. More like a cross between Bizet and Berg. Yes, Carmen meets Wozzek! But what it lacks is high drama. At least Wozzek had World War I. And Carmen gets killed in the end (sorry if I ruined it for you). Nevertheless, I started this review thinking I was going to give it a “one” star. Then I read through the entire libretto (lyrics) and decided it merited a “two”. Then, as I listened throughout, I felt it deserved a “three”. And as the reverberation faded on the final note, I thought “Dude, this is a solid four”. I won’t spoil the storyline. But the protagonist is a kid, “Mike”, living the lowbrow culture of British proletarian youth. The antagonist is the lowbrow culture of British proletarian youth. You can see why this isn’t going anywhere. “Mike” experiences frustration, loss, love, betrayal, envy, trust, moods, drugs, turns of mis/fortune, and two endings! The dialog and personal reflections are full of vignettes that elaborate the setting, but to what end? Well, maybe self-reliance, but does that ring true? I’ll leave it to my readers with advanced degrees in philosophy. Rhythms are unconventional, and that’s a plus. Beats and melodic lines are unconvincing, but they do sustain interest, and there’s plenty of variety. I’ve never been high in a dance club, but if I had, I bet it would feel a lot like the vibe in “Blinded by the Lights”. And the mood of jealousy and suspicion is perfectly captured on “What Is He Thinking?” Listen to these two tracks and you might be tempted to listen to the whole album straight through. Mike Skinner’s voice is weak, and he lacks range (barely eking out the melody on “Get Out of My House”), but that doesn’t prevent him from giving plausibly authentic expression to the emotional responses of his character. It draws the listener in. Now the vocal support from ‘Leo the Lion’ is mellow and smooth, in fine R&B timbre (“Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way”). Other voices are sub par for a studio recording, but might have succeeded in a stage production (which I’d pay good money to see, if there ever were one). If you decide to listen to this album, do it without distractions and stay focused. There’s good art here. I’m gonna quit this now and listen to it again, if you’ll excuse me. 4/5

Crossing the Red Sea with the Adverts by The Adverts (1978) This is highly evangelical and evangelistic Britpunk, summoning the listener to join in all the punkness. The Adverts sing, “We're just bored teenagers, looking for love or should I say emotional rages . . .” Actually, they were no longer teenagers. But the rage is relentless. They’re relying on the new church of strength, not the old Church of blindness and weakness, delivering a passionate altar call (“New Church”). Assertive, aggressive, ambitionless, and angry “subterranean vandals” drowning mutant freaks (“Drowning Men”) have harsh judgments in store for those who are content to embrace the permanent things. They want to chew up their culture and spit it out. And (this is key) they want the listener to join them. They are not content to suffer their nihilities alone. And they express gratitude to God for their superior perception and fortitude (“Bombsite Boy”). They acknowledge and even celebrate their lack of musicianship (“One Chord Wonders”) and they “don’t give a damn”. Somehow that seems to fit. The most interesting track is “Gary Gilmore’s Eyes”, in which Advert considers what it would be like for a patient to have his sight restored by a cornea transplant from the eyes of recently-executed murderer Gary Gilmore (a murderer whose penultimate words were “Just Do It” [inspiring the Nike advert], but his final words were “Dominus vobiscum.” The Catholic priest ministering at the execution duly replied Et cum spiritu tuo. Advertise that.) There are some intriguing arrangement innovations (“On the Roof”), and the performances throughout are competent enough, but these musical pluses fall far short of compensating for the drearily antagonistic lyrics. I suppose this album could have a cathartic effect on the listener, but after catharsis the wound needs to heal. May I recommend Gregorian chant? 2/5

Kiwanuka by Michael Kiwanuka (2019) There’s a nice feel to this relatively recent pop production, which is flavored with folk, jazz, and R&B—with many throwback strains that lead the listener back to the 1960s (which is not, in my view, a bad place to be). For those people who think that all the good music was done before 1990, and that all current music is junk, give this album a listen. It’s one of the few albums for which the word “kindness” can be applied without mawkishness. The listener just sort of wants to become friends with this singer/songwriter. Maybe it’s the smiling sense of humility. Maybe I’ve just listened to too much hip hop, thrash metal, and punk lately. The themes are personal, yet not excessively deep or self-absorbed. But this first person focus is clothed in extraordinarily collaborative musical arrangements, with dozens of contributing vocalists and instrumentalists. It’s rich, despite its lyrical simplicity. Kiwanuka’s voice is strong and masculine, giving us convincing affection (“Piano Joint”, “Hero”, “Hard to Say Goodbye”) but nevertheless a sometimes endearing timidity and self-doubt (“Final Days”, “Solid Ground”). The cover art is completely inapt. Some of the production choices are quite distracting, like the ‘noise’ in the background of “Hard to Say Goodbye” from 4:30 to 6:00, but with effort, the serious listener can get through. It’s a nice slice of the cultural pie. 3/5

Teenage Head by The Flamin’ Groovies (1971) The 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die project presents wonderful opportunities for expanding the musical horizons of the serious listener. There are those albums that are pleasant new listening experiences created long ago—albums that breathe new life into the heart of the listener with their interesting and long-forgotten virtuosity and creativity; albums that you’re eager to add to your collection; albums that inspire deep philosophical reflection on perennial issues; albums that make powerful political statements; albums that were ahead of their time; albums that should have been classics. This album is not one of them. Dropped tempos, sloppy accompanying instrumentals, boring guitar riffs, mechanical bass lines, bad backing vocals, uncreative mixing, mindless lyrics, monotonous interludes, and over the hill rockabilly grooves, all demonstrate that The Flamin’ Groovies are a poor imitation of The Rolling Stones (when they’re not being a poor imitation of the early Elvis Presley [“Evil Hearted Ava”!—yuck]). Compare this album with the Stones’ Sticky Fingers, released the same year, and grab the Ipecac. These guys might have sufficed to play at your high school prom—yours, but not mine. Did you ignore this in 1971? If you did, it was for good reason. 1/5

No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith by Motörhead (1981) I’m sure I’m going to irritate at least one reader with the following comments: Having already panned Motörhead’s Ace of Spades several months ago, I’m now asked to listen to this live collection of eleven performances of previous songs which include three from, you guessed it, Ace of Spades. The collection also includes pieces from Overkill, Bomber, and Motörhead, but it seems like the British critics who put together 1001 Albums felt that there needed to be two Motörhead albums on the list, and this compilation of live cuts was an easier choice than having to decide among these three remaining studio ‘masterworks’. Plus, this live collection was assembled from recordings of several different concerts, so somebody sifted through them to select the best, I suppose. Sort of a “Motörhead’s Greatest Hits”. Well, I’m not buying it. I don’t generally like live albums, and I really, really don’t like Motörhead. So I’ll return the favor here, and give an excerpt from my first panning in this, my second panning of this deplorable ensemble: “With a relentlessly punk/metal/rock sound, Motörhead preaches a ‘gospel’ of lechery, rashness, violence, and an obliterated sense of personal responsibility in this caricature of a caricature by a bunch of musical cosplay cowboys [News Flash: Great Britain didn’t have cowboys]. Their unattenuated gunslinger testosterone and other fired up hormones, as expressed in their lyrics, give evidence of dehumanizing recklessness, and their fast-paced, if undisciplined, musical vibe holds it all together, albeit like duct tape. From sex with underage girls, to treating women as disposable commodities, to a murderous syntheses of love and hate, they replace the good, the true and the beautiful with the good, the bad and the ugly. We endure pathetically elemental stuck-on-one-note ‘melodies’ and almost interesting chord structures. Vocally supplying snarl and rasp where power is unavailable, lead singer/songwriter/bassist Lemmy Kilmister (his real surname) is consistently wimpy. Drums provide blazing tempo, but sloppy fills, and lead guitar riffs too often abandon the rhythm, as if it were a foot race in which every runner is disqualified. This album screams to the intended adolescent listener: You too can destroy yourself and others (preferably not in that order, but if you must . . .). And “that thou doest, do quickly.” 1/5

Heartattack and Vine by Tom Waits (1980) Tom Waits is a national treasure. He has the capability of finding sublime beauty in the feed bin of a sausage grinder. His poetry is not on a level of a Leonard Cohen or a Bob Dylan, but his conceptual freedom is superlative. Don’t try to put this album into a genre. The genre is Tom Waits. Heartattack and Vine is not quite as good as Bone Machine (1992) or Rain Dogs (1985), but it stands on its own as a fine representative piece of the Waits oeuvre. The cover art alone is worth buying the original LP, and you don’t even have to worry about getting it grimy, because it already is. Tube amp fuzz, nasty gravel vocals (with vibrato, no less), and a thespian engagement with his word pictures are completely convincing. His slower than slow pacing allows the blues to shine, highlighting every long, languid electric guitar riff bend. And there’s nothing sloppy in the production, from stylish Hammond organ and jazz piano, to tasteful orchestral tapestries (especially “Saving All My Love for You”, “Jersey Girl”, and “On the Nickel”). Theologians would be hard pressed to to refute his argument in “Heartattack and Vine” that “there ain’t no Devil, there’s just . . .” (I won’t spoil it for you). And while I have the attention of the preachers, let me ask (“Mr. Siegel”): “You got to tell me, brave captain Why are the wicked so strong? How do the angels get to sleep When the devil leaves his porch light on?” His slow-walking “Jersey Girl” (later covered [not as well] by Bruce Springsteen) is the ugliest beautiful Sha-la-la-love song ever. And “Ruby’s Arms” is likewise the sourest sweet farewell love song in the Great American Songbook (well, at least it oughta be). Give this a listen and tell me if I’m crazy. 4/5

The Velvet Underground by The Velvet Underground (1969) I never ‘got’ the Andy Warhol/John Cale/Lou Reed ‘thing’ until it was too late. By then, the ‘thing’ was already passé, and I had mouths to feed. But now that the mouths are fed, this serendipitous re-visit has convinced me that even though all the intelligent girls were transfixed over it, it really wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe that’s just old age (but I’ve always enjoyed the prescience of “Walk on the Wild Side” by Lou Reed [1972] and “Lola” by The Kinks [1970)]). It’s a strange package, with occasional delights. My high school art appreciation teachers told me it wasn’t expressionism or surrealism, and I took that as Gospel. But maybe they were wrong, even though they were some pretty intelligent girls themselves. Now the album The Velvet Underground (now without John Cale) is a step back from the brink of the first two albums by The Velvet Underground. And as such, it simply reveals the group as a moderately competent rock group with slightly greater than average sense of lyric creativity (as in “The Murder Mystery”—really cool). When Lou Reed asks the Lord (in “Jesus”) to “help me find my proper place”“‘cause I’m falling out of grace”, the obvious solution is to climb back in—but that’s too simple. The music on this album is a simply a workable vehicle for a sometimes thoughtful message. On “Candy Says”, we hear: ‘Maybe when I'm older What do you think I'd see If I could walk away from me?" Most oldsters I’ve come to know have found that as time goes by, there’s less of a need to walk away from oneself. Maureen Tucker (“After Hours”) can’t sing. This album didn’t chart. 2/5

Live at the Apollo by James Brown (1963) This recording from a concert at New York City’s Apollo Theater on October 24, 1962 is a quaint look back at a moment in the career of the great R&B pioneer, James Brown. One gets a clear sense of the effect he had on an audience of 1,500, even if his own talents were imperfectly preserved (see below). The venue was the center of the urban black middle class universe at the time. The Apollo, in Harlem, was owned by Sidney Cohen and managed by Morris Sussman, catering to the well dressed and well coiffed ladies and gents who made their way to 253 West 125th Street. It sounds like they had a good (and raucous) time. The Beatles did not invent mania. The music is passionate, showy, exhilarating, and lush. James Brown’s blues voice is surpassed only by Janis Joplin’s, with its energetic and lusty flourishes and starkly contrasting smoothness, all woven together. The backing instrumental and vocal ensemble is generous and disciplined (even if the brass and reeds are not entirely in tune with one another). Among the weaknesses of the original 1963 album, one should note the faulty mix (shunting both lead and backing vocals into the right channel, and bass in the left with the gain too high), and the inconsistent vocal mic direction. The result is that James Brown’s delicious voice is frequently subdued to the point of concealment. These problems were somewhat repaired in the 1990 and 2004 reissues, but with a commensurate loss in fidelity. Also, in the live setting, the female screams (even coached along in the second half of “Lost Someone”) obliterate some of Brown’s most delicate stylings. And in slow, subdued sections (e.g., “I Found Someone”), the murmur of conversation is distracting, if not disrespectful. Plus, Brown seems to lose the audience on “Night Train”, especially at the dud ending of this final track—worst ending to a concert set I’ve ever heard. The serious listener should stick to the studio recordings, but there’s entertainment enough here to sustain interest for 32 minutes. 3/5

Led Zeppelin IV [conventional title] by Led Zeppelin (1971) In 1982, eleven years after this album’s release, a 17-year-old ‘big man on campus’ named Benny walked into his private-school math class singing: “Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove”. His stern, no-nonsense Intermediate Algebra teacher (me) turned from writing the day’s assignment on the blackboard to shoot Benny a disapproving glare. Benny sheepishly clammed up. But as I turned back to the blackboard to finish, I sang softly: “Ah, ah, child, way you shake that thing Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting” As I put down the chalk and turned again toward the class, smile met smile as Benny and I shared a trans-generational moment of awareness of the power of Led Zeppelin IV. Benny ended the semester with a surprisingly good ‘A-‘ in math. It would have been a ‘B+’, but his anachronistic love for Led Zeppelin tilted the scales in a positive direction, and I don’t regret it one bit. There was a time when I considered Led Zeppelin IV to be the greatest album ever, and I’m not sure that that time is past. Young people today should do themselves a favor and develop such a strong a familiarity with this record that they will be able to recognize each track from its opening strains, like Beethoven’s Symphony #5 or Bach’s Toccata and Fugue. It’s that good. Few albums have ever had both the variety and cohesiveness of Led Zeppelin IV. Each listen is an immersive experience, striding through an aural gallery of head-banging rock, moan-inducing blues, culture-resonating folk, and a time-transcending mysticism that carries perennial fascination. And tying all these disparate features together is a musical synthesis of sounds of today (the ‘now’) and images of the misty past (the ‘then’—see below). As musicians, each of the six performers (including Sandy Denny, ethereal backing vocal on “The Battle of Evermore” and Ian Stewart, piano on “Rock and Roll”) executes at peak virtuosity. The four members of Led Zeppelin (Jimmy Page [guitar], Robert Plant [lead vocals], John Bonham [drums], and John Paul Jones [bass & keyboards]) are each individually on lists of the ‘greatest of all time’ in their respective categories of performance. Yet no rock group (other than The Beatles) ever played better together. From the electro-windup intro on the opening track “Black Dog”, the listener knows he/she is in for a thrill and a treat, in that order. Robert Plant’s inimitably powerful yet soulful a cappella lead vocal storms onto the scene, grabbing the ears. Then, struggling to discern the meter, the listener immediately discovers the groove, even though it seems that John Bonham’s ingenious rhythmic composition is performing a different song altogether, ignoring the standard gum-chewing backbeat of early rock. But everything is in miraculous sync, as Page and Jones muscle on, all pausing to let Plant do his thing before kicking back in with pure power rock. We teenagers listening to this in 1971 had never heard anything like this before, because there never was anything like this before. Then, without letting up, we hear the smashing rock & roll of “Rock & Roll”, where Bonham reminds us that the backbeat still lives, and Page cooks like never before with wild guitar solo work. Page later said the track was written and recorded in fifteen minutes. I would have paid serious money to sit in a room with Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, and Chuck Berry to watch them hear this track for the first time. And by the way, the most convincing cover of this song was done by Heart (the closing track of Greatest Hits/Live [1980]). And just when we think the album is going to mash out hard rock from beginning to end, we are jolted into a little fantasy medievalism with the next two tracks, “The Battle of Evermore” (check out the Tolkien, Lord of the Rings references) and “Stairway to Heaven”, where Page’s first-time (!) experience with mandolin and iconic solo electric guitar passages wrap around Plant’s mystical lyrics (Plant was only 22 years old at the time). “Stairway to Heaven” is in the rock ballad canon because of its dramatically drawn out development and increased intensity over a steady chord structure. It’s one of the greatest songs ever, not because of profound lyrics, but because of its incomparable instrumentation and vocal performance. Yes, it has been overplayed and over analyzed, but it still moves. The amazing guitar solo (at 5:55) and the wailing lead vocal on the closing bridge (at 6:45) still bring shivers after a thousand listens. Side two begins with “Misty Mountain Hop” providing an explanation of the contrast on side one between the ‘now’ of the first two tracks and the ‘then’ of tracks three and four. After a tale of a druggie’s awkward encounter with a cop in the mundane ‘now’, the artist concludes with a flight to ‘then’: “So I'm packing my bags for the Misty Mountains Where the spirits go now Over the hills where the spirits fly, ooh” And the listener, clutching a copy of Tolkien, The Hobbit, is glad to go along for the ride. The ‘now/then’ duality is beautifully pictured in the cover art, where the front side shows the weathered ruins of an interior wall adorned with an old painting of a seemingly even older man, contrasting with a modern but dull and overcast cityscape where buildings battle with trees on the back side. And between concern for “when the river runs dry” (in “Four Sticks”, featuring Bonham’s superlative drumming with four drumsticks in 5/8 alternating with 6/8) to the droning blues dread of what will happen “When the Levee Breaks” we hear of a search for the perfect woman as the acoustic guitar (Page) and mandolin (Jones) accompany the softly melodic tune “Going to California”: “To find a queen without a king They say she plays guitar and cries and sings... La la la la Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born.” When in fact she has been born, and her name is Joni Mitchell, and Robert Plant knows it. But he can dream, and so can we. I will listen to this album till the day I die. 5/5

The Real Thing by Faith No More (1989) I just can’t get past the cartoon character lead vocals of Mike Patton (who, at the age of 19, also served as lyricist for the already completed musical compositions—and it shows). The backstory explains a lot, but it’s not very interesting. This record is a good example of how bad things can get when you plug in a new front man. While the band celebrates its own multi-dimensionality, and while it’s clear that they throw out (up?) a variety of styles (rock, prog, pop, folk, metal, hip hop, funk) none of them are done very well. Try to please everyone and you end up pleasing no one, at least not me. Lyrics fall into the ‘ain’t I cool?’ category. Vapid. The effort is not helped by engineering and mixing that are utterly uncreative, flat, and shallow. But that vocal! Turn it off, please! 1/5

Swordfishtrombones by Tom Waits (1983) I like swords. I like fish. I like swordfish. I like trombones. And I really like Tom Waits. This album consists of 15 experimental tracks, most of which are successful. And most of them are from the John Cage school of instrumental nonconformity, and the Allen Ginsberg school of poetic chaos. (But [therefore?] it’s not for everybody, just mostly fellow bohemian hedonists and proletarian cynics like me, and it’s not likely to inspire multiple listens or covers, although I bet it was listened to by Frank Zappa, Indigo Girls, and the later Bob Dylan, yep.) The lyrics are humorous, and wildly creative. But, of course, this is Tom Waits. Here’s a sample (from “Frank’s Wild Years”, which inspired a subsequent album, Frank’s Wild Years): “Well Frank settled down out in the Valley and he hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife's forehead. He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed a $30,000 loan at 15¼%, put a down payment on a little two-bedroom place. His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash: made good Bloody Marys, kept her mouth shut most of the time, had a little Chihuahua named Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind. They had a thoroughly modern kitchen, self-cleaning oven, the whole bit. Frank drove a little Sedan. They were so happy . . .” I would like to have gone on a road trip with Frank, Carlos, and, of course, Tom. Wives can stay home. In 1989, Spin magazine named Swordfishtrombones as the second greatest album of all time, just behind James Brown’s “Sex Machine”, and just ahead of Bob Dylan’s “Blonde on Blonde”. Hmmn. I think maybe Bob Guccione spent too much time arranging long strings of fake pearls. Put this on when you’ve got an hour to kill. It’s only 42 minutes long, but it’ll take you 18 minutes to recover. 3/5

1989 by Taylor Swift (2014) Taylor Swift’s 25-year-old voice is remarkable for its saccharine, airy, and youthful appeal. While her range and tone are only mediocre (requiring a lot of reverb) and while she definitely lacks power, her elocution and diction are superb. She handles consonants with crispness and rhythmic exactitude. And the sweet croaks and glottal stops (e.g., the first eight seconds of “How You Get the Girl”) are executed with the precision of a well trained percussionist. Tonal lifts, bends, slides, and delicate slurs are richly ornamental, but they never obscure the pronunciation, even when she lays down multiple dubs (which is very frequent—listen especially to “This Love”). Every single word can be understood. Her voice is clearly the reason for her monstrous popularity. But musically, the melodies are unimaginative and the synthesizing is overwhelming. It’s expensive without being expansive.   Lyrics are self-centered and non-referential, without intelligence, depth, or even controversy. This is quite an accomplishment for the most financially successful female singer/songwriter of all time. Low level vocabulary and the near absence of poetic figures further diminish the quality of the songs. And her themes reflect ideals that lack maturity. One can justifiably lament the sad effect these lyrics had on her primary audience, adolescent girls and women who are stuck in adolescence. She could benefit by listening to the lyrics of a Judy Collins, Joan Baez, or Joni Mitchell.  After hearing this entire album, the serious listener feels like he/she (mostly she) has just spent 12 hours in a candy store with a credit card.  3/5

A Seat the Table by Solange (2016) This smooth R&B 52-minute testimonial-laden therapy session is an elaborate product with 55 artists, producers, and engineers listed in the credits. It’s not so much entertainment as it is a manifesto of an aggrieved corporate soul. And its art is profound, but it’s limited by thematic isolation—fixated on the elephant in the room. And there is an elephant. And it is in the room. Musically inventive, exploring chords and melodies like we’ve likely never heard, with a soothing flavor, even on songs reflecting on the detrimental effects of sustained but justifiable anger, this album is very easy to listen to, but very hard to embrace. It is comfortable, but not comforting. Pulsing beats predominate, with elegant vocal harmonies, and absolutely no hesitation in utilizing the widest possible tonal range on every track. Very well done. The music is beautiful; Solange’s voice is angelic. The message is understandably cathartic, but it’s obsessive. It makes the listener want to hear what’s beyond this, with an eagerness to move forward. Her next album, When I Get Home (2019), is indeed better. 3/5

Before and after Science by Brian Eno (1977) The listener’s initial impression might well be a weary regret that these songs were not sung by David Bowie. Eno’s voice doesn’t cut it, even on the atonal “Talking Heads” goofiness in the verses of the anagrammatical “King’s Lead Hat”. In terms of lyrics and ‘message’, well, to say that he strains for a rhyme would be an insult to poetry. For Eno the lyricist, rhyme is just one more instrument among the many on this album that viciously compete for the listener’s attention. And it almost always loses. The best not-great lyric in the collection is the song “Julie With…”, which almost tells a moving story, but I would like to have heard more about the “open blouse”, which is, after all, what “Julie” is “With”. (I actually hope that these remarks have piqued the reader’s interest enough to give it a listen.) The electro/folk/country/rock ballad “Here He Comes” seems to pack every musical cliché into the groove—the only thing it’s missing is sense. My thought as it concluded was “And there he goes!” Now there are some nice musical touches, chiefly in the areas of percussion and bass lines, recorded superbly (for 1977). But the subpar vocals and lyrics are just too damn distracting. Some of the synth effects sound positively primitive from a distance of 45 years. The two instrumental tracks (“Energy Fools the Magician” and “Through Hollow Lands” are very nice to listen to, even if there is nothing dazzling in the performances. The closing track “Spider and I” sounds like Enya on quaaludes. I’ve remarked elsewhere that Brian Eno should have stuck to producing. Nothing on this record changes that assessment. One thing I’ll say for this album—Eno, who designed the cover, knows better than Apple Music, Wikipedia, and the editors of 1001 Albums that one should not capitalize the preposition “after” in the title. Bravo. 2/5

Vivid by Living Colour (1988) This is an album that’s not exactly bad, but it’s far from good. The only song that rises (slightly) above average is the opening track “Cult of Personality”, and the only performance that shines is the multidimensional Hendrix/Santana-influenced guitar work by Vernon Reid. He shows real talent. But the band Living Colour would not have had much success if not for the backing of one Mick Jagger, who provides very minor cameo harmonica hooks on “Broken Hearts”. Meh. Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev’s greatest virtue was displayed in the (somewhat opportunistic) fortitude he demonstrated in his 1956 “Secret Speech”, where he denounced the “cult of personality” that had developed around three-years-dead Joseph Stalin. One may justifiably wonder where Khrushchev’s fortitude was when he was climbing his own ladder to power by doing Stalin’s evil bidding in Ukraine during some of the Soviet tyrant’s worst years, but the charge of a “cult of personality” caught hold, resonated, and propelled Khrushchev to global recognition. (I highly recommend the delightfully funny movie The Death of Stalin, where the “cult of personality” is satirized, and the part of Khrushchev is played by Steve Buscemi.) But in the opening track of this album (“Cult of Personality”), Living Colour harnesses recollections of Malcolm X, JFK, Gandhi, FDR, and Mussolini to put a moral question mark on the concept. As political philosophy, the song is clunky, incoherent, and impotent, but safe. The marketing guys would have had no problem with it. Nor would sugar daddy Mick. It was harmless enough to win a Grammy. The eclectic remainder of the album is all over the genre map, from hard rock “I Want to Know”, “Middle Man”) to thrash metal (“Which Way to America?”) to rock/thrash/funk (“Funny Vibe”) to . . . well, you get it. A conveniently skippable record if you’ve got more important things to do. 2/5

Imperial Bedroom by Elvis Costello and The Attractions (1982) “Ineluctable modality of the visible . . . nebeneinander” “Ineluctable modality of the audible . . . nacheinander” —James Joyce, Ulysses (1922), chapter 3, “Proteus” In plain English, these two quoted snippets mean: (1) The inescapable way in which we perceive objects by seeing is adjacently, side by side (German nebeneinander), linking the visible with space. (2) The inescapable way in which we perceive objects by hearing is sequentially, one after another (German nacheinander), linking the audible with time. Space/visible and Time/audible. (This goes back to Aristotle’s Sense and Sensibilia [Περὶ αἰσθήσεως καὶ αἰσθητῶν] section 7, but let’s not get carried away.) There is great wisdom here, which is essential to our fullest understanding of poetry, and hence, our fullest understanding of Elvis Costello’s Imperial Bedroom. The best poetry incorporates both the spatial and temporal modes of perceiving, by producing mental images and setting them forth in an aural sequence. Yet it is helpful to distinguish (without separating) the two modes as our minds absorb the artistry into our souls. Now, a peculiar (perhaps unique) feature of the album as it was originally released is that the lyrics were printed on the inner sleeve, but the hole in the middle of the sleeve was ‘filled in’ by lyrics printed on the label on Side One (!) of the vinyl disk itself. This means that one could only read the entire lyrics with the LP in the sleeve (and properly rotated), and therefore, not on one’s turntable. Thus, since it was impossible to play the record and read the lyrics at the same time, the perplexed owner was forced to not listen to the music if he/she wanted to fully appreciate the message (Perhaps they got complaints, because later RCA versions of the LP simply printed a normal label and the full lyrics on an inner sleeve without a hole). Now this original packaging design may have seemed to be a quirky and annoyingly meaningless gimmick, but I’m sure it was quite intentional. Read these lyrics before you listen. It will keep you, whether you’re aware of it or not, from confusing the nacheinander and the nebeneinander. And what we find when we let the poetry speak first (I recommend the Genius app) is that Elvis Costello had some pretty strange things to say, and he said them quite well. With very clever wordplay (sometimes bordering on the trite, but always entertaining), superior euphony, vivid word pictures, multivalent allusions, clear cadence, and bold emotional evocations, Costello treats themes of troubled and ended relationships, social isolation, philosophical conundrums, lament for the departed, longing for seriousness, savagery in intimacy, frustration in being misunderstood, inexpressible love, the foolishness of adolescent promiscuity. And I won’t spoil it by connecting particular themes with particular tracks. If you just ‘play’ this album, it will zoom right past you. This is the poverty of MTV, YouTube, and the whole phenomenon of streaming, young folks. You’ll have to work hard to overcome the deficiency. I mean, just take his opening quatrain: “History repeats the old conceits The glib replies, the same defeats Keep your finger on important issues With crocodile tears and a pocketful of tissues” This is not hopscotch. This is T.S. Eliot territory (well, I exaggerate, but hyperbole can be found in Eliot himself, although he’d deny it). Hundreds of gems like this in only fifteen compositions. Now the music, well, it’s Elvis Costello, produced by Geoff Emerick, known for his previous legendary engineering work for an obscure British combo called The Beatles, and backed by The (superb) Attractions. What’s not to like? As I’ve said elsewhere, in terms of his music, Elvis Costello is fond of the compositional device of ‘bending’ classic rock & roll, jazz, and pop sonic tropes toward the irrational. It’s more sophisticated than mere mockery. It reflects a redemptive abandonment of mid-60s popular culture’s self-inflicted illusion of hopefulness. It’s a musical expression of the reason why a question mark is curvy and an exclamation point is straight. On the minus side, there is sometimes a slight disconnect on the record between the musical and lyrical moods, but, hey, get over it. This album is a rare combination of musical and poetic sense. By distinguishing these elements as Costello undoubtedly originally intended, we can absorb the interplay as art. 5/5

Songs of Leonard Cohen by Leonard Cohen (1967) Now this is a fine anti-pop record. Leonard Cohen’s debut album contains the mesmerizing “Suzanne” and several other top quality tracks. And there’s nothing here that is uninteresting. It’s helpful to be aware when approaching this album that Cohen was a recognized (if only modestly successful) poet and novelist before he was a singer/songwriter. In fact, he had already been featured on Six Montreal Poets (1957), a spoken word album with Cohen reciting his poetry on eight of the forty-three tracks. And it’s also helpful to keep in mind that Cohen is consciously and unapologetically Jewish, unafraid of expressing both his faith and his doubt in a predominantly Christian environment—he draws freely, imaginatively, and sometimes critically from images in the gospels. So in Songs of Leonard Cohen, the poet picks up the guitar and gives the listener compositions with well-matched chord progressions and near perfect poetic cadences. The album was recorded and released with the encouragement of Judy Collins during a period when Cohen was hanging out with Andy Warhol/Nico/Velvet Underground crowd. So one should be neither surprised nor put off by the surrealism of his songs (although it’s ironic that such an ‘anti-pop’ album would emerge from a community known for ‘pop art’). He is supported by delicate backing vocals (sometimes, as in “So Long, Marianne”, very 60s-ish) and sensitive if sometimes idiosyncratic instrumentals. The opening track “Suzanne” features haunting if perplexing sentiments of the listener’s need for trust, longing for love, and being commensurate with nature. The mysterious, “half crazy”, and entrancing Suzanne is juxtaposed with reflections on the “almost human” Jesus, who “sinks beneath your wisdom like a stone”. Beware of over-confident declarations of the symbolic meanings. It is deliberately opaque and provocatively obscure, but vivid nonetheless. Cohen’s voice provides a soft, pulsing dynamism to his words, but lacks tonal precision. Melodies are a conventional and unenigmatic mismatch with his most enigmatic lyrics. His guitar stylings are unexceptional, and lacking in variety. But these musical weakness serve to drive the listener to the lyrics, always delivered with understated power and authority. These tracks beg for a slow listen, without distraction, perhaps while feeding on “tea and oranges that come all the way from China”. Highly recommended. 4/5

Happy Trails by Quicksilver Messenger Service (1969) Well, this is a pleasant treat. The psychedelic rock, album-oriented work of QMS is not well-known these days, but it’s instructive for the historical development of much that was to come. Happy Trails is mostly instrumental, improvisational, live, and weird. San Francisco weird, in fact. Bouncing off a Bo Diddly platform, these performances are basically neo-Dadaistic jam sessions with fingers on the knobs of the Marshall amps. It’s best listened to indoors, in the evening, accompanied by mild intoxication, such as a high quality bourbon, open to being interrupted by the insights of close friends. Party music for serious partiers. It’s ‘not thinking’ music, from ‘not thinking’ times. In other words, don’t bother asking “What were they thinking?” They weren’t. Reverb, tremolo, distortion, feedback. Trippy, man. No need to be distracted by the virtuosity of a Jimi Hendrix or the profundity of a Jefferson Airplane or the musicality of a Grateful Dead. These guys were content to let the psychedelic fly solo. Forget the final (and title) track. Good for nostalgia—bringing to mind how it was back then, without the paranoia. 3/5

Crocodiles by Echo & the Bunnymen (1980) If you’re looking for meaningful lyrics, disciplined poetic cadence, creative melodies, elaborate chord structures, skillful performances, and fine vocals, you should look elsewhere. This Liverpudlian group’s debut release has a steady and competent sound, but it lacks variety on almost every level. I’m looking for artistry here and not finding it. Ian McCulloch’s lead vocals are too often stuck on one note, with easy intervals begging to get back to the home tone. It’s what a non-singer does when forced to write a song he has to sing. While the themes are dark, they neither shock nor provoke empathy. All we get is assorted amateur adolescent angst that could be assisted by amphetamines. It’s a sad album that provides its only musical variation on the final track “Happy Death Men”. If this record has a highlight, this is it, but it’s more of a lowlight. The lone lead solo guitar work is found on this track, and listening to it goes a long way toward explaining why there isn’t more of it. Guitarist Will Sergeant has a very narrow comfort zone, and he has the good sense to stay within it. It seems to me that in a title track about “Crocodiles”, it seems that one could find some actual crocodilian images that might give some meaning. But nope. The listener is pretty much on his/her own. In the song “Rescue”, they ask: “Is this the blues I’m singin’?” No, I don’t think so. More like the blahs. 1/5

Let England Shake by PJ Harvey (2011) This is a concept album, and the concept is intense, but naïve. PJ Harvey writes songs depicting the horrors of war, especially those fought by the English (specifically WWI and the more recent wars in the Middle East), as if generations of soldiers had not composed literature treating the theme more authentically and powerfully. She laments the fact that England achieved greatness with bloodshed, apparently unconcerned about possible alternatives. In other words, her worldview is shaped by horrified indignation and spiced with gore, without providing any evidence of an awareness of either history or political science. Musically, it’s a mess, and she should have either revisited her decision to play saxophone or she should have tuned it to the guitar. Rarely have I been so eager to hear the final strains of the closing track. 1/5

Country Life by Roxy Music (1974) This is my first experience with Roxy Music, and I can’t help but observe that British art rock from the 1970s is well represented in this lushly composed and arranged treat—a nice demonstration of how good a group can sound after saying ‘no’ to Brian Eno (who left the group in 1973 to do his laundry—yeah, look it up). I guess excellent rock has room for only one oversized ego. Songwriter/lead vocalist Bryan Ferry’s lyrics are thoughtful and inventive enough, treating standard themes, if one can take one’s eyes off the cover in order to read the words while listening (I had to play the album twice. Well, three times. Thank God for only giving women two hands). There’s lots of flanging, phase shifting, chorus, echo, synth, and other effects deftly adding color to the soundscape (listen to “Out of the Blue”—this, kids, is how it’s done). Easy on the ears without being ‘easy listening’ elevator music. Lovers of thrash, punk, and head-banging rock will probably think this album is not that good, but I would invite them to consider the musicality of Roxy Music. At least try to be impressed. For those who like the history of avant-garde (oxymoron?), there’s “Bittersweet”, a Bertolt Brecht/Kurt Weil-styled kiss-off to a failed love. Well, at least it’s not violent. Listen to “If It Takes All Night” and hear what a saxophone sounds like when it’s in tune (with a dazzling solo on “Prairie Rose”). Of course reed horn player Andy Mackay was also an oboist, hence he had both ear and embouchure, but I listened hard for oboe and could only hear it on the aforementioned “Bittersweet”, a really really cool track. We hear superior guitar performances by Phil Manzanera, such as on “All I Want Is You”, “Out of the Blue” (wow!) and “Casanova”. And there are very nice orchestrations, (especially on “The Thrill of It All” and “A Really Good Time”, where the strings save this song from being the album’s only clunker). Listening to this album for the first time, I can only lament missing out on it when it came out. I think I bought something by Three Dog Night instead. Silly me. 4/5

Moby Grape by Moby Grape (1967) They were supposed to be ‘the next big thing’ upon this debut album’s release, but they fizzled, and the reasons are evident on the record: five members, five lead vocalists, five front men, five songwriters, five egos. Plus, they were atrociously (over-)managed, but that’s backstory. This album could have been great. The talent was there. The opening track “Hey Grandma” shows their ability, and their ability to work together, when they applied themselves. But (except for track four, “8:05”) it really goes downhill from there. Mostly psychedelic rock, but it lacks the absorbing power of Jimi Hendrix, The Grateful Dead, The Doors, or many others. A qualifier is appropriate here: I never listened to them stoned. Since they were all five vocalists, it is noteworthy that they didn’t have a smooth vocal blend. Compare with CSN (with even the later Y), and there’s no comparison. Moby Grape was less than the vocal sum of its parts. Similar observations could be made about the competing guitar arrangements and performances. This ain’t The Eagles. The laughably surreptitious flipping of the bird and the cheesy faux political dying of the American flag in commie red on the cover photo adds to the plasticity (Oooooh, they’re so revolutionary, Cindy!). Too bad. These guys could really sing. 2/5

Cross by Justice (2007) Most of this album is ‘instrumental’, if the meaning of that term is stretched to include electronic/synth/mechanical beats and elaborate sampling. Very elaborate sampling. The sound is cool, despite the proliferation of ‘clipping’ of samples, resulting In very little resonance in the overall sound. Three of the twelve tracks (“D.A.N.C.E.”, “The Party”, and “DVNO”) are actually ‘songs’, meaning that they include (maudlin) melody and (limp) lyrics, although even here, melody and lyrics take a backseat to the beats and samples. The greatest weaknesses here are the unrelenting repetitions and lack of development and dynamic variation. All the dynamism is in microseconds. 2/5

Diamond Life by Sade (1984) With prominent bass lines and soulful jazz/pop arrangements, lead vocalist Sade Adu delivers sensuous sound layered over rhythms that are easy on the ears. Her voice is not strong enough to dominate, but it’s disciplined enough to carry melodies with confidence. Lyrically unremarkable, Sade’s themes treat of the ups and downs of love, with enough standard advice to help keep the listener on the straight and narrow. Wholesome. Comfortable. Two tracks depart from this main theme: a closing cover of Timmy Thomas’ rather bland peace exhortation “Why Can’t We Live Together” and Sade Adu’s excellent “Sally”, a moving and redemptive paean which celebrates the heroics of a woman who rescues the down and out in the ugly underbelly of New York, vicariously “doing our dirty work”, loving the lost on behalf of the rest of us. Musically, Stuart Matthewman provides funky guitar and smooth saxophone, but the bass playing by Paul Denman stands out, occasionally expanding scales and intervals enough to provide countermelodies that complement and amplify without distraction. This album is an easy listen, and it won’t start a revolution or transform your self image, but it’s suitable background for getting your stuff done. No excuses. 3/5

I’ve Got a Tiger by the Tail by Buck Owens and The Buckaroos (1965) My first experience of Buck Owens was in 1968, watching him Sunday evenings on the television show Hee Haw, where he emceed silly corn pone sketches accompanied by canned laugh tracks. When his musical numbers started up, I looked for something else to do. The TV producers were pulling my leg. My second experience with Buck Owens was the fleeting reference to him in Creedence Clearwater Revival’s song “Lookin’ Out My Back Door” (Cosmos Factory [1970]), a song relating the nonsensical hallucinogenic effects of some unnamed substance. Buck Owens was being mocked, and CCR was pulling my leg. My third (and likely last) experience with Buck Owens was today, when Robert Dimery notified me that I’ve Got a Tiger by the Tail is one of the 1001 albums I must hear before I die. I think he’s pulling my leg. I mean, just one look at Buck Owens’ absurdly sequined jacket and homely coprophagic grin pretty much tells the story. But just one listen to his outrageously exaggerated twang and interminably rounded vowels and diphthongs makes me clench my teeth (He doesn’t speak that way; it’s an act). However, I soldier on with determination to give this a serious listen for your benefit, dear reader. Popular country music in the 1960s was a definite niche with a circumscribed audience. It has since matured considerably, but back then, even in my late childhood, I recognized that the songwriting and arranging lacked musical creativity and was carried along only with the aid of with (barely) clever lyrics. It’s a shame, too, because pedal steel guitar and fiddle have shown the potential to be superlatively soulful instruments (“A Maiden’s Prayer”). And the 3/4 time signature (“Let the Sad Times Roll” and “Streets of Laredo”) can be expressive when it’s not boring. The opening title track “I’ve Got a Tiger by the Tail” is mildly entertaining, and suffices for music historians as the signature song of Buck Owens. But it is sooo corny. And “Wham Bam” was a moderately obscene song based on a dirty joke already circulating in the U.S. Navy. Buck Owens co-wrote it with his ex-wife Bonnie as she was about to ‘wham bam’ off with Merle Haggard. I swear I’m not making this up. Don Rich’s tenor vocal harmony is stuck on major thirds and fifths, but it provides an essential relief from Owens’ most unimpressive solo lead vocals. Doyle Holly’s bass vocal (“Streets of Laredo”) would be even more unimpressive than Owens’ if it weren’t for the supercharged reverb in the lower register. Now the lead guitar and pedal steel riffs are skillfully done (for the genre), which is the only reason this album rates a “2” instead of a “1”. Listen especially to “Fallin’ for You” if you need evidence. On second thought, just take my word for it. Buck Owens’ “Cryin’ Time” is a good song, but please throw away this original and listen to the Ray Charles’ cover instead. Pretend that it was never done by Buck and The Buckaroos. Likewise, the Buckaroos’ cover of Chuck Berry’s “Memphis” demonstrates that they can’t do convincing rock ‘n roll. Listen to this album only after you’re already inebriated. 2/5

Paris 1919 by John Cale (1973) Of the three key members of The Velvet Underground (John Cale, Lou Reed, and Nico [1965-1967]), John Cale was the most inscrutable. But on the post-Underground album Paris 1919, John Cale approaches scrutability. If nothing else, the record demonstrated that he actually had musical talent, even if his lyrics remained on the obscure side. With an almost pop sound, utilizing sensible but creative melodies, and backed by the UCLA Symphony Orchestra, Paris 1919 is listenable, even if Cale’s voice leaves much to be desired (I’m being generous on that last bit). From the wacky faux-reggae “Graham Greene” to the almost folk rock anthem “Half Past France” to the delicately pretty and cool “Andalucia”, the musical chops are there, but they seem almost desperate to achieve meaning. The allusions to the overall theme of the album are oh so slight. It takes work to understand, and it’s not quite worth it. The album does prompt some historical reflection, which is a plus. The ‘Paris’ of Paris 1919 was of course the post-WWI Paris, recovering but victorious after the Triple Entente (Britain, France, and Russia) defeated the Triple Alliance (Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy) and providing the setting for the 1919 Paris Peace Conference. The conference was marked by the victors’ idealism and hopefulness that sought an international path forward after the “war to end all wars”. Sadly (and due in no small part to the arrogant and vain naïveté of U.S. President Woodrow Wilson), the resulting Treaty of Versailles would be a colossal failure, ensuring the rise of German nationalism and the horrors of WWII just 20 years later. Cale’s lyrics on the title track “Paris 1919” make reference to this ephemeral buoyancy, but they remain indeterminate, so they represent a missed opportunity. But the music captures the mood—the foolishness of those who put bright heads together confident of securing the avoidance of war. As the wise man said, “When will they ever learn?” (Pete Seeger/Joe Hickerson, “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” [1955/1960]) An even wiser man said (in 1950), “No one has yet explained how war prevents war. Nor has anyone been able to explain away the fact that war begets the conditions that beget further war.” That ‘even wiser man’ was the American Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower. He should know. 2/5

Too-Rye-Ay by Dexys Midnight Runners (1982) I’m not a fan of Britpop, but Dexys Midnight Runners add a creative flair to the genre that makes for a truly enjoyable listen. For those who, like me, thought that Dexys Midnight Runners’ first album (Young Soul Rebels [1980]) was very good, well, this one is very gooder. To the prominent trombone and other horns, they added two violins, making their pop sound even more idiosyncratically inventive. Readers might be familiar with the big hit off this album, the closing track “Come On Eileen” (successful on both sides of the Atlantic), but if that’s all you know, you’re missing a lot. Their cover of Van Morrison’s “Jackie Wilson Said (I’m in Heaven When You Smile)” is even better than Morrison’s original (from his album Saint Dominic’s Preview [1972]). More splashy vocals, string backgrounds, elaborate horns, and a more open sound. The opening track “Celtic Soul Brothers” is exactly what is advertised. Scottish/Irish Celtic instrumental grounding with 60s Motown soul/R&B flavorings. It’s like The Pogues on a date with The Supremes (or, alternatively, Loreena McKennitt on a date with John Belushi—make your own suggestions! It’d be a fun party game). Now the lead vocal by Kevin Rowland is quirky (kind of a whiny David Bowie) and definitely not of high quality. But it is supremely interesting, almost as if he had a prior career as a punk rock frontman (he did—with The Killjoys in the late 70s). But Rowland and trombonist “Big” Jim Paterson are the creative geniuses behind the sound. And it’s a very good sound. With mobile bass lines, sassy horns, jazz interludes, female backing vocal ensemble, adjustable meter, along with occasional banjo, accordion, and tin whistle thrown in, the listener experiences an unexpected delight around every bend in the road. There’s a lot of good music on this album. It’s worth putting on the headphones and dancing in the living room (especially if your wife just left for two and a half weeks to visit your mother in law). 4/5

High Violet by The National (2010) These are songs that are brooding, melancholy, introspective, dark, and quite comfortable with sadness—the sort of feeling that is the effect of the world’s ubiquitous anxiety. There’s no frivolity, and the only happiness is found in a temporary and carefully limited escape (“Lemonworld”) from the angst factory of urban life. This my kind of music. Lyrically, there’s a stubborn attachment to the full experience of pain, disappointment, and the low feelings accompanying failed relationships, all set against a musical background that is richly elaborated with haunting choral vocals and keyboards/strings/horns orchestrations. One is reminded of the droning electronic colorings, heavy sustain, and slow chord progressions of U2. Brass choir with low woodwinds (“Runaway”, “Conversation 16”) never hit the anticipated strident and victorious highs. This has a halting effect. Bravo. The mix is heavy on drums, pulsing and resonant drums, with spare use of cymbals and snaring. The lead vocalist is refreshingly baritone. Rock music needs more of this. It’s somber, but it’s not a downer. It’s sorrowful, but it’s not depressing. It’s tenebrous, but it’s not hopeless. It’s why, as T.S. Eliot would reflect, “we call this Friday ‘Good’”. It’s honest mood music, best taken in small doses, but good medicine for the flippant soul. Listen to this record when you’re ready to stop being silly. 3/5

21 by Adele (2011) Here’s an album where the artist bares her soul, and I, for one, wish that she had put some clothes on it. In “Rolling in the Deep”, for instance, her indignation not only lacks subtlety, it also puts vengeance, spite, and unwarranted finality into an overfilled shopping cart of disillusionment over a failed relationship. This is not the wholesome expression of anger and self-worth of “I Will Survive” (Gloria Gaynor, Love Tracks, [1978]). This is more like, “I may or may not survive, but you damn sure won’t.” It’s not passive aggression. It’s active aggression to the point of toxic femininity. And in “Rumor Has It”, while the rumor is that “I’m the one you’re leaving her for”, the final dig is “He’s the one I’m leaving you for”. Bitter. Bitter. And it’s not as though she’s unaware. In “Don’t You Remember”, she admits “I know I have a fickle heart and a bitterness”, but she doesn’t care. She’s gonna slam the door on your fingers, turn the lock, and walk away anyhow. In “Turning Tables”, the sentiment is slightly more mature (“Under your thumb, I can’t breathe”) and hopeful (“Next time I’ll be braver”), but it’s still stuck in unredemptive finality. Likewise in “Set Fire to the Rain”, she declaims, “I threw us into the flames . . . Let it burn.” It’s like the Götterdämmerung mentality of the leaders of Germany in March, 1945. In each of these songs, it’s as if she’s unwilling to forgive the other of the smugness, gamesmanship, manipulation, and inconstancy that she reserves to herself. This is not a formula for psychological health. These are not so much songs as they are splenetic ejaculations of self-generated misery. Now there’s no question that her voice excels in power, range, and tone. And the musical settings are suited to the mood and are all well executed. But this album gives expression to a disordered psyche. 2/5

The Number of the Beast by Iron Maiden (1982) I remember when this record was released in 1982 that it caused quite a stir among conservative moralizers (such as myself), prompting boycotts of retailers and protests featuring album burnings. But I don’t remember ever paying attention to the lyrics. I seem to recall resting content that the album title and cover art were provocative enough to warrant its destruction, as in “I don’t need to listen to this trash to recognize that it comes directly from the Devil.” Now I’m in my mid-sixties, and it’s time to admit I was wrong. The ‘message’ of this album is not blasphemous; it does not promote Satanism; it is not obscene; it is not hateful; it is not threatening; it is not anti-Christian. Indeed, the only song that treats of the theme of devil worship (the title track “The Number of the Beast”) is somewhat ambivalent, giving a sympathetic view in the fourth verse and third chorus, but counterbalanced by fear and active opposition to the satanic in the remainder of the song—kind of like what one would expect when the apocalypse actually arrives, no? One could charitably interpret the song as setting forth the voices of a protagonist and an antagonist, without resolution. The rest of the album deals with themes of: (1) Viking incursions in England (“Invaders”) (2) Two (very excellent) British sci-fi movies of the early 60s (“Children of the Damned”) (3) A (very excellent) British TV spy-psy-sci-fi thriller (“The Prisoner”) (4) A plea for a woman to leave her life of prostitution (“22 Acacia Avenue”), (5) European American genocide Native Americans (“Run to the Hills”) (6) The horrors of gang violence (“Gangland”) (7) The psychological terror of a man condemned to die (“Hallowed Be Thy Name”) Anyone who is generally, indiscriminately, and piously indignant at themes of suffering and violence hasn’t read the Bible lately. The only thing morally objectionable about these lyrics is their sinfully low quality. Words like ‘trite’, ‘shallow’, ‘vacuous’, ‘cartoonish’, and ‘derivative’ come to mind. Let’s not dwell on it. It’s just bad poetry. The ‘message’ does not offend against the Good or the True; it only offends against the Beautiful. Now the music is dark, energetic, driving, heavy, scary, wild, elaborate, and creative. It’s done well, especially for 1982. Maybe the compositions are unduly repetitive, but they are all suitable for the lyrical themes—like a sonic expression of the banality of evil. Pity if there’s no room for that in one’s world view. 3/5

My Aim Is True by Elvis Costello (1977) This debut album from Elvis Costello is good, but not nearly as good as later albums like This Year’s Model (1978) or Imperial Bedroom (1982). In My Aim Is True, he appears to be just getting his feet wet. It lacks the literary lyrical quality and the musical creativity found in his more mature efforts, although there are flashes of true brilliance. I remember passing on Elvis Costello in 1977, since he sounded so out of date. And 45 years later, this particular album has a roughly historical appeal. His voice is energetic, but flawed by excessive vowel bending and overly exaggerated and flippant stylings. His guitar work is capable, but not stellar. Check out “Mystery Dance” for evidence. In a nutshell, Costello gives intelligent lyrical expression to negative emotions, accompanied by bright and sassy rock ‘n roll melodies and chord structures. One can imagine the kicks he got recording “Welcome to the Working Week”, since his day job at the time was as a data entry clerk. “Alison” is overrated as a signature song. For me, the highlight of the album is “(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes”, especially given its authentic and reflective biblical angelology, unchained from centuries of static dogma. His quirky hamartiology speculates, “Blame it on Cain, don’t blame it on me/It’s nobody’s fault, but we need somebody to burn.” Think about why he picked Cain instead of Adan, Eve, or the serpent. And there’s a nice eschatological take (in the closing track “Waiting for the End of the World”) when he sings “Dear Lord, I sincerely hope you’re coming, ‘cause you really started something” (I can hear my mother yelling, “Somebody better clean up this mess!”). There’s plenty here to entertain head-scratching armchair theologians. When he sings “I’m Not Angry”, do not, of course, believe him. I’ve known HR directors who could gain insight from Elvis Costello. It’s all good musical fun. 3/5

The Lexicon of Love by ABC (1982) This is Britpop with elaborate but soulless orchestrations, playfully baroque synthesizer sounds, and a cheesy cover. Mindless gum-chewing lyrics rip off every nonsensical cliché in the pop canon, reducing romantic themes to mere instrumentalities. Lead singer Martin Fry has a voice that strains to even sound pretentious, with weak falsetto and carnival barker main register. And this is the worst use of string orchestrations that one is likely to ever hear. Everything is excessive, winding up as flat as an over-baked soufflé. Compositions seem cute but random—the only constant is the relentlessly robotic disco dance floor beat. The album is supremely mis-titled. A ‘lexicon’ serves to elucidate meaning. This album does not treat the ‘meaning’ of love at all. It doesn’t even demonstrate love by example. It merely uses love’s struggles as a means to get someone to dance. On the plus side, I’m glad Gered Mankowitz included a couple of trash cans in the cover photo. They should come in handy. 1/5

Peace Sells . . . But Who’s Buying? by Megadeth (1986) Well, this is grim. From the relatively innocuous tale of a guy trying to get away with cheating on his homicidal lover (the opening track “Wake Up Dead”) to the death-embracing musings of a guy playing Russian Roulette (the closing track “My Last Words”), we are treated to Satanic celebrations (“The Conjuring”, “Bad Omen”), a paean to murderously sadistic gore (“Good Mourning/Black Friday”) and other misanthropic delectations. This album lacks the honest vitality of Iron Maiden, the serious and mesmerizing darkness of Jane’s Addiction, and the musicality of Metallica. With finely executed and elaborate guitar runs, power chords, heavy bass lines, wild drum stylings, snarly (but weak) vocals, and fast paced tempos, Megadeth delivers prototypically extreme metal. Give them credit for having their scales and beats down cold. And they play well together. But the music lacks any feeling other than rage. Except for the rocking “I Ain’t Superstitious”, it’s entirely one dimensional. Overall, the album’s lack of subtlety is numbing. Boring, even. The title track “Peace Sells” might be considered the highlight of the album, variously described as ‘politically oriented’, ‘socially aware’, and ‘topical’, but it is none of these. The concept is merely a naked rip-off of a line from an article in (the notoriously conservative!) Reader’s Digest: “Peace Would Sell But No One Would Buy It”. If this song is, as reputed, Megadeth’s signature piece, the signature is forged. And its message makes no sense. It has nothing to do with the war/peace dichotomy. It’s all about the self-justification of an atheistic, deadbeat, mean-spirited, and unambitious lowlife. The only thing going for this song is the opening bass riff. The opening instrumental of “Good Mourning/Black Friday” and the intro to “My Last Words” are nice, but they don’t come close to redeeming this quintessentially anti-redemptive record. 2/5

The “Chirping” Crickets by Buddy Holly and the Crickets (1957) This classic album is noteworthy for its influence on major artists and, in retrospect, reminiscent of the lamentably untimely demise of Buddy Holly (in a plane crash, along with The Big Bopper and Ritchie Valens—February 3, 1959, “the day the music died”). But as an album it stands on its own, within the context of early rock’n roll, setting forth a collection of jukebox friendly dance tunes with lyrics expressing the simple, shallow (but intense), G-rated yearnings of the male teenage heart. I love you, baby, oo-wah oo-wah. The compositions are strongly rooted in gospel and country melodies and chord structures, with R&B stylings. But because of the limitations of 1957 recording technology, I recommend putting away the headphones and listening through the smallest speakers you can find. An iPhone would work fine, set on ‘mono’, and held close to one ear like a cheap pocket transistor radio (if you’re old enough to remember what that is). On the minus side, the backing vocals of The Crickets are substandard, with strained range, poor blend, and continuous pitch problems, nearly all on the flat side. But this defect is more than compensated for by the strong and creative vocals and high reverb guitar playing of Holly himself. Holly’s vocal art is marked by a comfortably casual tone, and the pervasive use of percussive elements such as glottal stops, guttural pulses, ‘hiccups’, stutters, scoops, squeaks, rapid rhythmic vibrato, and crisp register breaks. It’s delightfully inventive, even if it might sound silly to prog rock aficionados of the 70s and 80s, and fans of later pop, metal, and hip hop. This is a record to be valued chiefly for its historical significance, unless your lady is ready to make the bubble gum pop, kick off the saddle oxfords, roll down the bobby socks, and hit the hardwood floor. 3/5

Red Headed Stranger by Willie Nelson (1975) A man called to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ in Montana (“Time of the Preacher”) loses the affection of his wife (“I Couldn’t Believe It Was True”) and commits the ‘justifiable’ homicide of both his wife and her lover (“Blue Rock Mountain/Red Headed Stranger”). Grief stricken, he departs, only to arrive in another town, where he again commits ‘justifiable’ homicide, this time of a yellow haired lady who, through greed and trickery, tried to take the beloved horse that had belonged to his late wife (“Red Headed Stranger”). He finally proceeds to Denver (“Denver”), where he finds solace with a woman (“Can I Sleep in Your Arms”) and apparently becomes her husband and (much later) a grandfather, who reflects on his misery and his hopes for the future in the company of his grandson (“Hands on the Wheel”), finding resolution and redemption in his dotage. This is the basic synopsis of the country western near-opera “The Red Headed Stranger”. Many of the details can only be surmised by listening through the spare lines of narrative, and imagining the drama as the tale unfolds over 15 tracks in 34 minutes. Your take might be different. But there are intertextual weavings and recapitulations that hold the poetry together throughout the album. Some of these are really fine; check out the last two lines of “Denver”. I won’t spoil it for you. What is most refreshing about this musical tale is the fact that it exists in the first place. The country western scene in 1975 was transitioning away from the loopy sequins and buckskin fringes (Think Ernest Tubb, Buck Owens, Porter Wagoner, etc.) toward the more mature ‘outlaw country’ of Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings, and our hero, Willie Nelson. Albums of the earlier period were mostly mere collections of songs. But this album is different. More than a ‘concept’ album, it tells a story, chiefly by cobbling together songs written by others and held together by original lyrical material from the heart and soul of Willie Nelson himself. The narrative sort of falls apart toward the end (most of the action is on side one), but it still retains interest, progressing from tragedy to loss to grief to wisdom. The music is starkly simple, with limited instrumentation, well performed with the sort of authenticity one has come to expect from the inimitable voice of Willie Nelson. This very good album is what happens when a great artist persuades the suits to allow full creative control. The executives at Columbia Records reportedly didn’t like this record. I did. (It went multi-platinum, so apparently others did too). 4/5

Bryter Layter by Nick Drake (1970) “Shaping a performance in the drama of living, each of us wonders: How am I doing? Am I creating a persona suitable to the human drama, crafting something worthwhile, or am I botching the performance? This existential concern … manifests itself as the search for dignity. Guiding that search is an attention that is always both outwardly oriented and inwardly focused, because the performance of existence is at once social and individual. Thus it is a matter of both social esteem and self-esteem. As social creatures, throughout our lives we look for an estimation of how we are doing … and to an extent we rely on the approval, admiration, and affection of others as a measure of our dramatic success.” (Glenn Hughes, “Dignity and Cultural Degradation” in Voegelin View, March 11, 2022) On this album (but not so much on his preceding Five Leaves Left [1969]), Nick Drake’s poetry gives voice to the struggle in each person to live to the fullest flowering his/her inherent dignity. His oeuvre therefore should not be compartmentalized or even dismissed as merely melancholic, fixated on his own inward isolation and sadness. He fully owns the necessity of our existence as social creatures, and in this album, he doesn’t fail to offer sage advice (at the age of 22!) on the ‘communalization’ of our sense of worth. From the upbeat “Hazey Jane II” to the wistful “Hazey Jane I” (tracks likely placed in that order to enhance developmental movement?), Drake encourages “slow, hazey Jane” to transcend her inward-focused isolation and touch the lives of others, including family, friends, and him. Not for his sake, mind you, but for hers. So that she might see and share the value in herself. Philosophical. Almost pastoral. And is there a more intelligent love song than “Northern Sky”? None come to mind (at least not today). He is loving and giving. Outwardly. In a way that is self-aware without being self-absorbed. Musically, this record excels, with small-interval solo vocal melodies over skillful folk/jazz acoustic guitar. It differs from his spare Five Leaves Left by incorporating rich instrumentals performed by members of the folk rock group Fairport Convention. Additionally, string and horn orchestrations add to the richness of the sound, generally by emphasizing the coloring tones in his guitar-based chord structures (occasionally with whimsical effect, which seems at times to be out of place). There are some very fine solo passages, especially the nice jazz piano stylings by Chris McGregor on “Poor Boy”. So, the collaborative sound is nicely synthesized with a poetic theme—the communal dimension of authentic humanity. This album is a fine work of art. It’s not merely attractive. It not only makes the listener think; it has the potential to make one’s inherent dignity come to fuller fruition, by connecting dots that one perhaps never even knew existed. 4/5

Bitte Orca by Dirty Projectors (2009) With opaque, underdeveloped lyrics spiced with scattershot references without meaning (from the Song of Solomon to Bob Dylan, but why?) no one agrees on theme or message, although suggestions range from (1) gestalt, to (2) surrealism, to (3) post-structuralist interrogations of binary opposition which focus instead on a mediating third order between idea and reality. I prefer (3), and I dare you to try to prove me wrong (Turdle-Loo!). In terms of composition, well, the listener is immediately struck by studied chaos, (i.e., not randomly improvisational), punctuated with infrequent moments of rhythmic sense and serendipitous tempo variations; the jerky motion of anti-meter is disconcerting (and post-structural, see (3) above), but mildly entertaining. It certainly sounds well-rehearsed. I’d like to see what a group of kids on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand would’ve said about one of these songs (“Uh, gee, Dick, I can’t dance to it, but I’ll check with my friends to see if it’s cool and get back to ya”). The talented female backing vocals, with crisp timbre and good blend (especially on “Remade Horizon”) provide suitable counterpoint to the male lead vocal, however, all these vocal flashes are harnessed to the delivery of melody and harmony that’s disciplined but rather aimless, kind of like a university marching band doing a halftime routine of “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida”. The musical highlight of the album, in my view, consists of the centrally placed back-to-back tracks “Stillness Is the Move” and “Two Doves”, each featuring lead vocal by one the group’s two female singers. Cool sound. I say listen to these two tracks a few times, then listen to the rest of the album once, and then toss it. 2/5

A Northern Soul by The Verve (1995) Well, this is a downer.  If this is a northern soul, I think I’ll head south. To call this dark would miss the mark. Darkness that makes an effort can make for good music. But this album just doesn’t seem to even care. Over an hour of one negative judgment after another, with no justification, no explanation, no resolution, no hope, no development, no desire, no regret, no pity, no rage, no hate, no love, no vitality, no . . . Here’s a sampling of some of the more reflective lyrics, spread relatively evenly throughout the album: “Nobody comes, nobody calls.” “Jesus never saved me, he’ll never save you too.” “Life seems so obscene until it’s over.” “Another drink and I won’t miss her.” “I’m gonna die alone in bed.” “I’ll never change for anyone.” “I’ve got a skin full of dope.” “Believe it ‘til you see what living has done to me.” “I was buying some feelings from a vending machine.” “I walk in to trade out; this boy won’t come back again.” All this is a damn shame, because the talent is there, albeit sometimes disguised. Vocalist Richard Ashcroft seems at times to deliberately lose the pitch on these deplorable lyrics and melodies, but bassist Simon Jones and drummer Peter Salisbury keep it steady throughout (too steady, actually, given the dreary and unchanging tempo). Guitarist Nick McCabe consistently supplies suitably nihilistic tonal noise, and that with above average skill. Then we hear the laziest, flattest album ending ever.  Glad this record is over. I’ll go back to my book.  1/5

Murmur by R.E.M. (1983) Let’s be charitable and set the lyrics aside, given that (1) lyricist/lead vocalist Michael Stipe used the expression “complete babble” to describe some of his lyrics, (2) he mistakenly misgenders a mythical reference (Laocoön and “her” two sons on “Laughing”—I couldn’t stop), and (3) the sounds of the senseless syllables frequently are at odds with the musical mood and meter. Gibberish would be an improvement. While some have complimented R.E.M.’s lyrics with the term “indecipherable”, I would argue that there is no cipher in the first place. Words on this record are merely a device on which to hang the subpar lead singer’s voice. This album is all about the music, which is, well, okay. It’s mostly competent rock, with a tight rhythm section and inventive guitar composition, and including a few brief moments of really cool sound. In historical context, it was different, appealing to restless ears searching for options, but it was not quite different enough. Don’t get me wrong, rock is all about rebellion against the inherited verities. But rebellion without a projected aim fails as Revolution. The result is like invasive kudzu covering an abandoned railroad trestle, suitably depicted on the album cover art. If this is ‘alternative rock’, one might well ask, “Alternative to what? Ennui?” 2/5

Ritual de lo Habitual by Jane’s Addiction (1990) Here is an album that excels on so many levels. Singer/lyricist Perry Farrell has a deeply poetic sense of lyric clarity, powerful vocal delivery, and thematic boldness. Guitarist Dave Navarro displays modal versatility, technical virtuosity, and power enough to shake the stadium. And, grounded by the dynamic percussion of Stephen Perkins and melodic bass lines of Eric Avery, Jane’s Addiction had all the tools for alt/prog rock success. As a boomer, I came late to the party, but I made it just in time. (Thanks, Mark!) If you’re not familiar with this album, I recommend that you (loudly!) play the first track, then hit the pause button, and think for a few minutes. Really think. Are you ready to brave some serious profanity and blasphemy to hear what these early GenX culture shapers are saying (and how they’re saying it)? Or, would you prefer to set it aside? Do you want to engage them on their own terms, or do you want to turn a blind eye? Is your attitude toward the next generation incarnational or Pharisaical? (“I object, Your Honor, counsel is leading the witness!” “Objection overruled.“) The first track “Stop” is (1) a warning (in grammatically incorrect Spanish: “We have more influence over your children than you do. But we [unlike you?] want them”), and (2) a prophetic declaration that the coming Deluge is both inevitable and inescapable. Turn away if you must, you parents; ban the obscene album cover art offending your sensibilities, you record store owners; ignore the monumental explanatory power of this message and music, you teachers and preachers. But the End is coming like a Flood. The parallel with the message of Noah, the “herald of righteousness” (2 Peter 2:5) is unmistakable. “Save the complaints for party conversation. The world is loaded. It’s lit to pop and nobody is gonna stop. The water will run. And we will run.” Those last three words can be read as hopeful and redemptive. These guys are not nihilists. They may need to have their Gnostic utopianism tempered by life experience, but their hearts are good. We’ve had it, Jane’s Addiction contends, with racial division (“No One’s Leaving”) that continues to diminish our common human dignity: “My sister and her boyfriend slept in the park; she had to leave home 'cause he was dark. Now they parade around in New York with a baby boy... He's gorgeous!” “Blacks call each other 'brother and sis'—Count me in 'cause I been missed. I've seen color changed by a kiss—ask my brother and my sister.” Baby-making doubling as Affirmative Action—what a concept! A post-structuralist challenge to inherited binary oppositions (like wrong/right) find expression in “Ain’t No Right”, with its retreat into a quasi-Epicureanism of the raw hedonistic sort: “There’s no wrong and no right, only pleasure and pain” (introducing, by internal contradiction, a binary opposition of its own, the sadist/masochist dichotomy, but see below). The diatribe (“Obvious”) against those who would judge rather than listen will obviously be lost on those who have already judged by this point that the album is not worth listening to. Rather self-evident, no? And the wildly entertaining celebration and ‘justification’ of shoplifting (“Been Caught Stealing”) is an overstated Leninist (i.e., Marxist with running shoes on) critique of the capitalist conception of ownership. So, take that! (No, wait a minute . . . ) Now these prophetic/political/philosophical stances are characteristically full of blind spots, internal contradictions, and hypocritical flaws. But they are graphically set forth and honestly held by those we should be engaging instead of ignoring. But the highest art on this album is in the dark and disturbing side two, starting with “Three Days”, brooding poetry giving autobiographical voice to memories of lovemaking (of a forbidden sort—see the cover art) involving one who is now tragically gone (drug overdose). The musical settings contain gliding minor key chord changes washing over each other, launching into an abrupt shift in tempo and meter at 3:02 that progresses steadily through a celebration of base passion, with soaring guitar solo, blistering percussion section, building to a central metaphor and musical climax (7:34) that is too much even for irreverent me. And just when you think it’s over (8:31), it pounds away to three more climactic highs (Be careful you don’t blow your speakers), before collapsing, breathless and exhausted, at 10:45. Ravel would have been proud. This is followed by the slow and deeply melancholy “Then She Did…”, reflecting on ones now gone, in this case, Farrell’s lover by overdose (see above) and his own mother by suicide (“Will you [in death] say hello to my mom? … She was an artist, just as you were. … She was unhappy, just as you were”) with fulsome string orchestrations, dissonant piano flourishes, and powerful pulsing rhythms. And in “Of Course”, of course, reflecting on what we learn from older siblings who tormented us with the ‘Quit hitting yourself!’ game, we’re gratifyingly introduced to the danger, violence, and brutality of natural life, “red in tooth and claw” (Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A.H.H. [1850]), We hear, “One must eat the other who runs free before him—put them right into his mouth, while fantasizing the beauty of his movements—a sensation not unlike slapping yourself in the face…”. Our common lot is grim indeed. In 3/4 time, no less. In the closing track “Classic Girl”, ownership of the moment is in no doubt as we hear: “They may say, ‘Those were the days’, but for us, ‘These are the days’”. This gives a Boomer staring down a GenXer something to think about. The days are theirs, and will continue to be. For a while, at least. One my favorite albums, this one is for listening to when trying to figure out (and/or rage about) why interpersonal relations and intergenerational tensions don’t make sense. And when trying being content with the reasonableness of unreasonableness, loving those kiddos anyway. Be fruitful and multiply. 5/5

Tonight’s the Night by Neil Young (1975) Here’s a record that will likely appeal mostly to diehard Neil Young fans. We get rough, one-take recordings of songs on the dark side. Neil was going through a rough patch, but he still needed to sing about it. For those who don’t like Young’s sloppy approach to pitch will find plenty of illustrative examples on this album. (“Mellow on My Mind” is painful to listen to. It’s supposed to be. “New Mama” is much better.) On the other hand, for those who like Young’s raw virtuosity on electric will find many highlights here, such as his fine blues solo work on “Speakin’ Out”. There are nice backing performances by Nils Lofgren (piano, vocals, guitar), and Ben Keith (pedal steel), but drummer Ralph Molina’s ubiquitous backing vocals are, shall we say, an acquired taste—acquired by Neil Young, but not by his more discriminating listeners. Young sounds much better when backed vocally by James Taylor, Linda Ronstadt, and CSN, but who wouldn’t? On “Come On, Baby, Let’s Go Downtown”, we get something quite different. Accompanied by Crazy Horse, Neil Young provides backing vocals over rhythm guitarist/writer Danny Whitten’s lead, recorded live at the Fillmore East. The track was likely chosen to be included on this ‘downer’ concept album due to Whitten’s overdose death on the evening of November 18, 1972, after Young fired him from The Stray Gators earlier that day, giving him $50 and a plane ticket home to L.A. Young felt responsible. (McDonough, Shakey: Neil Young’s Biography, pp. 387-391). This album’s lead track “Tonight’s the Night” and his classic “The Needle and the Damage Done” reference this tragedy and what led up to it. I wouldn’t want to listen to this album while feeling blue. Maybe I’d listen when someone else is blue and I couldn’t do anything about it. 3/5

Californication by Red Hot Chili Peppers (1999) Incorporating elements of hip hop, prog rock, and funk, this album seems designed to broaden the commercial appeal of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ well established and diverse musical explorations of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. I can imagine that some diehard fans of RHCP’s earlier work might have been disappointed in this development. Anthony Kiedis’ squeaky but clean lead vocals are layered over good, elaborate rock arrangements. Guitarist John Frusciante returns to the RHCP lineup, after a hiatus from 1992-1998 (during which time he had been replaced by Dave Navarro, formerly of Jane’s Addiction). This fundamental change has made a great impact on the sound of Californication. What we get is more mellow, with a predominance of relatively soft grooves—a suitable accompaniment to the widely referential and geographically diverse lyrics, but I’m not sure it improves the art. Solid and melodic bass lines by Flea, and splashy cymbal-heavy drum work by Chad Smith provide musical quality and sonic texture. The album’s diversity sustains interest, but the variety seems aimless. The track “Savior” could be interpreted in a way that inspires thought, but it falls short due to exaggerated ambiguity lack of depth. The sound of the closing track “Road Trippin’” is refreshing, with acoustic stylings and accompanying string ensemble. It almost makes the serious listener want to start the album over again. Almost. It’s good background music, but none of the tracks stand out as immediately gripping (with the possible exception of “I Like Dirt”, which is quite entertaining, with its funky wah-guitar stylings toward the end). I think if one listened to this album a dozen times one could grow to love it, but on first listen, it’s not top shelf. Am I the only one who thinks it’s too long? 3/5

Shaft by Isaac Hayes (1971) This motion picture soundtrack album provides high quality mood music for the marginally memorable 1971 MGM blaxploitation film Shaft, starring Richard Roundtree. The movie, indeed, was instrumental in establishing the ‘blaxploitation’ genre and the coining (in 1972) of the negatively critical term ‘blaxploitation’. Is this nostalgia or would it be better to forget? I’ll have to ask my CRT facilitator. The highlight of the album, is, of course, the opening track “Theme from Shaft”, which captured everyone’s attention upon its release, and won the 1972 Academy Award for Best Original Song. (Check out the YouTube video of Isaac Hayes performing it at the ceremony. It’s breathtaking.) This song is remarkable for its innovative use of (very!) steady high hat rhythm and percussive use of electric guitar wah pedal. Lyrically it sets up the film’s protagonist with a touch of humanity (and even the humorous spice of street profanity at 3:22, apocopated by the female backup singers’ “Shut yo mouth!”). For those who have never heard it, it’s definitely worth listening to just this one 4:39 track. For those of you who (like me) primarily listened to this song on (mono) AM radio, put on the stereo headphones, crank it up, and be prepared for a real treat from 4:02 to the end. The rest of the double LP (running a total of one hour and 10 minutes) is, well, soundtrack. It is mostly instrumental, and obviously topical, filled with nice soul grooves and copious, exuberant orchestrations, but it is limited to supporting the artistic impetus of individual scenes in the film, albeit with good texture and drama. Without the ‘movie’, it doesn’t really work as an ‘album’. Great music in the motion picture soundtrack genre. 3/5

Club Classics Vol. One by Soul II Soul (1989) With mindlessly repetitive but appropriately pounding computer-generated beats, directionless melodic lines, far-too-infrequent chord changes, faux orchestral flourishes, shallow cookie cutter lyrics, primitive production gimmicks, and with a male lead vocalist who simply cannot sing, this seemingly random collection of wildly popular British club ‘music’ is suitable only for atmospheric distraction while one’s brain and soul are otherwise occupied with more important matters like scoring, drinking, posing, leering, snorting, checking one’s watch, counting one’s cash, making sure the exits aren’t obstructed, or trying to get the attention of the waitress. 1/5

At Fillmore East by The Allman Brothers Band (1971 - original double LP version, plus “One Way Out” and “Midnight Rider” from the Deluxe Edition, which should have been included, in my opinion, by shortening the much-too-long “You Don’t Love Me”). This is a live ‘compilation’ album, recorded at four separate concerts held over two days in March 1971. If you (like me) are generally not a fan of live albums, you might be pleased with this one. I was. Although, in general, the studio versions of these tracks are better. But it’s nice to hear the live extended jams. Opening with four blues numbers, including the opening shuffling, rocking cover Blind Willie McTell’s “Statesboro Blues”, this album showcase the alternating lead electric guitar solos of Duane Allman and Dickie Betts. With the relaxed, free, unhurried setting, The Allman Brothers Band fills the first two sides of this double LP with glorious performances of foot-stomping blues. The ninetenn-plus-minute instrumental “You Don’t Love Me” is about nine minutes too long, especially given the impatient rhythmic hand clapping by the crowd. They wanted some forward motion too (But hey, the band had to fill side two). However, when I’m confronted with the fact that she don’t love me, I’d rather not dwell on it. Know what I mean? Side three transitions to the prog/jazz rock “Hot ‘Lanta” with a very nice drum duet (3:24) featuring drummers Jai Johanny Johanson and Butch Trucks. The timpani at the end (Trucks) is haunting. This track is followed by the thirteen-minute jazz composition “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed” Very innovative. The closing track, is a 23-minute rendition of Gregg Allman’s “Whipping Post”. The song itself is lyrically and compositionally stellar. The skill in delivering it is amazing. The extended improvisational jams are sometimes aimless, but always entertaining. Is there such a thing as psychedelic/jazz/country/blues/prog/rock? If so, this is it. The album has some of the same weaknesses that nearly all live albums have: crowd noise, recording flaws, unintentional feedback uncontrolled harmonics, and musical flubs. For a flubbing example, on “One Way Out”, bassist Berry Oakley erroneously comes in on the backbeat at his re-entry (at 3:18) after Duane Allman’s and Dickey Betts’ dueling guitar solos. But drummers Johansson and Truck (no doubt glancing at each other) recover seamlessly, resetting, lining up and adjusting to Oakley’s new meter, romping together toward a final verse and powerful blues windup. The live “Midnight Rider” is much inferior to studio version (Idlewild South [1970]). Likewise, the classic “Whipping Post” here, while gloriously extended (to the point that it becomes a different composition altogether) is far below the quality of the studio version (The Allman Brothers Band [1969]). This is about as good as live albums get. 4/5

Time Out by The Dave Brubeck Quartet (1959) When I was about seven years old, on Sunday afternoons, my dad would sit in the living room smoking a cigar (when my mom would let him), listening to this album on his beloved console stereo, which I, of course, was not allowed to touch. That prohibition, of course, increased the allure. His non-rock but otherwise eclectic tastes included Ravel’s Bolero (which my mom hated), Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass’ Whipped Cream and Other Delights (with its titillatingly innovative cover art), Johnny Cash At Folsom Prison, and Glenn Miller’s Army Air Force Band (on five vinyl LPs, which made me decide to take up trombone in fourth grade). Young people today will likely have only heard the two ‘hits’ from Time Out (“Blue Rondo à la Turk” and “Take Five”) in hotel lobbies. Shame. There is so much good music on this record. Jazz purists were not pleased with the popularity of this album. They noted that while this was Dave Brubeck’s most accessible work, it was not his best. And of course they were right, but this album is a wonderful place to start if you’re unfamiliar with jazz, mostly for its creative variations in rhythm. The opening “Blue Rondo à la Turk” is a tour de force in rhythmic experimentation, starting with a ‘Balkan’ 9/8 (2+2+2+3), alternating with standard 4/4 passages for piano and saxophone solos. And the wistful “Strange Meadow Lark” seems somehow destined to be included in a soundtrack for a Woody Allen movie. The third track “Take Five” is iconic for its hypnotic, syncopated piano foundation, languid saxophone melody and 5/4 time signature. You can almost dance to it, although I’d stay away from steps like foxtrot or waltz or chacha or polka or, well, basically anything standard. Just stand there snapping your finger and bobbing hither and yon. Your partner (optional) will join in improvisationally. The point is, it swings (although I’d pay good money to watch a beer hall full of polka dancers working out “Take Five” by adding an extra foot stomp after every other 2/4 measure. Maybe a Monty Python sketch?). But seriously, Joe Morello’s superb drum solo passage on this song (the whole point of it, really) goes a long way toward explaining the appeal of John Bonham’s solo work (“Moby Dick” on Led Zeppelin II, and elsewhere). You see, the reason we liked John Bonham is because he (and we) had already heard and learned from Joe Morello, whether consciously or not. The next track “Three to Get Ready”, plays with an alteration between 3/4 and 4/4 (don’t even try dancing to this one) and is followed by “Kathy’s Waltz”, which starts in 4/4, shifts to 3/4, and at about the three minute mark, we hear 3/4 and 4/4 simultaneously. If you hear strains of The Beatles’ “All My Lovin’”in this song (and you will), please remember that Dave Brubeck did it first. The last two tracks (“Everybody’s Jumpin’” and “Pick Up Sticks”) lack the intricacy of contemporaneous progressive jazz, but will nudge the beginner in the right direction. This album is a great jazz introduction for youngsters and great nostalgia for oldsters. 4/5

The Virgin Suicides (Score) by Air (2000) ‘Scores’ for motion pictures generally do not make for good albums. This one (for the Sofia Coppola film The Virgin Suicides [1999]) is no exception. While the title of this random collection of background tracks (“The Virgin Suicides”) offers some help in discerning its dreary meaning, the listener would be required to enter into the creative world of the film itself to understand the concept, and to evaluate how well the music accomplishes its purpose. The lengthy, poorly written, poorly performed, poorly recorded spoken word explanation in the final track “Suicide Underground” is a mere coda to the music, a promo piece for the movie more than a synthesis of the album. The serious listener should be advised that there is a separate “soundtrack” album for this film (The Virgin Suicides Original Soundtrack [2000, Emperor Norton 1977276]), featuring real recording artists like Todd Rundgren, Heart, The Hollies, Al Green, 10cc, and Styx, that is not bad as far as soundtrack albums go. As for this album: well, simple minor-key electronic dissonance, aged synthesizer gimmicks, eerie hums and buzzes, all laid over slow and steady beats and bass lines characterize most of the tracks. And the endings of the tracks almost all feel like the writer simply put down his pencil, saying, “That’s enough for this one”. While there are many sounds on this record that one might connect with the feelings of five suicidal teenage sisters from Grosse Pointe, Michigan, the almost entirely instrumental compositions lack internal coherence, narrative, and direction. One is reminded of the (mostly unused) score to Michael Radford’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (1984) by Eurythmics. It just doesn’t work as an album. It’s mere mood ‘music’. The result here is a nausea-inducing nightmare of depressive sounds without the redeeming value of good gothic horror. I can’t think of any redemptive reason to recommend this album to anybody. 1/5

Automatic for the People by R.E.M. (1992) This album is a significant shift in direction from R.E.M.’s earlier alternative rock work, Murmur (1983) and Document (1987), and it deserves its considerable success. Somebody made an intelligent production choice by recruiting Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones to provide some very helpful orchestrations on four songs “Drive”, “The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight”, “Everybody Hurts”, and “Nightswimming”—four of the musical highlights of the album. Jones’ string arrangements deepen the soulful feel of already soulful compositions. Lyricist/lead singer Michael Stipe sounds better with adequate reverb (“Everybody Hurts”) and he makes more sense when he’s caring on an individual level, instead of making unreflective declamations of one-dimensional political commentary, like in “Ignoreland”, where he supplies the helpful gloss “I know that this is vitriol—No solution, spleen-venting. But I feel better having screamed. Don't you?”. (Actually I don’t, but I might have in 1992). He does a nice take on nostalgia in “Man on the Moon”, even if his selection criteria are difficult to discern. I like the Andy Kaufman references! Lyrical themes include: a healthy take on death and other forms of loss, a mature, post-adolescent glimpse into the future, a gentle encouragement of those who are despondent, and even a sensitive wish of a suicide to avoid bringing pain to those he leaves behind. On this album there are many examples of melodic beauty and serene instrumental composition by percussionist Bill Berry, guitarist Peter Buck, and bassist/keyboardist Mike Mills. The sound washes over the listener with gentle, down tempo, pulsing steadiness. The folk feel of several of the tracks is friendly and warm. Pondering without being ponderous. And the selection of a variety of instruments, all competently executed, adds to the texture. A very cool album. 3/5

The Gilded Palace of Sin by The Flying Burrito Brothers (1969) When I first heard of this band back in 1969, I was puzzled as to whether the adjective “Flying” modified the noun “Brothers” or the noun “Burrito”. Were they ‘flying bothers’ or did they have an affection for ‘flying burritos’? This syntactical ambiguity was sufficient for me to pass it over for bands whose names made more sense, like Three Dog Night. In any case, I missed The Gilded Palace of Sin altogether, which is not to say I missed the gilded palace of sin itself. No, sir. The Parsons/Hillman songwriting here is an improvement over their earlier country rock work with The Byrds (Sweetheart of the Rodeo [1968]), where their best-sounding songs were written by others (Dylan, Haggard, Guthrie, Louvin, etc.). Themes here touch on perennial concerns like faith, eschatological hope, sacrificial love, the sad fact of sin, and the rationality of draft dodging. Chord progressions and melodies are drearily standard, in the 1960s country vein, lazily laid down with predictably drawling elocution. But it makes for an anxiety-free listening experience. A curious spoken word ballad “Hippie Boy” closes out the record, which prompts thought but lacks resolution, with its morally flat ending. The engineering is flawed by excessive separation between the Gram Parsons/Chris Hillman vocals in the mix, emphasizing the lack of both rhythmic and tonal synchronization between the voices. A nice cameo high tenor harmony by David Crosby on “Do Right Woman” is not blended well in the recording. And the (uncredited) horns on “Hot Burrito #2” are poorly recorded—so poorly that one wonders if it’s not horns at all, but a bad synthesizer. But no, this is in the pre-synthesizer era. Maybe the horn players said “Don’t you dare put our names in the credits!” I dunno. Chris Hillman’s electric guitar performance is above par, but not brilliant. And the rather pedestrian bass lines from Chris Ethridge could have been significantly improved with more attention to intonation and polish. However, this was 1969, when bass playing by anyone other than Paul McCartney or John Paul Jones was still in its formative period. But the musical highlight of the album is the talented but idiosyncratic pedal steel of “Sneaky” Pete Kleinow, sometimes colored with intriguing effects like fuzzbox and the quivering sound of the Hammond Leslie, which is more conventionally applied to electronic organ. Listen to “Wheels” for a combination of pedal steel effects. Fascinating. This album is okay, but if you skip it you won’t be culturally stunted. 2/5

Disintegration by The Cure (1989 - original vinyl LP release, i.e., omitting “Last Dance” and “Homesick”) I was not ready for The Cure. I don’t think I even had the disease. This album can be described as ‘gothic rock with a brain’. The sonic atmosphere is reverberating and full, with synthesized symphonic elements spread out over slow classic rock rhythms and textures. The lyrics give voice to the communal aspect of shared alienation, carving out a slice of feeling that is embraced between nihilists who are commiserating in a hostile and vain world, denying meaning yet yearning for it at the same time. “If you open your mouth, then I can't be responsible for quite what goes in or to care what comes out, so just pull on your hair, just pull on your pout and let's move to the beat like we know that it's over” (“Fascination Street”). And immediately following the hopelessly depressing track “Prayers for Rain” we get “The Same Deep Water as You”, with the singer concordantly embosoming the other in a joint embrace of death. To get a sense of the vocal quality of singer Robert Smith, listen to the closing track “Untitled”, a song of existential regret which exemplifies both the formal deficiencies and the searing authenticity. I mean, would you really want Luciano Pavarotti covering this song? But I do think Smith could have used some delicate backing vocals on several tracks. The suggestion has been made that this album should be listened to at night, in the dark, with headphones on. I would recommend this only for mature individuals with well-integrated psyches. And if you’re really really well-adjusted, do it with all the lights off while watching the Robert Eggers film The Lighthouse (2019) for the second time, with its sound turned off. 3/5

Birth of the Cool by Miles Davis (1957) This is a fine album by Miles Davis. But it isn’t the familiar Miles Davis of Kind of Blue (1959) or Bitches Brew (1970). This is the early Miles Davis of 1949-1950 (although it wasn’t released until 1957, by which time Davis was already developing way beyond). On this album, instead of hearing Davis’ familiar trumpet leading small and sparingly arranged jazz combo, we get jazz arrangements for nonet (nine-piece band), including the standard instruments of trumpet, drums, bass, piano, two saxophones (alto & baritone), and trombone, but also the rather unexpected tuba and French horn. Nasty critics would have you think this was due to Davis’ inability to keep up with Dizzy Gillespie. Poo. Please note that the title of this album is not “The Birth of Cool”. It is “Birth of the Cool”. And there’s a big difference. Davis would not be so pretentious as to claim that his distinct and original compositional style was the first to be described as “cool” (in our conventional sense). Rather, the album title describes jazz that stays in the ‘cool’ range of the ‘musical color’ spectrum—violets, blues and greens—avoiding the fiery and bombastic reds, oranges, and yellows of ‘hot’ jazz like big band, swing, and bebop. This ‘birth of the cool’ had a long period of living gestation in the mode of unresolved chords and tensionless harmonies from Impressionist composers like Fanelli, Sibelius, Respighi, Ravel, and Debussy (although this last one would deny it). Also, this music sounds more like soft pastels and less like bold and vivid primary colors. More like Claude Monet and less like Joan Miró (Do an internet search of images for these two painters to see what I mean—it can’t adequately be described in words). That said, this music is highly intelligent and extraordinarily well done, even if the idiosyncratic tuba and French horn sound out of place to twenty-first century ears. It is compositionally complex, of course, but it avoids the extremes in range and dynamics, staying within the ‘comfort zone’ of each performer, even to point of having horn players ‘underblow’ to achieve mood and orchestral blend. The overall effect is casual and comfortable. Steady tempos here are best followed by tapping forefinger to thumb rather than trying to use your feet. Keep focused on the melodic lines, leaving chord changes to the experts (not me, anyway). If you’re curious to follow the chord progressions, listen to the piano on this record. That’s its basic function. Flaws are evident, of course, including flubbed notes and some intonation struggles within such a disparate ensemble. And overall, there seems to be a lack of variety, but that shouldn’t prevent an honestly enjoyable experience. Please listen to this one! 4/5

You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby by Fatboy Slim (1998) This Britpop one-man-band production of repeating electronic music is just too damn repetitive to be taken seriously. He just finds a mildly appealing groove and repeats it to death on his Atari ST computer. The repetitive words don’t qualify as ‘lyrics’—they merely repeat mostly sampled phrases. That leaves us with the too-repetitive ‘music’, which is mostly eight-measure repetitions of cute bits. And of course, the samples, which are duly repeated ad nauseum. If you’ve got one hour and two minutes to listen to one minute and two seconds worth of music, then this album is for you. But if you listen to it, and repeat it even once, I want some of what you’re smoking. Have I mentioned that it’s repetitive? 1/5

Sea Change by Beck (2002) It’s fitting that this record should be introduced to me on a morning when the ice is quickly melting off the window panes, but the overcast sky refuses to yield to sunlight. The artist picks up his acoustic guitar and sings a young man’s songs for an old man’s ears. This album is a decided improvement over Beck’s earlier work Odelay (1996), which was marred by its lack of direction and its dependence on ‘electronic factory’ sound and aimless, intentionally absurd lyrics. In Sea Change (2002), however, a 32-year-old Beck emerges as a mature musician, with his scaled-back, laid-back acoustic-heavy ambience, and where the electronic sounds are reduced to appropriate accents (almost always at the end of each track, as if to remind us that this is still, after all, Beck). While studiously avoiding convention, he nevertheless gives us poetic messages that cohere both rationally and emotionally. These tracks are truly songs. And Beck has assembled skilled musicians, arrangers, and a production team to provide body and scope to his compositions. “Guess I’m Doing Fine” is an indisputably moving lament about a love that’s over—a memorable expression of feelings in the middle ground between despair and hope. It is set in a suitably slow country mood, evoking both melancholy and ambivalence: “It's only lies that I'm living It's only tears that I'm crying It's only you that I'm losing Guess I'm doing fine” The inventive and complex string arrangements on “Paper Tiger”, “Lonesome Tears”, and “Round the Bend” add a sense of musical authenticity to deeply discerned passions, with enough innovation and harmonic complexity to generate continued interest. These three tracks alone are worth the price of admission. “Lost Cause” and “End of the Day” are convincing songs, where the listener feels the pain having to come to grips with the fact that it’s over. If you’ve ever been there . . . This album will put you in a mood. Good music does that. 4/5

Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not by Arctic Monkeys (2006) For a Britpop album that was marketed primarily on MySpace (remember that?), it turned out to be better than I was expecting. It’s a nice 21st century rock sound—plenty of fun with accented off beats, exaggerated triplets, cross-channel dancing, innovative rhythmic breaks, this music keeps you guessing. Very nice drumming by Matt Helders, and the lead vocals by Alex Turner are sassy, confident, crisp (very crisp), and recorded cleanly enough that they’re not smothered in the considerable sonic background. The rapid-fire and highly referential lyrics are not very deep, but the word pictures keep flying past with disciplined cadence. And when it’s time to slow down (“Riot Van”), the words are authentic and vivid. Makes me wish I had been there. Forty-one minutes of good frolic. I could pretend to be young again. 3/5

OK Computer by Radiohead (1997) This record came out when I was at the peak of my flight from popular music, and I’m sorry I missed it (although I wouldn’t have swapped it for Wagner, Mahler, and/or Bruckner). OK Computer is really good on this, my first serious listen. The lyrics are full of frustration, alienation, and unsystematic, aimless social/political discontent, including lament and personal anger over the way things are at the end of the second millennium. My kind of themes. But they lack polish, craft, focus, and emotional depth. Lyricist/lead vocalist Thom Yorke struggles to deliver the very creative melodies with confidence (especially on “Exit Music [For a Film]”, but much better on the more conventional “No Surprises”). However, the music itself is phenomenally creative and appealing, experimenting as it does with structure and sound, yet still remaining connected to 20th century sensibilities, chiefly by keeping the rhythm section steady. Bassist Colin Greenwood and drummer Philip Selway provide solid if not flashy foundations, while keyboards, synth, guitars, and well-placed strings fill the ears with polychromatic sounds and just the right amount of discord. “Fitter Happier” is a lovely little mockery of the self help industry, with more than a few chuckle-inducing gems. The song “No Surprises” (somewhat surprisingly) resonates in at least two 66-year-old ears, but let’s not get too personal. The cover art is a superlative example of successfully pairing a visual mood with a sonic mood. The album loses energy toward the end. I’m not sure it was a good choice to finish with the words “Hey man, slow down, slow down; Idiot, slow down, slow down”. Makes me want to take a nap or go grab a beer. But the overall effect of OK Computer is high creativity and musical excellence. Radiohead. Yes. I look forward to hearing more of their stuff. The Bends, In Rainbows, and Kid A remain for me on the 1001 Albums list. Stay tuned. 4/5

Armed Forces by Elvis Costello and The Attractions (1979) Elvis Costello’s third album, Armed Forces (1979) is not quite as good as his debut album My Aim Is True (1977) or even close to his next release This Year’s Model (1978), because, in my view, it tries to do too much and still make a broad appeal to mainstream listeners. It’s too pop. The record has been described as “a cross between The Clash and Abba”, which is apt, but I wish he had left both The Clash and Abba out of it (and David Bowie while we’re at it), and just given us Elvis Costello. Lyrics (with the exception of “Oliver’s Army”, which is excellent) don’t have the ‘edge’ of either his earlier albums or his later Imperial Bedroom (1982). His backing band, The Attractions, seems willing to follow Costello wherever he wants to go, and they do it with skill, if not passion. “Hey, guys, as long as we’re getting paid to do pop, let’s do good pop.” But I can’t imagine they were all completely happy about it. It’s no wonder the atmosphere was tense as they toured these tunes in America. And Costello’s use of highly offensive language aimed at the Irish (in “Oliver’s Army”) to drunkenly insult James Brown and Ray Charles didn’t help matters. I won’t go into details. Now the most representative track on the album is the very good song, “Oliver’s Army”, which ponders the internal contradictions and sundry miseries swirling in the minds of young men who find themselves serving in the British armed forces in the late 1970’s (full disclosure: This reviewer spent the mid-1970s in the US armed forces, so that may account for some of the appeal here.) It treats a serious subject in a pop vein, which I think is Costello’s point in this album as a whole. But this song is the only one that does it well. And it does it very well. Without this track, Armed Forces would not rate a 3/5. So the record falls short as pure pop. On some tracks (especially “Accidents Will Happen”), chord progressions and meter are all over the compositional map, even though they are well executed. Hard for kids to follow. Hard for adults to swallow. In short, the album is good (barely), but at the same time it’s perplexing and disappointing. I was hoping for better. 3/5

Bat Out of Hell by Meat Loaf (1977) This record remains the best selling album of all time In Australia, which probably says less about the record than in does about Australia. Don’t get me wrong—I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Australia, where I had originally planned to emigrate right about the time Bat Out of Hell was released, with my high school sweetheart, a co-captain of the pom-pom team who had introduced me to ‘paradise by the dashboard light’ (if ya know what I mean) when I was seventeen. She dumped me via long distance telephone, however, so I took the money I was saving for the trip and bought me a used 1968 Mercury Cougar—the third best decision I ever made in my life. Don’t press me for details. The point of this sad happy tale is that of the three major life goals I had set for myself as a high school senior, this Australia one didn’t pan out. Well, two out of three ain’t bad. But this album hit the market in 1977 all over the English-speaking world like a cultural exclamation point. Jim Steinman wrote the songs, composing each of them like an earwormy overture to a bad Off-Broadway musical, with a relentlessly campy appropriations of stale rock ‘n roll tropes, set in grimy, immature little narratives which are duly theatrical without rising to the level of the operatic. The arrangements have some nice grooves, but they are fatally fragmented—a most unintelligent songwriting effort. But they are intelligently performed by one Meat Loaf (friends call him ‘Meat’, but formally it’s ‘Mr. Loaf’), who has a voice well suited to the rock drama genre, with plenty of power and range, and a dramatic wildness like a bat out of hell that quite fits the bill. The big hit from this album “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad” is corny, pompous, and trite all at once. Much better is the track “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”, which tells a naughty tale focused on certain adolescent male motivations. It really does capture the ambience, much to an old man’s embarrassment. But the great artistic weakness of this record is that it strings together admittedly clever bits that are both musically and lyrically disjointed. Not the stuff for evoking nostalgia. 2/5

Surfer Rosa by Pixies (1988) Before today I was completely unfamiliar with this album, but I was very familiar with Nevermind by Nirvana (1991). It’s amazing how many riffs, grooves, and stylistic choices were borrowed by Nirvana from Surfer Rosa by Pixies (This was acknowledged by Kurt Cobain in 1992). I spotted over a dozen on just one listen. But there’s a huge qualitative difference between Nevermind and Surfer Rosa. To wit, (1) Nirvana is disciplined and precise, whereas Pixies are on the ‘garage’ end of grunge. (2) Cobain’s voice has soul, whereas the Black Francis/Kim Deal duets on Surfer Rosa are like duets between a fingernail and a blackboard. And (3) Nirvana’s depictions of torment and psychic terror evoke sympathy, whereas Pixies’ fixations on sexual idiosyncrasies evoke a response midway between eye rolling disdain and head shaking embarrassment. This is not to say that Surfer Rosa is entirely devoid of artistic merit. But it is difficult to listen to. The track “Where Is My Mind?” is interesting enough, however the question in the title remains unanswered. But David Lovering’s excellent driving drums, Joey Santiago’s inventive lead guitar riffs, Kim Deal’s moving bass lines, and that weird locker room ambience of Black Francis’ vocal channels are all creative and entrancing. I could learn to like this, but only temporarily. 2/5

Kilimanjaro by The Teardrop Explodes (1980) This project was so desperate. The band couldn’t stay together much less play together. The genre is what might be described as whiny self-destructive Liverpudlian post-punk neo-psychedelic techno bubblegum trance music. The album was released in so many different versions, with each iteration attempting to peddle a successful selection and arrangement of tracks—basically trying repeatedly to package what someone felt were their most marketable singles. The title track “Kilimanjaro” (which would actually be kinda cool if the band could maintain tempo) is not even included on the original release. But, sadly, what can we expect from a band named after a line on a comic strip panel and who were locked in that famous to-the-death rivalry with Echo and the Bunnymen? It’s pathetic. It screams insecurity. And that cover shot is the worst-lit group photo since the American Civil War. The lyrics are illogical phrase conglomerations through which a professional critic (and/or psychotherapist), working very hard, might discern a complaint or two—something about change, resistance to criticism, miscommunication, and the unfairness of being asked if one loves his significant other. Huh? The first thing that jumps out to the serious listener is the amateurish, plastic-sounding synthesizer colorings from keyboardist David Balfe and the uneven timbre and undisciplined pitch of lead singer and egoist Julian Cope, overdubbed whenever he gets in over his head, which is not infrequently—it must have sounded terrible live. The music’s foundations are electronic keyboard-heavy variations on standard chord structures (the band’s new guitarist Alan Gill only appears on four of the eleven tracks, while recently fired guitarist Michael Finkler, appearing on eight of the eleven tracks, hangs out near the back of the mix, in shame or as punishment, I don’t know). Bass lines by Julian Cope span wide intervals, but are as repetitive as the tuba chart in a German oompah band. Oh, and drummer Gary Dwyer is given to dropping tempo at the most unlikely of places, as if either (1) he’s trying to follow Julian Cope, or (2) the drugs are kicking in at unpredictable moments. Please don’t make me listen to this again. 1/5

Rumours by Fleetwood Mac (1977) What makes a great pop/rock album great? 1. Solid foundation, with drum- and bass- playing that give evidence of a long history of experience in blues and rock. Mick Fleetwood and John McVie bring that in spades on this album, including (from 1970) keyboards/vocalist Christine McVie—having graduated from a solid British blues/rock career (1967-1974) to the hugely successful 1975 ‘second iteration’ of the band, when they added (Americans!) guitarist Lindsey Buckingham and vocalist Stevie Nicks, giving us literally the best of both worlds. The musical maturity on this album is superb. 2. Sultry lead vocals by Stevie Nicks (“Dreams”) and Christine McVie (whose “Songbird” brings a tear even without knowing the backstory), both of whose dynamism and discipline make for a perfect synthesis with musical settings; 3. Excellent mixing, with plenty of bass and drums, yet leaving plenty of space for well arranged guitar riffs and for C. McVie on this, the swansong of the Fender Rhodes (this was the last album on which that instrument sounded good); 4. Sensitive, intricate, and colorful backing vocals. C. McVie, Nicks, and Buckingham are all masters at backing each other (and themselves on well restrained overdubs), especially on the backing choral sections of “The Chain”, “You Make Loving Fun”, and “I Don’t Want to Know”. Youth choir directors should play this for the youngsters to show how it’s done (I know; I’ve done it and it works wonders); 5. Versatile guitar work by Lindsey Buckingham. From folk finger picking (“Never Going Back Again”) to driving rock (“Go Your Own Way” and “The Chain”) to haunting dobro (“The Chain”) to wailing electric solos (“The Chain”,“You Make Loving Fun”), he’s a master of many styles. 6. Top-rate songwriting. There’s not a weak song on this album, with solo songwriting credits going to C. McVie, Nicks, and Buckingham each contributing fine songs to the collection; 7. State of the art studio work, with plenty of time, thought, cooperation, and support from Warner Bros. Records (This was not produced on the cheap); 8. A sense of drama. Listen starting at 3:01 on “The Chain” and tell me if you don’t feel John McVie’s fretless bass crawl up your spine to the nape of your neck, before handing your scalp to Buckingham’s harrowing, screaming electric guitar solo. Or hear the development of the backing vocals on “Oh Daddy” starting almost imperceptibly at 1:20. These are stories in sound; 9. A boldly experimental approach, as in Mick Fleetwood’s numerous percussive treats on “Oh Daddy” and in the closing track “Gold Dust Woman”, including sound effects, electronic harpsichord, castanets, gong, and (wouldn’t you know it?) cowbell; 10. Clever and technically well executed cover art. This classic album can teach a serious listener how to listen better. Ignore it to your musical poverty. 5/5

Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gaye (1973) From back in the day when a singer/songwriter could be sensuously erotic without being profane (because he appreciated the art of innuendo), Let’s Get It On pretty much says it all. I was a 17-year-old boy when this came out, and still a virgin. This record prepared (primed) my soul for what I was confident would be mine someday, and the sooner the better as far as I was concerned. My girlfriends were thankfully more circumspect and disciplined. Delayed gratification. But it was great when the title track came on the AM radio at night in my mom’s Dodge Dart with my gf du jour sitting next to me on the front seat (this was before they were all buckets [the seats, that is, not the girlfriends]). From “Just to Keep You Satisfied” to “You Sure Love to Ball”, to the title track “Let’s Get It On”, to its reprise “Keep Gettin’ It On”, it’s obvious that Mr. Gaye had a one-track mind on this eight-track collection of seductive sounds, with lots of strings, lots of bass guitar, and lots of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ and other airy, nondescript exclamations and exhalations. This is a wistful listen for an old man who can happily resign himself to the fact that few youngsters today will get it, but that’s ok. They’ll have their special memories too. 3/5

To Pimp a Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar (2015) We hear radiant, alluring, artful, and sophisticated sounds and richly poetic verbal cadences, expressing deeply held cultural and political concerns with an emotional depth that is authentic and resonant. There’s plenty on this album to be profitably analyzed and appreciated, BUT: The profanity is gratuitous, intense, and ubiquitous, completely spoiling the listening experience. That’s a shame. 1/5

american dream by LCD Soundsystem (2017) Is this the future of music? I hope not. I kept wanting to turn it down. american dream consists of spacious electro pop compositions that are completely unafraid of expanding the tonal range to the limits of human aural perception (especially on the low end), but are musically mechanical and soulless, with their doodad wizardry and droning chord non-progressions. Intentionally discordant voices recite well rehearsed but pointless and awkwardly cadenced phrases that only marginally prompt thought or even puzzlement. The lyrical highlight of the album comes at the end of track six, “tonite” (Somebody tweet e.e. cummings and let him know he’s trending), where we hear LCD Soundsystem Klangmeister James Murphy addressing the studio booth: “It’s gonna have to be good enough; I can’t do this anymore; my brain won’t work.” One might have thought that was obvious. I suppose one could dance to this, if one were an ambisexual automaton, but what’s the point? Perhaps one could put this album on when peeling potatoes or getting a pedicure, maybe simultaneously. Even the (synthetic?) cowbell lacks soul. 1/5

Melody A.M. by Röyksopp (2001) If you want to hear an old Burt Bacharach/Hal David song (made famous by Paul Anka) covered by a Swedish vocal ensemble and sampled into a synth dance track by this Norwegian electronic music duo, then listen to the opening cut on Melody A.M. Then you should seriously lower your expectations. This record is primarily suited for video game and/or advertisement soundtrack, manufactured on expensive electronic toys. It’s a lot better than some other music in the genre, such as american dream by LCD Soundsystem (2017), but that’s not saying much. Lead vocal by guest artist Anneli Drecker on “Sparks” is quite listenable, however her lyrics, which hover around feelings of being “wounded, sulky, and alone”, don’t make for a concordant musical mood. There are some dreamy sonic settings, and intriguing jazz harmonic and percussive inventions, but several tracks are spoiled by much too much gimmickry, with artificial noise in the highs, excessive phase shifting and channel-to-channel wobbling. And most of these compositions are heading nowhere. It seems as though the majority of the tracks just give up on any notion of development, and simply stop. Listen to this in the background while you work, but don’t hope for an increase in productivity. 2/5

Chemtrails over the Country Club by Lana Del Ray (2021) Here we have slow, superlatively feminine pop—reflective, comfortable, swimming in the past, and finding comfort in the present. Lana Del Ray successfully pulls off some very difficult vocal styles. She is able to whisper exceedingly airy tones with excellent pitch and articulation (“White Dress”) and to dub herself in octaves and widely spaced harmonies (“Chemtrails over the Country Club”) with fine choral blend (outros to “Let Me Love You Like a Woman” and “Wild at Heart”) and delicate precision throughout. Truly applaudable. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better example of vocal recording on multiple tracks (yes, including Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”). Now on the last verse of “Dance Till We Die”, her attempt at power blues reveals her vocal limitations, but she doesn’t stay there for long, shifting back to her beautifully soft timbre for the closing chorus. The album is quite well produced, with subtle but warmly wrapped instrumentals and small scale orchestral backgrounds, mixed with a very close sound in the vocal recording. It is as though Lana Del Ray is sitting squarely in front of me, singing right down onto my forehead, so close I can feel her breath. My hair is softly blowing back with each phrase. This is definitely music for headphones. You won’t want ambient noise spoiling the experience. I’m sure this music is very difficult to perform live. There’s an embarrassingly annoying hum in the opening strains of “Dance Till We Die”. Some engineer didn’t get the memo: “We need silence in the background, dammit!” Del Ray’s lyrics are intelligent and well structured, and only occasionally bordering on the trite, but way too self absorbed—not good as art, but excellent as therapeutic role play for the feminine listener, which, I suppose, is the purpose. And the very wild lyrics of “Wild at Heart” are not well suited to the very tame music. The exception to these criticisms here is the closing track “For Free”, which, if you think it sounds like it was written by Joni Mitchell rather than Lana Del Ray, rest assured that it was. I’d recommend this record for my sister, as a pleasing alternative to the likes of an Adele or a Céline Dion, but not to take the place of a Joni Mitchell or a Judy Collins (or a Bonnie Raitt or a Loreena McKennitt or . . . well, you get the point). 3/5

My Generation by The Who (1965) In 1965, The Who were just getting started, producing a revolution in rock. It was loud. It was dirty. It was sassy. This album was hugely influential, even though it had a limited shelf life and thus didn’t age well. I can’t imagine millennials being attracted to this music on first listen. But please try, kids. [Note: This is a review of the original 1965 debut [mono] UK release, although one can have great fun comparing with the 2000 ‘alternative’ mix and the 2014 stereo remix, all of which are available on the 5-CD 79-track 50th Anniversary/Super Deluxe edition (updated 2020)]. Marshall tube amps generate hum, fuzz, and harmonics, and both Pete Townshend (guitar) and John Entwistle (bass) utilize these features to full effect (even though Entwistle’s bass is sadly pushed toward the back of the mono mix). With none of the smooth vocals of the crowd-pleasing Beatles, or the firm grounding in American R&B of The Rolling Stones, or the folk rock prophetic poetry of Bob Dylan, The Who blasted onto the musical scene of the mid 60s with antipathetic destructiveness. It would not have been hard to predict that musical instruments would soon be smashed onstage by these blokes as part of an intentionally theatrical celebration of musical nihilism. The civilized world was shocked but the kids loved it (Full disclosure: I was one of the kids—loving it, but eager to hear what was coming next and quite ready to move on.) Lead vocals by Roger Daltrey were, at this early stage in his career, marred by pitch problems, weak projection, and flat timbre. His cover of two James Brown songs (“I Don’t Mind”, “Please Please Please”) and one Bo Diddley number (“I’m a Man”) are embarrassingly poor vocal stylistic imitations [cultural appropriations], even by the standards of 1965. He was only 21 years old. The Britrock/R&B synthesis was much better executed by the contemporaneous Rolling Stones. But Daltrey’s vocals on other songs, including his innovative, affected, and exaggerated ‘stutter’ effect (“My Generation” [supposedly channeling the effects of amphetamines]) were more skillful and raucously entertaining, adding to the revolutionary sound. And the vocal ensemble sections were well enough arranged, but very rough in the performance and recording (“Much Too Much”, “Please Please Please”, “It’s Not True”). The pop vocal work (“The Kids Are Alright”) was far inferior to what we were hearing from The Beatles at the time. Pete Townshend demonstrates with distortion, tremolo, flashes of noise brilliance (“Out in the Street”), blues riffs & bends (“I Don’t Mind”), droning (“The Good’s Gone”), and pick sliding & feedback (“The Ox”) that hard rock was clearly headed in a new direction. And even on this initial outing, he shows many compositional features like key changes, slamming repetitive chords, and discordant outros, that would be more fully developed as his career progressed. Bass playing by John Entwistle was way ahead of its time (listen to “My Generation” as a bass guitar showcase) and drums by Keith Moon (“The Ox”!) established patterns and fills that would become standard for virtually all subsequent hard rock. Lowlights on this album include the three aforementioned covers of compositions by James Brown and Bo Diddley, the inclusion of which was most likely designed to offend the sensibilities of British cultural highbrows (and just as likely succeeded), but they were very poorly done. Likewise, the more pop-oriented tracks (“La-La-La-Lies”, “Much Too Much”, “The Kids Are Alright”) seemed lame at the time, probably because, in retrospect, they were. But the highlights (“Out in the Streets”, “The Good’s Gone”, and the title track “My Generation”) are of historical significance in the development of the hard rock genre, as well as its metal, grunge, and thrash offspring. And the closing track “The Ox” is a dazzling display of hard rock experimentation. At the very least, every lover of music ought to hear this one brief track. This is not the kind of album to listen to over and over, but one serious listen during one’s fleeting span of life is essential. 3/5

All That You Can’t Leave Behind by U2 (2000) Here’s an album with excellent musical compositions overlaid with well harnessed synth colorings and nicely crafted grooves that are sustained throughout each track. Thank God for producer Brian Eno for holding the pieces together. This is redemptive rock, with forward looking, optimistic themes, celebrating the good, the true, and the beautiful with a dogged determination, even if there is an occasional lack of synchronization between poetic and musical meter. With playful obscurity, lyrics are suited to lift the listener from the cares of a chaotic world, without being naïve or preachy. There’s hope and good feeling to be found in each track, if one is patient and open-hearted. Parenthetically, if “Peace on Earth” sounds hopeless and cynical on a first listen, remember that lyricist Bono has retained the herald of the Incarnation as an ideal that, while not attained, is nevertheless not unattainable. And please note that the song is immediately followed by the Christ-adoring “When I Look at the World”, where the suffering, frail, and sinful (yet humble) poet asks what the Incarnate One sees when He looks at the world, and we all remember that what He sees is the object of Divine Love. Quiz: Can you spot God’s phone number on the album cover? (Answer at the bottom of this review). Lead vocalist Bono’s voice is closely recorded, clean and lightly processed, with sonic honesty. On this recording, he doesn’t have the mighty vocal chops of his youth, and his falsetto ain’t what it used to be (compare Joshua Tree [1987]), but its authenticity remains strong. As usual, guitarist the Edge masters his electronic effects to elevate a second tier talent to a first tier sound. This is his consistent greatness. The penultimate track “Grace” personifies a theological datum in a slow, soulful setting. Methodist preachers might make some serious kerygmatic hay out of this song. “Grace makes beauty out of ugly things”, Bono sings. One could even say that grace builds upon nature, without getting all Scholastic over it. On the other hand, why not? And again, please note that the song “Grace” is immediately followed by the anthemic “The Ground Beneath Her Feet”. Connect these two themes and you might be excused for waxing transcendent. I needed this one today. 4/5 (Answer: J33-3=Jeremiah 33:3. Look it up. Bob Dylan had it on speed dial.)

Frank by Amy Winehouse (2003) In this debut jazz/pop album, sassy 19-year-old British vocalist Amy Winehouse sings songs revealing that in relationships with men, she expects to get what she wants. And what she wants is perversely oversexed, as if she thinks she’s discovered the right tool to fix what’s broken inside. It’s embarrassing. Lyrics are characterized by demanding, controlling, manipulating, objectifying, wallowing in splenetic superficiality, reducing the man to a mere instrumental cause for her deluded sense of happiness, slutsplaining her way through a closed labyrinth of contradictions and non-sequiturs. As a songwriter, she comes across like a tiny princess who does her ego shopping at the Big & Tall Men’s store. All this is really too bad, because the musical arrangements are excellent, and she has an appealing, good-but-not-great voice. If you’re 1,000 albums into the list of 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die and this is the only one remaining, you could just as well go ahead and die. 1/5

Pretenders by The Pretenders (1979) There’s so much more to The Pretenders than that stellar opening groove to “My City Was Gone” (from Learning to Crawl [1984], used with approval by conservative radio talk show host Rush Limbaugh in his heyday). Singer/songwriter/frontwoman (and Ohio native) Chrissie Hynde has a lot of violence, pain, sadness, contempt, and anger to spread around on this debut album, and lead guitarist James Honeyman-Scott, bassist Pete Farndon, and drummer Martin Chambers help her do it with style, skill, and sense. References are obscure but rockingly indelicate. The energy is raw, and the listener gets the message loud and clear. Chrissie Hynde is, in my view, one of the top ten female rockers of all time. Unafraid of idiosyncratic time signatures (“The Phone Call”, “Tattooed Love Boys”), radical variety (“Space Invaders”), and anti-dance rhythms (“The Wait”), The Pretenders play up power chords and driving grooves in a masterful rock mien, with enough restraint to keep each track from overwhelming the ears. The only two main weaknesses here are, first, the steady descent (a regression, really) into ‘commercial’ pop on tracks 7-11 (especially the cover of Ray Davies’ [of The Kinks] “Stop Your Sobbing” and “Kid”). It seems out of character, and sometimes out of sync with the mood of the lyrics. But by the end of the closing track “Mystery Achievement” we’re comfortably back into driving rock (although the song should have been extended about a minute, with a fade at the end). As for the second weakness, the rapid spoken word melding with sung melodies (“Private Life” and elsewhere) sounds awkward if not anti-poetic, as if Hynde has too many words to fit into an otherwise well crafted song. Released on December 27, 1979, this album put an fitting exclamation point on the fine music of the 70s. Truly an enjoyable listen. 4/5

S&M by Metallica (1999) I have long loved a couple of tracks from this album, but today is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to listen to it from start to finish. Wow. I’m generally not a fan of live albums, but this cooperative venture between Metallica and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra conducted by Michael Kamen is a grand exception. The production is tremendous. The collaborative orchestral score is elaborate, commensurate, visionary, uninhibited, and enthusiastically disposed to transcend convention, far surpassing earlier attempts at this genre (such as the classic studio production Days of Future Passed by The Moody Blues and the London Festival Orchestra [1967]). Orchestrations were done by a team of twelve guys who really knew what they were doing. It would have been nice to be a fly on the wall during their brainstorming sessions. From the horror of “Enter Sandman” to the delicacy of key sections of “Hero of the Day”, the orchestrations are finely tuned to the tenor of the original compositions. This really is the true genius of the album (even if does lapse at times into orchestral tropes from late 60s soul music). The symphonic atmosphere is stellar. Kamen’s conducting and musical direction are superb, as he harnesses the power of SFSO in perfect sync with a metal band that clearly knows where it’s going. But Kamen doesn’t merely follow Metallica. At times, we almost hear a duel between orchestra and metal band, or even a Texas chili cook-off where it ends in a draw. Engineering on this album meets the monumental challenge of bringing it all together, live, with only few slips, as when Kirk Hammett’s lead guitar riffs sometimes get lost in the mix. The serious listener is forced to do some selective ‘mixing in the hearing’ to compensate, but it’s worth the effort. The opening track is a special treat, a symphonic rendition of Ennio Morricone’s Ecstasy of Gold (from the score for Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, starring Clint Eastwood [1966]). For fans of all four artists Metallica, Morricone, Leone, and Eastwood (like me), this unexpected treat has the power to produce multiple sobs. I’m glad I was alone. The second track “The Call of Ktulu” is a wild, nine-plus-minute spectacle fully exploiting the capabilities of metal and symphonic collaboration. If you were to listen to only one track from this album, “The Call of Ktulu” should be it. Do it loud. Prepare to be floored. The song “Master of Puppets” is one of the very few instances in live recorded music where the audience makes a solid musical contribution to the performance, joining in (unbidden) as a choral counterpoint in the style of Greek drama. This is only possible because lead vocalist James Hetfield has a natural range that is within reach of most male (and not a few female) voices. And they duly join in with brawny vigor. This effect continues on several other tracks, where the Metallica-loving crowd clearly knows what part they are to play. On “The Memory Remains”, however, the choral cult fails to keep tempo with their handclaps (as per usual with this phenomenon), so it’s spoiled somewhat, but only briefly. Now, while “Nothing Else Matters” is a great song, anthemic even, its treatment on this record is (very) mildly disappointing, not quite rising to the level of the original studio recording, due to James Hetfield’s excessive live vocal stylings, likely affected due to his many concert performances of the song, where he struggled to keep the mood fresh. And also perhaps because of the fact that the original studio recording already had superb orchestral backing, which SFSO here fails to improve upon, obscuring the dynamism of its predecessor. Listen to them back to back and judge for yourself whether I’ve missed something. The penultimate track “Enter Sandman” features the SFSO as an additional member of the band in its own right, giving a fifth dimension to the sound for those already familiar with the superlative studio rendition. And on the closing cut “Battery”, orchestra and band are pushed to the limits of synchronic complexity, pounding out this most challenging piece in the concert, and certainly not what one would expect from an encore. This track was the one that fully persuaded me to take the time and put together a playlist of all these songs, first with the original studio recording immediately followed by the live symphonic version. S&M is the kind of album that you could listen to many times over the span of many years and always hear something new. Don’t miss out on this one. 5/5

Rust in Peace by Megadeth (1990) What excels on this album are the guitar performances by Dave Mustaine and Marty Friedman, both of whom display a virtuosity that is beyond classic. And the compositions go well beyond simple chord progressions and driving beats. They are intricate, with fulsome use of tempo changes, metric variety, wild percussive riffs, and vivid tonal colors. It’s interesting how much of the solo lead guitar work is performed by Friedman, but it seems that the final lead phrases on each track are pretty generally taken by Mustaine, as if to underscore who’s the boss. Lead vocals by Mustaine are, however, are less than dazzling. His effort to sound evil is undermined by a rather squeaky timbre (although the frog croak non-melody on “Dawn Patrol” is interesting). I mostly wanted to tune out the ‘singing’ just to listen to the extraordinary guitar work. Backing vocals by bassist David Ellefson and drummer Nick Menza don’t offer much assistance. And lyrics are well below par, focusing on themes of denunciation, vengeance, judgment, apocalyptic warnings, darkside cosmologies, unstable psyches, and angry antipathy toward the instrumentalities of the Cold War (which, in 1991, was about to come to a stunning end with the collapse of the Soviet Union—Megadeth weren’t the only ones blindsided by this one). There ain’t a lot of love here. And whatever love is expressed (“Poison Was the Cure”) is quickly regretted. Nice music for channeling one’s anger, but when you’re done you’ll want to sit under a tree and listen to the wind. 3/5

The Predator by Ice Cube (1992) He doesn’t seem to want to integrate with people who are anything other than sympathetic with the political convictions of Malcolm X. 2/5

Daydream Nation by Sonic Youth (1988) For a first-time listen 34 years after its release, here’s a double LP that merits serious consideration of its creativity and craft. In retrospect, this early Sonic Youth recording sounds like a cross between Neil Young and Nirvana. And, as in the oeuvre of U2’s the Edge, the guitar work here demonstrates that you don’t have to be a rock guitar virtuoso (Hendrix, Allman, Page, Clapton, or Santana) to produce stunningly innovative sound. Now the engineering and mixing on Daydream Nation leave a lot to be desired. Vocals and percussion are hiding behind a curtain of sound. The recording needs more separation and dynamism. Maybe the technology had not yet caught up with the band’s unique electronic palette. Much better in this regard is Sonic Youth’s Washing Machine (1995). Key guitar features here include alternate tunings, sustain, and distortion, all combined with admirable symphonic complexity and disciplined performance. Discord is elevated to the level of expressive artistry. It is not random; it is well constructed tone poetry. And guitarist/songwriter Thurston Moore’s compositional technique very helpfully extends or repeats each experimental phrase long enough so that the listener can grasp it before it moves on to the next quasi-harmonic mystery. It’s very mesmerizing—less like Mozart and more like Anton Bruckner. If you’re looking for lyrical profundity/passion/politics, vocal beauty, memorable melodies, and soul, you won’t find it here. But what you will find is lavishly devised music for the mind. 4/5

Drunk by Thundercat (2017) Thundercat shakes off the political/cultural filth from his experience with Kendrick Lamar on To Pimp a Butterfly (2015), yet he still clings to gratuitous profanity and enfettered attachment to inebriation in this sometimes whimsical pop jazz collection of mostly short musical ditties. Maybe ya gotta be drunk to love Drunk. Musically, Thundercat dazzles with nice extended range on his six string Ibanez bass and his dubbed vocals (guest assists by Kendrick Lamar, Michael McDonald, Pharrell Williams, and [of all people] Kenny Loggins!]). Vocal arrangements from the David Crosby School of Harmonic Science. It’s a pleasant, smooth sound, but it gets tiring. “Walk on By” (Kendrick Lamar’s collaborative contribution on this album) should have been left off. It’s out of place thematically, musically, and aesthetically. On “Friend Zone” the programmed percussion and keyboards are consistently (which is good) out of sync (which is bad). It exhausts the listener. Programmer Charles “Mono/Poly” Dickerson should be politely excused. And looking at the cover, I have to wonder: Is the pool half full or half empty? 2/5

Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (2004) High praise for the lyrics: The themes are not theologically squeamish, and the poetry is just ambiguous enough to invite whatever your worldview into the passenger seat for a joyride. And it’s a nice musical ride, with dirty textures, plenty of dynamic variation, and better than average female-heavy backing vocals. These singers provide an essential function, because Nick Cave’s lead vocals sound like Dick Shawn, which is to say they’re not very good. Some of these tracks could have used orchestral backing (“Supernaturally” and “Carry Me” point in the right direction, but even they could be improved). His attempt to channel Leonard Cohen (“Messiah Ward”, and several other tracks here) is less than convincing, but a good effort nonetheless. It’s always nice to emulate the masters, even if the results are a bit disappointing. But the music weaves in and out with passable rock progressions and stylings, although the studio recording lacks separation, resulting in a flat sound that tries to generate a small venue feel. It doesn’t work. Where’s Brian Eno when you need him? “There She Goes, My Beautiful World” is highly referential and poetically nice, but unmelodic and arranged like a Broadway cast production (think “Hair” or “Jesus Christ Superstar”). It seems like it’s caught in the wrong millennium. The two (!) title tracks “Abattoir Blues” and “The Lyre of Orpheus” are of special interest, because they are well crafted and thought provoking, best appreciated for their lyrical content—certainly not for musical excellence. “Abattoir Blues” is a pessimistic lament over the sad state of the world’s regrettable “evolutionary trajectory” and the protagonist’s sad attempt to be what his lover needs. “Orpheus” provides a grim take on the story of the legendary Thracian bard, whose musical instrument is, in this case, violently destructive, with birds detonating and bunnies dashing out their brains, even to the point of causing the death of his beloved Eurydice, and pissing off God in the process. The underworld in this version becomes a haven for Orpheus and Eurydice to raise a large family. But, she screams, “If you play that f***ing thing down here I’ll stick it up your orifice”. Very interesting. “Easy Money” is a doleful dirge about how money that grows on trees has attendant characteristics that result in rhetorically sodomitic horror. This too is something to ponder. One could learn to like this album, but will take several listens. 3/5

Apocalypse Dudes by Turbonegro (1998) This is Norwegian ‘deathpunk’, according to the band. But it’s curiously light on actual death, and is virtually non-apocalyptic. One could even argue that it is anti-apocalyptic, but that would be taking it too seriously. Sometimes we should simply acknowledge that the artists are being lucratively provocative. The best explanation of the album title is the opening track “The Age of Pamparius”, which is actually a commercial for an Oslo pizzeria. So don’t get all excited. These Norwegian rockers were called “Turboneger” in the home country, but apparently someone suggested being less racially offensive for Anglo and American audiences. I’m not sure it made any difference. Let’s just say the lyrics are naughty and unrefined, with a penchant for a shallow but ‘shocking’ fixation on the profane, the pornographic, the scatological and the nether parts. Lightly camouflaged references to rock standards from the English-speaking world indicate a profound lack of lyrical imagination. Musically, however, if the listener can dispense with the need for melody, he/she can experience well produced and splashy rock, with fast paced, driving rhythms, power chords, fine guitar riffs, and heavy percussion—nice for when one’s head could use some banging. Knut “Euroboy” Schreiner is an excellent lead guitarist. The more cultivated fans of punk (I’m speaking to Mark, Jessy, and Nick here) will appreciate the advance from the lo-fi garage band sound. The musical and technological craft on this album is very good indeed. I didn’t know the Norwegians had it in them. 2/5

Band on the Run by Paul McCartney & Wings (1973 [U.S. release, including “Helen Wheels”]) I loved this album when it came out, even though my best friend hated it (I suspect he purloined my copy and found a way to throw it away—it’s the only way I can explain its later absence from my collection. Fink!). But in my high assessment of this record, I was adamant to the point of defiance. This is Paul McCartney doing what Paul McCartney does best—musically intelligent pop. But I haven’t listened to it in decades, so this was a bit of a journey into the past. And what a nice trip. And yes, that is James Coburn with his hand on Christopher Lee’s shoulder on the campy cover photo. The ‘band’ Wings at the time this album was recorded consisted of only (1) McCartney, (2) wife Linda, and (3) vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Denny Laine. That’s it. Lyrically playful, consisting of near-mindless mini narratives and sweet emotings, there’s nothing serious here, with words simply carrying the tune and providing a means to prompt the melody into becoming the primary ping on the listener’s sonar. But the vocal arrangements are highly entertaining, and the compositions develop wonderfully shifting moods, a McCartney speciality. This album is very instructive at helping the serious fan of The Beatles to sort out what McCartney’s specific contribution had been to the fabulous quartet. Listen to Abbey Road immediately after listening to Band on the Run, and you’ll hear both albums in a new way. The first two tracks, “Band on the Run” and “Jet” and the added track for the U.S. release “Helen Wheels” became top 40 hits because they tapped into the subconscious of the English-speaking world. In 1973 we were ready for a break from all the seriousness. Nixon cancelled the draft (a little too late for me, but it was still a relief. And in retrospect, four years in the U.S. Navy wasn’t a total waste of time). Let’s put on some Paul McCartney and take a deep breath before going back to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon. “Let Me Roll It” is Paul McCartney doing a John Lennon-style composition with a Paul McCartney-style arrangement. In my view, this song is the nearest thing we’ll ever hear like a post-Beatles ‘Beatles’ sound. I’ll let other Beatles fans ponder this suggestion. I had forgotten how much I loved the elaborations on the chord progression toward the end of “Nineteen-Hundred and Eighty-Five”. Play it loud, man. The bass playing is, of course, exquisite. And fat in the mix to boot. Go Paul. The genius of this album is in the incorporation of suitable sounds from unexpected regions of the available soundscape. Paul McCartney knew how to hook the listener. Well, me at least. 4/5

Paul’s Boutique by Beastie Boys (1989) I listened carefully to this album from start to finish, and I read through about half the lyrics, and I tried to discern all the one hundred eleven credited samples. It sure seems like these guys are having a good time. The sampling is intricate and wide ranging, with more than a few snippets that are recognizable from other popular recorded music (from Led Zeppelin to Johnny Cash), sometimes entertaining, sometimes distracting, always worth researching. All this is laid down over heavy but un-evolving beats and musical grooves, providing background to the dominant yelling of the three male ‘vocalists’. If it’s not high art, it’s certainly a well developed craft. For those who are in on their party scene, I suppose it’s good fun. But for those like me who aren’t part of that scene, it rather evokes a regret that we weren’t invited. 2/5

Strangeways, Here We Come by The Smiths (1987) If there’s such a thing as thoughtfully grim pop, this is it. Mostly first person singular narratives and reflections, it’s all sweetness and horror. But it’s not a joke. It helps to know at the outset that “Strangeways” was the name of a notoriously rough high-security prison in Manchester, England. So here we come. Songs include themes of death (“Death at One’s Elbow”), punishment (“I Started Something I Couldn’t Finish”), haunting by the ghost of an executed criminal (A Rush and a Push and the Land Is Ours), lack of remorse (“Girlfriend in a Coma”), and other sundry dark states of mind and soul that we all know are really out there. That’s why we watch Dateline. The lyrics express the memories, emotions, hopes and hopelessness of protagonists whose psyches are seriously unintegrated, as in ‘I know I was violent, but I still love you, baby’. That sort of thing. Or in “Last Night I Dreamed that Somebody Loved Me”, we are reassured that it was “just another false alarm”, recorded over a background of screaming male voices in a prison riot. Or we have: “I’ve come to to wish you an unhappy birthday, ‘cause you’re evil and you lie, and if you should die, I may feel slightly sad, but I won’t cry . . . Surely you’re happy it should be this way; I said no and then I shot myself.” This one is set to a jaunty shuffle, with only a slightly dark melody and chord structure. Makes me want to press my lips together, furrow my brow, and wonder. And we also get the darkest take I’ve ever heard on the relationship between recording artists and record companies (“Paint a Vulgar Picture”). The music is well enough produced and performed, with several very nice minor key progressions and synthesized strings, and with lyricist/lead singer Morrissey creditably delivering on this strange basket of goods. It’s a good listen. But it will make you eager to get back to whatever else you were doing. 3/5

Definitely Maybe by Oasis (1994) I was intrigued to read (Wikipedia) that in a 2005 BBC poll, this record was #4 on the list of most overrated albums ever, but in a 2006 NME poll, it was voted the #1 best album of all time, finishing just above Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by The Beatles (1967). Are you kidding me? What’s going on here? Don’t get me wrong. This album is good, but clearly there’s a divergence of opinion. I just note this in passing. Lyrics here fall into a pattern of fizzling at the end of each song, unraveling into repetitive poetic codas before the demands of musical closure. This, on top of the standard weakness of superfluous phrases being used to fill out the metrical scheme renders these lyrics mildly clever at best. And the message of the weirdly out of place closing track “Married with Children” will make you not want to be. The music is good, with electric rhythm guitar recorded using heavy sustain, and nice chord progressions that are easy on the ears yet with enough variety to keep the listener engaged. This the central feature of everything that’s good about this album. And it’s also the most ‘American-sounding’ feature. Sorry if that disappoints the blokes on the other side of the pond, but there it is. Lead guitar stylings by Noel Gallagher are ok, but not flashy or soulful. There’s a nice drum groove by Tony Carroll in the opening bars of both “Live Forever”and “Bring It on Down”, but elsewhere the percussion is merely standard. And Paul McGuigan’s bass playing is usually just ‘in there somewhere’. Lead vocals by Liam Gallagher are consistently characterized by this cloying, exaggerated, drawn out rounding of vowels which, I suppose, serves to compensate for a very limited range and a very deficient timbre. [Picture this: Wouldn’t it be fun for four guys to sit down in an Italian ristorante in Brooklyn and all together order lasagna the way Liam Gallagher repeatedly pronounces it on “Digsy’s Dinner”? They’d be thrown outta da place.] And his falsetto is really bad. This band would sound a lot better with a different lead singer. But if you like the multi-layer rock rhythm guitar textures that you’ll hear on this album (and I do) it’s quite satisfactory. 3/5