Death of a Disco Dancer is maybe the first time I’ve really heard the seeds of Radiohead (who cite them as inspo). Supports my suspicions that the band was impeccable AND that Moz would be an insufferable hang.

I found it difficult to separate this record from teenage memories, namely, a feeling of ironic kitsch a la 70s songs on Tarantino soundtracks. I feel confident in presuming that a great deal of the band was high all through these sessions, particularly the vocalist, with his lazy yawning intonations and long-hanging sibilants. My choir director would throw me out of the room for that shit. Be that as it may, it’s a classic sound and a good 30 years before Santana collaborated with Rob Thomas.

I’m officially old. I was past 40 by the time I became a dad. There’s hair growing from my ears. But even more important: I don’t hate prog anymore. Like any prog album, it’s all over the map — but also very clearly a record that came about a year after CSNY’s Deja Vu. Similar to The Dead’s American Beauty, the packed, doubled harmonies are so big in the recordings that everything else is dwarfed and tinny. Honest question tho: would it even be “proggy” if each song section went fully into a new track? Cf. tracks 3 and 4, which do the old “we’re so smart that our songs have several names.” Stray thoughts: - Track 1: I’ll go on the record and say that a single guitar line should never be panned back and forth like a shuttlecock. I don’t care how much coke the engineer did. - Track 2 is ridic. If only bc a live track in the middle of an album is 3-days-sleepless madness. - Fascinated by Ev’s grab from track 3 and now I want to find an 80s/90s musician that cites it as an influence.

I've reflected often in recent years how the component parts of what would become the grunge explosion are more diffuse and individually interesting than I used to naively assume. Here, these Madchester lads don't really *sound* like the UK Second Summer of Love (except Fools Gold, on the remaster), but boy do they presage Oasis and Blur. I basically picture Liam Gallagher singing this record. Apple Music calls this "one of the great debuts of all time". I could start to get behind that if it started with "Waterfall", instead of the two pastel jangly tracks that precede it. There's nothing that great about Waterfall’s performances (tho the baseline rips), but the texture is marvellous (same producer as The Bends — checks out), and again, feels prophetic in 1989. And then, Don't Stop, right after, picks up the lead line and tips it vertiginously on its edge, as if to say "yes, there were drugs. LOTS of drugs." I actually got pointed to that track recently by way of a Pitchfork review of a Cut Copy album which I like, but they hated; and they called out a certain track as a direct rip of Don't Stop. (The track is called Take Me Higher, a true facsimile of the time period, and I begrudgingly concede Pitchfork's point) I obvs wasn't part of those molly-soaked couple years at the end of 80s in the UK, but like a good consumer at the peak of his dispensable income, I love to passively participate in memories that I existed but didn't participate in. So while there's little on this record that intensely grabs me outside of Waterfall/Don't Stop, I LOVE the vibes, and some part of me wishes I was there, then. Even though my discretion was always at a career low with MDMA, and so if I had been there, I probably couldn't see straight today.

Five albums. Two years. In this period, Creedence were cranking albums like King Gizzard, except all hits. I admit that the non-single tracks here weren’t arresting. But it doesn’t matter. Fogerty is a fucking powerhouse.

You could say it’s minimalist because of its un-fussy, straightforward production. Or you could say it’s maximalist, with its giant orchestra hits. Either way, it’s *insubstantial*. It lacks substance. It’s big and dumb. It’s a Fast and Furious movie. It’s a jumbo hot dog with zero toppings. It’s an episode of Highlander on a Sony Watchman.

My main takeaway is that Lemmy’s guitarist, Fast Eddie Clarke, sounds exactly like Mike and Stone from Pearl Jam. Like, dead-ringer for those soaring, overdriven wah-pedal licks. I’m curious whether there are a bunch of intermediaries there, or whether there’s a direct influence. Other than that, I’d have loved to be at that show, Ace of Spades rules; but otherwise prob not coming back.

I want to say that this sounds like GarageBand. That's not fair. There's plenty of close-mic and panning. If it's GarageBand, it's very good GarageBand. It's just that nothing stands out in this perfectly fine and unremarkable indie funk album. My knowledge of The Bees comes from Free the Bees, which came two years after this. I heard the song "Chicken Payback" on Triple J Sydney all the time when I lived there. That song is still great. And in fairness, it's of a piece with what appears to be their career statement of un-fussed Motown revival mashed with gentlemanly lad rock. But it's wall-to-wall better. So politely close the tab on this record, listen to Free the Bees, and wonder why that wasn't the Bees record in this dude's book.

I must admit I didn’t finish this, but not because I didn’t like it. I thought it was bright and inventive without being annoying. The funk of Isley Bros without the blandness, and the jam-iness of Yes without quite so much wank.

Even if Fela hadn’t been Ada’s jolly jumper soundtrack from approx. 0 to 2, I would fucking love it. But I showed her how to dance to it (badly), I showed her how to play her plastic drum to it (not terrible), and she loved it too. So this is an easy sentimental 5 for me, and a reminder to bring it back to our speakers and see if she’ll take a break from Taylor Swift and jazz out to Afrobeat.

Today I learned that I myself have DJ'd Stuart Price. Said with dripping sarcasm, naturally, but every so often in my youth I'd cut a mixtape CD, and in the mid aughts I actually beatmatched a few of them. Not terribly well, but to my credit I think I counted the BPM by hand and then used percentages to slow down the tracks using a basic sound editor. The Toast app was a faithful friend. The best one was when I lived in Australia and had max free time; it was called "Australia: The Other White Meat". I wedged Four to the Floor (Thin White Duke remix — aka Rhythmes Digitales) between Run Eyed Blues by Ben Harper and a track by Telefon Tel Aviv. Questionable pacing, but a pretty good transition. That was a good remix. I think it was more popular than the original. Wikipedia tells me that Price, as Duke, did a bunch of popular remixes. So I think of this one as formative for Price. Ev and I were both speculating that it was influential; again Wiki says that it had some effect on the nascent millennial electro scene. I was hoping that it was created before Daft Punk's Homework — French name and all — but no, it came two years later. Huh. Most of it is borderline annoying; I had to tab over a few times to see how much was left in a track. So I’m glad that he grew into a good career producer, but I wasn’t thrilled to listen to the highshool essay.

Is there a greater state of nihilism than not loving a Marvin Gaye record? I’m sorry world. But I suspect I might be in good company with my brother in song reviewing. It’s a protest record I suppose, but he sings about the wrongs of the world in such vague language that it feels meaningless. I feel like I’d legit enjoy the instrumentals somewhat more. All that said, I like the trifecta of tracks 6, 7 and 9. I’d give a higher rating to an EP that dispenses with the vague whingeing about the wrongs of the world and leans in to the groove of Mercy Mercy Me and Inner City Blues.

Love Curtis in general, though this didn't especially grab me — I think because we've happened to be served a fair lot of 70s soul in our first few records. Will return to it another time.

Subtract a star from this impeccable artist, on this album, only because the richer instrumentation IMO obfuscates the raw energy of Waters. Dare I say it MUDDIES THE WATERS, but seriously folks. It feels indelibly marked in the post-Last-Waltz period; indeed his guitarist joined The Band with Muddy during that magical show. I was hoping that the harp player was Paul Butterfield, but no, he was gone by ‘77. My favourite track on this record is I Can’t Be Satisfied; it feels like half the band went on a beer run late at night, someone picked up a slide, and they just went for it. Raw, swung and funky. Makes me think of a gold-plated CD of his glorious second album on which he mostly plays solo. Many hours spent with Adam listening to that one.

Not a highlight Neil record, but thoroughly enjoyed. I love For The Turnstiles sung by Be Good Tanyas. Now I know the original.