Three Adirondack chairs?
Two Spectator shoes?
One rainbow gradient fill inside a confusingly mystic album title?
This one checks all the boxes.
What's inside is a dreamy whip of creamy strawberry baked in parchment paper and garnished with a rosebud of ganache. Bam! You're in a pot of jam. Fave trax: Pling! & Ice Cream Day Dream
When Bowie goes Low, we get high. Sometimes poo-poo'd as sour Kraut-rock, this album is actually a savory stew of steckrüben that reveals its flavours the way an orange sunset shimmers from gold to gray. "I skipped the part about love..." Blink and you might miss it. But pop this CD into the player on a dreary day where the temperatures dip and water ice gilds the pavements, and you will be rewarded, peering from behind a wall, changed, and delivered.
The album cover is some demented Cerberus nightmare.
Guarding the gates of punk heaven. Boo! Gotcha.
When Peter Tork left the Monkees in 1968, the band continued as a threesome. When Hanson was MMMbopping the globe, they were a threesome. These three can easily charm their way out of a paper bag.
Songs bounce from bouncy to borderline serious, bop-bop-boppin' along.
If Coco is short for coconut, you're nuts if you don't dig this group, and your head is full of unsweetened pulp.
R - 'Retha
E - Energy. The lady can sing.
S - Soul, soul, soul.
P - Please, ma'am, may we hear another?
E - Everyone should hear this album.
C - Carolyn Franklin co-wrote two tracks.
T - Two Sam Cooke songs.
A bayou is brackish and boggy. Swamp rock rises like a black snake moaning and a rotten log floating and then the guitars start strumming in the long heat an afternoon. These southern boys rose from the vines and Spanish moss with songs as oozy and infectious as an Alabama afternoon.
With a name like Throbbing Gristle...[insert your own sentence completion here as you please]. The first track I.B.M. is just one letter more than the universal abbreviation for bowel evacuation and is only one letter different from the medical condition known as I.B.S. (irritable bowel syndrome). Another track called E-Coli only adds fuel to this faecal drama. Why did they name their 2nd album The Third and Final Report. (Perhaps a better question is why did they name their 1st album The Second Annual Report?) Why is one of the band members named Cosey Fanni Tutti -- did you know Mozart was infamous for his scatalogical (potty) humour. So many questions, but so little time, although the album proper runs about 3/4 of an hour. Put the needle on the record and Rock Me Amadeus.
This album is a classic.
No it's not just for teenage girls in black eye makeup with quizzically styled hair in asymmetrical spikes.
No its not just for teenage boys who eschew sporting events in favor of their dank bedrooms, curtains shut tight against the light, and a musty volume of Baudelaire stashed where other boys might stow a well-worn copy of Beaver Shots.
Has there even been a more bathetic, pathetic three minute wallow as Never Had No One Ever? If there is, I'd like to hear it.
The album opening is iconic. We fade in on some music hall matron leading the boys in a rousing what-hey, stiff upper lip, Bob's your uncle pub pageant. Then Morrissey comes zooming in on wings of wonder and we're off. All aboard, we're on a road to somewhere.
Wu-la-la-la
It's the way that we rock when we're doin' our thing.
Enter the clan with the plan,
Spittin' rhymes and verses, no reverses,
now or later,
and of course it's genuine, no one greater,
winnin' like Texas Rangers
Emptyin' out 36 chambers.
My mouth is dry, my legs are weak. You're giving me a heart attack-ack-ack. Saving all your money for a Cadillac-ac-ac-ac. What do Olivia Newton John, Billy Joel and Freddie Mercury have in common? I'll let you think about that for a bit.
In the meantime, pop this vinyl masterpiece on your turntable or send the plastic ceedee into its mechanical drawer, drop the needle (or press the button), and suddenly it's 1975. Ingest your Captain Jack and prepare for the ride.
I Honestly Love this. Put simply: it's Killer Queen. You're stone cold cray-cray if you don't think so too.
Revisited, revisit? Once you drive down this Highway, you will never want to leave, so you will never need to come back. Let the record be a circular road that keeps leading you back home. Two-groove blacktop.
And you’re sick of all this repetition...Won’t you come see me, Queen Jane?
This is prime Dylan, release smack dab in the middle of the 60s. How does it feel? Pretty darn good.
Violent Femmes are the poster children for teenage angst bullsh*t. And I mean that in a good way.
If you put "Blister in the Sun" and "Add It Up" on a 7-inch 45 rpm vinyl single, you could carry angst around, if not in your pocket, at least in your backpack.
"Why can't I get just one kiss. Just one scr*w. Just one f*ck!"
OMG. Rampant, unfettered sexuality.
"When I'm out walking I strut my stuff and I'm so strung out I'm high as a kite..."
OMG. This is your brain on drugs.
But this is real life, gang. Get over it.
