Roy Harper - 'Valentine' (Harvest)

This has weirdly been one of my favourite Roy Harper records, despite it being pretty uneven by design, being built around odds and ends, and shorter songs written over the previous few years. Oh, and it's also really dodgy in terms of political correctness, in more than few places. I had hoped upon embarking on this project all those years ago that giving a studious re-listen to all of these records would encourage me to re-evaluate them, and to hear new things and maybe reconsider my opinions. But to be honest, it's mostly reinforced my feelings and in cases like this where I have heard the record so many times, I feel like I'm not able to properly concentrate on them. With that in mind, Valentine is still lovely and still uneven. I am really a sucker for the soft, straight fingerpicking folkie tunes and the examples on here are stunning. 'Forever' from Sophisticated Beggar is somewhat reworked; 'North Country' is a take on the Dylan song (or rather, 'steals it back' as one live spoken intro declares); 'Commune' is about the most perfect, beautiful work of magic ever committed to vinyl. And let's talk now about the opener, 'Forbidden Fruit', which as the title might hint, is about wanting to fuck a 13-year old girl. Now, I firmly believe one can write a song from a different point of view than the songwriter, and that a narrative can be fictionalised, etc - and I like to think that Harper was doing that, rather than confessing to the whole world how much he lusted after a schoolgirl. It's an interesting situation to write about and to try to find empathy in the situation and I think he did a good job, but the added dynamic of music and melody makes this even more complicated, because it's one of the more catchy and graceful tracks he's given us. It's hard not to love this song, even if it's shady as hell. And it recasts the 'little girl' subject of the closing track, 'Forever', in a new (creepy) light. This masculine tendency rears its head throughout, veering into straight-up misogyny at points. I find that when it's masked in something delicate and twee, like on 'Commune', I love it; when backed by a more hard rock section, I don't. 'Male Chauvinist Pig Blues' is clearly tongue-in-cheek and easy to ignore but 'Magic Woman (Liberation Reshuffle)' is not so forgivable. Filler like 'Acapulco Gold' is mostly forgettable (though that's a lovely lounge piano pantomime!) than 'Magic Woman's lyrics about 'unconscious castration' and 'I need a man to plug into me'. It really is a testament to the power of the great songs here that I rate Valentine so high as an overall album and choose to ignore the odious material. 'Twelve Hours of Sunset', written from the window of a plane, is eerie and magical; it can make goosebumps rise and the electric guitar sound from Lifemask returns here, only this time, it's perfect. And 'Commune', 'Commune', well,  I don't even know what I can say except it's just fucking incredible. This is maybe more proof of why I see Harper and Neil Young as analogous; they both have sometimes questionable social stances, they can flip between rockers and folk songs in the same record, and their surrealist tendencies are a nice complement to each other.

Roy Harper - 'Stormcock' (Chrysalis)

Here's the one, if you are only casually acquainted with Harper, that his reputation is largely built upon. And why not - Stormcock is a stunning achievement, somehow feeling like the most complete and representative record of his career despite being only four long songs and almost entirely acoustic. What it's missing is the whimsy, the goofiness, which inhabits (or infects, depending on your POV) most of this other material. I personally like a little whimsy in my Harper, but Stormcock is so solid that I don't miss it. The three previous albums discussed here, while solid-to-great, still had their bits of filler (sometimes connected directly to the aforementioned whimsy), but there is not a trace of that here; it's as if every second of every song is perfectly placed, from the exaggerated reverberating twang of a stray guitar note in 'Hors d'œuvres' to the ripping solo at the end of 'The Same Old Rock'. And let's start with the latter song, actually. It's the one with Jimmy Page, famously guesting under a pseudonym, and their acoustic jamming pyrotechnics are brilliant, presaging Jugula by 14 years and with a much stronger composition than anything on that album. But there's so much more at play in 'The Same Old Rock'; it may encapsulate everything that is great about Harper. The delicate melodicism found in some of his signature songs (such as 'Another Day', 'Commune', 'Forever' etc.) is equalled if not surpassed; the way he starts singing ( 'All along the ancient wastes / the same reflection spins...') out of the slow guitar intro is like dawn breaking through the mist, and one of the more beautiful moments; the layered vocals and mild percussion comes in to separate the aggro riffage at the end from the rest of the song which always makes me think this is really Harper's 'Stairway to Heaven' (or 'Bohemian Rhapsody'). File alongside Gastr del Sol's Crookt, Crackt or Fly?, and I wonder if this was an influence on Grubbs/O'Rourke. When one guitarist starts on this slightly middle-Eastern melodic riff (I assume Page), I always felt a bit like this used modal scales so seamlessly that it secretly revealed the whole album to be in the 'prog-rock' genre. Lyrically, it's an attack on religion and war, and Stormcock's first three songs feel predominantly to be addressing systems, structures, and other such big topics. 'One Man Rock and Roll Band' has some war imagery, made more stark by the flange effect on Harper's voice. I love this one too - the guitar is acoustic but the voice is electric, and the vocoder/flanger/chorus/whatever is a chilling complement to the natural timbre of his voice. When the piano chords show up, near the end, their thundering overtones are a perfect segue into the last track. Actually, studio production slowly creeps up slowly on this record, starting with the spare, minimal 'Hors d'œuvres' and building up to the David arranged 'Me and My Woman', where synths, horns, and other orchestral elements come and go around the maelstrom of strumming and singing. The drama is exaggerated at times (perhaps this is the album's take on 'whimsy' I was looking for) but it never cheapens things. It's huge, bringing matters to a close and ending almost suddenly, leaving an echo of headspace. If the man had a masterpiece, it's hard not to point to this one; it's a reputation justly deserved.

Guided By Vocies - 'Bee Thousand (The Director's Cut)' (Scat)

As mentioned a few posts ago, I no longer have my original copy of Bee Thousand, as it was loaned to someone years ago and never returned. It's OK, I suppose; I've committed every second of it to memory over the past 20 years anyway, and while I'll happily replace it when I come across it cheap-ish, for now I survive. Bee Thousand (The Director's Cut) actually contains every song anyway - the first two LPs recreate an earlier, longer version as assembled in 1993, and the final platter contains the seven songs from the official Bee Thousand that weren't on the 1993 version (which includes some of the most definitive tracks of the album: 'Buzzards and Dreadful Crows', 'Hardcore UFOs', 'I Am A Scientist', and 'Gold Star for Robot Boy') as well as The Grand Hour and and I Am A Scientist 7"s. But sequencing is everything, as one listen to any side of The Director's Cut will indicate. So much of the genius of Bee Thousand is how it fits together as a complete whole, without any filler and with the transitions carefully chosen. 'Echoes Myron' without 'Yours to Keep' preceeding it (and that awkward tape splice) just isn't right! And opening the whole thing with 'Demons Are Real' is a bold choice, but the first chords of 'Hardcore UFOs' are the most iconic opening in indie rock history (except, perhaps, for 'A Salty Salute' on Alien Lanes) so it's hard for me to really think of this as Bee Thousand without it. And yeah, not every song here is great - the would-have-been third side gets pretty spotty, so it makes sense that 'I'll Buy You a Bird' and  'Zoning the Planet' were dropped later, when the album we know and love took its final form. And I don't know that the world needs the falsetto-filler of 'Rainbow Billy' for any reason except the historic record. But still, at this point, Pollard and Sprout were just hit machines, churning out such an incredible body of work that fan-assembled outtakes collections are still being assembled to this day. The liner notes, written here by Robert Griffin of Scat, are really nicely done, telling the story of his relationship to the band, and how this album took form over so many iterations. The other running orders are reproduced with Pollard's lyric sheet for the third one, and his cassette track listings for the others; it turns out it's Griffin himself who put together the iconic sequencing, and that the album was actually assembled on an early version of ProTools (not bad for 1994!). So all of this is rather disjointed - Christ, it's a cluttered mess - but it's a glorious one. Some of the songs turned up much later - 'Why Did You Land?' was sped-up and re-recorded as a b-side to 'The Official Ironmen Rally Song'; 'Stabbing a Star' came out on a 7", and bits of 'Bite' and '2nd Moves to Twin' turned up elsewhere on Bee Thousand itself. And even shaken up and put in a blender, there's so much here to love and enjoy, and so much meaning and associations to draw, maybe even amplified by its new juxtapositions. 'Smothered in Hugs' retains it's magic nostalgia; 'Hot Freaks' and 'Her Psychology Today' their rampant sexuality. 'Myron' feels like it ties together many threads, and 'Deathtrot and Warlock Riding a Rooster' has some beauteous self-harmonising. And this is before even getting to this final LP, which contains a few of the greatest GbV tracks (two versions of 'Shocker in Gloomtown', a song so great the Breeders covered it; and an Andy Shernoff-produced version of 'My Valuable Hunting Knife' which never ended up anywhere else, somehow). So even though I still wonder why Pollard originally wanted to end the album with 'Crocker's Favourite Song' instead of 'You're Not An Airplane'. Yes, listen to the original first, but thank God for Griffin's efforts in releasing this, both musically and writerly - this is an important bit of history, at least to people like me.

Guided by Voices - 'Vampire on Titus' (Scat)

Out of the frying pan and into the fire! I don't know a lot of other obsessive GbV-heads but I would guess that Vampire on Titus shares the same status in their minds as in mine: simultaneously their best and least essential of the golden period; an exercise in contradictions and paradox. This is where they took the 'lo-fi' thing as far as it could be taken while still resembling a rock band, by intentionally distorting & muddying most of the songs, needlessly so (some would say). And I'm not sure, still, how I feel about these choices in obfuscation. I can't imagine 'Perhaps Now the Vultures' or 'Sot' any other way, but it seems to hurt other songs - two of which appear in superior, and more clear forms on Fast Japanese Spin Cycle. In many ways this is my favourite GbV album because it's not only their most difficult but it also has some of their absolute best work. And it feels more like a complete work than a collection of songs, perhaps because some of the tracks are so obfuscated as to be almost impenetrable - so they blend into the overall blanket. 'Expecting Brainchild' could be an arena rock classic but because of the way it's recorded, it feels more like a Chrome outtake - and that's precisely what's brilliant about it (and enables the homophobic f-word to be overlooked and barely heard, just as in 'Hit' on Alien Lanes). Another thing which hurts Vampire was the subsequent release of the Fast Japanese 7", which will be addressed here if I ever actually resurrect the 7" blog, because as mentioned above it features versions of 'Marchers in Orange' and 'Dusted' that blow away the versions on this LP. The latter, made evident on the 7" as possibly one of Pollard's best-ever songs (and that's a tall claim!), is almost indistinguishable from the other midrangey rockers in its Vampire form. 'Marchers' on the LP is built around a clunky pump organ, and the title makes me think of the protestant Orange march that I frequently saw during my Glasgow years, so it's a dicey association though surely not what Pollard means at all. '"Wished I Was a Giant"' starts things off with that midrangey, murky basement rock 4-track sound but somehow transcends it, as it's become an iconic GbV song over the years; the mandatory quotation marks makes it all the more brilliant, and the context indicates that Pollard is referring it not as a direct quote but as a nickname for some power-tripping person. So, so many classics here - 'Jar of Cardinals' is pure beauty; 'Gleemer (The Deeds of Fertile Jim)' is one of Sprout's masterpieces, and 'Non-Absorbing', while simplistic in form, is more or less a statement of purpose: 'Do you see more than I do?'. These jams peppered live sets through the period I dub as 'golden' and I've listened to them hundreds of times, so they feel truly familiar to this near-obsessive fan. It is, I guess, the lesser-remembered songs which really characterise Vampire on Titus, and some of them should be more celebrated: 'World of Fun', 'Wondering Boy Poet' (which has the cleanest, folkiest part of the record with it's 'Sailing, just like the days....' refrain-outro) and 'Perhaps Now the Vultures' are all pretty great songs. Maybe the best testament to Vampire on Titus's lasting power is that I listened to it before writing this, then went away for a week before finishing it, and couldn't get '#2 In the Model Home Series' out of my head the whole time. That's a sketchy, fragmentary song that could be a forgotten track on Suitcase or a clip of 'Back to Saturn X Radio Report', but when it drilled deep into my brain its repeated refrain of  'And secretly she sees' somehow sounds like the key to unlock a world with a million hallways and meanings. And that's exactly why this period of GbV continues to fascinate me - because it's just a treasure map. Vampire on Titus may be one of the dustiest of these maps, but when you blow it off enough to see, the riches are extremely rewarding.

Guided by Voices - 'Propeller' (Scat)

Eventually, everything from my formative years will be reissued in some deluxe vinyl package. I'm not unhappy about this; owning an original of Propeller was an impossible dream, and I never jumped on the twofer CD with Vampire on Titus since I had already had an original LP of the latter. Scat reissued this a few years back, selecting cover #14 for immortality (a good choice!) and thus enabling me to complete my dream run on vinyl of GbV's most fertile, amazing period. Except my original-ish white vinyl Bee Thousand disappeared mysteriously some years ago, leaving me with only Scat's Director's Cut, which is not bad and has 'Shocker in Gloomtown' on it, after all, but doesn't have the original sequencing which makes me feel that I need both. Anyway, we'll get there. But yes, this is the start of a fertile, amazing period which I would argue is not just GbV's finest era but one of the finest eras of any artist ever, in any medium. Yeah, 1992-97, starting here and going through Under the Bushes, Under the Stars, including most of (if not all) of the EPs and singles from this time - it's a run that is just utterly perfect. Now, Propeller I had listened to a zillion times on a dubbed Maxell type II (high bias!) cassette I got in high school from some enterprising soul online, back when I was actually trading dubs of albums through the mail, such was this high school kid's budget. It's a record that is so brilliantly conceived from start to finish that by the time I finally got this vinyl version, well, I didn't even need to listen to it. I could go through song by song and try to describe them, or even better describe what they mean to me, but maybe that would be boring or pointless. I could try to write something smart about the ironic rock and roll chant that opens the album, the arena-rock aspirations of these basement dwelling weirdos from Dayon, Ohio, and something about the failure of stardom being what makes this great, blah blah blah, sprinkle in some comparison to Kevin Coyne, and we're done. But what's the point? When they broke in '94 or '95 everything that could have possibly been written about them already was. And I can't even really say how great this sounds on vinyl cause it really just sounds like the cassette did - after all, it was recorded on cassette to begin with. So while the pressing is lovely enough (and includes a collection of some alternate handmade covers), it's not like the discovery of some great lost soundworld. OK, here's something I'll actually say: I love Pollard's more optimistic songs, and this record is covered in them: 'Quality of Armor', 'Exit Flagger', 'Unleashed! The Large-Hearted Boy' - these and most of the other cuts have been live staples for 25 years, through various lineups, and these must be songs I have listened to 3000 times each and I'm not the slightest bit tired of them. If I remember correctly they were gonna 'quit' the band and this was to be their final album, though given how many times Pollard has broken up and reformed the band, at this point I just see Guided by Voices more like a celestial force than a band, so I don't take that too seriously. I was just talking about the pre-Propeller Box that had all their albums up to this point, and was thinking about how actually great a lot of them are; I made a great mixtape of the best 4 or 5 songs from each of those. But Propeller is a step forward beyond belief; this is where Sprout really starts to shine ('14 Cheerleader Coldfront'!) and the band became, to me at least, the greatest fucking rock band of all time. Even the weakest cuts are epic soundworlds to me - the collage 'Back To Saturn X Radio Report' is made up of fragmentary songs that are found on King Shit and the Golden Boys, Static Airplane Jam, and other outtakes compilations from this era, and somehow the clumsy pause-button editing just strikes me as a brilliant vision. This is the first cornerstone of an amazingly rewarding vision, and I'll just knock off the superlatives now because I got a few more albums to spread them over.

Fraction - 'Moon Blood' (Phoenix)

There's something that divides people about this Fraction record. Maybe I swallowed the Kool-Aid pushed by The Acid Archives (which calls tracks 2-4 "among the most powerful music ever laid down", and that this is the "underground heavy psych monster to conquer them all") and other such private-press aficionados. Maybe this is really a third-rate amped-up Steppenwolf ripoff, a bunch of Christian meathead biker-rock garbage that would be intolerable were it not obscure. But whenever I hear 'Come Out of Her' I realise I must side with The Acid Archives, even if they do say that this bootleg copy sounds terrible compared to the official pressings. I'm not even a huge heavy rock guy - I don't own any Sabbath records even, and my sense of 'heavy' is probably different than most folks (I often cite Richard Thompson's 'Calvary Cross' as one of the heaviest tracks ever). Yet something about this album rips me apart. It's not so much the earnest, religious lyrics (which could all be easily about sex if you just substitute "vagina" for "God", though I guess most hymns could work that way too) as the extreme way that Jim Beach belts them out - it's like an unholy merger of Robert Plant and Jim Morrison, except I don't like either of those guys much. The recording really is good, even on this bootleg pressing, and I can imagine how a lesser production would dampen the impact of this. (Or, we can wonder how many other half-decent obscurities would have benefitted from better production). I can't deny the obscure nature of this is part of what appeals to me, but it's not obscurity for obscurity's sake. What's amazing about Fraction was that they existed at all, and I wonder what their lives were (are?) like, committed to this very uncompromising style of rock music but fervently theological in their execution. Maybe, as a nonbeliever myself, I like flirting with the idea of Christianity because it's the most 'out' trip of all, and the truest rebellion that I could enact in my life. I wonder what, if any, drugs were consumed - you'd think their beliefs would forbid it, but this sounds hand-in-hand with so many other heavy psych records which quite frequently partook. I'm with the Archives on this - this is a beast, an utterly singular record that's not an every-day listen (and may not offer many lessons in 2015) but hard to ignore when it does see the turntable.

Fairport Convention - 'The History Of' (Island)

I love those 'rock band family trees' and this gatefold LP uses it as the artwork, which is fun as you can really trace the lineups and changes of the sound as you listen through this compilation, which spans up through '71. Most of the first LP of this feels like a retread, especially as I just listened to What We Did on Our Holidays and Liege and Lief for this project; the Unhalfbricking songs are a nice inclusion (ah, it's such a pleasure to have 'A Sailor's Life' on vinyl!) though they included zero from the self-titled Judy Dyble-vocalised album. I can't say much more than I already did except I didn't mind listening to 'Matty Groves' again, and this first LP is a pretty solid collection that should be foundational for many people. 'Grazy Man Michael' and the medley replace 'Tam Lin' for some reason - I guess the medley is important to show their further descent into traditional material, especially to audiences in 1972 who might be purchasing Babbacombe Lee expecting Thompson's malignant picking to be there. The second LP I confess I rarely listen to, though it contains Thompson's mighty 'Sloth' and the single-only 'Now be Thankful'. 'Sloth' really is a masterpiece, alternating between world-weary resignation in the verses and the fire-storming churning of something more kinetic, only to sit back and look at the 'war' which has begun, just the roll of the drum, etc. etc. This is probably the best Fairport song. I'm so biased towards the official, rock-ist view of Fairport Convention, which is that after Richard Thompson left, I cash out (just like I care not a fuck for post-Wyatt Soft Machine, post-Barrett Floyd (mostly), etc.). I guess that's cause I've never taken the initiative to really give that stuff a chance, happy to take the collective doctrine as gospel.  The last side of the record is hard to sink into; 'John Lee' is all right, there's a real storytelling sense, and the performances are more than adequate, but I don't know; it's just not for me.

Kevin Coyne - 'Marjory Razor Blade' (Virgin)

This is Kevin Coyne's masterpiece, and I'm lucky to have the double LP version. It's sprawling and messy, like all double albums, but compared to the spare Case History this is a rocker. Lyrically, Coyne's turning his gaze to the middle class as opposed to the deranged mental patients he chronicled before, but really, is there a difference? 'This Is Spain' in particular resonates with me because of a terrible business trip I was on once that had me stuck in Marbella, a touristy hellhole if there ever is one. I didn't think of that song then but how great it would have been to walk around listening to it on headphones. But what an awesome record this is - the blues edges are sharper, the drums give everything a pounding edge, and Coyne's distinctive voice is the powerful center (even though he's not mixed that high). The title track opens things up in a practically 'Dust Blows Forward' manner, an a-capella dirge with twisted aggro flavours. When 'Marlene' comes out of it, it's a magical explosion, and like the fellow side-A cut 'Eastbourne Ladies', Coyne really never sounds better. The album is back and forth a bit between the drum-driven electric blues and the mellow ballads, with two Carter Family tunes thrown in the mix. The 'blues' is rampant, particularly on side two. 'Cheat Me' is pure knife-edge; 'I Want My Crown' and 'Mummy' feel more like sketches than full "songs" - a place for the band to stretch out with some slide stylings and other affects. Because I tend to enjoy Coyne's acoustic side more, I find these tracks charming, and maybe Marjory Razor Blade is so perfect because the balance is just right. When there is a full band, like 'House on the Hill', it's a nice momentum-builder; this song, feeling like a holdover from Case History because of the frank way it addresses mental illness, is nonetheless one of the album's strongest. Record two begins with my all-time favourite Coyne song, 'Jackie and Edna', a song about loneliness and regret unlike anything else I've ever heard. There's some class consciousness sprinkled throughout Marjory Razor Blade but it's not overwhelming - we're not into Housemartins or Billy Bragg territory, though I suspect Coyne may have been an influence here. This was about as close to commercial success as he ever got, and while I'm not intimately familiar with his later output, the general wisdom is that he never bettered this -- who am I to argue?

Elvis Costello - 'This Year's Model' (Radar)

I always thought that my copy of this was rare, because the cover was misprinted, wrapping the spine around to the back, cropping the title to His Year's Model and leaving ugly printing registration marks on the right. But when I googled for an image to put here, I found a few versions of this look, suggesting this edition, if not intentional, was at least pretty common. At my peak of enjoying Elvis Costello records (approximately 12 years ago), I was happy to find this UK issue because it contained '(I Don't Want to Go to) Chelsea' instead of 'Radio Radio' and the former is a far better tune. Yeah, this is the best of the first three Elvis Costello records, of course containing the most hits and far better production and confidence than My Aim Is True. Here, as throughout these pages, I'm gonna express the same awkward uncomfortable approach towards writing about such "classic" records. I don't have a lot to say specifically about these songs - yes, 'Little Triggers' is a great and surprisingly nuanced look at dating, 'No Action' is a stomping side-1-track-1, and 'Chelsea''s guitar lick is like a biting razor. But I don't want to go into a deep analysis of late 70's British masculinity, cultural tropes, or any of the other things that could probably be written about here. I'm sure someone's done a PhD on Elvis Costello already, anyway. What does strike me on this revisit is how rooted in 50's and 60's rock and roll these songs are - 'You Belong to Me' could be Cliff Richard, and some of the keyboard riffs seem so obvious, but maybe that's cause I've heard these songs a million times. 'Living in Paradise' and 'Lip Service' are really great songs too. 'Lipstick Vogue' is a good fast stomper. I don't know what else to say; just enjoy this!

The Can - 'Soundtracks' (Liberty)

The baton is passed from Mooney to Suzuki, though it's not sequenced this way. The back cover of this even indicates that this is "the second album of THE CAN, but not album no. two". So we're to view this as a stopgap collection, not an album proper but something to document the soundtrack work during this transitional time (1969/1970). You can hear the baton being passed most beautifully at the end of side one, though sequencing actually places Damo's underrated 'Don't Turn the Light On, Leave Me Alone' before Mooney's last gasp 'Soul Desert'. I'd have preferred the two sides of Soundtracks to be played backwards, because then you open the record with 'Mother Sky' and close with 'Soul Desert'. Which makes more sense, cause a) 'Mother Sky' is one of the greatest tracks in the history of rock music, a powerful tour de force that grows in stature with every play, so why not have it as a leadoff? and b) Mooney sounds at his most deranged, his most spent, as he hurtles through 'Soul Desert'. So a more grandiose entrance, and a more dignified farewell. Now I don't care much for the two 'Deadlock's or 'She Brings the Rain', and 'Tango Whisyman' is good but forgettable, so we're left with a strong EP and some padding. But when you have 'Mother Sky', with it's thunder and lightning and icicles and car crashes and momentum galore, why do you need to worry about anything else? We hear this track being approached like a dub track, showing Czukay's greater interest in studio fuckery. And the back cover photo shows an earnest young Holger, set much closer to the camera than anyone else, holding some wooden traditional thing that appears to be emitting a microphone for young shirtless Damo to croon through. Another reason for my side-b-should-be-side-a theory -- then, 'Mother Sky' would also be Damo's introduction to the world, and it's a hell of an entrance, much more so than 'Deadlock'! This is a dirty old Liberty record pressing that's creaking with surface noise, but it's not actually a bad way to listen to it. Also notable: Irwin Schmidt is holding a banjo in this photo, but I don't hear any (nor is he credited as such). 'Album no. two will be released in the beginning of 1971', and you know what that one is, right?

John Cale - 'Fear' (Island)

Here's at least one detail to love about every track of Fear: 1. Manzanera's crunchy, slightly palm-muted guitar part during the first verse of 'Fear is a Man's Best Friend'. 2. The pause, the hesitation just before the vocals start in on 'Buffalo Ballet' (but really, everything about 'Buffalo Ballet' - Cale's greatest power ballad, and one that really captures the sense of openness and wonder about his adopted home). 3. The wow and flutter of 'Barracuda', which I guess means the way it wobbles despite the confident rhythmic motion. Maybe it's the static around the bass guitar or the carnivalesque keyboards (are they Eno or Cale?) but it makes this a fun track to play loud when DJing. 4. 'Emily's organ textures, which provide a churchlike, apostolic earnestness behind Cale's emo lyrics and Eno's sweeps of white noise, particularly during the second verse. 5. In 'Ship of Fools', Cale sings 'There was something in the air that made us kind of weary', but his voice trails off at the end, cause, well, he's weary right? But I would be too if I was sailing all around the Welsh coast with these dudes. 6. The monotony of 'Gun', which when it ascends to its chorus, feels like the haymaker after you've already been peppered with jabs. 7. 'The Man Who Couldn't Afford to Orgy', which was for some reason released as a single, has all manners of perversions, but Cale's hard-G pronunciation of 'orgy' is the biggest, outranking Judy Nylon's sultry breaths. 8. When the female backing singers (credited simply as 'Girls' on the sleeve) enter 'You Know More Than I Know'. They change the song -- no longer a reflective complement to 'Buffalo Ballet', it turns into something more exuberant, and tinged with gospel fringers. 9. Well, all the slide guitars, of course, on 'Momamma Scuba', though given the presence of Richard Thompson with Manzanera, I find this track rather disappointing. Overall, side two starts to drag, but this is the Island album I enjoy the most from Cale and the only one I've bothered to own over the years. It's a pretty fantastic 1-2-3 punch and 'Fear is a Man's Best Friend' should be at every karaoke bar on this planet.

Tim Buckley - 'Starsailor' (Straight)

His curls are cropped a bit but his voice, inner and outer, is more wild than ever. This is Starsailor, a record where all the planets are in alignment. I know this is considered a groundbreaking avant-garde work, but it's not as insane as it's reputation might lead you to believe. This flips the inside/outside dynamic of Lorca somewhat, with 'Starsailor' (the titular track) providing the furthest foray into drone echo on side 2, and side one having rather "straight" songs that almost perfectly assimilate Buckley's ideas. Overall, Lorca's side one experimentation is the guiding light, but there's a remarkable concision to the way these songs are executed. Albumwide, nothing is longer than 5 and a half minutes, and the rhythmic freedom and meandering tearducts are largely controlled. And the songs are great. In retrospect, his debut album now feels like songs written for a less powerful voice. As Buckley grows into himself, his songwriting steps up to support, like a really fancy office chair that doesn't neglect the lumbars. 'Jungle Fire' synthesizes some of Happy Sad's 'Gypsy Woman' with side two of Lorca, but also allows Buckley to experiment with strange chord changes and voicings. 'Come Here Woman' is a great opener, setting a dark tone but then changing direction whenever it gets easy. 'Monterey' is a smashing riff-driven rocker where Buckley's pushing things with his voice. 'Moulin Rouge' is Buckley's foray into Kevin Ayers territory, with a village band feel carried by Mothers of Invention member Buck Gardner. Because I heard this record a generation or two after it was made, it's sometimes difficult for me to place what was an influence and what has been influenced by, follow? Though of course I can hear bits of Annette Peacock, US Maple, etc, it's really a singular work. Though who's to say that 'Starsailor''s layered fades aren't somewhat attributable to a healthy serving of Otto Luening? Of course we can't leave without talking about 'Song to the Siren', which by this point I should be tired of because of a million teeny mixtapes and This Mortal Coil's overblown (or brilliant, depending on my mood) treatment. But in reality, this is one of the most remarkably beautiful 3 minutes and 20 seconds ever put to wax, combining fragility, distance, depth, spookyness, energy and occlusion into something absolutely perfect. It is inspiring and devastating; it justifies the existence of the chorus effect; it is a raft from which I hope to never wash ashore, because with resolution comes complacency.

Big Star - 'Radio City' (Big Beat)

I think Big Star are definitely worthy of their retrograde acclaim. #1 Record has a lot of filler but I'm a sucker for the really twee/pervy stuff like that 'Won't you let me walk you home from school' song. But Radio City I've always felt was their strongest work - I'd even give it the nod over Sister Lovers, which is awesome but some forgettable mush, too. I think it's the riffs on Radio City that get me the most - I actually find myself playing air guitar to 'O My Soul' and 'Mod Lang', whereas the #1 Record riffs feel a bit underdeveloped and Sister Lovers is too 'luuded out. This is Thin Lizzy to me, these rockers. The band really plays well as a band here, hitting the chords with the proper crunch and perfect timing. 'Life is White' is a heavy jam - there's space between the corners, and ringing voices are always nice. 'Way Out West' is totally Andy Hummel's finest moment, and things get a bit more snaky on 'You Get What You Deserve'. I hesistate to call this a perfect classic - Big Star are one of those bands whose seminal album is a mixtape of their best work -- but it's their finest moment. Chilton's snarled "I can't be / satisfied" at the beginning of 'Mod Lang' deserves to be as classic as anything Jagger ever delivered. God, the guitars just sound so fucking good here. Yeah, it wimps out a bit at the end, but oh how triumphantly? 'September Gurls' is the bubblegum classic, but then 'Mopha Too' and 'I'm In Love With a Girl' are light sketches - a precursor to the 'Night Time'/'Blue Moon'/'Take Care' trifecta at the end of Sister Lovers. This is a mid-80s repress on a British label; it's mastered well, sounding great, perhaps better than the original press on Stax.

Big Black - 'Atomizer' (Homestead)

No, it's not the soundtrack to the Michel Houllebecq book, nor do they use the more attractive (in this correspondant's opinion) British spelling of Atomiser, but this isn't a record for being attractive. It's pure brutality, or at least pure misanthropy, or, at least, to use some more commas, as pure as misanthrophy in music can be that still adheres to pop/rock song structures and 4/4 rhythms. I think 'Jordan, Minnesota' is still my favorite Big Black song (and this is my favoite Big Black record, by a mile) perhaps because the topic is so heavy. Albini obviously felt strongly enough that he designated a full 50% of the liner notes to this tune. And it has a strong moral agenda whereas the hits like 'Kerosene' are more situational. But they're all great. So here's a question- do you think if you were a sports team, but say a really fucked up sociopathic sports team like the Oakland Raiders or something, then you would play the ending of 'Strange Things' through the PA at your games to get the crowd worked into a frenzied meléé? Cause when I listen to this song, even though the liner notes say it's bad, it's like a reworking of 'Rock and Roll part 2' by Gary Glitter. A bit of circular logic here cause don't Mr. Glitter's problems make you want to crank up 'Jordan, Minnesota'? This will stay with you until you die, and Atomizer is a fucking intense fist of industrial-indie-punk-metal fury, the sound of 1986 as I imagine it because, let's be honest, Big Black were before my time. I love that the liner notes (which I've already mentioned twice) are not merely lyrics but instead "about" the songs. I love that a song like 'Passing Complexion' has such a catchy, octave-pedal pop hook in it yet it's still angry and punchy and about something. Maybe it's my loss, but I don't really listen to anything else Albini's done anymore. That first Shellac record is great (though I don't own it) and I don't dislike any of his output, but whenever I get that urge to listen to music that recalls the misplaced emotions I had in high school (and suggests a grimy, Midwest city of industry) then I just go back to this one, even though it's as familiar as apple pie now. It all musta been so different on 5 October 1985 when this was recorded. And what a thanks list! Sonic (fucking) Youth, Squirrel Bait, Byron and Jimmy (still quite the partnership in those days), Jack Rabid, the Butthole Surfers, Killdozer and the entire city of Minneapolis (including Prince, I guess). And "anybody who likes the bishops" -- meaning Alan and Rick? It's not really a thanks list, but a list of "hellos to" -- yet, does anyone really think 'hello' is the right sentiment for this band? Such pleasantries seem beyond Albini and co., as they seem more likely to greet you by stabbing you in the stomach with a Phillips screwdriver. This will stay with you until you die, and Atomizer will too.

Bachs - 'Out of the Bachs' (Void)

Seventy-six goddam LPs and we've finally made it to the second letter, which is a remarkable feeling. And this relatively recent addition to the Spinal Underbite is one of those "privately-pressed" pysch records that've been all the rage in recent years, and usually are obscure for a reason. But not the Bachs! I don't know what's up with Void records - their website, printed on the jacket, is of the stores.ebay.com domain ... but in the A4 laser-printed liner notes, they claim this is
"hailed as the greatest garage album of all time". Well, I'll take that superlative without any need for salt, cause this record is fucking awesome. See, there's something fragile and slightly inept about it. Certainly, the recording session was led by a person who had never seen magnetic tape before - the record is saturated with phasing problems, a weird echo, and the greatest of rhythmic hesitations (greatest as in historically awesome, not lengthy). And the songwriting, it's not shy nor is it particularly confident. Out of the Bachs sounds a bit like a record made in a parallel dimension. I guess these suburban Chicago kids got quite popular playing school dances and the occasional wedding, and they ended up making enough money to lay down this LP before they went to college (or something like that. I quite enjoy intentionally mangling history sometimes). So this record was made, showcasing the two-lead singer, three-guitars-but-it-ain't-heavy sound through 12 rather bouncy numbers. Yeah, it's the late 1960s and they aren't straying too far from their Nuggetsy roots, but this record contains at least two absolute total classics, coming right in the middle of the listen. 'Minister to a Mind Diseased's lyrics even grace the back cover, as if to say "hey, this song is IMPORTANT!". It's edgy and slightly deranged; there's a funny ebb and flow to this song and it really honestly deserves to be up there with the 'Like a Rolling Stone's and 'A Day in the Life's that Other People are always going on about. But then flip the record and you get 'Tables of Grass Fields', with ringing chords that shine like a Move record held underwater, fighting for air. Plus, a killer tom-tom solo. I have a feeling this record will come in and out of print, in various semi-legitimate 'reissues', til the end of time. And maybe that's best for it - would a big proper deluxe attention-whoring box set (come on people, a Bachs Set!) do justice? Music like this, though they were grasping for some sort of BeatlesKinksWho legitimacy at the time, is forever relegated to the margins. And I'm happy with it there.