Parachute (1970)

Artist: The Pretty Things
Release Year: 1970

Rating: 10/10

Track Listing: 1) Scene One; 2) The Good Mr. Square; 3) She Was Tall, She Was High; 4) In the Square; 5) The Letter; 6) Rain; 7) Miss Fae Regrets; 8) Cries from the Midnight Circus; 9) Grass; 10) Sickle Clowns; 11) She’s a Lover; 12) What’s the Use; 13) Parachute.

Sometimes you find an album that you love for reasons you can’t explain.  Sure, you’ll try to explain your love for it, but those reasons still float just outside your own understanding; yet, in trying to chase those reasons down, the album only ascends to further greatness.  You’ll try to describe your feelings to others, but chances are that no one will see what you see, and that’s a bitter pill.  When I first heard this album about 15 years ago, it was like listening to the sound of my own consciousness, of a pure distilled Self that had fallen by the wayside in the miserable beige monotony of adult life. 

Again, why that is, is hard to pin down.  This album is not particularly bright or sunny; in fact, it’s rather dark, a kaleidoscope of betrayal, debauchery, infidelity, anger, and murder.  Even the ostensibly sunshine-and-rainbows songs like “She Was Tall, She Was High” and “She’s a Lover” are tinged with sadness, and both turn out to be illusions in the end, deflating in tragedy and heartbreak.  But oh, what beautiful tragedies these are, and how warm and bright it all feels regardless, when the album is over.    

There’s no way the psych-folk opening suite of the first six songs was not meant as a copy of the medley from Abbey Road.  Each one is a minute or two long, moving through distinct but related scenes, telling the story of a young love that ends in rejection.  I also can’t help comparing the groove of “Rain” and its stellar drumming to the Beatles single of the same name – go on and tell me there’s no similarity there!  But a 30 second intro, then a 20 second verse, followed by a 60 second coda that only builds in intensity alongside the furious drum work?  That’s an original idea!

Elsewhere, there are several fiery rockers with a bluesy bent: the urgent, frenetic “Miss Fae Regrets”, the lecherous “Midnight Circus”, and the stuttering and bitter “Sickle Clowns”.  Bassist Wally Waller might be the unsung hero of the second one: just listen to that sinister, pulsating intro and imagine whatever kind of degeneracy might be going on under that tent.  Then later, when the distorted scatting kicks in, we’re too far gone to realize that the groove doesn’t change much throughout the six minutes – we just get front-row seats when “cries of murder splash on the walls”, and although I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be outraged at here, I won’t deny that it works.  “Sickle Clowns” is pretty similar in sound and theme, but this time there’s more guitar madness to spice things up, so both are winners.

I think it’s the ballads, though, that do the most for me.  “Grass” is immaculate, and so much more moving than anything else I’ve heard from 95% of artists out there, perfectly portraying that immense, helpless longing for someone or something that has moved on from you and will not return.  In fact, it’s done so well that when the ecstatic “She’s a Lover” shows up a few songs later, we know better than to believe it – and sure enough, the poor protagonist is the last to realize his delusion in the crestfallen “What’s the Use”.  How can I not praise such dramatic irony after something like that?

Finally, there’s the ethereal title track to wrap things up with a cryptic stanza about…something.  I don’t know what, but I assume it has something to do with a message that will outlast civilization.  Typical Sixties, but I guess back then it seemed like we actually had a chance in hell.  Unless this thing is supposed to be a dirge for the progressive momentum that had mostly withered by then?  Sure sounds like an end-credits theme, so maybe that's it.

Again, I can’t explain my great love of this album without seeming like I’m overselling it to everyone who reads this.  Structurally, thematically, musically, and so forth, it’s nothing far removed from what others were doing at the time or even before, yet something in there just clicks for me on a deep spiritual level that remains inscrutable.  Maybe it’s best left for the ages.

Trespass (1970)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1970

Rating: 7/10

Track Listing: 1) Looking for Someone; 2) White Mountain; 3) Visions of Angels; 4) Stagnation; 5) Dusk; 6) The Knife.

The classic Genesis lineup had yet to coalesce in 1970, but the sound was emerging, albeit less uniformly than one would like.  The production is still strange and uneven, but Peter Gabriel's charisma makes up for that.  Right from the opening shout of "LOOKING FOR SOMEONE?!", the guy's rich, dramatic vocals draw us in, clunky song structures or no.

We get a dose of pure fantasy on "White Mountain", which is a little campy at times, and Gabriel sounds like he's struggling to hit a few of the notes.  Still, the driving power of the main melody can't be denied, and the story is interesting.  "Visions of Angels" is suitably uplifting and majestic, but regardless of how well they nail the soaring feeling in the chorus, I can't help but feel the song is a little too precious and sappy.  

Yes, it's clear throughout the album that the guys were still learning how to play prog, as the instrumental sections frequently lack the kind of dynamism needed to sustain their length.  They're rarely offensive, but boredom does set in when the same theme is repeated measure after measure.  This is less of a problem on "Looking for Someone", given the great momentum it's already picked up in the verses (and redoubles in the coda), but "Stagnation" and "Dusk" really suffer for it.  I can hardly remember anything about the sleepy "Dusk", and the same would be true of "Stagnation" if not for Peter Gabriel's fabulously desperate cries for water at the end.  If nothing else, that moment was the indication of Gabriel's potential as a frontman and showman.

But, without question, the best track on here - and one of the greatest Genesis songs ever - is "The Knife".  It's a brilliant, furious, exhilarating epic, complete with war-march verses, lyrics of passion and zealotry, an ominous, portentous flute solo, and a positively electrifying guitar solo to portray the climactic battle.  Every member is in top form here, and I daresay this song rivals even the best of the classic lineup of 1971-74.  All but the very worst records can be saved from total ruin by a song like this.  

Fortunately, of course, Trespass is far from being a bad album; in fact, I think it's underrated in its dark, wintry, atmospheric creepiness.  My previous complaints about the long stretches of monotony still stand, but there are enough fresh ideas and great moments to compensate, and the uneven character of this album would not be repeated on the following releases.

From Genesis to Revelation (1969)

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1969

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Where the Sour Turns to Sweet; 2) In the Beginning; 3) Fireside Song; 4) The Serpent; 5) Am I Very Wrong; 6) In the Wilderness; 7) The Conqueror; 8) In Hiding; 9) One Day; 10) Window; 11) In Limbo; 12) Silent Sun; 13) A Place to Call My Own.

I'm actually glad Genesis didn't turn out to be one of those bands that blew out all their good ideas on their first few albums, before stumbling along in mediocrity for the next ten or twenty years.  No, they took their time in developing, and so did their best ideas - but of course, what that means is that few of those ideas can be found here.  It's not that I actively dislike this album, but rather that I have a hard time remembering most of it.  It's strange when an album has plenty of very real hooks on it that mostly fade from memory once the thing is over.

The guys were barely adults when they recorded this, and while that didn't affect their playing (which is actually pretty tight), it did limit their songwriting.  Pretty much every song on here is another mid-tempo psychedelic folk piece-- indeed, there's hardly an electric guitar note to be found outside of "In the Beginning".  The drums and bass are also curiously mixed into the background, leaving only the saccharine violin and generic acoustic strumming to accompany Gabriel, whose singing is one of the things that redeems this album a bit for me.  Yes, even an unremarkable folkish arrangement can be a showcase for a great vocalist, and Gabriel delivers the trite, laughable concepts of "DESTINY!" and "INCARNATION!" in just the right style - warm yet somewhat eerie - and with his talent for lyric writing already evident.  That's another saving grace to this album: the overall themes may be the usual pretentious, universalist drivel of the day, but the lyrics themselves could have been worse.  I can only dry-heave at the thought of what Graeme Edge would have done in that position.  

And speaking of Graeme Edge, I could actually hear the Moody Blues doing a lot of these songs with their lush smoothness, or Love with a more melancholic feel; but as it is, the sound of this album is just too thin and insubstantial to occupy a spot in my regular rotation. 

There's hardly an offensive moment on here, but there's hardly an exciting one either.  Soft, sweet, and a bit cutesy here and there: no problem for a pretty psychedelic baroque album in the vein of  Donovan or The Left Banke, but something's just missing.  Maybe the fact that I keep comparing the sound to other artists of their time goes some way toward explaining whatever the problem is.  I guess it makes for a good album to relax with on a Sunday afternoon, but when your time only comes once a week, it's about time to step up your game.  Fortunately, they would do so.

P.S. - Hey, that "illusion/disillusion" chorus in "Fireside Song" sure reminds me of "I Talk to the Wind" - did King Crimson rip off these guys for In the Court?  Or maybe we're dealing with a "common ancestor" situation here.  Ironic for a band called Genesis, I guess.

Discipline (1981)

 

Artist: King Crimson
Release Year: 1981

Rating: 9/10

Track Listing: 1) Elephant Talk; 2) Frame by Frame; 3) Matte Kudasai; 4) Indiscipline; 5) Thela Hun Ginjeet; 6) The Sheltering Sky; 7) Discipline.

A musical Rubik’s Cube.  Look at the cover art for a perfect visual interpretation!

To paraphrase Fripp himself, this incarnation of King Crimson is "a way of doing" the Eighties.  New Wave is here, for better or for worse, and Robert Fripp somehow managed to incorporate the best elements of the genre into the King Crimson fold without submitting to the horrendous evils of synths.

First, the personnel.  Fripp and Broof are back, but the other two slots are filled by the band's first Americans: former Talking Heads associate Adrian Belew and Chapman stick wizard Tony Levin.  Belew certainly let the wild paranoia of David Byrne rub off on him, and never before has a Crimson lead vocalist stood out as much as Belew does.  In fact, he almost seems to stand as an equal to Fripp here: right from the wibbly-wobbly intro of “Elephant Talk”, it’s clear that we are in new territory.  The music is more open, more danceable, and – dare I say it – friendlier this time around.

And speaking of that opening track, it’s so hard not to smile along as Adrian Belew shouts out those lists of alliterative synonyms, cheekily noting in the fourth verse that “these are words with a D this time”.  No way would this band have been so self-referential in earlier years – now there’s your proof of evolution, right right.  Then we get obsessive and unstable ramblings on “Indiscipline”, both narratively and musically, with lines like “I repeat myself when under stress, I repeat myself when under stress…” providing another nugget of black comedy, right before we’re catapulted back into instrumental madness—and be sure to marvel at Bill Bruford’s claustrophobic drumming!  “Thela Hun Ginjeet” continues the theme, but even better, almost like we’ve gone further down the river in Apocalypse Now.  This is the infamous true story of Adrian Belew getting mugged in London, recorded not an hour after it happened, but the constant return to that intense, adrenaline-drenched instrumental suggests both a fit of nervous sweats and some deeper meaning, almost like some kind of postmodernist piece.  Serendipity is an incredible thing.

Yet, in spite of the increase in humor and whimsy, there’s no denying that this is still the super-professional and terrifying world of King Crimson.  The dizzying, interlocking guitar work and polyrhythms of “Frame by Frame” and “Discipline” – the latter of which also includes some refreshing elements of African music and gamelan, of all things – is proof enough of that.  The lengthy, atmospheric jam of “The Sheltering Sky” is an underrated gem, too: just listen to those gorgeous whistles and swoops and scrapes and everything else Belew can make his guitar sound like.  It really does feel like lying under the clouds in a strange, empty land, and I can’t complain for a moment.  Finally, the ballad “Matte Kudasai” is just untouchable, from the gorgeous verses to the bittersweet, yearning chorus, to even the mournful seagull effects Belew throws in.

And let’s not forget Bruford and Levin: an unstoppable rhythm section, no doubt, even if the band’s new style doesn’t allow them to be the same “flying brick wall” that Bruford and Wetton were in the Seventies.  No, this is a more mathematical pairing of drum and bass, allowing more space for Fripp and Belew to weave their endless knots of hyper-complex guitar calculus.  Sexy it isn’t, unless you’re into some weird niches; but when the goal is a futuristic, world music-influenced engineering-meets-art project, the framework could not have been better than this.  It’s a softer, more pliable and flexible grounding for the looser-in-substance, but tighter-in-form posture that the band would adopt for the remainder of the incarnation.

All in all, there’s not a second on this album that I don’t like, and I almost rated it a ten…but something stays my hand.  Is it the lack of the spiritual universality that I feel on Larks’, or is it just the disappearance of that crunchy guitar tone that we heard all over the Seventies’ KC?  Maybe it’s Fripp’s partial abdication of the throne.  Just don’t tell him that.

Three Fish (1996)

Artist: Three Fish
Release Year: 1996

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Solitude; 2) Song for a Dead Girl; 3) Silence at the Bottom; 4) The Intelligent Fish; 5) Zagreb; 6) All Messed Up; 7) Here in the Darkness; 8) If Miles Were Alive; 9) The Half Intelligent Fish; 10) Strangers in My Head; 11) A Lovely Meander; 12) Elusive Ones; 13) Build; 14) Stupid Fish; 15) Can I Come Along; 16) The Easy Way; 17) Secret Place; 18) Laced.

NOTE: The track listing above is for the LP version of the album, which uses a different track order and includes three songs that do not appear on the CD version.

Three Fish was the semi-supergroup formed by Jeff Ament of Pearl Jam, Robbi Robb of Tribe After Tribe, and Richard Stuverud of the Fastbacks.  I'll expand more on them if and when I create the artist page, but I felt the need to mention that here.  Anyway...

Forget all the death metal and all the other edgy things I've heard-- this is one of the bleakest and darkest albums I know of.  This whole hour (or 68 minutes, if you have the full LP version) is a constant soundtrack to falling deeper and deeper into a dark underwater cavern, choking and freezing, with no hope of escape, yet thrashing against the inevitable because there's nothing else your body knows how to do.  Somewhere in there, your mind starts to dream...and finds only nightmares.  No, there are no monsters visible, but there's always a great sense of danger around the corner.  From the thrumming, Eastern drones and tribal-sounding drums, to the reedy acoustic guitar, the lurching rhythms, the watery chords and sludgy distorted riffs, the moaning chants and the schizophrenic double-tracked backing vocals, there's always a perfect slot for the yearning and desperate vocals from Robbi Robb, which oscillate between sneering narrative asides, to uncomfortable seduction, to primal shouts into an indifferent void...and the repetition of so many lines goes well beyond monotony and into madness. 

Oh, and of course, the album is interspersed with segments of an old Chinese parable about using logical forethought to avert disaster.  I don't know what more we're supposed to learn from having the story on this album, but at least it fits the vibe very well.

I'm not going to spend time on the individual tracks, partially because they're all pretty similar in substance, despite the differences in form; but mostly because the album works so well as a cohesive unit that dividing it up would defeat the purpose.  I can't see myself listening to any of these songs outside the context of this horrid beast of an album…except, maybe, for the closing "Laced".  That song isn't much less dark and dreary than the others, but that longing "if she should fall away...into the waa-aaa-teerrr" provides as nice a resolution as could be believable after a pulverizing album like this, like an ocean sunrise that may or may not be real.

This whole album is a claustrophobic trip through jagged and troubled inner spaces that few would even acknowledge.  And note that I mean this not just in a lyrical sense, but in reference to the overall vibe and imagery suggested by all aspects of the sound described above.  Sure, the thing is longer than it needs to be, and there's perhaps a bit too much monotony for some, but I don't have a problem as long as the lurching-yet-ethereal trance continues.  Far as I can tell, there's nothing like this out there.  Death, decay, desolation, insanity, loneliness, bitterness, folly, and shame…and beauty.  

Please listen to this.  At least once.

Colors (2007)

 

Artist: Between the Buried and Me
Release Year: 2007

Rating: 9/10

Track Listing: 1) Foam Born (A) The Backtrack; 2) (B) The Decade of Statues; 3) Informal Gluttony; 4) Sun of Nothing; 5) Ants of the Sky; 6) Prequel to the Sequel; 7) Viridian; 8) White Walls.

Colors: the result of splitting light into different wavelengths, or of splitting metal into different genres.

Oh, the nostalgia that comes with this one-- and I didn't even listen to it nearly as much in its time as my friends did!  And as usual for metal, I'm not going to pay attention to the lyrics, mainly because I can't understand them, and I don't feel like looking them up.  That doesn't hamper my enjoyment of this album, though-- whether they're screaming, growling, or singing.  So what makes this one work so well for me?

Simple: the striking dynamism from beginning to end.  No more than five minutes at a time are spent on the same motif, so they easily avoid a problem that has made a lot of metal difficult for me.  No, this band seems to have followed the superior process of being interesting and varied first, then adding the heaviness.  There's always a new genre injected in, always a new breakdown or riff or vocal hook around the corner.  Sure, we have to start out with the usual spooky chromatic chords at the beginning, but then we launch into the groove.  Well, kinda– "Decade of Statues" does less for me as a mostly straightahead metal number, but they at least intersperse it with some nice riffs and cool breakdowns.

But then we get to the main course, when everything opens up in ways I couldn't have predicted.  I almost don't want to spell it all out here, for fear of spoilers-- but this album is almost 20 years old now, and it's not like anybody's reading this anyway.  

So then, what about the Arabian chant at the beginning of "Informal Gluttony", or the didgeridoos at the end?  How about the piano breakdown, then later, the power ballad-sounding "chorus" section in "Sun of Nothing"?  Or the almost Steven Wilson-sounding vocals in the middle verses?  And I could go on about the exquisitely frenetic "Ants of the Sky", which includes a heavy-funk solo like something from Living Colour, then blends later into a Spanish guitar piece, then wraps up with the laid-back, jazz-fusion solo near the end, which abruptly segues into something from a hoedown.  

No notes.

Then we get a nostalgic, soaring intro to "Prequel to the Sequel", followed by a polka breakdown to screamo vocals to thrash riffage, before a smooth instrumental transition to the crushing epic "White Walls".  From the curb-stomping intro to the mysterious "step back" section, which sounds like swimming under dark water, to the slow buildup to the throwbacks to classic metal in the dizzying solo section that caps it all off, this is probably my favorite on the album.  

Throughout Colors, the transitions from heavy to smooth make a hell of a lot more sense than you usually hear in bands that are just trying to sound intelligent, and are placed in just the right spots to deliver satisfaction and respite, like little oases in the wasteland.  It all fits, and it all keeps us listening on, like a novel we can't put down.  Sure, the harsh sections don't have the same kind of sludgy groove that Mastodon's best work does, but that's likely not the point.  The point is the journey throughout all these disparate scenes, the contrast between light and dark, and there's no doubt about their success in that regard.  Perhaps most tellingly, I was a fan of this album even before I began to appreciate metal, which means it might help make a believer out of someone else one day.  

Genesis (1983)

Artist: Genesis Release Year: 1983 Rating: 7/10

Track Listing: 1) Mama; 2) That’s All; 3) Home By the Sea; 4) Second Home By the Sea; 5) Illegal Alien; 6) Taking It All Too Hard; 7) Just a Job to Do; 8) Silver Rainbow; 9) It’s Gonna Get Better.

Not quite "Perfection", as the cover would imply, but solid for sure.

So many prog rock bands found themselves sliding awkwardly toward the pop end of the spectrum by the late seventies, and the output usually suffered a great deal.  Genesis was no exception.  In spite of this, I must maintain that for a few brief years, Genesis were a good pop band, and there is no better proof of that than on their eponymous album.  Somewhere between the struggle to compromise between prog and pop, and then submitting entirely to unabashedly soulless product, Genesis decided to just make thoughtful, well-rounded pop - no more and no less.

I'm a big fan of Peter Gabriel's work with the band, but on Genesis, I'm actually thankful Phil Collins was the frontman.  He's in top form here, from the range of feelings conveyed in his vocals to his engaging drumming style (when he's actually playing, of course).  You'll find the best example of both on "Mama", with the creepy atmosphere building and building as on "In the Air Tonight", but Phil is actually more maniacal here, and it works-- as long as you can pretend to take him seriously with that ridiculous "HA HA...heh" laugh he somehow saw fit to include.  The big hit "That's All" is smooth and has some interesting melodic turns, so that’s another high point.  My favorite, though, is "Home by the Sea", with an eerie melody complimenting Phil's narrative about being trapped with a couple of phantoms, before transitioning to a mostly-interesting instrumental that seems to continue the story without words.  That's the only vestige of prog on this record, and it's done well.

The other songs are pleasant and digestible, although they stand out considerably less.  The only misfire is "Illegal Alien", one of the band's worst songs.  The stupid melody and stupid lyrics would make the listener cringe even if they weren't sung in a fake Mexican accent.  All in all, this is a great pop-rock album one may freely enjoy.  It's warm and smooth, the songs are well-thought out, and there is little of the annoying sterility that would plague them soon afterward.  Cool cover art, too

One-Album Wonders: The Peels (2005)

"You were wrapped in golden chains; I was lonely just the same"

Genres: alternative rock, garage rock, punk
Recording decades: 2000s

Lineup:
Robyn Miller – vocals
Lane Rider – guitar
Joshua Keats – bass
Ken Small – drums

Album Release Year: 2005

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Only Son; 2) Lay; 3) Gold Chains; 4) I Only Miss You When You’re Gone; 5) You Talk Too Much; 6) These Things, They Fall Apart; 7) I Don’t Know; 8) Push You Away.

If you were to ask me which band inspired my greatest laments for their dissolution after a single album, I would name not the Sex Pistols, or Blind Faith, or even Derek and the Dominoes.  So, does that imply that I would name The Peels?  Well, maybe.  Jackson C. Frank and Toy Matinee might be more substantial contenders in the end, but the fact that The Peels only managed a single album is still a crime.

I’m not going to pretend that the slick, greasy, swaggering rock sound of these eight songs was never heard before – hell, it’s probably been a standard of the underground/punk/whatever scene since the late Seventies.  But that doesn’t mean that there’s any less room for an ass-kicking record like this one.

First of all, the obvious: that desperate, wailing, hiccupping energy from vocalist Robyn Miller is really something incredible, and the band probably wouldn’t have even released this album without her.  Her voice is husky and streetwise while retaining that femme fatale element, and the rest of the band clearly knew to make her the central focus at all times.  The rhythm section is just tight enough to keep everyone in line, while still allowing for plenty of breathing room for Miller and guitarist Lane Rider to drag us everywhere they need to.  Yes, Rider provides all kinds of driving, serrated riffs and stinging solos and fills: again, probably a cliché to those accustomed to the scene; but where so many other underground alt-punk acts are harsh and abrasive enough to strip the paint, here the style is done so smoothly and melodically that one can still pick out harmonies and everything else, and that's what draws me in. 

So, the sound is tried-and-true, but the energy is really something else, like an old roller coaster careening around those hairpin turns, rattling and threatening to come off the rails, but always coming back to center, always returning to the dock, and always leaving the listener with an exhilarating desire for more.

Well, I guess even that description is cliché, isn’t it?  Point is, I’ve listened to a decent number of independent rock bands, and none of them have filled me with the same frenetic, bouncing-off-the-walls vibe, and made me believe in it, the way The Peels do.  

What else am I supposed to feel at that gritty bass intro in “You Talk Too Much”, when it sounds like some kind of slimy beast slapping me around?  How can I resist that raspy, defiant shout of “I’ll just laa-aaa-yyyeeeeee” that makes up the entirety of the chorus in track 2?  Or the stomping, driving “Gold Chains” with the riffs that sound like waves of hot, dirty water crashing overhead?  Then there’s the wicked, petulant, writhing solo at the end of “Push You Away” that serves as a climax for the whole album.

So, there you have it.  The feeling of thrashing around, breaking stuff, splattering paint everywhere, all with a huge smile on my face – that’s what this album is for me, and I don’t care how many other albums it could have been instead.  This is the one I fished out of a bargain bin that summer afternoon in college, and it was the best thing I could have done with that two bucks.

Mondo Bizarro (1992)

 Mondo Bizarro

Artist: The Ramones
Release Year: 1992

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Censorshit; 2) The Job that Ate My Brain; 3) Poison Heart; 4) Anxiety; 5) Strength to Endure; 6) It's Gonna Be Alright; 7) Take It As It Comes; 8) Main Man; 9) Tomorrow She Goes Away; 10) I Won't Let It Happen; 11) Cabbies on Crack; 12) Heidi Is a Headcase; 13) Touring.

Another late-period Ramones album...what's there to say?  It's mindless, it's fun, but it's also a mere imitation of what once was.

The lack of technical abilities was almost a blessing in the early days, when they had something new to say, something novel to offer without the usual AOR trappings getting in the way.  Now, though, the novelty is over and their contemporaries have surpassed them...so what's left to do?  Well, mainly, they copy what others were doing as well as they can, like an uncool parent trying to ape their kids' new appropriation of the old trends.  The form is there, but the execution comes off as perfunctory and shallow.  Fortunately, though, the Ramones were always just unserious enough for this to not be a showstopper.  Hell- they even got Vernon Reid from Living Colour to play on "Cabbies on Crack", apparently to preempt the demand for wild guitar solos at least a bit.

The best by far is "Poison Heart", a melancholic anthem that only seems to become more relevant as the years go on.  Here's a song where I don't mind the bigger production, because the world-weary vibe is just self-aware and ironic enough to keep the thing from collapsing into laughable melodrama.  Other minor highlights include "Main Man" and "The Job that Ate My Brain", the latter if only for the universal experience it describes-- and hey, isn't that the best subject for these guys to tackle, now that their fans are all grown up and running the rat race?  Now that's creative evolution!

I can almost get onboard with their weird choice to cover The Doors on "Take It As It Comes", so the only real turd is the formless bleating of "ANXIETY, ANXIETY" in track 4 with nothing to redeem it.  "Touring" is a shameless copy of both "Rock and Roll High School" and "Sheena Is a Punk Rocker", but whatever.  The day we sincerely condemn the Ramones for a lack of variety is probably a harbinger of the apocalypse.

Anyway, relics the Ramones have become, but the young'uns still have a thing or two to learn from them.

Road to Ruin (1978)

 

Road to Ruin

Artist: The Ramones
Release Year: 1978

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) I Just Wanna Have Something to Do; 2) I Wanted Everything; 3) Don't Come Close; 4) I Don't Want You; 5) Needles and Pins; 6) I'm Against It; 7) I Wanna Be Sedated; 8) Go Mental; 9) Questioningly; 10) She's the One; 11) Bad Brain; 12) It's a Long Way Back.

Here they are again: The Ramones, slamming ahead with their signature style for the fourth album in three years, which makes one think: given their iconic but very limited bag of tricks, wouldn't the well be running dry by now?  Well...kinda.  See, on here, the good stuff is really good, but the "meh" stuff is starting to creep in as well, and this is where we first start hearing the band slide into generic territory.  Sadly, that polarization would slump more and more toward the latter category as the years went by.

But!  This isn't 1986; this is 1978, and the Ramones are still operating at high capacity.

The slow, swaggering opener "I Just Wanna Have Something to Do" is about as close to a "luxurious epic" as one can get from the Ramones, so it's fitting that the whole song is about boredom-- though you'd never guess it in the midst of all those "Wait!  Now!" chants and the repeated "tooo-niiight" that promises such great things to come.  It's a contrast to the frantic "She's the One", which pulverizes us with that crunchy riff while Joey winds through sunny-but-sneering verses, chorus, and bridge with hardly a breath between.  Of course, the big hit "I Wanna Be Sedated" is on here, and it hasn't aged a bit.  Later on, "Questioningly" gives a surprisingly vulnerable look at what happens fter a punk's glory days, and that bare-bones but emotive solo is a high point on the record.

Then, there are the throwaways, which seem to hammer ahead with the same energy as the great songs, but there's just something missing from tracks like "I Don’t Want You" or "Bad Brain"…almost like they're bashing us on the head with the style but forgot to include the melodic twists that made the style work in the first place.  Most of these songs are fine by themselves, but not up to the standard set by the better half.  The Searchers cover "Needles and Pins" was a good choice, though, and at least there's only one song ("Go Mental") that constitutes a total, sludgy, hookless mess.  

Still, what helps this album stand out the most is the subtle shift in production that brings us a little farther away from that grungy alley seen on the cover of the band's debut, and a little further into a bustling commercial thoroughfare.  The world of the music widens just a little-- not so much as to self-sabotage by highlighting the band's technical shortcomings against a backdrop of "higher" culture, but just enough to draw some more "respectable" other characters and settings into the picture, to bring the Ramones' harsh, simple irreverence into greater relief.  I mean, what good is the satirical "I'm Against It" if they haven't already mentioned the suburban yuppie, so-called "enlightenment" that they're against?  Unless they're just another band of rebels without a cause, as it were, but hell - if we vilify the Ramones for that, we'd have to vilify most of their followers, and I'm not prepared for that.  Yet.

Sheer Heart Attack (1974)

 

Sheer Heart Attack

Artist: Queen
Release Year: 1974

Rating: 7/10

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Track Listing: 1) Brighton Rock; 2) Killer Queen; 3) Tenement Funster; 4) Flick of the Wrist; 5) Lily of the Valley; 6) Now I'm Here; 7) In the Lap of the Gods; 8) Stone Cold Crazy; 9) Dear Friends; 10) Misfire; 11) Bring Back That Leroy Brown; 12) She Makes Me; 13) In the Lap of the Gods...Revisited.

Out of all the Queen albums out there, this is the one I find the hardest to write about.  It's like all the energy and showmanship is present, but the form has yet to coalesce, leaving all these disparate elements to flail around in multiple directions, all in the hope of merging into brilliance.  The band's boogie and hard rock roots are on display on songs like "Stone Cold Crazy" and "Leroy Brown", but those are hardly the focus here.  The operatic enthusiasm and theatrical bombast come through in the likes of "Lily of the Valley" and "In the Lap of the Gods", which are pretty, but lack the structure needed to make them into classics.

The band must have known this, too, because they made sure to put the very best stuff first.  "Killer Queen" is the same immortal classic everyone knows and loves, but it's "Brighton Rock" that really deserves special mention.  As much fun as the frantic falsetto verses are, the chugging riff soon moves us into the triumphant, almost hymn-like chorus of "OHHH, ROCK OF AGES", followed by a breathtaking guitar freakout that drags us through a flashing, neon-colored blur of different worlds, like David Bowman going through the StarGate or something.  Sorry...you'll just have to listen to it, because nowhere else will you ever hear Brian May playing like this.

Still, there are some really nice moments outside of the first two tracks.  "She Makes Me" is a nice smooth ballad with some real feeling above the band's usual showbiz-first philosophy, and the transition from the weird verses in "Now I'm Here" to the epically overblown chorus has to be the stuff of legend.  And, yeah, it's trite at this point to trot out the usual praises for Freddie's vocals, but I can't help mentioning him at least once.  If not for him, I suspect I'd have less patience for a lot of the theatrical songs.

Overall, not a bad album by any means-- just one that could use a bit more refining, as they would do in spectacular fashion a year later.

Subliminal Plastic Motives (1995)

 

Subliminal Plastic Motives

Artist: Self
Release Year: 1995

Rating: 8/10

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Track Listing: 1) Borateen; 2) Sophomore Jinx; 3) Stewardess; 4) So Low; 5) Marathon Shirt; 6) Lucid Anne; 7) Cannon; 8) Missed the Friction; 9) Superstar; 10) Mother Nature's Fault; 11) Big Important Nothing; 12) Lost My Senses.

Matt Mahaffey was undoubtedly the valedictorian AND the class clown.  I can't be convinced otherwise after hearing this.

This album is like if you had, as a rebellious preteen, grabbed a pop-rock song out of a claw machine on a summer afternoon, mashed it together with whatever sound chips you dug out of your electronic toys, ran it over on your bike, and then soaked it in both Nickelodeon slime and whatever week-old piss beer you smuggled out of your parents' clutches.  It's a weird, wacky, youthful-yet-literate, clunky-yet-smooth, sunny-yet-cynical mess of rock, electronic, and even jazzy influences that threatens to come apart at the seams but never does.  

Listen to all the switch-ups in the likes of "Marathon Shirt" or "Cannon", or all the chromatic chords in "Sophomore Jinx", or the freaking 11/8 time signature of "Lost My Senses" for evidence enough of Mahaffey's sharp knowledge and command of music theory.  The beats feel like they could be part of a hip-hop record or even a jazz suite, yet the vibe is pure Nineties alt-rock.  The hooks are bizarre but unforgettable.  The production is so full of electronic bleeps, murmuring samples, fuzzy guitars, sneering vocals,  snappy pianos, and a hundred other things, while still focusing on the melodies, and I don't know how they did it.  And I almost don't want to know, because Matt Mahaffey deserves a monopoly on this sound.

Now, for some highlights.  The bouncy "North-east-ern-south-west-Mississippi" hook is so audacious as to be brilliant enough to maybe win over that titular "Stewardess", and the same goes for the "I wish I was dead, with a knife in my chest and a bullet through my head" in the next track.  It's all teenage jeering and mockery, yet still manages to be good-natured enough to avoid upsetting any (rational) person.  My favorites come next, though: the jazzy breakdown that comes out of nowhere in "Marathon Shirt" only makes me love the immaculate, endless-summer chorus even more, and to follow that song with the smoothly offbeat groove of "Lucid Anne" was a stroke of genius.

Those aside, everything on here screams of thumbing one's nose at everyone and everything, in a way that only a brilliant Nineties rocker and producer could, and I don't need much else on a summer afternoon when I want to forget my age.  But could something like this be released yet today, or is this sort of cynicism and rejection insufficiently harsh to land today?  Hard to tell.  Have the nostalgia goggles become permanently attached to me yet?

Please Please Me (1963)

 

Please Please Me

Artist: The Beatles
Release Year: 1963

Rating: 7/10

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Track Listing: 1) I Saw Her Standing There; 2) Misery; 3) Anna (Go to Him); 4) Chains; 5) Boys; 6) Ask Me Why; 7) Please Please Me; 8) Love Me Do; 9) PS I Love You; 10) Baby It's You; 11) Do You Want to Know a Secret; 12) A Taste of Honey; 13) There's a Place; 14) Twist and Shout.

Here it is, the very first Beatles record, from a time before anyone knew what they would become, and I don't find it odd to summarize it as "charming, but quaint".  There's a certain…well, "dustiness" isn't quite the word, but it is close.  It's clear that although the Beatles had established their studio prowess and songwriting expertise right from the beginning, they hadn't yet fully stood apart from their contemporaries in terms of style.  This album sure sounds like 1963, and is probably the one that still sounds the most dated today.  Listen to the stretch from "Love Me Do" to "A Taste of Honey" and try telling me that no one else could have done those (well, technically, some of those are covers, so someone else literally did do those).  So why don't I color those tracks red?  Because the Beatles still make them sound so damned good!

Yeah, we find a whole six covers on this album, which is typical for 1963, but still somewhat of a damper-- but that's not to say that the harbingers of future greatness cannot be heard here.  "I Saw Her Standing There" is just about the best way they could have announced themselves to the world, from the opening count-in to the earnest delivery of the verses, to the weird "miii-IIIINE" falsetto in the pre-chorus that could only fly before about 1966, to the frantic, swaggering rockabilly solo delivered by a very young George.  "Misery" and the title track, on the other hand, are much more traditional sounding, but no less likeable, with all the same boyish energy and harmony going into those immaculate hooks from the beginning-- not to mention the double entendres in the title track that set the stage for John's usual wit later on.  And of course, there's the cover of "Twist and Shout" that manages to out-rock the original so much as to eclipse it.  

The best part of this album, though, is the incredible, professional quality control and consistency displayed by the band from the very beginning.  There are no stupid outtakes like The Beach Boys were including at the time, for instance.  Just fourteen solid tracks, all lain down in a single marathon session on a cold day while everyone was sick.  Sometimes tenacity does pay off, doesn't it?  At least when you've got George Martin on your side from the beginning.

Tarkus (1971)

 

Tarkus

Artist: Emerson, Lake & Palmer
Release Year: 1971

Rating: 8/10

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Track Listing: 1) Tarkus; 2) Jeremy Bender; 3) Bitches Crystal; 4) The Only Way (Hymn); 5) Infinite Space; 6) A Time and a Place; 7) Are You Ready Eddy.

Oh man, right from the beginning you know the titular suite is going to be epic-- I mean, what else could those bubbling, meandering-but-ultimately-ascending organ and synth lines suggest?  Then we get the portentous hymn-like "Stones of Years" segment that sets the stage nicely for the next "battle" section, before heading into that outstanding "weaver in the web that he made!" hook that I love so much.  Following that, we get more synth-and-drum-fests that manage to remain interesting the whole way through, before the obligatory "war is hell" conclusion and "profound rebirth and reprise" theme that was all the rage in those days.  

Yes, the opening "Tarkus" suite is possibly the best thing this band ever did, and I'm always here for it.  Why am I so emphatically onboard with this one, despite my usual complaints about ELP?  Simple: because the complexity arises from the interesting idea, and not the other way around.  Very little of "Tarkus" is overbearing or headache-inducing.  It all flows so well between cool and catchy motifs, and the dissonant parts are well-placed and meaningful in context.  Greg Lake's vocals are in top form, emotionally and sonically, and the suite even includes just enough Gilmour-esque guitar stings throughout to keep someone like me engaged.  Oh, and did I mention that this whole thing is supposed to depict a series of battles between an armadillo tank and other animal-machine chimeras?  Yeah, good luck deciphering that without the gatefold in front of you, but whatever.  This is prog, man!

So…what comes next?  Well, nothing quite as good, but at least the momentum keeps up.  "Jeremy Bender" is a charming little barroom singalong (yep, handclaps and all), and then there's the frantic boogie-turned-ominous rager "Bitches Crystal", in which you'll hear Greg Lake screaming his brains out, demonstrating again why I love his work so much.

"The Only Way" resumes the ironic-religious-hymn motif that suggests a bit more profundity and weight than I care to stomach, but at least the melody is nicely plaintive and accompanied by nice piano chops.  Heh...I can only imagine the kind of all-caps tirades to be witnessed today over a line like "Why did He lose six million Jews?"  Anyway, the rest is largely a rehash of what's come before on the album, but that's fine.  Now, do I want to listen to more of this sort of thing again after Tarkus is over?  Well, not really, but this one's great while it lasts.

The Beatles (1968)

 

The Beatles

Artist: The Beatles
Release Year: 1968

Rating: 9/10

Disc 1: 1) Back in the USSR; 2) Dear Prudence; 3) Glass Onion; 4) Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da; 5) Wild Honey Pie; 6) The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill; 7) While My Guitar Gently Weeps; 8) Happiness Is a Warm Gun; 9) Martha My Dear; 10) I'm So Tired; 11) Blackbird; 12) Piggies; 13) Rocky Raccoon; 14) Don't Pass Me By; 15) Why Don't We Do It in the Road; 16) I Will; 17) Julia.

Disc 2: 18) Birthday; 19) Yer Blues; 20) Mother Nature's Son; 21) Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey; 22) Sexy Sadie; 23) Helter Skelter; 24) Long, Long, Long; 25) Revolution 1; 26) Honey Pie; 27) Savoy Truffle; 28) Cry Baby Cry; 29) Revolution 9; 30) Good Night.

I don't like double albums.  Have you ever heard one that sustains its runtime the whole way through?  I haven't, and that includes the almighty White Album.  That's right--not even The Beatles can get away with this!  But they do come closer than most.

No doubt that by now, we've reached the late stage of the band's career.  Each member was developing into his own style as a musician and as a person, and the cracks were starting to show.  In fact, most of these songs sound more like solo John or solo Paul or solo George, with the other three simply making guest appearances.  Is it crass, though, to call Eric Clapton’s guitar solo on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” the best of these?

There are at least ten other different genres on here, all done anywhere from adequately to brilliantly.  Now, most of these genres were already well-established when this album was recorded, so there's not much ammunition to be had against Piero Scaruffi this time around; but I'll take another chance to spit on him anyway, because these songs are mostly outstanding.  We'd be here all day if I talked about every single song, but let me at least point out some highlights.  

Who can resist a rockin' party like "Back in the USSR", with the stinging guitar lines from George and the Beach Boys-style "wooo-ooh" backing vocals?  What about the gorgeous folk of "Dear Prudence" that somehow culminates in that stellar drumming during the last minute?  Who decided to switch genres and time signatures about five times in "Happiness Is a Warm Gun", yet managed to make the whole thing flow so well?  

How does "Martha My Dear" manage to feel so fresh and engaging despite being a 1920s-style music hall sendup, tuba and all?  Why is "Julia" so haunting and lovely in the midst of all those weird chord changes?  And why does everyone forget about the dusky atmosphere of "Cry Baby Cry" that somehow manages to speak to both my childhood wonder and my adult sense of dread at the same time, like a Grimm's fairy tale with hidden undertones or something?  

There are misfires, sure: for instance, the unnecessary kiddie song about Bungalow Bill, with mostly dumb lyrics.  John can't call out Paul's "granny shit" any more after this!  "Yer Blues" may be tongue-in-cheek enough to pass as a semi-joke, but that doesn't mean I want to sit through the whole thing, and then there's the matter of "Revolution 9".  Sure, the thing is an interesting mark of the times (and of John's growing obsession with Yoko), but a sound collage doesn't need to be eight minutes long, never mind how well it was composed.  

For all the variety here, the production is more stripped-down compared to the big and lush sound of the previous two albums, and that only furthers the rough-edged, unpolished, messy-sheaf-of-papers vibe of this record.  Now, anyone who knows me may suspect that the loss of cohesion would be a large black mark on an album, but somehow, this one just manages to hang together by a few essential threads that I find hard to pin down.  Maybe it's the fact that we finally hear each member jump through unapologetically, allowing some kind of personal evolution to come through.  Maybe it's the way the messy, ideas-before-structure tone prevents the listener from demanding the same cohesion we heard before on Sgt. Pepper.  Maybe it's just because the unparalleled songcraft of the Beatles made the individual tracks so great that they work as a collage rather than as a single, grand mural.  I don't know, and maybe that mystery only adds to the allure.

Duke (1980)

 

Duke

Artist: Genesis
Release Year: 1980

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Behind the Lines; 2) Duchess; 3) Guide Vocal; 4) Man of Our Times; 5) Misunderstanding; 6) Heathaze; 7) Turn It On Again; 8) Alone Tonight; 9) Cul De Sac; 10) Please Don’t Ask; 11) Duke’s Travels; 12) Duke’s End.

First of all, Duke was supposed to be a concept album, but the story came out in only about half the songs.  Look at that album cover and tell me what you think the story is about.  If you’re anything like me, that depressingly accurate prediction of 2010s corporate-Memphis-style minimalism is the quintessential depiction of midlife crisis: a fat, hunched-over, defeated man looks longingly out the window at a world that’s ostensibly waiting for him; yet, the moon clearly indicates it’s too late to do much.  Again, this universal tragedy only officially made it into a handful of the tracks, but the mood pervades throughout.  This album screams “beige waiting room” more than anything before it, and no amount of bright, shimmery production will override that feeling.  So then, why do I still give it a decent rating?  Why do I still listen to this one more than several of its predecessors?  Well, that’s hard to pin down, but I’ll try my best.

First, in spite of the lethargy suggested by the overall product, there are some really strong moments on this album that provide just enough momentum to propel us through some of the more generic stretches.  “Behind the Lines” kicks things off with a peppy, bouncy verse with some nice twists and turns, and the “writ-ten in the book!” chorus hook is really solid.  “Guide Vocal” is short but heartfelt, and placing it after “Duchess” instead of before it only increases the sense of longing, as if the Duchess herself were left standing alone on a dark stage, her glory days forgotten.  “Heathaze” is heartfelt with great lyrics and tender melodic shifts to convey them, though it is marred by saccharine production: a harbinger of what’s to come on Side B.

Then there are the hits.  “Misunderstanding” is smarmy and cheeky but still catchy as hell, and I don’t mind it.  “Turn It On Again” is better, with the weird meter and driving chorus providing probably the biggest breath of air amid the blandness of the album.

Unfortunately, we also have a sea of synth-pop to wade through in between the high points, and although there’s not quite enough of that to turn me away from the album, it does come close.  “Man of Our Times” and “Alone Tonight” could have been great, especially with Phil’s excellent vocal performance in each desperate chorus, if not for that overproduction that plants us right back into that album cover.  Then, after the hits are over, “Cul-De-Sac” and “Please Don’t Ask” provide two entirely forgettable tracks, easily the worst part of this album; and finally, we come to twin songs “Duke’s Travels” and “Duke’s End”, which do hearken back to the old prog days, albeit more in their combined ten-minute structure than in actual feel.  It’s all glistening, shimmery, annoying synths for me, and that’s that.  Bleh.

So, again, we have some really great pop songwriting moments, driven into the ground by that infernal beast we call the Eighties.  Most of these songs would have been much, much greater as standalones or in another context, and without such synth-heavy production of course.  But, as it stands, this is a weird case of the collective product being far blander than its constituent molecules, if you will.  Phil sounds great on both the drums and on the mic, but of course, Tony Banks buries things in synths, and that’s what really grates on me.  And what of Mike Rutherford?  I assume he just kinda followed along, but what do I know?

Brain Salad Surgery (1973)

 

Brain Salad Surgery

Artist: Emerson, Lake & Palmer
Release Year: 1973

Rating: 5/10

Track Listing: 1) Jerusalem; 2) Toccata; 3) Still…You Turn Me On; 4) Benny the Bouncer; 5) Karn Evil 9: 1st Impression - Part 1; 6) Karn Evil 9: 1st Impression - Part 2; 7) Karn Evil 9: 2nd Impression; 8) Karn Evil 9: 3rd Impression.

"The show that never ends" sure sounds like an apt description for this kind of thing…or at least, that's what it feels like when I've listened to all the doodly-doodly synths and organs until my head hurts, only to realize I'm only halfway through this thing.  Yeah, these guys undoubtedly had chops, but that doesn't mean I need that proven to me over and over and over at the expense of melody.  I mean, who do they think they are, having "Toccata" devolve so quickly into a mess of electronic noise instead of just being, you know, a toccata?  Even when the catchy parts of "Karn Evil 9" crop up, they're annoyingly drowned out in dizzying, swirling keys, and that makes it really hard to focus on Greg Lake's excellent voice. 

The few places where the aforementioned annoyance doesn't happen, like on the ominous opener "Jerusalem" or the mysterious and beautiful baroque ballad "Still...You Turn Me On", are easily the high points for me, and I don't care what that says about me as a prog fan.  I don't want complexity just for its own sake, dammit!  But when they do throw in some really nice segments, like they do in that piano solo throughout "2nd Impression", I can get onboard a hundred percent.

Well, maybe ninety percent.

Anyway, not only do they show off more than not, but they also become card-carrying showoffs when they tout their show as "guaranteed to blow your head apart".  Ughh.  I'd much rather have that done by a guy like Robert Fripp, who never once claimed to be a genius.  He just trusted his audience to know that he is.