A Hard Day's Night (1964)

Artist: The Beatles
Release Year: 1964

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) A Hard Day's Night; 2) I Should Have Known Better; 3) If I Fell; 4) I'm Happy Just to Dance with You; 5) And I Love Her; 6) Tell Me Why; 7) Can't Buy Me Love; 8) Anytime at All; 9) I'll Cry Instead; 10) Things We Said Today; 11) When I Get Home; 12) You Can't Do That; 13) I'll Be Back.

I suppose I’d call this the first really famous Beatles album, in that the name instantly calls to mind both a hit song and a film.  But let’s not forget the artistic vision, which has also taken another leap.  There’s not a cover to be found here, leaving the Lennon/McCartney juggernaut to entertain us for a full 30 minutes.  So, do they succeed?  Well, I guess you could just look at the number of green tracks up there, but since you’re already reading this, I’ll blather on.  

First of all, if you haven’t seen the film, it’s a harmless bit of wacky, even surreal fun, essentially serving as one long music video to squeeze more cash out of the band and their fans.  The songs are mostly light and sunny, even “silly love songs” at times, as Sir Paul would later call them…but what’s wrong with that?

Well, a few minor things.  “Tell Me Why” is a bit generic in melody and lyrics, and is in fact the song I often use as a counterargument to the claim that the Beatles never wrote filler– yet, I can’t help but conclude that that falsetto “if there’s anything that I could ever doo-oo-ooo” in the bridge singlehandedly saves the song from ruin.

See,  even if the songs themselves aren’t nearly so insipid, there’s still a lot of the teeny-bop mentality floating around here, so it’s refreshing when the album dips into moodier territory.  “And I Love Her” and “I’ll Be Back” are two great examples of that contrast, like dark chocolate on an album of cotton candy, but my favorite of these is the portentous, almost baroque atmosphere of “Things We Said Today”.  I mean, why does Paul make it sound so ominous?   What did they say today?  It isn’t clear, and it’s that ambiguity that makes the song work so well.  Between that and the unexpected turns of “If I Fell”, there’s plenty for the more somber listener to appreciate.

Ha!  How serious can one be, though, when the album also contains “Can’t Buy Me Love”, or “I Should Have Known Better”, or the immortal title track?  Listen to how loud and obsessive, even borderline rabid, they sound on songs like those and try to imagine not grinning like an idiot with great taste.  This is young love par excellence, after all: love of one's partner, love of possibility, love of life, you name it.

Still, nothing in this life can be perfect, so the album is hobbled a bit by a few awkward throwaways like “I’ll Cry Instead” or “When I Get Home”, with the latter grating on me the most.  But those don't impact my enjoyment of the album all that much.  Yeah, there were a few more steps to be taken toward “maturity”, as it were– but in the spirit of this album I say life is better without that.

Remission (2002)

Artist: Mastodon
Release Year: 2002

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Crusher Destroyer; 2) March of the Fire Ants; 3) Where Strides the Behemoth; 4) Workhorse; 5) Ol'e Nessie; 6) Burning Man; 7) Trainwreck; 8) Trampled Under Hoof; 9) Trilobite; 10) Mother Puncher; 11) Elephant Man.

Here it is, the CD that was my official gateway into everything heavier than Metallica.  Right from the opening T. rex roar, we're thrown into a current of murderous rage, and I'd have it no other way.  

Listen to that guitar solo in "Crusher Destroyer" and tell me there's no animalistic madness behind it.  Yes, there's the appropriately primal fury throughout this album, as if we're awakened something even more ancient and lethal than the band's namesake.  Just listen to that electrifying riff that opens up "Mother Puncher" for a perfect example.  Not every band can manage this sort of aesthetic without being tongue-in-cheek, or without it coming off as laughably phony, but Mastodon do so handily.

Naturally, there are brutal, pulverizing sludge-metal torrents in "Where Strides the Behemoth", "Burning Man", and "Trampled Under Hoof", and while there's little variety between those, I say that if it ain't broke, don't fix it.  "Behemoth" is my favorite, though it's hard to decide whether that's because of the bludgeoning rage of each vocal line, or the scrabbling, drilling riff, or the suffocating drum breakdown, or just because it was the first Mastodon song I ever heard.  

And it's clear that Mastodon had prog inclinations right out of the gate-- just listen to the relentless time changes in "March of the Fire Ants", which you may not even notice if you're too busy being beaten over the head with filthy, growling riffs and images of terrestrial decay.  "Workhorse" does sort of the same thing, but this is where you hear the closest representation of the flayed, screaming horse on the album cover.  

There are quieter moments too, and while none of them annoy me, some stretches feel like they were inserted as contrast against the heavier bulk, rather than to serve a distinct purpose on their own.  It's fine when "Ol'e Nessie" gives us a meandering breather before launching into the heavier half, but when  "Trainwreck" and "Trilobite" do the same thing over, the trick loses its impact when the dizzying, paranoid chaos returns again.  Maybe this is the one area where the album loses just a bit of praise, because the couplets of tracks 5-6, 7-8, and 9-10 all feel pretty similar in that regard.

Then the album closes with a desolate, brooding instrumental in "Elephant Man", which contains an extended guitar solo that seems equal parts angry, painful, and just exhausted by existence.  Again, the prog comes in, but only as a side effect of what's already being presented-- just like the way the heaviness seems to arise.

That's right: very little of this sounds like it was deliberately written to be edgy or heavy or anything like that-- it just is.  While I have no trouble envisioning people moshing or headbanging to this, it seems like the heaviness was an incidental characteristic of the music rather than a predetermined template for it, and that's important.  This album proves that Mastodon had the impeccable sense of groove down right from the beginning.  That's what first drew me in, and that's what keeps me around even today.

Journey to the Centre of the Eye (1971)

Artist: Nektar
Release Year: 1971

Rating: 5/10

Track Listing: 1) Prelude; 2) Astronaut's Nightmare; 3) Countenance; 4) The Nine Lifeless Daughters of the Sun; 5) Warp Oversight; 6) The Dream Nebula I; 7) The Dream Nebula II; 8) It's All in the Mind; 9) Burn Out My Eyes; 10) Void of Vision; 11) Pupil of the Eye; 12) Look Inside Yourself; 13) Death of the Mind.

Wait…this is supposed to be the story of an astronaut having some great Awakening near Saturn, right?  Is that album art a reference to 2001: A Space Odyssey?  Wouldn't surprise me.

Anyway, here's Nektar in the wake of a wider psychedelic movement, which means they were practically forced to lean extra hard into their natural trippy tendencies.  The "Prelude" and "Astronaut's Nightmare" manage to sound adequately epic despite being slightly generic, at least in terms of resembling what others bands like The Pretty Things were doing around the same time.  But while said Pretty Things often sounded strained while doing hard rock, from these guys it sounds more natural, so that's good.  There's also a bit of mannerism in those verses that inject some sadness, some lamentation, making us feel a greater weight in what's to come.  

Unfortunately, what's to come is largely a mess, especially today.  "Countenance" is a good primer for so many other Nektar releases: an eerie, dusky, slow buildup to a sudden heavy psychedelic guitar freakout, with some good old "aahh-ahh-ahh" in the background too.  Nice, but then this is overextended into "Nine Lifeless Daughters", which goes nowhere for several minutes before devolving into the needless cacophony that is "Warp Oversight".  Obviously, this was meant as an imitation of "Interstellar Overdrive", but I assume that without a healthy dose of LSD or something, I'm just not going to get it.

I just wish they wouldn't wander around so much before they get to the good stuff.  What's with the wholesome, 50s throwback vocals AND the Mellotron together in "It's All in the Mind"?  And why is it mixed so badly?  Is this a lost track from Epitaph or something?  But those flute solos do have something going for them.  After that one, though, the album slumps into some interesting, but disjointed and half-baked segments done over an annoying organ riff...yuck.

With a bit more focus, this album could have been great, but it just bogs down in psychedelic tangents too often at the expense of melody.  Moments of bittersweet, revelatory beauty are present ("Burn Out My Eyes" in particular), but the strangely tinny production really doesn't help here-- all those organs and cymbals really grate on the ears.  Interesting, with some solid playing throughout, but very little of this can back up the "profound spiritual awakening" that it implicitly claims to provide.

The Left Banke Too (1968)

Artist: The Left Banke
Release Year: 1968

Rating: 7/10

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Track Listing: 1) Goodbye Holly; 2) There's Gonna Be a Storm; 3) Sing Little Bird Sing; 4) Nice to See You; 5) Give the Man a Hand; 6) Bryant Hotel; 7) Desiree; 8) Dark Is the Bark; 9) In the Morning Light; 10) My Friend Today.

Hideous album cover, but that's far from the only hit that these guys took after Michael Brown's departure.  So much of this album reminisces about the stellar marriage of pop lightness and baroque darkness that begat the immaculate debut, but it rarely manages to return there again.  Sadly, while these songs are still pleasant and warm and very very listenable, they still come off as rejects from the debut.  Still, to expect these guys to reproduce Walk Away Renee/Pretty Ballerina would have been a tall order even with Michael Brown, let alone without him…so what did they come up with?

Well, I do love the opener "Goodbye Holly", one of the catchiest tracks they ever cut.  I mean, who could resist the swanky guitar riffs or the eager, gorgeous harmonies-- or the voice of Holly herself in the bridge?  Sounds like something the Zombies would've done around then.  On the other hand, "There's Gonna Be a Storm" is pretty and nice moody, but please tell me: whose dumb idea was it to put this song second?  It sounds like it should be last!  Putting a song like this here just kills the momentum we gained in the first track.  Bleh.

Then there's the usual vague-but-still preachy, "spiritual" tripe of the day, like in "Give the Man a Hand".  I can't deny that the chorus is catchy, but it also sounds like it's patronizing me for not seeing some obvious conclusion it's putting in front of me.

Back to the good.  "Desiree" is a gorgeous ballad that stands up to everything on the debut, from the mysterious "everything returns again…" exposition to the winding prechorus, which builds up to the revelatory, almost hymn-like chorus.  Oh, wait-- Michael Brown was involved with that one.  Go figure!  And "Bryant Hotel" is a ton of fun, with those haunting vocals describing the most decrepit hovel, before the chorus crashes in with a flurry of plinking piano and some screaming that only goes a little overboard.

Otherwise, it's mostly nice, mildly-above-average Sixties pop with some orchestration.  "Nice to See You" and "Dark Is the Bark" are pleasantly harmonized as usual for the Left Banke-- the first light and airy, the second dusky and romantic-- yet there's not much to make either of them much different from what the Beach Boys could have done a few years earlier.  

The rest of the album is similar in that regard: pleasant and likeable, but lacking in the punch, the immediacy, that made the debut such an incredible achievement.  Even the standout tracks can't break the feeling of stagnation that pervades the album as a whole, which is too bad, because the sound is still a unique one that I hate to see the virtual end of.

Seatrain (1970)

Artist: Seatrain
Release Year: 1970

Rating: 7/10

Track Listing: 1) Willin'; 2) Song of Job; 3) Broken Morning; 4) Home to You; 5) Out Where the Hills; 6) Waiting for Elijah; 7) 13 Questions; 8) Oh My Love; 9) Sally Goodin; 10) Creepin' Midnight; 11) Orange Blossom Special.

One look at that album cover would instill confusion in anyone who knows me well.  A country album?!  What that photo reveals, though, is a group of humble guys who are well aware of the way they might be received by snobs like me, and hence play their music with just a bit of humor to rejuvenate the old country and blues cliches.  There's very little of that dead-serious, oceanic reverence that plagues so much country music--just a good-natured fun time with lots of heart, and I can't dislike an album with those qualities.

It's clear that Peter Rowan and Co. had a very real passion for their bluegrass and gospel roots: just listen to those yodels and choral chants in "Home to You", for example.  Hell, that one and "Creepin' Midnight" almost remind me of something Carole King and Bob Dylan could have done together.  Wait...Carole King did write "Creepin' Midnight"?  Ha!  What do I win?!

But, speaking of gospel, there's a retelling of the Book of Job, which is an affront to my usual rule against religious retellings, but those vocal workouts and the little wah-wah accents every time Satan shows up make for an entertaining blues number all the same.  Still not as great as their cover of Little Feat's classic trucker anthem "Willin'", though: for all the quiet dignity of the original, this faster and brighter rendition injects enough new enthusiasm to turn it into a singalong highlight.  Also early on, "Broken Morning" is warm and soulful with a great chorus.

But!  The best has to be their blistering adaptation of "Orange Blossom Special".  I've not heard such infectious fiddlin' this side of "Beef: it's what's for dinner", and when the vocals kick in, that declaration of "bringin' my baby baaaack!" is suitably triumphant and never fails to lift my spirits.  And yet, Richard Greene has the generosity to continue his face-melting solo for another minute or two afterward.  Fantastic.

Now, there are a number of generic country-blues numbers in the middle, like "Out Where the Hills" or "Oh My Love", and that's where this album slumps a little for me.  Oh, and the "Sally Goodin'" track tacked on the end of the latter is probably the most obnoxiously backwoods of them all, but at least it's short.  None of these fully disrupts the vibe, though, and I suppose a better fan of southern rock and country might like them better.

With just a bit more artsy-fartsy touches like their fellow Californians in Frisco were doing at the time, this album might have been catapulted even higher.  Still, considering the only copy of this album that I ever owned was a decrepit vinyl pressing, I'm glad to have dug up a nice remaster.

Scatology (1984)

Artist: Coil
Release Year: 1984

Rating: 6/10

Track Listing: 1) Ubu Noir; 2) Panic; 3) At the Heart of It All; 4) Tenderness of Wolves; 5) The Spoiler; 6) Clap; 7) Solar Lodge; 8) The Sewage Worker's Birthday Party; 9) Godhead-Deathead; 10) Cathedral in Flames.

First of all, I typically ignore bonus tracks when considering albums, so please note that wherever a discrepancy exists between the LP tracklist and the CD, I will be reviewing the LP version.  

This is the first proper album by Coil, an industrial and avantgarde band that always dwelled in the darker recesses of the human condition, to put it very mildly.  A lot of this might have sounded shocking in 1984, but now it comes off as if they're just trying to be edgy.  I mean, look at the title!  You can't tell me Coil weren't proclaiming themselves the long-awaited vanguard of filth with a title like that.

Of course, there are songs like "The Spoiler", which seem to deliberately bludgeon me with their repetitive obnoxiousness.  The fact that that one tries to inject some gravitas with that waltz meter only makes me hate it more.  

But other times, this thing is done well.  We have these long trances of mechanical beats, droning synths, and hideous guitar tones, all while John Balance bleats out the same vocal mantra: a recipe for monotonous disaster, yet there's just enough subtle dynamism in there to make it work.  Case in point with "Solar Lodge", which I point out specifically for the grating guitar solos that remind me of what Lou Reed was doing on "I Heard Her Call My Name" and whatever Can threw in during their freakier passages.  So it's a hard equilibrium to maintain, but they manage it more often than not.

The opening "Ubu Noir" reminds me of something Leland Kirby might do, with those tape loops of what should be joyful, jazzy brass instead becoming a harbinger of damnation by forces beyond anything our puny minds can comprehend.  That leads us into "Panic", probably the closest thing to a danceable song on here, which beats us over the head with a demented swagger that I can't deny-- almost as if Depeche Mode had been left to starve in the dark for a few weeks before picking up their instruments again.  That's what I need these days, in fact: less of that phony idealism and more acknowledgement of where the human id truly leads us when the lights are out.

So, if I'm able to praise the themes of this album, why did I only rate it a six?  Mostly, because I appreciate this album more than I enjoy it.  Tracks like "At the Heart of It All" are nicely atmospheric and eerie, but still come off more as soundtrack material than anything else, so I can't see myself putting this album on outside of a D&D session or something.  

Or for contemplating the rotten center of depravity that dwells within all men, of course.

One-Album Wonders: Unruly Dogs

"I'm a lost dog, running 'round the park, 'cause I really wanna see you again"

Genres: pop rock, indie
Recording decades: 2010s

Known personnel:
Andy Burns

Album release year: 2012

Rating: 8/10

Track Listing: 1) Prologue; 2) Big City Lips; 3) Lost Dog; 4) Sweaty Wiv You; 5) I'll Bite You; 6) Freaky Weather; 7) Small Faces; 8) I Am What I Am; 9) Walking the Dog.

Oh wow, 2012 and there's not a drum machine in sight (or maybe there is and I just can't hear it), which means this album was doomed from the beginning.  I say this half-jokingly, but Unruly Dogs seem to be plenty clever in their single half-pop, half-rock release.  The impressive variety of these eight songs (plus the short "Prologue") ensures the listener is never bored.  The guys drift from straight-ahead pop rock ("Big City Lips") to mid-tempo dance pop ("Small Faces") to mellow contemporary ("Walking the Dog") to even electronic-turned-salsa ("Sweaty Wiv You").  Sure, you won't expect to see any of these songs on a "best of" list, but just because they're not earth-shattering in any sense, doesn't mean they don't still make for a great listening experience.  

On top of the variety, the continuous dog metaphors throughout keep things interesting and give the album a healthy dose of humor.  That theme sure gives the lyrics a greater resonance: case in point with the Track 5 chorus: "I like you / I like you / But I'll bite you / If you liiieee tooo meeee", for instance-- or Track 8's assertion that "I might be growing up / But I'm still the same pup!".  Yes, silly little touches like this are, indeed, enough to make me forgive track 7 for the laughable declaration that the Small Faces invented the concept album (I assume they mean Ogden's Nut Gone Flake, which I'm struggling to restrain my thoughts on at the moment).

Regardless, this is a smartly humorous album of freely-enjoyable indie pop rock, all the better for its compactness, and it shows a band willing to put in the time to balance out the work.  Count me as an Unruly Dogs fan, but we have yet to hear more from these guys, which is a real shame.