High Desert Neon

Back to cruising into the wilderness, through Ramona where Chicago beatboxes hold sway and the sound of TR-707's chugging alongside Main St. Threading the expected strains of Larry Heard and Armando, I dreamt of playing Can's Future Days and Basic Channel in my apartment. Long hazy August afternoons and the sounds of Electric Ladyland and Cosmic Slop drift out into the the magenta haze. Just beyond the hills skirting the town lay a record shop, its wood paneled walls cut their silhouette into the looming sun on the horizon.

Travel deeper into the forest, where lodges sit nestled in riverbed canyons and the sounds of dusted country sides seep out their windows and into the great plains toward Santa Ysabel and beyond, passing the Krautrock barn along the way where lines stretch north to the great cabin on the shores of Lake Henshaw and east toward Lake Cuyamaca. It makes sense that Cheyenne would hole up here. This is the land of Skip Spence's Cripple Creek, J.J. Cale's Naturally and the whole of Laurel Canyon. It's the sound of mystery dwelling deep within successful hills and Marjory Razorblade on the turntable. I do remember the sounds of jazz funk in that cabin on more than one occasion but the sound you'd come to expect was rustic folk and country.

Then, at some point, country and kosmische mixed in my mind and I heard them at once as hallucination, a whole sound stretching from motorik country - it glides along the highway while the beat marks time with fenceposts passing as hills roll gently into the horizon - to a Jaki Liebezeit-fueled tumbling-cosmic-funk beat. The closest thing I've heard might be Willie Nelson's Whiskey River, while the former I've only heard in dreams. The last time was a week ago and I was in Colorado sitting outside a service station, looking up at sunlit clouds tumbling in the sky, the sound of analogue sequences and a gently brushed beat in harmony with pedal steel and the song of a world-weary troubadour played over the loudspeaker. Surely these records must exist somewhere? If not, someday I hope to put it all to tape.

Wandering beyond the lake and Traction In The Rain, the odd tree punctuating the creep of increasingly dusty plains, and high desert rock comes into play: the sounds of Captain Beyond, Randy Holden and the Blue Öyster Cult trilogy. Morrison Hotel and Indian Summer in the sunset, Ship Of Fools in confusion dawning. The torch passed to Kyuss, later Queens Of The Stone Age and beyond... I always liked how Josh Homme singled out the seventies records of ZZ Top for praise, citing them a crucial piece of the rock story. Cheap Sunglasses into Don Van Vliet's Mojave-born basis for the whole endeavor, the Groundhogs taking it perhaps furthest of all. Then there's the angular badlands racket of Adam And The Ants' Dirk Wears White Sox (U.S. Version) hanging over everything here like a question mark in the sky.

Over the hills and past Warner Springs, through the pass until you see the vast Anza Borrego desert spread out below. See the lights of Borrego Springs down there in the valley. This was the setting of Laundromat when it all went down. Maybe someday I'll put it all into writing. It's in the twilight here that the deep pulse of techno makes perfect sense, reverberations mirrored back by the rocks and sand and sky, Transmissions From Deep Space Radio - Octave One, E-Dancer and Dobre & Jamez - twisting through all the canyons and mudcaves and beyond. High desert mystics and the sound of Bandulu pulsing in the twilight, deep roots vibrations like loa hieroglyphics projected onto the night sky, Slam's Visions shimmying out into the night and the spectral presence of one Dot Allison felt in the air. Rhythm Of Rhythim's The Icon (Montage Mix) can still be heard echoing over the sands and into the tranquillity of The Well Of 8 Echoes.

And then into the city itself, where somewhere in the dusk neon begins to glow its firelight in a wavelength dawn. It glows and it grows, a grid stretching at right angles in every direction, shooting into the darkness and from somewhere the sound of bass starts to build deep within.

There I stand beneath a Marquee Moon, waiting.

Post Punk In 10 CDs

Woebot with a stack of 10 post punk cds. As usual, the man nails it. Do it better, he says? Well, I'll take a stab at it... maybe not better, but here's the Parallax spin:

If we're talking post punk, I started out with CDs in the first place. This is turn of the century, late-nineties on the timeline. My vinyl stacks at this point were still largely populated 12" singles and EPs, the stuff you couldn't get on CD. A lot of Detroit, a lot of Chicago and a lot of Bristol. I actually got hooked up with post punk in the first place through the Bristol connection (Smith & Mighty and Tricky traced back to Mark Stewart via their mutual involvement) and PIL (Jah Wobble and John Lydon, traced backwards from their incursions into dance music at the time). I eventually tracked it all down on wax, but for me it started with the CDs.

First things first: the overlap between our lists. Well, there's just no getting around The Slits and PIL, is there? Dub vibes for miles. And I was delighted to see The Blue Orchids in Woebot's list as well. That's one of my most cherished post punk records. Indeed, when I get around to rolling out the next one-hundred of the Parallax hall of fame, it'll be lodged firmly within its ranks. In fact, there's a few spoilers for the Parallax 200 in this very stack of ten... it's like a sneak preview!

There were quite a few instances where we chose different records by the same artist: Pere Ubu (always liked this round up of their earliest singles), Joy Division (the debut is the one for me), Associates (I've already gone on record about Sulk) and then Wire... tough call between their first three albums. Pink Flag might be my favorite, but you could argue it's a straight punk record. So I've gone with the spaced out vibes of 154, as it's definitive post punk and a knockout slice of wax. Endless replays back in the day...

Then there's the stuff that I'd classify slightly differently. Woebot has the Talking Heads and Television in there, both firm favorites of mine no doubt, but I've always had them down as new wave. That's another feature I've had in the works for some time... 25 great new wave records (I'm planning to drop it as a back to school special). In truth I was hip to new wave long before I truly understood post punk. Similarily, I think of The Feelies as indie rock. They're right there at the junction.

Then there's the stuff I included on a variation: Come Away With ESG. Love the spooked out vibes, the spacious percussion: they definitely translated the Bronx onto wax here. There's Mark Stewart... that one's central to me, the midpoint between Y and Maxinquaye. I love it when late-period post punk starts cross-pollinating with electro and hip hop, and this just might be the apex. And of course Suicide. Not my absolute favorite of theirs (that would be the second album), but this is definitive post punk and a stone cold classic... just like the other nine pictured above.

Well there you have it, post punk in 10 CDs: The Parallax Edition.