I alluded to this record earlier, but seeing as it's turned into Jah Wobble week I figured it was worth delving into it in greater detail. As I was saying, the Snake Charmer mini-LP is a great little record that straddles the nexus between post-Eno/ByrneMy Life In The Bush Of Ghosts/Talking HeadsRemain In Light fourth world rhythmic madness and the sumptuous post-disco electro boogie of contemporary early 80s dancefloors. As one might expect, the sound here is often adjacent to that of the Compass Point All Stars, with Ollie Marland's keyboards often recalling the synth stylings of the great Wally Badarou.
Operating at the interzone between these two of-the-moment sonic permutations, the emphasis is often on atmosphere and texture which is in part down to the presence of The Edge (on loan from U2) and the spiralling guitar architecture that he weaves around the tracks he happens to appear on. Those great arcs of slide-guitar feedback in the title track seems to predict what he'd be up to about eight years later on Achtung Baby, while his crystalline pools of six-string ambience add whole layers of depth and splendor to Hold On To Your Dreams. Coming as it does between U2's War and The Unforgettable Fire LPs, one wonders how much his involvement in this project played into his band's radical shift into more atmospheric territory the following year. Obviously Brian Eno played a crucial role, but — like Bowie with Station To Station — I suspect The Edge was already harboring some ideas of his own.
More than anything else, however, the vectors of Jah Wobble and Holger Czukay are what place this record at its unique fourth world vantage point. Interestingly, Wobble's bass seems to be operating at an octave higher than usual, indulging in some slap bass action along the lines of Jeremy Kerr's work in A Certain Ratio rather than his usual dub-heavy bottom-end. Also, while most of the record is given over to instrumentals, Wobble provides vocals to the opening Snake Charmer.
Czukay reprises his role from their previous collaboration Full Circle as the master of atmosphere, contributing blasts of French horn and more of that spooky grand piano sound from How Much Are They? to Snake Charmer, along with guitars and his trademark dictaphone inserts throughout. Everything here very much informed by Czukay's peerless soundscapes achieved on his 1981 solo turn On The Way To The Peak Of Normal (even if nothing here quite reaches the heights of Ode To Perfume).
As if the three principals weren't enough, disco heavyweight François Kevorkian takes his place behind the mixing desk alongside the inimitable Paul "Groucho" Smykle, fresh from his sessions remixing King Sunny Adé's Ja Funmi. You're starting to get the picture now, aren't you? It's 1983, and this is shaping up to be an exceptional slab of post-disco magic. Let's put the needle 'pon the record...
Snake Charmer provides the opening gambit with a rolling syn drum fanfare before launching into its left-footed digi-funk groove, setting the stage for this record's excursion through the shifting sands of the Moroccan outback. Synth flourishes begin to splash into view at the start of every bar, while Jah Wobble goes to work on the bass. A blast of Holger Czukay's French horn splits into the scene front-end-center, making room for his guitar atmospherics and haunted dancehall grand piano to enter the mix. Then, the synths seem to cruise into strangled arabesques as Jah Wobble contributes his maniacal vocals:
Messages beamed from Mars
Straight in my mind.
Try to get in my mind...
They made me do it! They made me do it!
All the while, Czukay's scrambled dictaphone ramblings spool out in the background. Then, the bottom drops out into a snatch of on-the-one funk guitar from Animal for but a moment, before returning to the groove and that central piano motif. Moments pass and then The Edge starts to strangle great arcing shapes from his guitar as Wobble continues:
My dream orders on my mind's TV camera
I think I'm Bogey living in Casablanca.
Scattered newspapers drift across derelict land,
spreading spurious lies and sordid details of my private life.
An angel swope to my chest swooping all it’s glory!
The Edge cools out the groove with his graceful arcs of guitar in slow-motion and Holger returns with his soaring French horn figures. Then, the beat trips into electro funk territory, rolling off into the horizon as Wobble adds:
Yes, but you don’t understand
I was the man hanging from the noose.
And you don’t understand
I was the world leader, the world dominator.
And the beat goes on. You're cruising across the Sahara, sun setting in the distance. This is all so clearly of a piece with My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts that I feel corny even mentioning it. Also Thomas Leer's 4 Movements. If you love those records, then you owe it to yourself to hear this tune. Trust me. You could build a club night around these three records. Please do that and invite me! Please... please? Anyway, we'll give Wobble the final words to close this thing out:
Many voices going through my head
Voices of the living and the voices of the dead.
Journeys through history, journeys sublime
And even, journeys to the end of time.
And then a flourish of twinkling piano takes us directly into the achingly gorgeous Hold On To Your Dreams. A gentle synth pulses while shades of The Edge's guitar sparkle all around. Wobble enters the fray to push this groove along with a gliding bass figure, and then then a synth slips into a progression to herald the entrance of the beat. Czukay's pal-from-the-Can-days Jaki Liebezeit starts to do his thing behind the drumkit, holding down that slow-motion disco rhythm. Somehow you're now in the best nightclub in town, bathed in blacklight and shards of white light scattering off the disco ball onto the dancefloor below and damn your girl's looking good.
As I've mentioned before, this is pure post-disco boogie, along the lines of the Compass Point records and Ashford & Simpson's Babies (Dub Version), which François Kevorkian himself would produce a year later. I wonder if Hold On To Your Dreams was still running through his mind when he was mixing that record down, as the resemblance is uncanny. Uncanny! Similarly, Wide Awake In America's Love Comes Tumbling almost seems like an attempt by U2 to resurrect the dynamic of Hold Onto Your Dreams and The Edge's crystalline lattice of guitar unfurled here. It's all very much in the vein of a chugging mid-tempo boogie, which places it at the lower-right corner of the Parallax Pyramid's foundation.
As if to make it official, High Fashion's Marcella Allen1 takes the mic for lead vocals, giving us a glimpse at what High Fashion tunes like I Want To Be Your Everything and A Little More Time might have sounded like with her singing lead. The whole effect is quite atmospheric, indeed this is the tune where the presence François Kevorkian and Paul "Groucho" Smykle is felt most dramatically, with layers of guitar swathed in blankets of echo and dubdisco bleeps reverberating through the mix almost subliminally. It pulses on for nearly nine minutes before disappearing into the stars.
And so closeth side one. You flip the record over and we're back in the fourth world, with It Was A Camel. Blah blah My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts blah blah. You must be so sick of hearing about this by now. But remember Moonlight In Glory? Well, you could certainly spin this and that one back to back. It's got that same loping groove and low key pumping quasi-brass synth creeping in and out of the rhythm — with Jaki Liebezeit doing his thing behind the drumkit yet again — while Holger Czukay's grand piano takes center stage and his dictaphone rambles out beneath it all. Then, a highlife-esque guitar appear out of nowhere like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's all so improbable, but one could imagine a whole scene in the penumbra of these records. Jon Hassell's Power Spot worth a mention here as well. The rhythm just fades out into the dunes...
With no warning, Sleazy cuts in out of nowhere at a breakneck pace about 20 BPM faster than anything else here. Jim Walker's furious, crashing drums and Jah Wobble's frenetic basslines lay down a frenzied rhythmic bedrock for Animal to spray his wailing guitar feedback over. Old Ollie Marland contributes a bit of keyboards too. I should mention that Jah Wobble's Invaders Of The Heart band is credited on the record's sleeve after all the other luminaries listed, with Neville Murray providing percussion throughout the record. It's interesting to note the Invaders Of The Heart debut 12" from the same year (I'm pretty sure it preceded Snake Charmer, but I'll have to speak with Dignam to confirm), with its similarly pungent fourth world stylings. Today's tile of the day was actually a toss up between the two records.2
The mini-LP closes with an instrumental reprise of Snake Charmer which is actually longer than the original. It plays like a dub version, with added emphasis on the track's electro aspects, and you can hear Groucho's trademark tricks in evidence throughout. It's a fitting close to this record's circular story, which plays like a possible soundtrack to one of William BurroughsTangier hallucinations. Definitive interzone music. Strangely, it's still not available digitally or on CD... so it's a good thing y'all have a record player.
Interesting to note that Marcella Allen also sang with Norman Connors' Aquarian Dream and on Lonnie Liston Smith's Love Is The Answer. It's a post-jazz funk boogie, proto-SA-RA type thang... I feel it!
So you've absorbed those death disco tapes already, and I'm back with an armful of records. Let's head over to Raven's place up there on the corner and give a few of these a spin. I've got some of the heaviest fourth world voodoo punk funk here — about half the records in the crate — brought to you by the three major dynasties of post punk coming out of London, New York and Bristol, but today we're gonna start with the heady interzone between last episode's new wave boogie and the voodoo slates to come: I'm talking about the Spartan minimalistic funk turned out by crews hailing from places like Manchester, Leeds and (especially) New York.
Interestingly, nearly all of these groups would wind up shearing into a sort of new wave boogie as the decade progressed, while others wound up providing crucial building blocks for hip hop, downbeat and even house. Yet there's one band who emerged just a little bit later, a band whose sound sprang from these same tangled corridors but then managed to spread out across the radio waves and set the charts ablaze, conquering the world in the process. I'm talking now about a band that everybody knows... a little band from L.A.
I'm talking about The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers were everywhere in the nineties, maintaining a strong presence right up to the present day, even making their way into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame in 2012. However, before breaking out as megastars in 1991 with Blood Sugar Sex Magik, they managed to put out four solid records between the years 1984 and 1989 that elaborated on the punk funk template and imbued it with a healthy dose of California sun. These records all have a chunky, spacious sound, sporting booming drums, chiming guitars and Flea's trademark slap-bass all mixed down with a crisp, vibrant production very much of a piece with everything discussed here today.1
Surprisingly, I've found that many fans of the band's later material seem to turn their nose up at the early stuff, the Hillel Slovak2 era. What gives?! Tunes like the pile-driving Jungleman (from the George Clinton-produced Freaky Styley), True Men Don't Kill Coyotes, Taste The Pain and Hollywood (Africa) (their take on The Meters' immortal New Orleans funk jam Africa) are unmissable romps across the Venice Beach pier, filled with youthful exuberance and rude spirit. Behind The Sun even takes things into Parallax Pier territory, with chiming guitars and a sing-song chorus that brings to mind the Tom Tom Club's sessions at Compass Point!
At this point, the Chili Peppers would often turn to covers of rock and soul staples like Jimi Hendrix's Fire, Sly & The Family Stone's If You Want Me To Stay, Bob Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues and Stevie Wonder's Higher Ground (which I'd argue tops the original — blasphemous, I know... but so true!). The fascinating thing about the Hendrix and Dylan covers in particular is the way they highlight early examples of — for all intents and purposes — rapping, as if the band were reaching back and paying homage to the roots of Anthony Kiedis' trademark rapid-fire delivery. It's also interesting to note the band's unexpected avant garde pedigree (for all the hipster haters out there): original drummer Cliff Martinez3 had previously drummed for a latter day incarnation of Captain Beefheart's Magic Band, while Gang Of Four's punk funk godfather Andy Gill was drafted to produce their self-titled debut.
Gang Of Four, hailing from Leeds, were the prototypical minimalist post punk band. Indeed, one could almost have them down as a punk funk counterpart to Wire. They pared all elements deemed unnecessary from their music, leaving a sparse, wiry sound that moved like clockwork mechanisms travelling across a grid at strict right angles. Emerging on Bob Last's Fast Product imprint — incidentally where The Human League started out as well — the band released their debut EP, Damaged Goods. The title track, Armalite Rifle and Love Like Anthrax brilliantly fleshed out the different corners of the band's stark modernist sound and they were accordingly signed by major label EMI for their debut LP. Entertainment is one of those quintessential post punk records,4 housing fierce, taut missives like Not Great Men, Ether and At Home He's A Tourist that have gone down as indelible post punk classics. The band famously aimed for a dry, spartan sound — free of rock's wild abandon and detached from its roots in the blues — and it's a sound they achieve to the fullest here.
However, one of my favorite moments from the band is their 1979 non-LP b-side It's Her Factory, where they make room for a bit of reverb — bathing the lead melodica in an eerie glow — giving the whole thing a sense of relatively spacious atmosphere. Solid Gold, the group's sophomore record, accordingly seemed to follow suit, allowing a little air into the production across the space of the album. The songs themselves may not have been quite as incendiary as those on the diamond-hard debut, but tunes like He'd Send In The Army and A Hole In The Wallet are emblematic of the record's focus on tricky, twisted rhythms and an increasing focus on atmosphere and dynamics. Meanwhile, the desolate Paralysed dragged the tempos down to a staggering crawl.
It's certainly an interesting step toward the band's later period, where they morphed into a strange punk/boogie proposition that seems to be endlessly maligned by the cognoscenti but I nevertheless find oddly fascinating. 1982's Songs Of The Free is a deeply unusual LP that veers between Heaven 17-esque new pop like I Love A Man In Uniform and the atmospheric downbeat reverie of closer Of The Instant. We Live As We Dream, Alone, which comes on like a booming dub version of one of the band's earlier punk funk excursions, just might be the best thing here. The record quite simply makes a virtue of simply sounding like nothing else around. When you factor in the remaining tracks and the album's evocative sleeve... well, it's a cool little record.
Unfortunately, the band's next album, Hard, was anything but. As such, it's even more maligned by just about everyone. And yet. And yet... there is a fair bit of solid new wave boogie to be found here, for those inclined. The opening Is It Love — which was the album's big single, even getting a 12" Extended Dance Mix — is a lush new pop number that may be a million miles away from Damaged Goods but is nonetheless an excellent slice of silky smooth dance pop. Elsewhere, the atmospheric Woman Town wouldn't sound out of place on the second side of Songs Of The Free.5 Not that I'm making a case for the album as some sort of lost classic, you understand! But it certainly has its moments. Hard turned out to be the final album of the band's original run, capping off a discography that, when taken as a whole, offers us an intriguing glimpse at the way a bunch of punks might ultimately wander from the pit into the disco, turning up some unique sounds along the way.
Another group who made a similar transition were A Certain Ratio. Yes, A Certain Ratio! They seem to perennially suffer the fate of being damned with faint praise — often getting lost in the Factory shuffle — but they get my vote over Gang Of Four any day.6 These guys are the perennial underdogs in the post punk sweepstakes. They may have never got around to making that stone cold front-to-back classic record, but their discography offers up a wealth of the greatest punk funk you could ask for. The Early anthology put out by Soul Jazz made this point brilliantly. Take a song like Flight. This is one of the top five or so tunes in this continuum. Utterly unique, Woebot nailed it when he noted the song's gigantic ethereal sound like a yet more liquid Can. Word.
Infamously, the band were recording their debut album in Newark, New Jersey when the working mixdown was inadvertently wiped by the engineer while the band were out celebrating the final day of recording! On returning to Manchester, the band were miserably forced to work up their debut album by polishing demo takes with producer Martin Hannett. Already feeling quite defeated, they were then slated to back Grace Jones on a song called Again before the project fizzled out unceremoniously.7 The breaks just wouldn't come! Despite the band's seemingly endless plague of bad luck, they managed to turn out a whole raft of first rate material like Do The Du, Shack Up and The Fox, all of which were prototypical post punk of the highest caliber.
From there, the band continued to change with the times and edged ever closer into new pop/jazzdance territory. Sextet and the Knife Slits Water — with the Kether Hot Knives (Mix In Special) version on the flip — is the grooviest, tightest post punk record you could ask for and the avant cousin to the whole bedroom funk concept I'm forever hinting at (there's a feature in there somewhere, believe me). The sound leans ever-so-slightly into early Level 42 territory (nothing wrong with that), but maintaining traces of the spooky unhinged voodoo of their earliest recordings in those chanted vocals and the spaces between the spaces. Chanted vocals in this style are the prime signifier of mid-period punk funk, evoking mysterious corridors within the groove that one might get pulled into at any moment.
I'd Like To See You Again veers further yet toward a certain sleekness, even if a tune like Saturn is of a piece with the band's earlier material (in spirit at least). Elsewhere, Hot Knights is a vocal adaptation of the Kether Hot Knives version of Knife Slits Water. Still, the heart of the record lies in tunes like Touch and Axis which are veryJamaica, Queens jazz/funk/boogie, and before you know it (1984) you've got a record like Life's A Scream, killer dance pop on the order of INXS or — once again — Level 42 that takes you into the glitz of the era's overground nightclubs. Moonwalking in neon. With those triggered oof, oof vocals — straight out of the electro playbook — A Certain Ratio have wandered into the disco even more convincingly than Gang Of Four managed around the same time.
However, if there were one band that could boogie with the best of them, it was surely Ian Dury & The Blockheads. Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick has that cruising city streets at night groovy thang going... in fact, the backing track could practically fit right in there on Off The Wall (with the chorus sounding not unlike Jermaine Jackson's Erucu)! Only Ian's conversational Midlands lead vocals — think Mike Skinner in The Streets — and Davey Payne's wild sax solo give this away as something other, conjuring up images of The Blockheads grooving immaculate on some cramped, smoke-bathed stage in a ramshackle seaside pub out in Essex.
Debut album New Boots And Panties!! is an absolute treasure, with the nimble bedroom funk of Wake Up And Make Love With Me setting things off on a drifting mirage of rhythm before following up with more skewed boogie in the shape of If I Was With A Woman and I'm Partial To Your Abracadabra (there are even a few undisclosed moments of straight up punk tacked onto the end to boot!). The key to The Blockheads' seemingly natural grasp of funk dynamics — this in 1977, a full year before even Adolescent Sex — must surely be their jazz chops. Indeed, I have a Steely Dan documentary on the making of Aja that features Ian Dury as a frequent commentator, and one could almost read the band's sound as an outgrowth of the band's dancefloor sides like Peg and The Fez. Perhaps not totally accurate, but an interesting thought nonetheless.
Of course Ian Dury ended up writing himself into the Compass Point story a few years later with Lord Upminster, which was recorded in Nassau with Sly & Robbie and features the excellent Paradise Garage staple Spasticus (Autisticus). Like Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick, it hinges on the axis of silky smooth verse juxtaposed against abrasive chorus, revelling in Dury's clever wordplay. While I could dive further into the Compass Point All Stars at this point, along with figures like Grace Jones and Lizzy Mercier Descloux, in truth they will all warrant their own chapter in the Terminal Vibration saga (forthcoming in a month or so) and ultimately a full feature in their own right (as Summer arrives, most likely). So with whispers of the Paradise Garage still hanging in the air, let's take a left turn into the streets of New York.
The Big Apple was rather appropriately a hotbed of punk funk activity, starting with No Wave bands like DNA, Teenage Jesus And The Jerks and especially James Chance & The Contortions crawling out of the sewer at the tail end of the decade. James Chance came on like a skronky, more punk Blockheads (or Richard Hell & The Voidoids gone funk) with records like Buy and Off White (released as James White & The Blacks). The production was sparse and the rhythms stripped to their bare bones, like James Brown circa The Payback shot through with atonal, abrasive punk spirit.
However, it's the slightly later N.Y. material that concerns us today, permeated as it is with atmosphere. A particularily good example of this transition would be Black Box Disco (from the Vortex OST), featuring Lydia Lunch of Teenage Jesus And The Jerks, which is the most sure-footed nimble punk funk imaginable, cooked up by the Vortex house band as film dialogue — of what sounds like a torture scene — floats over the top. It's terrifically magical track that works on most dancefloors in a way that the earlier No New York bands would not.8 The remainder of the soundtrack is quite atmospheric, with almost no beats at all (the one exception being The Chase, which is the cousin of mid-period A Certain Ratio).
While we're getting into punk funk at its most dexterous, mention must be made of Joseph Bowie's Defunkt. As mentioned before, this crew were the prime influence on The Red Hot Chili Peppers and you can certainly hear it, especially in Joseph Bowie's vocals... the only thing lacking is that Slovak/Frusciante guitar crunch. Tunes like Illusion (from 1982's Thermonuclear Sweat) and Strangling Me With Your Love (from the 1980 self-titled debut) were far more stripped to the bone than nearly any straight-up funk band of the era, often recalling the classic one-the-one funk of James Brown circa Hell, while moments like Make Them Dance moved wild shapes at a brisk tempo that reach almost afrobeat levels of pitched insanity. In The Good Times (yet another riff on Chic's Good Times bassline) even highlights a certain affinity between Defunkt's no-nonsense approach and the homespun funk that the Sugar Hill and Paul Winley backing bands were working up on the early rap records around the same time.
However, if there was a New York label that was the standard bearer of Downtown dancefloor-heavy punk funk, then it was Ed Bahlman's 99 Records. With the label's striking visual aesthetic, featuring vivid, colorful, of-the-moment artwork, it seemed to capture the spirit of the times at the nexus between the post punk avant garde and the post-disco dancefloors of the era (and as such places it at the forefront of today's discussion). The material released on the label was heavy on atmosphere while maintaining a distinct pop edge, and tellingly more than a few tunes made their way onto Larry Levan's turntables at the Paradise Garage.9
Liquid Liquid were one of two bands whose releases were central to the label's discography and are probably the most widely known. Plying a heavily percussive — almost tribal — sound, their music was spacious and atmospheric, with ghostly chants fading in and out of the mist as the band churned out a loose-limbed brand of dancefloor funk. The Optimo EP, with its swirling red and yellow op-art imagery, turned out to be the group's preeminent record. The title track pummels you with a frenzy of percussion interlocking with a clockwork bass groove as scat vocals dance across its surface, while Cavern rides a loping bass groove that would ultimately get nicked by Grandmaster & Melle Mel for the epochal White Lines (Don't Don't Do It) (not to mention a more oblique interpretation in Big Audio Dynamite's The Bottom Line).
The thumb-piano stylings of Scraper recall the band's earlier self-titled EP, where tunes like Groupmegroup and New Walk churned at a more laidback tempo. The band's music — encompassed on but four EPs released in the early 80s on 99 Records — is quite simply essential listening. Famously, James Lavelle issued the first real compilation of the group's material on his Mo Wax imprint, rounding up the band's first three EPs into one essential package with an attractive mosaic sleeve that referenced the evocative 99 artwork of the original 12" records. Released in 1997, it's another example of dance music's dalliance with post punk — well before the retro gold rush of the early 21st century — that grew organically out of the scene's groove fascination in whatever form it came (there was certainly the clear cut abstract hip hop connection). And as I've said before, this is the context through which a certain 90s kid encountered most of this music in the first place.
The other big 99 band were ESG, a group centered around the Scroggins sisters who were merely teenagers when they started out. Famously, their mother had bought them all instruments so that they'd play music rather than get into trouble. I read somewhere that at the time the girls were described as The Supremes meet Public Image Ltd. I can't find the quote now, and I don't know who said it, but it isn't too far off. Their self-titled debut EP is housed in another stunning example of 99 sleeve art and plays out as the quintessential essence of the label's sound, which is in this case somewhat more bare bones than Liquid Liquid's, but somehow no less atmospheric. Moody rides a killer bassline over which the girls chant Very moody, while UFO is like the shower scene from Psycho taken out for a dance.
Interestingly, both songs were crucial building blocks in multiple genres of modern music. UFO, which was sampled by Big Daddy Kane and The Notorious B.I.G. — even showing up much later on J Dilla's Donuts — became something of a staple hip hop signifier (wasn't there a Gang Starr song that sampled it too?), while Moody formed the basis of Murk's Miami house chestnut Reach For Me (released under the name Funky Green Dogs From Outer Space). The girls even titled a later EP Sample Credits Don't Pay Our Bills!, which was released around the time of their unjustly neglected 1991 comeback record. Fortunately, they managed to soak up some love during the post punk revival with two new LPs issued in 2002 and 2006,10Step Off and Keep On Moving respectively, which were solid records in their own right.
My favorite ESG record, however, is 1983's Come Away With ESG. It's an album-length statement, which means you get to experience the girls' sound in 3D stretched over a cozy 30 minutes. Kicking off with the bluesy tumble of Come Away staggering down some shadowy back alley, the record turns up plenty of uptempo punk funk like Dance, You Make No Sense and The Beat, in which loping bass grooves interlock with rather tactile drums as terse lyrics are chanted over the top. The rushing Chistelle even brings in an eerie guitar line — which appears to get reversed every so often, Detroit techno style — as wind/synth effects creep in and out of the mix, while About You rocks a midtempo groove with the thinnest proto-g-funk synth line imaginable. Of course, there's also the matter of Moody (Spaced Out), a dancefloor version of the original (from their debut EP) which sports a tougher groove and massive synth effects simmering throughout like the soundscapes of Yar's Revenge.
Finally, there's one last New York band I'd like to touch on, and that's the Bush Tetras. While they only put out one 7" on 99 Records (their other two records came out on Fetish), they fit the label's aesthetic perfectly. Tunes like Too Many Creeps and Snakes Crawl consist of composite drum/bass/guitar parts that all interlock into ultra-tight grooves captured with vivid clarity. Cynthia Sley's vocals often recall Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson's spoken parts on the early B-52's records. The brisk turn in Cowboys In Africa (from the Rituals EP) comes on like The Cramps gone funky, while the dubbed out Rituals closes the record on a downbeat note with ragged rockabilly shapes that would fit right into the Repo Man soundtrack. The Things That Go Boom In The Night (the group's final record) tightens up the groove again but this time with a slightly heavier guitar attack — more distortion! — while the b-side Das Ah Riot runs a mad phased guitar part through the track in such a way that seems to tie all three of the group's records together.
Jumping back across the Atlantic for a moment, it's worth noting the Bush Tetras theoretical cousins — and Gang Of Four's sister band — the Delta 5. They debuted in 1979 with the Mind Your Own Business/Now That You're Gone, a conceptual interrogation of relationship dynamics over clockwork straight jacket funk rhythms. The band turned out a series of 7" singles that further developed their taut punk funk sound, even introducing a horn section on Colour, which ultimately culminated in the See The Whirl LP (which I haven't heard). The Singles & Sessions 1979-81 compilation, which I do have, rounds up all the group's singles and augments them with some BBC sessions for good measure.
If the Delta 5 and Gang Of Four represented punk funk at its most jittery in the UK, then the Minutemen cranked things up to a whole other amphetamine-fueled level out in L.A. The group's records are absolutely steeped in sun-baked L.A. atmosphere, in the same way that War's The World Is A Ghetto evoked heatwaves rising from the city's asphalt. In many ways they represented for the gritty underbelly of the city while the Red Hot Chili Peppers were strutting down the boardwalk... some might say that both bands represented two sides of the same coin.
Early EPs like Paranoid Time and Joy were excellent shots of pioneering hardcore, yet there was already a distinctly post punk funk flavor in tracks like More Joy and Joe McCarthy's Ghost that came on like a West Coast, more lived-in Gang Of Four. It's a muscular funk, to be sure, with turn on a dime frenetic rhythms anchored by D. Boon's combative, barked vocals.
The band were one of the mainstays of L.A. institution SST (the home of Black Flag), where they put out a whole brace of records ranging from 12" EPs like Buzz Or Howl Under The Influence Of Heat and Project Mersh to 7" shots like the "Tour Spiel" EP and albums like What Makes A Man Start Fires? and 3-Way Tie (For Last). Double Nickels On The Dime — famously released within months of that other SST post-hardcore milestone double-album Zen Arcade (by Hüsker Dü) — was a tour de force that ran the full gamut of the band's stylistic reach, with hardcore, funk, rock 'n roll, acoustic numbers and even border music all rubbing shoulders over the course of the record's sprawling, monolithic expanse. Without a doubt, it's one of the top ten or so records to truly capture that hazy L.A. atmosphere, and a crucial late-period capstone on the decade's punk funk story just before in mutated into something else entirely.
As such, it brings us full circle to this chapter's beginning, back to L.A., The Red Hot Chili Peppers and where it all ends up in the 90s... with everything tied nicely into a bow. And so I'll leave you with the following playlist, until next time when we descend into the depths of voodoo funk with Material, The Pop Group, The Slits and Public Image Ltd.
Terminal Vibration 4: Rockers Revenge
A Certain RatioFlight (Factory)
ESGMoody (Spaced Out) (99)
VortexBlack Box Disco (Neutral)
Ian Dury And The BlockheadsHit Me With Your Rhythm Stick (Stiff)
A cornerstone of the band's early sound, Slovak was the Chili Peppers' original guitarist until 1988, when he died of a heroin overdose. He was replaced by the beloved John Frusciante on the Mother's Milk album.
I remember being quite impressed when Woebot included them in his The 100 Greatest Records Ever list, which was actually my introduction to his writing in the first place (thanks to a timely link from Simon Reynolds). I distinctly remember being ensconced in the heady atmosphere of the 1808 in the dead of Winter and reading down the list with delight: first Ryuichi Sakamoto, A.R. Kane and then A Certain Ratio and Mark Stewart + Maffia and thinking this is the best list ever!
Check out the charts at the end of Last Night A DJ Saved My Life by Bill Brewster, where one finds tunes like Liquid Liquid's Cavern and ESG's Moody tucked comfortably in the lists for not only Larry Levan's Paradise Garage, but also Frankie Knuckles' Warehouse, Ron Hardy's Music Box and The Roxy. It's a testament to not only these records' utility on the dancefloor, or even the open-minded turntable policy of the clubs themselves, but the fluidity of the era's music across the dancefloors of the day. It all sounded good together in the mix and thus shared the same space in time. And what a time it was!
This is part one (of two) in a series of loosely interconnected glimpses of the sonic revolution, where righteous protest and sonic exploration meet in time and space...
The resistance started in folk and the blues, stretching from songs like the 17th century Diggers' Song into the fourth decade of the 20th with Leadbelly's Jim Crow Blues, chronicling the ills of their day with a resolute spirit that vowed to one day reach the mountaintop. Some years later, Billie Holiday kicked the door open into the mainstream with Strange Fruit, unmasking the horrors of the Jim Crow south with stark clarity shone right in the media glare. We will no longer be ignored. This spirit coursed through the veins of jazz to come, with Max Roach's We Insist! symbolically ringing in that decade of change with a demand for Freedom Now.
The whole modern folk tradition - which reached critical mass in the early 1960s - seems to stem from this same impulse, summed up in the spirit of a song like We Shall Overcome. It enters the realm of rock 'n roll via Bob Dylan's early records, featuring songs like The Times They Are A Changin' and Blowin' In The Wind, which had a profound impact on the likes of The Beatles and The Byrds. San Francisco's acid rock seemed to split the difference between the two forms (via The Byrds' durable folk rock template and their Fifth Dimension ruminations on John Coltrane), particularly in the case of Jefferson Airplane, who lent songs like We Can Be Together, Mexico and Have You Seen The Saucers a razor sharp tone with a paramilitary edge.
The contemporaneous Wooden Ships, a gentle slice of sun-glazed folk psychedelia written by the Airplane's Paul Kantner in conjunction with David Crosby and Stephen Stills, places two adversaries from an unnamed war alone together on an uninhabited island and marvels at their slow acceptance of one another in a true meeting of the minds. The influence of this sort of West Coast folk psychedelia - blended with The Beatles - could be felt down south in Brazil's Tropicália movement and Argentina's psychedelic underground, and in both instances proved an aggravation to their countries' respective military dictatorships. In a climate of increased militarization and the pitched culture war of the times, Jefferson Airplane's Crown Of Creation seems to run the kaleidoscope of sixties idealism through an apocalyptic prism, offering a glimpse of seventies dread looming out there on the horizon.
This was the backdrop when Jimi Hendrix played the Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock. Shimmering Hendrix-penned numbers like Castles Made Of Sand, Bold As Love and the phantasm of 1983...(A Merman I Should Turn To Be) seem to paint across the cosmos the image of a world at peace, while the fiery flipside of the man's legacy could be felt entering the crucible of Michigan's factory cities, with the proto-punk onslaught of Detroit's MC5, Ann Arbor's Stooges and the working-class rock 'n roll of Flint's Grand Funk Railroad raising the stakes and turning up the volume. Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, a cold wind cut through Birmingham as Black Sabbath crawled from the darkness to chronicle a bleaker era of opposition with songs like War Pigs and Wicked World.
Now rewind for a moment to 1960s San Francisco, where Sly & The Family Stone made their glorious run of recordings that embody the spirit of righteous protest, records like A Whole New Thing (featuring the triumphant Underdog) and Stand!, which remains - along with their performance at Woodstock - some of the most life-affirming music you could ever hope to hear. The group exemplified the era's optimism and open-mindedness, with their integrated lineup and singular sound imbued with a driving funk soul spirit that touched on the rock 'n roll attitude of the contemporary San Francisco scene. But in truth, soul's tradition of visionary protest stretches back even further. Sam Cooke famously penned A Change Is Gonna Come in 1964 after hearing Bob Dylan's Blowin' In The Wind, while The Impressions took things even deeper with Curtis Mayfield-penned numbers like Keep On Pushing and People Get Ready. True to spirit, this was empowerment as much as protest - empowerment as protest, even.
James Brown had his own anthem of empowerment in Say It Loud – I'm Black and I'm Proud, which caught fire in 1968 and later kicked off a series of of records stretching deep into the seventies, including The Payback, Revolution Of The Mind, Hell and The J.B.'sDamn Right I Am Somebody (the latter two are potent ruminations on the Watergate era, shot through with a deep sense of seventies dread). Brown's righteous on-the-one funk of course had a profound effect on Fela Kuti, the storied revolutionary musician operating in Nigeria out of his Kalakuta Republic, who unleashed records like Roforofo Fight, Expensive Shit and Zombie that remain searing indictments of government corruption and brutality to this day.
Edwin Starr's War seemed to picked up where Sly Stone's driving rock soul workouts left off, with a rousing call to (dis)arm riding a peak-period Norman Whitfield production, while The Chambers Brothers' The Time Has Come offered one of the great signposts of the era with its title track1 - a signpost of rock-inflected soul in a Sly & The Family Stone stylee. All of this was taken to its logical conclusion with the wild seventies excursions of George Clinton's Parliament/Funkadelic empire, with records like America Eats It Young and Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow sprawling out into a singular acid-fried vision of seventies unrest.
At the dawn of that decade, this impulse went into soul supernova, with Curtis Mayfield's eponymous solo debut - featuring the triumphant Move On Up - and the subsequent Curtis/Live!, its extended reflections on the troubles of the world matched by Mayfield's graceful determination. Something special happens when songs like We The People Who Are Darker Than Blue, We're A Winner and I Plan To Stay A Believer mix with his gentle between-song banter, and you can glimpse a beautiful future in the record's grooves. It's the sound of hope in the face of hard times, digging deep to Keep On Keeping On and trying to somehow make the world a better place.
Marvin Gaye picked up the baton with What's Going On, a glorious song cycle that captured the mood of the day in elegiac style, opening the door at Motown for Stevie Wonder's stunning sequence of seventies records. Check out Innervisions, with the rough and tumble stomp of Living For The City - capturing a gritty slice of urban life in its tough seven minutes - and the gorgeously plaintive Visions, a song that dares to envision a world in which hate's a dream and love forever stands. Former TemptationEddie Kendricks continued this thread with the hypnotic chant My People... Hold On, a resolute march to empowerment, while back in Chicago, Syl Johnson hit hard in 1970 with Is It Because I'm Black. Featuring the melancholic strains of title track and the majestic grandeur of Concrete Reservation and I'm Talkin' Bout Freedom, it was a record that bubbled deep underground before gradually picking up its richly deserved recognition as a stone cold classic.
Just as everyone seemed to have caught up with where he was going, it seemed that Sly Stone's relentless positivity had curdled into a mystified haze at the turn of the decade.2 He took a left turn into the downbeat with There's A Riot Goin' On, a weary entrance into the seventies - especially after the previous year's wild funk 7" Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) - that seemed to signal a sea change in the tenor of the times. From the weary Philly soul of The O'Jays' marathon epic Ship Ahoy (which lasts the better part of ten minutes) to Eugene McDaniels' staggering Headless Heroes Of The Apocalypse,3 there were a great many complex soul records that grappled with the demons of the day in unflinching detail.
This was the context from which the bubbling of the sharp, gritty poetry of The Last Poets' debut record - along with ex-member Gylan Kain's scorching The Blue Guerrilla - sprung, both pervaded with a fire-stoked revolutionary fervor informed by the harsh realities of life in the shadow of COINTELPRO. Similarly, Nikki Giovanni's The Truth Is On Its Way - with Ego Tripping's shades of female empowerment - was a sharp-tongued verbal strike in step with the times. Gil Scott-Heron, with partner in crime Brian Jackson, had the longest - and arguably most fruitful - run, unleashing a breathtaking series of records - including Winter In America and Pieces Of A Man (featuring the incendiary The Revolution Will Not Be Televised) - throughout the seventies. Theirs was a music - along with The Last Poets, Kain and Giovanni - drenched in soul and low-slung funk, but more than anything was shot through with the spectre of jazz.
Jazz, that enduring edifice, was of course still going strong. John Coltrane had already chronicled transcendence and laid the blueprint for astral jazz, which was later elaborated on by his wife Alice Coltrane and former sideman Pharoah Sanders in expansive indo jazz excursions like World Galaxy and Black Unity, respectively. All of this ran parallel to Sun Ra's empire building (in fact, Pharoah Sanders had played with Ra even before hooking up with Coltrane's quintet), his independent Saturn Research label and mind-expanding records like The Heliocentric Worlds Of Sun Ra and Space Is The Place (the birth of an enduring sentiment that stretched into the nineties and beyond). Figures like Ornette Coleman (with his symphonic Skies Of America record), Don Cherry (responsible for the intriguingly amorphous Organic Music Society) and Marion Brown (whose Vista LP featured a cover version of not only Harold Budd's Bismillahi 'Rrahman 'Rrahim, but also Stevie Wonder's Visions) continued chronicling the spirit of the times even as they voyaged deeper into innerspace.
Similarly, Carlos Santana's continual focus on transcendence had resulted in a series of lush jazz-tinged records spanning the decade (he even collaborated with John McLaughlin and Alice Coltrane), bridging the gap between Woodstock and Montreux in the process. Herbie Hancock cut a similar path through the seventies, with his band adopting Swahili names in the wake of their thrust into cosmic jazz with records like Mwandishi, Crossings and Sextant. Around this time, he also provided the score to the film The Spook Who Sat By The Door, with its revolutionary theme echoing shades of his earlier material like The Prisoner (and prefiguring the direction of his funky Headhunters-era material). Hancock's lush jazz mosaics of the Mwandishi period delved deep into abstraction, engaging with the mind's eye as much as any literal interpretation or meaning. The music seemed to be charting other worlds, mapping their terrain, and opening up the possibilities that they offered.
This spirit found embodiment in Krautrock. A record like Can's Future Days is immersed in the oceanic depths of Inner Space (incidentally, also the name of their studio), while Neu!'s motorik pulse seems eternal - locked onto the infinite horizon. Neu! '75 even predicts the second half of the decade in the proto-punk onslaught of Hero and After Eight. Similarly, Faust's ragged spliced-tape adventures seemed to preempt the experimentation of post punk even as they revelled in a sing it all together now communal spirit, while Amon Düül II sprung from an honest-to-goodness commune. Over in France, Heldon's electronic assaults were informed by a militant spirit (indeed, Richard Pinhas was at the barricades in Paris during the student uprising of 1968) that pervaded atmospheric records like Électronique Guerrilla and Agneta Nilsson. All of this is heavy textural music that transcends literal statement to commune directly with the mind's eye, weaving the fabric of space and time into a stirring sonic tapestry.
Across the Atlantic, the reggae sounds of Jamaica were steeped in a similar expansiveness, most famously in the music of Bob Marley And The Wailers - and later in Peter Tosh's stalwart militant anthems and the spiritual sustenance of Bunny Wailer's recordings - but reaching a sublime peak in Burning Spear's self-titled debut and Junior Byles' immaculate Beat Down Babylon. Songs like Creation Rebel and Beat Down Babylon embody a spirit of perseverance in the face of overwhelming odds, offering visions of a better world in opposition to the surrounding harsh reality.
This path stretches deeper and deeper into the realm of atmosphere as the decade advances. One need look no further than the saga of Declaration Of Rights, a story stretching from The Abyssinians' steadfast original to the depth charging bass of Johnny Clarke's cover version (produced by Bunny Lee and mixed by King Tubby), culminating in the cavernous dub shadows of King Tubby's Declaration Of Dub version. This is music that you feel in your chest when it takes hold. Figures like Tubby and Lee "Scratch" Perry tore up the very fabric of sound in search of new potentials, spooling them out into three dimensions. It's no surprise that King Tubby's studio and Perry's Black Ark often invite comparisons to sonic laboratories or starships.
A record like Dadawah's sprawling Peace And Love used the techniques of dub to create a heady psychedelic trip steeped in Rastafari, spread across four extended grooves, while Fred Locks's roots-informed Black Star Liner (a reference to Marcus Garvey's historic Black Star Line) reveled in dense imagery, with the dread vibes of Walls evoking the plight of the concrete jungle. On a similar tip, Prince Far I's Heavy Manners chronicled life under marshal law in the run up to Jamaica's national elections. This is a list that could go on and on, from Max Romeo's War Ina Babylon to The Mighty Diamonds' Right Time, all of it contributing to a rich legacy of righteous protest and sonic exploration.
It's a legacy that sets up the next leg of our journey: at the cusp of 1977, that year when two sevens would clash, and everything would change...
1The Time Has Come also includes a moving cover version of People Get Ready.
2 If you miss Sly's positivity, you could do worse than check out The Jimmy Castor Bunch, who cut a rollicking path through the decade with records like It's Just Begun and Phase Two.
3McDaniels, who was already on the CIA's watch list due to his militant stance on his previous record (Outlaw), was dropped from Atlantic after Spiro Agnew called the label to withdraw the album.
Last weekend I put in work at the Parallax Gardens with some of the crew. Needless to say, there was a steady stream of great music flowing through the lush vegetation while we toiled in the sun. By the end of the (extended) weekend, a large pile of records had stacked up next to the soundsystem: the soundtrack to our labor, all laid out in chronological order. Seeing all of these tiles in one place, I thought it might be fun to delve into each of the selections for a button down glance at the sounds of the heights when no one's watching.
This is the first in an ongoing series, tracking the grooves that flow through the gardens. Now lean back and take a stroll through the garden of your mind:
King Tubby - Dub From The Roots
(Total Sounds: 1974)
Things kicked off with this stone cold classic from King Tubby, a massive slab of rock hard dub. Deep, dark and moody, the cavernous Declaration Of Dub sounded fantastic drifting through the gardens. Maybe the best dub LP of all time?
The Upsetters - Return Of The Super Ape
The roots flavors endured with this strange, dubbed out reggae tile from Lee "Scratch" Perry's golden years at the Black Ark. The lush textures of Crab Yars really caught the spirit of the moment as they pulsed through the palms. This one's another big record in the Heights.
Pato Banton - Mad Professor Captures Pato Banton
The first of the Mad Professor records we played. This one features a great four-dimensional soundstage, fronted by Pato Banton's rolling deejay chatter on the mic. The closing track My Opinion is the standout here, a cinematic slice of righteous roots vibration.
The Orb - Perpetual Dawn
(Big Life: 1991)
Tremendous dubbed out pop-reggae stylings from Dr. Alex Patterson. This very well might be my favorite Orb record, but it's a tough call. Andrew Weatherall's two Ultrabass excursions take the track even further into the subterranean bass experience.
Aisha - High Priestess
This the second Mad Professor pick. The crisp electro-tinged production is a real treat here, almost claustrophobic in comparison with the spacious expanses of the Pato Banton record. The methodical unfurling of The Creator - operating on its own strange internal logic - is the obvious standout here. You might recognize the wordless vocal chant in the chorus, which was later sampled in The Orb's Blue Room.
The Special AKA - In The Studio
Superb exotica/dub/mutant disco from the twilight years of The Specials, when the group was totally subsumed into Jerry Dammers' singular vision. I hold this to be one of the key records of the eighties; indeed, it often plays like a window into the future (nineties and beyond). This got played more than twice over the course of the weekend.
The Police - Ghost In The Machine
The choice Police record around these parts. This very recently figured into our Deep Space 100 list. The strong presence of heavy synthesizer textures and unruly jazz shapes mark this out as a logical progression from Zenyatta Mondatta's phenomenal breezy island music.
Grace Jones - Nightclubbing
Another Parallax record, and the first Compass Point showing for today. I've Seen That Face Before (Libertango) casually predicts the sort of thing Massive Attack would later do with Nicolette on their epochal Protection. A post-disco masterpiece.
Tony Allen with Afrobeat 2000 - N.E.P.A (Never Expect Power Always)
Eighties electro-tinged afrobeat from Fela Kuti's - and latterly The Good, The Bad & The Queen's - man behind the kit. Each side of the record pairs an original version with a dubbed out response. Another key eighties record... I sense another feature in the works.
Hashim - Primrose Path
I've gone in depth before about this dubbed out electro wonder from Hashim. A spacious expansion on the genre-defining template of Al-Naafiysh (The Soul), and a perfect tune for the descent of dusk in the gardens.
The Isley Brothers - The Heat Is On
Lush, synthesizer-drenched soul from The Brothers Isley. I've often thought that this record's a-side/b-side split between driving funk numbers and lush ambient soul preempted Bowie and Eno's similar moves during the second half of the decade. The second side bests even Stevie Wonder's excursions into verdant electronic soul, imbued with a deeply human touch.
Ocho - Ocho
(UA Latino: 1972)
Salsa-tinged Latin jazz from the city that never sleeps. This should appeal to fans of War open to the band's more outré instrumental excursions like City, Country, City, even if nothing here breaks the seven minute mark. The weather-tinged exotica flavors of Undress My Mind unique in this context and always make me think of Ocho's debut as the sister record to Harlem River Drive.
James Brown - Hell
The godfather's dense double-album (a perennial favorite 'round these parts). The extended fourteen minute low-slung funk jam Papa Don't Take No Mess - encompassing the entirety of the final side - was a particular highlight in the blazing sun, closing the day out on an undeniable high point.
Prince - Sign "O" The Times
(Paisley Park: 1987)
Not my favorite moment from the man, but it's close. Another double-album, this has a whole bunch of my favorite Prince songs: the title track, The Ballad Of Dorothy Parker, Starfish And Coffee, If I Was Your Girlfriend and Strange Relationship all qualify. A masterstroke.
Mtume - Juicy Fruit
The greatest eighties funk long-player that I know of, this has all its bases covered - from the post-disco boogie of Green Light and Your Love's Too Good (To Spread Around) to Hip Dip Skippedabeat's hard electrofunk (shades of Hustlers Convention in the rap), and of course exquisite, chugging atmospheric slow jams like Ready For Your Love and both versions of the title track. An Oak Park staple, this is like sunset at Chollas Lake.
Womack & Womack - Conscience
The soulful grit of husband and wife Cecil (Bobby's brother) and Linda cuts loose within cutting edge soundscapes of their own design - as The Gypsy Wave Power Co. - recorded at Compass Point Studios. The rolling widescreen drive of a track like Conscious Of My Conscience sounds like the sort of verdant futurism one might expect from Arthur Russell or even Underworld.
Wally Badarou - Echoes
A whole LP worth of the Compass Point man's lush sonic rainforests. This is another one of those eighties records. From the opening ambient shades of Keys, you can tell that you're in for something special. Highlights, including Mambo (the basis for Massive Attack's Daydreaming) and Chief Inspector (even better in its 12" version), are like peering through a window into the next decade's sonic sensibilities.
Various Artists - Earthbeat
(Jumpin' & Pumpin': 1992)
Case and point. I think much of The Future Sound Of London's early Jumpin' & Pumpin' output owes a huge debt to the Compass Point sound (see also The Orb). This indispensable compilation of early FSOL sides rolls up a wealth of stellar material from projects like Mental Cube, Indo Tribe and Yage into one vibrant package. There's even an exclusive in the shape of Yage's oceanic Theme From Hot Burst.
The Future Sound Of London - Accelerator
(Jumpin' & Pumpin': 1991)
Picking up where the Earthbeat compilation leaves off, this is one of the great techno albums period. Everything here incredibly lush and cinematic. I suppose part of the reason that I sense such a strong connection between this material and that of the Compass Point All Stars is that they both share the same four-dimensional sense of space, that same tactile percussive quality - submerging drums you can almost reach out and touch within a mesh of palpable synthetic shapes and textures - drawing all instruments into deep orbit, brilliantly arranged in such a way as to evoke pure atmosphere at the street level.
Jah Wobble/The Edge/Holger Czukay - Snake Charmer
Three-way head to head to head collaboration between PIL's bassist Jah Wobble, U2's guitarist The Edge and Can mastermind Holger Czukay. Jaki Liebezeit and Jim Walker even get roped in on drums. Featuring stellar production by François Kevorkian, this is yet another glimpse into the shadowy corridors of the Parallax Eighties.
Bandulu - Redemption
(Music Man: 2002)
I've been reading this rather excellent book - via a hot tip from Woebot - that in part traces the strand of eighties music that I keep alluding to up through the nineties (a nineties that I was fortunate enough to experience firsthand). I was particularly pleased to see Bandulu's name mentioned in tracing the influence of digidub throughout the decade, on one hand because I've often thought this to be the case and on the other because I'm a huge fan of the crew's output.
This their final album and a culmination of everything they'd done up to that point, featuring their trademark hard techno shapes rubbing shoulders with weird breakbeat dub missives and even a couple straight up reggae covers (Willie Williams' Jahquarius and Dennis Brown's Detention). Note that the CD version of the album - featured here - is a drastically different beast from the (also excellent) vinyl cut.
Simple Minds - Empires And Dance
A close second to Real To Real Cacophonyin my book. Empires' hard sonic futurism does give the shrouded mystery of Cacophony a run for its money though, and its cold European atmosphere imbues I Travel's punk-disco and the epic bass-heavy dirge of This Fear Of Gods with a striking sense of gravity.
Shut Up And Dance - Death Is Not The End
(Shut Up And Dance: 1992)
I was reminded of the second Shut Up And Dance record by A Cracked Jewel Case, as it factors into the book's section on that crew. Kevin Pearce's coverage is excellent throughout, shedding light on many heretofore unacknowledged connections between various movers and shakers as they blazed through the decade. For example, I didn't know that Kevin Rowland (of Dexys Midnight Runners) played guitar on the Autobiography Of A Crackhead (Acoustic Version).1Death Is Not The End features a fusion of SUAD rap tracks (Raps My Occupation, Down The Barrel Of A Gun and So What You Smoking?), hard techno stompers (Cape Fear and Blue Colour Climax) and straight up ardkore (Raving I'm Raving (Remix) and The Green Man), the disparate elements all woven together into a stunning display of rugged breakbeat magic.
And with the wild strains of My C-Lab Crashed And Did This spiralling off into the warm summer evening, the first phase of the project was complete. Pictured below is just one wing of the gardens that we worked last weekend, The Southwest Terrace:
The place where we dwell.
1. Kevin Pearce, A Cracked Jewel Case (Your Heart Out, 2016), 152.
This all germinated from an exchange between Sari (my wife), Andrew (my brother) and myself in which we each compiled our top 100 records of all time and then had a little party to review the lists while listening to bits of the records in them. It was a great excuse to talk music and I daresay that we all had a blast trawling through each other's favorites. It was during the process of putting together my own that my love for writing about music began to rekindle and I vowed to myself to bring back this site. I suppose then that it's only appropriate that I use it to kick things off again here at Parallax Moves.
This list represents my absolute favorite one hundred records of all-time, including albums, EPs and singles. Truth be told, a couple borderline compilations sneak in too! The idea was to select the records that essentially form my musical bedrock, the very core of my taste in music, and in a sense, the lense through which I tend to hear everything else.
It can be so tempting to only include influential, important records, to lean too heavily on the accepted canon of (insert genre here) classics rather than those records one actually loves most. The flipside of that coin is to veer too deeply into the obscure, or all those neat little records one discovers along the way. I found that the trick was to ruthlessly select (from my initial pile) only the records that: 1. Had a crucial impact on me (be it immediate or gradually, over time), 2. Are front-to-back amazing, and 3. I still listen to all the time.
This narrowed the field considerably, but there were still about a dozen too many records. Eliminating those was probably the most difficult part of the process, but its amazing just how much the list started to write itself at that point. To be honest, it was a bit of rush seeing it all come together. The result is a deeply personal selection, but I think that's the only way to go. In the end, I can promise you that every record here is a stone cold killer...
NOTE:The Parallax 100 has recently been augmented by the next 100 records, which rounds out the set to an even 200. To start from #200, click here.
French synth wizardry from Richard Pinhas on Heldon's first odyssey, the driving pulse of which marks it out as a remarkably physical permutation of space music proper. Tracks like Back To Heldon and Northernland Lady seem to soundtrack actual landscapes you could touch and feel, wander and get lost in. Gilles Deleuze even makes a cameo on Ouais, Marchais, Mieux Qu'en 68 (Ex: Le Voyageur), the one track to feature the band in full.
Man Parrish produced loads of great records throughout the eighties, but this wildly mutated remix of Hip Hop, Be Bop (Don't Stop) is a multi-jointed electro monster. Its rubberband bassline and depth charging 808s are remarkably loose within the context of electro, a genre typically defined by it's (intentional) rigidity.
Psychedelic, spaced out funk from this giant of Anatolian music. Occupying that nexus between acid rock and straight up prog (think Paul Kantner's Blows Against The Empire), it bests all other contenders by merit of its singular sound and vision. Those massive, supremely deranged synths come as an added bonus.
The greatest record to come out of the perennial clash between house and hip hop, a sound that has remarkably crashed back into the mainstream over the last five-odd years. The vibe here brings to mind certain records on the Strictly Rhythm imprint, also things like Hateful Head Helen, but the whole of this EP is thoroughly up to date and leans brashly toward the future.
The Rocking Chair Album. By my estimation the wildest electric blues LP, even outstripping his own supremely fuzzed out work on Chess' head-oriented subsidiary Cadet Concept. Wolf here sounds hungry as he attacks each tune with the ferocious charm he was renowned for, wrestling their melodies into a dense, churning turmoil of rock hard rhythm and blues.
One of the many great records laid down in Nassau by the brilliant Compass Point All Stars, this one benefits from Ms. Jones' compelling presence front and center. Splitting the difference between disco, post punk and dub, this is pristine, chrome-surfaced boogie on ten-inch rubber wheels. Just given the lavish Deluxe Edition treatment as well, with an unreleased cover version of Gary Numan's Me! I Disconnect From You tossed into the bargain. Grace's music is essential.
Digital dancehall. Generally recognized as a genre best served by the 7" single, this sterling LP is an exception to that rule. Tiger himself is responsible for just about every element on the record, from the toasting on down to the beats, resulting in a super-tight — and endlessly playable — ten track selection on which his larger-than-life personality shines immensely.
Japanese pop outfit remixed by the early heavyweights of British abstract techno: The Black Dog, Aphex Twin, Ultramarine and Global Communication. The ladies' heavenly vocals weave through these warped re-workings of their original compositions, informed by the curious slant that each producer brings to bear on the material. Truly otherworldly in every possible sense, the results simply sound like nothing else around.
Ethiopian Jazz. Discovered this via the excellent Éthiopiques series on Buda Musique and just had to track down the original LP. Mulatu's band so fluid here, the murky soundscape so dense with rich detail, that the record itself seems to conjure up a ghostly mirage of some smoky dancehall in Addis Ababa, thick with atmosphere and hovering three feet off the ground.
Wicked downbeat hip hop on the cusp between day-glo jazz rap and the dark blunted zeitgeist just around the corner (see Black Moon, Cypress Hill and the Wu-Tang Clan — the RZA and 4th Disciple of which actually produced this record), and managing to deliver the best of both worlds. N-Tyce's flow is smooth as can be and Method Man on the hook a particularly inspired touch.
Sampladelic, hard-edged post punk. The Maffia backing is incendiary and Mark Stewart explosive, veering between rage and sadness in equal measure. Also notable for spawning Stranger Than Love, the dub of which was perpetrated by none other than a very young Smith & Mighty. Indeed, pre-echoes of nineties Bristol seem to reverberate throughout the entirety of this fierce, uncompromising record.
A peak-period Joe Gibbs production that leaps out of the speakers with a rude zig-zagging synth and rock hard backing by The Mighty Two. Althea & Donna still manage to steal the show with their raw, infectious delivery on this absolutely massive (#1 in the U.K.!) pop reggae number. I've often thought that this tune must have had a profound shaping influence on The Slits, in both sound and spirit.
Strung out fourth world voodoo funk. Captures that feeling in late August when summer's lost its luster and seems like it's never going to end; sun-glazed buildings and steam rising off the streets. A definitive L.A. record, if I may be so bold. The band's interplay here so dexterous (City, Country, City) and group chants so obsessive (Beetles In The Bog) that nearly every tune feels like a mantra. This is my Marquee Moon.
Seminal N.Y. House and Todd Terry's finest moment of patchwork brilliance. Owing to his background in freestyle music, he was the first house producer to truly grasp the possibilities of hip hop and consequently seemed to approach all of his early traxx with a wildstyle mindset. This was already over a decade old (an eternity in the nineties) by the time I first got to hear it, but it blew my mind nonetheless. If there's one record that I'd like to think my life sounds like, this is it.
Globetrotting synth pop from one of the pioneers of the form. Looking past the gloriously icy climate of his peers (this the era of Gary Numan, Fad Gadget and The Human League), Leer establishes a warm and astonishingly nimble sound here. Splitting the difference between Kraftwerk and Tonto's Expanding Head Band, while adding a bit of eighties pan-global jet set atmosphere for good measure (think Club Paradise and Jewel Of The Nile), this plays like a Balearic record out of some parallel universe. In ours, it wouldn't even occur to people to make something like this until about fifteen years later (see Jimi Tenor, Patrick Pulsinger, Uwe Schmidt et al.). Utterly indispensable for any electronic pop lover.
Bracingly intense, white-knuckled biker metal. Despite their reputation as speed-metal pioneers (their very name a slang term for speed freaks), on this, their very first record, the hangover of hard rock's James Brown-as-played-by-cavemen beats endures, informing the entirety of its blistering mid-section: one of my favorite rock 'n roll trips of all time, sounding like a two lane stretch of highway cutting deep into the Mojave desert.
UR in their undeniable prime, back when Jeff Mills and Rob Noise were still kicking it in the group with Mad Mike Banks and the crew came off like Detroit's very own Public Enemy. I love nearly everything they've put out, from space jazz to computer-age electro to no-nonsense techno — all of it was extraordinary — but they never hit harder than when they were intensifying Belgian hardcore. On the Riot EP, UR's conceptual brilliance collides with their Hard Music From A Hard City aesthetic, resulting in their definitive statement.
In which the German dancefloor chanteuse collaborates with The Grid for a double-EP of ambient blues. In the process, she briefly inhabits — maybe even invents — the role of ecstasy age post-canyon troubadour (amplified here by the presence of BJ Cole on pedal steel), fragile and coming down from the shattered heights of the rave dream. This fertile landscape would eventually provide sanctuary to artists like Beth Orton, Dido and Dot Allison, while stretching outward to color the sensibilities of projects like Broadcast and The Beta Band. The results here are as true to her vision of dark electronic soul as she would ever get and practically define the word majestic.
New wave ska-pop, played with clockwork precision by The Beat. Tropical, breezy numbers like Hands Off... She's Mine and Rough Rider rule the day, although there's a definite undercurrent of dread beneath all of this day-glo pop, rising to the surface in Twist & Crawl and even Mirror In The Bathroom's unresolved paranoia. The U.S. version of this record is the one you want, as it includes two crucial extra cuts: Ranking Full Stop and a cover version of The Miracles' Tears Of A Clown, both of which add an extra dimension (and loads of charm) to the record.
Machine Soul twisted to the nth degree. SA-RA were often at their best when they didn't even seem to be trying, and this two-part EP (that only ever surfaced in Japan) might be the best example. Instrumentals like Jumbo and Enter Sex Slop beam two decades worth of hip hop-infused r'n'b into deep space, while Love Stomp and Wonderful (the alien descendant of Stevie Wonder's 70's records) ply a sort of warped astral jazz. And the two ballads (sung from a space capsule), Intoxicated and We Can Do Anything, stand among the finest songs they've penned. It's a shame that Butterscotch (aka Frequencies), possibly their single greatest moment (and one that would have felt right at home in this company), remains unreleased.
Early works by the jazz giant, recorded during his very first sessions as band leader. This well before his stellar run on Riverside and Columbia, which resulted in a flurry of great albums like Brilliant Corners and Solo Monk. Captured here is the initial supernova that eventually went on to generate those later works, shining as they do like stars in the firmament. A wild and intensely cerebral vision of jazz that finds careening bebop taken to logical abstraction.
Manuel Göttsching, Krautrock guitarist extraordinaire, creates one of the great synth lines and then proceeds to construct an hour-long jam around the ebb and flow of his machines. The result is a marathon of spaced out proto-techno that gradually seemed to weave its way through the very DNA of electronic music in the ensuing decades. I first heard him on Terranova's Tokyo Tower way back in good old 1997, and he's remained one of my favorite guitarists ever since. His guitar sound here, as always, is exquisite.
Definitive statement from one of garage's true auteurs. This is supremely lush and soulful. A saga spread across four radically different versions, each managing to simultaneously contrast and complement the other, with the hypnotic electro pulse of CD Remix #9 and Fusion Dubb's cascading instrumental bliss running perpendicular to the wild pitch madness of Let Da Rhythm Move U, while the opening Journey Man Thump itself is extraordinarily haunting.
A luminescent nocturnal paradise, and the precise point of intersection between post punk and new pop. Alan Rankine and Billy MacKenzie drape sheet after sheet of sound onto a staggering pileup of impenetrable texture that they somehow manage to mutate into a breathtaking sequence of fully formed, brilliant tunes. Billy MacKenzie's soaring, operatic vocals are about the only ones you could imagine successfully cutting through these densely populated soundscapes.
A pre-Future Sound Of LondonDougans and Cobain get down to business with the title track, a rolling breakbeat monster, but the centerpiece is undoubtedly Q, an absolutely gorgeous peak-era rave anthem. As great as all of their later FSOL output was (Accelerator and ISDN among my favorites), their early records have a certain ravishing intensity, a rough-hewn charge, and this one is their masterpiece.
Afrobeat icon's mightiest record, from that blistering offensive he ran during the seventies, a period when the man was simply a force of nature on a serious roll. The title track was inspired by a police raid on the Kalakuta Republic (the story of which is the stuff of legend), but it's the insouciant brilliance of b-side Water Get No Enemy that quietly sneaks up to steal the show and push this record out above the stiff competition. As the man once said, Music is the weapon of the future.
The quintessential disco LP, and possibly the greatest, catches The Chic Organization in the middle of their late 70's winning streak: a period when they could do no wrong. It's lush, peak-era disco like Happy Man and I Want Your Love (not to mention the immortal Le Freak) that seem to be the obvious bounty here, yet the leisurely Savoir Faire (sounding like a lost instrumental from the Super Fly soundtrack) and gorgeous balladry of At Last I Am Free — almost undisclosed moments of pure elegance — match all those songs for beauty, with everything blending together to make this record such an undeniably strong one.
Pure, elemental space jazz, in which gravity simply ceases to be a factor. This is the gateway record between Mwandishi's longform electric grooves and the full-on jazz funk of Head Hunters. The presence of one Dr. Patrick Gleason, working the ARPs, pushes this recording into the realm of pure tech jazz. A delirious odyssey into the deep black void of space and an obvious ancestor to later like-minded projects such as Galaxy 2 Galaxy, Innerzone Orchestra and Fretless AZM.
Four elegiac folk suites that burn with a white hot intensity. Everything here suffused with heartache and dread, yet staunchly refusing to ever fully give into the darkness. Harper's mournful vocals and spidery guitar weave their way through the orchestra's towering Gothic architecture, these great vaulting spires from which one can but observe the rolling, desolate tundra laid out below.
Categorically fierce ragga jungle from the golden age of rinsin' amens. Masterminds James and Mark X took the proper name for ancient Egypt to christen both their label and crew, all of whom are present here (plus Remarc, in a blistering cameo appearance). Tearing breakbeats are the order of the day, with subsonic bass charges and a militant atmosphere pervading the whole of this furious, uncompromising LP.
Dreamy post-grime r'n'b, moments of which make me think alternately of Detroit and The Prodigy. This a three-way collaboration between the Fade To Mind and Night Slugs crews (both dealers in dark electronic instrumentals) and Kelela, who lends her ethereal vocals to these already otherworldly backing tracks. The whole affair feels deeply surreal, as if this were a music heard through the lingering mists of a dream. Technically a mixtape, as an album-length statement it excels.
New Jack Swing. Teddy Riley's greatest moment, the Teddy 2 mix far superior to the album version. With the inclusion of that piano twinkling on the breeze, easing the tension of an interminable sax line from The Darkest Light, the whole thing is pushed to perfection as the groove's mesmerizing sway begins to lift into low orbit. I remember hearing this on the radio for the first time, as an 11 year old, and thinking that it sounded like a mirage in the desert (pyramids and palms dancing on the horizon). It wasn't until I finally tracked the record down, years later, that I realized what the song was actually about!
Sublime deep house from Chicago. Simply perfect, everything in its right place. Do You Know Who You Are and School Hall are among the most achingly beautiful songs ever written, while Ride and In A Vision map infinity: true hall of mirrors music. I'd been into house music for ages before finally managing to discover this thanks to a hot tip from Woebot, whose exceptional writing about music was a revelation, and for that I will forever be grateful.
Elton and Bernie Taupin, at this point still firmly in singer-songwriter mode, deliver their country western concept album. Almost musical-esque in execution, each song seems to follow one character while the next will drift on to focus on another (I've always recognized a kindred spirit in Come Down In Time). A front to back masterpiece with some of their most glorious songs; that it's almost obscure these days is a shame.
A dense, hallucinatory vision of fourth world jazz. Don Cherry's crystal-clear tone cuts through this mercurial brew of boundless depth, a mesh of struck bells, electric piano, tambura, bass and percussion. Pure Ocean Of Sound music. Frank Lowe's presence here a revelation, his pellucid tenor licks shimmering like the very surface of the water.
Superb roots reggae LP on Coxsone Dodd's Studio One imprint. The Wailing Souls are one of the mightiest vocal groups of all time, their harmonies among the great elemental sounds in music, managing to effortlessly capture the feeling of pure joy and then whip around to endless longing in but a moment.
Eighties jazz funk one-off. It's 1981: Keith O'Connell and Mike Collins, two British session men, get down in the studio with a Prophet 5 synth, Fender Rhodes, CR-78 rhythm box and electric bass, churning out this motorik bit of smooth jazz onto a demo tape and sounding completely out of time (think Hall & Oates and Carl Craig stuck in an elevator, making elevator music, and you won't be far off). The duo spent years trying to get a label to release it, until Passion Records (the soon-to-be parent label of Jumpin' & Pumpin') finally pressed it to wax directly from the original demo tape and gave them the epic name Sun Palace. The record wound up as a Loft Classic, and the rest is history.
Remarkably flawless longform work of pristine machine soul, produced by The Neptunes just as they were surfing their creative peak and released a matter of months after the first N*E*R*D album. Like the original electronic incarnation of that record, it was tragically buried at the time (never even receiving a U.S. release in this case). Still, a bunch of us bought the imports and played them obsessively. Of all the vocalists that The Neptunes worked with, Kelis always seemed to best articulate the Star Trak vision — that intriguing mix of stoned ennui and star-child optimism — and nowhere better than on this record's cosmic denouement.
Moody, half-lit Detroit techno. This album links together two EPs from the preceding year: The Living Key and, you guessed it, Images From Above, tacking on the absorbingly lush Burujha to round out the set. Not a famous record, but an essential one. The sound that the Burden Brothers achieved during this era is utterly captivating: arcing fractals of percussion entwine mathematically precise drum patterns while shards of synthetic texture pierce vast burnished soundscapes, splashes of melodic color drifting wraithlike out of the darkness. Every element so modest, so low key, yet the combination is ruthlessly magnetic.
An absolute beast of a record, in which monumental waves of pressure build and build over endless, rolling breakbeats. Narra Mine is a lavishly melancholic stretch of widescreen ardkore, while the flipside's nightmare strains of urban paranoia rise like steam from twilight city streets. Guns of Brixton, indeed. Sharon Williams wails like a banshee and Killerman Archer's maniacal, rapid-fire toasting amplifies the tension every moment he's on the mic. Pure dread.
Sixties garage rock from New York, made gently with liquid guitars. Where the Velvets' rockers used to pound, they now glide smoothly, with gorgeous folk numbers being the order of the day. The Murder Mystery, their final concession to the avant garde, is an engrossing dive into the subconscious.
Breezy French pop, and one of the greatest pure pop records ever. Sounding like ribbons of sunlight shimmering through stained glass, this is daydream music to fall in love to on a summer afternoon. The reluctant icon is accompanied here by the Charles Blackwell Orchestra, whose inventive flourishes provide a swooning, sumptuous palette of sound for Hardy to wistfully inhabit with inimitable style and grace.
Lush, haunting orchestral environments crafted by bossanova's greatest composer. A seventies record through and through, this is an incredibly heavy listening experience. Songs stretch out over vast uncharted terrain, every corner of the soundscape cloaked in rich detail. There are entire worlds transcribed within the grooves of this record.
French disco, prefiguring the likes of Daft Punk and Cassius by some fifteen years. Martin Circus were a rock band that drifted into disco's orbit for a couple albums, one of which spawned the original fourteen-minute version of this tune. Here, it gets reworked by the legendary François Kevorkian into a dazzling maximalist affair, crammed with nearly every sound you could imagine and capturing disco's essence within its shining seven minutes. The b-side, I've Got A Treat, is an infectiously sleazy bit of motorik Euro-disco.
Half-lit bedroom disco from the nascent superstar. Maybe not as spectacularly widescreen as his staggering run of eighties records, there's still something very special about the sound here that draws you in. In Love and Soft And Wet have a deft, almost dainty, rhythmic touch to them, while ballads like Crazy You and So Blue sound improbably low key amidst his considerable slow jam repertoire. The undoubted climax is I'm Yours, an epic prog/funk workout that closes out the record in a thrilling crash of thunder, pointing gamely toward the future.
Bun B and Pimp C loom large over the history of Southern rap, having been in the game since virtually day one, and Ridin' Dirty is their ornately detailed masterpiece. The whole record glides in graceful slow motion, Pimp C and N.O. Joe's velvet-cushioned production forming a plush foundation for UGK's elliptical rhymes to dance over. An affinity with one DJ Screw can be felt throughout the blurred, spectral grooves of this LP, and nowhere more than the ghostly twilight vision of 3 In The Mornin'.
Late-period Coltrane. These sessions, from 1965 (although the record itself was only posthumously released in 1971), are among the last to feature his classic quartet with McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison and Elvin Jones. True space jazz in every sense, with Coltrane blasting through the stratosphere, slipping into zero gravity and back again as Elvin Jones pounds out the propulsion for this interplanetary starship's travels.
Psychedelic dub reggae 7", produced by Lee "Scratch" Perry at the Black Ark and at the peak of his powers. This sun-baked, hallucinatory underwater excursion seems to rise from the immense bass pressure of the titular river's bed, where everything churns and tumbles in a great slow-motion whirlpool, sucking you ever deeper into the hypnotic abyss.
Legendary rock band at their most arcane and mystical, veering from the hard blues of their first two records into a sort of unheimlich folk balladry. The proto-metal is still there — Immigrant Song, Celebration Day and Out On The Tiles — but now filtered through a medieval lense only occasionally hinted at before. That's The Way and Tangerine are two of their most bewitching acoustic numbers, while the majestic sway of Friends remains my absolute favorite moment in their oeuvre.
This mesmerizing Indian classical recording is quite simply magnificent. Shivkumar Sharma a true visionary and master of the form. His playing on the santoor never fails to be thoroughly captivating: hearing him work his magic is like watching someone coax time to a standstill. The added touch of those flickering, gently swaying rhythms make this my absolute favorite record of his.
Bowie in Berlin, taking on aspects of minimalism and Krautrock while transforming his plastic soul sound into something even more robotic in the process. Side one is crammed with strange, paranoid pop songs and shimmering instrumentals, while side two stretches out into an ambient landscape of Europe endlessness. This era of Bowie's (detailed in Bowie In Berlin: A New Career In A New Town, an excellent read) is ceaselessly fascinating to me, and remains a conduit to so much amazing music, amidst which this record more than holds its own as a masterpiece.
Far-out salsa, shot through with an unyielding sense of cosmic jazz exploration. Eddie Palmieri, often referred to as the sun of Latin music, has a great many first-rate records to choose from, but this one is my favorite (with Vamonos Pa'l Monte running a close second). Pulling together some of his wildest studio experiments (Cobarde's crazed ten minute salsa pulse and the almost modern classical Random Thoughts) with marathon live workouts recorded at the University of Puerto Rico (Chocolate Ice Cream and The Mod Scene), this record essays some of the man's outermost sonic precincts. Those improbable zero-gravity breaks on Condiciones Que Existen's low-slung barrio funk are a particularly impressive touch.
Gorgeous vocal jazz shearing into proto-soul territory. Having informed so much great music throughout the years, it still remains entirely unmatched on its own terms. The very sound of this record is enchanting, infused as it is with pure depth and splendor. Billie Holiday, here still clear-voiced and resplendent (before the ravages of time and hard living took their toll), remains the greatest vocal presence jazz has ever seen. A record to lose yourself in.
Majestic early techno relics from Detroit's Carl Craig, back when he was just a fresh-faced kid trying to make his mark on the culture. Each and every track would be a highlight in any other context, while in present company they all flow into one extended hypnotic sequence. Moody dancefloor burners like Crack Down and From Beyond flow effortlessly into the glorious breakbeat release of Please Stand By and out toward the elegiac ambient house of How The West Was Won, while the peerless Neurotic Behavior still sounds like a record from another age... wholly timeless and too magnificent for words.
No Wave duo get atmospheric with Ric Ocasek in the producer's chair, stretching the sounds of the debut's most sumptuous passages out across the entirety of their second full-length. Diamond, Fur Coats And Champagne sets the stage with a casually ethereal groove, while the duo map their sound's spaciest precincts in the eerie freeform calm of Las Vegas Man and Harlem.
Long-running legends riding the crest of their mid-seventies 3 + 3 era, arguably the band's peak. Prefigures Bowie and Eno's Berlin-era methodology, in which the uptempo numbers fill out side one while the second is given over to pure atmosphere: in this case melting into a sidelong mix of ambient soul, the ravishing synths of which are exceptionally lush and sun-glazed.
Speaking of which, Eno's Berlin-era album is absolutely essential listening, of a piece with his earlier classic Another Green World (a crucial record for me, just barely outshone by this one). Here, Eno examines the lush vegetation of that world from an entirely different perspective: that of the laboratory (the domain of science), and the elegant precision exercised therein is thoroughly modern. Even as strange almost-pop songs gradually give way to pure ambience, the former seem to inform the latter (and vice versa), melting together in a state of perfect harmony.
By my estimation Arthur Russell's finest moment, fusing the introspective nature of his World Of Echo material with the strange propulsion of his leftfield disco records like Let's Go Swimming and Wax The Van. This is a vision of the dancefloor that stretches far beyond the walls of the city, out across the great plains and into the deep blue horizon, spreading joyously outward as far as the eye can see.
Two old timers who've seen it all finally get a chance to meet up in the studio, laying down crisp re-workings of a bunch of classic Ellington-penned numbers. This is quite possibly the purest glimpse into the very essence of jazz ever put to tape. Even as these two legends swing together like it ain't no thang, they sound for all the world like they're jamming in orbit on the space station.
Weird new wave. Literally overflowing with ideas and travelling in every direction at once. Spiky rockers like Citizen cut their way out of the murky depths even as moody instrumentals like Film Theme revel in them, while mid-tempo club burners like Premonition crop up to inhabit the space between. Veldt, a maddening slice of pure atmospheric paranoia, even breaks out into a pleasantly menacing skank. For me, an unquestionably crucial record.
The godfather's dense double-album, rife with an overwhelming sense of seventies dread, yet at the same time home to some of his most gorgeous ballads. The fourteen-minute closing stretch of Papa Don't Take No Mess, one of his greatest extended workouts, is an obvious standout, while the Latin-tinged reworking of Please, Please, Please a hidden gem that hints at the remarkable breadth of this LP. I can't think of another record remotely like it.
Skewed hip hop from this visionary Brooklyn crew. If their first LP gave birth to the Native Tongues era then this one effectively laid it to rest. Decomposed beats, subsonic bass pulses and random machine bleeps punctuate these gaussian blurred samplescapes within which Eugene McDaniels and Public Enemy rub shoulders with The Stooges. The results are a kaleidoscopic hallucination of hip hop: bizarre, druggy and in the end, their crowning achievement.
Nineties r'n'b. A glistening, four-dimensional soundscape that seems to morph and gyrate like liquid clockwork. Here, the swingbeat girl group hook up with Timbaland and Missy "Misdemeanor" Elliott (at an early peak, when everything they touched turned gold) to produce this casually futuristic one off — and a highlight for all parties involved — realigning SWV for the chrome age.
Sub-conscious deep house, where the border between electronic and live instrumentation decomposes to the point that its hard to tell where the programming stops and the band begins. I'm Doing Fine embodies this seamless symbiosis, while the juke joint boogie of traxx like Shades Of Jae and Back At Bakers (On Livernois) form a perfect counterpoint to the spectral jazz found in Holiday and I Need You So Much. Riley's Song, no more than a bassline groaning in slow motion beneath layers of ghostly atmosphere, nearly manages to steal the show, while the Mahogani 9000/Black Mahogani suite that closes the album (and memorably quotes Eddie and Priest from Super Fly) could go on forever and I wouldn't mind.
The original soul man's second full-length is an indispensable glimpse into his signature vision of rhythm & blues. Exquisite backing vocals from the ever-reliable Raelets add a swaying finesse to this already remarkable material, sweeping from the spectral crawl of It's All Right to the carefree shuffle of Swanee River Rock, through the rave up threat of Leave My Woman Alone and on to the back door blues of Blackjack. The all-encompassing breadth of vision outlined in this sequence of fourteen flawless tunes is truly staggering.
Dego and Marc Mac, operating out of their studio in Dollis Hill (located next door to The Future Sound Of London's), charted rave's trajectory from the intensity of its hardcore origins through the depths of the darkside, ultimately arriving at this distant outpost of interplanetary jungle. Yet even as they connect with the lush space jazz of Galaxy 2 Galaxy and Herbie Hancock, they still manage to retain the rhythmic danger from even the most twisted of their earlier records. If anything, that fury gets amplified in Wrinkles In Time and Sounds From The Black Hole: astonishing displays of breakbeat science as you're ever likely to find.
Avant garde crooner's finest moment. An existential rumination on the certainty of death and dues, and a flawless work of orchestral grandeur. The Seventh Seal and The Old Man's Back Again are so majestic that they practically beggar belief on first listen, while the fragile moments (Boy Child, Duchess) are among the most exquisite songs he's ever written.
Awesome dub reggae LP from this pioneering architect of the form. The drums splash, the hi-hats skip and the bass cuts massive caverns beneath a soundscape in which everything exists as texture. This is a dusty, planet-shaking sound: simultaneously futuristic and ancient. Invasion, kicking off with those rude synth bleeps, could soundtrack the boarding of Zion in William Gibson's Neuromancer. In a word, massive.
The fabled outsider checks in with his first LP of abstract blues, burning with raw garage punk fury and a set of unforgettable tunes. A remarkably early intervention for this sort of rootsy swagger (The Stones still mining psychedelia in '67), at times so dynamically gnarled that it seems to reach forward and predict the next ten years of rock's progression.
Bristol trip hop from the originators of the form. Nearly all of their records are splendid, but this little EP, recorded as a companion to their brilliant DJ-Kicks mix on Studio !K7, distills everything great about the crew into one exceedingly lush slice of perfection. Like some hazy afternoon vista bathed in mist, this sun-glazed melancholia feels like a daydream that lasts deep into the night. The remix on the flip is a bit of storming UK hip hop, featuring an uncredited MC Kelz. I've always loved the way that each version samples a bit of vocal from the other. This is one of those records that never fails to bring the memories flooding back, and along with the accompanying mix was the soundtrack to the better part of my final year in high school.
Motorik Krautrock speeding down an endless stretch of highway, this also possesses some of their gentlest moments. Seeland, in particular, sounds exactly like the sunrise looks when you're up early enough to watch the world wake. The flipside of the coin boasts Hero and After Eight, two exhilarating proto-punk onslaughts that achieve a sort of rock 'n roll perfection.
Spaced out smooth soul. The confessional nature of the material — focusing on the disintegration of Gaye's marriage to Anna Gordy — marks it out as unique, especially within the context of late 70's boogie-tinged soul. I've often felt that parts of this record (especially A Funky Space Reincarnation and Is That Enough) share an affinity with certain records by The Orb, prefiguring that same extra-dimensional sense of gently shimmering psychedelia.
Early hip hop's mad visionary stretches out in this loping sidelong groove, coming on like a hip hop update of Sly Stone's Africa Talks To You/The Asphalt Jungle. Jean-Michel Basquiat's production is crisp and spacious as his diagram on the sleeve, and no other MC had more claim to be dropping science than Rammellzee.
Strange, cutting edge art-pop constructed with heavy use of the Fairlight sampler by this visionary British songstress. Kate is incredibly moving throughout, her voice a controlled fury at the center of these fiercely brilliant songs, wherein she deftly coalesces shards of pure sound into form much like a nebula gradually becomes a star. Choosing highlights is virtually impossible, for as surely as each song differs wildly from the other, they're simultaneously all of a piece, the jigsaw edges of each locking with the others into a seamless fabric of inner space.
Landmark Brazilian double album, brimming with pure majesty and splendor. Grounded in Tropicália and samba, there are also deep currents of acid-psyche and even space rock running through its core. The Clube Da Esquina group achieve such an absorbing widescreen sound here, launching off into hitherto unexplored and expansive realms, that its difficult not to get lost in the very sound of the record. Trust me, you'll want to set aside an afternoon for this one...
Stomping Detroit techno from Kevin Saunderson, a figure who more than any other has had a profound influence on my own musical life. Around this time, there were loads of great records coming out of Detroit, which was enjoying one of its periodic renaissances. For me this was the apex. Velocity Funk is a pounding hardcore banger that seemed to be everywhere at the time (see also Stacey Pullen's remix), but it's World Of Deep on the flip — with that deeply haunting bassline and sheer, rolling waves of psychedelic sound — that really captured my imagination.
Nigerian juju from King Sunny Adé on his own Sunny Alade imprint, with both sides of the record encompassed by these great, effortlessly flowing suites. The steel guitar sound heard here stands among my favorite pure sounds ever, gliding through a polyrhythmic web of backing guitars and percussion as they churn beneath those gently chiming bells. His show at The Belly Up a few years back was a real treat, and remains one of the great concert experiences of my life.
Eighties post-disco stretched out and dubbed to abstraction by Larry Levan. This whole mini-album flows together into one long kaleidoscopic mix, the bedrock rhythms of the peerless Compass Point All Stars (Sly Dunbar, Robbie Shakespeare, Darryl Thompson and Wally Badarou) gently tumbling out into space. Gwen always had such a warm presence that she invested in her music and this is no exception.
Gritty, apocalyptic funk from the man who mentored a young James Brown and anchored the legendary J.B.'s. The horn fanfare on Back From The Dead is one of the great openings of all time to one of the mightiest funk songs ever laid down, and The Way To Get Down on the flip might even be better.
Marvelous roots reggae LP wherein each and every song is immortal, every note perfectly played and Byles' voice outstanding. Lavishly produced by Lee "Scratch" Perry after his falling out with The Wailers (for anyone wanting to investigate reggae music as thoroughly as it deserves, Lloyd Bradley's indispensable Bass Culture tome is essential reading), you can especially hear his fingerprints all over Coming Home. Everything here shot through with a gentle melodic sway so intoxicating that it's sometimes difficult not to simply let the record play out all day. A front to back masterpiece.
Awesome proto-jungle. From his early tenure in 808 State and the Voodoo Ray/Automanikk era to his status as a drum 'n bass innovator, Manchester's Gerald Simpson looms large over British dance music. This album is the culmination of early records on his own Juice Box imprint, with which he essentially forged the idea of jungle out of an interface between his techno past and hardcore present. It's the sound of a restlessly inventive dreamer kicking through the ceiling and into the clouds. To this day, it remains full of possibilities.
Space age jazz from this tireless innovator who managed to maintain his Arkestra through the four decades after big band's golden age until his death. The first side features Ra experimenting with the newly issued Hohner Clavinet, while the second is given over to the sidelong wild free jazz excursion Atlantis, sounding like a field recording of that mythical empire's cataclysmic descent into the sea.
Adam Ant was the first artist I ever got into in a big way, and my enthusiasm never waned: a definite case where I love nearly everything he's done. This is the man at his most raw and unvarnished, plying a sort of angular new wave post punk... with a hefty dose of rock 'n roll thrown in for good measure. His early band, an entirely different proposition than the one that would make it big a year later, is one of the great turn-on-a-dime powerhouse units in rock. The U.S. version includes both sides of the phenomenal Zerox/Whip In My Valise, tracks that blew me away when I first heard them as a 14 year old. I can't tell you how happy I was that his recent show at 4th & B leaned so heavily on this material.
Embryonic post-rock, from a time when it was still a genre yet to exist. These erstwhile new romantics stretch out far beyond the dancefloor into a state of permanent abyss. It's the omnipresent, swelling Hammond organ that elevates this just above Laughing Stock (perhaps the more obvious choice) for me, the impassioned vocals of Mark Hollis doubly poignant in this context. Possessing a gently smoldering intensity, their music is disarmingly spiritual and direct.
Jamie Principle's improbably early house missive, arriving out of the ether fully-formed on his own Persona imprint. Dreamlike and haunting in all three versions, this is a wholly alien music even within the context of its own scene. It's a tragedy that such an obviously massive talent got such a raw deal, often not even getting credit on the sleeves of his own records. If there's one house artist that I wish had the chance to record an album in the eighties, its Jamie Principle.
Fusion — in this case the elements fused being earth and fire — an untold substance then molded into these towering, monumental grooves. He Loved Him Madly is a 32-minute dedication to the late Duke Ellington, ambient jazz picking up where In A Silent Way left off, while Calypso Frelimo and Maiysha establish some spooky fourth world voodoo.
Gothic glam rock, with Brian Eno still in the fold, generating his inimitable atmospherics and pushing the whole affair down some thoroughly surreal avenues. Bryan Ferry still sounds alien on each of these haunting numbers, while the band inhabits an island all their own. The Bogus Man and In Every Dream Home A Heartache are particularly obsessive and dreamlike, while Editions Of You never fails to burn the house down.
Hendrix the futurist in experimental mode as The Experience launch into deep space, touching on everything from hard rock (Voodoo Child (Slight Return)) to space music 1983...(A Merman I Should Turn To Be) and everything in between (including Gypsy Eyes and Crosstown Traffic, both improbably forward-thinking, wild breakbeat stormers) on this blazing, nomadic double-LP.
The Beatles at their most vulnerable and downcast, captured here on the cusp of their transition from infectious power pop to beatnik-inflected folk rock into psychedelia and beyond. The seeds of the groups endlessly fertile mid-period are here. Teeming with youthful passion, this record captures the intensity with which one seems to experience everything as a teenager.
Definitive New Orleans funk. The first LP from this group of loose-limbed legends and one of the great bands of all time. Everything here so disciplined and clean that its hard to believe it was recorded in 1969 (the year of Woodstock, endless jamming, etc. etc. etc.). This is a sparse instrumental funk that rocked like hip hop long before it was ever even sampled, existing in a class all its own.
Molten rock 'n roll. Iggy Pop is as ferocious here as he would ever be, while the band try their hardest to drown him out in this densely tangled sonic jungle. Of course you don't just drown out Iggy Pop, but you can still hear him clearing all those sonic vines out of his way in a panic (Let me in!). The sound this nasty bunch of thugs summon here is elemental.
A singular collection of proto-jungle torch songs produced by Shut Up And Dance. Sounding out of time in part thanks to their visionary, stripped down production, these skittering avant pop numbers are also shot through with a deep sense of the uncanny — which is entirely down to Nicolette. A truly unique songwriter and vocalist, skewed in the best possible sense, her records and guest spots are all defined by their idiosyncratic brilliance. Now Is Early, her debut, is positively steeped in it. An unheralded masterpiece.
Exquisitely poised Germans further mechanize their sound and casually invent electro in the process. Home to some of the warmest synths you will ever hear. For me, this beats The Man-Machine by only the slightest margin, those next-level beats the deciding factor. Possibly the most perfect record ever made with machines.
Visionary soul man's second studio LP, a work of majestic orchestral soul festooned with his sublime guitar work. Astonishingly innovative, full of breathtaking sonic vistas that stretch as far as the eye can see, crawling with the dense stylings of his orchestra and anchored by a backbeat that spells doom. Mayfield is there to guide you through it all, honest and touching as ever.
Folk-rockers expand their sound into hitherto unexplored territory, informed by their deep admiration of both John Coltrane and Ravi Shankar, and wind up inventing acid rock in the process. Here, their straight folk numbers are perfected in the shimmering Wild Mountain Thyme and John Riley, while Eight Miles High (Gene Clark's parting gift to the band) sees them soar to unprecedented heights (further explored in I See You and What's Happening?!?!). Even the tracks that didn't make the cut (Psychodrama City, in particular) are phenomenal.
Epochal trip hop debut from Tricky, wherein he rewrites the rule book, cuts it to pieces and then tapes it back together in an order of his choosing. By way of example, Aftermath's casually brilliant, loping groove (co-produced with Mark Stewart) stitches together bits of rhythm from Marvin Gaye and LL Cool J, samples dialogue from Blade Runner and quotes from both David Sylvian and The Rascals. Tricky's murmur anchors the pervading atmosphere of dread as Martina's ghostly wail haunts every corner of the soundscape. Oh yeah... and Hell Is Around The Corner is my favorite song ever.
Legendary German band at their most aqueous, their telepathic interplay lifting off into the upper atmosphere. Damo Suzuki, with one foot out the door, sounds too hip to be happy as he casually lays down his most soothing set of vocals on a Can record. Moonshake is an irresistibly slinky groove and the band's greatest pop moment, while Bel Air, the sidelong jam that encompasses the entirety of the second side, is so lush and expansive that it seems capable of supporting its own ecosystem.
Sly Stone's dusted masterpiece, sounding like his Woodstock-era recordings left out and faded by the sun. Crawling rhythms from ancient beatboxes spiral off into infinity, every edge of the soundscape blunted and out of focus, as timeworn tapes spool out in blurred slow-motion. The tempos drag, the prevailing mood is downbeat and the sound itself is divine.
Derrick May surfing a wave of pure innovation. The greatest techno record ever made bar none. Simultaneously cerebral and driving, it appeals to the mind and body in equal measure. That it's muted reception at the hands of the critics was partly responsible for the man's untimely retirement is a shame. The Beginning itself might be the undeniable centerpiece, but from the dazzling technoid disco of Drama to the geometric precision of Emanon and Salsa Life's tuff versioning of Strings, every track is sublime.
Number One. My favorite record of all time, no question. Always drawn to Contact, the record's big single, I was blown away when I finally tracked down a copy of the full album — a sonic utopia where pop music meets the rave. This is where Mick Jones' fascination with sampladelia is fully absorbed into his immortal knack for penning a tune, resulting in a true embarrassment of riches. Someday I'll write a book about this record.