#30: Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

I don't get it. I just don't. Whatever made this album sell ten million copies or whatever, I don't hear it. It's pleasant enough, I suppose, but it doesn't sound any different than any other 'literate girl that sings words she actually wrote' record to me. Five Grammys? I must be missing something. Maybe it's because I'm turned off by lyrics about marching to Zion or between-song skits featuring awkward people defining what love is, but I didn't find anything to grab my attention.

But due to the aforementioned record sales and awards, there must be something right for a certain audience here, I'm just not it. In regards to nothing, the album has the longest list of personnel ever, that is until Chinese Democracy comes out and there are forty-something credited guitarists, two dozen producers, etc.

The only way I really kept myself amused was by playing 'spot the sample,' and the main one was Gladys Knight and the Pips' "The Way We Were" on "Ex-Factor," but then I'm ashamed because the only reason I know that is because of the Wu-Tang Clan.

I feel bad about my complete apathy towards this record. This was more how I expected to feel about The Score, but I dig that a lot, and Lauryn's hooks are one of the main reasons. I just know when the track that stands out most on the record features goddamn John Legend ("Everything is Everything"), I'm headed in the wrong direction. Whatever makes this work doesn't work for me. This is probably the most indifferent I've felt towards a record in a long time, and that bugs me. If I had to crank out a real review of this now, I'd sweat.

Sorry, Lauryn. It's just stretched-out, pleasant, but not engaging. In a meme, tl;dr

Lauryn Hill - Everything Is Everything

#29: Air - Moon Safari

For as much as I love Talkie Walkie, Air's third record, I inexplicably expected to hate Moon Safari, their debut. Just based on reviews I'd read, everyone seemed to have their undies in a bunch over Moon Safari while rating Talkie Walkie as a somewhat lesser record. Having started listening to Air in reverse order, I was coming at it from a slightly skewed angle. I had a hard time imagining how anything could live up to "Venus," which I consider something a pinnacle of pop songwriting. I shouldn't have been concerned.

It's not going out on any limbs to say I enjoyed an album that's often considered a modern classic, but based on how much I was planning on being lukewarm on it, I was pleasantly surprised when opener "La Femme d'Argent" started and immediately sounded like Steely Dan's "Do It Again." Hey, I like Steely Dan. This could work. And it did. It stretches to seven minutes, but is so gentle and easygoing that it's impossible to get bored with it, and there's always something being added or mutating.

One thing I found interesting was the amount of instrumentals. Perhaps it just sounds like more than on Talkie Walkie because the tracks with vocals on Talkie Walkie stand out so much to me, so it seems like there's more of them, but there really does feel like there's a bigger reliance on instrumentation here. That's one of the reasons I've avoided Pocket Symphony, because I get nervous about guest vocalists, even though as I look at it now, there's only two on there. I have bizarre and irrational fears.

One of the tracks with vocals, the unfortunately-named "Kelly Watch the Stars," features piano work unlike anything I'd heard from the band so far, and immediately made the song transcend its title. "Talisman" is perhaps the best instrumental on here, and by the time "You Make It Easy" came along, I was convinced that this was, indeed, good. So today's a big day. Putting to rest nonsensical worries about a band I only really like in a casual capacity somehow seems like a minor victory, though, so with that out of the way, it's time to listen to it again and go to bed.

Oh, but "Sexy Boy" is still kind of annoying. Sorry.

"Kelly Watch the Stars"



"Talisman" live

#28: John Frusciante - Smile From the Streets You Hold

As the legend mixed with some truth goes, Smile From the Streets You Hold was made by John Frusciante for the sole purpose of scoring drug money. Then once he cleaned up and rejoined the Red Hot Chili Peppers, he had the album pulled, and it became somewhat rare. His first solo record, Niandra Lades and Usually Just a T-Shirt, was eventually reissued on American, but this, his second record, has been in short supply for nearly a decade.

It's hard to explain the appeal of early John Frusciante, and it's probable that most people will just see it as a morbid fascination with what basically amounts to suicide on a record. The first two records were made on four-track recorders in John's house, with little or no overdubbing, and only a smattering of tape-speed manipulation to create anything other than the sounds of a man pounding on his guitar and screeching through rotting teeth. For the classic chronicle of this time in John's life, this profile by Robert Wilonsky is essential reading. I interviewed John a number of years later, and it was hard to believe it was the same guy, even if he was still talking about opening portals to the spirit world - oh yeah, this is the record where he first claimed that he was given these songs by spirits. Yeah.

John's later material was much more pop sensible, with standard rock song structures, catchy hooks and much slicker presentation. But these early records take dedication. For every song that sounds like something Fortunato would be howling from his tomb, there's a quick burst or two of melodicism on "A Fall Thru the Ground" or the slow, melodic intro to "I May Again Know John," which comes across as so soulful and together that it's like a glimpse into what it must be like when a junkie tells someone, "No, I'm fine, really," and you believe it for a minute, although the abscesses tell you otherwise.

As far as actual songs go, I find this record - usually considered the weaker of his first two albums - to be more substantial and enjoyable. There was an abundance of half-ideas and meandering instrumentals on Niandra Lades that stretched it well past its welcome, but here, there's some melody, some songs you can almost sing along to, and a spiffy cameo from River Phoenix on "Height Down," contributing some soft vocals that make a nice counterpoint to Frusciante's wounded cries.

So while yes, I do find a certain sort of fascinating appeal in the damaged, downward spiral aspect of his career at this point, there's still something inherently charming about the early records that has nothing to do with thinking about the drugs and the state of his life at that point. Regardless of whether this was made for a quick buck to get a quick fix, there's something special here, and it's fortunate that he decided to pull the needle out of his arm, because I love just about everything he's done since. His solo work is one of the most underrated bodies of singer/songwriter material in the last decade, I firmly believe that.

"Stuff" - a movie made by Johnny Depp and Gibby Hanyes, featuring a few of John's songs from this era and showing his living conditions.



"Life's a Bath"

#27: Nazareth - Hair of the Dog

Oh lord am I bummed that I didn't make it to the beer store in time before I put on this record, because along with Motorhead and ZZ Top and whatever hairy chest music I can think of at the time, this is a drinking record. So of course, it opens with the title track, a song about getting drunk to get rid of a hangover. They certainly knew the finer points of matching sound with content.

I picked this up because I'd been working on a piece about Appetite for Destruction, and the guys in GNR constantly mentioned Hair of the Dog as an influence both on the production and songwriting for Appetite. They even brought Nazareth guitarist Manny Charlton out to L.A. to potentially use him as their producer, but it didn't work out. All that remains is the stripped, live-sounding mix and Steven Adler's cowbell on "Nightrain." That, and a cover of the title track on the oh-so-glorious "The Spaghetti Incident?"

So before buying the record, I was pretty sure I didn't know any Nazareth songs, but of course, I definitely knew the title track (the "now you're messin' with a son of a bitch" refrain is a favorite bit of babble when watching rednecks from afar in a bar) and "Love Hurts," which might have been a cool song in 1975, but has now been used ironically in so many 'it all falls apart' scenes in shitty movies that, much like "Dust in the Wind," it can't be enjoyed at face value anymore. Alas.

It seemed like things were winding down by the end, but the real big bastard of them all is the near ten-minute closer, "Please Don't Judas Me." It's a borderline ballad that manages to be oddly chilling, obviously setting the stage for even more unnerving latter-day incarnations, such as Pantera's "Suicide Note, Pt. 1" and Slipknot's "Vermillion, Pt. 2." The influence is especially obvious in the former track, as Charlton's screeching guitar over the slow tempo would be basically mimicked by Dimebag to great effect twenty-one years later.

For as much as history scoffs at the Seventies as being lot of bloated Emerson, Lake and Palmer and Yes bullshit, there's some pretty damn solid straightforward rock from this era. I'm not sure what I was expecting with Hair of the Dog, but I dig it. Hell, if AC/DC - a band I've never fully come around on - used more of the loose, drunken swagger found on Nazareth's "Beggar's Day," I'd probably be more of an AC/DC fan. How early do the beer stores open again?

"Hair of the Dog" live in Houston. All the other videos I found were thirty years after the fact and were too depressing to post.

#26: Dusty Springfield - Dusty in Memphis

Wow, I'm out of my element here. This is pretty bizarre for me. I don't think I own anything in the ballpark of Dusty in Memphis, and I don't have anything to compare it to other than her male soul counterparts, like Marvin Gaye and Isaac Hayes.

In general, I find I'm biased against female vocalists. Sad, perhaps, but that's really the way it is - especially with rock music. I think the only album I love that I count as a 'rock' record and features a female vocalist is the first Elastica record. That's not to say I don't love Tori Amos' Boys for Pele or Massive Attack's "Teardrop," I just have a harder time getting attuned to female vocals.

So perhaps it's a good sign that the first track on Dusty in Memphis, "Just a Little Lovin'," reminds me a bit of the style of vocal that would either be sampled or revisited for a Massive Attack or Portishead record. This record is a pretty clear indication of what those band were going for when recruiting female vocalists for specific tracks. All of the slower tracks here, like "The Windmills of Your Mind," are just demanding the Bristol sound underneath them for a fascinating reinvention - but that time is not yet at hand.

So far, what really intrigues me about this record is the instrumentation. They don't make producer/engineer combos like this anymore - Arif Martin, Tom Dowd and Jerry Wexler. Good lord. I don't care if you have Dr. Dre, Timbaland, Rick Rubin, Pharrell and Scott Storch all working on one supertrack - besides Phil Spector and George Martin, there are no higher names than the list on this record. I love me some Jerry Wexler, in particular - that guy is old and nuts and awesome. He'll throw out phrases like "that'll put some grease in your grits" and other fantastic witticisms along those lines. Just for that alone, I feel compelled to get into this record. Sadly, he doesn't have long left in this world, it seems.

When I worked at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, my boss wrote an entire book about Dusty in Memphis. It was the first book of the popular 33 1/3 series. I read it the following year, mostly to try to get a line on this guy I had worked with and become mildly fascinated with, without caring much about his discussion of the record. But now I think it's finally time to give him a call to talk about some things. Maybe he'll steer me in the direction to unlock what's considered so tremendous about this record, because this far, it's so incredibly foreign - but appealing - to my ear, and I'm dying for a way in.

Help me, Warren Zanes. You're my only hope.

A medley of a bunch of stuff

#25: N.W.A. - Straight Outta Compton

"Life ain't nothin' but bitches and money." I mean, that's it, basically. If that sentence doesn't inspire head-nodding (with the tempo, not agreement) or a smile, then I guess you're Trent Lott. The pinnacle of Straight Outta Compton is clearly the opening one-two punch of the title track and "Fuck tha Police," both of which shine their brightest during Ice Cube's verses, which are the most often-quoted and show him to be obviously the group's most capable rapper at that point. It sounds like Dr. Dre was still working past his World Class Wreckin' Cru era vocally, and he wouldn't hit his own flow as an MC until The Chronic four years later.

It's interesting to check out the list of samples here. There's the multiple and mandatory use of "Funky Drummer" and a visit from the Mighty Mouse theme, but there's also a handful of then-contemporary snippets, such as bits from the Beastie Boys and Public Enemy.

Beyond all the 'blah blah blueprint for gangsta rap blah blah' (although some give that honor to Scarface's Mr. Scarface Is Back), Straight Outta Compton is just a great album, regardless of considering its historical significance. Some people I know respect Run-DMC for their influence and as pioneers of rap, but find their records dated and corny. I don't, but it's even more impossible to hear Straight Outta Compton as dated. It sounds more fresh than lots of the computer-generated shit out there now, and aside from a very small handful of producers that would come along later, no one has really caught up to Dr. Dre for creating a fascinating sonic bed for such cheery expressions of misogyny and cop-killin'.

"Straight Outta Compton"



Ice Cube performing his verse from "Fuck tha Police" live in 1998. This tour was with Korn, Rammstein, Orgy and pre-fame Limp Bizkit, so check out the crackers going nuts about injustice in South Central.

#24: Nile - Ithyphallic

As exciting as the prospect of buying a new Nile record was, the thrill was a bit dimmed by my impossible expectations. The first time I listened to Nile's last record, Annihilation of the Wicked, stands as one of the very few moments involving literal jaw-dropping that I've had with music in the last several years. When the hyperspeed riffing and borderline vulgar drumming of "Cast Down the Heretic" came on, I felt like I'd just done all the coke that appears on-screen in both Scarface and Blow while skydiving into a shark feeding frenzy, armed with an ice pick and my remaining wits.

But two years and a record label later, there's something missing here. Oh yeah: songs. Even after the first spin of Annihilation of the Wicked, I already was singling out multiple favorite tracks and starting to pick up some of the riffs. While having instantly recognizable songs obviously isn't a requirement for making great music, it certainly helps, especially in extreme metal, where so much of it sounds like kittens in a woodchipper, anyways. But here, it's all rocks in a blender without the gritty aftertaste.

The one song that did stand out was "The Essential Salts," which is a little curious, because it's one of the few songs on the record that Karl Sanders, the brain behind Nile, didn't have a hand in writing. It has a bit of the explosive sound of "Lashed to the Slave Stick," one of my favorite Nile tracks, and throws in plenty of melodic guitar flailings for good measure. "Papyrus Containing the Spell to Preserve Its Possessor Against Attacks From He Who is in the Water" (yes, I copy/pasted) serves well enough as this album's Headbanger's Ball fodder, but it's not quite as interesting as "Sacrifice Unto Sebek," which was simultaneously Annihilation's single and weak point.

There really seems to be something missing in the songwriting on Ithyphallic. Musically, the performances are spot-on and as swift as ever (although the vocals feel slightly tamer this time around), but the gripping passages of building tension and batshit insane time signature changes don't stack up like they used to. Either I'm underwhelmed because I'm more familiar with the genre now and have different expectations besides pure bludgeoning, or possibly Ithyphallic is just a lesser successor to one of my favorite metal records of the last few years.

There haven't been any videos released yet (the album came out last week), but "Papyrus" and "Cast Down the Heretic," among others, are available for streaming at the band's MySpace page.

For fun, here's a drum spec video of a live performance of "Cast Down the Heretic."

#23: Elton John - Honky Château

Honky Château opens with pretty standard Elton John fare, and to the average ear, it starts to come across as just more of the same. But once things get going, it actually becomes one of his most interesting records.

That's not to say that the more traditional material isn't great - songs like "Mellow" and "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" manage to be some of his best songs while operating within his normal framework - but the most rewarding material comes when he stretches himself a bit.

"Slave," in particular, is a standout. With its reliance on acoustic guitars and banjo - and the complete absence of piano - it comes across as a great lost Band track. Album closer "Hercules" - which Elton had taken as his new middle name only months before - also features a slide guitar solo and some of his finer heavy, low-register piano work.

Of course, there's "Rocket Man," but there really isn't a ton to say about it. I remember it from when I was five and hearing my dad play it on acoustic guitar and wondering what in the hell the lyrics meant, and they still don't really make any sense. It was absurd enough before Shatner got involved.

There's also the bouncy jaunt through "I Think I'm Going to Kill Myself," which competes for one of the most bizarre pairings of tone and lyrics in popular music. The phrase "I think I'm gonna kill myself/Cause a little suicide" is pretty odd. I've never heard anyone say they're going to go around and cause a little murder, but maybe I just don't have the right friends. It's also funny to hear, at the end of the song, that the only way to get away from a dose of shotgun mouthwash is if Brigitte Bardot comes to see him nightly. Perhaps it's only giggle-worthy with 35 years of hindsight.

Overall, my knowledge of Elton's catalog remains slim at best, but I'm working on it. For a guy who put out so many records - 4 releases in 1971 alone - I've found his work a bit daunting to approach, but I think I've finally broken the seal. Huzzah.

"Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters"



"I Think I'm Going to Kill Myself"

#22: Danzig - Danzig

It's taken me far, far too long to even find a copy of the first Danzig record in stores. Seriously, for an album this renowned, you'd think it'd be more accessible. But this is the first time I've ever seen a copy - new or used - in a store. And I've been looking.

For as much of the tone as Glenn Danzig drags over from the Misfits, it's still pretty easy to describe the band Danzig as the Doors by way of Satan. Good times. Inexplicably, the All Music Guide tried to give every single song on this record a different title when I put it in my computer. But once I got the real song titles straight, songs like "Twist of Cain" and "She Rides" and the absolute classic "Mother" rocked as hard and as sleazy as one could possibly hope for.

It's fun to hear how songs like "End of Time" drew from Mercyful Fate's "Melissa" and how "The Hunter" was the obvious predecessor for Priestess' great track "Talk to Her." There's a good bit of grabbing from the past and giving to the future here, and that's what makes a great rock record in my eyes. The guitars are balls-out and the drumming is as solid a backbone as a band could need. It may not be the screeching punk of the Misfits, but as far as straightforward rock goes, Danzig knocks it out of the park with its 1988 debut.

All I need is a little Samhain and I'll have all of the Glenn Danzig bands covered. Maybe I'll make that happen. I guess we'll see what's available. But I have tomorrow's record already, and I can guarantee it's not horror-punk.

"Am I Demon"



"Twist of Cain"



And of course, "Mother"

#20 & #21: Sly and the Family Stone - Dance to the Music and Life

I took yesterday off, so here's a double dose. After reading this piece in Vanity Fair a few weeks back, I decided to push further into the Sly and the Family Stone catalog. Luckily for me, some chump had traded in his mint-condition copies of Dance to the Music and Life, the band's two 1968 releases, and the ones that broke them into mainstream consciousness. Fun fact: the Stewart family (the real last name of Sly and his siblings) was originally from Denton, Texas.

Dance to the Music is the record the band made after Clive Davis, then the head of Columbia Records, said he wanted some hits - the same struggle Kelly Clarkson would have with him thirty-nine years later. And with the album's title track, a hit he got.

Along with James Brown, there's no better inspiration for bands like Parliament than Sly and the Family Stone, especially the band's early material. Bassist Larry Graham is commonly recognized as the inventor of slap-bass, paving the way for the likes of Bootsy Collins and Flea down the road.

Along with all the dancing and upbeat, 'be yourself' vibe of the record, there's some real heart in there, especially on the blunt, gospel-driven "I Ain't Got Nobody (For Real)." After a while, there's only so much of the 'everybody get along and have a good time' theme that can really resonate, so it's a welcome change to hear something a bit more emotionally raw.

For as much as this album is credited as being a predecessor to the band's glory years, I think this is just as good as anything else the band released. It doesn't sound like a band struggling to find a sound or create its own universe - the universe is already there, and they're in full control of it. This is probably my favorite Sly and the Family Stone record I've heard at this point.

Life came out only a few months after Dance to the Music, and wasn't as big of a hit. The album was solid from start to finish, but there was no defining or outstanding single that let the record break out. Regardless, Life is commonly regarded as the record that established the band's persona, musically and visually, and as the cornerstone of funk.

Maybe it's because I listened to this back-to-back with Dance to the Music (after having listened to Stand! earlier in the day) and I got a bit burned out, but Life didn't connect with me as well as the other two. There's something of a stripped-down approach on its predecessor that appealed to me, and on Life, it feels more like the band is throwing everything it can find into its proto-psychedelic funk pastiche and leaving it all in.

What stands out the most is what the band borrowed or who borrowed from it later - "Plastic Jim" nicks the vocal melody and some of the lyrical structure from "Eleanor Rigby," and Fatboy Slim would later use the opening seconds of "Into My Own Thing" for "Weapon of Choice."

It's certainly a stunningly creative record, and it's likely that my slightly lesser opinion of it is due to my late evening funk OD, but my opinion so far on Dance to the Music and Life seems to be the reverse of the standard critically-accepted version of where these albums fall in the band's oeuvre. I definitely enjoy both and I'm glad I bought them, but I think I need some cracker-ass white boy music next to even me out.

"Dance to the Music"



"Life"

#19: Digital Underground - Sex Packets

In my experience with hip-hop, save for Run-DMC and early Nas, you're going to get a shitload of tracks on your albums. Nearing twenty tracks per record seems like some sort of perverse goal, but oddly, it seemed to work in the early days. But, in accordance with the nature of creating pop songs and to avoid redundancy, none of the tracks dragged on for too long. But then came Sex Packets.

Released in 1990, Sex Packets was the Digital Underground's first album, and despite the group's notoriety for being Tupac's first home, he was only a dancer at this point, and doesn't actually appear on a track until the subsequent EP, 1991's This is an EP Release. Anyhow, Sex Packets has a bunch of tracks. And for rap songs, they're all long as hell. There's a handful of seven and eight-minute manifestos, the likes of which hadn't been heard since songs like "The Breaks" or "Rapper's Delight." By the time I finished the third track on Sex Packets, I would have been eight tracks deep into a Dizzee Rascal album.

Length aside, everything is pretty solid, and the song structures don't tend to allow for much meandering. Lyrics like "I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom" make "The Humpty Dance" one of the more out-there songs for Weird Al to ever include in one of his medleys, though I guess he did throw "Closer" into one. Yeah, I listened to Weird Al when I was 10. Do something.

For my taste, the seven-minute title track is the album's most interesting song, utilizing a much slower tempo and not much rapping - more like strained singing - and the tone is enough to make it stand out. Ignoring the lyrics, the song actually sounds genuinely sweet, which is a rather different attitude from the rest of the record.

On the whole, Sex Packets is an absolute beast to absorb all at once. I might as well try to memorize Life After Death or Sandinista in an evening. It's hard to see how this will be an album I'll ever really want to put on from start to finish, but the individual songs will definitely be welcomed when they come up on shuffle. But being as unfamiliar with the tracks as I am, my first spin through Sex Packets was really more like homework than a party-starter. I'll give it time.

"The Humpty Dance"

#18: Soundgarden - Louder Than Love

Soundgarden is maybe the only band ever where I'm convinced that a bass player made all the difference. I suppose I did like post-Paul D'Amour Tool best, but that band doesn't cross my brain much these days. However, I'm pretty convinced that Soundgarden was two different bands with original bassist Hiro Yamamoto and his replacement, Ben Shepherd.

When I went through my original Soundgarden phase my senior year of high school, I stuck to the post-Badmotorfinger era Soundgarden. I'd grown up with songs like "Outshined," "Fell on Black Days" and "Burden in My Hand," so I stayed along those lines. Eventually, I got around to checking out the band's pre-success material, and I remember thinking then, "Hmm, this is why they were never big until later."

Six years later, I still think I'm right. The songs on Louder Than Love, the band's 1989 A&M Records debut, mostly grind by in the style of the lesser Superunknown tracks, while only Chris Cornell seems to have a grasp of what would later become his howling, belt-it-out style. Louder Than Love was the only true LP that Soundgarden would release until Badmotorfinger came along, and even though I've still never been a huge fan of that record, the differences are many. Whereas Badmotorfinger has a few steamrolling songs and a few of the band's most memorable riffs, Louder Than Love is much more of a 'what the hell are we going to do with this rock stuff' kind of record. At fifty-three minutes, it's way too long for a band at this stage of its career, and there really isn't much that indicates the levels of greatness the band would later attain.

For me, as soon as Shepherd came on board to replace Yamamoto, the band really reached its potential. The songs Shepherd wrote, especially Superunknown standout "Head Down" and Down on the Upside's "An Unkind," remain two of my favorite Soundgarden tracks. That's not to say Chris Cornell isn't a tremendously talented songwriter - the dude plays chords I've never even heard of, and could never possibly replicate. When I interviewed him, he said he didn't even know where those chords came from, and I wanted to kick him in the face. Too bad his new solo record blows. Euphoria Morning is about as good as it gets for me, really.

As a document of the band's early history, Louder Than Love serves its purpose, even if it doesn't stand as a solid record in its own right. There's a chance I could get into some of the more droning tunes at some point, particularly the closer "Full On (Reprise)," but I'll likely stick to my post-1991 Soundgarden records. It's cool to hear where one of the more important bands of my youth came from, but Louder Than Love makes it clear that they only broke when they were finally ready. I guess I'm in the minority that thinks that in this case, shorter hair doth a better band make.

"Full On Kevin's Mom" live. Enjoy the eternally varying quality of Chris Cornell's voice live. I'm always terrified to see the guy, because he either absolutely slays or absolutely sucks live.



"Hands All Over" from the same show.

#17: Credence Clearwater Revival - Cosmo's Factory

For as much as CCR is known for succinct songs and its gritty, tightly-knit swamp rock sound, there are some damn long songs on Cosmo's Factory. The record opens with a seven-minute original, "Ramble Tamble," and the penultimate track is their eleven-minute run through "I Heard it Through the Grapevine."

Cosmo's Factory was the band's fifth record, and contained the most singles - six in total, and none of which peaked below number four in America. That's quite the statistic. Oddly, despite this album's success, and although I enjoy it, I still have to cede my favor to Willy and the Poor Boys, which, to me, keeps a bit more of the band's trademark swamp stomp intact.

Oddly, I'm somehow attracted to a song with a name as wretched as "Ooby Dooby," and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But besides the obvious gems of "Lookin' Out My Back Door" and "Up Around the Bend," my favorite non-original tracks is the band's blazing version of Bo Diddley's "Before You Accuse Me." They manage to keep Bo's abrasive guitar playing intact, while adding the appropriate Louisiana touches (which probably wasn't all that hard, seeing as Diddley is from Mississippi - and yes, I know they weren't actually from Louisiana).

Sometimes I wonder if bands like CCR and The Band are the most classic rock bands ever. The whole Southern/mountain/bayou vibe manages to create an attitude that, to me, has defined rock and roll since I was a kid. I knew probably a dozen CCR songs by the time I was twelve, and I have vivid memories of driving around singing "The Weight" when I was about the same age. I go back further with the Beatles and Pink Floyd, but there's something so gloriously traditional and primal about bands with more of a boogie in their step.

I watched The Last Waltz a couple of times over the last few days, and I'm reading the Neil Young bio Shakey, so roots/country rock has been on the brain lately. Even though I haven't taken the chance to listen to him, I hear Ryan Adams is the only credible guy in country rock these days. I wonder if a band in the vein of The Band or CCR came along next month if they'd be seen as imitators or if they'd be given a fair shot. It'd be interesting to see what would have to happen for a band to pull of a sound like this these days and meet with similar success or critical acclaim. Is it a tapped genre? I really can't decide if it needs to be left alone or if there's more to explore.

"Travelin' Band" live. This is borderline punk rock.

#16: Carcass - Heartwork

Due to the amount of grief latter-day Carcass gets from the tr00 metal dicks, I was pretty prepared for something drastically different on Heartwork than the earlier sludge-and-gargle symphonies like Reek of Putrefaction, which is the only Carcass record I owned up until now.

When I first bought Putrefaction, I thought either my speakers were busted or the record was misprinted. But it turned out that, no, it was just the most poorly-produced record ever made until Transilvanian Hunger came along. Over time, I grew to appreciate the never-quite-graspable, yet somehow inviting sound of that record, and I don't own anything else quite like it.

So when the polished production and half-time tempos of Heartwork came on, even though I had read quite a bit about the record, it was still a big change. Right now, as I'm listening to "This Mortal Coil," there's a guitar solo that wouldn't be out of place on a Megadeth record. Not that any of this is particularly bothersome - the songwriting is clearly better, and there's no 'everything but the kitchen sink' mentality - but I kind of miss the panic and the vomit.

But the band's prior albums aside, it's easy to hear why this is hailed as a landmark metal record. The riffs are there, the songs are tightly constructed, and the tones on the guitars is perfectly gritty but not as off-putting to the casual metal fan. There's still not much to grab hold of in terms of verses and choruses, and the songs hang around for around four minutes each, as opposed to the two-minute bursts of the band's earlier work. I suppose Swansong is when the shit really hit the fan about people giving the band a hard time, but Heartwork really bridges the gap between the more straightforward goregrind of the first few records and the advanced melodicism they'd later adopt.

My only gripe is that there are no track titles as awesome as "Microwaved Uterogestation" and "Vomited Anal Tract."

"No Love Lost"



"Heartwork"

#15: Cat Stevens - Mona Bone Jakon

Mona Bone Jakon is Cat Stevens' third record, made after his struggle with tuberculosis in his early twenties. It is probably best known at this point as being the immediate predecessor to the tremendously successful Tea for the Tillerman, an album I've had memorized for about ten years now.

Oddly, even as much as I loved that record, I never bothered to look into his other material. After watching his set at Live Earth last weekend (I swear he forgot some of the lyrics to "Where Do the Children Play," but no one has mentioned this), I finally found a copy of Mona Bone Jakon today. When I came home from the store, there was an old Cat Stevens concert on VH1 Classic, so I felt good about it.

A trio of these songs - "I Think I See the Light," "I Wish, I Wish" and "Trouble" - are best known for their inclusion in Harold and Maude, which, after listening to this record, I badly want to watch again.

As a whole, the record, expectedly, isn't as strong as Tea for the Tillerman, but it's very obviously pointing in the direction he was starting on. Songs like "Fill My Eyes" and "Maybe You're Right" rank up there with his best material, and other than the quirky "Pop Star" (like a more folksy "So You Want to be a Rock 'N' Roll Star"), which doesn't really do much, all the songs here are in the classic Cat Stevens style.

One thing that strikes me is how underrated the instrumentation is on Cat Stevens' records. Most attention goes to his vocals and lyrics, but his guitar work (along with second guitarist Alun Davies) is consistently strong, and his piano playing is remarkably expressive. Even Peter Gabriel gets in on the action here, contributing flute parts. But there's something about his finger-picking and the intricacy of the arrangements that I've always found pretty classic.

While Mona Bone Jakon is typically viewed as a stepping stone more than as a creation in its own right, there's lots of budding greatness on this record. I'm not sure why I can love Cat Stevens and hate James Taylor, but apparently I'm capable. And unfortunately, only one of those two is in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

"Maybe You're Right"



"Fill My Eyes" (couldn't embed this one)

#14: Misfits - Walk Among Us

I listened to Walk Among Us twice on a barely forty-minute drive this afternoon, and I haven't had this much fun with such a mean, dirty record since I bought Melissa. "All Hell Breaks Loose" is about as catchy as a song that's 1:47 can be, and the thrashing of "Vampira" came and went in the time it took me to change lanes. That's some goddamn hyperspeed punk for you.

The most fist-pumping track was the insanely fast live cut of "Mommy Can I Go Out & Kill Tonight," and the way the live recording was engineered makes the instruments whirl about in a furious sludge - incoherent, but excellent.

Especially after re-watching the video for Danzig's "Mother" on VH1 Classic this morning and thinking of him in his Jim Morrison days, it's refreshing to hear Glenn spew his monster movie lyrics at machine gun speed. It's about as much fun as music in this style can be, and it's too bad that the original lineup of the band splintered in 1983, only a year and a half after Walk Among Us was released.

"All Hell Breaks Loose" live



"Mommy Can I Go Out & Kill Tonight" live

#13: Ghostface Killah - Ironman

I'm only one pass through Ghostface Killah's 1996 solo debut, Ironman, but I think that it may be, upon first listen, my favorite Wu-Tang solo record so far. Then again, all I have to compare it to is Liquid Swords and the first ODB record, and I really enjoy both, but this may be the most immediately enjoyable after a single spin.

Without a doubt, the most startling track was "Wildflower," a rant against a female that probably served as a much more R-rated predecessor of Eminem's more extreme "Kim." "Wildflower" is pure scorn, but Eminem took his to violent extremes, and the virtues of restraint versus full emotional expression could be endlessly debated.

So far, I don't find the album as cohesive or as interesting, beat-wise, as the RZA's other productions I'm familiar with, but oddly, I find it to be one of the most compelling. There's not an abundance of typical Wu-Tang samurai samples, but the delivery and lyricism of Ironman is just as good as anything I've heard from the collective so far. Maybe before long I'll be able to tell who's who on Enter the Wu-Tang, but for now I'm content to get more familiar with the guy who belted out the opening lines to "Bring Da Ruckus."

"Daytona 500"

#12: Booker T. & the M.G.s - Green Onions

The song "Green Onions" is perhaps the scourge of baseball fans across the country, but for as much as that damn keyboard line has infected stadiums over the last 45 years, there's a lot more going on with this record.

The most recognizable songs are obviously the title track and the two most obvious covers, "Twist and Shout" and "I Got a Woman," the latter if which was so sped up and altered that I barely recognized it.

Apart from "Green Onions," the lineup of organist Booker T. Jones, guitarist Steve Cropper, bassist Lewis Steinberg, and drummer Al Jackson, Jr. is most famous for being the house band for Stax Records, playing on records by the likes of the Staples Singers, Sam & Dave, Wilson Pickett, and Otis Redding.
But while that's a full slate of Sixties legends, the sound the band put out could easily pass for a slightly funked-up version of the musical beds used by groups like the Drifters. And as an instrumental band, it's easy to hope for a soaring Ben E. King vocal to come in on something like "Behave Yourself."

For as much attention gets paid to the high-speed instrumental workouts, I found the most compelling tracks on the record to be the slower jams, songs like "Stranger on the Shore" and "Lonely Avenue," which tone down on the in-your-face virtuosity and focus on subtlety and feel. It's surprising an instrumental band can be so expressive, but I guess that's more of a bias from sticking primarily to vocal music for most of my life.

So while I plan on skipping the song "Green Onions" every time it comes up on shuffle, there's a lot of life and skill on this record that's worth getting a grasp on.

"Green Onions"



Otis Redding performing "Shake" at the Monterey Pop Festival with the M.G.s as his backing band

#11: Prince - Dirty Mind

As a guy who only really knows Purple Rain, Dirty Mind, Prince's third record, was a bit startling. Instead of richly-instrumented tracks with a little bit of air here and there, these tracks are all surprisingly minimalist, although not necessarily sparse.

Especially interesting is how little guitar makes an impression. For a guy who can play guitar pretty much as well as anyone, it's curious to hear him focusing on the percussive elements and featuring keyboards as much as anything else. Of course, none of this is to say that it's bad or of lesser quality, but it's a new sound to me.

I don't own any Manowar albums yet, so I think this is the only album I own featuring a guy in bikini briefs on the cover. Opener "Dirty Mind" features lyrics that would be a harbinger of "Take Me With U," and "When You Were Mine" is very new wave - it could easily be the backing track for a Cars song. For the most part, the vocals are more precise and he doesn't emote all over the place, so nothing nearly as furious as "The Beautiful Ones," my favorite Prince track so far, comes across here.

This is one of the records where Prince played just about everything on his own, which is particularly interesting on a track like "Do It All Night," which, unlike the rest of the record, had pretty elaborate instrumentation going on. If I could play any one instrument this well, I'd be set.

At this point, I only own three Prince records: Dirty Mind, Purple Rain, and 1999, the latter of which I bought a month ago and still haven't listened to. For some reason, I see Prince as a bit of an impenetrable wall, so I get nervous about diving into one of his records. I'm a wuss. I also found out that the CD version of 1999 leaves off a track, which bums me out a little, but I'll get around to it before long. But for now, after a pair of listens, Dirty Mind has shown me that I shouldn't harbor so much trepidation about exploring Prince records that are thus far unfamiliar.

"Dirty Mind" - I keep waiting for the keyboard intro to segue into "Tragedy" by the Bee Gees. That song rules.




This has nothing to do with this record, but it's Prince playing guitar better than just about everyone ever. When I used to work at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, this footage was on a looped tape in one section of the museum, and on my break, I'd stand and watch the video play until it got to this part. Goddamn incredible. This made me want to buy a Telecaster.

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

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#10: New York Dolls - New York Dolls

For a while, ever since my first read through Please Kill Me, I've heard how the New York Dolls totally created punk rock and blew the lid off of a stagnant glam scene.

But really, it was 1973 - what had happened by then? The goddamn Stooges, that's what. So while I don't exactly buy the theory of the New York Dolls as the foremost progenitors of the style, their debut clearly shows their influence. I like to think of it as the bridge between the gap created by the Stooges and Richard Hell and the Voidoids and Television, which subsequently birthed the Ramones.

There's a pretty good hint of Richard Hell's drawling, half-serious vocals here, and there's a hearty dose of Asheton-esque guitar. For a long time, I assumed I'd hate the Dolls based on the spoken word intro to "Looking for a Kiss," which is about as awkward as it gets for me. But "Personality Crisis" and "Vietnamese Baby" convinced me that this was something that was really worth a shit and not some overhyped relic of a dead era.

While the tracks clearly aren't as immediate as anything the Ramones did, as abrasive as anything the Stooges did, or as lyrically subversive as anything Richard Hell put together, there's still a shitload of fun to be had on this record. "Trash" is a big batch of sleazy fun, complete with excellent time changes and impressive lead guitar, and I'm already incredibly impressed based on what I expected. This will definitely get a lot more listens when I sober up.

"Personality Crisis"

#9: Tears for Fears - The Hurting

I really don't yet know what to make of The Hurting. For years, I've been wanting to buy the first few Tears for Fears albums, with visions of forty-five minutes of songs with the strength and energy of "Head Over Heels" playing throughout. But a few songs in, I felt like I was listening to the latter half of an unfamiliar Depeche Mode record - which definitely isn't a bad thing, but pretty different.

Perhaps I should have stuck to the obvious expectations created by a record called The Hurting and with a cover as bleak as this one, but based on the singles I was familiar with, I was expecting bouncy pop with gloomy undertones. "Mad World," the one song I already know, delivered in that regard, but the rest was far more sparse and non-hook-oriented that I had imagined.

Out of the songs I didn't know, I really liked "Pale Shelter," which on the first listen, sounded more like seven minutes than four and a half. It's almost tempting to dismiss the second half of the record as aimless gloom, but I really get the feeling that there's a lot to get into with this one. If I wasn't so damn busy this week, this and Berlin and I Against I would be getting a lot more listens. But alas, the exploits of Sunset Strip rockers are taking priority over my listening schedule, so I must acquiesce.

The first four songs on this record really seem to take forever. I suppose it's not for the attention span-lacking or the mildly intoxicated. Schlitz + Tears for Fears = not a match. Duly noted. But even as things swirl, it's clear that this could be a record that I end up falling in love with as much as Music For the Masses, although it will take more than a few spins. Orzabal and Smith, I swear I'll get this, and only fourteen years too late.

Actually, on second listen, album closer "Start of the Breakdown" is starting to make me think that this will ultimately be pretty amazing. I'm excited to listen to this more now.

On a random side note, I went to Dealey Plaza for a while today, and sat on Abraham Zapruder's perch and listened to The Byrds' "He Was a Friend of Mine" and Lou Reed's "The Day John Kennedy Died." It's perhaps the corniest thing I've done besides listening to "53rd & 3rd" at the intersection and standing outside CBGB's for the duration of the whole first Ramones record (not that it's really that long), but it was oddly affecting.

To break that little pod of sappiness, I just now realized that I was inadvertently listening to the Dead Kennedys as I was walking to the plaza. Everything evens out.

"Mad World"




"Change" - the opening for this song sounds like it could have been a Eurodance hit circa 1995

#8: Bad Brains - I Against I

One of my main gripes about modern hardcore, besides most of it being completely by the numbers and brainless, is that it has teetered so close to full-on metal that it's ruined my idea of what hardcore is supposed to be, and always messes me up when I try to get into old-school hardcore bands. When I bought Black Flag's Damaged, I was expecting something completely abrasive and grating, and I got joke songs like "TV Party" and other songs that were good, but not what I had in mind. I think only Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables has, so far, lived up to my expectations of classic hardcore in terms of aggression and heaviness.

So by this point, I was a bit more prepared for Bad Brains' I Against I. Really, all I needed was to envision the sound of GWAR's America Must Be Destroyed, and I'd know what I was getting into. And that's a good thing.

After an intro, the first two tracks, "I Against I" and "House of Suffering" buzzed by, and to me, it really just sounds like good rock songs rather than something head-smashing. One of the big gripes about the newest Bad Brains record is that frontman H.R. sounds too restrained - and if it's that bad, I can't imagine how lethargic it must sound, because there's not much mile-a-minute raging going on here. I assume the earlier records are a different story.

Call me closed-minded, but I bet I'll enjoy this more than the other records in the band's catalog, as I Against I is the band's only album that's bereft of Rastafarian themes and the use of reggae elements. As far as amalgams go, that just never sounded like a great match to me. I'll give them a listen at some point, and I hope I'm proved wrong.

It's clear Living Colour took a page or two from Bad Brains' book, and it's interesting to listen to the band as a foundation for what would happen later. Even though I Against I came well after the first wave of hardcore had come and gone, it's cool to hear the album as an evolution of what was probably an exhausted genre after Minor Threat cut their first seven-inch. Regardless of classification, I enjoyed I Against I, and I look forward to digging into the band's earlier material.

As someone who obviously wasn't on hand for the CBGBs matinées or the glory years of Dischord, my perception is somewhat skewed, but so far, I'm having a hard time digging around for the full-on destruction that I imagined classic hardcore embodying.


"I Against I" live in '88. Much more raging than on the record.



"House of Suffering," also live in '88.



Actually, after watching these videos, the fury is there. Maybe the producers at the time had no idea what to do with these bands.

#7: Alice in Chains - Jar of Flies [EP]

Even though this is longer than many LPs I own, this is allegedly an EP. Fine. Just...fine. Goddammit.

Along with the band's relatively impenetrable self-titled album, this is easily some of band's more subdued material, with much more focus on acoustic guitars and a general absence of cymbal crashes.

Released in 1994, this was the first EP to ever hit the #1 spot on the charts. Also, it contains the band's only #1 hit, "No Excuses." Besides that track and "I Stay Away," I still have managed to remain pretty unaware of most of these songs, which presented a bit of a problem when I saw the band last fall, and the mid-show acoustic section was built around many of these tracks. Whereas I felt they all blended together in a live setting, hearing the studio (self-produced) versions really opens the songs up. Tracks like "Whale & Wasp," during which I almost nodded off at the show, are given more of an electric, sorrowful stroke on the record, which, in this case, I connect to better than just a straightforward acoustic version.

So much attention is paid to the band's more rockin' tracks, with most tending to lean towards "Man in the Box" and "Would?" and "Them Bones" and the like, but this record sounds like almost another band entirely. Perhaps the band gets written off a bit due to excessive gloom and their fascination with sludginess, both on the rockers and the softer tunes, but Jerry Cantrell's playing shines just as much, if not more, on acoustic guitar, and suggests that maybe even though the band was tremendously successful, there's still a bit of underrating happening at this point in terms of the band as pure songwriters. If Springsteen or even someone like James Taylor did these, they'd be considered to be in a higher echelon of songs.

Obviously, I'm not going out on a limb by extolling the virtues of a band that's sold fifteen million albums, but there seems to be even more going on here than I was aware of. I've been listening to Alice in Chains since I was ten, but it seems that I keep discovering more and more. I never imagined their catalog would be this deep.

"No Excuses" from MTV Unplugged

#6: Cryptopsy - None So Vile

I've been waiting to own this album for two years. I'm not even done with the first song as I'm typing this, and holy shit, it doesn't disappoint. For all the hype surrounding Flo Mounier's drums and Lord Worm's gargled screams, this absolutely, totally lives up to the hype. And I'm still on "Crown of Horns," the opener, and I've already air-drummed like a crazy asshole and broken a sweat. This is brilliant.

I just came home from a day of terribly lackluster 'metal' at the kickoff date of the Sounds of the Underground tour. There was more chugga-chugga hardcore than metal, so besides the brief respite provided by the glorious Amon Amarth, I'm in complete need of metal deliverance, and None So Vile is absolutely delivering.

For being released in 1996, there's absolutely nothing dated about this record. It sounds like they could go on tour now alongside the likes of Nile and Behemoth and absolutely slay. And they probably could, until Lord Worm quit the band (again) a few months back.

Good lord, look at the album art. That basically says it all. Music for decapitations. Time to go commit some.

Listen to Cryptopsy - Phobophile (MP3)

Also, I met Brian Slagel today. I told him I respected him, and he seemed flattered. That's a good day in my book.

#5: The Specials - The Specials

There was a time when all I really knew about British music came from my Beatles records and the soundtrack to Snatch. It was a sad state of affairs, but that soundtrack served as my introduction to plenty of good bands, like The Stranglers, 10cc, The Specials, and especially Massive Attack, which is one of my most-listened to bands over the last two years. Oasis had a track on there, too, and I've been an Oasis junkie for a year now. Being trapped in ten years ago is awesome. Say, have you heard of Elastica?

I can't say I'm terribly familiar with much old school ska, so perhaps this album put me off due to my unfamiliarity with the general aesthetics of the genre in this era. "Ghost Town," the Specials' sole #1 and their tune in Snatch, was a pretty active song with bright production and enough going on to keep it consistently entertaining. Maybe it's Elvis Costello's production on this record or just the slightly more sparse sounds of an unfamiliar genre, but it was easy to get distracted while listening or wish there were more things happening.

After "A Message To You Rudy," the only song on the record I was already familiar with, I wasn't really sure what to expect - some songs were in the same ska-reggae vein, some were a bit more rockin' out, and some just seemed to exist without being much of anything. I spent most of "It's Up To You" waiting for it to kick in. There were still a handful of really energetic and driving songs along the lines I was expecting, such as "Concrete Jungle" and "(Dawning of A) New Era," so I was kept amused. The album picked up at the end, and I'm looking forward to giving it another play to see if now that I'm a bit more prepared, I'll dig it more. I bet I will.

"A Message to You Rudy" live in 1979



"Gangsters"

#4: The Dillinger Escape Plan - Under the Running Board [EP]

This is easily the shortest CD I have ever purchased. Obviously, it's an EP, but its three tracks go by in just over seven minutes. But if there's one thing the Dillinger Escape Plan can do, it's stretch time. Even in a song that scarcely tops the two-minute mark, there are still numerous time changes and distinct parts swirling about in the chaos.

The second track, "Sandbox Magician," is 2:31 in length, but feels more like six minutes by the time it's done. And at 3:12, "Abe the Cop" might as well be outright prog. It's sharp, grating, and over quickly. Kind of like death by multiple stabwounds.

This only the second piece of DEP music I own that features original vocalist Dmitri Minakakis, and I still don't like him as much as his replacement, Greg Puciato. There's something more emphatic and weighty about Puciato's delivery, and his sense of melody is infinitely stronger. The OG fans tend to stick with Minakakis to retain street cred, but I'm with Puciato.

I've only seen the Dillinger Escape Plan once, but it was easily the most intense show I've ever been to. The band walked onstage pretty casually, counted off clicks, and as soon as they kicked into "Panasonic Youth," everything became a blur - my first coherent visual was Puciato, with a mic in one hand and screaming away, holding the mic stand above his head with the other, brandishing it like an axe and chopping at the audience like so much lumber. It was the only show I've attended where I felt concern for my safety as a result of the band, not the meatheads in the crowd. By the last song, "Sunshine the Werewolf," Puciato - whose biceps are comparable to bowling balls - was hurling his huge vocal monitor into the front row of the crowd. I'm amazed people come back from these shows in one piece. Slipknot shows might as well be Dashboard Confessional sing-a-longs.

"The Mullet Burden" live. Ignore the first 50 seconds, that rubbish isn't on the album track - it's just 91 seconds long.



For good measure here's a glimpse at the unpredictability and disorder of a typical DEP show. This is at the Virgin Megastore in Times Square. It's not a track from Under the Running Board, but it's a taste of what it's like to feel real fear at the hands of a rock band.

#3: Curtis Mayfield - Superfly

I said godDAMN! If Superfly was a car, it would be purple and orange and polish the street behind it because it's so damn smooth. I've been enjoying the hell out of Isaac Hayes' Hot Buttered Soul lately, and Superfly is all the fun of that record with none of the guilt of supporting a Scientologist.

All the songs are smokin', and the performances are spot-on but never so precise that they're cold and rigid. I started slouching and smirking as soon as the record came on, which is my body language's illiterate way of saying that something has enough groove to put all the rubbish I had to listen to at college dance parties to shame.

The version I picked up was the 1999 reissue, which has pretty nice song-by-song liner notes, which, as a dork, makes me happy. I'm looking forward to the day where I'm in the mood to sit down and listen to What's Going On, Hot Buttered Soul, and Superfly all in a row. Maybe I'll somehow absorb some cool from the records, but I think I'm too far gone. Regardless, I can't help but feel at least 0.6% cooler with this record on.

I don't feel the need to babble too much particular tracks about this one - it's a landmark record, so there's not a ton left to say. I had no complaints whatsoever, and the foul taste in my mouth from yesterday is fully washed out. I suddenly want glasses and a beard and an awesome jacket.

"Superfly" live back in the day



Performing "Pusherman" in his later years. He may have the corniest-looking band ever, but he still sounded great. He sounds so good that it's hard to convince myself that he isn't pantomiming to the album track, but sho' nuff, it's live from 1988.

#2: Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain

When I came up with the idea for CD Slut, part of the point was that since I'd be getting something every day, I could take chances on records I had been apprehensive about, since I'd be more apt to grab something random if I knew I could try again the next day. Today was my first such choice, and I grabbed Pavement's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. I came across a few things I had been wanting and I knew I'd enjoy, but perhaps we'll postpone those for another day.

There's something about my general disdain for hipster kid/indie culture that has made me opposed to Pavement without knowing anything about them whatsoever. Until today, I couldn't name a single Pavement song, and this album was the only one I knew by name. It's the overall indie aesthetic, at least as I perceive it, that I'm opposed to: Hey, let's half-ass it and make things sound ragged, and if someone thinks it sounds bad, then they just don't get the 'realness.' That's overly reductive, I suppose, but that's the feeling I've had for as long as I can remember.

As soon as the album opened with "Silence Kit," all I could hear was Rivers Cuomo, although somehow more tone deaf and strained than Pinkerton's rougher moments. I've never found the cracking, forced style of vocals endearing like they're supposed to be - I just hear a guy that can't sing. The limit of my tolerance for unhinged vocals is probably Ian Curtis, because you can at least tell that guy meant it. And I have a soft spot for Nico.

By track three, "Stop Breathin," I'd almost checked out already, until a well-constructed section that built and built caught me off guard. It reminded me of Isis without the distortion, which is at least something I can grab onto, but that would be the only passage on the album that made me take any real notice. From then on, it was a snoozer except for when goddamn "Cut Your Hair" came on. I couldn't have identified it as a Pavement song, but when I used to hear it in a commercial (wasn't it in one?) or wherever it was I came across the song, I still knew I hated it. And I still do.

Even as I was listening for the first time, I couldn't imagine the occasion I'd have to want to listen to it again. This isn't a record anyone can sing along to (not that that's necessarily a criterion for greatness, but it certainly helps me connect with a record), and nothing really seems to happen in the songs. I spent most of its run time grimacing, and not in a 'this is challenging me and I can't quite understand it' sort of way, but in a 'someone needs to empty the litter box' sort of way.

Maybe it's not working for me because I half-expected to hate it, but I have allowed myself be surprised before. I didn't want to hate this. I was hoping for a nice kick in the ass to make me turn some of my ideas around. But even though I'd never heard one of these songs and known it at the time, I was somehow able to sift out of the ether that this wasn't for me. Some 'classics' simply don't connect with me, and at this stage, this is one of them.

For the sake of media, here's a live video of "Stop Breathin," the one song that didn't make me pray for SARS.



So far, my record stands at 1-1.

#1: Lou Reed - Berlin

2007 has been an interesting year for Berlin. Released just a year after Transformer, it was initially reviewed as overblown and too grim for its own damn good. But with a reissue this year and Reed performing the entire album live, it seems like thirty-four years after its release, the revisionist reviews have almost universally bumped it up to near the top of his oeuvre (see also: Pinkerton, the Stooges catalog, and all of Led Zeppelin's albums if you're Rolling Stone).

As much as I love those four (real) Velvet Underground albums, my Lou Reed collection hasn't grown too quickly. It took me a while to get over how great Transformer was when I finally got it, and I ended up getting New York next, which probably wasn't the best plan. I also had a promo of his two-disc live album, Animal Serenade, which gave me my first taste of a handful of the songs on Berlin and taught me that if I ever go see him live, I'll have to exert tremendous patience.

The opening title track caught me a bit off guard, which is odd, since it's not really too far removed from anything on the Velvet Underground's third, chilled-out album. As soon as "Lady Day" started, I knew I'd gotten my money's worth. I instantly wanted to peg the track as being influenced by For Your Pleasure-era Roxy Music, but both albums came out in the same year, so it's hard to chalk it up to much more than coincidence or the zeitgeist. Reed is doing his best Bryan Ferry, whether he knew it or not, and the full instrumentation (the hallmark of producer Bob Ezrin, who would go to rehab immediately after this album's completion) makes the track stand out.

Here's a live version of a very blond Lou Reed - in frontman mode - performing a more rocked-out version of "Lady Day" in 1974.


The middle of the album didn't hold my attention as much, save for "Caroline Says - II." The use of a crying baby on "The Kids" made me twitch a bit; I think the only time that's been used effectively is on one of the segues on Tool's Ænima, but they processed the shit out of it and it sounds creepy as hell. The record picked up for me with the final two tracks, "The Bed" and "Sad Song," two of the most bummed-out songs Reed ever wrote.

Here's "Caroline Says - II" live...like, last week. The video's not amazing, but the audio is quite good for fan-shot footage.


Overall, I'm definitely glad I picked it, and I'll be giving this and Coney Island Baby some more serious attention over the next week or so. 2007 is such a weird year for an album like this to start getting acclaim again, but it's worth revisiting (or just visiting), and it's probably the most interesting (although not yet my favorite) Lou Reed album I own so far.