February FROXX From Admin

Holy smokes does Winter just blow you down er wha?!

Flipping the flapjack with a audio gift here. A few of the heavy Feb spins on these ears. SINCE Blogger fails to defend the defenseless flailer, flogger, flipper and thief, concubine, sordid sentinel, drifting fanboy and otherwise all out merciless copyright fucker, here's the deal - a mixblogtape made speshially for you. Lay down your RIAA arms and dance, enemies!

A LITTLE SYMBOL OF MY DEVOTION The Doors - Changeling The Howling Hex - Contraband and Betrayal John Frusciante - Helical The Red Krayola - The Jewels of Madonna Anthony and The Johnsons - Fistful of Love Spiritualized - Angel Sigh (live) Theoretical Girls - Contrary Mothion Tom Ze - Quero Sambal Meu Bem White Rainbow - Monday Boogies Forward Forever Young Marble Giants - Credit In The Straight World Dungen - Vem Vaktar Lejonen The Standells - Medication

HEAR

Let this guide you through the remaining chilly ill n ick.

Forgetallneasayers,
ForestRoxx Admin

Evergreen - Evergreen [1996]

(more louisville love)

TRR summeth uppeth: Formed from the ashes of Louisville legends Cinderblock in the early 90s and boasting a revolving line-up that would make Spinal Tap blush, Evergreen solidified in 1993 when Britt Walford (Squirrelbait, Slint, The Breeders, The For Carnation) joined on drums.

A tight mix of percussive guitars, strolling, funky bass and relentlessly catchy drum beats escalated the drunken vocal sways of Sean McLoughlin to immeasurable heights. Equally inspired by Fugazi, Television, and The Stooges, Evergreen was a breath of fresh air that only Louisville folks were really ready to breathe.

While the rest of the world was too busy going ape shit over increasingly soulless faux-jazz, Evergreen were throwing down party-punk jams to tear the roof down and/or get them arrested for public indecency and disturbing the peace (but that's another story for another time). Recorded in brilliant stereophonic mid-fi by James Murphy (of the DFA), this album seemed like a throwback in 1995. Oddly, it now feels more at home soaring above the increasingly soulless faux-garage rock revival.

When all is said and done and you are left with nothing but the music to tell the story, it's damned near impossible to tell when this record was made and it's even harder to care. It's truly a timeless classic that has always deserved more attention than it has gotten. This reissue includes two bonus tracks not included on the original release.

HEAR the nice music

Buzzcocks - A Different Kind of Tension [1979]

man oh man. just noticed we had the "self-financed debut" up here in the froxx, yet not the self-implosive masterwerk?! (eds note: beware, more question mark/exclamation point combos ahead). this here's another puppy i picked up back in SF last week. the deluxe reish. but rocky say, don't get lost in all the glorious extras, or the scintillating singles culled from the same period -- just go straight to the fracking album already and indulge in all the sweet remastered goodness of this mega-precious gem.

1979!? I'll admit, I first encountered this album courtesy Bob McGuire of West Chicago, Illinois, who was a year older than me and far hipper, at least in the year of our lord 1984. He gave it to me on one side of a high-metal II cassette, the other side of which held a dub of The Violent Femmes (not sure if you remember, but it was quite a "Blister in the Sun" summer that year).

Rosetta Stone or, 2001: Space Odyssey obelisk? Frankly my dear, I didn't know what to make of this album then, and I'm doubtless unqualified to commentate on it now, but damn if it did not stick with me, in my head, my craw, and ever since superbly resist all attempts at extraction.

Simplex, viral! Funny in retrospect to ponder that I got my way in to the 'cocks by way of their backdoor, moving from their late proto pop prog to their early primal prog pop, but, you know how it is -- the way we im-mediate most of our favorite groups is seldom via prescribed textbook transmissive means.

Raison D'Etre?! Natch, Eventually, I found my sorry way from here back into Scratch and Kitchen and Bites, and all places properly-car-commercialesquely Buzzcockian (at least as we know them from teevee today, sitting round at home), and thence ultimately forth settling onto everyone's mother's fave "album", Steady...

Recalcitrant!? Just because you know how the way that first taste always stays with you, well, this has always been the goose's bump pour moi.

Experience Tension!? [disc 1]


try MORE Tension!? [disc 2]


[as of December 1 2010: links removed per DMCA!

interested parties contact roxx directly for link]

Charlie Parker - The Savoy Recordings (Master Takes) [1944-1948]

^ ^
o - o
...................
............
....

/// all of what you get here is way fantastic incandescent from bird* and (19 yo) miles \\\
// the latter spanking out 3 timefull classicks: milestones, little willie leaps, half nelson \\
/ but don't disneglect th-bit-o-Diz on KoKo, the tiny grime, the curly Russell, the roach \
etc.
(i know I don't have to ask you to make sure and take note of Mr Charlie Parker).
simply
(b/c this guy is
"impossible to miss"
)
This warn't my first CP record (that would be the soundtrack to the Eastwood bio)
but it was always my favorite post-initial-acquisition, thereabouts 1988 or so, and
i had it for so many years that i took it for granted and lost it a decade ago or so

found it last week abroad during a protracted visit to Amoeba SF
and got shivers down ma spine at me first (re) sight. viola!
there it is. (for some reason it's all "Cheryl" now).
but if you were me, they'd go straight to
Number Twelve: little willie leaps,
and ride far past ah-leu-cha
on the merry-go-round
(note constellation)

or just please

dig
,

[*ancienne venti-cinq]

try ANOTHER HAIR-DO

| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
/|\ /|\

David Kilgour - Sugar Mouth [1994]

uhuh: been so enjoying this lately
fine work friend put in my pocket
and we in turn puts it out up here
between davids axelrod + sylvian

HEAR

tread: here we are agin
back in d new zeal land
kin Kiwis do no wrong?

AMf*gginG: [...] Kilgour serves up a simply gorgeous set of engaging guitar pop songs that manage to be sunny and sighing all at once. Kilgour's vocal resemblance to his musical contemporaries (and fellow Dylan appreciators), Robert Forster and Robyn Hitchcock, has never been stronger; as with them,

Kilgour's tone is high, a touch reedy but never anything less than impassioned and attractive. Some songs capture some of the gauzier feeling of Here Come the Cars thanks to the mixing and soft motorik chug ("Filter" in particular). "Crazy," meanwhile, bears hints of Kilgour's time in Snapper, loud and brash but similarly indebted to a refracted Krautrock drive.

Others have an air that can only be described as clear and cool -- not cold, but there's something about the way the acoustic guitars and piano sound on "Beached," Kilgour's singing coming down through echo, or the concluding flow of "Never End" that suggests blue skies, deep oceans, and high peaks.

Whether it's the acoustic-based strum and shimmer of "Fallaway," an anthem that never has to strain or sound oppressively big even in the slightest or the heart-tugging semi-waltzes of "Nail in My Foot" or "Recollection," Sugar Mouth is just plain fantastic, full stop.

King Kong - Old Man on the Bridge [1991]

ohfeck: yuh do this feel good
been trying put this up here
fur what feels like a rite long
time now. and it sits so purty
tween kings crimson + tubby

HEAR

read: wow wasn't this a craze, way back when.
these fine folks put on many a real fine time way
way back around when this album was tres circa

~~~
learneth: King Kong, a rock band from Louisville, Kentucky, formed in early 1989 by Ethan Buckler, the original bassist in the band Slint. The core trio for many years was made up of Buckler, Willie McClean (bass), and Ray Rizzo (drums). Over the course of its existence King Kong has been joined by Todd Hildreth (keys), Suki Anderson (add'l vocals), Amy Greenwood (add'l vocals), Andy Hurt (percussion), and Dave Pajo (drums). There are many others too numerous to list.
~~~

honestly yall, hearing this just puts me in a right-good, ass-wagging, frame-of-mind.

me? I go
straight to
ROLLING O.

Slapp Happy - Sort Of [1972]

I have to tag in with one of my favorites from the Slapp Happy/Henry Cow combos. Sort Of is the unlikely nexus where Krautrock enjoins with soul (see Blue Flower). Love her or hate her, Dagmar Krause has some uniquely successful moments on this album. What could possibly go wrong with 4/6ths of Faust backing you?

Slapp it on.

Slapp Happy and Henry Cow - Desperate Straights

I'm late on this train despite friends trying to get me to tune in for years. Now I get it. Better late than whatever!

______________

Allmusic: A surprising team up at the time of its release (1975), Desperate Straights is a surprisingly melodic album, light on the art school angst and heavy on the playfulness, which one would hardly expect from such determined socialists as these. But here it is: "Some Questions About Hats" sounds like a Kurt Weill outtake, "A Worm Is at Work" gallops along with a sweet tune. Dagmar Krause remains restrained and not given to flights of horrible fancy. "Strayed" is reminiscient of Kevin Ayers's brand of art rock, and most of the songs clock in under two minutes. But never fear: the album ends on the eight minute "Caucasian Lullaby," a minimal woodwind piece that suddenly bursts into one last jab of Krausian despair.

HEAR

The Fugs - It Crawled Into My Hand, Honest

Late-era, electro freakout Fugs out of the Greenwich Village slime all charged and snarky.

_______________

Allmusic.com: Having attained a professional rock-band sound on Tenderness Junction, the Fugs seemed determined to further expand their arrangements (aided, perhaps, by a major-label budget) on It Crawled into My Hand, Honest. Indeed, the album is ridiculously eclectic. There's stoned psychedelic folk-rock ("Crystal Liaison"); cry-in-your-beer country music with vehemently satirical or surrealistic lyrics ("Ramses II Is Dead My Love," "Johnny Pissoff Meets the Red Angel"); grand, sweeping classical orchestration ("Burial Waltz"); a Gregorian chant about "Marijuana"; down-home gospel with lyrics that no preacher would dare enunciate ("Wide Wide River," with the line: "I've been swimming in this river of sh*t/More than 20 years and I'm getting tired of it"); and, almost buried along the way, the kind of tuneful, countercultural folk-rock Tuli Kupferberg contributed to earlier albums ("Life Is Strange"). Choral backup vocals abound, and the mere presence of a half-dozen outside arrangers testifies to how much the group's attitude toward exploiting the studio had developed since the bare-bones ESP albums. Generally, the songs (most written by the core trio of Sanders, Kupferberg, and Weaver) are more concerned with deft poetry and humor than political statements, although the customary social satire and calls for sexual freedom and drug use are present in diminishing degrees. Although side one is five discrete tracks, side two is a side-long cut-and-paste of tracks varying in length from three seconds to four minutes, the stylistic jump-cuts similar to those employed by the Mothers of Invention in the same era. It's an impressive and, usually, fun record, but it's also less-lyrically cogent and powerful than their early albums. One senses that the Fugs' personality and individuality were ultimately somewhat muted by the more ambitious production values and frequent use of external musicians and arrangers.

HEAR

Pandit Pran Nath - Ragas of Morning and Night

All Music Guide - Pandit Pran Nath was one of the leading exponents of the Kirana style of northern Indian singing, his influence extending far into the Western genres of jazz, contemporary classical and rock. Musicians from Don Cherry and Lee Konitz to La Monte Young and Terry Riley to David Byrne andBrian Eno studied with Pran Nath or paid him great respect. This recording contains two lengthy ragas, "Raga Todi" and "Raga Darbari," one for morning and one for evening. Pran Nath's exquisite control between microscopically fine degrees of pitch can be easily heard in the former. The first two thirds of the piece is performed slowly and delicately, each sinuous line being given careful weight and consideration. When, in the final few minutes, the pace quickens there is a startling sense of unfolding possibilities, almost an embarrassment of riches after the earlier rigor. The second raga follows a similar structure but the tonal center is entirely different; instead of the plaintive almost keening quality of the morning raga, we hear a calmer, more accepting feeling, as though the singer has graciously acceded to what has occurred that day. This time when the tempo picks up it's as if the singer has gotten a second wind late in the day and is suddenly full of joyous energy. The effect of Pran Nath's quivering lines and immensely complicated vocal arabesques is liberating enough. When he goes head to head with the tabla player for some intricate sparring, ones jaw tends to drop. Ragas of Morning and Night is a wonderful recording and would serve as a fine introduction both to this musician and to this particular style of singing as well.

HEAR

Steve Reich - Four Organs Phase Patterns

Minimally yours on a minimally acceptable Sunday which is allegedly super. Just the bare minimum folks.

_________________________

Wiki: Four Organs is a work for four electronic organs and maraca by Steve Reich.

The four organs, harmonically expound a dominant eleventh chord (D-E-F#-G#-A-B with an E in the bass), dissecting the chord by playing parts of it sequentially while the chord slowly increases in duration from a single 1/8 note at the beginning to 200 beats at the end. The process of increased augmentation is accomplished first by causing notes to sustain after the chord, and then notes start anticipating the chord. As the piece progresses this "deconstruction" of the chord emphasizes certain harmonies; at the climax of the work each tone sounds almost in sequence. A continuous maraca beat serves as a rhythmic framework.

Reich describes the piece as "the longest V-I cadence in the history of Western Music" the V (B-D-F#) and I (E-G#-B) chords being contained within the one chord: "You'll find the chord in Debussy and Thelonious Monk - the tonic on top and the dominant on the bottom."^[1] He has cited the music of Perotin and other twelfth and thirteenth century composers as suggesting the technique of note augmentation used in Four Organs.

For performances of the piece, Reich recommended using electronic organs with as plain and simple a timbre as possible, without vibrato, to avoid the sound of the instrument itself distracting from the harmonic and rhythmic aspects of the piece. Reich himself employed four Farfisa "mini compact" models.

Reich composed Four Organs in January 1970. It was first performed in May 1970 at the Guggenheim Museum in New York City.^[2][3] It was received well at the premier, and performances later that year in the United States and Europe received respectful, and in some cases enthusiastic, responses.^[4]

Subsequent audiences were not always as polite. October 1971 performances by Reich and members of the Boston Symphony (at Symphony Hall in Boston) received a combination of "loud cheers, loud boos, and whistles."^[4]

A 1973 performance of Four Organs at Carnegie Hall in New York City nearly caused a riot, with "yells for the music to stop, mixed with applause to hasten the end of the piece."^[5] One of the performers, Michael Tilson Thomas, recalls: "One woman walked down the aisle and repeatedly banged her head on the front of the stage, wailing 'Stop, stop, I confess.'"^[6][7]

HEAR

The Wind - Where It's At With The Wind

Oh Yeah. Knock back a little of this. For all you Rundgren/Richman dudes and dudettes, this is a beauty and enough pop to satisfy your most indulgent cravings.

Absolutely the best vibe (60's or 80's revivalist) I've heard in a while. In glorious mono!

victim of love:

Three teenage Jews attempt to remake ‘With The Beatles’ in 1982. In Miami, Florida, in a studio that only produces salsa bands.

This is a terrible formula.

Unless, of course, you’re The Wind and you perform a mighty mitzvah and minor miracle, turning in, possibly, the greatest power pop album of the 80’s.

The sound here is not so much early Beatles’ copy, as say the Poppees or Rockin’ Horse, as much as it is a fresh and energetic ’65 garage band (think Beau Brummels) combing their bangs forward and badgering pen-pals in London to mail them the latest discs. Thin, undistorted guitars reminiscent of the best of the Mindbenders ‘power’ through the majority of the proceedings, fleshed out by tea-chest drums and bass and ‘Not A Second Time’ piano. As well as three distinct vocalists whose styles range between full-on Wayne Fontana, a cross between Jonathan Richman and Peter Brady, and a more restrained David Byrne that you could resist punching-out. Recording in mono with only the barest of over-dubs also contributes immensely to the punchy, period vibe.

Yet, in an era where it seemed like everyone was reviving something, what really set The Wind apart from the high-fashion, Voxx/Cavern paisley brigade was their willingness to commit. Chic-ness be damned! Thus, in the grooves therein, open ears will find that not all is ‘Teenage Shutdown,’ ‘Turds On A Bum Ride’-style rave-up, but rather the entire scope of the ’65 sound which the Cheater Slicks of the world have sought so stridently to see expunged. To go for a McCartney-cum-Rundgren-style torch-song such as ‘You Changed’ or ‘She’s Nobody’s Girlfriend’ sans all irony in 1982 was not seen as revivalist. It was heresy, and by rejecting all the sacrosanct truths of ’77 and telling the Au Pairs and Crass that you think their hats and haircuts look stupid (and they did). On the first track of the album, over a brisk, Gants-inspired beat, The Wind hurl down a gauntlet in the form of a question which the combined junk habits of Jah Wobble, Michael Gira and David Tibet stand absolutely no chance in answering:

‘What’s The Fun?!?!’

More than a power pop or 60s revival band, The Wind represent college rock if that term could be shorn of all its icky, asymmetrical pejorative-ness, like if the db’s had stuck to the sound of their first single or if the 80s garage revival stood for anything more than bone jewelry or lunchboxes. Although the Wind say absolutely nothing new in the way of lyrics and fail to ‘push the envelope’ in expanding the sonic frontier, when you look at the alternative - mush-mouthed R.E.M. musings and songs about tiki gods, go-gos, and heroin – perhaps our Dade County [boys] should be commended for remaining so pure and uncut. Appealing, endearing and enduring Where It’s At With The Wind proves that while lightning never strikes twice, atavism can quote-unquote ‘work’ and sometimes work wonders.


Hear

Pylon - Gyrate

If Gang of Four was anarchy's jagged officer corps, Pylon was the jagged, erratic, insubordinate rank and file and their marches made for some brutal dance floors. Love was never a part of their equations - this shit wasn't for romance. The hint of violence has never figured so prominently in "da beats"...

...nor the threat of revolution.

Pitchfork:

The original three musicians had a self-assignment. Their aim: To get NYC ink and then press kaboom. They weren't yet traditionally proficient with their instruments, and thusly seemed to approach their technological implements with a "How can I use this tool?" ethos, resulting in a kind of primitive precision, each member locking into a groove hardly ever intuitively related to that of another member. Before they found Vanessa Hay (née Vanessa Briscoe), they came close to using a recording about teaching parrots to talk as "vocals." Hay's eventual Situationist bark often reduced musicality to Pavlovian stimulus-responses via a joyless-sounding (but, ironically, joy-producing) series of reports or demands: "Cool" fascistically declares everything cool, baiting dissidents. "Dub" brags angrily of devouring dub at the start of each day, lest any white British acts think themselves superior digesters of the mode. Whereas Joy Division demanded "Dance, dance, dance to the radio"; Pylon grunts the tad-more-individualistic "Dance, dance, dance if you want to," even though the invitation is parsed like a warning with harsh consequences. "Volume" instructs its audience to "forget the picture" and "turn up the volume." "Gravity", obviously about the physics of the nightclub, taunts listeners by telling them that they both "cannot resist the urge" and "cannot dance," framing the insanely danceable track as an incitement to rebel against its mouthpiece.

Dig the combat-disco.

Hear

The Action - Rolled Gold

What would music have been like if this had been released when it was recorded in '67 instead of being shelved for 35 long years?

Can't say for sure, but somebody deserves a place in hell for making us wait.

Makes me wish I still got baked.

amg:

The term "lost classic" is applied liberally and often erroneously to unreleased recordings that resurface years later in a maelstrom of hype. However, for the forgotten mod rock also-rans the Action, the term is not only justified, it is painfully bittersweet. On par with such classics of the era as The Who Sell Out or Ogden's Nut Gone Flake but more focused than either, the Action's Rolled Gold goes beyond "lost classic" — it is the influential masterpiece no one was ever allowed to hear. Despite being signed to Beatles producer George Martin's AIR label and benefiting from a strong club following, the Action never scored a chart hit. By the time they recorded these demo tracks in 1967, the band had grown weary of the musically limited mod scene, which was on its last legs. Guitarist Pete Watson had been replaced by Martin Stone, and the band had developed a more mature sound, one only hinted at on such previous cuts as "Twenty-Fourth Hour." Prefiguring the coming psychedelic movement, the songs were epic, heartfelt, melodic socks to the gut that hinged on vocalist Reggie King's sanguine blue-eyed soul voice and Alan King's slabs of guitar harmony — think The Who's Tommy meets The Byrds' Fifth Dimension. Unbelievably, EMI — AIR's distributor — was not interested, and the tracks were shelved. Subsequently, Reggie left the band to work on a solo album, and the rest of the group struggled on, eventually morphing into the short-lived hippie band Mighty Baby. Rather than bemoan what could have been though, you are left with what is. Playing like the brilliant missing link between mod and psychedelic rock, Rolled Gold is experimental without being silly or twee and emotionally mature without being pompous and boring. It is the type of album that reveals its brilliance within seconds of hearing the first track and builds momentum from there. Tracks such as "Something to Say" and especially "Brain" with Reggie pleading for immortality over a hugely anthemic chord progression are as good, if not better, than anything that charted during the late '60s and sound less dated than many of the Action's contemporaries' efforts. It's as if Paul Weller time-traveled back to 1967 and wrote the best songs of his career. Every track is a fully realized melodic and lyrical statement. While there is a roughness to the demo-quality recording, it only magnifies the raw emotions the Action were able to translate into timeless music — music that deserved much better than it got.

Pitchfork:

The music on this collection offers evidence that The Action were a truly wronged band. The hooks are bright, the playing rough but assured, and the songwriting on par with anything The Who or Zombies were producing...

The opener "Come Around" was planned to open a pending (but never recorded) proper LP, and it's a lively slice of proto-power-pop, with that dash of quaint melodicism only the English bands could pull off convincingly. The descending bassline and Reg King's stately boom practically define the Mod sound in 1967, as does the flowery white soul of "Something to Say". Even better is the show-stopping, Austin Powers-destroying frill of "In My Dream". The chorus is the ultimate crossbreeding of mod-cool, Bond sheen and garage splinter, and I can only imagine the splash they'd have made had this ever been given the professional veneer it deserved (though George Martin's minimal touches are ace).

The highlight of the compilation-- one that transforms Rolled Gold from an interesting curio into a near must-have-- is the transcendent, rock-splendor of "Brain". Reg King shouts, barely able to contain himself, "Take your brain/ It's time to go/ You don't have long to go!" over a wah-wah fueled pound that would make Thunderclap Newman proud. Brent Rademaker of Beachwood Sparks contributes some liner notes to this collection, and gives his awed respects to this song-- rightly so, as "Brain" alone dwarfs most neo-psych bands entire catalogs. Classic.

Hear

The Mekons - Fear And Whiskey

Cause, love it or hate it (and I've been in both camps over the years), the damned record mattered more than most.

A big giant mess that, like mud you ball up in your hands, keeps oozing out between your fingers.

Pitchfork:

So it turns out this is a stone-cold masterpiece. Who knew? It's been out of print for years, but now that it's back, it's being called everything from "a good set of drinking songs" to "the seed that sprouted alt-country" to "the greatest rock album in history." Fear and Whiskey was the first great statement of "shambolic punk" band the Mekons, and yes, it is as great as all their rabid fans have always said (though "the greatest rock album in history" is, of course, a bit of a stretch).

As I was digging through my rock library to figure out what defines a classic, I found an essay by Steve Wynn of the Dream Syndicate, listing his top criteria for what makes a great rock album. The most important factor, he argued, was "the potential of falling apart at any moment": not just that the recording sounds rough around the edges, but that the entire band could have careened off the rails at any time. The Mekons, circa 1985, fit that description wonderfully. Though this album took months of planning, Fear and Whiskey sounds as chaotic and spontaneous as any great night at a dance hall full of the reek of stale beer. Just like a live show, almost all you can hear through the record's tinny sound are Steve Goulding's drums-- pounding out a dance beat crossed with a military tattoo-- and Susie Honeyman's fiddle, soaring above, pretty but ragged. Singer/guitarists Tom Greenhalgh and Jon Langford bellow, cheer and grumble through the noise. They sing about booze, they sing about politics, and most of all, they sing about despair: Greenhalgh opens "Chivalry" with, "I was out late the other night/ Fear and whiskey kept me going," while the heroic tune from the violin keeps him upright.

The music is a mess of influences united on the bones of punk music. The Mekons always subscribed to the "anything goes" rules of Britain's "Class of '77," and Fear and Whiskey is their most famous example: this was the record where they started to assimilate country music. It was a radical move in mid-80s Britain, not least because of the right-wing politics that were associated with the style. Musicologists have labelled this the father of alt-country, that bastard offspring of indie rock and country/western-- though for as much as you hear it on "Darkness and Doubt" (complete with a John Wayne reference), or the cover of Hank Williams' hit "Lost Highway," country is just one of the styles jammed in here, along with English folk, Leeds punk, and whatever else was at hand. Anyone who expects scenic Americana will stop short at the second song, "Trouble Down South," a weird mini-drama that would bring a lesser album to its knees: Ken Lite narrates some kind of a military advance over a reggae-inflected drum machine and a wheezing accordion, while soprano Jaqui Callis struggles to hit her highest notes. As far as it fits here at all, it's to force the listener to accept that the Mekons are ready and willing to do whatever they want.

No matter how scattershot the first few songs sound, the second half of the album justifies everything. With a "proper" band assembled, these last five songs were "recorded and mixed one fine spring day in 1985," and they make up one of the most spontaneous, exciting and perfect album sides ever. For fourteen minutes, from "Flitcraft" to "Lost Highway," the Mekons don't touch the ground. This is music that is effortlessly, spontaneously great, with a massive beat that sweeps along grim lyrics like, "We know that for many years there's been no country here."

But it's right near the end that they play the crowning song, the most perfect part of the album: "Last Dance," a pop song that sounds like it had never been played before that day but where every note falls in place, down to that throwaway guitar solo and Honeyman's beautiful fiddle, so bright it could make you want to cry. The narrator sings about the end of the night, when the music's winding down and it's time to search the room for someone to take home. The lyrics are resigned to failure, but then there are two lines in the middle-- "So beautiful, you were waltzing/ Little frozen rivers all covered in snow"-- sung by a man whose desire stretches his capacity for eloquence: he could have just seen the woman he'll marry. And he probably goes home alone.

The Mekons didn't stand on the brink of collapse because they chose to; they accepted the knowledge that everything could be ripped from their hands. The Thatcher administration could declare war on the people; the miners could lose the strike. You could get one great night out of hundreds of bad ones, and for those fleeting moments you grab whatever you can-- even if it's just a handful of rowdy old songs.

Hear

Trash Can Sinatras - Cake

Go ahead. Choke on your bran flakes. Pass coffee through your nose. Spit-take your OJ. I don't care.

Just about the most charming, clever and perfect album of brit pop ever produced. It has taken its knocks over the years, but still sounds effervescent and infused with the joy of making pop. Just about as stunning a pop debut as you're likely ever to hear.

Throw it on the ipod and spin it up as the first warm day of spring emerges. Slip into the car, roll down the windows, ease the volume up and, as the first leaves bud their way out of cold hibernation, let yourself slip into a blissfully enchanted land of earcandy. Bonus points if you sadly reminisce about the one that got away.

amg:
Long before Travis and Coldplay came along, the Trash Can Sinatras enchanted college-aged Anglophiles with their jangly brand of emotive Brit-pop. Seen as musical fluff by fans of early-'90s pre-Nirvana alternative and ignored by fans of mid- to late-'90s post-Nirvana alternative, these five Scottish lads smoothed the edges but sharpened the hooks of a developing genre. The Trash Can Sinatras' 1990 debut, Cake, mixes intricately intertwined guitars, in the spirit of a more charming, less gritty Johnny Marr, with lush strings and sophisticated harmonies. Touchingly clever wordplay ("You came into my life/Like a brick through a window/And I cracked a smile") abounds, as on "The Best Man's Fall." The clean production — necessary for such elaborate orchestration — is extremely warm and inviting. Singles like "Obscurity Knocks" and "Only Tongue Will Tell" as well as "Maybe I Should Drive" prove to be the tastiest pieces of pure pop pleasure. But sugar can be bittersweet and laced with longing, as on "Thrupenny Tears" and "You Made Me Feel." Regardless of the relative mood, this debut is noticeably devoid of musical missteps — quite a feat for a new artist. Easy on the ears and palate, Cake is as filling and digestible an album as one could hope. Subsequent Trash Can Sinatras releases reach for the same greatness but ultimately fall a little short. This precursor to early 21st century Brit-pop darkens the occasional used record store bin. And it tastes almost as fresh as the day it was made.
"
I like your poetry
but I hate your poems.

And if you don't give a damn
You're welcome to keep it

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The Clientele - Strange Geometry

So all of this recent Kiwi ass-grabbing has reminded me of something I've meant to post for soo soo soo long but slipped the mind - The Clientele. Ok, so they're not from New Zealand but listen and you'll get it. Cool, laid back, a little spooky/paisley/lysergic/melodic/a wee bit fey.

This is a record I wish I'd had at 16 years old on a hot mid-80z summer night, reclined on a bed, windows open, cicadas yowling and the headphones making the ears sweatwet. Me pining for some unattainable cool blonde. The opening track can take you there.

Wow, pangs.


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Allmusic sayeth: Rebounding after the ever-so-slightly samey feel of The Violet Hour, Strange Geometry reinvigorates the Clientele's literate, wistful indie pop with fresh doses of emotion, invention, and wit. As the Arthur Machen quote in the album's liner notes suggests, Strange Geometry is as much about London as it is about introspection and lost love: virtually every song on the album makes characters out of the tenement lines, gardens, trees, streets, and buildings that make up the city. In fact, these songs are so thematically tight that they resemble a collection of poems and short stories set to music, particularly on the largely spoken word "Losing Haringey," a breakup note to London with wonderfully evocative lyrics like "I was in an underexposed photo of 1982." All kinds of clever and experimental details decorate Strange Geometry, from the distant, operatic vocals that introduce "K" to the guitar melody that quotes the Crystals' "Then He Kissed Me" on "Since K Got Over Me." Fortunately, though, these extra bursts of creativity don't distract from the essential beauty of these songs. On both livelier tracks like "My Own Face Inside the Trees" and "E.M.P.T.Y." (which boasts bubblegum-psych string flourishes and fuzzy guitars) and immaculately groomed ballads like the soft, sweet sadness of "(I Can't Seem To) Make You Mine" and "Step into the Light," the Clientele have rarely sounded better. Despite a few sleepy moments on the album's second half, Strange Geometry has more flair and movement than Violet Hour, and perfects the band's ability to be uplifting and heartbreaking at the same time.


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