Back in 2009, psych / kraut-rock trio Earthless (Mike Eginton – bass, Isaiah Mitchell – guitar, and Mario Rubalcaba – drums) played a music festival in Guadalest, Spain. Thankfully for all of us, Live in Guadalest was recorded and released in 2013 as a special item at the band’s merch table during an Australian tour and also made available as a digital download for those of us who missed out on the few physical copies produced.
The set is “only” two songs, but the shortest one is twenty-two minutes and fourteen seconds long. That’s the second track, “Godspeed.” The first, “From the Ages,” is over half an hour and tears out of the gate like an Arabian race horse with black coffee in its veins. It turns into a meditative jam around the eleven-minute mark. The song is cruising along a dark highway by minute-fifteen, and your mind is blown eight minutes later when they break the song down yet again.
“Godspeed” melts whatever traces of your brain are left from the previous track. It starts mellow enough, but soon Rubalcaba is hammering away at his kit with renewed vigor and Eginton and Mitchell put the pedal to the metal. Eginton’s bass is particularly funky on this version of “Godspeed,” and Mitchell seems to be playing two guitars at once. The breakdown at the seventeen-minute mark is outstanding and the fade out leaves you breathless.
This is a good place to start if you’ve never seen Earthless live. It will make you want to catch them as soon as possible, as you should. You won’t regret it.
It’s a bit difficult to describe the music of Radar Men from the Moon (who are actually from the Netherlands). Is it psychedelia? Prog-rock? Synthwave? Shoegaze? All of that? None of it? I’m not sure. They were all playing synthesizers, sequencers, and drum machines when I saw them at Levitation Francea couple years ago, and Subversive I is heavy on electronica and synths, whereas other albums are more guitar-based. I do know, however, that everything I’ve heard from them is good.
Subversive Iis the part of a triptych of albums released in consecutive years starting in 2015. Subversive I is only four instrumental tracks, but the shortest one is six-and-a-half minutes long.
That one is the first track, “Deconstruction,” which starts off with fuzzy synth bass and sharp drum beats before robot pulse guitars come in to get you moving. It’s an industrial dance track in many ways, again making RMFTM difficult to categorize.
“Habitual” takes on a darkwave tone with guitars that sound like they were recorded in a dark tomb and bass and synths that sounds like some…thing pounding and clawing it’s way out of that tomb.
“Neon” is the longest track on the album at eleven minutes and sixteen seconds. It starts quiet and brooding, like a slow, building rain hitting a tin roof. It turns into a theme for a cool futuristic mystery-thriller movie you think you’ve seen but never have.
The closer, “Hacienda,” is the most “in your face” song on the record with its buzz-saw guitars and “Peter Gunn”-like bass that gets under your skin.
Subversive I, like a lot of RMFTM’s work, is one of those albums that changes the feel of the room when you play it. It’s one of those albums that makes people ask, “What is this?” Sometimes they ask it out of intrigue, other times out of confusion, and other times out of apprehension. If that doesn’t make you want to hear it, I don’t know what will.
The fourth album by Public Image Ltd., This Is What You Want…This Is What You Get, came out in the Year of Orwell – 1984. The world was in the middle of the Cold War and people were wondering which side was going to first heat it up. It was the “me decade” here in the U.S. for Wall Street tycoons who were grabbing all the wealth they could while the rest of us were waiting on Trickle Down Economics to make our lives easier. Spoiler alert: We’re still waiting.
John Lydon and guitarist Keith Levene were working on the album and had an early mix, entitled Commercial Zone, completed. Levene took it to Virgin Records, but Lydon abandoned the project and re-recorded all of it to create This Is What You Want…This Is What You Get.
It starts with the buzzy “Bad Life,” which was the first single off the record. It mixes funky bass with cool horn blasts as Lydon sings, “This machine is on the move. Looking out for number one.” It’s a nice shove at 1980’s yuppies stepping on others to get what they want. The title of the album is repeated over electric drum beats toward the end of the track (and throughout the album).
“This Is Not a Love Song” was Lydon’s poke at people who kept asking him, “Why don’t you write a love song?” He write a brassy jam that mostly repeats the title and ended up being one of his biggest hits. “Happy to have and not to have not. Big business is very wise. I’m crossing over into the enterprise,” he sings, telling all of us that he could take the money and run if he wanted.
Louis Bernardi‘s bass on “Solitaire” is downright nasty. You could easily slap it onto a funk record and it wouldn’t sound out of place. “Tie Me to the Length of That” is a reference to Lydon’s birth, even referencing the doctor who slapped him when he was born. It crawls around the room like a creepy goblin. The horn section echoes from the background like some sort of distant warning.
“The Pardon” has Lydon calling people out for being resistant to change. The beat is a weird tribal jam that is hard to describe but one that sinks into your head. “Where Are You?” is barely controlled chaos as Lydon searches for…someone. I’m still not sure whom.
“1981” is a post-punk classic with Lydon ranting about everything he could see was going to go wrong in the decade and how he figured it might be best to leave England for a while. The drums are sharp, the baritone sax angry, the cymbals sizzling, and the lyrics biting: “I could be desperate. I could be brave…I want everything in 1981.”
The album’s title is repeated again at the beginning of the last track – “The Order of Death” – killer drum beats back dark piano chords. The guitar chords are like something out of a Ridley Scott film score. It’s a cool ending to a cool record, and somewhat of a forgotten post-punk classic.
The title of Cosmonauts‘ 2013 album Persona Non Gratais Latin for “Person Not Appreciated.” In the world of politics it refers to someone prohibited from entering or staying in a country. Cosmonauts are known for wall-to-wall shoegaze riffs that highlight lyrics of alienation and dissatisfaction (from the world in general to something as simple as the effort it takes to go to a party), so it’s a perfect title for an album reflecting themes of not fitting in anywhere.
The album starts with “Shaker” (which does indeed have a shaker prominent in its sound), in which the band sings about uncertainty and being dumbfounded by one’s own willful ignorance (“I can’t believe that I can’t believe that I can’t believe.”). “Sweet Talk” brings in psychedelic reverb to the rolling riffs and a solid rock groove in a song about murder.
“Wear Your Hair Like a Weapon” was the first single from Persona Non Grata. It’s a crunchy, echoing blast that tells the tale of a dangerous woman. The drum beat on it is wicked and the way it drifts into a trippy section near the end is great. The guitars on “My Alba” have a Middle Eastern sound that I love and might make a lava lamp materialize in your office or bedroom while you’re not looking.
“What Me Worry” was the slogan of Mad Magazine‘s Alfred E. Newman whenever confronted with something out of his control – particularly in the world of politics. The song keeps this attitude throughout it, but focuses it toward a relationship coming to an end (and the killer bass line and shredding guitar solos only make it better).
“I don’t worry about the other guys, ’cause they know me well and I’m cold as ice,” they sing at the beginning of “Pure Posture” – a song about posturing masculinity to hide insecurity. The opening guitars on “I’m So Bored with You” sound like saw mills in full operation. “Vanilla” is the song that follows. “Vanilla” is another term for “boring” or “plain,” especially in the bedroom. The song bounces along like a groovy dream and is hardly boring. The wink of it following “I’m So Bored with You” is inescapable as it tells the tale of girls coming to Los Angeles (the band’s hometown) and them pleading for her to go home and avoid the pitfalls of the city and new relationships there
“Dirty Harry” moves along as fast as an action film and almost dares you to keep up with it. The closer, “Summertime Blue,” ends the album with southern California shine that turns into prismatic colors swirling around you, even as the band sings, “Nothing ever seems to turn out right, and I’m staring at the sky…”
It’s more disconnection. Cosmonauts knew in 2013 that we were all racing down a road of distancing ourselves from others because we were too afraid to embrace the present and the light within us and everyone else. We made ourselves into persona non grata, never at home anywhere because we were too busy being elsewhere with our phones and computers. They, in the meantime, were using rock to propel into orbit and encourage us to kick down the barriers we’d created.
Keep your mind open.
[I feel like persona non grata when you don’t subscribe.]
The first record by Washington D.C. post-punks Priests, Bodies and Control and Money and Power, was a great kick in the junk in 2014 and is still hits hard now.
The opener, “Design with Reach,” has blaring guitar by G.L. Jaguar while vocalist / firebrand Katie Alice Greerreminds us all of our mortality and Taylor Multiz‘s bass is the rumble of a hearse and Daniele Daniele‘s drums are the footsteps of the Grim Reaper. “I’m not sure I should be talking to you,” Greer sings on “Doctor” – a witty tune about how words can quickly trip up a relationship (“You put your fingers in other people’s mouths all day. Don’t you, Doctor?”).
“New” is blaring punk rock that has some of Greer’s most dangerous vocals and riffs from Jaguar that almost clang like a skillet hitting you in the head. “Powertrip” is even faster. Mulitz’s bass runs all over the room and Daniele’s drums are pure punk bliss.
“Modern Love / No Weapon” dares you to tame it. It just comes at you like a four-headed hydra while you’re armed with a toothbrush. “I think about you all the time,” Greer sings / yells in a tone that’s more menacing than seductive. The groove on “Right Wing” (on which Jaguar and Multiz swap instruments) is great while Greer tells us to “Worship me, politely.” and that she’s “not trying to be anything.”
The album ends with the bonkers “And Breeding,” with Greer chastising all of us for spending most of our time “fucking and breeding” and “trying to understand” why we’re so attached to our cubicle mazes. “I know what we gotta do,” she says before she proceeds to verbally trash Elvis Presley, Madonna, and other icons to which we compare ourselves for no good reason whatsoever.
It’s seven songs of rage, riffs, and rock. What more could you want? Priests have, for the time being, amicably called it quits, but at least we have this and other fine records from them to appreciate.
When the Belgian duo of David and Stephen Dewaele, otherwise known as Soulwax, were asked by BBC Radio to create an “essential mix” in 2017, they decided to create an entire album of new music based on the meaning of the word “essential” instead of just mix a bunch of material made by other folks. The result, Essential, turned out to be a great record mixing house music, dub, electro, and trance.
The twelve tracks are named “Essential One,” “Essential Two,” “Essential Three,” etc. No other ornamentation is needed. “One” mixes radio static and electronic alarm clock blips into a funky cacophony. “Two” brings in disco bass and what sounds like electro-vibraphone to get your booty shaking. It flows so well into the ready-made-for-the-dance-floor “Three” that you might not notice the transition.
The groovy bass continues on “Four,” and there’s a brief pause before the echoing chants of “Five” fill your head. The bells and other percussion of “Six” are downright addictive. “Seven” is a bit mellower than the previous tracks, but not by much. It still keeps you moving. The bass on “Eight” is fat as a whale and will have your entire house party moving so hard they might topple over your china cabinet. “Nine” mixes in odd rhythms to the funky bass for a cool brew.
“Ten” starts with menace, but drifts into a quiet bliss by its end. “Eleven” has the most discernible, and sexiest, lyrics. The sultry synth-beats certainly don’t hurt either. “Twelve” is the shortest track on the album at two minutes-thirty seconds, but it still has enough swanky bass to supply a half-hour DJ set.
Essential is indeed that if you’re a fan of Soulwax or electro music. They recently announced that their U.S. tour has been postponed, but dates would be rescheduled. Don’t miss them if they’re near you.
Keep your mind open.
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Iggy Pop once described his 2016 album Post-Pop Depression in a Rolling Stone article as “discussing issues of what happens when your utility is at an end, and dealing with your legacy.” It’s also an album with heavy themes of sex and death.
The opener, “Break into Your Heart,” with it’s heavy, menacing bass by Dean Fertita (of Queens of the Stone Age) is about Pop willing to do whatever it takes to win the object of his desire. “Gardenia” has Pop and Joshua Homme (also of QOTSA as well as Eagles of Death Metal) singing of a “black goddess in a shabby raincoat” with an “hourglass glass” and “slant devil eyes” and how he just wants to pay for one more night with her. A friend of mine wondered if we needed a song about Iggy Pop, who was sixty-nine years old at the time, getting laid. I figured a guy pushing seventy singing about how he’s wanting (and, let’s face it, getting) more sex than guys decades younger than he is pretty damn punk rock.
“American Valhalla” is a song about figuring out what’s left behind after we die. “Death is the the pill that’s tough to swallow…I’m not the man with everything. I’ve nothing but my name. Lonely, lonely deeds that no one sees…Where is American Valhalla?” Everyone wants to know the answer to this, especially when we realize it’s not found in consumerism, Instagram, or reality TV. Homme’s guitar on “In the Lobby” reminds me of Mick Ronson‘s chops, and Pop’s vocals about hoping he doesn’t lose his life as he walks behind his shadow as “the dancing kids” who are out for their kicks are oblivious to the passage of time.
“Sunday” is a tale of enduring the drudgery of the work week and, I suspect, the life of a rock star (“This job is a masquerade of recreation.” / “I’ve got it all, but what’s it for?”) just to get to a day off. “Vulture,” with its spaghetti western showdown percussion from Matt Helders (of Arctic Monkeys) is about the spectre of death and record company executives waiting to bleed you dry.
You can’t help but wonder if Pop is writing from experience on “German Days” – a song about Bavarian brothels, “champagne on ice,” and the opportunity to “germinate in a German way.” Pop did spend many years in Berlin, so I’ll take his word for it. “Chocolate Drops” is about letting go of the past and not fearing death, and it’s no secret that Homme’s work on this album helped him after the terrorist attack at an Eagles of Death Metal show in 2015.
The album ends with the angry rants of “Paraguay,” in which Pop sings about “going where sore losers go to hide my face and spend my dough.” Pop is sick of sycophants and tired of the constant barrage of knowledge and information. He’s tired of living in a place where everyone is afraid and chooses to live in that fear. The song breaks down close to the four-minute mark into a fiery rant from Pop in which he tears down us, the listeners, that he’s sick of our “evil and poisonous intentions” while Homme, Fertita, and Helders chant “Wild animals, they do. Never wonder why, just do what they goddamn do.”
Thankfully, this wasn’t Pop’s last record, as some thought it might be. He isn’t leaving for Paraguay just yet, but Post-Pop Depression is a warning that he might at any moment and not look back at us as he does. It’s also a warning for us to get off our asses, throw away our laptops, and make something of our lives before we’ve run out of time.
Iggy Pop‘s New Values was his first post-Stooges record that didn’t involve David Bowie in some way, although Bowie would later cover one of the tracks on it, but more on that later.
The album highlights Pop’s blend of performance art, lyricism, punk attitude, and crooning swagger. The opener, “Tell Me a Story,” begins with what sounds like ice being clinked into a cocktail class and Pop singing, “What must I do to take a holiday?” and proclaiming how much he loves performing but hates people who take the fun out of it. The title track has a cool guitar riff from Scott Thurston and Pop practically stomping around the recording studio as he lets us know he has “a hard-ass pair of shoulders. I got a love you can’t imagine.” He’s “looking for one new value, but nothing comes my way.” Who hasn’t been there?
“I love girls. They’re all over this world,” Pop sings on (you guessed it) “Girls.” Jackie Clark‘s fuzzy bass matches Pop’s strut well. Pop professes he wants “to live to be ninety-eight” so he can hopefully make out with more girls. He’s currently seventy-two and shows no signs of stopping, so I think he’s going to get his wish. “I’m Bored” sums up being sick of the rat race and fake friends better than any emo record ever released, and Thurston’s solo is anything but boring.
“Don’t Look Down” is the tune David Bowie found so good that he covered it on his Tonight album. It has this neat electric organ from Thurston throughout it and a sharp saxophone solo from John Harden. “The Endless Sea” gets a little psychedelic with Thurston’s synths and Harden’s horns, but Clark and drummer Klaus Kruger keep the tune grounded by putting down one of their tightest grooves on the album.
“I’m only five-foot-one. I got a pain in my neck,” Pop sings on “Five Foot One” – a song about being overwhelmed by big city life. It has probably my favorite lyric on the record: “I wish life could be Swedish magazines.” “How Do Ya Fix a Broken Part” has a cool jazz-fusion sound to it that’s unexpected and yet perfect. Pop’s vocals on “Angel” becoming wistful as he sings about missing his girl. That being said, Pop does wonder what his girl is up to on “Curiosity,” a song about trying to keep thinking good thoughts about a lover while they are away. “African Man” has Pop getting weird and funky as he sings about eating a monkey for breakfast and how he hates the “dirty white man.” Pop is a known lover of Afrobeat music, so this tune might’ve been an early sign of that. The album ends with the post-punk cut “Billy Is a Runaway,” a sharp track tells the tale of a kid who’s living on the edge of everything, something Pop appreciates to the point of buying him a drink.
New Values is a cool record that covers a neat part of Pop’s career when he was moving away from punk and into post-punk and art rock, but never losing his prowling tiger presence.
Keep your mind open.
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Husker Du‘s third album, New Day Rising, is as scorching today as it was in 1985. The band (Grant Hart – drums and vocals, Bob Mould – guitar and vocals, and Greg Norton – bass and vocals) were moving away from hardcore punk to more melodic tunes…but just barely.
The opening title track comes in hard to shove you into a real or imaginary mosh pit wherever you happen to be at the time. “The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill” has Norton’s vocal chords shredding as hard as Mould’s guitars. Norton’s bass drives “I Apologize” as Mould sings about trying to make amends in a relationship going bad due to his short temper. Norton and Hart’s backing vocals (and Hart’s sharp cymbal crashes) give boost to Mould’s plea.
Gen X punk rockers like Hart, Mould, Norton, and myself still remember the anger we felt during the Reagan Era. Husker Du wrote about this on “Folk Lore” – a song that still rings true today with lyrics like “Now the women scream for equal rights, their man wants to have an affair, children learn to hate the world, and no one seems to care.” The abrupt end with the lyric “One thing I know for sure, your heroes always die.” is like right hook to the jaw.
Norton is pissed about someone turning their back on him in “If I Told You.” “I couldn’t convince you if I tried. You weren’t around the time that I cried,” he sings while Hart’s snare drum rolls sound like machine gun fire and Mould somehow turns up the fuzz on his guitar even more.
“Celebrated Summer” has Mould reminiscing about how fast time passes when you spend it “getting drunk out on the beach, or playing in a band” with your friends. “Perfect Example” switches things up with quieter guitars and slightly slower drums as Mould almost whispers lyrics about moving on from a bad relationship but still hoping he’ll be remembered for the good times.
Norton’s bass line on “Terms of Psychic Warfare” is instantly recognizable if you’re a fan of the band, and Hart’s vocals are a scathing rebuke of someone he left at the curb (“You’ve got your own bed now. I suggest that’s the one you sleep in.”). “59 Times the Pain” takes on a bit of shoegaze and sludge that’s almost disorienting. “Powerline” keeps the melodic drone going a bit longer, and “Books about UFOs” is a sweet love song to a girl who spends her time looking at the stars instead of what’s right in front of her.
“I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About” is a solid rocker about that guy everyone knows who rambles on like he’s an expert on everything yet gets angry when he’s confronted with facts that counter his argument. Huh. That sums up 2019 well, doesn’t it? “How to Skin a Cat” is weird chaos that you have to hear in order to appreciate. I can’t do it justice here. “Whatcha Drinkin’?” is a fun punk blast about getting drunk, regretting it, and getting drunk again later. The album ends with “Plans I Make” – an absolute barn burner of a tune with Mould going bonkers, Norton playing like he’s also driving a Grand Prix race car at the same time, and Hart trying to access the basement by pounding his kit through the floor. I realized how much Husker Du inspired A Place to Bury Strangersupon hearing it for the first time.
New Day Rising is a punk classic. It’s essential. All Husker Du is, really.
Pink Floyd‘s debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, is one of those classic records that deserves its legendary status. Its influence can be found not only among all the other United Kingdom (and many elsewhere, of course) psychedelic bands of the 1960’s and 1970’s, but also among modern psych-rock bands around the globe. No one could have predicted this, of course, because the album is so damn weird.
The opener, “Astronomy Domine,” moves like a funeral dirge across the cosmos – somehow combining space rock with doom-psych. “Lucifer Sam” has a killer, fuzzy bass groove by Roger Waters while Syd Barrett sings a tribute to his cat (“That cat’s something I can’t explain.”). “Matilda Mother” pours on the echo effects as Barrett and Waters sings about a long-forgotten king and Richard Wright lays down a sweet organ solo. “Flaming” is a trippy, hippy track about “lazing in the foggy dew” and “sitting on a unicorn.”
“Pow R. Toc H.” is an instrumental track that brings in jazz piano and softens Nick Mason‘s beats to sound like they kept him behind a velvet curtain in a dark nightclub. It mixes in maniacal laughter and chaotic guitar riffs now and then to keep you on your toes. “Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk” is the first track on the album written by Waters, so it’s no surprise that bass and drums move to the forefront while Barrett’s guitar and Wright’s keys seem to be having their own, frantic conversation.
The second instrumental, “Interstellar Overdrive,” would help pave the way for doom-psych with its deep bass grooves, haunted house organ, Tell Tale Heart drums, and Psycho guitar. Just to mess with us, the next track on the album is “The Gnome” – which is literally about a gnome (named Grimble Gromble) going on a “big adventure amidst the grass.”
Need a song featuring Barrett’s view of the cosmos? How about “Chapter 24,” in which he sings, “All movement is accomplished in six stages and the seventh brings return. The seven is the number of the young light. It forms when darkness is increased by one.” Sure. Why not? It’s nice to hear Wright’s organ taking the lead among the instruments on it. “The Scarecrow” tick-tocks along like the subject’s arms “when the wind cut up rough.” The closer, “Bike,” is, believe it or not, a love song. Barrett offers to give his girl “anything, everything, if you want things” including his bike, his cloak, his mouse (named Gerald, although Barrett doesn’t know why), his gingerbread men, and, the most precious gift of all – his music. It’s a lot of fun at first, and then descends into some sort of Lovecraftian dream.
The album is fun, fascinating, and baffling. My dog had no idea what to make of it when I played it in the house one day. I’m still not sure what to make of it either, but that’s okay. You’ll find something different about it each time you hear it.
