A year and a half in and I've done forty album reviews which were the main incentive for starting the blog in the first place. No more this year as I'm temporarily apart from my record collection. Here's the first forty.
- R.E.M.- Murmur
- Associates - Sulk
- Velvet Underground - Loaded
- The Triffids - Born Sandy Devotional
- De La Soul - 3 Feet High & Rising
- Aztec Camera - High Land, Hard Rain
- The Strokes - Is This It?
- Siouxsie & the Banshees - The Scream
- Fairport Convention - Lief & Liege
- Dexys Midnight Runners - Searching For The Young Soul Rebels
- The Smiths- Meat Is Murder
- Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
- Echo & the Bunnymen - Heaven Up Here
- Pixies - Surfer Rosa
- The Modern Lovers - The Modern Lovers
- Misty In Roots - Live At The Counter Eurovision
- Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain
- Simple Minds - New Gold Dream '81. '82, '83, '84
- Love - Forever Changes
- Pere Ubu - The Modern Dance (not completed)
- The Byrds - Younger Than Yesterday
- The Pale Saints - Comforts of Madness
- Low - I Could Live In Hope
- Nico - Chelsea Girls
- Japan - Gentlemen Take Polaroids
- Van Morrison - Astral Weeks
- Spirit - The 7 Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus
- Propaganda - A Secret Wish
- The Zombies - Oddessey & Oracle
- King Creosote - From Scotland With Love
- The House of Love - The House of Love
- Mazzy Star - She Hangs Brightly
- The Cure - 17 Seconds
- The Allah Las- Worship The Sun
- David Bowie - Scary Monsters
- The Happy Mondays - Bummed
- Lloyd Cole & the Commotions- Rattlesnakes
- Phosphorescent - Muchacho
- Procol Harum - A Salty Dog
- Cowboy Junkies - The Trinity Session
I'll definitely get round to finishing Pere Ubu eventually.
13 English bands
14 American bands
4 Scottish bands
1 German band
1 Australian band
1 Canadian band
1 solo English artist
1 solo Scottish artist (I tagged King Creosote as this)
2 solo American artists (Phosphorescent is a band name but it's essentially the work of one man)
1 solo Irish artist
1 solo German artist
7 from the 60s
7 from the 70s
19 from the 80s
2 from the 90s
1 from the 00s
4 from the 10s
The Eighties continue to dominate. That's my decade! Here are some more reviews by the redoubtable Mr Christgau of a few of these records. Occasionally we concur and he generally has an interesting if curmudgeonly perspective. But boy when he gets it wrong!
1. Murmur [I.R.S., 1983]
They aren't a pop band or even an art-pop band--they're an art band, nothing less or more, and a damn smart one. If they weren't so smart they wouldn't be so emotional; in fact, if they weren't so smart no one would mistake them for a pop band. By obscuring their lyrics so artfully they insist that their ("pop") music is good for meaning as well as pleasure, but I guarantee that when they start enunciating--an almost inevitable move if they stick around--the lyrics will still be obscure. That's because their meaning and their emotion almost certainly describe the waking dream that captivates so many art and pop bands. Which leaves me wondering just how much their pleasure means. Quite a lot, I think. A-
6. High Land, Hard Rain [Sire, 1983]
At first I did the obvious thing and pigeonholed this as high-grade pop--richer and truer than Haircut 100 or even the dB's or the Bongos and ultimately feckless anyhow. Now I think it's more like U2 with songs (which is all U2 needs). For sheer composition--not just good tunes, but good tunes that swoop and chime and give you goosebumps--Roddy Frame's only current competition is Marshall Crenshaw, and unlike Crenshaw he never makes you smell retro. His wordcraft is worthy of someone who admires Keats, his wordplay worthy of someone admired by Elvis C.; he sings and arranges with a rousing lyricism that melds militance and the love of life. These are songs in which sweet retreat can't be permanent, in which idealism is buffeted but unbowed--songs of that rare kind of innocence that has survived hard experience. So far, anyway--Frame is still very young. How unusual it is these days for youth to add resonance to what used to be teen music. A-
7. Is This It [RCA, 2001]
Great groove band, end of story--I wish. True grooves extend toward infinity, for one thing; here the beats implode, clashing/resolving with punky brevity and gnarly faux simplicity. Their grooves carry melody, too--and not all of it, not hardly. The Strokes' privileged formalism is annoying, so too their delight in romantic dysfunction. But they're smarter than the playa haters who aren't smart enough to target these blatant shortcomings--and also than, for instance, Firewater, who didn't start a bidding war because they do lots less with the same attitude. A-
17. Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain [Matador, 1994]
Whether the tunes come out and smack you in the kisser or rise from the clatter like a forgotten promise, this is a tour de force melody wise, which is not to get dewy-eyed about its market potential. They'll never truly sell out until they take voice lessons--as alternarockers from Stipe to Cobain know full well, soulful strength is the pop audience's bottom line. Me, I find their eternally pubescent croaks and whinnies exceedingly apt, and though in theory I always prefer songs that aren't about music, any bunch of obscurantist jokers who can inject the words "Stone Temple Pilots they're elegant bachelors" into my hum matrix have got a right to sing the rocks. A
19. Forever Changes [Columbia, 1967]
"Art-rock," sneers my wife, who's never heard it before. "Movie music," Greil Marcus recalls fondly. "I just played it this week," R. Meltzer tells me--and then places its release in early 1968 because it came out the day before a well-remembered abortion. All wrong. It came out November 1967, and neither art-rock nor movie music, no matter how fondly recalled, will permit a song that begins with an elegantly enunciated "Oh, the snot has caked against my pants/It has turned into crystal." Arthur Lee was always too oblique for his own good. Here he counterposes a background-music feel and a delightful panoply of studio effects against his own winning skepticism and the incipient Jaggerishness of his pseudo-Johnny Mathis vocals. Perhaps because it retains so much humor, his battle cry--"We're all normal and we want our freedom"--hasn't dated, the melodies really hang in there, and only Steely Dan has ever attempted a record so simultaneously MOR and anti-MOR. A-
21. Younger Than Yesterday [Columbia, 1967]
The Byrds' Greatest Hits, a profit-taking retrospective from later in the year, sounds like a triumph of produced and programmed rock and roll, while The Notorious Byrd Brothers and Sweetheart of the Rodeo, which followed it in '68, are two of the most convincing arguments for artistic freedom ever to come out of American rock. But this April '67 failure suffers from two related '67 maladies: pretentiousness and self-expression. David Crosby's "Mind Garden" is a completely unlistenable acid meander, while four (three too many) innocuous folk-rock cum country rock tunes by Chris Hillman are a familiar-sounding example of how an uninteresting self does its number. Never before did concept-master Roger (né Jim) McGuinn efface himself so disastrously on a Byrds album--and never after, either. B-
27. The Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus [Epic, 1970]
Both Randy California and the band have their own cool, rich, jazzy style--a genuine achievement, but that doesn't mean you have to like it. They play better than they write, and since they still play songs, that's a problem. A worse problem is that the lyrics are rarely as cerebral as the music. "Nature's Way," for instance, sounds as if it ought to be sardonicus, but though I'm intrigued by the suggestion that it's about death I still think it's a slightly inarticulate ecology song. Could be covered by Peter, Paul & Mary--who also have their own style. B
29. Odessey and Oracle: 30th Anniversary Edition [Big Beat, 1998]
Originally released in 1968, this psychedelic period piece that brackets love songs blithe and bereft with a sweet one about a jailbird (Posdnuous, call your permissions specialist) and a grueling one about a soldier (Chuck D, ditto), suffusing the whole shmear with the moony nostalgia that overtakes twenty-somethings when they decide they're Getting Old. Presynth keybs guide Colin Blunstone's articulated sigh through arrangements that simulate baroque with backup-vocal shtick, every melody guaranteed. Forget the boxed set if you know it exists, and indulge in one of the nicest things ever to happen to Sgt. Pepper. A-
32. She Hangs Brightly [Rough Trade, 1990]
hippie imitation of the year, sad division ("I'm Sailin," "Holah") **
35. Scary Monsters [RCA Victor, 1980]
No concepts, no stylistic excursions, no avant collaborations--this songbook may be the most conventional album he's ever put his name on. Vocally it can be hard to take--if "Teenage Wildlife" parodies his chanteur mode on purpose the joke's not worth the pain, and if you think Tom Verlaine can't sing, check out "Kingdom Come"--though anyone vaguely interested has already made peace with that. Lyrically it's too facile as usual, though the one about Major Tom's jones gets me every time. And musically, it apotheosizes his checkered past, bringing you up short with a tune you'd forgotten you remembered or a sonic that scrunches your shoulders or a beat that keeps you on your feet when your coccyx is moaning sit down. B+
37. Rattlesnakes [Geffen, 1985]
A Glaswegian whose romanticism mixes the mundane and the pretentious in nice lyrical proportions, Cole is like a middle-class Roddy Frame escaped to university instead of the bohemian fringe. Born just before the Beatles made it respectable for college kids to like beat music, he claims student life as the rock and roll subject it so obviously is, and I say about time. So what if he can't stop talking about books and movies and gathers his material on day trips from his walkup flat? Does that make him so different from you? B+
39. A Salty Dog [A&M, 1969]
A new discovery; haven't stopped playing it since seeing them at the Fillmore. A+
