Album Reviews

Michael Rother “Flammende Herzen” (Sky, 1977)

German guitarist Michael Rother has contributed to three world-class rock/electronic groups, all before he reached 25 years old: Kraftwerk, Neu!, and Harmonia. So, it’s not surprising if his solo albums come off as underwhelming (his career has continued into the 2020s). But the first few records under his own name do have some lovely moments, and they often feature Can drummer Jaki Liebezeit and krautrock studio wizard Conny Plank at the controls and Yamaha synth, so there’s a lot of creative firepower behind these releases.

The solo debut, Flammende Herzen, is probably the most logical starting point for anyone who digs Neu! and Harmonia. (If you don’t like those bands, I have some serious questions for you.) Rother begins Flammende Herzen with the title track, and it reveals his innate gentleness and ability to wring maximal emotional weight from minimal gestures. The tender melody flirts with sentimentality and exudes a lullaby quality, but when Liebezeit’s restrained motorik beats come in, it’s like hearing the laughter of an old friend. Thus prodded, Rother intensifies the main melody into a grand plaint that sounds as if his heart indeed is enflamed, as the title (Flaming Heart in English) suggests.

The intro to “Zyklodrom” boasts a grandiose, almost liturgical beauty in the Popol Vuh vein, plus it’s much proggier than Neu! or Harmonia ever got. Two-and-a-half minutes in, though, the beats kick into gear and we’re off to the bicycle races (“Zyklodrom” means “velodrome” in German). Jaki really slams his kit and Rother’s guitar swells to an orchestral grandeur that would make Daniel Fichelscher drop his plectrum. This track almost matches Neu!’s “Lila Engel” for sheer chugging power. “Karussell” is another exercise in cyclical ascendance, conjuring a gradual escalator-to-heaven sensation. Liebezeit gets quasi funky while Rother generates some of his most icily majestic tones and gorgeously cascading guitar and synth motifs. No wonder American folk-psych guitarist William Tyler covered it.

On “Feuerland,” Rother incorporates some of the album’s strangest and most alluring sounds (chattering birds, motorboat purr) while Liebezeit metronomically and precisely chops time. I recall reading that this was Jim O’Rourke’s favorite song on the album, and that checks out. For LP-closer “Zeni,” the guitar tone is almost candied and tailored to tug your heartstrings till they snap. But then Jaki gets to vigorously thumping his tubs and things take a turn for the Can-ny, circa the quickly percolating percussion on “Chain Reaction” from Soon Over Babaluma. It’s a fitting way to end an album awash in sweet, sweet feelings, as it burns clean, motoring to a vanishing point that’s always out of reach. -Buckley Mayfield

(Heads up: Rother performs March 25 at Seattle’s Neptune Theater.)

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Ween “Pure Guava” (Elektra, 1992)

Talk about a uniquely weird major-label debut… The New Hope, Pennsylvania duo Ween were coming off two strange indie albums that were definitive cult artifacts: God Ween Satan: The Oneness and The Pod. (I’m going to ignore the pre-God Ween Satan cassettes, if it’s okay with you. Right here I’ll admit I’m a Ween dilettante, so I’m sure that the hardcore fans will find much in this review about which to quibble. So be it.) Jumping to Elektra in the wake of Nirvana’s Nevermind blowing up, Ween somewhat spiffed up the production values on Pure Guava and let their pop instincts flow while still allowing their soiled freak flag to flutter wildly in the sooty wind.

Naturally eclectic, preternaturally goofy, and seemingly prodigious drug-partakers, Gene Ween (Aaron Freeman) and Dean Ween (Mickey Melchiondo) treated genres such as prog, psych, punk, funk, metal, folk, country, reggae, and gospel like Beavis & Butthead treated societal niceties. These scatologically minded guitarist/vocalists could play their asses off, but they had an aversion to doing things straight (in at least two senses of the word). You can hear their perverse inclinations bloom like the daisies that everyone’s going to be pushing up.

Speaking of which, Pure Guava features Ween’s biggest hit, “Push Th’ Little Daisies,” which lit up MTV, back when that station served a crucial music-biz function. It’s a decidedly amiable slice of hot-fun-in-the-summertime pop with cute, helium-aided vocals and guitars warped to a smeared jangle. Sounds amazing when you’re baked, I’d imagine. Its success must’ve made Elektra feel smug over their risky signing paying off.

The shinier production and bigger budget didn’t erase Ween’s innate trippiness, even on a sincere loner plaint such as “Little Birdy.” With its whispered vocals and solemn melody, “Tender Situation” exemplifies Ween’s ability to blur the distinction between seriousness and parody. The bizarre Theremin-like noises that brighten the song’s corners sure keep the listener guessing.

“The Stallion (Pt. 3)” and “Don’t Get 2 Close (2 My Fantasy)” basically invented Tenacious D, thanks to their overly formal vocal enunciation, faux-prog flourishes, and absurd lyrics—a mixed blessing, to be sure. Better, though is the excellent, low-key novelty rock of “The Goin’ Gets Tough From The Getgo” and the lo-fi, crazy-angled funk of “Reggaejunkiejew”—which is about 100 times better than its title. “I Play It Off Legit” might be the most nonchalantly cool song in Ween’s voluminous catalog; remove the mumbly vocals and it wouldn’t sound out of place on Tortoise’s first album.

“Pumpin’ 4 The Man” is a speedy country pisstake whose music crushes the stoopit lyrics while “Sarah” is a dewy, heart-on-sleeve ballad that kind of foreshadows “A Tear For Eddie,” Ween’s tribute to Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain.” This is contrasted by a slew of tunes in the record’s second half that are full of creative instrumentation and odd stylistic juxtapositions, unfortunately marred by jokey vocals and cringey lyrics that wear out their welcome. That being said, “Mourning Glory” is an adequate Butthole Surfers tribute.

Pure Guava peaks on “Springtheme,” a sublime homage to Prince at his most blissed out and falsetto’d. It’s such a laid-back, suave seducer of a song, it should come with birth control. Again, it’s hard to ascertain if Ween are parodying or honoring, but whatever the case, the magic here is undeniable. This may be a minority opinion, but “Springtheme” is Ween’s best song… by at least a few nipple hairs. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Ted Lucas “Ted Lucas” (OM, 1975)

Could Detroit folk-rocker Ted Lucas be poised for a posthumous revival à la Nick Drake? Stranger things have happened. The guitarist/vocalist/sitarist/harmonica player—who passed away in 1992—only released one album in his too-brief life. Ted Lucas (though it’s also known as OM, which was the name of the label that first issued it) largely went ignored upon release, but it’s accrued cult status, thanks in part to Yoga Records’ 2010 reissue (they pressed it again in 2018).

It’s not a stretch to think of Lucas as an American analogue to Nick Drake, though Ted’s voice is huskier and, to these ears, more stereotypically soulful. A close US counterpart would be Skip Spence, who also only released one album, the stone classic Oar.

A Motown session guitarist who studied sitar with Ravi Shankar, Lucas also played in the Spike-Drivers, the Misty Wizards (their sike-pop gem “It’s Love” appears on the Nuggets comp, Hallucinations, aka My Mind Goes High), the Horny Toads, and the Boogie Disease. The man obviously had instrumental chops, and as Ted Lucas proves, he could write a mean tune, as well.

Ted Lucas is split between side one’s sparse folk songs with the acoustic-guitar-wielding troubadour’s effortlessly poignant singing to the fore and deliciously double-tracked and side two’s sublime, (mainly) instrumental jams. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without either.

From the first seconds of “Plain & Sane & Simple Melody,” Lucas’ voice draws you in and entwines you in a warm halo of intimacy. His melodic mastery instantly asserts itself, its folky luster at once familiar and fresh. These songs must have sounded like decades-old standards in 1975, but they’re also distinctive and memorable on their own merits.

My favorite side one track, “Now That I Know,” has a main vocal hook that recalls Nico’s “The Fairest Of Seasons.” Its low-key jauntiness contrasts with the lyrics of heartbreak, as Ted’s acoustic richly jangles in sparkling counterpoint to his oaken vocal timbres. The self-explanatory “It Is So Nice To Get Stoned” makes me wonder how this song hasn’t been used by a 21st-century cannabis company. Put this in your marketing bong and hit it… come on! “Stoned” possesses the same velvety, heavy-lidded vibe as Spence’s “Weighted Down (The Prison Song)” and “All Come To Meet Her.” Thus ends the LP’s song-based side.

“Robins Ride” begins side two with some funky folk bearing the flintiest acoustic attack since Leo Kottke’s 6- And 12-String Guitar and vibrant hand percussion. It’ll sure enough shake you out of the blunted lassitude that “Stoned” induced. A cautionary tale about the perils of drinking alcohol, “Sonny Boy Blues” delivers menacing folk blues with knuckle-on-gtr beats. Timeless! The alluringly titled “Love And Peace Raga” is reminiscent of Peter Walker’s folkadelic dabbles with Indian music. Carol Lucido’s gently snarling tambura complements Lucas’ rambling, triumphant guitar motifs, with time for plenty of contemplative interludes. A wonderful finale.

Third Man Records is reissuing a deluxe version of Ted Lucas/OM on February 21, with further plans to release previously unreleased archival recordings. Thanks again, Jack White, for your service. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Sly Stone “High On You” (Epic, 1975)

By 1975, Sly Stone’s fame (and probably his fortune and much of his sanity) had plummeted from the dynamic superstar’s late-’60s/early-’70s peak—which, as peaks go, was one of the most dazzling in soul/funk/rock history. But as the singer-keyboardist’s post-Fresh output proved, his skills hadn’t diminished much at all. People—and radio gatekeepers—just weren’t paying as much attention.

So, High On You isn’t rated very highly, even by loyal Family Stone fans—assuming they even heard it. Further mystifying is the fact that the album didn’t chart, nor did any of its three singles. But, Jah damn it, High On You is, low-key, a legit thriller.

Though the Family Stone received no billing here, group stalwarts Freddie Stone (guitar), Cynthia Robinson (vocals), Vet Stewart (vocals), and Jerry Martini (sax) appeared. They’re ably assisted by guitarists Eric Gale and Gail Muldrow, bassist Bobby Vega, drummers Bill Lordan, Michael Samuels, Jim Strassburg, and Wild Willie Sparks, and others. But High On You is definitely Sly’s show.

Irrefutable party-igniter “I Get High On You” opens proceedings with phenomenal funkiness, featuring some of the same synapse-sizzling keyboard sounds heard on Commodores‘ “Machine Gun.” No wonder Fatboy Slim sampled it twice and the great guitarist David T. Walker covered it. Surely you’ve heard “Crossword Puzzle” before, especially because the exceptionally exciting, brassy-jazzy intro’s been sampled in De La Soul’s “Say No Go.” Brace yourself for this hot take: “Crossword Puzzle” is as great as anything from the Family Stone’s classic 1968-1973 run.

“That’s Lovin’ You” creeps in with some excellent orchestral soul that’s lifted by Sid Page’s violin and a robust horn section. On this frisky song, Sly proves himself an excellent bassist, something that people rarely acknowledge. Granted, his bass lines aren’t as thunderous as Larry Graham‘s, but they do underpin the funk with subtlety. “Who Do You Love?” is not a Bo Diddley cover, but rather another righteously raucous slab of levitational funk. Side one closes spectacularly with “Green Eyed Monster Girl,” a rare Sly instrumental. This secret weapon is my go-to cut for DJ gigs. It’s at once bold and stealthy funk, with Sly going HAM on the Hammond B-3 electric organ (or is it Bobby Lyles?).

If you thought the funk magnificence would relent on side two, you don’t know mid-’70 Sylvester Stewart. “Organize” should be piped into every company that’s contemplating forming a union. Adding more grease to the fire, “Greed” is bubbly funk that erupts in righteous indignation about the titular subject. Tangents include “Le Lo Li,” whose fleet, skipping R&B achieves lift-off with soaring gospel backing vocals by Vet, Dawn Silva, and Robinson. (It’s not surprising to learn that Diana Ross covered it.) And the LP’s only ballad “My World,” smolders well enough.

High On You takes its place in the Sly pantheon with other overlooked, late-career gems such as Small Talk, Back On The Right Track, and Ain’t But The One Way. There’s gold in those bargain-bin platters, if you want it. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Cedar Walton “Mobius” (RCA, 1975)

Look at that cover. Now look more closely. If you’re not intrigued enough by Lee Rosenblatt’s cosmic-comic illustration of Cedar Walton’s head Mobius stripping to reveal stars, then you need stronger curiosity muscles.

When I first encountered Mobius, I didn’t know anything about Mr. Walton, but I knew that I had to buy this album; having Steve Gadd on drums and Ryo Kawasaki on guitar didn’t hurt the cause, either. And, man, did that hunch pay dividends.

The Dallas-born hard-bop pianist Walton (1934-2013) rose to a fusion-y peak on Mobius. He had the cajones to open the LP with a bold jazz-funk cover of John Coltrane’s “Blue Trane,” with Kawasaki’s broiling, wah-wah guitar leads and Walton’s Fender Rhodes filigrees inflating your sense of well-being, as bassist Gordon Edwards and Gadd get filthily funky. The horn section of saxophonist Frank Foster, trombonist Wayne Andre, and trumpeter/flugelhorn player Roy Burrowes adds robust heat. I think John would love it supremely.

Things get urgently Latin-jazzy on the Walton composition “Soho.” Mercurial percussion by Omar Clay and Ray Mantilla powers a bravura slab of cop-show theme funk—set in Loisaida, of course. The track’s 10-minute-plus running time allows for all sorts of virtuoso displays by the musicians. What Walton and company do with Thelonious Monk’s tightly composed “Off Minor” isn’t very faithful to the original, and it’s all the better for it. Instead, for nearly eight minutes, they launch it to a far-off galaxy of interstellar funk. You can hear some of that early-’70s Deodato strut in this cover, and Walton gets off an incredible Rhodes solo that’s part Return To Forever-era Chick Corea, part ’70s Terry Riley.

A smooth-jazz odyssey featuring the dulcet vocals of Lani Groves and Adrienne Albert, “The Maestro” is a relative letdown compared to the high-flying feats elsewhere. But Walton and crew rebound with “Road Island Red,” whose sly, Headhunters-like funk seductively leads you to the exits.

And here’s some good news: The excellent and prolific Be With Records reissued Mobius on vinyl last year, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Friendsound “Joyride” (RCA Victor, 1969)

In the Crazy One-Off Hall Of Fame—a musical pantheon I just made up—you will find Joyride by Friendsound. Other entries include The United States Of America’s self-titled LP, Skip Spence’s Oar, and Spoils Of War’s The Spoils Of War, among others. These are all unique psychedelic platters recorded by artists who only made one full-length and then faded away and/or did other things in other configurations.

To make the Friendsound story even nuttier, the four main players on it were moonlighting from garage-rock hitmakers Paul Revere & The Raiders and later, the less-successful Brotherhood. Legend has it Drake Levin, Phil Volk, Ron Collins, and Michael Smith were soaring on hallucinogens while cutting the six tracks in the studio. One listen to Joyride and, yeah, that checks out. Of course, it flooded cut-out bins soon after release, but respect to RCA Victor for taking the risk to put it out.

Dubbed by the band as a “musical free-for-all,” Joyride came together spontaneously and was mixed in what Friendsound called an “eight hands at the control board” approach. The opening title track starts with a stoned dude reciting a bunch of opposing entities over a sly, stalking rhythm, noise-making toys, and serene flute, but soon the verbiage is overtaken by ever-more-intense acid-rock guitar stabs and sharp harmonica parps. The feel is loose and at once sexy and sinister. “Childhood’s End”—which features Jerry Cole on bass and superstar hired gun Jim Gordon on drums—starts with somebody intoning “Send me the dream” as a cacophony of shovels rattles your senses. Then a sudden gush of scathing psych guitar by someone named Grape Lemon and massed vocals appear, recalling Aphrodite’s Child’s “Babylon.” The song’s a tease at 1:57.

“Love Sketch” is an archetypal LSD-trip comedown piece, with guitars dispersing into jeweled globules as guest musician Don Nelson’s forlorn flute motif of heartbreaking fragility floats by. A musique-concrète piece, “Childsong” consists of children shouting on a playground, birdsong, wind chimes, celesta, and flute recorder. Honestly, I don’t need to hear it again. Much better is the nine-and-a-half minute “Lost Angel Proper St.” This is the album’s heavy psychedelic jam, so make sure to time your peak for it. The tune toggles between woozy stagger and Thoroughbred horse panic, with distorted voices grotesquely tickling and tormenting your beleaguered brain (“There’s this question about the quiet and the loud,” “It’s a sad situation. I’m a button,” “Rhubarb,” etc.). We enter a truly zonked funhouse of sound that accumulates disorienting weirdness as it goes. After one quiet passage, an alarm clock rings and things get hectic, not unlike the Velvets’ “Sister Ray,” but funkier. Wowow.

An abstract, improvisational epic for FX’d piano and organ in the realm of Musica Elettronica Viva and John Cage, “The Empire Of Light” ends the album on a baffling note… which is as it should be for a record dwelling in the Crazy One-Off Hall Of Fame. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.


Lush “Gala” (4AD, 1990)

I generally don’t like to review compilations on this blog, but, obviously, they’re sometimes the best way to hear an artist’s peak recordings. Such is the case with Gala, which served as the wonderful British shoegaze band Lush’s intro to American listeners. It collects tracks from their Scar, Mad Love, and Sweetness And Light EPs, plus a couple of outtakes—i.e., the group’s best shit. Which is not to belittle later albums such as Spooky and Split. They’re solid, but they lack the magical fairy dust with which Lush sprinkled their earliest classics.

Lush stood out from the shoegazer pack because they were led by two women: the exquisitely talented guitarist/singers Emma Anderson and Miki Berenyi. Their dreamy, creamy vocal interplay caresses your ears right after a spine-tingling guitar intro of opening song “Sweetness And Light.” The title plays on a common perception about women in rock, but Lush’s catalysts always tempered those qualities with astringent noise amid the sonorously ringing guitars and dulcet vocal tones. Drummer Chris Acland and bassist Steve Rippon deftly but unspectacularly did their rhythmic thing in the background.

Lush worked in a fairly narrow niche—airy yet sometimes noisy shoegaze—but their melodies are so strong on the releases presented here that a certain one-dimensionality isn’t a problem. They perfected the now popular subgenre of ice-queen-gothgaze on “Leaves Me Cold” and “Second Sight.” The towering latter tune boasts thrilling tempo changes, proving that Lush may have listened to a math-rock record or three. “Downer” is intense, surging rock that’s tougher than most of their output and reflexively makes me think of the technical musical term “ramalama.” Similarly, “Baby Talk” is a post-punk pulse-pounder full of radiant guitar crescendos and Rippon’s mantric bass pulse while “Bitter” is the most caustic song here.

The songs that Cocteau Twins genius Robin Guthrie produced on Mad Love really volumize Lush’s lustrous guitar attack and enlarge everything to optimal shimmer and glow. Swooning, waltz-time charmer “Thoughtforms” mirrors the Cocteaus’ ornate curtains of gleaming guitars, and it should’ve been a massive worldwide hit. By comparison, the version from Scar sounds much scrawnier. “Hey Hey Helen,” a cover of the funkiest ABBA song, is not an ironic jape; rather, Lush treat this Swedish pop gem with the precious appreciation it deserves. Best of all may be “De-Luxe,” one of Anderson/Berenyi’s finest cowrites. I don’t use this term recklessly, but this is perfect pop—a yearning orb of sugary noise, swaying melody, and surging rhythms.

It would be a humanitarian benefit if 4AD would reissue Gala on vinyl, as it’s been oop on that format for 35 years. Besides losing the label and band a lot of potential money, it’s just morally wrong. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Osamu Kitajima “Benzaiten” (Island, 1976)

Born in 1949 in Chigasaki, Japan, Osamu Kitajima began his career in rock bands that emulated the Ventures, the Beatles, and the Bee Gees. After a stint as lead guitarist for the Japanese pop star Yuzo Kayama and a whimsical 1971 psych-pop LP cut under the alias Justin Heathcliff, Osamu wearied of the Anglo-American musical influences that had marked his career and decided to fuse traditional Japanese musical elements with prog- and psych-rock moves. These impulses blossomed on his second album, Benzaiten, the multi-instrumentalist’s peak and his boldest artistic statement. (The 1977 follow-up, Osamu, is also a mellow beauty—a Far East Asian take on New Age and folkadelia.)

“Benzaiten – God Of Music And Water” begins Benzaiten with martial-arts yelps, Dennis Belfield and John Harris’ tight funk bass lines, Brian Whitcomb’s strutting clavinet, and George Marinelli’s delicate guitar filigree, all of which harmonize with wispy flute and chimes. It’s a weird track, like early Commodores collaborating with Taj-Mahal Travellers. A leisurely pastoral stroll bearing Tatsuya Sano’s gorgeous shakuhachi melody, “Taiyo – The Sun” sounds like a direct influence on early Ghost, complete with throaty, grave vocals, as Osamu gets off a lovely guitar solo that curls like incense smoke. The song’s at once utterly blissful and slightly ominous, like walking through a lush forest on your way to a hanging.

Featuring future Yellow Magic Orchestra member Haruomi Hosono on bass, “Tengu – A Long-Nosed Goblin” is a Japanese analogue to the Stooges’ “Dirt”; a methodical, serpentine slab of sensuous funk, with Osamu’s electric guitar frayed and wah’d to a crispy grooviness. Like all the best extended jams, this gets more psychedelic as it goes. The epic, mind-altering reprise of the title track offers more of Osamu’s guttural vocal emissions amid wonderful sonic feng shui: minimalist acoustic guitar, hypnotic biwa (wooden lute) riffs, piercingly pretty Hayashi-bue (flute) with African, Mexican, and Japanese hand drums percolating beneath it all. Beginning with a mournful shakuhachi solo, “Whoma – Immortality” goes on an marathon journey of sparse beauty, at points anticipating the questing, East-meets-West ensemble Codona. It solidifies Benzaiten as one of the musical head trips from Asia.

Trivia: The Japanese psych-rock group Acid Mothers Temple paid homage to this LP with 2015’s Benzaiten. Tip: The German label Everland Psych reissued Benzaiten in 2024. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Wedding Present “Tommy” (Reception, 1988)

In the mid ’80s, great British rockers the Wedding Present experienced a media backlash in the UK’s notoriously fickle music press. Detractors complained about the group’s monochromatic attack, singer David Gedge’s “sensitive guy” conversational lyrics, and a generally rigid, retrograde vision that was firmly rooted in the everyday world. And, to a degree, the Wedding Present were guilty of all charges.

Nevertheless, their songs were damned lovable. Ignore the Wedding Present and you deprive yourself of one of the most exciting guitar sounds of the post-punk era—and utterly relatable lyrics, if you’re into that sort of thing. Regarding the latter, “You Should Always Keep In Touch With Your Friends” is both a poignant song and timeless, sage advice.

Tommy is a 12-song compilation that collects the band’s pre-George Best singles and Peel sessions from 1985-1987, allowing listeners to experience the frenetic fun of embryonic Wedding Present. Their earliest songs—”Go Out And Get ‘Em Boy!” “Once More,” “Living And Learning,” “This Boy Can Wait,” and a cover of Orange Juice’s “Felicity”—especially ruffle your hair like Scottish post-punk enigmas Josef K at light speed. Fingers aflame, Wedding Present guitarists Gedge and Peter Solowk and bassist Keith Gregory affirm the joys of speed, beauty, and compassion. This is the sound of happiness, albeit sometimes tinged with regret.

Yes, there’s a somewhat one-dimensional quality to the tunes on Tommy—the guitars’ choppy, clangorous jangle can lose some of its sting over extended durations and Gedge’s vocal range is, to put it charitably, limited. But among the competitive field of mid-’80s British indie rock, the Wedding Present proved, against odds, that speed doesn’t kill—it cuddles. And, hey, the late Steve Albini—who produced later WP releases such as Brassneck and Seamonsters—wouldn’t work with just anyone… -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Joe Bataan “Call My Name” (Vampi Soul, 2005)

The King Of Latin Soul’s comeback album of sorts, Call My Name is way better than you’d expect from an artist whose peak, according to consensus opinion, occurred in the ’60s and ’70s. The New York-based Afro-Filipino singer was something like a combo of velvety crooner Smokey Robinson and socially conscious Marvin Gaye for the Fania Records set.

On Call My Name, Bataan worked with a young group, led by Phenomenal Handclap Band’s Daniel Collás, who wrote the songs and played organ, synth, and electric piano, percussion, and clavinet. Collás and his hired hands provided a fabulous update of his soulful, funky showmanship on the mic. (Somebody on Discogs who claims to know Joe says he disowns Call My Name; that’s his prerogative, of course, but the proof is in the grooves.) The title track grabs your attention immediately with a high-pitched synth intro of exquisite tanginess. Soon after, Joe comes in, suave as hell and oozing effortless cool, even in his 60s, riding a slithery bass line, lithe clavinet, and serene flute, and banging beats on this casually funky soul gem.

“Chick-A-Boom” is the LP’s instant party-starter. An uptempo funk cut with cowbell, organ filigrees, and sexy-old-guy vocal hooks, this aptly titled joint is DJ platinum. The first part of “I’m The Fool” harks back to classic Bataan fare, as he croons with buttery sincerity and tenderness over a psychedelic boogaloo backing with… sitar. Whoa! Part 2 is a sweet, deep instrumental ramble for the true heads. “Chevere Que Chevere” is nonchalant boogaloo that’s sexier than most songs with “Chevere” (Spanish slang for “cool”) in the title.

If you’d like some breezy, feel-good soul that cruises like Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up,” but at a slightly more relaxed pace, “Cycles Of You” will suit you right down to the ground. As a nice contrast from all the party-centric numbers, “Ernestine” brings hushed, Stone Coal White-like balladry, with unsettling undertones. The album ends with the humidly sensual funk of “Keep The Change.”

Call My Name is the last proper studio release by Bataan, who’s now 82. If it’s his swan song, it’s a damned righteous one—even if the great man himself disagrees. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Spacemen 3 “The Perfect Prescription” (Glass, 1987)

If, as the title suggests, the British quartet Spacemen 3 considered this platter a drug, then it’s more Quaalude than Dexedrine. Excepting the crashing turmoil of “Take Me To The Other Side” (this is how you begin an album!) and the throbbing first-album Stooge-isms of “Things’ll Never Be The Same,” the songs on The Perfect Prescription exude a contemplative, post-coital calm. On their second LP, Spacemen 3—led by Pete “Sonic Boom” Kember and Jason Pierce—deployed to divine effect Farfisa organ, electric and acoustic guitars, violin, trumpet, and “bass vibrations” to achieve a peak in a career unmarred by duds.

The band’s reverent homage to Lou Reed’s sprawling, urban paean “Street Hassle” evokes fond memories of the original and it segues beautifully into the aerated ambient whorl of “Ecstasy Symphony” and the gently exploded cover of “Transparent Radiation,” which dwarfs Red Krayola’s original in a most respectful manner. Tracks such as “Feel So Good” “Come Down Easy,” “Call The Doctor,” and “Walkin’ With Jesus” are all adorned with minimal instrumentation, but the music has a relentless lambency that tickles you into tranquil abstraction.

Bathed in a holy glow of Farfisa, “Walkin’ With Jesus” is a proto-Spiritualized jam epitomized by Pierce’s salubrious infatuation with Christian imagery while he and his Rugby, England mates forge a beatific new hymn that will give even the staunchest heathens shivers up and down the spine. “Feel So Good” and “Come Down Easy” are spot-on emulations of J.J. Cale’s ultra-laidback, featherlight blues rock. Rarely has a rock group sounded this blissfully opiated. The latter’s a nearly seven-minute, see-sawing blues rock mesmerizer that you wouldn’t mind going on all day. Some might call it monotonous, but it’s actually as spellbinding as swaying on a hammock. “Call The Doctor” is a stark cautionary tale about heroin abuse buoyed by watery guitar, lowing bass, and Sonic Boom’s sotto voce intonations. It’s a phenomenal yet harrowing way to end this druggy album—a subtle ripple of darkness on a record mainly radiating celestial light. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Slade “Slayed?” (Polydor, 1972)

Slade ranked high within Great Britain’s ’70s glam-rock movement, racking up hits like they guzzled liquor—copiously. They were the polar opposite of fellow UK glam deities such as the baroque and arty Queen and Roxy Music, though; Slade reveled in basic, boozy stomps that put a spring in your glittery-platform-booted stride. Marked by atrociously spelled titles and singer Noddy Holder’s rowdy growl, Slade’s songs were hell-bent on getting you to party as quickly and debauchedly as possible. In that regard, they were (l)outstanding.

The Wolverhampton quartet’s third album, Slayed?, was produced by Animals bassist Chas Chandler and topped the UK album charts, while peaking only at #69 in the US. That discrepancy haunted Slade throughout their career, as Americans just couldn’t hang with these fun-loving lads during their prime. That being said, Slade did have an influence on US bands such as Quiet Riot, who covered “Cum On Feel The Noize” and “Mama Weer All Crazee Now,” and Slade did eventually score two Top 40 songs in the mid ’80s.

Right from the intro of opening track “How D’You Ride,” Slade flex their outsized swagger with a boisterous slice of Sticky Fingers-style rock. Strap in, because it’s going to be a rock & roll bacchanal; Holder (who also plays guitar), drummer Don Powell, lead guitarist Dave Hill, and bassist Jim Lea made sure of that. Witness that rambunctious quality in “The Whole World’s Goin’ Crazee,” as you can hear AC/DC’s libidinous attack germinating in this brawny rock & roll anthem. “I Won’t Let It ‘Appen Again” is a midtempo chug of defiance that hints at both Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” and Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” while Holder’s vocal warble anticipates the Undertones’ Feargal Sharkey.

Slayed? is not all hell-raising high-steppers. See “Look At Last Nite,” the album’s most subdued song. Though it struts with a high degree of machismo, it has shades of Queen’s dramatic vocal harmonies. And a rare tint of darkness enters the frame on “Gudbuy Gudbuy” while “I Don’ Mind” is a downtrodden blues-rocker that foreshadows bands such as Black Keys and their ilk while revealing Slade’s under-recognized ominous side.

It makes sense that Slade would cover a Janis Joplin song (in this case, “Move Over”), as both artists excel at making extroverted gestures and Noddy’s voice often attains the same explosive emotional climaxes as Joplin did. The LP’s other cover—Shirley and Lee’s 1956 hit “Let The Good Times Roll”—is an on-the-nose homage, but Lea’s bass line is a dead ringer for John Cale’s in “European Son.” It doesn’t make sense in this context, but that’s what makes it so great.

Slayed? peaks on the two UK hit singles. “Gudbuy T’Jane” boasts some of the greatest guitar riffs and sing-along choruses in ’70s rock, but it’s not even the album’s best track. Nevertheless, if you inject this song into your veins, you will feel powerful glee for veritable hours, with no negative side effects. But the magnum opus is “Mama Weer All Crazee Now,” a tune so riotously louche, it topples into sacred music territory. One of my favorite songs of all time, “Mama Weer All Crazee Now” is one of those rare numbers in the canon off of which a listener can get a contact drunk. I mean, listen to that coda full of massed chants of the title phrase. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophesy… That the song scaled to #1 in the UK and only to #76 in the US shows a shocking lack of taste among early-’70s yanks.

Slayed? is a paragon of loutish British glam, exemplifying a devil-may-care attitude that seems like an impossible luxury in 2024. Sure, weer all crazee now, but not in that good ol’ Slade way. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.