Jive Time Turntable

Sonny Bono “Inner Views” (ATCO, 1967)

Sonny Bono was best known as a writer and performer on five pop hits in the ’60s with his singing partner/wife Cher and as comic foil to her on their TV variety show from 1970 to 1977. For a while, Sonny & Cher were in competition with Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood for lady/guy music-group supremacy in the US charts. I’ve always preferred the latter duo, but S&C’s “The Beat Goes On” undoubtedly has amazing durability and there’ve been some fantastic covers of it (Telex‘s and Gábor Szabó’s come to mind). But as someone who watched The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour as a lad, I’ve had trouble taking Mr. Bono seriously. And I’m probably not alone.

However, sometime in the last decade, Sonny’s only solo album proper, Inner Views, came to my attention. Some people I respect called it a psychedelic shocker. When I finally tracked down a copy for a reasonable price, I wasn’t blown away, but I was pleasantly surprised. Opening track “I Just Sit There” starts full tilt with a sitar-tinged hypnolovewheel of psychedelia, nearly 13 minutes of Bono rambling lysergically, like a less erudite, less poetic Bob Dylan, while sounding Dylan-esque on the mic. Also, I would bet your drug money that Brian Jonestown Massacre listened to this mantric song on repeat in the ’90s. (Side note: I wish I could tell you who plays what on this record, but info is scant.)

Comparatively speaking, the next two songs are a comedown. With its “Eleanor Rigby” melodic similarities, “I Told My Girl To Go Away” is a frilly, orchestral psych-adjacent ballad that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Hollies LP of the time, while the morose orchestral ballad “I Would Marry You Today” foreshadows some of Spiritualized’s tenderer moments. Then, in a weird twist, “My Best Friend’s Girl Is Out Of Sight” has the swift, uplifting buoyancy of a Northern soul floor-filler. Damn, Sonny—didn’t know you had it in ya.

Album-closer “Pammie’s On A Bummer” comes off like when a hitmaker and his session musicians take the brown acid and just wing it. On a blind listen, it could very well be some Midwestern basement-dwellers on a private press label getting far out—not a burgeoning celebrity with platinum records on his wall. But then the song turns into a lachrymose folk dirge, as Sonny laments—sounding like Sky Saxon’s little brother—about a female drug addict whose life has gone awry. This was Bono’s attempt at Serious Art™ (I think), but dude just didn’t have the gravitas to pull it off. Kudos for trying, though.

Inner Views has been of print on vinyl since 1967, and the last CD reissue happened in 2005. Nevertheless, you can find cheap copies on Discogs. That being said, it would be cool if Light In The Attic, Numero Group, or somebody like that did a proper re-release with liner notes and everything. -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.

Ruth Copeland “I Am What I Am” (Invictus, 1971)

A white Englishwoman with phenomenal pipes singing and writing songs while backed by early-’70s Funkadelic? And we get two excellent Rolling Stones covers, to boot? Gosh, you don’t have to twist my arm to get me to listen to Ruth Copeland’s I Am What I Am.

Copeland came to many folks’ attention by co-producing and writing two great, anomalous songs for Parliament’s first LP, Osmium. When she signed to Detroit’s Invictus Records, it was understood that label bosses (and stellar Motown songwriting team) Holland-Dozier-Holland would groom her to become the Caucasian Diana Ross. Obviously, things didn’t quite pan out that way, and Copeland ended up cutting only three solo albums in ’70s before fading into deep obscurity.

Backing up a bit, one of her songs on Osmium, “The Silent Boatman,” stands among the greatest ever written, a solemnly gorgeous, quasi-gospel tune about redemption in the afterlife, a tune that any sensible person would want played at their funeral. The composition also appeared on Copeland’s 1970 solo debut album, Self Portrait. There’s nothing quite as sublime as that classic on I Am What I Am, but Copeland’s sophomore LP—which she also produced; rare for a woman at that time—is stronger overall.

The album begins with a bang: “The Medal”—cowritten with Donald Charles Baldwin—toggles between starkly dramatic, piano-intensive balladry and a funky, acid-rock blowout. Copeland brandishes her exceptional vocal range, going from tender croon to Julie Driscoll-/Ann Wilson-like wailing while lamenting the Vietnam War’s toll on America’s young men. A freaky guitar solo by Hazel, Monette, or Bykowski is the LSD-laced cherry on top.

The first of three George Clinton collabs, “Cryin’ Has Made Me Stronger;” is a gospel-tinged, piano-heavy ballad about the torment of a busted-up relationship. It’s a real emotional wallow, with stacked backing vocals offering sweet consolation. George also contributes to “Hare Krishna,” a swaying, blues-gospel roof-raiser that sweeps up all in its path, atheists and agnostics included. Copeland persuasively sings, “What I’m trying to say is, we’re all the same,” no matter which religion we follow. Many would beg to differ, but it is a pretty thought. The final Clinton cowrite is “Don’t You Wish You Had (What You Had When You Had It?),” a filthy funk slow-burner with that trademark Clintonian lubriciousness. Ruth is in bravura form on the mic, rebuking a paramour who made poor decisions regarding their love. A scorching, rueful guitar solo by Hazel (I think) seals the deal.

Speaking of Eddie, he cowrote “Suburban Family Lament” with Copeland, and it’s I Am What I Am‘s funky apex. (The fantastic opening drum break has been sampled nine times, including by Madlib, Danger Mouse, and A Tribe Called Quest.) The track’s as gritty and groovy as anything on Hazel’s 1977 solo joint, Game, Dames And Guitar Thangs, and it could have easily fit on Maggot Brain or Free Your Mind.

The two Rolling Stones covers here are better than most. On “Play With Fire,” Copeland transforms one of the Stones’ most plaintive ballads into a showcase for her extraordinarily powerful voice. The group extends the song to over seven minutes of storm and stress dynamics, as Worrell or Case’s cyclical piano motifs ratchet up the tension. I gotta believe that Mick and Keith had to have dug these Funkadelicized extrapolations. Now, some might think it a fool’s errand to cover one of rock’s mightiest classics, “Gimme Shelter,” but Copeland and her assembled Funkadelic badasses are more than up for the task. She doesn’t quite reach Merry Clayton levels of distress in the original, but Copeland certainly captures the emotional turbulence at the song’s core about war’s many destructive effects. The band continues to pile up layers of guitars, bass, drums, and backing vocals until the last few minutes of this eight-minute epic topple into a glorious whirlpool of excess. Serious show-stopper energy here.

Copeland’s best album, I Am What I Am should’ve made her a star, but instead it’s become a cult classic, a real IKYKY funk/soul gem. It was last reissued on vinyl by UK label Demon in 2019, but even those have become scarce and pricey. Time for another re-release! -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.

Harumi “Harumi” (Verve Forecast, 1968)

Harumi Ando is part of that rarefied club of one-and-done artists: musicians who released one great LP and then peaced out for various reasons. My own pantheon would include Skip Spence, the United States Of America, McDonald & Giles, Friendsound, Spoils Of War, and Hermann Szobel. There are more, but we don’t have all day here.

What makes Harumi’s case even more interesting is that he seems to have vanished from everyone’s radar in the decades following the release of his 1968 self-titled debut album. Mystery pervades Harumi. How did an unproven Japanese solo musician hook up with accomplished—and uncredited—New York players in a studio helmed by Tom Wilson, producer of classics by the Velvet Underground, Mothers Of Invention, Nico, Simon & Garfunkel, and Bob Dylan? Why did Verve allow him to cut a double LP whose second disc consists of sidelong excursions with zero commercial potential? I mean, it was a risky move even when they did it with Frank Zappa & co. Could the reason really be down to Verve’s execs being high on hallucinogens and the notion that “this is what the kids want”? I would like to think so.

Harumi begins brilliantly with “Talk About It,” phased drums leading the way on a glorious sunshine-pop tune. There’s a warped guitar or keyboard sound surging in the background that pushes this into mindfucksville. And right away, Harumi establishes his solid grasp of English and dramatically vulnerable voice, which is not technically “good,” but is effective in the context of his beautifully ramshackle psych-pop songs. “First Impressions” bursts into life with a horn-heavy fanfare, powering bubbly, Age Of Aquarius pop à la 5th Dimension. “Hello” is a tough little gem with a killer cyclical bass line and enigmatic organ swell. The slyly groovy “Sugar In Your Tea” is an introverted, naïve psych nugget in the Paul Parrish vein.

The soaring “Caravan” should’ve been a hit; I can imagine it seguing well into Tommy James & The Shondells’ “Crimson & Clover.” No wonder it was covered with astonishing panache by Rotary Connection. The towering, wide-screen orch pop of “Hunters Of Heaven” will sweep you off your goddamn feet. Again, the bass line snakes its way into your consciousness, leaving you dying to know who’s playing it. (I wouldn’t be surprised if it were Carol Kaye or Chuck Berghofer.) Oddly, “Hurry Up Now” sounds as if it could be a B-side of a single by an obscure Motown artist (compliment!). “Fire By The River” is the closest thing Harumi has to a dance-floor banger; it features the album’s most robust drums, chill vibes, incandescent organ, and biting guitar stabs. Harumi really belts it out on “Don’t Know What I’m Gonna Do,” but the square, melodramatic pop with strings and vibes is the LP’s nadir.

Harumi could’ve ended the album there and we’d have a nice little cult classic. But he went and added another slab of wax with the 24-minute “ Twice Told Tales Of The Pomegranate Forest” and the 18-minute “Samurai Memories.” This is how legends manifest. In the former, a deep-voiced thespian and Harumi trade observations, which most contemporary listeners will dismiss as faux-profound philosophizing or hippie hoo-ha. A procession of passages on glowing vibes, piquant shamisen strums, tabla, shakuhachi, congas, etc. serves as a bed for our narrators’ chatter. They discuss life, love, freedom, “the miracle of reality,” “the lost chord,” and “a mountain of ice cream.” Heavy, bros. “Samurai Memories” starts like a soundtrack for a swinging ’60s LSD party and gets progressively more complex and chaotic, then waxes and wanes in its own peculiar drug logic while Harumi or somebody else speaks in Japanese. These epics compound the WTF? factor of this enigmatic oddity. Harumi, if you see this review, please shed some light on your flawed masterpiece.

(The Austrian label Ebalunga!!! is reissuing Harumi on black and color vinyl on June 23. It ain’t cheap, but it’ll be less expensive than most copies on Discogs.) -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.

Marvin Gaye “Trouble Man” (Tamla, 1972)

Marvin Gaye’s only film score is one of the zeniths of the short-lived blaxploitation genre. (Though I’ve not seen it, the Trouble Man movie is generally considered a dud.) Beyond that major feat, Trouble Man stands as one of Gaye’s greatest albums, as well as the first one he totally wrote and produced. Matter of fact, I like it better than consensus all-time #1 classic What’s Going On—and, no, I’m not just being a contrarian.

The odd thing about Trouble Man is that Gaye—one of soul music’s most emotive and powerful vocalists—seldom sings on it. No, Marvin was more interested in playing the Moog synthesizer that fellow Motown superstar Stevie Wonder had recently gifted him. The result is a stunning anomaly in Gaye’s phenomenal catalog.

Musicians on Trouble Man included members of the Motown session band the Funk Brothers and Bohannon‘s group. Having Ray Parker Jr. and David T. Walker on guitar and Stix Hooper and Leon “Ndugu” Chancler on drums surely helped Gaye achieve his aims here. “Main Theme From Trouble Man (2)” kicks off with articulated, wah-wah guitar wails and bass/drum action akin to Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s “Rainy Day, Dream Away.” Add rolling piano storminess, a melismatic sax solo, and an attention-grabbing keyboard motif that puts all of your synapses on high alert, and you may ask yourself, “What’s going on?” Answer: not the Marvin Gaye status quo, brothers and sisters. Later comes “Main Theme From Trouble Man (1),” a version that’s as tough as nails and as velvety as a pimp’s strides. Confuisingly, there is also a track titled “Theme From Trouble Man,” which is super tranquil and woozy, with sax and strings to the fore. Then there’s “Deep-In-It”; with its freaky Moog solo squiggling over piano and strings chiaroscuro, it might be Gaye’s strangest track.

“’T’ Plays It Cool” delivers mellow yet rock-ribbed jazz funk enhanced by staccato, funky Moog riffs and cracking drums while the sax- and strings-laden “Poor Abbey Walsh,” by contrast, verges on melodrama. Still, it’s interesting to hear Marvin stretch out of his comfort zone. The contemplative “Life Is A Gamble” also flirts with sentimentality and features some very morose vocalizations by Gaye. The spare, bongo-heavy suspense-thriller cut “’T’ Stands For Trouble” is as incisive as anything library-music titans Pierro Umiliani or Alan Hawkshaw did, with the record’s stealthiest bass line, played either by Wilton Felder or Ron Brown. (Oddly, I can find no bassist credits on Wikipedia or on the LP cover; Motown was notoriously stingy with info.)

Last but most, “Trouble Man” is the epitome of cool in the über-cool blaxploitation-soundtrack game. Gaye’s falsetto has never been sleeker nor steelier, his “yeah”s never more wracked and his “hoo”s never eerier. The music’s minimalist, subtly funky and swinging, full of implied menace. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and call this Gaye’s greatest song and maybe his most impressive vocal performance. It’s a whole mood, as some young folk are wont to say. I could live to be 900 years old and never tire of 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.

The Sunshine Band “The Sound Of Sunshine” (TK, 1975)

Before they became a well-oiled hit machine and the punch line to millions of unfunny discophobic jokes, KC & The Sunshine Band were a tight little funk group who cut a brilliant, undersung debut in 1974 titled Do It Good, which still sounds vital more than 50 years later. Their next album, 1975’s KC & The Sunshine Band, boasted two #1 hits: “Get Down Tonight” and “That’s The Way (I Like It).” Keyboardist/vocalist Harry Wayne Casey and bassist Richard Finch formed a formidable songwriting duo, excelling at hooks and grooves as scorching as their home state of Florida’s sun, and they were on one hell of a roll.

So it’s weird that their third album, The Sound Of Sunshine, was recorded under the truncated moniker the Sunshine Band and basically consisted of all instrumentals. I suspect Casey and Finch recorded these tracks around the time of Do It Good, and then shoved them out to market after their sophomore LP exploded, to capitalize on its momentum. That still doesn’t explain the shortened name. Whatever the case, The Sound Of Sunshine is a true heater to which even some KC haters might bust a move.

The album begins swimmingly with “Shotgun Shuffle,” whose easy-going, loping funk pleases with uplifting horns and circular, ringing guitar riffs. It’s a rudimentary, Kool & The Gang-like jam that’s exceptionally effective at raising pulse rates and spirits. As a bonus, the Fire backing vocal group (Beverly Champion, Margaret Reynolds, Jeanette Williams) shout “shotgun” near the end, to really launch this party. Remember “Rock Your Baby,” a chart-topper for George McCrae in 1974? Well, it’s interesting to hear this version done by its composers, following McCrae’s mellow proto-disco version, which John Lennon and ABBA’s Björn and Benny loved. Saxophones carry the main melody and the buoyant, midtempo groove pairs well with the Andrea True Connection’s “More More More.” As another bonus, Clarence Reid (aka Blowfly) cowrote “Funky ’75,” a light-footed specimen of mid-’70s funk that can’t help putting a smile on your feet.

That’s a helluva opening triptych, but there are other highlights on this 26-minute gem. For example, “Miss B. (Theme),” whose tenseness makes it prime spy-thriller/action-sequence material—soaring and as funky as Wilt Chamberlain’s headband. The slow, swampy funk of “Just A Groove” creeps on in à la the Band’s “Up On Cripple Creek”; it’s shocking that nobody’s sampled it. “Sunshine City”’s fleet, airy funk eradicates your worries with alacrity. Its essence should be bottled and sold as a healthcare supplement. Once again for the slow learners at the back of the class: KC & The Sunshine Band were no joke. -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.

Laraaji “Ambient 3: Day Of Radiance” (Editions EG, 1980)

Ambient 3: Day Of Radiance came to fruition after Brian Eno discovered Laraaji (aka Edward Larry Gordon) playing an electronically modified zither in New York’s Washington Square Park for pocket money. (This was around the time Eno was curating the essential No New York comp.) At that point, Laraaji already had released two LPs on micro indie labels, but Day Of Radiance substantially elevated his profile, thanks in part to it appearing on Eno‘s legendary Ambient series and being produced by the great anti-musician/theorist himself. Issuing this all-time classic has been one of Bri’s wisest decisions in a career full of them.

You can hear hints of Day Of Radiance on the 24-minute “All Pervading” from Laraaji’s excellent 1978 debut album, Celestial Vibration. For Ambient 3, Laraaji—now 82 and still going strong—recorded five tracks totaling nearly 50 minutes: three titled “The Dance” and two “Meditation.” “The Dance #1” possesses some of the most chakra-tingling and, yes, radiant timbres ever generated. Its undulating stream of electric 36-stringed, open-tuned zither and hammered dulcimer tintinnabulate like the universe’s most sanguine ringtone. “The Dance #2” offers a slight variation on “The Dance #1.” The hammering of the dulcimer sounds a bit more emphatic, almost like tambourine slaps. The track’s akin to New Age gamelan, a perpetual glee machine of unwavering beauty. Relatively concise at 3:20, “The Dance #3” is more monochromatic than the previous two pieces and chugs like a train running through a gamut of gongs. It must be acknowledged that Eno’s production here is brilliant, in all senses of the word.

Unsurprisingly, the “Meditation” tracks are more tranquil, and so beatific, they can almost nullify the ill effects of reading the news in 2026. The nearly 19-minute “Meditation #1” and the much shorter “Meditation #2” bestow a delicate, fluttery beauty; they feel like being caressed by angel wings or like bathing in a lavender-scented mist and then being swaddled in a terry-cloth onesie while a benevolent deity ushers you to Heaven’s VIP section. What I’m trying to say is, these tracks might be epitome of sonic peace, for which Laraaji and Eno should’ve won a Nobel Prize.

Count your blessings—Day Of Radiance is some inexpensive, efficacious health care in the guise of music. No home should be without 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.

King Crimson “Red” (Island, 1974)

The final King Crimson album before they took an extended hiatus and transformed into a different beast altogether in 1981, Red is the British prog-rock pioneers’ heaviest LP and is considered by many smart people to be their peak. The band went into London’s Olympic Studio with a core lineup of guitarist Robert Fripp, bassist/vocalist John Wetton, and drummer Bill Bruford—talk about your ultimate badasses. Robert also called in some prog-rock studs to accentuate the five tracks on Red: saxophonists Mel Collins and Ian McDonald, violinist David Cross, cornetist Mark Charig, oboist Robin Miller, and others. Richard Palmer-James penned lyrics on a couple of songs. All concerned will enter Valhalla for their efforts.

The paradox of the phenomenal Red is, Fripp thought that King Crimson was an obsolete dinosaur; he was itching to do other musical projects, as releases with Brian Eno and guest appearances with David Bowie and Peter Gabriel, among other endeavors, proved. And yet, KC created a masterpiece that’s influenced a raft of rock groups in the ensuing decades. What wags call math-rock pretty much germinated in Red‘s brainy and brawny DNA.

The title track kicks off the LP with one of the most monumental, magisterial instrumentals in all of rock. It sounds like the song you play after winning World War III—wait, there will be no winners of that war. Anyway, you get what I mean… I hope. This music abounds with heroic motifs and empowering riffs of magmatic ebb and flow that render any words a vocalist may emit as superfluous. By contrast, “Fallen Angel” starts as a sweet, baroque art-rock ballad before accruing heft and angst in its second half. It’s a blessed respite before KC plunge into another paragon of infernal menace, “One More Red Nightmare.” This is rock that would make Satan himself soil his boxers. Bruford manifests some amazingly wonky percussion timbres from… sheet metal? Whatever the case, it sounds fantastic. The song also contains a couple of compelling saxophone solos, which few rock songs do.

Edited down to eight minutes from an improvisation at a 1974 Rhode Island gig, “Providence” is Red‘s outlier. It’s a gradually intensifying piece that builds to a glowering, suspenseful climax. Wetton’s bass is in particular monstrous form, while Fripp tears off the paint in the room with sculpted skree. Finally, “Starless” is a slice of grandiose, regal prog that harks back to KC’s 1969 debut, In The Court Of The Crimson King. It’s one of the most beautiful songs in rock history, yet it also possesses an exhilarating jazz-rock blow-out that would make John McLaughlin lose his Mahavishnu. The refrain of “Starless and… BIBLE BLACK!” always ricochets around my noggin for hours after I listen to it, with no complaints. Wetton’s vocals here really soar, making me forget about this time in Asia (the band, not the continent). “Starless” earns every second of its 12:24 run time. It’s a grandiloquent climax to an indestructible record. -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.

Herbie Hancock “Sextant” (Columbia, 1973)

One of the hardest things for a music fanatic to do is name a favorite Herbie Hancock album. Like his former bandmate Miles Davis, the virtuoso keyboardist/composer has had so many phases in his eventful career, with so many peaks in myriad styles. But for me, Sextant might be #1. If nothing else, it boasts my fave cover, created by the excellent Robert Springett. But to the music…

Sextant contains three epic tracks, averaging 13 minutes. Combine this structure with the extremely uncompromising nature of the music, and one longs for any photos and/or footage of Columbia Records execs listening to the finished product and hearing no commercial potential whatsoever. Imagine their facial expressions… and try not to laugh. Sextant is the first LP in an extraordinary run Hancock had for Columbia, encompassing Head Hunters, Thrust, the Death Wish OST, Man-Child, and Secrets. Undoubtedly, Sextant remains the farthest-out record among them all. Crossings, which Warner Bros. released in 1972, soars pretty high, too, but it’s not nearly as intense as Sextant.

The shortest piece here at 9:19, “Rain Dance” starts with the most tantalizing array of bleeps and eruptions from Herbie’s keyboards and Dr. Patrick Gleeson’s Arp 2600; think Morton Subotnick (also on Columbia!) going to town in a jazz-funk frenzy. This section’s been sampled 35 times, and even that seems low. Gradually, the rest of Hancock’s world-class band jump in to embellish the splendid chaos that the good doctor instigated. It sounds like the soundtrack to a major cyborgian malfunction or an outtake from Gil Mellé’s score for The Andromeda Strain. “Rain Dance” was so far ahead of its time, many heads still ain’t ready for its discombobulating brilliance 53 years later.

“Hidden Shadows” is a slightly more conventional species of psychedelic fusion in the vein of Bitches Brew and On The Corner (on both of which Herbie played, of course). Bassist Buster Williams and drummer Billy Hart really work some coiled magic here, creating a humid funk churn, bolstered by Herbie and Gleeson’s space-dusted keyboards and synths and Buck Clarke’s root-chakra-aligning conga and bongo slaps. At over 19 minutes, “Hornets” offers almost too much pressure-cooking heat. It’s another white-knuckler of busy jazz-funk exploration, full of artful aggression, a bass line that elegantly drills to Earth’s core, and pugnacious quacks from saxophonist Bennie Maupin’s kazoo. This isn’t your dad’s jazz, amigo. Everyone here’s playing as if they have huge chips on their shoulders, and it’s freaking exhilarating.

Sextant found Hancock and his band of explorers taking jazz to extremes seldom traversed outside of Sun Ra’s omniverse. Columbia Records’ executives and accountants could not be reached for comment. -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.

Truly “Fast Stories… From Kid Coma” (Capitol, 1995)

Being one of the best rock bands in Seattle in the ’90s wasn’t as lucrative for Truly as it was for some other Emerald City groups of the era. (How’s that for an understatement?) After a couple of promising EPs for Sub Pop, Truly jumped to a major label for their excellent 1995 debut LP, Fast Stories… From Kid Coma, just as grunge was fading from public consciousness and its potency was being watered down by non-Pacific Northwest epigones such as Stone Temple Pilots and Bush. Guitarist/vocalist Robert Roth, ex-Soundgarden bassist Hiro Yamamoto, and former Screaming Trees drummer Mark Pickerel deserved better, damn it.

A concept album about a comatose youth “reliving a past summer of grandeur,” the songs on Fast Stories have the uncanny aura of a dextromethorphan-induced dream. Like fellow Seattleites and contemporaries Love Battery, Truly showed an acute knack for heroic psych-rock guitar riffs and timbres and vocally, Roth’s feral snarl and melodious moan matched Kurt Cobain’s. Our dude Robert sings like he’s coming out of a nod with the realization that somone’s stolen his car on the exhilarating sludge rock of opener “Blue Flame Ford.” That leads into “Four Girls,” a convulsvie headbanger that alludes to Led Zeppelin’s “Four Sticks.” Yes, it deserves all of the double devil horns.

“If You Don’t Let It Die” is a huge, sweeping slab of space-dusted grunge that really transports you out of the quagmire of your mundane worries. If you want proof that Truly can do wistful power ballads better than Pearl Jam, check out “Hot Summer 1991,” with its melody redolent of nostalgia for a summer gone. Another highlight, “Virtually” is as majestic as Neil Young’s “Like A Hurricane” (is that a Mellotron adding profound poignancy in the background?), but with a gnarlier guitar attack and more stoned singing. “So Strange” is wonderfully ‘luuded out rock with Roth applying thick doses of flange on his languid riffs. Best of all may be “Leslie’s Coughing Up Blood.” As turbulent and cathartic as a vomiting fit, this rampaging rocker should’ve been a hit—or at least a cult fave on the magnitude of Mudhoney’s “Touch Me I’m Sick.” But, alas, no.

But there is some good news! Spain’s Bang! Records reissued Fast Stories in 2022 and Truly play the Seattle club Baba Yaga on March 6. Maybe they’ll have vinyl copies for sale there (Oops, the show’s sold out.) -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.

Roxy Music “Stranded” (Island, 1973)

Brian Eno’s favorite Roxy Music album, Stranded is the British prog-glam group’s first full-length without the wildcard synthesist. Perverse! But the great man has a point, even if I don’t totally agree with him; For Your Pleasure and Country Life vie for the top spot in my mind, altough the self-titled debut LP boasts the best three-song run on any Roxy record (“Re-make/Re-model,” “Ladytron,” “If There Is Something”). I hope to review Pleasure and Country Life at some point; we already tackled Roxy Music.

All that being said, Stranded features three of Roxy Music’s greatest songs—meaning that they’re among the greatest ever recorded: “Street Life,” “Amazona,” and “Mother Of Pearl.” This is also the first album on which Bryan Ferry didn’t write all of the songs; guitarist Phil Manzanera and saxophonist/oboist Andy Mackay contributed, too. In other news, violinist Eddie Jobson replaced Eno on synth duties, so while Roxy’s music lost some experimental unpredictability, it did gain a technically more adept player.

Let’s talk about those indisputable classics first. “Street Life”—which reached #9 on the British singles chart—rampages in the tradition of mercurial Roxy rockers such as “Do The Strand,” “Editions Of You,” and “Virginia Plain”; it’s a vivid encapsulation of the jittery excitement that hits when moving through a big city that’s bursting with possibilities. Many was the time that I’d play “Street Life” before heading out for a night on the town. Implanted in your brain, the song propels you through urbanscapes with extravagant confidence. Try it and see.

“Amazona” stands as one of Roxy’s towering peaks, benefiting from co-composer Manzanera’s prowess with Latin music modes. It’s also one of the group’s funkiest and sexiest songs, one I never tire of playing in DJ sets. Ferry’s expansive vocal range is on full display, shifting from ornery to über-romantic. Lushly layered, turbulent, and full of surprising dynamics, “Amazona” also stands out because of guest musician Johnny Gustafson’s squelchy bass line and its anomalous, quasi-reggae groove. “Mother Of Pearl” busts out of the gate with an exhilarating urgency, and then 80 seconds in it shifts into the suavest downtempo devotional, as Ferry sings poetically about his long, arduous search for the perfect woman. It’s one of the most dramatic change-ups in their catalog.

The album’s lesser songs have interesting elements, too. On “Just Like You,” Ferry falsettos over a pretty piano- and strings-heavy ballad, raising lilting melodiousness and yearning to high art. The eight-minute, gradually building gospel ballad “Psalm” seems like a sincere hymn to the righteousness of believing in Jesus. So if Ferry’s being facetious, then he’s a persuasive deceiver. Cowritten by Mackay, “A Song For Europe” possesses the momentous gravitas and sweeping drama of “While My Guitar Gently Sleeps.” “Serenade” is an understatedly ebullient tune and utterly elegant in that way Roxy Music could execute in their sleep. This talent was strictly a ’70s British thing. No American artist could pull this off—not even Sparks.

Stranded topped the UK albums chart and peaked at #186 on the US’s, which is as stark a portrait of the two regions’ aesthetic discrepancies as you’ll ever find. Sadly, we yanks sometimes were slow on the uptake. -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.

B.T. Express “Do It (‘Til You’re Satisfied)” (Scepter, 1974)

The debut album by New York septet B.T. Express stylishly dwells at the intersection of funk and disco. With the title track, these hip dudes and dudette cut one of the definitive dance-club bangers of that grooviest of decades, the 1970s. No wonder it’s been sampled at least 292 times and covered 13 times. Not only does “Do It (‘Til You’re Satisfied)” dispense good advice (as long as it’s legal and ethical!) in a soothing, deep male voice, it captures that cherished sensation of bonking while on a train as you’re amped on the cleanest speed in creation and urged along by blaxploitation-flick chicken-squawk guitar filigrees. I mean, what more do you want?

Of course, there are more delights on this bad boy. The opening track, “Express,” is just an incredible slab of orchestral, chugging disco-funk, augmented by crucial triangle accents, Carlos Ward’s gorgeously serene flute, and Rich Thompson’s subtly psychedelic wah-wah guitar. It’s a perfect soundtrack for swift transit across vast expanses—let’s call it a Black American counterpart to Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn.” The superfly funk of “If It Don’t Turn You On (You Oughta’ Leave It Alone)” is as subtly groovy as the best Curtis Mayfield classics. You can hear the sly rhythm sampled to glorious effect by EPMD for “So Wat Cha Sayin’” and on Das EFX’s “Mic Checka.”

The clap-enhanced funk bomb “Once You Get It” lays the foundation for George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog” and Zapp’s “More Bounce To The Ounce.” Yes, it’s that important. Barbara Joyce Lomas brandishes powerful, gospelized pipes on the swaggering disco blazer “Everything Good To You (Ain’t Always Good For You)”—a strong contrast to the ominous, orchestral “Mental Telepathy”’s serious “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone” vibes. (Let’s give a shout out here to Randy Muller and Trade Martin’s string arrangements.) “Do You Like It” is horn-blasted funk with a phenomenal, zig-zagging bass line that would sound ace seguing into KC & The Sunshine Band’s “Boogie Shoes.” “That’s What I Want For You Baby” is another loco-motion jam in the J.B.s vein, with superbly soulful vocals by Lomas. Ward’s cool flute motif meshes well with the strings.

Sure, the lyrics on these nine songs all revolve around matters of the heart and genitals—and not with much cleverness, to boot—but that’s excusable when the music slaps as hard as most of Do It does. Blessedly, no ballads mess with the flow. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in nearly six decades of music listening, it’s that 99% of funk groups’ ballads are skippable. Ultimately, B.T. Express would never top their first album, and it remains bargain-bin gold and DJ manna to this day. -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.

Frank Zappa “Apostrophe (‘)” (Discreet, 1974)

Cantankerous iconoclast Frank Zappa attained his commercial peak with Apostrophe (‘) , which landed at #10 in the albums chart and went Gold in 1976. It’s not hard to hear why. The first side was recorded during the sessions for 1973’s similarly catchy-song-oriented Over-Nite Sensation, while side two arose from various 1972 studio dates, except for “Excentrifugal Forz,” which dated back to the 1969 sessions that yielded Hot Rats, another beloved Zappa record.

The five songs that compose Apostrophe (‘)‘s side 1 form a suite of Zappa’s patented wise-guy, strained-humor rock, mixed with elements of prog, jazz, and doo-wop. In this vein, Frank’s voice tends to get on my nerves, but that’s always redeemed by his wonderfully wonky guitar solos and by Ruth Underwood’s amphetamined, twinkle-toes vibraphone runs. The spasmodic, madly accelerating prog rock of “Father O’Blivion” is probably the side’s highlight. But the laid-back boogie of “Cosmik Debris” boasts the most eloquent guitar solo. It helps that Zappa has a crack team behind him, including George Duke on keyboards, Don “Sugarcane” Harris and Jean-Luc Ponty on violin, Aynsley Dunbar on drums for “Uncle Remus” and “Stink-Foot,” Ruth Underwood on vibraphone and percussion, and Ian Underwood on sax.

Side 2 possesses the LP’s zenith, “Apostrophe’.” This track came out of a jam that featured the phenomenal session drummer Jim Gordon and Cream/Tony Williams Lifetime bassist Jack Bruce. Zappa said it was hard to play with Bruce because his style was “too busy. He doesn’t really want to play the bass in terms of root functions.” Whatever the case, the song’s one of Zappa’s greatest and funkiest creations and it’s blessedly vocal-free. It features Bruce unleashing one of rock’s most thickly fuzzed and deliciously serpentine bass lines, Gordon getting filthily funky on his kit, and Zappa soloing with insane dexterity. My eyes never fail to roll around their sockets like roulette balls when listening to this.

Besides this towering opus, “Excentrifugal Forz” launches into space courtesy of Duke’s sci-fi synth filigrees and Zappa’s scalding, Sonny Sharrock-like solo and the busy gospel rock of “Uncle Remus” (cowritten by Duke) is an anti-racism song in the tradition of Mothers Of Invention’s “Trouble Every Day.” The album ends with “Stink-Foot,” whose sleazy blues rock plagued by goofy lyrics is not exactly a lane in which I wish to spend much time. That being said, Zappa gets off a fantastic guitar solo that makes my synapses do the jerk.

All of which is to say, Apostrophe (‘) is probably the greatest album named after a punctuation mark. It’s hard not to feel possessive about it. If you need an entry point into Zappa’s dauntingly vast solo catalog, this might be the best one. -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.