Album Reviews

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.

Bill Withers “Still Bill” (Sussex, 1972)

West Virginia-born troubadour Bill Withers’ first three albums warmed the US charts and the hearts of millions of listeners with their salt-of-the-earth lyricism, distinctively soulful vocals, and subtle funkiness. I highly recommend owning all of them: Just As I Am, Still Bill, and +’Justments.

As a youth growing up in the Detroit area in the ’70s, I heard Withers’ songs on the radio daily, and hits such as “Use Me,” Lean On Me” (both on Still Bill), “Ain’t No Sunshine,” and “Lovely Day” became part of my DNA. For chart fodder, these tunes possessed a depth beyond most of their popular counterparts. Bill came across as a blue-collar dude who just happened to be a supremely gifted singer-songwriter. That checks out, because Withers served nine years in the Navy and worked as a mechanical assembler for Douglas Aircraft, IBM, and Ford.

As noted, Still Bill boasts those two immortal hits, and man, they still resonate like hell. With backing from members of Charles Wright & The Watts 103rd St Rhythm Band, Withers attained a career peak on these 10 songs. Right away with “Lovely Town, Lonely Street,” Withers distinguished himself from the R&B pack with some tough folk-funk, augmented by violins. Lyrically and musically nuanced, “Who Is He (And What Is He To You)?” purveys low-slung funk as Withers portrays a man who’s suspicious of his woman’s infidelity; it’s an ideal merging of sonic and verbal themes (Stan McKenny penned the lyrics). “Kissing My Love” opens with James Gadson’s killer break of extreme, Meters-like funkiness—not unlike “Just Kissed My Baby,” in fact, which arose two years after this—and Benorce Blackman’s wah-wah-guitar accents. It’s hard to believe that “Kissing My Love” didn’t light up the charts, like Still Bill‘s other singles did.

If there’s one thing that Still Bill proves, it’s that Withers excels at creating simmering, brooding, bluesy funk. For example, there’s “Another Day To Run,” a low-key gem reminiscent of Sly & The Family Stone‘s more understated material before it accelerates into a clap-along, gospel-ish raveup. Both “I Don’t Want You On My Mind” and “Take It All In And Check It All Out” creep in on a stealthy path, with Blackman’s shafts of blaxploitation-flick guitar really animating things in the latter song.

As for those classics that everybody knows, “Use Me” barges in on that famous clavinet riff and rimshot pattern, which will never not make hairs stand up on backs of necks. Those rimshots are some of the most evocative of the 20th century. Bill’s rightly upset over how his woman mistreats him, but apparently the sex is so good, he wants to tell everyone about it. “Lean On Me” justifiably became a unifying hymn of sorts. It miraculously blossomed from a personal display of friendliness into a universal expression of mutual aid. Although it flirts with sentimentality, this undeniable song has medicinal, soul-soothing qualities.

Throughout Still Bill, Withers’ robust yet intimate singing draws you in to his gripping songwriting. It reminds us of a time when the top of the charts harbored high-quality artistry. -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 Stooges “Fun House” (Elektra, 1970)

In retrospect, it’s hard to believe that the Stooges’ first two albums—foundational documents for punk rock and heavy music, in general—were difficult to find in shops throughout the ’70s and ’80s. (Talk about “Not Right”…) For a long time, the only records by Michigan’s most influential rockers that stayed in print for extended periods were Raw Power and Metallic ‘KO. Great LPs, for sure, but to this longtime listener, the Stooges thrusted deepest on The Stooges and Fun House. While I love the former’s wah-wah-intensive attack, sleighbells, cavalcade of indomitable guitar riffs, and the intense dirge of “We Will Fall,” I find the latter to be Iggy Pop and company’s apex. What’s more, esteemed figures and serious record collectors such as Henry Rollins and Jack White rate Fun House as their favorite album of all time. I’m almost there right with them.

Among other things, Fun House (at least side one) ranks as one of the greatest soundtracks to sex. (Try it, you’ll see.) Produced by Don Gallucci, the seven-song album possesses no ballads, unless you want to count “Dirt.” Seven of the sleaziest and most lubricious minutes in rock history, this song proved that guitarist Ron Asheton and bassist Dave Alexander were truly gifted and nuanced players, not just purveyors of raw power (not to diminish that aspect of their repertoires). And there was a deceptive, slack funkiness in Scott Asheton’s beats; no wonder the Jungle Brothers sampled them. The lyrics suggest that Ig was coping with romantic rejection (“Oohh, I’ve been HURT/And I don’t care”), but he also displayed some of his most artful crooning.

No exaggeration, Fun House‘s first three songs form a trilogy of sonic violence and lustiness that could energize a superpower’s army. Inspired by Howlin’ Wolf’s vocals, Iggy kicks off “Down On The Street” with a grunt and a feral snarl, as guitarist Ron Asheton, bassist Dave Alexander, and drummer Scott Asheton create a tornado of primal rock heat. “Loose” is simply one of the filthiest songs in rock history. Covered by Australian wildmen the Birthday Party, “Loose” sounds like Fun House‘s cover looks: a fiery vortex radiating pure id. How can you listen to this and not feel impelled to fuck and fight? Speaking of which, “T.V. Eye” concludes the epochal triptych with more pile-driving libidinousness. “Ram it!” Iggy repeatedly shouts, telegraphing the song’s theme.

Side 2 roars into a whole other realm, one dominated Steve Mackay’s free-jazz sax exclamations. The epitome of rampaging rock, “1970” abounds with avalanching riffs, culminating in a peak of Dionysian rock. (Makes sense that the Damned covered it, retitling it “I Feel Alright.”) Count how many times Iggy growls “I feel all right!” because, after all, he’s out of his mind on a Saturday night. Mackay’s tenor-saxophone wails spur Iggy to extreme vocal expulsions, from which the singer likely never recovered. On the title track, Iggy still feels all right while Alexander pushes out his most pugilistic bass line and Mackay skronks, anticipating Contortions’ infernal churn by about nine years. This track stalks like a panther, coils like a motherfucker, and ratchets up the intensity till you’re ready for the loony bin. Album finale “L.A. Blues” may be the closest an American rock group has come to Albert Ayler’s free-jazz eruptions. Marvel as Mr. Osterberg screams beyond the end of his tether on this dome-cracking lease-breaker. This is how you end an album.

I can’t say that reviewing Fun House was the best idea right now, as my tinnitus has flared up into partial hearing loss. But fug it, I just read Jeff Gold’s Total Chaos: The Story Of The Stooges As Told By Iggy Pop (published by White’s Third Man Books), and inspiration took hold. So I took a ride with the pretty music. -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 Tex “I Gotcha” (Dial, 1972)

Joe Tex (1935-1982) was a Texas-born soul singer/songwriter who branched out into funk, country, gospel, and lord have mercy, disco. No less a keen judge of talent than Little Richard claimed that in the early ’60s, James Brown imitated Tex’s dance moves and microphone machinations. JB proceeded to take them to the bank, and Brown and Tex became rivals, with the former obviously outshining the latter commercially. (Brown even covered a Tex composition, “ Baby You’re Right,” and scored a hit with it in 1962, so real recognized real.)

While Tex had his own chart successes, he seems not to have had a lasting presence in the public consciousness. Nevertheless, director Quentin Tarantino had the sharp instincts to place Tex’s unforgettable “I Gotcha” in his 1992 film, Reservoir Dogs. It’s the lead-off track from Tex’s LP of the same name, and gotdamn, it is one of the lustiest and gruffest R&B/funk tunes ever to storm a chart. No wonder it’s been sampled 107 times… One caveat: Heard with 21st-century ears, the song’s lyrics come across as kind of creepy, even verging on threatening toward the singer’s inamorata. But the bobbing bass line, cat-wail guitar riffs, and soaring horns mitigate such concerns.

Almost as outrageously sexy as “I Gotcha,” the funk gem “Give The Baby Anything The Baby Wants” is stealthier—and as filthy as anything Mr. Brown was releasing in the early ’70s. So it’s a shock when the orchestral, gospel-tinged ballad “Takin’ A Chance” eases in, starting out sounding like “A Whiter Shade Of Pale,” before burgeoning into widescreen grandiosity. “Baby Let Me Steal You” is a slightly more restrained version of “I Gotcha,” and consequently more seductive, yet it still generates plenty of funky friction. The first of a couple of simmering, Al Green-esque soul numbers, “God Of Love” will inflate your heart and put a pep in your step. (the consoling, warm “The Woman Cares” is the other one.) On “Bad Feet,” Tex writes a quirky, catchy soul tune while in poised crooner mode.

“You Said A Bad Word” is almost a carbon copy of “I Gotcha,” but I’m not complaining. If a template is as satisfying as Tex’s demanding, libidinous funk, you might as well milk it. So Tex does it again on “Love Me Right Girl,” appealingly halting rhythm and all. Closing the LP, “You’re In Too Deep” is a low-key funk nugget with a fantastic, descending bass line.

Peaking at #5 on the R&B chart and #17 on the pop chart, I Gotcha is a pretty typical romance-/sex-obsessed record from the early ’70s, but Tex’s outsized personality, robust pipes, and ability to recycle memorable themes make it a keeper. Tarantino would agree. -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.

Robyn Hitchcock “Black Snake Diamond Röle” (Armageddon, 1981)

The debut solo album by the great English eccentric musician Robyn Hitchcock sounds like an extension of his Soft Boys output. No surprise, as the personnel on Black Snake Diamond Röle features three Soft Boys: drummer Morris Windsor, bassist Matthew Seligman, and guitarist Kimberley Rew. This has always been my fave solo Hitch LP, because it’s his most psychedelic record while also containing some of his most indelible melodies.

The opener, “The Man Who Invented Himself,” is almost a red herring. It’s an absurdly jaunty rocker that ranks as one of Hitchcock’s most ingratiating songs, but it stands in stark contrast to Black Snake‘s prevailing darkness. An oblique tribute to Syd Barrett that was allegedly inspired by the Monty Python song “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life,” “The Man Who Invented Himself” also recalls some of Paul McCartney and Nilsson‘s work and John Lennon‘s “Remember.” While it’s a crowd favorite, it’s the least interesting track here. Following that, “Brenda’s Iron Sledge” comes off like a paragon of sinister rock, spasming and slaloming swiftly in a minor key and boasting a killer earworm chorus. Continuing in the brooding, spazzy vein, “Do Policemen Sing?” vaguely recalls the Mother Of Invention’s “Who Are The Brain Police?” while also possessing the stalking quality of the coda from Television’s “Marquee Moon.” Rew’s guitar adds stingingly jangly texture to this gem.

My long-time favorite, “The Lizard,” is methodical, creepy psychedelia that oozes menace. Rew contributes aquatic guitar embellishments, while Seligman’s bass line triggers a resonant sense of doom. Shivers ensue. With Vibrators guitarist Knox adding adrenalized grit, “Meat” turns into an ideal specimen of energetic new wave. It should have been a hit—and I say that as a vegan. “Acid Bird” essentially sounds like an ’80s British “Eight Miles High,” with all the transcendent glory and brilliantly chiming guitar that that description implies. Another highlight is “I Watch The Cars,” which features Psychedelic Furs’ Vince Ely on drums. A staccato burner about witnessing automobiles zipping up and down the roads, the song’s a total gas, especially when Rew gets off his blazing guitar freakout.

The effusive, outward-bound rock of “Out Of The Picture” could’ve been another alternative-reality hit, with Knox again adding radiantly spangly guitar. Finally, with Mr. Thomas Dolby on keyboards, “Love” serves as the perfect valedictory closing song, a deeply tender and wistful tune with a great sense of space, enhanced by the massed backing “ah”s and lapping wave sounds.

(If you’re in Seattle on February 6, you can catch Robyn Hitchcock playing the Neptune Theatre. He shined brightly last time he came to town in 2023, and I suspect the man’s still got the goods.) -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.

Minnie Riperton “Come To My Garden” (GRT, 1970)

Blessed with a five-octave vocal range, singer-songwriter Minnie Riperton (1947-1979) was one of the most distinctive American soul/R&B vocalists. She got her start singing back-up for Etta James, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters, and Ramsey Lewis, before joining the excellent psychedelic-soul group Rotary Connection as lead singer. She also had a stint singing with Stevie Wonder’s bands in the first half of the ’70s. You’ve probably heard her stunning voice, whether you realize it or not.

Riperton’s debut album had the good fortune to be produced and written by Chicago studio legends Charles Stepney and Minnie’s husband, Richard Rudolph. Both titans had contributed mightily to Rotary Connection‘s unique psychedelic-soul sound, but for Come To My Garden, they toned down the bombastic sonics and Riperton mostly eschewed the Theremin-like, high-pitched operatics. Pianist Ramsey Lewis’ band—Earth, Wind & Fire leader Maurice White (drums), Cleveland Eaton (bass), Phil Upchurch (guitar), and backing vocalists Elsa Harris and Kitty Hayward—provide the stellar backing.

The LP’s peak is opening track “Les Fleurs,” simply one of the most majestic and gorgeous songs ever penned. It’s an orchestral-soul tune so grandiosely salubrious, it nearly nullifies all of the evil humanity’s done over the millennia. Call this hyperbole if you must, but the proof is in the grooves. Riperton sings from the perspective of a flower, and her voice is as smoothly soft and gloriously beautiful as its petals. That moment when the song gathers its energy for the chorus and then soars to a higher plane is the most lip-smacking chef’s kiss, god damn. Rotary Connection and Ramsey Lewis also recorded this song, and, honestly, you need every version of this classic in your collection. It might be Stepney and Rudolph’s crowning achievement. No wonder “Les Fleurs” has appeared on the soundtracks to at least seven films and TV shows.

The rest of Come To My Garden doesn’t reach those heights, but it does feature plenty of sophisticated love ballads with grand orchestrations, excellent dynamics, and bravura vocals. On the title track, Riperton ululates in her upper register in a hushed ballad that periodically blooms into intoxicating epiphanies, boosted by deeply soulful female backing vocals. It’s ineffably beautiful. The feather Latin jazz reverie “Memory Band” (also recorded by Rotary Connection on 1968’s The Rotary Connection) is lovely, while the lush, sweeping “Rainy Day In Centerville” recalls David Axelrod at his most romantic. Riperton’s voice is sheerest silk, sweetest honey, most radiant passion. “Expecting” might be the music you hear while you’re ascending to heaven—if there is such a place; the jury is still out. Throughout the record, Minnie’s voice makes Diana Ross’ sound like Joe Tex’s.

Riperton did some more good work in the ’70s, including 1974’s #1 hit “Lovin’ You” and 1975’s Adventures In Paradise, but her premature death robbed us of a major talent.

(Come To My Garden has been reissued thrice in this decade, including by Janus Records in 2024, so it should be relatively easy to find and affordable.) -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.