Album Reviews

Harold Budd “The Pavilion Of Dreams” (Editions E.G., 1978)

Through years of rigorous research, I’ve found that Harold Budd’s music ranks among the best for facilitating the transition from wakefulness to sleep. If you think that’s a derogatory statement, you don’t understand the importance of sound slumber to mental and physical health. And if you believe that music that helps you to get some shut-eye is, ipso facto, boring, you need to open your mind.

[Stepping off my soapbox] As a keyboardist and composer, Budd had one of the nicest soft touches in music. Odd, because Budd’s origins lie in bebop and he played drums in an Army band with free-jazz titan Albert Ayler. Gradually, though, Budd gravitated to the minimalist, pacific approach that drew him into Brian Eno and Gavin Bryars’ orbit of ambient geniuses. The rest is tranquil sonic history.

Described as “an extended cycle of works begun in 1972,” The Pavilion Of Dreams was produced by Eno, and it shows. It kicks off with the 18-minute 1974 opus, “Bismillahi ‘Rrahman ‘Rrahim.” Composed for Marion Brown, it features the great jazzman on alto sax. Joining him are Budd on electric piano, of course, four marimba players, including Michael Nyman, Bryars on glockenspiel, Maggie Thomas on harp, and Richard Bernas on celeste. One of the pinnacles of Budd’s career, this unspeakably gorgeous work is marked by Brown’s über-chill alto sax trills and mellow melisma (talk about a gentle tour de force), Budd’s gleaming electric piano, and Bryars’ glistening glockenspiel. The peace this composition brings is nearly unsurpassed. It almost makes Miles Davis’ In A Silent Way sound like a free-jazz blowout.

Things can’t help sounding a little anticlimactic after this. “Let Us Go Into The House Of The Lord”—a traditional hymn that Pharoah Sanders previously had adapted—features mezzo soprano Lynda Richardson’s spiritual, operatic singing and Thomas’ lean, pretty harp cascades. It’s nice enough, but it’s not really what I come to Budd for. Ditto for “Butterfly Sunday, which was adapted from John Coltrane’s “After The Rain,” one of his most languid ballads. “Rosetti Noise” and “The Crystal Garden And A Coda” are serene art songs with more of Richardson’s sonorous, wordless vocalizing, underscored by pastel dapples of electric piano. On “Juno,” Eno provides lovely, distant “aaahhh”s and Budd dramatic chord progressions on piano in this caressing, low-lit jazz jewel, which Bill Evans surely loved… assuming he heard it.

The Pavilion Of Dreams isn’t Budd’s best album; that would probably be Ambient 2 (The Plateaux Of Mirrors), The Pearl (with Eno and Daniel Lanois), or The Oak Of The Golden Dreams. But in “Bismillahi ‘Rrahman ‘Rrahim,” it boasts one of the world’s most beautiful and calming tracks, an immortal, blood-pressure-lowering miracle. -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.

Afrique “Soul Makossa” (Mainstream, 1973)

Afrique were a one-and-done instrumental super group of session cats whose sole album is a mildly eclectic funk classic that’s become a sample gold mine. The band’s best-known names are Chuck Rainey (bass), King Errisson (percussion), Paul Humphrey (percussion), and David T. Walker (guitar). For Soul Makossa, they divided the album sides into covers and originals; the latter were written by Richard Fritz, a composer who had strong associations with Afrique organist Charles Kynard and Blue Mitchell.

Side 1’s full of excellent interpretations of R&B, pop, funk, and African tunes of varying notoriety. You really can’t go wrong by opening your album with one of the ultimate party jams, Cameroonian saxophonist Manu Dibango‘s Afro-funk flame-thrower “Soul Makossa.” Maybe you’ve heard it interpolated into Michael Jackson‘s “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’” and/or Will Smith’s “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It,” but it’s best when actual superior musicians take a crack at it, as Afrique do here. Manu had to be happy about this rendition, and not just because of the royalties. Afrique’s “Kissing My Love” might be funkier than Bill Withers‘ original, which was one of the late, great musician’s funkiest cuts. The wah-wah guitar calligraphy here is outrageously expressive and Kynard’s organ tone flows somewhere between Billy Preston and Tonto’s Expanding Head Band‘s Robert Margouleff’s. And that’s a great place to flow, y’all.

Santo & Johnny’s “Sleepwalk” is a paragon of woozy, dreamy balladry, and Afrique give it a sweet, subdued treatment, highlighted by Walker or Arthur Wright’s chikka-wakka guitar and Steve Kravitiz’s purring baritone sax. Written by Frank Brunson of the People’s Choice, “Let Me Do My Thing” is a high-steppin’ R&B number with yet more wah-wah guitar embroidery, which kind of sounds like walk-on music for contestants of the ’60s TV show The Dating Game (yes, I’m old). The title “Slow Motion” is a misnomer, because this Kenny Gamble/Leon Huff joint twitches with alacrity, similar to Lightnin’ Rod’s “Sport.” It’s hip, lean blaxploitation-flick funk with uplifting horn flourishes.

Side 2 begins auspiciously with “Hot Mud,” as Kynard gets off some sick, warped organ riffs and solos in this low-key funk bubbler, which also boasts a phenomenally serpentine guitar solo by Walker (or is it Wright?). The methodical and funky as hell “House Of Rising Funk” has unsurprisingly become a big sample source. Whosampled lists 54 examples of such borrowing, with artists as disparate as Meat Beat Manifesto, Neneh Cherry, N.W.A., Four Tet, and DJ Q-Bert doing the deed. As for “Dueling Guitars,” gosh almighty, this is nasty, hot-roddin’ funk with the 12-string fireworks promised in the title. The LP’s last two songs, “Hot Doggin’” and “Get It” are middling rhythm & blues jaunts, but the playing is uniformly spectacular.

There are some recent vinyl reissues of this crate-diggers classic floating around, but they’re not very common in the wild. Seems like most people who own Soul Makossa have the good sense not to let go of it. Get to hunting. -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.

Ginger Baker “Horses And Trees” (Celluloid, 1986)

If you think you really know master drummer Ginger Baker, listening to Horses And Trees may change your impression of his music. Produced by Bill Laswell, Horses And Trees sounds more like a 1980s Laswell joint than it does anything by Cream, Blind Faith, Ginger Baker’s Air Force, or his collabs with Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti. And that’s more than okay, because the NYC bassist and producer extraordinaire had one of the coolest Rolodexes in the biz in that decade and an ability to conceptualize albums that enabled veteran stars to escape their comfort zones and create fresh work.

Baker was on of a mini creative roll in the ’80s; on top of the excellent Horses And Trees, he played on four tracks on PiL’s Album and cut a rugged, noisy freakout with guitarist Sonny Sharrock and saxophonist Peter Brötzmann on 1987’s No Material, and 1989’s global beatfest Middle Passage. The band Laswell enlisted for Horses And Trees included Bernie Worrell (organ), Naná Vasconcelos (berimbau, cuica, voice, shaker), L. Shankar (violin), Aïyb Dieng (chatan, talking drum, bells), and Nicky Skopelitis (6- and 12-string guitar). You can’t lose with these cats.

On opener “Interlock,” Baker’s drums pack the same massive if somewhat stilted punch that they did on PiL‘s Album. Skopelitis slashes triumphant power chords while Worrell generates thrilling whirs and drones in this oblong, pantheistic funk juggernaut. Foday Musa Suso’s beautiful, wistful dousongonni motif twangs over Baker’s lumbering beats on “Dust To Dust” on a piece that evokes the sundown, melancholy air of Daniel Lanois or Ry Cooder ca. Paris, Texas. The only track here to feature turntablist D.ST. (who famously performed on Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit”), “Satou” is a weird shuffler featuring Vasconcelos scatting on the mic like Urszula Dudziak‘s in restrained scat mode while Sosa’s kalimba and nyanyer (a West African one-stringed fiddle) add tantalizing textures.

“Mountain Time” is a deeply funky percussion orgy boasting the album’s heaviest, most thuggish beats. Here, it’s just Baker wailing on drums, Dieng going to town on talking drum and chatan, and Daniel Ponce tapping the bells. “Makuta”’s a humid, bubbling tune with a strange aura, thanks to Sosa’s kora and nyanyer playing and Vasconcelos’ cuica. The LP peaks on “Uncut,” an uptempo ethno-funk banger that could almost work in a house-music set. Sosa’s dousongonni, Dieng’s talking drum, Ponce’s bata, and L. Shankar’s violin lend exotic timbres. Worrell and Shankar go hard and florid on organ and violin, respectively, elevating the track to an exalted level. Best is “Uncut,” an uptempo ethno-funk banger that could almost work in a house-music set. Sosa’s dousongonni, Dieng’s talking drum, and Ponce’s batá lend exotic timbres while Worrell and Shankar go hard and florid on organ and violin, respectively, elevating the track to an exalted level.

As with most Laswell-produced records, Horses And Trees bears his personality and quirks more than it does Ginger Baker’s. But in this case, that’s a good thing, and Horses And Trees stands as a brilliant anomaly in the master drummer’s catalog. -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.

Dexter Wansel “Life On Mars” (Philadelphia International, 1976)

Respect is due to Dexter Wansel, the Philadelphia musician/producer who passed away on May 31 at age 75, for, among many other feats, his vastly influential debut album, Life On Mars. He’d made his name as an in-demand session keyboardist at Sigma Sound Studios for artists such as the O’Jays, Yellow Sunshine, MFSB, and Billy Paul. Wansel also had played with Stanley Clarke, the Jacksons, and Grover Washington Jr. After signing with Philadelphia International Records as an in-house arranger, producer, and composer, Dexter launched his auspicious solo career, making a huge splash with Life On Mars.

Inspired by David Bowie‘s “Life On Mars?” this record stands as Wansel’s peak. It’s an outward-bound jazz-funk opus that can hold its own with Herbie Hancock and Lenny White‘s contemporaneous releases. “A Prophet Named K.G.” kicks off the record with brash, brassy cop-show jazz-funk that would make Quincy Jones do a double take. Similarly cinematic is “Stargazer,” a sweeping, aerodynamic theme for an imaginary TV sci-fi series that may remind some of the breathless one for The Jetsons cartoon. The title track’s glimmering ambient intro gradually gives way to an elegant strut into galactic funk. Derrick Graves’ probing bass line and the backing corona of vocals by Carla Benson, Barbara Ingram, and Evette Benton elevate this jam to even greater heights. When Wansel goes wild on the ARP 2600, it truly separates the astronauts from the earthbound.

As its title suggests, “You Can Be What You Wanna Be” is a supremely earnest self-esteem-booster in the form of the bubbly jazz-funk bangers found on Hancock’s Thrust and Man-Child. Wansel sings in falsetto, which isn’t optimal, but the fantastic drum and congas break compensates for that. Wansel’s best-known song, “Theme From The Planets,” begins with one of the most sampled drum breaks ever (shout out to drummer Darryl Brown and percussionists Joe Johnson and Charles Collins), with over 300 documented on WhoSampled. Then Wansel’s wickedly sensual and sinuous synth motif intertwines with Bobby Malach’s smoky sax and the song lifts off for distant interstellar realms. Soooo smoooooth. “Rings Of Saturn” is an ideal LP-closer, a swirling, valedictorian space-jazz meditation that sends you to the exit signs with a deep sense of poignancy. A couple of oleaginous R&B ballads kill the momentum, but overall, Life On Mars is a thrilling journey that’s as sophisticated as it is thrilling. -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.

Cher “3614 Jackson Highway” (ATCO, 1969)

[After we reviewed Sonny Bono’s Inner Views in May, it seemed only right and natural to write about a Cher album soon after.]

I love it when an artist’s outlier album is their best. Another case in point: Cher’s sixth LP, 3614 Jackson Highway, recorded at the Alabama studio bearing that address, Muscle Shoals. This is Cher’s Dusty In Memphis, a kind of gritty Southern soul/funk outing that deviated from her usual output. Produced by Jerry Wexler, Arif Mardin, and Tom Dowd, 3614 Jackson Highway was a critical success and consensus Cher favorite among true heads, but the album only peaked at #160 on the Billboard chart. Oh well…

For this career peak, producer Jerry Wexler enlisted the same Muscle Shoals musicians who supported Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke, and others to provide Cher with a new framework in which to flex her superb singing on an interesting batch of other people’s compositions. Coproducer Arif Mardin’s orchestrations are rich and at times syrupy, but they don’t obscure the crack group, which includes lead guitarist Jimmy Johnson, bassist David Hood, drummer Roger Hawkins, keyboardist Barry Beckett, guitarist Eddie Hinton, and backing vocalist/future Grateful Dead member Donna Godchaux (née Thatcher).

Cher sounds like she’s in her element here. She’s always had a knack for grandstanding on large-hearted/robust-lunged ballads, but she also reveals her skill with subtler material, including three covers of Nashville Skyline tracks, which had only come out two months earlier in ’69. Younger fans of Cher’s later glossy pop records might be shocked to learn about the intensity of her Bob Dylan love, which spanned over several records. Changing the title to “Lay Baby Lay,” Cher showed her outsized adoration for this lewd, louche Dylan ditty, and as a huge fan of “Lay Lady Lay,” I can only approve of her faithful cover. A spare and funky “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You” and a sweet, gospel-tinged “I Threw It All Away” also appear.

3614 Jackson Street brilliantly kicks off with a great rendering of the Buffalo Springfield all-timer, “For What It’s Worth.” The song’s animated by slide guitar accents, ghostly backing “ooh”s, and drums that slap hard, even if they aren’t as funky as those on Sérgio Mendes‘ version, but it’s the jaw harp twangs that lift this into rarefied territory. In a bold move, Wexler instructed Cher take a crack at Otis Redding and Steve Cropper’s Stax classic “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay.” Sure, the OG is unsurpassable, but Ms. Sarkisian’s is a really nice, smooth, and soulful take. Even her voice breaking on it sounds right. Plus, these Southern boys have a natural feel for the material. That same brashness applies to “I Walk On Guilded Splinters.” It must have felt daunting to tackle Dr. John’s sinister swamp-funk totem; nobody will ever top the diabolical original, but Cher and company acquit themselves with panache. And Box Tops fans will be interested to hear Cher’s slowed-down and jazzed-up version of “Cry Like A Baby.”

3614 Jackson Street remains a cheap-heat staple in the used vinyl bins. If you can only own one Cher album, this is 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 Politicians “The Politicians Featuring McKinley Jackson” (Hot Wax, 1972)

Based in Detroit, the Politicians’ members were the equivalent to Motown’s Funk Brothers, but for the Hot Wax and Invictus labels. Though the Politicians recorded only one album, it contained enough heat for three. Led by trombonist/composer/producer/arranger McKinley Jackson, the group included Melvin Griff (piano, saxophone), “Peanut” Roderick Chandler (bass, saxophone), Z. Slater (drums, percussion), and “Clay” Clarence Robinson (organ, trumpet). As a DJ, I’ve found The Politicians Featuring McKinley Jackson to be a treasure trove of brash and soulful funk. On the evidence of this sole release, Jackson deserves to be much better known.

The album kicks off with “Psycha-Soula-Funkadelic” which Jackson and Griffin wrote with the great Ruth Copeland (reviewed here earlier this month); it’s a peak-time scorcher that encompasses the styles in its title. “The World We Live In” is a stealthy psychedelic funk bomb that sashays at the “It’s Your Thing” tempo. A crazy, modulated whistling sound coursing through the whole song sounds like a Theremin (or Minnie Riperton) in the throes of ecstasy; it really sets this tune apart from nearly everything in the funk canon. The coolness keeps on coming with “Church,” whose nonchalant funk with clavinet and what sounds like a celesta has serious uplifting potential.

Our old buddies Holland-Dozier-Holland—long free from Motown’s strictures—make their greatness felt on “Free Your Mind,” which isn’t as heavy as Funkadelic nor as tight as the Meters, but it vibrates in a nice, laid-back vein that’s ideal for low-key summer hangs. A hit for fellow Detroit soul unit 100 Proof Aged In Soul, “Everything Good Is Bad” boasts a fantastically moving melody with unison soulful male/female vocals. Flute, strings, and Southern-friend guitar calligraphy also elevate this song, of which I never tire.

Things slow down and get a bit mushy on side 2, but it does have the LP’s peak, “Funky Toes.” Featuring one of the most distinctive clavinet riffs I’ve ever heard (and I’ve heard a lot), this cut is as filthy as anything that Funkadelic or Kool And The Gang were laying down in 1972. No wonder DJ Spooky sampled it for his ill trip-hop classic, “Galactic Funk.” “Close Your Big Mouth,” a Jackson-Slater cowrite, is the sort of poised, celebratory jam that’s a perfect send-off for this party platter.

UK label Demon reissued The Politicians Featuring McKinley Jackson on vinyl in 2019; the Japanese label Solid re-released it in 2018. It’s not an easy pull, but it’s well worth putting in the effort to score 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.

Niagara “Niagara” (United Artists, 1970)

Led by the prolific German drummer/library-music composer Klaus Weiss, Niagara were a showcase for him and his fellow drummer/percussionist mates to go beat crazy in the studio. On their debut LP, Niagara erected two sidelong jams that undulate and mutate with spontaneous-seeming invention, but knowing Weiss, they were likely precisely composed. This record may change haters’ bias against drum solos, as there are many phenomenal ones transpiring throughout Niagara‘s 40 minutes.

“Sangandongo” is a 19-minute percussion seminar presented by some of the most fluent players in the world. An international cast of musicians accompanied Weiss: England’s Keith Forsey (drums, cymbals, percussion; Amon Düül II, Klaus Doldinger‘s Motherhood, Giorgio Moroder’s Munich Machine), America’s Cotch Blackmon (conga, percussion), Venezuela’s Juan Romero (cowbell, maracas), and Germany’s Udo Lindenberg (drums, timbales, percussion; Klaus Doldinger’s Motherhood). There’s enough time on “Sangandongo” for Niagara to lean on repetition and variation and phasing to drive home the track’s many pleasures. Think the Incredible Bongo Band, but blown out to epic proportions. At 8:30, things get unbelievably funky; it’s amazing what tambourines and cowbell in the right hands can do to enhance a track. “Sangandongo” is a mind-boggling odyssey of delectable rhythms, unusual timbres, and shifting dynamics—telepathic genius on the level of Can.

The nearly 21-minute “Malanga” starts in a more understated manner than “Sangandongo,” with much intense cymbal work building tension. But gradually the snares begin to punch harder, the rhythms become more emphatic, the bass-drum booms magnify. Later, manic cowbell, panning cymbals, and weirdly FXed congas create a disorienting soundfloor. As it progresses, “Malanga” morphs into a stunning force of nature, a stormy weather system to which you can dance… albeit oddly.

Everland reissued Niagara in 2022, and that same year they collected all three Niagara albums in a lavish boxed set. S.U.B. (1972) is essentially the funkiest library-music album you’ve never heard, just absurdly danceable and soul-jazzy stuff to trigger ultimate hedonism in those receptive to it. You can tell simply by their drum tones that these dudes knew how to party. Afire (1973) is another massive, drum orgy with a surfeit of lubricious percussion. Nobel Prize for the eminence at Everland who made that decision. -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.

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.