Album Reviews

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.

John Lennon “Walls And Bridges” (Apple, 1974)

How did we reach 2026 with not a single review of a John Lennon album on this blog?! Time to remedy that oversight.

While all of the Beatles guitarist/vocalist’s solo joints are uneven, they all include some stunners that prove the flawed genius never totally rested on his substantial laurels. For me, Lennon’s fourth LP, Walls And Bridges, boasts the highest number of essential cuts, although nothing here surpasses “I Found Out” and “Working Class Hero” from his 1970 debut solo full-length, Plastic Ono Band. (I’ll get around to reviewing that someday, Jah willing.)

Walls And Bridges reflects Lennon’s mind state during his 18-month separation from Yoko Ono—colloquially referred to as his “Lost Weekend.” After John and Yoko decided to split, Lennon—with his wife’s blessing—moved to LA with Ono’s assistant, May Pang. During this time, he was boozing heavily and engaged in some tabloid-worthy shenanigans. Realizing that this chaos wasn’t conducive to producing quality recordings, Lennon and Pang returned to New York in the spring of 1974 and he began rehearsing new songs with some excellent musicians. They included the elite rhythm section of bassist Klaus Voormann and drummer Jim Keltner (Ringo must’ve been busy), Ken Ascher (keyboards, piano), Arthur Jenkins (percussion), Nicky Hopkins (piano), Jesse Ed Davis (guitar), and Eddie Mottau (acoustic guitar). John proceeded to write some of his most enduring and interesting tunes, making WAB a return to form after the mushy blahs of 1973’s Mind Games. Maybe estrangement from the love of his life was just the creative boost that the former Beatle needed.

WAB gets off to a brilliant start with “Going Down On Love,” highlighted by Jenkins’ seductive congas. The captivating intro leads into one of John’s slinkiest grooves (aided by Voormann’s fathoms-deep bass line), as John bemoans that he’s “drowning in a sea of hatred” while “something precious and rare/disappears in thin air/and it seems so unfair.” The only Lennon solo song to top the charts, “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” is so exuberant, horn-blasted, and desperate to vanquish sadness that it should’ve become Saturday Night Live‘s theme. I’m not a big saxophone-in-rock fan, but Bobby Keys’ tenor steals the show, and the whole thing—including guest Elton John’s piano—rollicks like a motherfucker.

Continuing in this vein, “What You Got” delivers exceptionally tough funk rock, with Lennon ruefully snarling while the band members party their ass off behind him; Jenkins’ metallic percussion taps particularly elevate the track. Lyrically, it sounds as if John’s expressing a (May) pang of regret over the Yoko hiatus. “It’s Saturday night I just gotta rip it up/Sunday morning, I just gotta give it up/come Monday, mama, I just gotta run away/you know it’s such a drag to face another day.” The near instrumental “Beef Jerky” starts like an enigmatic sci-fi-flick soundtrack, then swerves into thrusting, forward-thinking rock that foreshadows post-punk. Fun fact: One recurring guitar part recalls Paul McCartney And Wings’ “Let Me Roll It.”

A sequel of sorts to “How Do You Sleep?” from 1971’s Imagine, “Steel And Glass” is a slow-building magnum opus that blossoms into a tower of vengeful rock. Some allege that the song’s ire is directed at former Beatles manager Allen Klein, but Lennon said that that jagoff didn’t have an LA tan, as the lyrics state; so it’s more of a composite portrayal of assholes who’d wronged John. Good to know! Perhaps best of all is “#9 Dream,” a pinnacle of blissed-out, celestial rock. It sounds as if Lennon’s singing from the clouds that populated the Imagine LP cover, all of his angst dissipating in billowy strings and studio fairy dust. The jibberish lyrics in the chorus (“ah! böwakawa poussé poussé) came to Lennon in a dream, according to Pang’s autobiography, and they add a je ne sais quoi to the oneiric swirl of “#9 Dream.”

Peaking at #1 on the US albums chart, Walls And Bridges was Lennon’s last great album before his murder in 1980—a tragedy over which many (including your blogger) are still mourning. -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.

Black Merda “Black Merda” (Chess, 1970)

Jimi Hendrix disciples proliferated in the late ’60s and early ’70s—and understandably so. In the same time period, psychedelic soul and lysergic funk were also burgeoning, thanks to Funkadelic, Chambers Brothers, Sly & The Family Stone, Charles Stepney/Rotary Connection, and the Motown writing/production team of Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong, among others. The Detroit group Black Merda were right in the thick of that febrile activity, adding their own special sounds to the mix.

The members—Veesee L. Veasey (bass), Anthony Hawkins (lead guitar), Charles Hawkins (guitar), Tyrone Hite (drums); they all sang, too—got their start in the mid-’60s as session musicians who also played in the Soul Agents. They backed up luminaries such as Edwin Starr, Wilson Pickett, Joe Tex, the Temptations, and the Spinners. You can hear the Soul Agents on Starr’s towering hits “Twenty Five Miles” and “War” and on Fugi’s fantastic psych-funk jam “Mary Don’t Take Me On No Bad Trip.” In 1967, the Soul Agents also did the first Jimi Hendrix Experience cover: “Foxy Lady.” It smokes.

So, by the time Black Merda cut their first album in Chicago for Chess, they were tight as hell and hungry to put out something over which they had total creative control. However, if you thought that Black Merda was going to simply offer freaky rock and funk of the sort heard on the Chains And Black Exhaust and If There’s Hell Below… comps, you’d be wrong. “Think Of Me” is basically folk-blues played on acoustic guitar while “Windsong” peddles mellow, morose blues, like a less ominous “She’s So Heavy.” The contemplative psychedelic blues “Over And Over” could’ve fit well on Muddy Waters’ Electric Mud. “I Don’t Want To Die” is a mournful, tear-jerking ballad. The solid, melancholy rock of “That’s The Way It Goes” rolls a bit like Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s cover of “All Along The Watchtower.” The sweet, midtempo soul tune “Reality” sounds like a hit, but alas, it was a miss.

All of those tunes are fine, but Black Merda really excel when they get more out there. For example, the wah-wah-fueled, psych-rock slow-burner “Good Luck,” with its powerful unison singing, is as soulfully inspirational as anything on Funkadelic’s self-titled LP. The bruising rocker “Ashamed” castigates people who mistreat the less fortunate and ignore injustices, but makes it a righteous party jam. Even better is “Prophet,” hard-thrusting funk rock of great liberatory force, as epitomized by the refrain “Set me free, uh huh yeah.” Best of all is “Cynthy-Ruth,” which is simply one of the great psych-rock songs in history. The taut yet elastic rhythm and hypnotic, warped guitar riffing—plus excellent grunts, “whoa-oh-oh-whoa”s, and “boo-hoo”s—elevate this track to Hendrix-/Funkadelic-level genius. This song along is worth the price of admission.

Black Merda suffered from poor distribution due to management issues at Chess Records, and it didn’t initially garner the audience it deserved. However, the record’s become a cult favorite among funk/psych heads and has been reissued many times on vinyl over the last 30 years, most recently by the Russian label Lilith in 2020. -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.

David Bowie “Aladdin Sane” (RCA Victor, 1973)

Aladdin Sane captures David Bowie after US superstardom hit with Ziggy Stardust and a couple of years before his glam-rock phase cross-faded into his soul-man infatuation on Young Americans. It reflects the madness induced by Bowie’s whirlwind success in America and the influence of American music on the chameleonic Englishman. While it’s an uneven album, Aladdin Sane does contain three of his greatest songs… plus a gaudy, unnecessary cover of the Rolling Stones’ 1967 rollicking proposition “Let’s Spend The Night Together,” which should’ve gone on Pinups.

After the opening “Watch That Man,” a standard-issue mid-’70s British glam boogie, Bowie and the Spiders From Mars band—Mick Ronson (guitar), Woody Woodmansey (drums), and Trevor Bolder (bass)—astonish with the title track, a golden anomaly in DB’s vast catalog. It begins like a suave, jazz-adjacent ballad, almost in a Steely Dan vein, but veers into more turbulent zones, as guest pianist Mike Garson soars into hall-of-fame realms with his mercurial, Cecil Taylor-esque improvisations. The song bears one of Bowie’s most sublime melodies and coolest vocal performances, while Bolder provides an über-hypnotic bass line. It’s still hard to believe that this complex avant-rocker received commercial-radio play. Seventies radio programmers, I salute you.

Apparently Mott The Hoople rejected “Drive-In Saturday,” even after scoring big with Bowie’s “All The Young Dudes.” That decision’s sort of understandable, as the logy, faux-doo-wop of “Drive-In Saturday” lacks the sparkle and swaying bonhomie of the previous Bowie offering with which Mott charted. This slight letdown is more than redeemed by “Panic In Detroit.” Bowie’s “Gimme Shelter,” it’s suffused in quasi-apocalyptic dread and aptly frazzled backing vox by Linda Lewis and Juanita “Honey” Franklin. Ronson’s guitar tone is chunky and irritable and Woodmansey’s drumming is appropriately ominous, as Bowie obliquely poeticizes about the Motor City riots of 1967, after Iggy Pop described them to him. Growing up in the Detroit area, I was lucky enough to hear radio DJs play it to death.

“Cracked Actor” increases the fun factor with its fuzzed-out glam rock that swaggers with more menace than T. Rex. Ronson’s guitar tone is crunchier than a vat full of Grape-Nuts. The baroque, drama-school rock of “Time” finds Bowie verging on Queen territory, with Ronson at his most Brian May-like. “Lady Grinning Soul” also gets arty, albeit with Garson filigreeing his ass off on piano. You can imagine Scott Walker or Tim Hardin crooning this morose song. One of the most immediately lovable songs in the rock canon, “The Jean Genie” is an ingenious, glam-stomp revamp of Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man” riff. I’ve heard “The Jean Genie” hundreds of times and somehow I’m still not sick of it. The refrain of “Let yourself goooo-ew-oh!” feels like the animating spirit of Aladdin Sane, one of Bowie’s more underrated efforts in a decade loaded with classics. -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.

Blo “Chapter One” (EMI Nigeria, 1973)

Nigeria’s famous for being the birthplace of the Afrobeat genre, pioneered by Fela Kuti and Tony Allen. But in the ’70s, that African nation also incubated some fantastic psychedelic-rock bands, including Blo. Guitarist Berkley Jones, drummer Laolu Akintobi, and bassist Mike Odumasu released five strong albums in the 1970s, of which their debut, Chapter One, is the best known in the US. It’s a great introduction to the trio’s sly psych-rock and funky Afrobeat fusions.

There’s a humid, low-end undertow to their generally celebratory, jammy songs that’s hugely appealing. Not to slight the other players, but Odumasu reigns as the group’s MVP with his atypical and athletic bass lines. That being said, Jones works his wah-wah and fuzz-tone effects pedals with wonderful subtlety and Akintobi is a font of lithe, unpredictable rhythms. You can hear these delights on opener “Preacherman.” It’s tensile, cyclical rock with a joyous melody and an inspirational bass line, while the guitar somehow sounds like a flute in places. The song gets freakier as it goes, a common pattern on Chapter One. While these songs have vocals and relatively conventional rock structures, at a certain point the voice drops out and the instrumentalists go off on controlled freakouts.

“We Gonna Have A Party” is a fragrant, chugging jam that stays true to its title while “Don’t” follows in the same vein, but with more funk in its trunk. The album’s most anomalous track, “Chant To Mother Earth,” sprawls into a dank, ritualistic trance-out, until Jones’ long, circuitous guitar solo torches the subterranean vibe. Finally, “Miss ‘Sagitt’” ranks as one of the most transcendental tracks to come out of Africa; it’s a world-class psychedelic pinnacle on the level of the most sublime krautrock (Agitation Free, Et Cetera, Popol Vuh). What a fantastic finale!

Overshadowed by Lagos’ booming Afrobeat movement, Blo proved that the city could produce psych-rockers of distinction, too, as exemplified by Chapter 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.

Steve Cropper “With A Little Help From My Friends” (Volt, 1969)

The legendary R&B/soul/rock guitarist Steve Cropper passed away on December 3 at age 84, and respect must be paid. Best known for his work with Stax Records’ tight-as-hell house band Booker T. & The MGs, Cropper played on hundreds of important sessions and on dozens of hits by Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, and others. He also (co)wrote and produced many of his own classics and chart-dwellers, performed with the early Stax house band the Mar-Keys, and maintained a solid solo career. As many of you know, Cropper was one of the most economical and soulful guitarists ever to plug in.

Wanting to honor the master’s passing, I was tempted to review one of Booker T. & The MGs’ many influential instrumental albums, but decided to focus attention on a lesser-known work: his debut solo LP, With A Little Help From My Friends. It’s a fantastic showcase for Cropper’s R&B and rock chops, and it gives him room to spread his wings more than he could with the concise, precision-tooled tunes he cut with the MGs—that is, until 1970’s expansive Melting Pot. (Cropper’s 1969 collab with gospel/R&B/blues guitar giants Pop Staples and Albert King, Jammed Together, is also worthwhile.)

“Crop-Dustin’” sets My Friends‘ righteous tone; it’s groove-heavy, horn-blasted R&B that makes you wanna keep on truckin’, cowritten with Band Of Gypsys/Electric Flag drummer Buddy Miles. Steve and company turn Chris Kenner’s “Land Of 1000 Dances” into a sizzling banger—no surprise, as it’s never not sounded exhilarating, no matter who’s covering it. Of course, Cropper solos like the champion he is. On another oft-covered chestnut, Pickett/Cropper/Eddie Floyd’s “99 ½,” Cropper’s eloquent, scorched guitar calligraphy elevates one of the sexiest and most ominous soul classics ever to the top of the heap.

“Boo-Ga-Loo Down Broadway” and “Funky Broadway” (the 1966 Dyke & The Blazers dancer) deliver funky, good-time music with a lascivious bass lines and Cropper’s extravagantly soulful licks. The title track is not exactly an obvious choice for a Beatles cover, but it fits with the album’s theme. (Strange, then, that musician credits are largely absent!) Cropper blows the song out into an organ-intensive exposition that rivals Joe Cocker’s bombastic take. With contributions from guitarist Michael Toles and bassist James Alexander, “Oh, Pretty Woman” sounds nothing like Roy Orbison or Van Halen’s renditions. This one is more menacing, as Cropper solos with a seething intensity.

The album closes with a couple of Pickett/Cropper joints: One of Steve’s biggest hits, “In The Midnight Hour,” is given the hip instro treatment, while in the shaker-heavy “Rattlesnake,” Cropper gets off some fleet-fingered filigrees, but lets the horn section steal the glory.

Don’t come to With A Little Help From My Friends expecting anything that sounds like Booker T. & The MGs’ “Green Onions,” the 1962 minimalist masterpiece that established their lean, propulsive soul approach. Here, Cropper and his buddies go for an extravagant, party-igniting attack. It sounds like it was as fun to make as it is to listen to. Rest in power, Mr. Cropper. -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.

Parliament “Funkentelechy Vs. The Placebo Syndrome” (Casablanca, 1977)

If you attended a hip party in the late 1970s, you likely heard tracks from Parliament‘s Funkentelechy Vs. The Placebo Syndrome at it. “Flash Light” was all over the radio in the Detroit area back then, and at my high school ca. 1977-78 it was our undisputed anthem. No wonder it’s been sampled 214 times over the decades, becoming one of the foundations of hip-hop and various styles of dance music. But Funkentelechy has many more delights than that transcendentally brilliant classic.

Before we get into the songs, though, it should be noted that Funkentelechy is a loose concept album about the pitfalls of consumerism and disco (aka “The Placebo Syndrome”), the latter representing the bastardization of true funk, according to bandleader George Clinton. Funkentelechy is basically a manifesto about funk’s liberating powers. But knowing this catalyzing source isn’t at all mandatory for enjoyment of the record.

By the mid ’70s, Clinton had amassed a massive, talented group that boasted members of Funkadelic (genius keyboardist Bernie Worrell, guitarist Michael Hampton, bassist Cordell Mosson) and James Brown alumni such as Maceo Parker, Bootsy and Phelps Collins, and Fred Wesley. Backing singers such as Lynn Mabry, Dawn Silva, and Mallia Franklin added crucial flavor to these funk and R&B bombs.

Opener “Bop Gun (Endangered Species)”—itself sampled 38 times, including multiple instances by Ice Cube— is a bulbous, bubbly funk/disco hybrid elevated by extraordinarily soulful vocals by the powerhouse Glenn Goins. Beneath the vocal fireworks, some wonderfully complex and funky filigrees happen with the guitar, bass, horns, and keyboards. A change of pace comes with oft-sampled “Sir Nose D’Voidoffunk (Pay Attention – B3M),” a leisurely funk epic with absurdist elements, including allusions to “Three Blind Mice” and “Ba Ba Black Sheep,” goofy backing vox, and Bootsy’s languid drawls. All that said, does “Bop Gun” need to be 10 minutes long? No. it’s followed by the LP’s only real dud, “Wizard Of Finance,” whose slick R&B balladry tilts into schmaltz, despite its lurid horn charts and rich, liquid synth bass.

If you want to hear where Chicago rockers Urge Overkill got their name, check out “Funkentelechy.” The song earns its 11-minute run time with jaunty, wiggle-worthy funk and phenomenal vocal arrangements. Littered with advertising catchphrases of the time (“You deserve a break today,” “Have it your way,” etc.), “Funkentelechy” testifies that funk is the cure for whatever ails ya. Call it a danceable self-fulfilling prophecy…

Now this view may be blasphemy to some, but “Placebo Syndrome” is low-key Funkentelechy‘s peak. It’s not so much funk as it is preternaturally euphoric psychedelic soul. Lead vocalist Silva (I think it’s her) just kills it with her silky tones, contrasting with Mosson’s gruff emoting. Bonus: Worrell gets off a serpentine, oddly tuned keyboard solo in this song that would segue well with a Rotary Connection joint. I’m totally obsessed with “Placebo Syndrome” and rank it near the summit of the P-Funk canon; at the least, it’s the most blissful, beautiful song they’d done since “The Silent Boatman” from 1970’s Osmium.

Last but certainly not least, “Flash Light” bestows an ultimate highlight reel of mid-’70s funkenstein-ian molecular activity. Worrell unleashes a surfeit of Moog bass thrills, a masterclass in groove dynamics and tonal thickness. The elite vocal calisthenics here would put many gospel choirs in the shade. (Trivia: This was the pinnacle of clap-enhanced beats until Zapp’s “More Bounce To The Ounce” and George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog” entered the world in 1980 and 1982, respectively.) For “Flash Light”’s 5:46 duration, every blessed neuron in your body is firing at max capacity. True, “Everybody’s got a little light under the sun,” but in 1977, few shone brighter than Parliament’s. -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 United States Of America “The United States Of America” (Columbia, 1968)

Maybe you heard the news: The innovative musician/composer Joseph Byrd passed away on November 2 at age 87. However, as I type, no media outlet has written an obituary. WTAF?! This scandalous state of affairs has nudged me to review the great man’s crowning achievement—the lone album by his short-lived group, the United States Of America. (I hope to cover Byrd’s other major-label opus, 1969’s The American Metaphysical Circus by Joe Byrd And The Field Hippies, in the not-too-distant future.)

In the late-’60s explosion of rock creativity, few artists sounded like the USA. Their only real peers were Silver Apples, White Noise, Fifty Foot Hose, and Spoils Of War. These were bands that threaded electronics into psych-rock songs that often included passages of wild improvisations—or, free form freak-outs, as the Red Crayola called them. The six members of the USA were profoundly talented, led Byrd’s ingenious arrangements and advanced skills on organ, piano, harpsichord, synth, and calliope. In Dorothy Moskowitz, the USA had a singer whose pipes could stoke your libido and melt your heart. Hers was one of the definitive psychedelic-era voices.

“The American Metaphysical Circus” uniquely kicks off this unique LP. A circus music intro gradually morphs into a patriotic marching tune, then shifts into a dreamy psychedelic-pop ballad streaked with nerve-frazzling electronic twitters and whistles as Moskowitz sings like a stoned princess. You can really hear her influence on Broadcast’s Trish Keenan. The lyrics paint a gnomically metaphorical picture of the US as a very unnerving spectacle. “And the price is right/The cost of one admission is your mind,” Dorothy sings, and it feels as if truer words have never been intoned. The electronics get denser and crazier as the song progresses, before Byrd returns to the patriotic bit, with the sarcasm laid on thickly.

Then comes a jump cut to the album’s fiercest psych-rock burner, “Hard Coming Love.” The absolutely stinging guitar lead sounds like Howard Roberts during his tenure with David Axelrod’s Electronic Prunes (bafflingly, no one’s credited with guitar). Have you ever had sex on LSD? Well, if not, just listen to “Hard Coming Love” and you’ll have an idea. The bridge is simply a mad-scientist synth progression, showing the USA’s flamboyant flouting of convention. By contrast, “Cloud Song” is a ballad of unearthly beauty, marked by a courtly harpsichord motif. When Moskowitz coos “How sweet to be a cloud/Floating in the blue,” it sounds like ’60s Joni Mitchell dissolving in Owsley’s finest.

Electronic bird sounds speckle “The Garden Of Earthly Delights,” whose gothic baroque psych dazzles with its fantastic dynamics. Boosted by a seriously bulbous bass line, “I Won’t Leave My Wooden Wife For You” offers loony psych à la Lothar And The Hand People. The lyrics depict a married, hypocritical, suburban man who’s having an affair with a younger co-ed. The coda of patriotic, sentimental orchestrations sounds naggingly familiar.

Side 2 begins with another tangent, “Where Is Yesterday.” Following a hymnal chant in Latin, the track blossoms into gothic-pop splendor, marked by a mesmerizing vocal arrangement featuring violinist Gordon Marron and Moskowitz singing in quasi unison. Their voices and the music are as stunningly gorgeous and ominous as Scott Walker at his darkest. “Coming Down” is archetypal psych rock that should’ve been a hit. Leaving Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit” in the (angel) dust, it’s one of the most cogent songs ever about drug trips, blessed with the revelatory refrain, “Reality is only temporary.” We’re gently brought down to Earth with “Love Song For The Dead Ché,” a romantic swirl of a ballad that deliquesces in a lavender and turquoise haze. The only dud here, “Stranded In Time” is a violin-heavy “Eleanor Rigby” epigone sung by Marron.

The album ends with the three-part suite “The American Way Of Love.” Suite 1, Metaphor For An Older Man, starts with some snide, Mothers Of Invention-like rock, then shifts into trippy and turbulent violin and electronics. California Good-time Music is a spot-on parody of the Mamas & The Papas. Love Is All delivers more Zappa-esque tomfoolery, before it turns into a brain-scrambling “remix” of the album, snippets of every song recurring like a bonkers flashback. The editing is brilliant and ahead of its time. What an insane climax to a one-of-a-kind classic.

Rest in power, Joseph Byrd, you genius you. -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.

Bubble Puppy “A Gathering Of Promises” (International Artists, 1969)

The cover photo of A Gathering Of Promises—with all four members garbed in 18th-century finery—suggests a baroque-pop band à la the Left Banke. And that promise sometimes comes to pass. Which is pretty surprising, given that San Antonio, Texas’ Bubble Puppy recorded their sole album for Lelan Rogers’ International Artists label, home to psychedelic warlords such as 13th Floor Elevators, Red Crayola, and the Golden Dawn. Bubble Puppy’s LP isn’t on that level, but it is a strong slab of rococo hippie rock and another example of one-and-done brilliance. (They would later move to LA, change their name to Demian, and cut a slightly heavier, less catchy record in 1971.)

A Gathering Of Promises opens with Bubble Puppy’s shock Top 20 hit, “Hot Smoke And Sasafrass.” It’s a perfect expression of freewheeling yet tight psych-rock songcraft, full of hairpin twists and turns, accelerations and decelerations, and, as a bonus, a pulse-pounding instrumental passage. Here’s where it becomes clear that having two excellent lead guitarists (Rod Prince and Todd Potter) really elevates your game. On “Hot Smoke And Sasafrass,” Prince and Potter execute the axe-hero equivalent of wheelies. “Todd’s Tune” is a dramatic, windswept power ballad that morphs into a dense, psychedelic workout in the coda. That sort of radical shift in composition marks most of A Gathering Of Promises.

One thing you can’t say about Bubble Puppy: They didn’t write predictable or basic songs. You may not be overjoyed by all of them, but you have to admire the dexterity and invention on display over these 10 tracks. Case in point: the nearly eight-minute “I’ve Got To Reach You.” Reminiscent of Neil Young’s “Cowgirl In The Sand,” but more concise and ornate, it features a complex, corkscrewing guitar solo that would make J Mascis nod his head in approval. And “Lonely” definitely has guitar pyrotechnics that would prompt standing ovations from Dinosaur Jr. fans. If you’re into mellifluous, open-highway hippie rock of great intricacy, you’ll love “Hurry Sundown,” “Road To St. Stephens,” and “Beginnings.”

Another thing about these Bubble Puppy dudes: They’re surprisingly good singers, just a rung below Crosby, Stills & Nash. For contrast, the title track’s an earnest, dew-dappled ballad that hints at the Beatles (think “Dear Prudence”) and Simon & Garfunkel, and, damn it, the Left Banke.

It looks like Sundazed did a recent reissue of A Gathering Of Promises, so copies shouldn’t be too hard to find. -Buckley Mayfield

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