Blues

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.

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.

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.

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.

Marsha Hunt “Woman Child” (Track, 1971)

Born in Philadelphia in 1946, Marsha Hunt attained cultural cachet and musical brilliance in the UK during the hothouse milieu of late ’60s and ’70s London. She is something of a Renaissance woman, earning notoriety as an actor, model, singer, and novelist. On a more salacious note, Hunt also had more than artistic relationships with some of England’s rock royalty, including Marc Bolan, Mick Jagger (with whom she had a child), John Mayall, and Soft Machine’s Mike Ratledge, whom she married to help her resolve visa problems. In addition, Hunt sang alongside Bluesology keyboardist Reg Dwight (later Elton John), acted in the London staging of the zeitgeisty musical Hair, and reputedly was the inspiration for the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar.” What a legend…

We here at Jive Time HQ are most interested in her musical exploits, though, which she flaunts with panache on her debut LP, Woman Child. Produced by three of the UK’s finest studio wizards—Gus Dudgeon, Tony Visconti, and Kit Lambert—the album goes heavy on covers… some expected, some surprising. With everyone from Humble Pie to Jonny Jenkins to Cher covering Dr. John’s “I Walk On Gilded Splinters,” it’s not shocking for a soulful diva such as Ms. Hunt to take a crack at it. And Marsha really digs into the haunted guts of this New Orleans voodoo-funk classic with apropos gravitas and intensity. It’s clear from the outset that Hunt’s acting chops came in handy when she got in front of a mic in the studio. Her expressiveness is elite.

Hunt also flexes her formidable range on “No Face, No Name, No Number,” an intimate, orchestral interpretation of the 1968 Traffic ballad. The vibe resembles some of the gentler pieces on Love’s Forever Changes. Hunt gives one of the Supremes’ most heart-rending hits, “My World Is Empty Without You,” a nuanced reading, reflecting the lyrics’ profound hurt amid a shivering, orchestral backing and subtle conga patter. Listen closely for her beau, Bolan, on backing vox. On “Keep The Customer Satisfied,” Hunt blows out Simon & Garfunkel’s twee folk song into a gospel/hippie-rock revival, with crazy, wailing sax. And her seductive take on Dylan’s celebratory country-rock nugget “You Ain’t Goin Nowhere” probably made Bobby all hot and bothered.

The first of three Bolan compositions reworked here is “Hot Rod Papa,” in which Hunt switches the gender of Marc’s spare blues-rocker “Hot Rod Mama.” She and her musicians improve the original into sleazy, fried R&B that’s not too far from what Rotary Connection were doing a couple of years earlier. A mellifluous, folk-proggy Bolan number from Tyrannosaurus Rex’s Prophets, Seers & Sages The Angels Of The Ages, “Stacey Grove” doesn’t really play to Hunt’s strengths, but it’s interesting nonetheless. And for all the John’s Children fans, there’s a remarkably sexxxy soul cover of the freakbeat classic “Desdemona,” written before Bolan formed Tyrannosaurus Rex. Here’s where Hunt reveals her swag in excelsior. The way she sings “lift up your skirt and flyyy-iiieee” is a serious climactic moment on Woman Child.

On “Wild Thing,” Hunt once again super-charges a white-boy track (this time by the Troggs) with show-stopping eroticism. She brings the full force of her towering thespianic powers to this groovy ode to raunchiness. Rumor has it that Faces members Ron Wood, Ian McLagan, and Kenny Jones play on this. I believe it.

It should be noted that Hunt’s greatest song, “(Oh No! Not!) The Beast Day,” only appears on a 45 released by the vaunted Vertigo label in 1973. I paid a pretty hefty price for it, but the ROI has been great, as I play it in 90% of my DJ gigs to overwhelming approval. Both that single and this album deserve reissues. It may be quixotic to think that this review will initiate the process, but it can’t hurt to put the idea out into the universe. -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 T. Walker “Plum Happy” (Zea, 1970)

David T. Walker is one of the planet’s smoothest, mellowest guitarists. His feathery touch and melodic gracefulness made the Tulsa, Oklahoma-born musician one of the 20th century’s most in-demand session players. He’s recorded and performed with dozens of big names, including Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Jackson 5, Marlena Shaw, Bobbi Humphrey, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, and Quincy Jones. Walker also played in the short-lived supergroup Afrique, whose lone LP, 1973’s Soul Makossa, is a serious funk bomb, and in Paul Humphrey & His Cool Aid Chemists. So, even if you’ve never checked one of Walker’s 15 solo albums, you’ve undoubtedly heard his delicious licks somewhere.

I’ve only heard four of DTW’s LPs, but of those, Plum Happy hits the sweetest spot. My curiosity in Walker was piqued via the main sample in hip-hop group People Under The Stairs’ 2002 classic, “Acid Raindrops”: i.e., his unbelievably chill cover of Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” Incidentally, I’d love to know if Bob ever heard Walker’s transformation of his moody 1969 hit ballad into paradisiacal instrumental bliss, blessed by brisk congas and DTW’s liquid-gold guitar filigrees. It’s become my go-to walking-in-summer-sunshine jam, and it’s yet more proof that Walker is a master of interpreting other musicians’ compositions.

But that doesn’t mean the man can’t write his own tunes. Plum Happy boasts five originals, and they reveal the sharp skills that come standard with a first-call studio wiz. Right from jump, “Doo Doo” offers a splurge of extroverted funk, like a wired Dennis Coffey joint, but with less fuzz and distortion. The title track is a busy, complex jazz number that recalls Phil Upchurch‘s contemporaneous work for Cadet and Blue Thumb Records. “Blues For My Father” brings solid electric blues showcasing Walker’s fluid, rhythmic style while “Listen To The Sun”‘s jaunty, ornate soul jazz evokes the magnificent Gábor Szabó.

As for the remaining covers, DTW secularizes the Edwin Hawkins Singers’ 1969 gospel-pop hit into a buoyant blues mood-elevator, as he extravagantly ladles on the wah-wah. For “Come Together,” John Lennon’s groovy surrealism gets some gilded adornment with fuzz-tone guitar conspiring with Walker’s crystalline timbre and frilly ornamentation. You can tell the band—John Barnes (piano), Al Edmond (drums), Richard Waters (timbales), Buzz Cooper (tambourine, percussion), Tracy Wright (bass)—really dig extemporizing on the Beatles’ funkiest song. The album ends with “Love Vibrations,” speedy funk rock that’ll get your pulse pounding, stat. The vivacious female backing vocals really send this hippy-friendly heater over the top. It’s one helluva climax.

Scandalously out of print on vinyl since 1970, Plum Happy deserves a reissue. Get to work on that, music industry! -Buckley Mayfield

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

Ted Lucas “Ted Lucas” (OM, 1975)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fleetwood Mac “Mystery To Me” (Reprise, 1973)

Fleetwood Mac’s eighth studio album—which peaked at #67 in 1973 and took three years to go Gold—represented a high point in that group’s unstable post-Peter Green era. Dominated by American guitarist/vocalist Bob Welch and the ever-reliable keyboardist/vocalist Christine McVie, Mystery To Me feels transitional yet also had some fantastic anomalies to help set it apart from a catalog rife with stylistic shifts.

Recorded on the Rolling Stones Mobile Unit, the album definitely was an improvement over its mediocre predecessor, Penguin and more interesting than its successor, Heroes Are Hard To Find. And it showed that Fleetwood Mac had recovered from the major bummer of losing guitarists/composers Danny Kirwan and Jeremy Spencer.

Welch asserts his importance from the opening song, “Emerald Eyes.” Yes, his raspy and dulcet singing is an acquired taste, but it’s one I’ve gladly embraced. His voice hits like a welcome sedative on this romantic ballad on which Mick Fleetwood’s beats slap surprisingly hard to heighten the urgency. On “Believe Me,” McVie reinforces how crucial she is to FM with a rollicking, piano-heavy rocker in the Faces vein, before the song goes on some dreamy tangents. This might be Christine’s hardest-rocking tune, as husband John’s bass avidly pumps along with Mick’s booming bumps. Furthermore, “Just Crazy Love” oozes effortless melodic gold in that patented McVie manner. Album-closer “Why” reveals another facet of McVie’s compositional skill; it’s a stately, stripped-down folk blues that blossoms into a string-laden power ballad about coming to terms with a breakup. McVie’s “The Way I Feel” is a spare, gorgeous thwarted-love ballad that sounds like something Elton John might have turned into a hit.

Things get really interesting with Welch’s “Hypnotized,” which wasn’t a hit but became a fixture on US FM stations (shockingly, the Pointer Sisters covered it on 1978’s Energy). Fleetwood’s triple-time beats mimic the precision boom-boom-boom-tsss of a drum machine, lending the song a trance-inducing pulse that merges perfectly with the terse electric and acoustic guitar filigrees. Welch’s wonderstruck and numb vocals seem to outline the effects of an acid trip—which, when coupled with the trippy, beachy vibes, transforms “Hypnotized” into an unintentional Balearic club anthem, years before those paradisiacal islands became a cultural hotspot.

“Forever” (cowritten by John McVie, Welch, and guitarist Bob Weston) follows in the denigrated tradition of white rockers dabbling with reggae. But it’s surprisingly enjoyable—definitely more tolerable than the Rolling Stones’ “Cherry Oh Baby.” Then again, I’m just a sucker for Welch’s gentle, pure vocal timbres, which fall somewhere between Paul Simon and Canned Heat’s Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson. “Keep On Going” is an oddity in the FM canon, as McVie sings on a Welch-penned song. Even stranger, it’s a swaggering orchestral folk-rock tune, with strings arranged by Richard Hewson—plus Weston plays a lovely flamenco-flavored acoustic-guitar solo.

Another tangent occurs on “The City,” where the Mac pay homage to James Gang’s nasty funk rock. “Miles Away” sounds like the coolest song that the Steve Miller Band never wrote—peaceful-easy-felling rock that nonchalantly accelerates when it desires to. This track could not have been written by any other Fleetwood Mac member but Robert Lawrence Welch Jr. The thorny, complex rock of “Somebody” is as close as FM got to Captain Beefheart. The LP’s only kinda-sorta misstep is the cover of the 1965 Yardbirds hit “For Your Love.” It’s an awkward fit for Fleetwood Mac, but not uninteresting. As with some of Bryan Ferry’s reinterpretations, FM don’t quite get the inflections and nuances right, and that friction sparks an odd sort of joy.

Mystery To Me deserves much more respect than Fleetwood Mac fans—and people, in general—have given it. It’s too bad that this version of the band broke up after it was discovered that Weston was having an affair with Fleetwood’s wife, Jenny Boyd. (Bob, how in blazes did you think this was a good idea?!) -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.

Half Japanese “Music To Strip By” (50 Skidillion Watts, 1987)

After beginning their career with noisier, more inaccessible albums such as 1/2 Gentlemen/Not Beasts, Loud, and Our Solar System, Maryland group Half Japanese eventually became more proficient on their instruments, wrote more structured songs, and enlisted pro producers such as Shimmy-Disc boss Kramer to oversee their recordings. All of these changes led to their greatest LP, Music To Strip By.

Half Japanese’s wild sixth album rambles all over the musical spectrum like a sugared-up toddler. Led by guitarist/vocalist Jad Fair, Half Japanese animated their blues, jazz, speedcore, R&B, and No Wave with a wrongheaded, primitive minimalism that threw a new light on these styles.

Throughout the record, Fair seems like the kind of guy who got taunted throughout his school years and for revenge later channeled his pent-up venom into music. He possesses the ultimate nerd whine (Fair’s influence manifested in Violent Femmes’ Gordon Gano); on Music To Strip By, he uses it with devastating effect on his quirky songs about a mother who needs to strip to support her family, hot dogs, intellectually slothful teens, demonic ouija boards, prehistoric animals, and FBI gigolos, among many other things.

The album starts with the amazing “Stripping For Cash,” a euphoric gush of high-energy rock that extrapolates upon the peak parts of the Velvet Underground’s “What Goes On.” The rock-ribbed blues of “Thick And Thin” won’t make anyone forget Howlin’ Wolf or Muddy Waters, but for a bunch of geeky Caucasians, it’s pretty tough. “Hot Dog And Hot Damn” sounds like Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time, as interpreted by riled-up 5th-graders. “Sex At Your Parents’ House” channels the Contortions, albeit without the reckless rage of their late frontman, James Chance. This piece broke new ground for Half Japanese.

A shocking departure, “The Price Was Right But The Door Was Wrong” is a J.J. Cale-style speed boogie. Similarly, “US Teens Are Spoiled Bums” manically rambles like something off Meat Puppets II. “Silver And Katherine” is another shocker—a tender, sincere ballad with the feathery gravitas of the Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes,” but augmented by blissful sax ripples. The relatively straightforward cover of “La Bamba,” a Mexican folk song that Ritchie Valens made famous with his 1958 hit, is somewhat out of place here, but charming nonetheless. My favorite cut on the album is “Diary,” on which Fair’s voice seethes with what seems like a lifetime of bitterness over the leanest white-boy blues ever: “I’ll write in my diary/What you did to me/And leave it on the table/For all the world to see/… I might even make it into a movie.” Damn.

On much of Music To Strip By, Half Japanese sound like a twisted pop band working on a miniaturist scale. Ex-Butthole Surfer bassist Kramer’s sparse production is ideal for this approach. In this case, less really is more. These tunes will leave you laughing, crying, and disbelieving in gasps. It’s quite possibly the greatest 22-song album ever. -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.

Scientists “Blood Red River” (Au Go Go, 1983)

Considered by some to be harbingers of grunge and by others as goth, Scientists always struck me more as Australia’s Stooges. Now, that remote country has fostered many bands with Iggy & company’s DNA, but nobody outside of Birthday Party captured the Stooges’ menacing, seething quality with as much pizzazz as Scientists.

Led by vocalist/guitarist Kim Salmon, Scientists released a self-titled debut album in 1981 whose bubbly power-pop/punk songs didn’t hint at the brooding heaviness that animates their 1983 mini-album, Blood Red River. To these ears, they sounded like lightweight also-rans on that first LP. In retrospect, it makes sense that soon after The Scientists was released, two members left to join the Hoodoo Gurus. Bringing in drummer Brett Rixon, bassist Boris Sujdovic, and guitarist Tony Thewlis had a salubrious effect, as Scientists transformed into a very different and much ornerier beast.

“When Fate Deals Its Mortal Blow” stands as one of the greatest openings to a record ever. Salmon sneers a revenge tale like Lux Interior’s meaner, Down Under Döppleganger while the guitars squeeze out radiated sparks and the rhythm section metronomically marches down a muddy trench with grim certitude. Swagger overload right out of the gate! “Burnout” motors down the garbage-strewn alley with a brutal grunt of a bass line, staccato, pugilistic beats, and guitars like zipping wasps. The song eventually accelerates into a thuggish yet disciplined freakout.

“The Spin” starts exactly like Birthday Party’s sinister blues-rock churn “King Ink,” making it one of the least-surprising moments on Blood Red River. Following in BP singer Nick Cave’s footsteps, Salmon gets off a pitch-perfect, feral Iggy howl. “Rev Head” foreshadows British heavy psychonauts Loop, with some maniacal, Suicide-like repetition (hence the Martin Rev-referencing title) and Alan Vega-esque shouts thrown in for good measure.

One of the coolest songs of the ’80s, “Set It On Fire” forces your mouth agape with jaw-harp-enhanced Stooge-adelia, powered by a thrusting, lascivious bass line, plus well-timed, Jimi Hendrix-meets-Andy Gill guitar explosions. The title track ends the record with sparse, menacing blues rock that, if you saw it stalking toward you, you’d cross the street to avoid it.

Scientists would get trashier and thrashier on 1986’s Weird Love, but for my money, they decisively peaked on the short yet potent Blood Red River. (In 2015, Numero Group reissued Blood Red River. That’s probably the easiest and most cost-effective way to obtain 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.