Album Reviews

The Moody Blues “In Search Of The Lost Chord” (Deram, 1968)

While mourning the recent death of Moody Blues bassist/vocalist John Lodge (RIP!), I realized that we’ve not reviewed any albums by his elegant and quite popular British psych-rock group. A very puzzling state of affairs, to be sure. So, time to remedy that oversight.

In Search Of The Lost Chord was the second of a fantastic, six-album run by the Moody Blues that spanned from 1967 to 1971. The commercial success of 1967’s Days Of Future Passed paved the way for the band to enjoy unfettered creative freedom in the studio for Lost Chord. Inspired by Timothy Leary’s lysergic proselytizing and other cultural sources of mind expansion (including Sgt. Pepper’s), the Moodies added flutes, sitar, tablas, autoharp, harpsichord, and cellos to their standard rock instrumentation. And all five members got to flex their compositional muscles. The result is one of the zeniths of major-label psychedelia.

Drummer Graeme Edge’s brief “Departure” prepares you for something momentous, as an ever-rising chord leads spectacularly into the soaring romp of freedom that is Lodge’s “Ride My See Saw.” Although it was a bit late, the song exemplifies that liberating, Summer Of Love spirit and it definitively proved that the Moody Blues could rock. (No surprise that it was covered by NYC rockers Bongwater in 1987.) Flautist/saxophonist Ray Thomas’ “Dr. Livingstone, I Presume” brings whimsical orchestral pop that positively explodes with ebullience in the chorus (“We’re all looking for someone”). Thomas rises to the occasion again on “Legend Of A Mind,” a glorious tribute to notorious trip-trip-maker Tim Leary. This is superbly arranged big-budget psychedelia with absolutely riveting Mellotron and flute passages. A real tour de force, it’s the Moodies’ “A Day In The Life.”

Mellotron manipulator Mike Pinder comes correct with “The Best Way To Travel,” a brilliant specimen of late-’60s UK psych, which, historians agree, is some of the most elaborate and sublime psych. Plus, Pinder sings a bit like Ringo Starr. On Justin Hayward and Thomas’ “Visions Of Paradise,” a gorgeous, circuitous flute intro leads into Days Of Future Passed-style baroqueness, with sitar embellishments. Things get unbearably poignant on Hayward’s “The Actor,” a well-crafted psych ballad with heavenly ambitions. Edge’s cosmic poem, “The Word,” segues into Pinder’s sitar- and tabla-spiced psych gem “Om,” which is enhanced by transportive vocal harmonies. Sure, it’s a period piece, like In Search Of The Lost Chord itself, but, man, what a period. -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.

Jimi Hendrix Experience “Axis: Bold As Love” (Track Record, 1967)

Consensus #1 guitar god Jimi Hendrix was the Big Bang of Black psychedelia, and all of the three albums he cut with the Experience (who included Brits Noel Redding on bass and Mitch Mitchell on drums) are absolutely essential. Each record was uniquely brilliant in its own way. But after four decades or so of listening to them, I have to say that Axis edges out Are You Experienced and Electric Ladyland by a plectrum.

The Experience’s sophomore LP reveals Hendrix’s prodigious range as a songwriter and, of course, virtuosity as a guitarist. The jazzy skitter of “Up From Skies” abuts the tumultuous, hooky rock of “Spanish Castle Magic.” “Wait Until Tomorrow” shows Jimi’s underrated pop sensibility and intricate guitar-bass interplay with Redding, while the unspeakably pretty “Little Wing” and “Castles Made Of Sand” represent Hendrix’s most poignant ballads outside of “The Wind Cries Mary.” In a similar vein, “One Rainy Wish” is damn near a pinnacle of psychedelic soul.

“If Six Was Nine” is a masterclass in menace and sparse dynamics, with a devastating, upward-spiraling coda. “You Got Me Floatin’” boasts one of the most infectious grooves of ’60s rock. “Little Miss Lover” is as funky and rugged as anything on the If There’s Hell Below… comp; whenever I play it, I think it might be my favorite Hendrix tune of all time. The feedback symphony “EXP” displays Hendrix’s experimental inclinations. “Bold As Love” shatteringly climaxes the record and flaunts Jimi’s most powerful vocal performance. And though it’s easy to overlook, the swirling psych-pop of Redding’s “She’s So Fine” holds its own with Jimi’s compositions.

Axis‘ ability to blow minds hasn’t faded in 58 years. -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.

Various Artists “If There’s Hell Below…” (Numero Group, 2023)

This crucial 13-track compilation partially derives from the limited-edition, long-oop 2002 collection Chains And Black Exhaust. Both albums feature the curation of thoroughbred record-collector Dante Carfagna, who tracked down rare singles by several amazing and unjustly obscure Black musicians to give them an afterlife on physical media and streaming services.

The main thrust of the songs on If There’s Hell Below... is a raw, tough-luck rock that nods to Curtis Mayfield (no relation) at his trippiest and most disenchanted. Stone Coal White’s stunned, wah-wah-heavy “You Know” exemplifies the muted, golden glow that pervades the comp, and Sir Stanley’s impassioned line in the profoundly soulful funk bomb “I Believe” (“I believe there’s got to be a better way”), sums up its prevailing attitude.

Elsewhere, Creations Unlimited’s “Chrystal [sic] Illusion” does blaxploitation-flick-soundtrack swagger with LSD, while Iron Force’s “Sweet Poison” melds stoned Hendrixian vocals with Black Sabbath-esque menace. Basement’s “Funky Music” is not the party jam its title would indicate, but a bleak, urban brooder. The standout track is Iron Knowledge’s “Show-Stopper,” a bulbous beast of action-packed psych-metal. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever come out of Youngstown, Ohio.

If There’s Hell Below… stands as one of the Numero Group label’s greatest comps of the ’20s—and there have been dozens, so that’s really saying something. -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.

Count Five “Psychotic Reaction” (Double Shot, 1966)

Talk about one-hit wonders… American garage rockers Count Five harnessed all of their creative and instrumental energies into “Psychotic Reaction,” one of the touchstones of garage rock, as Lenny Kaye astutely noted by placing the track on the vastly influential first Nuggets comp. (The legendary critic Lester Bangs fell hard for it, too, writing a fascinating 1971 essay that imagined all the subsequent albums that Count Five would never record.) Sure, “Psychotic Reaction” took cues from the Yardbirds’ “I’m A Man” and other rave-up-enhanced tunes by that British group, but Count Five took that steez to a crazier level. You might say that the song was their psychotic reaction to Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, and company.

No question, Count Five captured lightning in a bottle with “Psychotic Reaction.” The emotional turmoil of young people heartbreak is/was/always will be a catalyst for extraordinary art, including speed-freak rock and roll. Here, the band locked in on some of the most primal, unstoppable guitar riffs and drumbeats ever, and then proceeded to rocket out to the farthest zones that 1966 had to offer, leaving behind the 13th Floor Elevators and perhaps even Love’s “7 And 7 Is.” But also take a moment to think about an America in which a track as gonzo as “Psychotic Reaction” could peak at #5 on the singles chart. How far we’ve fallen as a nation…

Let us note that Psychotic Reaction is more than just its cataclysmic title track. The LP opens with a potent 1-2 punch: “Double-Decker Bus”’s agitated, harmonica-augmented garage rock with a tense, hair-raising rave-up that’s not as explosive as “Psychotic Reaction” (what is?); and “Pretty Big Mouth,” a cool, sleazy, mid-tempo dancer about “making a woman mine”—a common topic among ’60s garage-rockers. In fact, that subject also arises in the next song, “The World,” which is in a similar musical vein to “Pretty Big Mouth,” but it has dorkier vocals. It’s important to remember that all of Count Five’s members were 18 and 19 when this album came out.

The first of two (!) Who covers here, this “My Generation” proves that it’s a fool’s errand to try to interpret one of ’60s rock’s foundational anthems. Sadly, Count Five just aren’t up to the task, but you gotta admire the balls on these guys… Simply put, Count Five—including main songwriter, guitarist, and vocalist Sean Byrne—don’t have the Who’s instrumental chops or vocal charisma (especially the latter) to approximate the original’s firepower. The other Who selection, “Out In The Street,” makes one ask “Why?” I mean, it’s a brave attempt at one of Townshend’s brash, youthful statements, but Count Five don’t really deviate from the original. Wasn’t there a non-Who song that these dudes could’ve covered?

Speaking of emulating British Invasion artists, Count Five delve into some 1964-era Beatles worship on “She’s Fine” and “Can’t Get Your Lovin’,” but—let’s not mince words—singer Kenn Elner kind of sounds like a doofus. Better is “Peace Of Mind,” which is the perfect counterpart to the Red Crayola‘s “Hurricane Fighter Plane.” It’s the album’s second-best song, a driving garage-psych beast that, of course, has been overshadowed by the title track. And DJs should be aware that the woozy, watery rock of “The Morning After” would segue well into Nilsson‘s “Coconut” or Three Dog Night’s “Mama Told Me (Not To Come).”

Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that Psychotic Reaction is a classic album. However, it does have enough interesting takes on primitive garage-rock moves to make it a keeper. And with a running time of under 26 minutes, the record efficiently delivers its rambunctious and boozy pleasures. -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 Kinks “Sleepwalker” (Arista, 1977)

The Kinks’ debut for Arista in America, Sleepwalker marked the band’s pivot to arena-rock maneuvers after several concept albums full of horn sections and backing singers, which didn’t garner much commercial success. However, with Sleepwalker, Ray Davies and company got what they wanted, as it peaked at #21 on the Billboard albums chart. Recording in the band’s new 24-track studio, Konk, helped to expand the sound for more spacious venues. And in the process, the Kinks cut one of their strongest records of the ’70s, though it’s often overlooked by those who favor the group’s spectacular and influential ’60s output.

While I don’t consider Sleepwalker a top-5 Kinks LPs, it does possess one of this legendary group’s greatest songs: “Sleepwalker.” More on that later. The album opens with the loquacious “Life On The Road,” surging, melodically rich rock in the Mott The Hoople vein. “I’ve got bloodshot eyes because I’ve been walking the streets all night” Ray Davies sings, hinting at the insomnia motif running throughout the record while also expressing ambiguity about wanderlust. “Mr. Big Man,” a simmering ballad about a friend of Ray’s (possibly) who let power and wealth ruin him, explodes in righteous indignation, as Dave Davies gets off a flowery, powerful guitar solo.

“Brother” is a grand statement song about the importance of people watching out for one another—a celebration of altruistic impulses. The lush, swaying mid-’70s rock of substantial poignancy perfectly supports Ray’s message of hope. In a somewhat similar style, “Life Goes On” serves as an uplifting pep talk for overcoming adversity. Aptly, this tune could compete with your Springsteens and your Pettys for heart-on-sleeve, stadium-rock supremacy. The second-best track on Sleepwalker, “Juke Box Music” starts with a cool funk breakbeat from Mick Avory and quickly heads into some lean, good-time rock about the power of music to affect the way we feel. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.. Eventually, the song blooms into an anthem that must have sounded fantastic during the Kinks’ late-’70s big-venue shows—especially Dave’s slashing lead guitar lines. Best of all, “Sleepwalker” opens with another funky break and shifts into swaggering rock beast mode, with cascading guitar riffs and incendiary interplay between Dave and Ray. Documenting the insomnia that Ray experienced after moving from London to New York City, “Sleepwalker” out-Slades Slade. As a single, it reached #48, the first Kinks chart placing in the US since 1970’s “Apeman.”

Side note: Sleepwalker would’ve been improved by the inclusion of the stinging “Prince Of The Punks,” a send-up of the UK punk scene roiling in 1976. (Instead, it was the B-side of the “Father Christmas” single.) Somebody at Arista messed up. Side note 2: BMG reissued Sleepwalker in 2024, but it’s not uncommon to find used vinyl copies for under $15. -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.

Assagai “Assagai” (Vertigo, 1971)

If my research is accurate, Assagai were the lone majority Black group on the storied Vertigo label. (The great Marsha Hunt also released a single on the imprint.) Composed of South African and Nigerian musicians, with some backing help from British prog-folk greats Jade Warrior (apparently arranged by Vertigo, unbeknownst to the latter), Assagai only released two albums, but they’re very good specimens of the early-’70s Afro-rock movement.

Assagai’s self-titled debut album features Dudu Pukwana (alto sax), Charles Ononogbo (bass), Louis Moholo (drums), Fred Coker (guitar), Mongezi Feza (cornet), and Bizo Mnnggikana (tenor sax). Some of these cats went on to have long, distinguished careers in the jazz world. Jade Warrior went on to cut some fantastic prog opuses, which I hope to get around to reviewing here eventually.

Written by Jade Warrior, “Telephone Girl” first appeared on their own 1971 self-titled album. Assagai’s version starts with Moholo’s incredibly orotund funky break and then bursts to a higher level of vibrancy with lascivious sax riffs, Coker’s flamboyant wah-wah guitar, Ononogbo’s suave bass line, and warm, African-dude vocals about how well he’s going to treat the titular sex worker. Unbelievably, Assagai earned a slot on Top Of The Pops with this fantastic, raunchy song. This fistful of DJ dynamite is Assagai‘s peak, but other treasures appear. “Akasa” is simmering Afrobeat with mellifluously triumphant sax charts and an extended drum break that would make the late Tony Allen smile. Coker gets off a crispy, complex guitar solo that has a similar timbre to Howard Roberts’ on the Electric Prunes‘ “General Confessional”—a very good thing.

The stealthy “Cocoa” is a slinky psych-rock chiller while the rolling, humid, and chant-heavy Afrobeat cut “Irin Ajolawa” thrills with another elongated drum break. “Ayieo” provides breezy, swaying funk with South African jazz brass enhancements and the bustling, joyous jazz of “Beka” will make you want to jump like NBA Slam Dunk champ Mac McClung. The album’s low point comes on “Hey Jude,” which all groups were legally obligated to cover during the Nixon administration. (Go look it up.) It pains me to say that this is one of the worst Beatles interpretations I’ve heard—and I’ve heard a lot. Assagai turn the beloved power ballad into a saccharine highlife cringefest. That being said, they do a nice, albeit truncated, job with the transcendent, arm-waving coda.

In 2016, Prog Temple did the last legit reissue of Assagai, though a label called Cosmic Rock issued an unofficial one in 2022. Overall, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down a vinyl copy. -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 Electric Prunes “The Electric Prunes” (Reprise, 1967)

For many people, the Electric Prunes were their gateway into the wild worlds of garage and psych rock. Lenny Kaye’s Nuggets (Original Artyfacts From The First Psychedelic Era 1965-1968) comp featured the Prunes’ 1966 single “I Had Too Much To Dream (Last Night)” at side 1, track 1, which surely boosted the LA band’s profile. And rightfully so. The song begins low-key and full of intrigue—Ken Williams’ buzzing-bee guitar intro is iconic—and then bursts into one of the most thrilling hybrids of garage and psych ever, its wicked fuzz-tone guitars and sighing, faux-violin undulations perfectly supporting James Lowe’s vulnerable-to-urgent vocals.

The weird thing about the Electric Prunes is they had little creative control, but still sounded as if they were absolutely invested in the material, as if it came out of their very souls. According to liner notes writer Richie Unterberger, they expressed their frustration at only being able to place two original songs on their self-titled debut LP. Even more strange for an all-male group, most of the tunes on this LP were written by women composers, e.g., Annette Tucker, Nancie Mantz, and Jill Jones. (The first two wrote the classic title track.) Tucker and Jones penned the record’s second-most-famous cut, “Get Me To The World On Time,” one of the definitive monuments of garage-rock’s first—and best—wave. The tension/release dynamics here—replete with a Bo Diddley beat-boosted bridge and whistling-comet guitar—are *chef’s kiss*. “Try Me On For Size” is lascivious, alpha-male garage rock, written by those two cool chicks, Tucker and Jones. Paradox rocks!

Sometimes, though, having women songwriters just feels off for these guys. Tucker/Mantz’s “Are You Lovin’ Me More (But Enjoying It Less)” sounds like a girl group hit reluctantly played by dudes, which does bring a certain tension to proceedings. A straight love ballad earnestly sung by guitarist James “Weasel” Spagnola, “Onie” is limp and should’ve wound up on the cutting room floor. Similarly, “About A Quarter To Nine” is a spare, old-timey ballad co-written by Harry Warren, who was born in 1893. WTF?! Worst of all is “Tunerville Trolley,” the sort of zany, vaudeville-influenced bullshit that afflicted many ’60s rock albums.

It’s baffling why half of The Electric Prunes contains such fluff, when they had killer jams like “Train For Tomorrow” in their arsenal. A low-lit psychedelic chugger that’s the epitome of cööl, “Train For Tomorrow” is DJ gold and proves that the Prunes should have been given more leeway in the studio. “Luvin’,” written by Lowe and bassist Mark Tulin, is a psych-blues delicacy that gives Chocolate Watchband a run for their effects pedals. The Prunes were allowed a bit more freedom on their sophomore album, Underground, but they still had outside writers thrust upon them. Bummer.

The Electric Prunes possesses sky-scraping highs and embarrassing lows, which set the tone for the band’s vexatious career. They would encounter further obstacles later in the ’60s when producer Dave Hassinger brought in the phenomenal soul-jazz producer David Axelrod to take the group in a whole other, liturgical-psych direction, with minimal input from the Prunes. This group deserved better. -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.

Dug Dug’s “Smog” (RCA, 1973)

Dug Dugs are notorious for being the first Mexican group to sing in English and to cover the Beatles. The Fab Four’s knack for sweet melodies occasionally seeps into Dug Dugs’ sound throughout their catalog, but this mode—as nice as it is—is not their forte. No, Dug Dugs really shine when they’re scuzzing it up and conjuring thick clouds of distortion. When that happens, they stake their claim as one of the greatest Mexican rock bands ever. (A note about the band name: That apostrophe on the second “Dug” should not be there, as the moniker is a plural, and I’ve decided to delete it in this review.)

While the four albums that Dug Dugs recorded between 1971 and 1978 all have flashes of brilliance, their second LP, Smog, is the most consistently thrilling, the one that best showcases their passion and virtuosity. That becomes apparent from the opening title track. It’s a slab of intoxicating, staccato prog rock that rides the most scintillating flute motif this side of Kraftwerk’s first album. Beyond that, it ranks among the greatest songs about pollution, along with Joni Mitchell’s “Yellow Taxi,” Franco Battiato’s “Pollution,” Marvin Gaye’s “Mercy Mercy Me (The Ecology),” and Neil Young’s “After The Gold Rush.” The album’s longest song, “Hagámoslo Ahora – 2da. Parte Popurrí” is groove-heavy psych rock that fills you with revolutionary fervor and/or a surplus of libidinal energy. The excitement doesn’t flag for its entire 11 minutes, 48 seconds.

Even better are “I Don’t Care (Yo No Sé)”—serpentine psych rock to which you cannot be apathetic—and “¿Cuál Es Tu Nombre?” yet more super-charged psych rock that sticks in the mind as firmly as anything by your favorite Anglo-American group of the era. The record closes strongly with “No Somos Malos,” a beautiful brute of flute-powered psychedelia that would make Jethro Tull blow out their aqualung, and the surprising anomaly “Voy Hacia El Cielo (Voy Hacia El Sol),” whose orchestral psych of rich textural and melodic beauty points to Dug Dugs’ Beatles influence.

The last US reissue of Smog occurred in 2011 via Lion Productions; Sony Music re-released it in Mexico in 2022. It would be nice if an American label would bring Smog back into circulation, as second-hand copies are fairly pricey. -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 Move “The Best Of The Move” (A&M, 1974)

I generally like to avoid reviewing best-of and greatest-hits comps on this blog, but The Best Of The Move is probably the most efficient and cost-effective way to hear this fantastic British rock group’s finest material. It’s not a traditional best-of collection, though, because it consists of the entire 1968 debut LP, Move, plus assorted singles from 1966-1970. This odd mishmash came about because those savvy A&M bosses Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss realized that Move and those killer 45s had not had US releases, so why not bundle them all together at a discount and make the Move stars in America? Alas, we Americans were too stoopit to embrace the Move, so instead they became a cult band mostly worshipped by Anglophiles. It’s an old, familiar story.

I’ll put my cards on the table now: At their best, the Move belong in any conversation regarding the most acclaimed ’60s British rock legends—the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Kinks, Who, Zombies, Donovan, Cream, the Creation, et al. This was apparent to anyone with functioning ears who heard the Move’s first wave of singles. Main songwriter Roy Wood was a mad genius, an absolute wizard with melody and a prodigious creator of hooks to die for. That he also looked diabolically smart and oozed charisma onstage made the Move’s dismal commercial outcome in the US even more puzzling.

The 13 songs on Move abound with clever tunes that are almost all instantaneously catchy. (The Coasters and Eddie Cochran covers don’t play to the Move’s strengths, however.) The Move’s best songs carry that special aroma of 1967/68 English psychedelia in which whimsy and baroque inclinations coalesce into numbers boasting an exquisite charm beyond the reach of 99% of American musicians. It’s hard to imagine a yank conceiving songs as arch and effervescent as “(Here We Go Round) The Lemon Tree,” “Walk Upon The Water,” “Fire Brigade,” and “Flowers In The Rain.” Our people just didn’t possess that dandified gene like the Brits did during the era when psych, garage, freakbeat, and art rock were intermingling.

As for the singles, lordy… They stand among the greatest ever penned. “Night Of Fear” exemplifies Wood’s ability to cram in many phenomenal earworms within one song. “I Can Hear The Grass Grow” is a stone classic of psychedelia that would segue well into the Beatles’ “Day Tripper.” “Wild Tiger Woman” packs maximalist pleasure while making overtures toward glam rock. If there’s a better song about being zonked in the noggin than “Disturbance,” please let me know. In it, Wood fuses power pop, Tin Pan Alley tunesmithing, and, in the scary coda, dark psychedelia that would spook Arthur Brown and his Crazy World. It’s such a tour de force.

The first Move song to feature Jeff Lynne, “Brontosaurus” might be their heaviest—and most turgid—composition. But everything pales before “Wave Your Flag And Stop The Train.” The pinnacle of Wood’s skill for infectious melodies that effloresce and swerve unlike anyone else’s, it’s one of my favorite songs in the world.

In conclusion, America really messed up by ignoring the Move. Don’t make that same mistake. -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.

Okay Temiz “Drummer Of Two Worlds” (WEA, 1980)

Besides having one of the coolest names in music, Okay Temiz has been a key rhythmic force in the zone where jazz meets “world” music. The Turkish drummer/percussionist has worked with deep musicians such as Don Cherry, Björn J:son Lindh, Johnny Dyani and Mongezi Feza (in the group Xaba), Tony Scott, and others while maintaining a long, fruitful solo career. Unlike many jazz musicians of a certain vintage (Okay was born in 1939 and is still living), Temiz has released excellent LPs well into the 1990s. But for my money, the standout in his catalog is 1980’s Drummer Of Two Worlds.

On this nine-track stunner, Temiz composed, arranged, and played a long list of percussion instruments, including sheep bells, thavil, cuíca, berimbau, Jew’s harp, Indian tuned sticks, and goblet drum (aka darbuka)—some of which he constructed himself. On Two Worlds, he received crucial help from Arif Sag (saz), Ziya Aytekin (woodwinds), and Attila Özdemiroğlu (synth). It turns out, when you make your own instruments as well as possess otherworldly skills and unique ideas, amazing, hard-to-categorize music ensues.

Temiz may be Turkish, but his sound diverges even from that Middle Eastern country’s distinctive output. It’s hard to imagine a more arresting start to an album than “East Breeze.” An utterly gripping berimbau intro leads into a dance-floor banger full of weird tones (what is producing that wild low frequency?!), a sinuous earworm whistle, rococo berimbau motif, an oddly metered groove (9/8?), and amphetamine bongos. “Galaxy Nine” defies all logic and classification, its tensile Jew’s harp wowows, rapid-fire drum triplets, metallic and wooden percussive accents building to a hectic cacophony.

With its insane monkey chatter and laughter, vibrant birdsong, and mercurial metallic percussion, “Ocean Roller” would stop you dead in your tracks if you heard it in public. Lest you think Temiz couldn’t get funky, “Penguin” offers solid, in-the-pocket funk with a woodwind that sounds like frog hiccups and harp-like strings (gopijantra, I think) adding distinctive texture. It may surprise some that Geto Boys’ Scarface sampled this track. “Drummer Of Two Worlds” brings god-like fusion motion—a magnum opus of funky disorientation. Let’s call it “whirled music for twirling dervishes.” The album closes with “Fantasia Drive,” a percussion orgy with crazy berimbau fibrillations rippling through it. An imaginary soundtrack for the most exciting car-chase scene ever, the song boasts timbres seldom heard anywhere. “Fantasia Drive” seems to be mutating and dispersing with each passing minute, as if in a science-lab experiment. Temiz’s peak record exists in its own unprecedented, psychedelic world.

CAZ PLAK reissued Drummer Of Two Worlds in 2024, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. DO NOT SLEEP. -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.

Echo And The Bunnymen “Crocodiles” (Korova, 1980)

I bought Crocodiles the week that it came out and it quickly established itself as one of the definitive albums of my freshman year of college at Michigan State University. While 1981’s Heaven Up Here was my favorite LP by Liverpool psych-rock quartet Echo And The Bunnymen for a long time, Crocodiles has since usurped it—in part because it’s prototypical young person’s music. Listening to it 45 years later brings back all the adrenalized thrills and existential confusion that coursed through my 18-year-old body and mind. Hey, sometimes nostalgia has its benefits…

Throughout the first half of the ’80s, Bunnymen singer/guitarist Ian McCulloch regularly declared his band to be the world’s best to a hungry UK music press, and he wasn’t too off base. Mac, guitarist Will Sergeant, bassist Les Pattinson, and drummer Pete de Freitas certainly burst out of the gate with authority on Crocodiles, which has nary a dud.

The record drew plenty of Doors comparisons upon its release, mainly due to McCulloch’s often stentorian vocals and cryptic, romantic poetry. But the Bunnymen’s psychedelia shined harder, stung more sharply, and it came with a post-punk grittiness that contrasted with the Doors’ more florid, jazzy approach. Now, I like the Doors, but I think the Bunnymen’s first four albums have a higher percentage of sublime songs on them the Doors’ first four.

Speaking of sublime songs, album-opener “Going Up” ranks as one of the Bunnymen’s greatest. An intro of spacey fx leads into a fade-in of heroic psych rock worth more than an arena full of U2s. When Mac bellows, “Let’s get the hell out of here/Going up, going down,” that’s the cue for the band to soar out of Earth’s atmosphere into deep space in the song’s second half. Shoot these two minutes of music into my veins. “Do It Clean” achieves another peak in which the group go in search of the ultimate rush and then achieve it… with the scathing rock song that you’re hearing. The line “I’ve been here, there, everywhere/Here, there, nowhere” epitomizes the young person’s frantic mindset while treating their brain like a science-class experiment.

Switching up the pace, the Bunnymen achieve that rare thing with “Stars Are Stars”: the intriguing power ballad; it’s one of their most poignant tunes. With its caustic guitars and pugilistic rhythms, “Pride” whiplashes the listener like 1980-era Gang Of Four. This is a gripping, tormented song in which the protagonist deals with contradictory voices hoping for him to fail or to prove himself worthy by doing something his family members can’t do. More urgent post-punk that’s as serious as your life follows on “Crocodiles.” Here, Echo sound lean, hungry, and ruthless, hell-bent on becoming an important tile in rock’s vast, beautiful mosaic.

“Monkeys” and “Rescue” exemplify the Bunnymen’s enchantingly spectral take on psychedelia. The radiantly chiming “Rescue” stands as one of the best self-deprecating songs ever, capturing the seductiveness of falling into a slump and not living up to your potential, the long, gradual descent into dejection. Mac: “I’m jumbled up, maybe I’m losing my touch/You know I didn’t have it anyway/…Is this the blues I’m singing?” In a manner of speaking, yes.

On Crocodiles‘ final three songs, beginning with “Pictures On My Wall,” things begin to turn dark. The Bunnymen proved themselves to be masters of the morose, but without a trace of hokeyness. They evoked ominous auras with great subtlety and artfulness. “All That Jazz” and “Happy Death Men” obliquely hint at apocalyptic destinies—or, the latter may be a veiled tribute to Joy Division and their ilk. Whatever the case, the Bunnymen—who were in their early 20s when they recorded Crocodiles—possessed wisdom and poise beyond their years, creating one of rock’s most thrilling debut LPs. -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.