Album Reviews

Sly & Robbie “Language Barrier” (Island, 1985)

Formerly ubiquitous drummer Sly Dunbar and bassist Robbie Shakespeare are better known for their session work than for their own releases, and it’s easy to understand why. Jamaica’s best-known rhythm section has forged deep grooves for a panoply of stars both in their native reggae and dub styles as well as in funk, R&B, rock, pop, trip-hop, and jazz modes. A partial litany of collaborators includes Grace Jones, Bob Dylan, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Sinéad O’Connor, Gilberto Gil, and Tricky, as well as with fellow countrymen Black Uhuru, Sugar Minott, and Peter Tosh, among many others. The Sly & Robbie imprimatur bestowed quality on records and in concerts for decades in multifarious contexts, until the latter’s 2021 death.

Among the duo’s own albums, 1985’s Language Barrier stands as one of the most interesting. Produced by Material bassist Bill Laswell, Language Barrier boasts a large, varied cast of musicians: Wally Badarou, Bernie Worrell, Herbie Hancock, Dylan, Manu Dibango, and Afrika Bambaataa, among others. Distinguished company! Laswell had the best Rolodex in the biz in the ’80s and ’90s.

Anyone expecting trad reggae or dub on Language Barrier will be disappointed. That’s not how Sly & Robbie—and Laswell—rolled in those days. Opener “Make ‘Em Move” telegraphs the dominant approach with prowling electro-funk in the realm of Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit” and Art Of Noise’s “Close (To The Edit),” but with militant alpha-male vocals by either Bernard Fowler or Bambaataa. Featuring Dylan on harmonica, “No Name On The Bullet” is bulky electro-funk that veers into Mark Stewart & The Maffia territory. It’s very much a product of ’80s studio aesthetics, with its clunky drum effects and blaring digital synth smears.

“Bass And Trouble” would segue well into Bambaataa & Soulsonic Force’s “Looking For The Perfect Beat” or, indeed, Hancock’s “Rockit” (that again). Explosive and dynamic as hell, with highlight-reel sax by Dibango and a searing guitar solo by one of the five axemen on the record, “Bass And Trouble” is a definite standout. The album’s most uptempo number, “Get To This, Get To That,” percolates like a quasi-techno jam, with soulful singing by Fowler.

The main attraction, though, is the radical interpretation of Miles Davis’ five-dimensional brain-fryer, “Black Satin,” from his greatest album, On The Corner. Sly & Robbie delete the electric sitar- and tabla-laced intro and the main motif seems to be created here with a strange synth setting that almost sounds like a kazoo—a bold choice. But, unsurprisingly, Dunbar can’t match Jack DeJohnette’s nimble athleticism and mind-boggling complexity on the drums, so instead Sly keeps a neck-snapping 4/4 while Shakespeare repeats Michael Henderson’s probing bass line like an automaton—not a complaint! Laswell crams the stereo field with odd activity, but it’s a more ’80s-style array of disorienting tics and gestures. Whatever the case, it took guts to cover such an innovative track by a genius, and I’m here for it.

Language Barrier definitely has a dated quality, but with Sly & Robbie near their peak and backed by such a high-powered crew, it belongs in your collection. -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.

Poco “Poco” (Epic, 1970)

For decades I avoided Poco records because I thought they were the epitome of bland, soft country rock. I’m not even sure how I came to that conclusion, as two members—Richie Furay and Jim Messina—played with Buffalo Springfield, whom I dig. Sometimes you just formulate rigid dogmas based on no or little evidence. It’s a bad habit. Then I remembered being plagued by Poco’s gooey 1978 radio hit “Crazy Love,” and likely had scorned them based one that one song. We didn’t have YouTube or streaming services in the 20th century, so one could, if so inclined, hold ignorant grudges against musicians for years on end.

But in the late 2010s, after hearing someone I respect praise their early albums, I decided to take a chance on Poco’s self-titled LP because, what the fuck, it was a buck. And, man, am I glad I did. Sure, it gets a bit maudlin here and there—especially on the cover of Dallas Frazier/George Jones’ “Honky Tonk Downstairs.” But there’s also some residual Springfield melodiousness here, some Sweetheart Of The Rodeo and Michael Nesmith’s First National Band mojo, and some Neil Young-like guitar shredding by Messina and Furay.

The Furay composition “Hurry Up (Now Tell Me)” opens Poco with the sort of deceptively funky country rock that you sometimes hear on Steven Stills’ solo records. Replete with imaginatively arranged vocal harmonies, this song grooves harder than you’d expect from a bunch of honkies with a pedal steel (wielded by Rusty Young). And Messina’s surprisingly tough guitar solo would make Neil’s sideburns roll up and down. Jim comes in hot with “You Better Think Twice,” an uptempo country-rock breezer with punchy rhythms that should’ve been a hit. Sad to say, Poco garnered zero chart action. “Keep On Believin'”—which Furay and bassist Timothy Schmit wrote—is a rousing rocker overflowing with feel-good energy, bespangled with Young’s radiant dobro solo.

I was ready to write off the sentimental ballad “Anyway Bye Bye,” but it unexpectedly goes bombastic, so respect is due for subverting tropes. The baroque country rocker “Don’t Let It Pass By” flirts with prog complexity, proving again that Poco couldn’t be too easily pigeonholed.

That realization bursts into vivid truth on “Nobody’s Fool/El Tonto De Nadie, Regresa.” Written by the entire band, it starts in funky, blues-rock/slow-burner mode, as Poco ease out of their comfort zone. What sounds like a flamboyant organ solo but is actually Young’s pedal steel run through a Leslie speaker enlivens things. About four minutes in, though, Grantham gets methodically funky on the drums and someone (fab guest percussionist Milt Holland, probably) goes off on cowbell and shaker, as Poco begin to sound like Medeski Martin & Wood, 21 years before the fact. A few minutes later, a serious percussion jam commences that would impress early-’70s Santana. The piece eventually heads into a heady conflagration that sounds like Traffic jamming with Traffic Sound, climaxing with a wild, squealing guitar solo. With that, we’re miles beyond any quaint, cozy notions of trad country-rock conformity, thankfully. Poco earn every second of this 18:25 magnum opus.

For “Nobody’s Fool/El Tonto De Nadie, Regresa” alone, the bargain-bin staple Poco is worth your undivided attention. I’m sorry I waited so long to get familiar with this transportive epic. -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.

Akido “Akido” (Mercury, 1972)

Like Jive Time faves Cymande and Osibisa, Akido were a multinational group of Black musicians who were based in England in the 1970s and who made fantastic music. But Akido are much more obscure than those non-mainstream bands, mainly because they only cut one album, Akido, and on top of that, it has remained oop on vinyl since its original release year, 1972. Maybe this review will spur some enterprising label to reissue this wonderful record, he said quixotically…

The strangest fact about Akido is that Small Faces/Faces bassist Ronnie Lane produced it. That likely came about because Akido’s Ghanaian percussionist Speedy Acquaye had played with Lane on Small Faces and Faces sessions. (Acquaye also contributed to records by Rod Stewart, Ginger Baker’s Air Force, Rolling Stones, Third World War, and John Martyn, among others.) Though Speedy had connections to rock royalty, Akido themselves did not rock like those cats. Rather, they—including Nigerian Biddy Wright (bass, vocals), Jamaican Jeff Whitaker (congas), and British Peter Andrews (guitar)—flitted among psychedelia, funk, jazz, Afrobeat, and other African musics. And they did so spectacularly.

Album opener “Awade (We Have Come)” will sound familiar to anyone who’s heard Kruder & Dorfmeister’s “Deep Shit,” as those German producers sampled the song’s female/male African chants. “Awade” uses urgent hand drums, nimbly bobbing bass, and a brain-twisting guitar solo to forge a hard-charging spiritual jazz burner that’ll make you sweat out all of your impurities—yes, even yours. “Midnight Lady” is a lean, slashing, psychedelic groover that would segue well into Shocking Blue‘s “Love Machine.”

The bustling Afrobeat cut “Jo Jo Lo (Delicate Beauty)” would leave Fela Kuti’s Africa 70 breathless with its highly percussive shuffle; Speedy definitely earns his name here. Similarly, “Wajo (Come And Dance)” deploys heavy double-time slaps on the tom-toms, soulful vocals by uncredited women singers, and scalding, Peter Green-like guitar slashes in order to get hips shaking, butts wiggling, arms pumping, heads bobbing, etc. The intensely chugging funk heater “Blow” packs the rhythmic wallop of Babatunde Olatunji with the guitar attack of Phil Upchurch at his most aggressive. No need for singing here; just let the instrumentalists cook. “Confusion,” the album’s most rugged rocker, sounds like Santana on dexies.

Akido peaks on “Psychedelic Baby,” an insanely catchy psych-pop dancer that I plan to spin in as many DJ gigs as possible for the rest of my life. This obviously should’ve been the LP’s hit single, but because the music biz’s gatekeepers are, as the British like to say, “thick as a brick,” that didn’t transpire. Gotta say, there’s something utterly enchanting about Africans singing in English, and that element just adds luster to this classic. “Happy Song” is basically a funkier variation on the “Psychedelic Baby” theme, and therefore a winsome gem that’ll make you forget most of your worries—a major feat in 2025. -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.

Area Code 615 “Trip In The Country” (Polydor, 1970)

Area Code 615 are best known—if they’re known at all—for their track “Stone Fox Chase” being the theme to the progressive UK music show The Old Grey Whistle Test. But more importantly, these session musicians were Nashville’s answer to the Wrecking Crew or the Funk Brothers. Yeah, they were on that level. Some members played on Bob Dylan’s Blonde On Blonde and Nashville Skyline, some on Neil Young’s Harvest, some on Linda Ronstadt’s Silk Purse. Some were also members of the estimable Barefoot Jerry. The point is, Area Code 615 labored in service to other people’s commercial visions in order to make a living, but on the side, they demonstrated their own lofty creative ambitions. Trip In The Country—their second and final album—represents the zenith of their formidable talents

If Area Code 615 had a leader, it was guitarist Mac Gayden, who sadly passed away on April 16. The rest of the lineup consisted of Charlie McCoy (harmonica), Weldon Myrick (steel guitar), Kenny Buttrey (drums), Bobby Thompson (banjo), Wayne Moss (guitars), Buddy Spicher (fiddle), Norbert Putnam (bass), and David Briggs (piano). Studs, all.

Their distinctive skills slap you upside the head immediately with “Scotland,” as Thompson’s banjo and Spicher’s fiddle bring an Appalachian-hoedown feel to what is essentially a deep funk cut. That sort of unlikely hybrid makes for damned interesting listening, friends. Late in the song, the band breaks into a homage to Sam & Dave’s “Hold On I’m Coming”—just because. “Russian Red” is a rambling tune with jangly guitars that predate the sound of R.E.M.’s Fables Of The Reconstruction by 15 years, while “Gray Suit Men” is a country-rock barn-burner that wouldn’t sound out of place on Jan Hammer and Jerry Goodman’s Like Children. In a similar vein is “Katy Hill,” whose rambunctious, fiddle-heavy rock boasts a killer, plunging bassline by Putnam.

If you want some definitive progressive country rock (not an oxymoron), check out “Welephant Walk.” The ebullient instrumental “Sligo” stands as the funkiest song on the album, and it ought to appear on the next volume of Light In The Attic’s illuminating Country Funk series. One of their absolute peaks, “Devil Weed And Me (Buffalo Herd)” is full of surprising dynamics and changes, even getting heavy-metal-ish in spots, with a riff that would make Deep Purple green with envy.

The album’s highlight, unsurprisingly, comes on “Stone Fox Chase.” This is perhaps the most advanced fusion of country, funk, and psych-rock ever waxed. The panoply of percussive timbres alone launches this track into the pantheon. I love to play “Stone Fox Chase” in DJ sets in order to see people’s WTF? expressions as it goes through its shocking permutations.

It’s kind of wild that Trip In The Country vinyl has been oop in the US for 55 years. Even though used copies are not terribly scarce, we could use a nice deluxe reissue with liner notes… which—just putting this out there—I would love to write. -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.

Gloria Jones “Vixen” (1976, EMI)

Revered in the UK as the “Queen of Northern Soul,” American R&B singer Gloria Jones is probably best known for her 1965 hit “Tainted Love,” which was written by Ed Cobb. (Synth-oriented British groups Soft Cell and Coil later covered it in drastically different and interesting styles.) “Tainted Love” is an all-time classic that Jones redid on her third album, 1976’s Vixen, on which the diva adapted to the disco craze that was overtaking the music industry in the mid ’70s. Not as fleet as Jones’ original version, this one bears a beefier rhythm section for the stringent demands of disco-club requirements. It’s an interesting twist on a classic, but the OG version still rules over it.

The follow-up to Share My Love, her solid 1973 soul album for Motown, Vixen carries some traces of Jones’ Northern soul past in the artful backing vocal arrangements. She was a throaty belter in the Tina Turner/Marva Whitney vein, a style that translated well to the disco and glam song structures on display in Vixen. Gloria’s lover at the time, Marc Bolan, wrote/cowrote several songs and produced the LP with Ms. Jones. (Before cutting Vixen, she had sung backing vocals and played clavinet with T. Rex in the mid ’70s. Tragically, Jones was at the wheel in the London car crash that took Bolan’s life in 1977.)

Now, if you’re a Bolan completist, you need this record. That being said, Marc wasn’t at his best here. Cowritten with Jones, “High” is a stilted, glammy ballad on which Jones emotes mightily, but her vocal prowess can’t lift the song out of mediocrity. Bolan tries his hand at sleazy, orchestral disco with only moderate success on “Drive Me Crazy (Disco Lady).” “Sailors Of The Highway” is a sweeping ballad that almost tilts into facetious Tenacious D territory. Better are “Tell Me Now,” which has the celebratory air of the Faces and the orchestral melodic flair of T. Rex, and “Cry Baby,” a maximal glam-disco mash-up with wild string arrangements, sitar, and hand percussion.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Vixen peaks with the two takes on “Get It On.” “(Part 1)” is an exorbitantly AMPED, disco-fied cover of T. Rex’s only US hit. The tempo’s increased while a wickedly warped synth pulsates through the familiar machinations, and Jones sings like her paramour just promised her the strongest orgasm of her life. It’s so over the top, it’s kind of funny. “(Part 2)” is a much slower rendition that takes the famous tune to a XXX porn set, replete with fried, wah-wah’d guitar squawks and filthily funky beats. Again, it’s absurdly excessive, and all the better for it.

Parlophone reissued Vixen on Record Store Day 2025, so copies should be relatively affordable and easy 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.

Shriekback “Care” (Y, 1983)

Shriekback’s creative core of keyboardist/vocalist Barry Andrews (ex-XTC, Fripp’s League Of Gentlemen), bassist Dave Allen (ex-Gang Of Four), and guitarist Carl Marsh (Out On Blue Six) could almost qualify as a post-punk supergroup. Their early releases such as 1982’s Tench EP and the “My Spine (Is The Bassline)” single put very interesting spins on funk and atmospheric rock. So expectations were high for the British group’s 1983 debut LP, Care, and they were resoundingly met. (The US version differs from the UK edition, adding “My Spine” and “Accretions.” Get ’em both!)

Care gets on the good foot right away with “Lined Up,” a paragon of subliminal funk, powered by Allen’s steely bass line and stoic disco beats from a disciplined drum machine. Andrews’ stern, confidential lead vocals and the female gospel choir backing add a serious air of impending doom to proceedings. I’d often hear this joint in Detroit clubs during the ’80s, and it was a goddamn mood. With its with lusciously layered synths, chilling, Eno-esque textures, and rock-ribbed clapper beats, “Clear Trails” proves again that understatement is Shriekback’s forte—even with their drum-machine programming. In a decade lousy with clunky, canned percussion, they managed to avoid the robotic awkwardness that marred so many Reagan-era albums. One of Shriekback’s best songs, “Into Method” is a methodical, militant funk jam on a stealth mission. Similarly, “Sway” stands as a minimalist-funk masterpiece.

But Care proves that Shriekback have a weirder side, too. The skeletal, Cubist dub cut “Hapax Legomena” is as strange as its title and pregnant with tension. Unfortunately, the grave mood’s shattered near the end by a guffaw. The cantankerous “Lines From The Library” comes off like a more lightweight ’80s Swans. “Evaporation” is an aptly vaporous tone poem with barely-there vocals. (Andrews never broke a sweat while singing this record’s songs, guaranteed.) On “Brink Of Collapse,” Jon Hassell’s Fourth World Music goes to English art school. It’s an eerie, ritualistic piece within an abstract funk framework—everything in its place, precise and crisp. And what the hell is “In: Amongst”? A field recording of birds panicking as they flail in a whirlwind? Lassos twirling in a hurricane? Whatever the case, it’s one of the strangest endings to an album ever. That Care came out on Warner Bros. in the States shows that the early ’80s were different times, indeed. (Dave Allen passed away on April 5 at age 69. May he rest in peace.) -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.

Lou Reed “Coney Island Baby” (RCA, 1976)

For a hall-of-fame rocker, Lou Reed had wildly inconsistent quality control throughout his long solo career. Yeah, his Velvet Underground output was world-class over four albums, but after VU’s Loaded, stylistic permutations, personnel shuffles, vibe shifts, and mood swings predominated. When Lou was good, he was very good, indeed. When Lou was bad, it made even hardcore fans wonder how a genius could fall off so drastically. When’s the last time you played Mistrial?

In the ’70s, Reed had more ups than downs, compared to his work in ensuing decades. Coney Island Baby followed 1975’s much-maligned (but not by me!) Metal Machine Music, and talk about contrasts… The latter is a bombastic guitar-feedback concerto that’s anathema to unadventurous listeners. The former is an easy-going, at times cuddly rock record eagerly seeking radio play. And as far as that niche goes, Coney Island Baby is a solid B+ effort.

Largely inspired by Reed’s transgender girlfriend Rachel Humphreys, Coney Island Baby is awash in romantic sentiments, as “Crazy Feeling,” a gently ambling JJ Cale-like tune with Bob Kulick’s laid-back slide guitar sighing to the fore, demonstrates. For Christ’s sake, the first couplet is “You’re the kind of person I’ve been dreaming of/You’re the kind of person that I’ve always wanted to love.” The sunny single “Charley’s Girl” lopes like Transformer‘s “Vicious,” but in a much more charming and sedate manner.

“She’s My Best Friend” is a slower, more ungainly version of the sweet-natured, bouncy song that appeared on the posthumous VU comp. Surprisingly, it builds to a country-rock-ish climax, replete with a “na na na na na NA” refrain. In the delicate jangle-rock of “A Gift,” Reed sings with tongue-in-cheek sincerity, “I’m just a gift to the women of this world/Responsibility sits hard on my shoulder/Like a good wine, I’m better as I get older.” Good one, Lou! It almost made me forget how unabashedly middle-of-the-road the music is. But then Stonesy rocker “Ooohhh Baby” storms in to shake off the lassitude. It’s a song about lusting after a stripper who used to work at a massage parlor; lyrical content and sonics are perfectly in sync. The title track’s a nostalgic composition that epitomizes a blissful languor, even as it boasts the line “Man, I wanna play football for the coach.”

But the zenith of Coney Island Baby is “Kicks.” This six-minute trip sounds like it was transported from entirely more decadent universe—or from the seediest house party you’ve ever been to. (Alternate title: “Creep On The Dark Side.”) Yes, it has a guitar riff that makes the one from the Velvets’ “Oh! Sweet Nuthin'” sound like heavy metal, but Reed’s steely vocal delivery while inhabiting a psychopath’s mind (he asserts that murder’s better than sex) ushers the song into an exhilaratingly nasty zone. The structure’s so simple yet so effective, proving yet again that Reed’s always been a master minimalist. “How do you get your adrenaline flowing?” Lou asks, and the god-tier theater of cruelty of “Kicks” is one sure way to do so. -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.

Osibisa “Osibisa” (Decca, 1971)

Osibisa’s music is almost as fascinating as the surrealistic Roger Dean cover art that adorned their finest albums. They were a London-based septet whose members had moved to England from various African and Caribbean countries, yet they trafficked in prog-/psych-rock… with major-label backing in the UK and US. Tony Visconti (David Bowie, T.Rex, etc.) and Martin Rushent (Buzzcocks, Stranglers, etc.) worked studio magic on their records. The ’70s were wild, man.

Osibisa’s 1971 debut LP is their best, a piquant, Afro-Caribbean twist on peak-era prog. They were kind of in their own lane in the ’70s, although Osibisa did share some elements with Cymande and Assagai. Osibisa’s leader, Teddy Osei (who passed away in January; RIP), was the band’s MVP, playing tenor saxophone, flute, African drums, percussion, and singing lead on three of the LP’s seven tracks. He establishes the rootsy African vibe on track 1, “The Dawn,” where, amid crickets, birdsong, chants, and African hand drums, Osei toots a frilly flute motif that’s as beautifully peaceful as a dove, achieving Jeremy Steig levels of hoarse fluency later in the piece. Robert Bailey’s organ flares and swells with Brian Auger-esque flamboyance while Wendell Richardson paints the sky fire-engine red with his guitar calligraphy. Osibisa’s intricate instrumental interplay is as stunning as any of your favorite English prog virtuosi.

“Music For Gong-Gong” veers into quasi-Afrobeat territory, with an outrageous, extended percussion break that could bet B-Boys/Girls busting moves. Osei and Loughty Lasisi Amao’s saxes and Mac Tontoh’s trumpet form a victorious horn section, blasting away apathy with ebullient arrangements. “Oranges” rides a fluid, summertime groove that’s almost as cool as Kool & The Gang at their coolest. Osibisa get political on “Think About The People,” a slow-burning anthem that lists the world’s ills, rhymes “pollution” with “revolution,” and advises “We all need a little understanding right now.” You literally can’t argue with that.

“Phallus C” (pun noted) represents sonic joy in full flower, with musicianship that’s as complex as heaven. Of course, there’s a libidinous percussion breakdown for the masses to move their asses. It wouldn’t be an Osibisa song without that. (Shout out to drummer Sol Amarfio and bassist Spartacus R!) With its wild chants, triumphant horn blasts, and a battle-ready rhythm section that’s akin to some of early Santana’s humid, Latinate motion, “Ayiko Bia,” is a rambunctious, party-starting show-stopper. This track might be the group’s peak, the one tune you play when you want to turn someone on to Osibisa.

Essentially, Osibisa were a tight, groove-oriented jam band who would have absolutely killed if the Bonnaroo festival had existed in the ’70s. In the 2020s, though, these badasses don’t get the respect they deserve. Consequently, Osibisa and other early LPs such as Wɔyaya and Heads remain cheap heat. Get thyself to a bargain bin before that changes… -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.

SRC “SRC” (Capitol, 1968)

Any Detroit rock group operating in the late ’60s inevitably worked in the towering shadows of the Stooges and the MC5—to say nothing of Motown and its Great White Hope, Rare Earth. So, even though SRC had major-label backing and extremely gifted musicians and a thriving Motor City music scene to spur them to lofty heights, they never really rose above cult status. All three of their albums have outstanding moments (especially “Bolero” from Milestones), but the self-titled debut is The One, as I will soon explain. (Jackpot’s 2024 Record Store Day reissue makes this LP relatively easy to score for a reasonable price.)

Though I grew up in Detroit in the ’60s, I was too young to attend shows at that time. But from what I’ve gleaned as a listener, not many bands in the city sounded like SRC. Brothers Gary (lead guitar) and Glenn Quackenbush (Hammond organ) were outstanding soloists whose virtuosity seemed more at home with British prog-rockers who composed the Canterbury Scene—especially Egg and Caravan. Scott Richardson’s vocals were the polar opposite of Iggy Pop and Rob Tyner’s alpha-male yowls and yelps; rather, he sang with a fey sense of wonder. Guitarist Steve Lyman’s backing vocals added shiver-inducing harmonies to SRC’s complex prog-psych compositions. Drummer E.G. Clawson and bassist Robin Dale rounded out the lineup with panache, though those eloquent Quackenbushes couldn’t help stealing their thunder.

As for SRC, there’s not a weak cut among the eight here. “Black Sheep” begins things with beautifully ominous and pompous prog rock, distinguished by Richardson’s perfectly modulated and sincere vocals and the Quackenbush brothers’ loquacious guitar and Hammond organ leads. The grandiloquent psych of “Exile” moves like a noble knight on a chessboard. As baroque as the Left Banke, as heavy as Iron Butterfly, this song balances opposing forces with utmost skill. Quackenbush’s distinctive guitar tone aches with mind-bogglingly emotiveness, an Arc de Triomphe of feelings. The dainty “Marionette”—which I first heard on the Illusions From The Crackling Void comp back in the ’80s—would segue well into the Youngbloods’ “Get Together.”

Things get really interesting on side two. “Onesimpletask” stands as one of the album’s most potent cuts, featuring a wickedly bulbous bass riff that would make Geezer Butler’s mustache bristle in appreciation. Quackenbush’s serpentine guitar freakout recalls Love’s Johnny Echols’ on “Your Mind And We Belong Together,” which is high praise, indeed. “Refugeve” peddles lush, sexily melodic prog that could’ve fit on McDonald and Giles‘ self-titled 1970 LP, which is—you guessed it—high praise, indeed. The album’s highlight, “Interval” boasts an unstoppable groove, a melody and vocal harmonies that would make Crosby, Stills & Nash genuflect, and a guitar solo that leaves scorch marks on your cortex. It’s a rococo delight that would mix well into Bubble Puppy’s “Hot Smoke & Sasafrass,” and it’s one hell of a way to end an album.

Ultimately, SRC didn’t make the Motor City burn or want to be your dog, but instead preferred to adorn your brain with exotically beautiful sonic flowers that emitted rare scents. Their very special first album should be much better known, damn 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.

Kool And The Gang “Spirit Of The Boogie” (De-Lite, 1975)

Kool And The Gang’s sixth studio album was the last one before they smoothed out their sound and exponentially increased their popularity (no cause to “Celebrate” from an aesthetic standpoint, if you ask me). They’d had hits with funk classics “Jungle Boogie” and “Hollywood Swinging” off of 1973’s Wild And Peaceful, and 1974’s Light Of Worlds yielded sterling radio staples “Summer Madness” and “Higher Plane,” so KATG were riding a serious creative and commercial high when they cut Spirit Of The Boogie.

That’s apparent from the opening title track, with its spring-legged funk embellished by gruff rapping, rousing “yeah yeah yeah”s, boisterous horns, and “pew-pew” synth sounds. “Spirit Of The Boogie” reached #35 in the Billboard Hot 100 chart and Public Enemy sampled it in “Fear Of A Black Planet.” “Ride The Rhythm” exemplifies the group’s A-game party funk with flamboyant horn charts; and the vocals about the power of music to take your mind to higher planes is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you want large-ensemble, afro-centric funk done with elegance and soul, check out “Ancestral Ceremony.” It’s analogous to Earth, Wind & Fire’s pre-fame approach, right down to the multi-talented Ronald Bell’s use of kalimba. Nineties hip-hop crew 3rd Bass had the good sense to sample “Mother Earth” for “Steppin’ To The A.M.” and with all the swagger that this funk jam sports, it’s totally understandable.

“Caribbean Festival” peddles West Indian funk with mucho cowbell and one of the most suave and charismatic bass lines ever laid down, thanks to Robert “Kool” Bell. (Hear it sampled in Ice Cube’s “The Bomb.”) The oft-sampled “Winter Sadness” is the lush, hushed sequel to the equally much-sampled “Summer Madness,” and, hey, bonus—it would segue well into the late Roy Ayers’ “Everybody Loves The Sunshine.” KATG are nothing if not resourceful recyclers of their own good ideas. Speaking of which, “Jungle Jazz” is simply a jazzier, instrumental remake of “Jungle Boogie.” After a muted fanfare and a cymbal splash, one of the funkiest (and frequently sampled) breakbeats ever barges into earshot, accompanied by Dennis “D.T.” Thomas’ madly groovy flute. Yes, it is my go-to KATG cut for DJ gigs—thanks for asking.

The only real dud here is “Sunshine And Love,” a maudlin trifle that confirms my theory that 99% of all ballads by funk bands should hit the cutting-room floor. Unfortunately, Kool And The Gang would rely every more heavily on such syrupy fare as they pushed on through the ’80s and beyond. Best, then, to savor these gifted musicians at their peak on Spirit Of The Boogie. -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.

Michael Rother “Flammende Herzen” (Sky, 1977)

German guitarist Michael Rother has contributed to three world-class rock/electronic groups, all before he reached 25 years old: Kraftwerk, Neu!, and Harmonia. So, it’s not surprising if his solo albums come off as underwhelming (his career has continued into the 2020s). But the first few records under his own name do have some lovely moments, and they often feature Can drummer Jaki Liebezeit and krautrock studio wizard Conny Plank at the controls and Yamaha synth, so there’s a lot of creative firepower behind these releases.

The solo debut, Flammende Herzen, is probably the most logical starting point for anyone who digs Neu! and Harmonia. (If you don’t like those bands, I have some serious questions for you.) Rother begins Flammende Herzen with the title track, and it reveals his innate gentleness and ability to wring maximal emotional weight from minimal gestures. The tender melody flirts with sentimentality and exudes a lullaby quality, but when Liebezeit’s restrained motorik beats come in, it’s like hearing the laughter of an old friend. Thus prodded, Rother intensifies the main melody into a grand plaint that sounds as if his heart indeed is enflamed, as the title (Flaming Heart in English) suggests.

The intro to “Zyklodrom” boasts a grandiose, almost liturgical beauty in the Popol Vuh vein, plus it’s much proggier than Neu! or Harmonia ever got. Two-and-a-half minutes in, though, the beats kick into gear and we’re off to the bicycle races (“Zyklodrom” means “velodrome” in German). Jaki really slams his kit and Rother’s guitar swells to an orchestral grandeur that would make Daniel Fichelscher drop his plectrum. This track almost matches Neu!’s “Lila Engel” for sheer chugging power. “Karussell” is another exercise in cyclical ascendance, conjuring a gradual escalator-to-heaven sensation. Liebezeit gets quasi funky while Rother generates some of his most icily majestic tones and gorgeously cascading guitar and synth motifs. No wonder American folk-psych guitarist William Tyler covered it.

On “Feuerland,” Rother incorporates some of the album’s strangest and most alluring sounds (chattering birds, motorboat purr) while Liebezeit metronomically and precisely chops time. I recall reading that this was Jim O’Rourke’s favorite song on the album, and that checks out. For LP-closer “Zeni,” the guitar tone is almost candied and tailored to tug your heartstrings till they snap. But then Jaki gets to vigorously thumping his tubs and things take a turn for the Can-ny, circa the quickly percolating percussion on “Chain Reaction” from Soon Over Babaluma. It’s a fitting way to end an album awash in sweet, sweet feelings, as it burns clean, motoring to a vanishing point that’s always out of reach. -Buckley Mayfield

(Heads up: Rother performs March 25 at Seattle’s Neptune Theater.)

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.

Ween “Pure Guava” (Elektra, 1992)

Talk about a uniquely weird major-label debut… The New Hope, Pennsylvania duo Ween were coming off two strange indie albums that were definitive cult artifacts: God Ween Satan: The Oneness and The Pod. (I’m going to ignore the pre-God Ween Satan cassettes, if it’s okay with you. Right here I’ll admit I’m a Ween dilettante, so I’m sure that the hardcore fans will find much in this review about which to quibble. So be it.) Jumping to Elektra in the wake of Nirvana’s Nevermind blowing up, Ween somewhat spiffed up the production values on Pure Guava and let their pop instincts flow while still allowing their soiled freak flag to flutter wildly in the sooty wind.

Naturally eclectic, preternaturally goofy, and seemingly prodigious drug-partakers, Gene Ween (Aaron Freeman) and Dean Ween (Mickey Melchiondo) treated genres such as prog, psych, punk, funk, metal, folk, country, reggae, and gospel like Beavis & Butthead treated societal niceties. These scatologically minded guitarist/vocalists could play their asses off, but they had an aversion to doing things straight (in at least two senses of the word). You can hear their perverse inclinations bloom like the daisies that everyone’s going to be pushing up.

Speaking of which, Pure Guava features Ween’s biggest hit, “Push Th’ Little Daisies,” which lit up MTV, back when that station served a crucial music-biz function. It’s a decidedly amiable slice of hot-fun-in-the-summertime pop with cute, helium-aided vocals and guitars warped to a smeared jangle. Sounds amazing when you’re baked, I’d imagine. Its success must’ve made Elektra feel smug over their risky signing paying off.

The shinier production and bigger budget didn’t erase Ween’s innate trippiness, even on a sincere loner plaint such as “Little Birdy.” With its whispered vocals and solemn melody, “Tender Situation” exemplifies Ween’s ability to blur the distinction between seriousness and parody. The bizarre Theremin-like noises that brighten the song’s corners sure keep the listener guessing.

“The Stallion (Pt. 3)” and “Don’t Get 2 Close (2 My Fantasy)” basically invented Tenacious D, thanks to their overly formal vocal enunciation, faux-prog flourishes, and absurd lyrics—a mixed blessing, to be sure. Better, though is the excellent, low-key novelty rock of “The Goin’ Gets Tough From The Getgo” and the lo-fi, crazy-angled funk of “Reggaejunkiejew”—which is about 100 times better than its title. “I Play It Off Legit” might be the most nonchalantly cool song in Ween’s voluminous catalog; remove the mumbly vocals and it wouldn’t sound out of place on Tortoise’s first album.

“Pumpin’ 4 The Man” is a speedy country pisstake whose music crushes the stoopit lyrics while “Sarah” is a dewy, heart-on-sleeve ballad that kind of foreshadows “A Tear For Eddie,” Ween’s tribute to Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain.” This is contrasted by a slew of tunes in the record’s second half that are full of creative instrumentation and odd stylistic juxtapositions, unfortunately marred by jokey vocals and cringey lyrics that wear out their welcome. That being said, “Mourning Glory” is an adequate Butthole Surfers tribute.

Pure Guava peaks on “Springtheme,” a sublime homage to Prince at his most blissed out and falsetto’d. It’s such a laid-back, suave seducer of a song, it should come with birth control. Again, it’s hard to ascertain if Ween are parodying or honoring, but whatever the case, the magic here is undeniable. This may be a minority opinion, but “Springtheme” is Ween’s best song… by at least a few nipple hairs. -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.