Album Reviews

Sly Stone “High On You” (Epic, 1975)

By 1975, Sly Stone’s fame (and probably his fortune and much of his sanity) had plummeted from the dynamic superstar’s late-’60s/early-’70s peak—which, as peaks go, was one of the most dazzling in soul/funk/rock history. But as the singer-keyboardist’s post-Fresh output proved, his skills hadn’t diminished much at all. People—and radio gatekeepers—just weren’t paying as much attention.

So, High On You isn’t rated very highly, even by loyal Family Stone fans—assuming they even heard it. Further mystifying is the fact that the album didn’t chart, nor did any of its three singles. But, Jah damn it, High On You is, low-key, a legit thriller.

Though the Family Stone received no billing here, group stalwarts Freddie Stone (guitar), Cynthia Robinson (vocals), Vet Stewart (vocals), and Jerry Martini (sax) appeared. They’re ably assisted by guitarists Eric Gale and Gail Muldrow, bassist Bobby Vega, drummers Bill Lordan, Michael Samuels, Jim Strassburg, and Wild Willie Sparks, and others. But High On You is definitely Sly’s show.

Irrefutable party-igniter “I Get High On You” opens proceedings with phenomenal funkiness, featuring some of the same synapse-sizzling keyboard sounds heard on Commodores‘ “Machine Gun.” No wonder Fatboy Slim sampled it twice and the great guitarist David T. Walker covered it. Surely you’ve heard “Crossword Puzzle” before, especially because the exceptionally exciting, brassy-jazzy intro’s been sampled in De La Soul’s “Say No Go.” Brace yourself for this hot take: “Crossword Puzzle” is as great as anything from the Family Stone’s classic 1968-1973 run.

“That’s Lovin’ You” creeps in with some excellent orchestral soul that’s lifted by Sid Page’s violin and a robust horn section. On this frisky song, Sly proves himself an excellent bassist, something that people rarely acknowledge. Granted, his bass lines aren’t as thunderous as Larry Graham‘s, but they do underpin the funk with subtlety. “Who Do You Love?” is not a Bo Diddley cover, but rather another righteously raucous slab of levitational funk. Side one closes spectacularly with “Green Eyed Monster Girl,” a rare Sly instrumental. This secret weapon is my go-to cut for DJ gigs. It’s at once bold and stealthy funk, with Sly going HAM on the Hammond B-3 electric organ (or is it Bobby Lyles?).

If you thought the funk magnificence would relent on side two, you don’t know mid-’70 Sylvester Stewart. “Organize” should be piped into every company that’s contemplating forming a union. Adding more grease to the fire, “Greed” is bubbly funk that erupts in righteous indignation about the titular subject. Tangents include “Le Lo Li,” whose fleet, skipping R&B achieves lift-off with soaring gospel backing vocals by Vet, Dawn Silva, and Robinson. (It’s not surprising to learn that Diana Ross covered it.) And the LP’s only ballad “My World,” smolders well enough.

High On You takes its place in the Sly pantheon with other overlooked, late-career gems such as Small Talk, Back On The Right Track, and Ain’t But The One Way. There’s gold in those bargain-bin platters, if you want 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.

Cedar Walton “Mobius” (RCA, 1975)

Look at that cover. Now look more closely. If you’re not intrigued enough by Lee Rosenblatt’s cosmic-comic illustration of Cedar Walton’s head Mobius stripping to reveal stars, then you need stronger curiosity muscles.

When I first encountered Mobius, I didn’t know anything about Mr. Walton, but I knew that I had to buy this album; having Steve Gadd on drums and Ryo Kawasaki on guitar didn’t hurt the cause, either. And, man, did that hunch pay dividends.

The Dallas-born hard-bop pianist Walton (1934-2013) rose to a fusion-y peak on Mobius. He had the cajones to open the LP with a bold jazz-funk cover of John Coltrane’s “Blue Trane,” with Kawasaki’s broiling, wah-wah guitar leads and Walton’s Fender Rhodes filigrees inflating your sense of well-being, as bassist Gordon Edwards and Gadd get filthily funky. The horn section of saxophonist Frank Foster, trombonist Wayne Andre, and trumpeter/flugelhorn player Roy Burrowes adds robust heat. I think John would love it supremely.

Things get urgently Latin-jazzy on the Walton composition “Soho.” Mercurial percussion by Omar Clay and Ray Mantilla powers a bravura slab of cop-show theme funk—set in Loisaida, of course. The track’s 10-minute-plus running time allows for all sorts of virtuoso displays by the musicians. What Walton and company do with Thelonious Monk’s tightly composed “Off Minor” isn’t very faithful to the original, and it’s all the better for it. Instead, for nearly eight minutes, they launch it to a far-off galaxy of interstellar funk. You can hear some of that early-’70s Deodato strut in this cover, and Walton gets off an incredible Rhodes solo that’s part Return To Forever-era Chick Corea, part ’70s Terry Riley.

A smooth-jazz odyssey featuring the dulcet vocals of Lani Groves and Adrienne Albert, “The Maestro” is a relative letdown compared to the high-flying feats elsewhere. But Walton and crew rebound with “Road Island Red,” whose sly, Headhunters-like funk seductively leads you to the exits.

And here’s some good news: The excellent and prolific Be With Records reissued Mobius on vinyl last year, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Friendsound “Joyride” (RCA Victor, 1969)

In the Crazy One-Off Hall Of Fame—a musical pantheon I just made up—you will find Joyride by Friendsound. Other entries include The United States Of America’s self-titled LP, Skip Spence’s Oar, and Spoils Of War’s The Spoils Of War, among others. These are all unique psychedelic platters recorded by artists who only made one full-length and then faded away and/or did other things in other configurations.

To make the Friendsound story even nuttier, the four main players on it were moonlighting from garage-rock hitmakers Paul Revere & The Raiders and later, the less-successful Brotherhood. Legend has it Drake Levin, Phil Volk, Ron Collins, and Michael Smith were soaring on hallucinogens while cutting the six tracks in the studio. One listen to Joyride and, yeah, that checks out. Of course, it flooded cut-out bins soon after release, but respect to RCA Victor for taking the risk to put it out.

Dubbed by the band as a “musical free-for-all,” Joyride came together spontaneously and was mixed in what Friendsound called an “eight hands at the control board” approach. The opening title track starts with a stoned dude reciting a bunch of opposing entities over a sly, stalking rhythm, noise-making toys, and serene flute, but soon the verbiage is overtaken by ever-more-intense acid-rock guitar stabs and sharp harmonica parps. The feel is loose and at once sexy and sinister. “Childhood’s End”—which features Jerry Cole on bass and superstar hired gun Jim Gordon on drums—starts with somebody intoning “Send me the dream” as a cacophony of shovels rattles your senses. Then a sudden gush of scathing psych guitar by someone named Grape Lemon and massed vocals appear, recalling Aphrodite’s Child’s “Babylon.” The song’s a tease at 1:57.

“Love Sketch” is an archetypal LSD-trip comedown piece, with guitars dispersing into jeweled globules as guest musician Don Nelson’s forlorn flute motif of heartbreaking fragility floats by. A musique-concrète piece, “Childsong” consists of children shouting on a playground, birdsong, wind chimes, celesta, and flute recorder. Honestly, I don’t need to hear it again. Much better is the nine-and-a-half minute “Lost Angel Proper St.” This is the album’s heavy psychedelic jam, so make sure to time your peak for it. The tune toggles between woozy stagger and Thoroughbred horse panic, with distorted voices grotesquely tickling and tormenting your beleaguered brain (“There’s this question about the quiet and the loud,” “It’s a sad situation. I’m a button,” “Rhubarb,” etc.). We enter a truly zonked funhouse of sound that accumulates disorienting weirdness as it goes. After one quiet passage, an alarm clock rings and things get hectic, not unlike the Velvets’ “Sister Ray,” but funkier. Wowow.

An abstract, improvisational epic for FX’d piano and organ in the realm of Musica Elettronica Viva and John Cage, “The Empire Of Light” ends the album on a baffling note… which is as it should be for a record dwelling in the Crazy One-Off Hall Of Fame. -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.


Lush “Gala” (4AD, 1990)

I generally don’t like to review compilations on this blog, but, obviously, they’re sometimes the best way to hear an artist’s peak recordings. Such is the case with Gala, which served as the wonderful British shoegaze band Lush’s intro to American listeners. It collects tracks from their Scar, Mad Love, and Sweetness And Light EPs, plus a couple of outtakes—i.e., the group’s best shit. Which is not to belittle later albums such as Spooky and Split. They’re solid, but they lack the magical fairy dust with which Lush sprinkled their earliest classics.

Lush stood out from the shoegazer pack because they were led by two women: the exquisitely talented guitarist/singers Emma Anderson and Miki Berenyi. Their dreamy, creamy vocal interplay caresses your ears right after a spine-tingling guitar intro of opening song “Sweetness And Light.” The title plays on a common perception about women in rock, but Lush’s catalysts always tempered those qualities with astringent noise amid the sonorously ringing guitars and dulcet vocal tones. Drummer Chris Acland and bassist Steve Rippon deftly but unspectacularly did their rhythmic thing in the background.

Lush worked in a fairly narrow niche—airy yet sometimes noisy shoegaze—but their melodies are so strong on the releases presented here that a certain one-dimensionality isn’t a problem. They perfected the now popular subgenre of ice-queen-gothgaze on “Leaves Me Cold” and “Second Sight.” The towering latter tune boasts thrilling tempo changes, proving that Lush may have listened to a math-rock record or three. “Downer” is intense, surging rock that’s tougher than most of their output and reflexively makes me think of the technical musical term “ramalama.” Similarly, “Baby Talk” is a post-punk pulse-pounder full of radiant guitar crescendos and Rippon’s mantric bass pulse while “Bitter” is the most caustic song here.

The songs that Cocteau Twins genius Robin Guthrie produced on Mad Love really volumize Lush’s lustrous guitar attack and enlarge everything to optimal shimmer and glow. Swooning, waltz-time charmer “Thoughtforms” mirrors the Cocteaus’ ornate curtains of gleaming guitars, and it should’ve been a massive worldwide hit. By comparison, the version from Scar sounds much scrawnier. “Hey Hey Helen,” a cover of the funkiest ABBA song, is not an ironic jape; rather, Lush treat this Swedish pop gem with the precious appreciation it deserves. Best of all may be “De-Luxe,” one of Anderson/Berenyi’s finest cowrites. I don’t use this term recklessly, but this is perfect pop—a yearning orb of sugary noise, swaying melody, and surging rhythms.

It would be a humanitarian benefit if 4AD would reissue Gala on vinyl, as it’s been oop on that format for 35 years. Besides losing the label and band a lot of potential money, it’s just morally wrong. -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.

Osamu Kitajima “Benzaiten” (Island, 1976)

Born in 1949 in Chigasaki, Japan, Osamu Kitajima began his career in rock bands that emulated the Ventures, the Beatles, and the Bee Gees. After a stint as lead guitarist for the Japanese pop star Yuzo Kayama and a whimsical 1971 psych-pop LP cut under the alias Justin Heathcliff, Osamu wearied of the Anglo-American musical influences that had marked his career and decided to fuse traditional Japanese musical elements with prog- and psych-rock moves. These impulses blossomed on his second album, Benzaiten, the multi-instrumentalist’s peak and his boldest artistic statement. (The 1977 follow-up, Osamu, is also a mellow beauty—a Far East Asian take on New Age and folkadelia.)

“Benzaiten – God Of Music And Water” begins Benzaiten with martial-arts yelps, Dennis Belfield and John Harris’ tight funk bass lines, Brian Whitcomb’s strutting clavinet, and George Marinelli’s delicate guitar filigree, all of which harmonize with wispy flute and chimes. It’s a weird track, like early Commodores collaborating with Taj-Mahal Travellers. A leisurely pastoral stroll bearing Tatsuya Sano’s gorgeous shakuhachi melody, “Taiyo – The Sun” sounds like a direct influence on early Ghost, complete with throaty, grave vocals, as Osamu gets off a lovely guitar solo that curls like incense smoke. The song’s at once utterly blissful and slightly ominous, like walking through a lush forest on your way to a hanging.

Featuring future Yellow Magic Orchestra member Haruomi Hosono on bass, “Tengu – A Long-Nosed Goblin” is a Japanese analogue to the Stooges’ “Dirt”; a methodical, serpentine slab of sensuous funk, with Osamu’s electric guitar frayed and wah’d to a crispy grooviness. Like all the best extended jams, this gets more psychedelic as it goes. The epic, mind-altering reprise of the title track offers more of Osamu’s guttural vocal emissions amid wonderful sonic feng shui: minimalist acoustic guitar, hypnotic biwa (wooden lute) riffs, piercingly pretty Hayashi-bue (flute) with African, Mexican, and Japanese hand drums percolating beneath it all. Beginning with a mournful shakuhachi solo, “Whoma – Immortality” goes on an marathon journey of sparse beauty, at points anticipating the questing, East-meets-West ensemble Codona. It solidifies Benzaiten as one of the musical head trips from Asia.

Trivia: The Japanese psych-rock group Acid Mothers Temple paid homage to this LP with 2015’s Benzaiten. Tip: The German label Everland Psych reissued Benzaiten in 2024. -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 Wedding Present “Tommy” (Reception, 1988)

In the mid ’80s, great British rockers the Wedding Present experienced a media backlash in the UK’s notoriously fickle music press. Detractors complained about the group’s monochromatic attack, singer David Gedge’s “sensitive guy” conversational lyrics, and a generally rigid, retrograde vision that was firmly rooted in the everyday world. And, to a degree, the Wedding Present were guilty of all charges.

Nevertheless, their songs were damned lovable. Ignore the Wedding Present and you deprive yourself of one of the most exciting guitar sounds of the post-punk era—and utterly relatable lyrics, if you’re into that sort of thing. Regarding the latter, “You Should Always Keep In Touch With Your Friends” is both a poignant song and timeless, sage advice.

Tommy is a 12-song compilation that collects the band’s pre-George Best singles and Peel sessions from 1985-1987, allowing listeners to experience the frenetic fun of embryonic Wedding Present. Their earliest songs—”Go Out And Get ‘Em Boy!” “Once More,” “Living And Learning,” “This Boy Can Wait,” and a cover of Orange Juice’s “Felicity”—especially ruffle your hair like Scottish post-punk enigmas Josef K at light speed. Fingers aflame, Wedding Present guitarists Gedge and Peter Solowk and bassist Keith Gregory affirm the joys of speed, beauty, and compassion. This is the sound of happiness, albeit sometimes tinged with regret.

Yes, there’s a somewhat one-dimensional quality to the tunes on Tommy—the guitars’ choppy, clangorous jangle can lose some of its sting over extended durations and Gedge’s vocal range is, to put it charitably, limited. But among the competitive field of mid-’80s British indie rock, the Wedding Present proved, against odds, that speed doesn’t kill—it cuddles. And, hey, the late Steve Albini—who produced later WP releases such as Brassneck and Seamonsters—wouldn’t work with just anyone… -Buckley Mayfield

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

Joe Bataan “Call My Name” (Vampi Soul, 2005)

The King Of Latin Soul’s comeback album of sorts, Call My Name is way better than you’d expect from an artist whose peak, according to consensus opinion, occurred in the ’60s and ’70s. The New York-based Afro-Filipino singer was something like a combo of velvety crooner Smokey Robinson and socially conscious Marvin Gaye for the Fania Records set.

On Call My Name, Bataan worked with a young group, led by Phenomenal Handclap Band’s Daniel Collás, who wrote the songs and played organ, synth, and electric piano, percussion, and clavinet. Collás and his hired hands provided a fabulous update of his soulful, funky showmanship on the mic. (Somebody on Discogs who claims to know Joe says he disowns Call My Name; that’s his prerogative, of course, but the proof is in the grooves.) The title track grabs your attention immediately with a high-pitched synth intro of exquisite tanginess. Soon after, Joe comes in, suave as hell and oozing effortless cool, even in his 60s, riding a slithery bass line, lithe clavinet, and serene flute, and banging beats on this casually funky soul gem.

“Chick-A-Boom” is the LP’s instant party-starter. An uptempo funk cut with cowbell, organ filigrees, and sexy-old-guy vocal hooks, this aptly titled joint is DJ platinum. The first part of “I’m The Fool” harks back to classic Bataan fare, as he croons with buttery sincerity and tenderness over a psychedelic boogaloo backing with… sitar. Whoa! Part 2 is a sweet, deep instrumental ramble for the true heads. “Chevere Que Chevere” is nonchalant boogaloo that’s sexier than most songs with “Chevere” (Spanish slang for “cool”) in the title.

If you’d like some breezy, feel-good soul that cruises like Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up,” but at a slightly more relaxed pace, “Cycles Of You” will suit you right down to the ground. As a nice contrast from all the party-centric numbers, “Ernestine” brings hushed, Stone Coal White-like balladry, with unsettling undertones. The album ends with the humidly sensual funk of “Keep The Change.”

Call My Name is the last proper studio release by Bataan, who’s now 82. If it’s his swan song, it’s a damned righteous one—even if the great man himself disagrees. -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.

Slade “Slayed?” (Polydor, 1972)

Slade ranked high within Great Britain’s ’70s glam-rock movement, racking up hits like they guzzled liquor—copiously. They were the polar opposite of fellow UK glam deities such as the baroque and arty Queen and Roxy Music, though; Slade reveled in basic, boozy stomps that put a spring in your glittery-platform-booted stride. Marked by atrociously spelled titles and singer Noddy Holder’s rowdy growl, Slade’s songs were hell-bent on getting you to party as quickly and debauchedly as possible. In that regard, they were (l)outstanding.

The Wolverhampton quartet’s third album, Slayed?, was produced by Animals bassist Chas Chandler and topped the UK album charts, while peaking only at #69 in the US. That discrepancy haunted Slade throughout their career, as Americans just couldn’t hang with these fun-loving lads during their prime. That being said, Slade did have an influence on US bands such as Quiet Riot, who covered “Cum On Feel The Noize” and “Mama Weer All Crazee Now,” and Slade did eventually score two Top 40 songs in the mid ’80s.

Right from the intro of opening track “How D’You Ride,” Slade flex their outsized swagger with a boisterous slice of Sticky Fingers-style rock. Strap in, because it’s going to be a rock & roll bacchanal; Holder (who also plays guitar), drummer Don Powell, lead guitarist Dave Hill, and bassist Jim Lea made sure of that. Witness that rambunctious quality in “The Whole World’s Goin’ Crazee,” as you can hear AC/DC’s libidinous attack germinating in this brawny rock & roll anthem. “I Won’t Let It ‘Appen Again” is a midtempo chug of defiance that hints at both Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” and Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” while Holder’s vocal warble anticipates the Undertones’ Feargal Sharkey.

Slayed? is not all hell-raising high-steppers. See “Look At Last Nite,” the album’s most subdued song. Though it struts with a high degree of machismo, it has shades of Queen’s dramatic vocal harmonies. And a rare tint of darkness enters the frame on “Gudbuy Gudbuy” while “I Don’ Mind” is a downtrodden blues-rocker that foreshadows bands such as Black Keys and their ilk while revealing Slade’s under-recognized ominous side.

It makes sense that Slade would cover a Janis Joplin song (in this case, “Move Over”), as both artists excel at making extroverted gestures and Noddy’s voice often attains the same explosive emotional climaxes as Joplin did. The LP’s other cover—Shirley and Lee’s 1956 hit “Let The Good Times Roll”—is an on-the-nose homage, but Lea’s bass line is a dead ringer for John Cale’s in “European Son.” It doesn’t make sense in this context, but that’s what makes it so great.

Slayed? peaks on the two UK hit singles. “Gudbuy T’Jane” boasts some of the greatest guitar riffs and sing-along choruses in ’70s rock, but it’s not even the album’s best track. Nevertheless, if you inject this song into your veins, you will feel powerful glee for veritable hours, with no negative side effects. But the magnum opus is “Mama Weer All Crazee Now,” a tune so riotously louche, it topples into sacred music territory. One of my favorite songs of all time, “Mama Weer All Crazee Now” is one of those rare numbers in the canon off of which a listener can get a contact drunk. I mean, listen to that coda full of massed chants of the title phrase. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophesy… That the song scaled to #1 in the UK and only to #76 in the US shows a shocking lack of taste among early-’70s yanks.

Slayed? is a paragon of loutish British glam, exemplifying a devil-may-care attitude that seems like an impossible luxury in 2024. Sure, weer all crazee now, but not in that good ol’ Slade way. -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.

Mandrill “Mandrill Is” (Polydor, 1972)

Mandrill’s ’70s albums contain extraordinary highs and embarrassing lows. They are nothing if not consistently inconsistent. Yet all of these records are worth hearing and are usually reasonably priced, so the ROI is solid (which is the title of their 1975 LP, which you should get, obviously).

The Brooklyn-based soul/funk group changed personnel often, but were led by the talented multi-instrumentalist Wilson brothers: Carlos, Louis, and Ricardo. Everyone in Mandrill played percussion and everyone sang, on top of their more specialized duties. The communal vibe among them was celebratory and the message positive. A savvy DJ could make a killer party-starting mixtape using the band’s best 20 songs.

Mandrill’s second album, Mandrill Is, has more hits than misses and stands as one of their strongest efforts. “Ape Is High” is such a great way to start an album; it’s one of Mandrill’s toughest funk numbers, churning and burning in the vicinity of War’s “Me And Baby Brother.” Frederick “Fudgie Kae” Solomon’s corkscrewing bass line and Charles Padro’s in-the-pocket drums nudge the song into sublime territory while Claude “Coffee” Cave’s florid keyboard solo ices this flavorful cake. The Wilson brothers’ “HIGH” chants and Omar Mesa’s fiery guitar riffs in the coda launch it out of this world. The LP’s other single, the horn-laden stormer “Git It All,” peaked at #37 on the soul chart. It’s one of the purest party-funk tunes ever, with the banal lyrics to prove it (“Come on, everybody/Are you ready to get it on?/Woo!” etc. etc.). But who cares when the rhythm and vocals are so motivating?

More aural flames ensue on “Lord Of The Golden Baboon,” a sizzling funk instrumental with beaucoup hand percussion and vibrato sax blats, and “Kofijahm,” a guttural and chunky tribal-funk workout, but one unexpectedly embroidered with flute, vibes, and a boldly questing bass line. Mandrill’s vast array of instrumentation and dexterity separated them from most 1970s’ funk stars.

But it’s not all sweaty jams on Mandrill Is. Almost half of it offers contemplative pleasures… and annoyances. On a positive note, “I Refuse To Smile” is a close sonic cousin with War’s breezy summertime jam “All Day Music” and “Children Of The Sun” brings celestial soul of sweeping grandeur that’s enhanced by Cave’s vibraphone. The intro to “Central Park” resembles King Crimson’s touching ballad “I Talk To The Wind” (or the first Mandrill album’s “Chutney”), until it morphs into grandiose, swift-paced horn-rock à la Chicago. The uplifting “The Sun Must Go Down” chills with Santana-esque mellifluousness.

The album’s low point has to be “Universal Rhythms.” Having a toddler talk for an extended amount of time on a track is a recipe for cringe. When an adult musician explains what rhythms are to said child in a very earnest manner over chimes, chants, and gong hits, you quickly lift the needle to the next track. But overall, Mandrill Is ranks high in the oft-sampled funkateers’ catalog, and, blessedly, finding a decent copy won’t bankrupt you. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Dinosaur Jr. “You’re Living All Over Me” (SST, 1987)

On their second LP, You’re Living All Over Me, Dinosaur Jr. emerged as the missing link between Neil Young and Meat Puppets. Leaping back and forth across the chasm of pre- and post-punk with a rare agility, these three Amherst, Massachusetts musicians—guitarist/vocalist J Mascis, bassist Lou Barlow (who also played ukulele and “tapes”), and drummer Murph—created exhilarating beehives of primal rock noise.

You’re Living All Over Me‘s nine songs possess a swarming density and they ebb and flow with frightening intensity. Mascis sings as if his entire record collection got washed away in a flood. His parched, forlorn vocals ride fuzzed waves of Zuma-fied feedback, and the turbulent swells of melodic noise have a genuine poignancy and beauty that were uncommon in American post-punkdom of the ’80s.

Right from the start, “Little Fury Things” (Mascis had a thing for misspellings—see “Kracked” and “Raisans”) captures Dinosaur Jr.’s perfect balance between tenderness and turbulence. On “Kracked,” Mascis generates a thrilling update of Bubble Puppy’s wheelie-popping guitar frenzies. The aptly titled “Sludgefeast” out-grunges all of the genre’s big names as it mudslides all over the stereo field. “The Lung” is just a brutal tear-jerker, surging and wailing and shredding like you’d expect from the most sensitive badasses in Massachusetts. The heart-shattering rocker “Raisans” is as catchy as anything on Nevermind and should’ve been a hit; the melody during the line “She ripped my heart out, beating” is god-tier, especially given the lyrics it accentuates.

“Tarpit” achieves another emotional high (or is it low?); it’s a woozy power ballad for which Mascis’ laconic drawl is ideally matched. And while Barlow’s “Lose” is just C+ Dino Junior, the album-closing “Poledo” (basically the birth of Sebadoh, as it’s a Lou solo joint) is a bizarre curveball. An disorienting lo-fi collage that deals with archetypal Barlow-esque romantic and existential conundrums, “Poledo” mixes earnest and urgent folk-rock passages with harsh noise blasts and some of the most moving ambient drones ever finessed by an indie rocker. It’s a real stunner, and, to this day, it’s unbelievable that J let Lou put it on the record.

When You’re Living All Over Me was released in 1987, its unconventionally traditional sound seemed like a true revelation. Thirty-seven years later, the album stands as Dinosaur Jr.’s crowning achievement, even as the band has slouched into the status of underground rock’s respectable elder statesmen. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Parliament “Motor Booty Affair” (Casablanca, 1978)

Parliament‘s seventh album, Motor Booty Affair went gold, spawned the hit single “Aqua Boogie (A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop),” offered a beggars banquet of samples for hip-hop producers, and inspired a bunch of Detroit wiseguys (who included friends of mine) to start a fanzine called Motor Booty. While it might not be as celebrated as Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome or One Nation Under A Groove, Motor Booty Affair ranks as one of George Clinton and company’s most interesting recordings. In the last half of the ’70s, this large Detroit ensemble were on a roll commercially while maintaining high quality control in the studio.

A concept album inspired by Clinton’s fondness for fishing and bodies of water (and, as always, psychedelics), the LP revolves around the city of Atlantis, a Utopian place where its citizens achieved liberation through dancing—which included busting underwater moves. And if you enjoy agua-centric wordplay, you’ll love Motor Booty Affair.

This album also marked the emergence of former Ohio Players keyboardist/synth master Junie Morrison as Parliament’s musical director (he’s credited as J.S. Theracon for legal reasons). Having Morrison and Bernie Worrell on keys, Michael Hampton and Gary Shider on guitar, along with Bootsy Collins and Cordell “Boogie” Mosson on bass, plus James Brown alumni Fred Wesley and Maceo Parker in the horn section, gave Parliament a deep bench of musicians fluent in funkitude.

Motor Booty Affair dives in with “Mr. Wiggles,” undeniably the coolest song ever about worms dancing underwater. An understated groover, the track insinuates itself into your ears like an eel slithering through seaweed. The ebullient synth squeals and squelches by Worrell or Morrison, Hampton’s Jimmy Nolen-like guitar riffs, Tyrone Lampkins’ staunch 4/4 kicks, and muted horn blares all cohere into a submarine of joy. The cleverly titled “Rumpofsteelskin” is an ass-worshipping party jam that makes early-’80s Prince seem demure. Lubriciously funky rhythms and an earworm refrain by the “Choral Reef” backing vocalists of “livin’ and jivin’ and diggin’ the skin he’s in” elevate the track into DJ gold.

Topping the R&B chart in 1978, “Aqua Boogie (A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop)” is another subaquatic funk mover, and a distant cousin to Parliament’s 1977 hit “Flash Light,” but with massed handclaps, strutting Moog bass, and spare, elegant piano embellishment. It’s no surprise that “Aqua Boogie” was sampled in at least 70 songs. One of the more anomalous Parliament cuts, “Liquid Sunshine” triggers a funk-rock torrent that’s so laced with video-game burbles, it tilts into mad psychedelia. The title track’s a slinky funk jam that doubles as a seductive gospel-ish epic, which is something you don’t hear every year.

Motor Booty Affair has a couple of duds—the syrupy ballad “(You’re A Fish And I’m A) Water Sign” and the stilted and not that fonkay “One Of Those Funky Things”—but overall it’s a (sea)worthy component of Parliament’s loaded canon. -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.