Post-Punk

Robyn Hitchcock “Black Snake Diamond Röle” (Armageddon, 1981)

The debut solo album by the great English eccentric musician Robyn Hitchcock sounds like an extension of his Soft Boys output. No surprise, as the personnel on Black Snake Diamond Röle features three Soft Boys: drummer Morris Windsor, bassist Matthew Seligman, and guitarist Kimberley Rew. This has always been my fave solo Hitch LP, because it’s his most psychedelic record while also containing some of his most indelible melodies.

The opener, “The Man Who Invented Himself,” is almost a red herring. It’s an absurdly jaunty rocker that ranks as one of Hitchcock’s most ingratiating songs, but it stands in stark contrast to Black Snake‘s prevailing darkness. An oblique tribute to Syd Barrett that was allegedly inspired by the Monty Python song “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life,” “The Man Who Invented Himself” also recalls some of Paul McCartney and Nilsson‘s work and John Lennon‘s “Remember.” While it’s a crowd favorite, it’s the least interesting track here. Following that, “Brenda’s Iron Sledge” comes off like a paragon of sinister rock, spasming and slaloming swiftly in a minor key and boasting a killer earworm chorus. Continuing in the brooding, spazzy vein, “Do Policemen Sing?” vaguely recalls the Mother Of Invention’s “Who Are The Brain Police?” while also possessing the stalking quality of the coda from Television’s “Marquee Moon.” Rew’s guitar adds stingingly jangly texture to this gem.

My long-time favorite, “The Lizard,” is methodical, creepy psychedelia that oozes menace. Rew contributes aquatic guitar embellishments, while Seligman’s bass line triggers a resonant sense of doom. Shivers ensue. With Vibrators guitarist Knox adding adrenalized grit, “Meat” turns into an ideal specimen of energetic new wave. It should have been a hit—and I say that as a vegan. “Acid Bird” essentially sounds like an ’80s British “Eight Miles High,” with all the transcendent glory and brilliantly chiming guitar that that description implies. Another highlight is “I Watch The Cars,” which features Psychedelic Furs’ Vince Ely on drums. A staccato burner about witnessing automobiles zipping up and down the roads, the song’s a total gas, especially when Rew gets off his blazing guitar freakout.

The effusive, outward-bound rock of “Out Of The Picture” could’ve been another alternative-reality hit, with Knox again adding radiantly spangly guitar. Finally, with Mr. Thomas Dolby on keyboards, “Love” serves as the perfect valedictory closing song, a deeply tender and wistful tune with a great sense of space, enhanced by the massed backing “ah”s and lapping wave sounds.

(If you’re in Seattle on February 6, you can catch Robyn Hitchcock playing the Neptune Theatre. He shined brightly last time he came to town in 2023, and I suspect the man’s still got the goods.) -Buckley Mayfield

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

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.

Flipper “Album—Generic Flipper” (Subterranean, 1982)

Flipper were the low and slow bummer at US hardcore’s “loud fast rules” party. But they were wisecrackers, too, lacing their bracing nihilism with deadpan humor. Their debut album, Album — Generic Flipper, didn’t sell much initially, but it’s gone on to influence loads of bands, including Melvins and Nirvana. And, hey, thee Rick Rubin was a superfan, as well, reissuing this iconoclastic punk classic through his Def American label. Cachet!

Album — Generic Flipper proves the thesis that negativity can vibrate so intensely that it flips over into exhilaration. Thinking that life irredeemably sucks can propel you out of bed and spur you into action—even if it’s as fleeting as punching the sky to “Life Is Cheap,” one of this record’s many highlights. However, the fact that I’m reviewing this cauldron of negation on a sunny, summery day brings a stinging cognitive dissonance. I think Generic is best enjoyed at night during dismal weather. Anyway…

“Ever” casually swaggers into earshot with blasé handclaps and Will Shatter’s bass leading the lethargic charge, as Bruce Loose crankily yells about all the ways life disillusions a punk. “Ever wish the human race didn’t exist/And then realize you’re one too” is shaky grammatically, but the epiphany still scalds. “Life Is Cheap” flaunts one of history’s great descending basslines, worthy of early Swans’ null-and-void wave or Joy Division at their most woebegone. Loose’s voice is shadowed by an obnoxiously high-pitched studio demon, as the godforsaken lyrics make the Sex Pistols’ sound like hollow claptrap. “Feeling so empty and I feel so old/Just waiting to feel the death-like cold” is a harsh toke from San Fransisco dudes in their 20s. There’s nothing very artful about Flipper’s lyrics, but they’re so blunt and bleak, they ascend to the condition of poetry. The thunderous “Shed No Tears” rolls like a slow-motion avalanche of barbed-wire tumbleweeds. Remarkably, something almost like joy creeps in.

“I Saw You Shine” returns to the downward spiral of hopelessness that Swans leveraged on records such as Filth and Cop. Ted Falconi’s cranky guitar entanglements take the lead for a change, and drummer Steve DePace achieves that reverbed slap heard on Joy Division’s Closer—no complaints here. To my twisted ears, “Way Of The World” sounds like it should’ve been a hit, even with its Metal Box -like search-and-destroy bassline, Falconi spraying guitar radiation in 360º, and message of chronic disappointment.

“Life” scans as the LP’s most upbeat, accessible tune, but it’s drenched in sarcasm. “Life is the only thing worth living for” is one of those perfect tautologies that can help you get through the day—but probably not through the night. “Nothing” is not a Fugs cover, but rather a sonic cousin to the insistently pounding cacophony of “Chant” by PiL (them again). The fastest track here, “Living For The Depression” has a driving, Crass-like momentum, so you’re probably gonna love it. With its fantastic, crunchy bassline, sassy sax riff (credited to “Bobby” and “Ward,” whoever they are), and ballistic whistles, “Sex Bomb” is tailor-made for the scuzziest strip joints. Talk about an explosive climax…

Album—Generic Flipper has been my favorite American punk LP since it came out, and nothing has changed that status in the 43 years since. -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.

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.

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.

Pixies “Surfer Rosa” (4AD, 1988)

Surfer Rosa was a planet-shaking album for a lot of folks when it came out 36 years ago. At the time, despite Steve Albini’s brain-burstingly loud production, I thought that the record didn’t remotely capture what Pixies sounded like live, judging by the show I caught by them in Kalamazoo, Michigan’s tiny Club Soda in March 1987.

At that early stage of their career, Pixies reminded me of the Tasmanian Devil, a cartoon character on The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Hour. That wild fucker was all over the place, whirling with unpredictable frenzy, scaring the wits out of grade-school me. The studio somewhat domesticated Pixies’ feral impulse. That being said, few records released in ’88 came off as more feverish and vortical than Surfer Rosa.

Many of the songs on Surfer Rosa tap into the explosive kineticism displayed on “Vamos” from the group’s 1987 debut EP, Come On Pilgrim. That could have been the influence of Albini (RIP) at work, for most of Surfer Rosa‘s cuts—”Something Against You,” “Broken Face,” “Gigantic,” “River Euphrates,” “I’m Amazed,” “Tony’s Theme,” and “Oh My Golly!”—detonate like Big Black or swell to monstrous dimensions, or like a lighter weight Hüsker Dü. There’s that same feeling of intensity cranked to superhuman extremes, of amp-blowing velocity and volume.

But whereas Big Black were content to disgorge sooty bluster, Pixies retain nuance and melody—the variable shadings of rock’s spectrum of colors. Plus, they have Black Francis, the most unpredictable vocalist this side of Captain Beefheart or Pere Ubu’s David Thomas. Francis’ hoarse ejaculations ably compete with the maelstrom of guitars that he and Joey Santiago wield, along with the bass of Kim Deal and David Lovering’s drums.

On the LP’s less cataclysmic numbers—”Bone Machine,” “Break My Body,” “Cactus,” “Where Is My Mind,” and “Brick Is Red”—Pixies beam with a rakish pop sensibility that’s both infectious and haunting. They possessed those all-too-rare commodities in late-’80s pop—unharnessed energy and inventiveness. One senses that nobody else in the world could have created this gorgeous cyclone of sound.

Santiago deserves much credit for Pixies’ remarkable music. His talent is perhaps best displayed on the revamped “Vamos,” where he sprays enough delirious feedback distortion to wow the trousers off Jimi Hendrix and Andy Gill (both legends now deceased, but you get my drift). But the biggest surprise on Surfer Rosa is Deal’s spectral vocals, which greatly enhance tracks such as “Bone Machine,” “River Euphrates,” “Break My Body,” and “Gigantic” (which she cowrote with Francis).

What about the lyrics? Oh, there’s a preoccupation with bones, bodies of water, desperate, absurd love, mutilation, incest… But to worry about lyrics on an album like this is akin to fretting about how your hair looks in a hurricane. Surfer Rosa still sounds like Pixies’ peak, still sounds like the players were all intoxicated with energy and freedom, which they used to subvert conventional indie-rock rules. Nothing has changed my mind about this subject in the 36 years since it came out. There’s a good reason why Kurt Cobain cited Surfer Rosa as a primary influence on Nevermind. -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 Fall “I Am Kurious Oranj” (Beggars Banquet, 1988)

The 10th studio album by British post-punk legends the Fall was the soundtrack to a Michael Clark & Company-helmed ballet about William of Orange, founder of the Dutch Republic. Fascinating, but not essential knowledge in order to enjoy this platter. I Am Kurious Oranj more than stands on its own as a collection of gnarled pop songs.

By all rights, the Fall should have been in the twilight of their career by 1988, the 11th year of their existence. But, as we know, Mark E. Smith and company had more good decades left up until the leader’s death in 2018. And 1988 was particularly rewarding, as the Fall issued two ruling albums: I Am Kurious Oranj and The Frenz Experiment. If anything, they seemed to be attaining a second peak; the first occurred during the Grotesque (After The Gramme) through Hex Enduction Hour/Room To Live era. The 1988 Fall may have sounded slicker than in previous incarnations, but they in no way had lost their potent riff-mongering capacity and penchant for resonant guitar textures, thanks to Brix Smith and Craig Scanlon. Bassist Stephen Hanley, keyboardist Marcia Schofield, and drummer Simon Wolstencroft were also in excellent form. And Smith waxed as bilious and baffling as ever on this diverse full-length.

Oranj found the Fall dabbling in some non-rock zones, imposing their uniquely warped aura on them, and proving that bastardization is often more interesting than “authenticity.” For example, the Fall slip into righteous reggae mode on “Kurious Oranj” and apply acid-house moves on “Win Fall C.D. 2080” without losing any of the group’s mesmerizing allure. “New Big Prinz” mutes Gary Glitter Band’s menacing riff from “Rock & Roll Pt. 2” with wonderful results. “Overture From ‘I Am Curious Orange'” may boast the prettiest melody of any song in the Fall’s enormous canon. “Wrong Place, Right Time,” with its sphincter-loosening funk rhythm, possesses a devastating swagger and is DJ gold. The eerily chirping “Bad News Girl” and the effulgent “Cab It Up!” conclude the album in memorable fashion, with Schofield’s sprightly keyboard motifs inspiring goofy smiles.

I Am Kurious Oranj is a typical Fall LP in that it frequently surprises with new twists on old themes. The Fall weren’t really progressing here; rather, they were expanding in several directions at once. The album stands as a testament to the band’s restless ingenuity. -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.