Power Pop

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.

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.

Nazz “Nazz” (SGC, 1968)

Look at that cover—four heads floating in inky darkness—and try to distinguish the individuals, besides leader Todd Rundgren. Damn near impossible. That’s because Nazz were going for a unified look in haircuts, clothes, and, it seems, even facial features. This Philadelphia quartet basically started in the mid ’60s as a boy band geared for the teen-pandering rags of the time. But the songs on their debut LP were anything but LCD fluff. On the contrary, Nazz is chockablock with stunners of varying styles. Right here, the 19-year-old Todd established his prodigy bona fides with some of the most dazzling work of his long and idiosyncratic career.

Rundgren’s genius smacks you upside the noggin from the first seconds of lead-off song “Open My Eyes.” When I first heard this on the radio as a teenager, I was in a hypnagogic state; I thought it was a cover version of the Who’s “I Can’t Explain” whose weird, supercharged energy had sent the song whirling off its axis. It’s simply one of the most exciting specimens of garage-psych ever waxed. The swerving rhythm, the mind-melting bass and guitar riffs careening around the bend, the handclaps, the cymbal splashes, the flanged vocals on “eyes” and “mind,” Rundgren’s sizzling guitar solo—it’s all too much, and yet you never want it to end. If Nazz had only recorded “Open My Eyes,” they’d still be all-time legends. And yet it only peaked at #112 in the singles chart. I’ve heard this song over 100 times, and each new listen turns me into a hyper ball of hyperbolics.

Despite such a blazing start, the album’s remaining tracks don’t at all seem anti-climactic. I think people underestimate how heavy Nazz were, because “Back Of Your Mind” finds them crafting hooky hard rock with a proto-grunge riff that Mudhoney surely lifted over 20 years later… and about which Blue Cheer must’ve felt jealous in real time, assuming they heard it. Another case in point is “Wildwood Blues,” a proto-glam strut that overtakes the titular blues, like some strange melding of Cream with prime-time Slade, years before the latter rose to prominence. I can imagine the freakout crescendo coda making a young Tony Iommi shout “Cor blimey!” Nazz‘s third-best song on the album, “She’s Goin’ Down,” is another proto-grunge adrenaline-burner with a killer chorus that foreshadows power-poppers Shoes. The action packed into its five minutes is off the charts (literally): wicked zig-zagging dynamics, freewheeling guitar solo, flowery and fiery prog keyboard action, euphoric vocal harmonies, Blue Cheer-like guitar/bass detonation, and a robust drum solo, to boot. The second-best song here, “When I Get My Plane,” aptly soars during the chorus, with the word “plane” extended and falsetto’d to dazzling effect. The dynamics are ingenious, with the build up to the chorus perfectly engineered for optimal vertiginous splendor. Plus, the “ba ba ba”s and “la la la”s are to die for.

Of course, Nazz had a tender, mellower side, too, as anyone who’s heard their most popular single, “Hello It’s Me,” knows. “See What You Can Be” offers complexly harmonic pop that could segue relatively smoothly with a Mamas & The Papas or Turtles deep cut, while “If That’s The Way You Feel” is a sumptuous ballad that strives for a Left Banke baroqueness, but isn’t quite as melodically inviting or subtle as that group. The strings bear a harshness and overbearing desire to knock you out with emotion, although the vocal lead and harmonies are luscious. As for “Hello It’s Me,” I prefer this version over the lusher, more MOR-radio-friendly one Todd issued on his 1972 solo album, Something/Anything? Nazz’s rendition is a lovely, spare ballad bolstered by Rundgren’s crucial vibraphone accents, gorgeous vocal layering, and heart-melting sincerity. “It’s important to me to know that you know you are free/’Cause I’d never want to make you change for me” is a pretty mature and reasonable sentiment for a 19-year-old male songwriter.

In his liner notes, Jon Landau observed, “To listen to the Nazz is to understand immediately what rock and roll is all about. There is an exhilaration and joyfulness to what they are doing which expresses completely the attitude that rock has always sought to express. They play with such finesse and solidity, it amazes me that anything can be so simple yet so complex at one and the same time.” I don’t often agree with a Rolling Stone writer, but Landau nailed it. -Buckley Mayfield

The Fluid “Roadmouth” (Sub Pop, 1989)

Forever known as the first non-Seattle band to sign to Sub Pop, Denver’s the Fluid smashed it out of the park for this city’s best-known label with the 1989 full-length Roadmouth and its 1990 sister EP, Glue. Both records—which were release together on CD—flaunted the Fluid’s savvy blend of grunge-y girth and power-pop melodiousness. They are perfect mergers of the MC5 and Cheap Trick.

Given how great these songs are, the Fluid should have been at least one-fourth as popular as Nirvana and one-third as popular as Soundgarden. Instead, they’ve ended up more of a grunge footnote, mostly beloved by a small hardcore fan base and Sub Pop obsessives. It’s yet another music-biz miscarriage of justice, but Roadmouth deserves your undivided attention, even in the terrible year of 2020.

“Twisted & Pissed” famously begins with the lines, “he was the oldest son of a drag-queen dope dealer/he woke up this morning with a headful of nightmare” and it might be Roadmouth‘s greatest example of an indelible earworm, thanks to the rowdy choruses sung with unison vocals. Most of the album consists of supremely catchy, hell-raising rock, such as “Cop A Plea,” which wouldn’t sound out of place on Mudhoney’s self-titled album. The Fluid really nailed this rugged-rock songsmithing thing; it didn’t hurt that Jack Endino was producing.

Some sly homages appear, too. “Fools Rule” is a relatively slow and heavy bulldozer of a tune that explodes into a Billion Dollar Babies-like lighter-lifter during the choruses. “What Man” cops the strutting riff of Them’s “I Can Only Give You Everything” while “Ode To Miss Lodge” sounds like a hit single in a world in which the Troggs’ “Our Love Will Still Be Here” was as big as “You Really Got Me.” And in perhaps the most surprising move here, the Fluid cover Rare Earth’s party-starting stadium-funk bomb “Big Brother,” and acquit themselves very well.

Roadmouth is one of those LPs in which you hear a different fave song every time you listen to it. It’s much more special than its relative lack of recognition suggests. -Buckley Mayfield

Klark Kent “Klark Kent” (I.R.S., 1980)

For a few years in the ’70s and ’80s, Stewart Copeland moonlighted from his main gig as drummer for new-wave/reggae mega stars the Police to cut some records under the alias Klark Kent. Some of them were super, man. The most substantial of them is this nine-track, 10-inch mini-album. An accomplished film composer (Rumble Fish, Wall Street, etc.), Copeland/Kent plays all of the instruments—drums, guitar, bass, piano, typewriter, kazoo—with bravura facility.

Opener “Don’t Care”—which was a top 50 single in the UK in 1978—originally was intended for the Police, but Sting reputedly couldn’t relate to the sneering, bratty lyrics. But the song triumphs with its insanely catchy, speedy new wave heat, its smooth propulsion, unpredictable dynamics, and sneering lyrics. It sounds as if it’s going to fly right off the grooves and smack your face. The yobbish reggae rock of “Away From Home” reveals Copeland’s voice as the album’s weak link; it’s a bit too proud of its gawky geekiness. As a singer, he makes a great drummer. But the track does boast a wonderful, curt, corkscrewed guitar solo.

“Ritch In A Ditch” [sic] is tensile, slightly quirky rock in the vein of early Police. The line “I wanna be rich/I don’t wanna work in a ditch” is funny because Copeland was likely well on his way to having a fat bank balance by this time. “Grandelinquent” is a slashing, skewed instrumental with a manic piano solo and wicked Snakefinger-/Fred Frith-esque guitar solo.

Things get really interesting on “Guerilla,” whose brilliant, proggy new wave moves are not too far away from what Robert Fripp was doing in the late ’70s/early ’80s. “My Old School” toggles between breakneck new wave and well-meaning Causcasoid reggae and is laced with revenge-fantasy lyrics. The song proves that Copeland is better at the former than the latter. The lean, swerving, Police-like rock of “Excess” comes replete with sizzling guitar solo and crucial cowbell accents as Copeland laments, “my excesses are getting the better of me/I’m ready to go home.”

Klark Kent peaks on the closer, “Theme For Kinetic Ritual.” Rhythmically brash and melodically heroic, this instrumental sounds like a score for the best sports TV show that’s never been aired. Seattle radio station KEXP used to use this track as a bed for its concert announcements, and it was perfect for stoking anticipation. I love to drop this one in DJ sets and then see the baffled look on people’s faces when they ask what it is. -Buckley Mayfield

Shoes “Tongue Twister” (Elektra, 1981)

Straight outta Zion, Illinois, Shoes created some of the most ebullient and memorable power-pop that ever put starch in your skinny tie. Their first proper LP, 1977’s Black Vinyl Shoes, established the quartet’s classic approach: a wonderstruck, adrenalized sound in which melodies whoosh and soar with the freewheeling euphoria of teenage love. They’re such romantics (and better than contemporaries the Romantics, I hasten to add). While Shoes’ songs are too clean to overtly signify lust, there’s undoubtedly a strong libido propelling the group’s output. They just want eternal devotion, but their longings always keep getting thwarted. That sucks for the songs’ protagonists, but it makes for unbelievably memorable tunes.

While many fans peg Black Vinyl as Shoes’ peak, and I do think it’s a stunner, I believe Tongue Twister might edge it out as the band’s zenith. The front line of Jeff Murphy, John Murphy (the brother with the amazing cheekbones), and Gary Klebe form a fantastic songwriting team, but they also thrive individually, with Klebe especially distinguishing himself with album highlights “Burned Out Love,” “She Satisfies,” and “Yes Or No.” In a true display of democracy, they all sing lead and backing vocals, play acoustic and electric guitars, and percussion. (Drummer Skip Meyer doesn’t write, but he’s a damned solid timekeeper.)

On Tongue Twister, Shoes convince you over and over that there’s a lot at stake with matters of the heart while working within well-worn parameters. The lyrics won’t win awards for originality, but they’re delivered with utmost sincerity and a winning earnestness. Make no mistake: guys’ frustrations with women in song is such an overplayed conceit—it was even so in 1981—that these tropes can make you roll your eyes right out of your head. But Shoes’ trio of composers and singers imbue this tradition with an almost naïve, unstinting belief in its potency.

Your Imagination” is one of the greatest opening songs ever, springing out the gate with amphetamine-gazelle speed and an undulating synthesized-guitar motif that epitomizes an emotional roller coaster. “Burned Out Love” is a glam/power-pop blaster that thrusts with “Ballroom Blitz”-era Sweet- and Electric Warrior-era T. Rex-like lewdness. In a similar glammy vein, “She Satisfies” might be Shoes’ toughest rocker, somewhere between Sweet and Slade, but with passages of psych-y delicacy.

If you like meringue-light love songs, you’ll swoon to “Karen,” “Found A Girl,” and “Only In My Sleep.” “Girls Of Today” percolates with the suavity of prime-time Cars, and it should’ve been as popular as anything off that Boston band’s first album; it’s just what I needed. And according to a scientific study I conducted with myself, I’ve determined that “Yes Or No” possesses perhaps the most ecstatic and catchiest chorus ever. I’ve gone whole days with it looping in my brain, with no complaints.

The refrain from the winsome “When It Hits” goes, “It’s gonna hit hard (when it hits),” and it could be Tongue Twister‘s manifesto. This is a power-pop paragon. -Buckley Mayfield

Osmonds “The Plan” (MGM, 1973)

Write off the Osmonds at your own peril. Sure, they’re easy laughingstocks: a family of squeaky-clean Mormons trying to come off as the Caucasian Jackson 5. But these clean-cut brothers had oodles of talent and big budgets boosting their blatantly commercial vision. Throughout the ’70s, they excelled at bubblegum pop, glam, soul, funk, disco, and even a glossy strain of metal on “Crazy Horses.” Stop snickering and spring for a few of their early-’70s LPs for proof… while they’re still cheap.

Where were we? Oh, yes, The Plan. It’s universally considered the Osmonds’ most ambitious work: a concept album about the Mormon faith (Google it), written by Merrill and Wayne, and produced by Alan. Now, nobody’s more leery of overblown songs devoted to imaginary deities than your reviewer. But I’m gonna try to set aside my agnostic biases and judge this opus on a purely sonic basis. And on that level, The Plan mostly succeeds.

(Will it convert you into a Mormon? I sure hope not, but you’ve been known to do stupider things. Oh yes you have.)

Let’s get the stinkers out of the way first. “Before The Beginning” is a Vegas-y, oh-so-earnest ballad with that most annoying of balladic tropes: a crying baby. The tender as fuck orchestral ballad “Darlin’” liberally ladles on the syrup while “Are You Up There?” comes off as bombastic as anything on Aphrodite’s Child’s 666, but it’s not nearly as sublime. Slightly better is “Let Me In,” a dashing slice of ELO-ish orchestral pop that the Avalanches sampled on Since I Left You. It’s very accomplished schmaltz that reached #36 on the Billboard chart.

A couple of tunes reveal that Osmonds can do heavy rock better than most Mormons you may know. On “Traffic In My Mind,” they take a quasi-freaky stab at Deep Purple or Grand Funk Railroad gnarliness. “The Last Days” finds the Osmonds trying to sound ominous but not really convincing you that they can summon aural Armageddon. Still, it’s a valiant attempt, and the main riff would make Iron Butterfly nod in respect.

The two best cuts—“Mirror, Mirror” and “One Way Ticket To Anywhere”—are very good, indeed. The former’s an oddly metered romp animated by jittery skeins of harmonica and jaw harp while the latter’s as super-charged as Sweet’s “The Ballroom Blitz” and the Beatles’ “Back In The U.S.S.R.” “One Way Ticket” soars and dazzles like a motherfucker, bolstered by funky drumming, manic cowbell thunking, and a wicked fuzz-guitar solo.

The chart-dwelling “Goin’ Home” closes The Plan with a bellbottomed stomp augmented by alpha-male horn charts; this is climaximum rock and roll that is perhaps the Church Of The Latter-day Saints version of the Rolling Stones’ “Rocks Off.” Talk about ending an album on a god-damn high… Still, my agnosticism remains steadfast. -Buckley Mayfield

The Soft Boys “Underwater Moonlight” (Armageddon, 1980)

The Soft Boys opened their 1979 debut album, A Can Of Bees, with “Give It To The Soft Boys.” That’s what I’m about to do with this here review… praise, that is. For Underwater Moonlight is a stone-cold classic of neo-retro-psychedelic jangle pop, ablaze with memorable tunes and brilliant lyrics. According to some smart folks, it represents the peak of singer-songwriter-guitarist Robyn Hitchcock’s long, fruitful career. On certain days, I agree with that observation.

The album kicks off with one of the greatest one-two punches in rock history. “I Wanna Destroy You” might be the ultimate righteous-revenge anthem. Musically, this is one of the most effusive and potent power-pop songs ever, but lyrically it’s utterly sulphuric in its vengefulness—against the media, apparently. And man does it feel good when Hitchcock euphoniously yelps into the chorus; the “I”s here just explode. “The Kingdom Of Love” veers almost 180º in the opposite direction. It’s a cool, cruising rocker that expresses an exalted yet surreal desire, as Hitchcock equates extreme infatuation with insects crawling under his skin. When the song reaches the part where he sings, “You grow out of me like a FLOWER!” it sounds like his heart’s literally bursting in ecstasy and the song ascends to its most heavenly level. If these two cuts were released on a 45, it would represent an all-time Top 20 single.

The jittery, jangly, sitar-spiced power pop of “Positive Vibrations” makes you feel as good as the title would suggest. You’d best believe R.E.M. were taking notes while listening to this song. If you ever wondered what would happen if the Cramps were British absurdists, well, the leering, sleazy “I Got The Hots” would be your answer. “Insanely Jealous” gradually builds into an amphetamine’d blowout redolent of obsessiveness; the music’s a perfect analogue of the titular emotion.

Hitchcock fans may hate me for saying this, but “Tonight” verges on cheesy, sounding like a middling, long-lost radio hit or TV movie theme. It’s really Underwater Moonlight‘s only weak link. But the LP rebounds with two of its toughest pieces: the intriguing and torqued instrumental “You’ll Have To Go Sideways” and “Old Pervert,” the most jagged, vicious, oddly metered song here—almost No Wave-y in its angularity and abrasiveness. Then there’s a weird segue into “Queen Of Eyes,” an amiable, Byrdsy jangle rock bauble, before the title track closes things with an ideal combo of the rousing and the slightly rueful. Hitchcock’s and Kimberly Rew’s guitars shimmer in a vaguely Eastern manner while also slashing and clanging with fervent rock gusto. So much gusto! Roll credits, exit theater feeling exhilarated. Then repeat… over and over.

(In this century, Underwater Moonlight has been reissued on vinyl by Matador in 3XLP form and by Yep Roc. Rykodisc did a CD reissue in 1992 with eight bonus tracks.) -Buckley Mayfield

Sparks “Propaganda” (Island, 1974)

Sparks can sort of be seen in a similar light to Queen, although they ape their accents to sound quasi-Brit and ditch solos for lyrical cynicism. Maybe that’s why they have a bit of an underdog quality.

On “Propaganda,” Sparks are instrumentally tough and create simple ditties built around pop piano. The fat is cut with minimal solo’s allowed, so propulsive and repetitive tracks rule, from the mile-a-minute “At Home At Work At Play,” to the tempo-shifting “B.C.” They also make great use of the studio on “Achoo” and “Who Don’t Like Kids,” silly tunes which are grandly displayed. Why weren’t these guys signed to Discreet?

Well, despite lyrics appearing distrustful on some tracks, they were actually earnest sounding on “Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth,” and delivered bonafide pop on “Something For The Girl With Everything.” It’s hard to really put a finger on where Sparks might be placed on your shelf, but I bet it’s somewhere near 10CC and Zappa. Especially this album, since they were still operating in top form as a band in 1974 and had not yet transformed into a New Waver two-piece… Enjoyable! -Wade

Shoes “Silhouette” (1984)

Despite guitars being toned down in favor of keyboards and electronic drums, Shoes’ Silhouette still retains a lot of the qualities of their earlier releases. While the sound is spare and dry to be sure, the consistency of their songwriting remains strong, with lightweight popsters like “Get My Message”, “When Push Comes To Shove”, and “Turnaround” taking prominence, though the robotic charm of “Will You Spin For Me” may be the single most irresistible track. Shoes’ airy, almost artificial sounding vocals actually make for a decent fit to the approach here, so if you don’t mind pure pop with an electronic heartbeat, I’d recommend Silhouette. –Ben

Shoes “Black Vinyl Shoes” (1978)

My pick for the fizziest power pop album ever made. The home-recorded guitar buzz even gives the cozy impression of a warm and constant carbon dioxide “fffffffff” across these fifteen catchy melodies. The group recorded it themselves as a demo—then they just released it as is—and each track is pure melody adorned only with the barest, ghostly living room production. It’s a uniquely spectral record, a little hook-filled cry in the night. Everyone notices its odd sound. Today, roughly 275,000 homemade albums come out each year, but in 1978 there wasn’t much else that sounded like this. Today, it feels timeless. It’s also consistently good. I can’t pick favorite songs off this any more than I can pick which M&M was the best out of the bag, but I’ve thrown “Fatal” onto a few mixes due its great percussion. —Jason

Zuider Zee “Zuider Zee” (1975)

During their existence, Zuider Zee stood as one of Memphis’ more talented (if lesser known) contributions to mid-’70s power-pop. They’re also one of those bands that deserved far greater recognition than they were given. Kim Foreman and Richard Orange originally came together in Louisiana, cutting their first record as members of Thomas Edison’s Electric Light Bulb Band. By 1969 they’d picked up a mentor in the form of manager Leland Russell, along with a new name. Relocating to Memphis, the band started playing local clubs. A 1973 showcase for Elektra failed to score a contract, but within a year they’d recruited a new drummer (Robert Hall) and signed with Columbia.

Their 1975 eleven track debut is a truly engaging set of UK-flavored power-pop. Imagine the best of Badfinger’s Pete Ham, or perhaps 10cc’s Eric Stewart doing their best Paul McCartney impressions and you’ll get a feel for the musical landscape. While “Zuider Zee” may not have been the year’s most original album, the set had more than it’s share of pleasures, including the Rickenbacher-propelled rocker ‘Zeebra’, ‘You’re Not Thinking’ and the slightly ominous Haunter of Darkness”. Normally a Paul McCartney comparison serves as a creative kiss of death, but Orange was among the few guys who could actually pull it off (Emitt Rhodes also readily coming to mind). Orange had a great voice which was particularly appealing on songs like the rocker ‘Rubber Men’ when he employed his raspy edge (imagine McCartney’s vocal on ‘Helter Skelter’). Skeptical of that description? Close your eyes and check out Orange’s truly uncanny McCartney-like deliveries on the rockers ‘She-Swing’ and ‘The Breaks’ (the latter sounding like something from “Band On the Run”). A package of great melodies and excellent guitar made this a pleasure for anyone who enjoyed Badfinger or The Raspberries catalogs.

From a marketing perspective having spent a fortune recording the LP, Columbia’s promotional and marketing scheme was curious. Credit Columbia’s art department with coming up with one of the year’s most unimaginative covers. Columbia decided not to tap the album for a single. Tour support was lukewarm at best, the band opening for a staggering array of acts ranging from Caravan (???) to The Tubes. Coupled with a pseudo-glam image that may have been a tad fey for many mid-1970s American audiences and in an era of punk aggression and disco madness the album vanished without a trace.

The final blow came in December 1976 when bassist Bonar interrupted a group of thieves trying to steal the band’s van. Beaten and stabbed, he was lucky to survive the attack. The band effectively collapsed when the other members refused to continue touring with a replacement while Bonar underwent extensive physical therapy. —Scott Blackerby