Psych and Prog

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.

David T. Walker “Plum Happy” (Zea, 1970)

David T. Walker is one of the planet’s smoothest, mellowest guitarists. His feathery touch and melodic gracefulness made the Tulsa, Oklahoma-born musician one of the 20th century’s most in-demand session players. He’s recorded and performed with dozens of big names, including Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Jackson 5, Marlena Shaw, Bobbi Humphrey, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, and Quincy Jones. Walker also played in the short-lived supergroup Afrique, whose lone LP, 1973’s Soul Makossa, is a serious funk bomb, and in Paul Humphrey & His Cool Aid Chemists. So, even if you’ve never checked one of Walker’s 15 solo albums, you’ve undoubtedly heard his delicious licks somewhere.

I’ve only heard four of DTW’s LPs, but of those, Plum Happy hits the sweetest spot. My curiosity in Walker was piqued via the main sample in hip-hop group People Under The Stairs’ 2002 classic, “Acid Raindrops”: i.e., his unbelievably chill cover of Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” Incidentally, I’d love to know if Bob ever heard Walker’s transformation of his moody 1969 hit ballad into paradisiacal instrumental bliss, blessed by brisk congas and DTW’s liquid-gold guitar filigrees. It’s become my go-to walking-in-summer-sunshine jam, and it’s yet more proof that Walker is a master of interpreting other musicians’ compositions.

But that doesn’t mean the man can’t write his own tunes. Plum Happy boasts five originals, and they reveal the sharp skills that come standard with a first-call studio wiz. Right from jump, “Doo Doo” offers a splurge of extroverted funk, like a wired Dennis Coffey joint, but with less fuzz and distortion. The title track is a busy, complex jazz number that recalls Phil Upchurch‘s contemporaneous work for Cadet and Blue Thumb Records. “Blues For My Father” brings solid electric blues showcasing Walker’s fluid, rhythmic style while “Listen To The Sun”‘s jaunty, ornate soul jazz evokes the magnificent Gábor Szabó.

As for the remaining covers, DTW secularizes the Edwin Hawkins Singers’ 1969 gospel-pop hit into a buoyant blues mood-elevator, as he extravagantly ladles on the wah-wah. For “Come Together,” John Lennon’s groovy surrealism gets some gilded adornment with fuzz-tone guitar conspiring with Walker’s crystalline timbre and frilly ornamentation. You can tell the band—John Barnes (piano), Al Edmond (drums), Richard Waters (timbales), Buzz Cooper (tambourine, percussion), Tracy Wright (bass)—really dig extemporizing on the Beatles’ funkiest song. The album ends with “Love Vibrations,” speedy funk rock that’ll get your pulse pounding, stat. The vivacious female backing vocals really send this hippy-friendly heater over the top. It’s one helluva climax.

Scandalously out of print on vinyl since 1970, Plum Happy deserves a reissue. Get to work on that, music industry! -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.

Fever Tree “Fever Tree” (UNI, 1968)

Here’s a minor rock classic that’s often sitting in plain view in used bins for very reasonable prices. Do not pass it by. These one-hit wonders from Houston, Texas worked some serious magic on this potent, covers-heavy period piece from 1968. It’s their debut, and the quintet captured the proverbial lightning in a bottle, never to match its fire and verve on three subsequent albums. If Fever Tree Had stopped after this self-titled heater, they’d be part of the distinguished one-and-done club (McDonald & Giles, Skip Spence, the United States Of America, Friendsound, et al.). But alas…

Weirdly for a rock full-length ca. 1968, its producers—Scott and Vivian Holtzman—wrote most of the songs. Thankfully, they were on a creative roll back then, crafting baroque psych-folk and storming garage-rock numbers that have aged well while also epitomizing a late-’60s vibe of overflowing love and optimism. It helped that Dennis Keller sang like Jim Morrison with greater lung power, and minus the preening poetic gravitas. (I like Jimbo, so calm down, Doors fans.)

It took guts for Fever Tree to start their first album with “Imitation Situation 1 (Toccato And Fugue),” a momentous fanfare mashing up J.S. Bach and Ennio Morricone, with horns and string supplied by the illustrious Gene Page and David Angel. That brief piece non-sequiturs into “Where Do You Go?”—heavily fuzzed garage rock laced with Rob Landes’ flute and bolstered by E.E. Wolfe III’s bulbous bass line. Keller asserts himself as a primal force of nature on the mic, well up to the challenge of cutting through the thicket of Michael Knust’s keening, snaky guitar lines. The minor hit (#91!) “San Francisco Girls (Return Of The Native)” perfectly encapsulates late-’60s American psychedelia—full of thrilling surges and gorgeous lulls, a kaleidoscopic roller-coaster ride to the center of your blown mind.

Fans of Madvillain will recognize “Ninety-Nine And A Half,” as the hip-hop supergroup sampled it on “America’s Most Blunted.” It opens with a Keller wail that rivals anything Janis Joplin and Roky Erickson yelped in their heydays, as Fever Tree imbue this Southern-fried soul classic by Steve Cropper and Wilson Pickett with zeal and funk (shout out to drummer John Tuttle). The staccato “Man Who Paints The Pictures” marauds with a killer instinct, like Deep Purple if they were composed of Hell’s Angels—savage yet finessed.

As for the other two high-profile cover versions, there’s a lush take on Neil Young’s touching 1966 Buffalo Springfield ballad, “Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing,” and an ingenious, girthy interpretation of two mid-period Beatles stunners, “Day Tripper” and “We Can Work It Out,” with baroque interpolations of “Eleanor Rigby” and “Norwegian Wood.” Wowow. Of the album’s four remaining ballads, “The Sun Also Rises” is by far the best. This orchestral-pop gem towers as grandiosely and beautifully as peak Left Banke and is low-key Fever Tree‘s highlight. -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.

George Duke “Feel” (MPS/BASF, 1974)

Feel lands smack dab in the middle of master fusion keyboardist/composer George Duke’s blue-hot run of albums in the ’70s, when the man could do very little wrong and a helluva lot right(eous). With stints in the Mothers Of Invention, as well as in Frank Zappa’s post-MOI group and Cannonball Adderley’s band, Duke had ample soul-jazz and prog-rock bona fides. On his own, though, he let his funky freak flag fly high. After all, it was the ’70s, the funkiest decade ever, so… George had to put his distinctive stamp on that genre, too, and I, for one, am grateful that he did.

You can hear that aesthetic right out of the gate with “Funny Funk,” an utterly filthy manifestation of the title. I love it when a master musician channels their skills to absurd ends. Duke has his keyboards and synth bass speaking in loony tongues while Ndugu and Airto slap out a libidinous groove. (Those Miles Davis alumni are so dope, they only need one name.) This is Feel‘s peak, but there are many highlights to follow.

The first of two songs on which Frank Zappa guests under the alias Obdewl’l X, “Love” is a slinky, Steely Dan-ish ballad whose smoothness FZ disrupts with fiery, distortion-laden guitar solos. They’re welcome intrusions of grit amid the oleaginous suavity—which is not to disparage Duke’s falsetto singing, which is surprisingly solid and blends well with wonderful guest vocalist Flora Purim’s. On the second one, “Old Slippers,” Zappa is slightly more restrained than he was on “Love,” but he still unleashes fluid pyrotechnics over this coiled, cop-show funk—which also boasts what sounds like a clavinet run through a wah-wah pedal. Awesome.

The only track here not written by Duke, the Ndugu composition “The Once Over” features a fantastic extended Latin percussion break by the composer and Airto on this lush fusion charmer. Bonus: Bassist John Heard gets off a sinuous, Jaco Pastorius-like solo. Duke busts out his falsetto again on the title track, a momentous love ballad. The lyrics seem to equate the creative process with sex: “touch my mind/see what is in me/feel life in you/touch your mind/we come almost as one.” Duke’s rococo synth solo spirals to the stars in a gratuitous display of virtuosity—of which I fully approve. And so does the contemporary artist Thundercat, who owes Duke a huge debt for his own substantial popularity.

Elsewhere, Duke shows an affinity for prog-rockers such as Gentle Giant (the intricate and manic “Cora Joberge”) and mid-’70s King Crimson (“Tzina”), while Flora Purim shines again on the breezy Brazilian jazz bauble “Yana Aminah,” topped off with a fragrant Duke keyboard solo. Similarly, Duke flexes a serpentine keyboard freakout on the strutting jazz-funk cut “Rashid.”

George’s music gradually became slicker and more pop-/R&B-oriented and he even scored some hits, but his most compelling work occurred in the first half of the ’70s. Feel ranks among his best. -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.

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.

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.

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.