Psych and Prog

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.

Osamu Kitajima “Benzaiten” (Island, 1976)

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

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

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

Trivia: The Japanese psych-rock group Acid Mothers Temple paid homage to this LP with 2015’s Benzaiten. Tip: The German label Everland Psych reissued Benzaiten in 2024. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Spacemen 3 “The Perfect Prescription” (Glass, 1987)

If, as the title suggests, the British quartet Spacemen 3 considered this platter a drug, then it’s more Quaalude than Dexedrine. Excepting the crashing turmoil of “Take Me To The Other Side” (this is how you begin an album!) and the throbbing first-album Stooge-isms of “Things’ll Never Be The Same,” the songs on The Perfect Prescription exude a contemplative, post-coital calm. On their second LP, Spacemen 3—led by Pete “Sonic Boom” Kember and Jason Pierce—deployed to divine effect Farfisa organ, electric and acoustic guitars, violin, trumpet, and “bass vibrations” to achieve a peak in a career unmarred by duds.

The band’s reverent homage to Lou Reed’s sprawling, urban paean “Street Hassle” evokes fond memories of the original and it segues beautifully into the aerated ambient whorl of “Ecstasy Symphony” and the gently exploded cover of “Transparent Radiation,” which dwarfs Red Krayola’s original in a most respectful manner. Tracks such as “Feel So Good” “Come Down Easy,” “Call The Doctor,” and “Walkin’ With Jesus” are all adorned with minimal instrumentation, but the music has a relentless lambency that tickles you into tranquil abstraction.

Bathed in a holy glow of Farfisa, “Walkin’ With Jesus” is a proto-Spiritualized jam epitomized by Pierce’s salubrious infatuation with Christian imagery while he and his Rugby, England mates forge a beatific new hymn that will give even the staunchest heathens shivers up and down the spine. “Feel So Good” and “Come Down Easy” are spot-on emulations of J.J. Cale’s ultra-laidback, featherlight blues rock. Rarely has a rock group sounded this blissfully opiated. The latter’s a nearly seven-minute, see-sawing blues rock mesmerizer that you wouldn’t mind going on all day. Some might call it monotonous, but it’s actually as spellbinding as swaying on a hammock. “Call The Doctor” is a stark cautionary tale about heroin abuse buoyed by watery guitar, lowing bass, and Sonic Boom’s sotto voce intonations. It’s a phenomenal yet harrowing way to end this druggy album—a subtle ripple of darkness on a record mainly radiating celestial light. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Mandrill “Mandrill Is” (Polydor, 1972)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parliament “Motor Booty Affair” (Casablanca, 1978)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yo La Tengo “New Wave Hot Dogs” (Coyote, 1987)

Goofy title and all, New Wave Hot Dogs was the beginning of a fantastic run of albums by New Jersey indie-rock stalwarts Yo La Tengo. That stretch from this one to President Yo La Tengo, Fakebook, May I Sing With Me, and Painful plowed a narrow but very rich seam of tough-and-tender rock that used the Velvet Underground’s fertile catalog as a template. Might as well borrow from the best, right?

Yo La Tengo—guitarist/vocalist Ira Kaplan, drummer/vocalist Georgia Hubley, and bassist Stephan Wichnewski (later James McNew)—seem to have inhaled the VU oeuvre as prepubescents, and New Wave Hot Dogs was the result. Nobody simulates the cooler side of the Velvets better than YLT—except for the Feelies. Of course, when you’re band includes a former rock critic (Kaplan wrote for NY Rocker) who sings like a higher-pitched Lou Reed acolyte, siphoning influences from the Velvets is expected. At least these superfans had the guts to wear their fandom on their sleeve by covering the deep cut “It’s Alright (The Way That You Live).”

But, to be fair, YLT generate their own distinctive ax heat; check out the rancorous rave-up “House Fall Down,” the PSF Records-esque speed-freak eruptions of “The Story Of Jazz,” the twisted noise jam “Let’s Compromise” (featuring guest guitarist from Bongwater, Dave Rick). Another guest, dB’s guitarist Chris Stamey, delivers a Bubble Puppy-esque solo on “Lewis.” Kaplan glazes his understated Velvetoons with feedback that stays just long enough to make its point. The too-brief “Lost in Bessemer” proves that YLT could forge a moving, intimate instrumental, too; it’s their “Embryonic Journey.”

Alternately manic and contemplative, New Wave Hot Dogs leaves a pleasant afterglow. It took YLT a while to shake their VU obsession, but they’ve gone on to hack their own niche in the indie-rock stratosphere. However, it’s odd that they’ve let New Wave Hot Dogs (and the equally wonderful President Yo La Tengo) languish in out-of-printland for over 35 years. Or maybe it’s some legal b.s. beyond the band’s control? Whatever the case, it’s problem that needs rectifying. -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.