Reggae and Dub

Sly & Robbie “Language Barrier” (Island, 1985)

Formerly ubiquitous drummer Sly Dunbar and bassist Robbie Shakespeare are better known for their session work than for their own releases, and it’s easy to understand why. Jamaica’s best-known rhythm section has forged deep grooves for a panoply of stars both in their native reggae and dub styles as well as in funk, R&B, rock, pop, trip-hop, and jazz modes. A partial litany of collaborators includes Grace Jones, Bob Dylan, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Sinéad O’Connor, Gilberto Gil, and Tricky, as well as with fellow countrymen Black Uhuru, Sugar Minott, and Peter Tosh, among many others. The Sly & Robbie imprimatur bestowed quality on records and in concerts for decades in multifarious contexts, until the latter’s 2021 death.

Among the duo’s own albums, 1985’s Language Barrier stands as one of the most interesting. Produced by Material bassist Bill Laswell, Language Barrier boasts a large, varied cast of musicians: Wally Badarou, Bernie Worrell, Herbie Hancock, Dylan, Manu Dibango, and Afrika Bambaataa, among others. Distinguished company! Laswell had the best Rolodex in the biz in the ’80s and ’90s.

Anyone expecting trad reggae or dub on Language Barrier will be disappointed. That’s not how Sly & Robbie—and Laswell—rolled in those days. Opener “Make ‘Em Move” telegraphs the dominant approach with prowling electro-funk in the realm of Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit” and Art Of Noise’s “Close (To The Edit),” but with militant alpha-male vocals by either Bernard Fowler or Bambaataa. Featuring Dylan on harmonica, “No Name On The Bullet” is bulky electro-funk that veers into Mark Stewart & The Maffia territory. It’s very much a product of ’80s studio aesthetics, with its clunky drum effects and blaring digital synth smears.

“Bass And Trouble” would segue well into Bambaataa & Soulsonic Force’s “Looking For The Perfect Beat” or, indeed, Hancock’s “Rockit” (that again). Explosive and dynamic as hell, with highlight-reel sax by Dibango and a searing guitar solo by one of the five axemen on the record, “Bass And Trouble” is a definite standout. The album’s most uptempo number, “Get To This, Get To That,” percolates like a quasi-techno jam, with soulful singing by Fowler.

The main attraction, though, is the radical interpretation of Miles Davis’ five-dimensional brain-fryer, “Black Satin,” from his greatest album, On The Corner. Sly & Robbie delete the electric sitar- and tabla-laced intro and the main motif seems to be created here with a strange synth setting that almost sounds like a kazoo—a bold choice. But, unsurprisingly, Dunbar can’t match Jack DeJohnette’s nimble athleticism and mind-boggling complexity on the drums, so instead Sly keeps a neck-snapping 4/4 while Shakespeare repeats Michael Henderson’s probing bass line like an automaton—not a complaint! Laswell crams the stereo field with odd activity, but it’s a more ’80s-style array of disorienting tics and gestures. Whatever the case, it took guts to cover such an innovative track by a genius, and I’m here for it.

Language Barrier definitely has a dated quality, but with Sly & Robbie near their peak and backed by such a high-powered crew, it belongs in your collection. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Shriekback “Care” (Y, 1983)

Shriekback’s creative core of keyboardist/vocalist Barry Andrews (ex-XTC, Fripp’s League Of Gentlemen), bassist Dave Allen (ex-Gang Of Four), and guitarist Carl Marsh (Out On Blue Six) could almost qualify as a post-punk supergroup. Their early releases such as 1982’s Tench EP and the “My Spine (Is The Bassline)” single put very interesting spins on funk and atmospheric rock. So expectations were high for the British group’s 1983 debut LP, Care, and they were resoundingly met. (The US version differs from the UK edition, adding “My Spine” and “Accretions.” Get ’em both!)

Care gets on the good foot right away with “Lined Up,” a paragon of subliminal funk, powered by Allen’s steely bass line and stoic disco beats from a disciplined drum machine. Andrews’ stern, confidential lead vocals and the female gospel choir backing add a serious air of impending doom to proceedings. I’d often hear this joint in Detroit clubs during the ’80s, and it was a goddamn mood. With its with lusciously layered synths, chilling, Eno-esque textures, and rock-ribbed clapper beats, “Clear Trails” proves again that understatement is Shriekback’s forte—even with their drum-machine programming. In a decade lousy with clunky, canned percussion, they managed to avoid the robotic awkwardness that marred so many Reagan-era albums. One of Shriekback’s best songs, “Into Method” is a methodical, militant funk jam on a stealth mission. Similarly, “Sway” stands as a minimalist-funk masterpiece.

But Care proves that Shriekback have a weirder side, too. The skeletal, Cubist dub cut “Hapax Legomena” is as strange as its title and pregnant with tension. Unfortunately, the grave mood’s shattered near the end by a guffaw. The cantankerous “Lines From The Library” comes off like a more lightweight ’80s Swans. “Evaporation” is an aptly vaporous tone poem with barely-there vocals. (Andrews never broke a sweat while singing this record’s songs, guaranteed.) On “Brink Of Collapse,” Jon Hassell’s Fourth World Music goes to English art school. It’s an eerie, ritualistic piece within an abstract funk framework—everything in its place, precise and crisp. And what the hell is “In: Amongst”? A field recording of birds panicking as they flail in a whirlwind? Lassos twirling in a hurricane? Whatever the case, it’s one of the strangest endings to an album ever. That Care came out on Warner Bros. in the States shows that the early ’80s were different times, indeed. (Dave Allen passed away on April 5 at age 69. May he rest in peace.) -Buckley Mayfield

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

Fleetwood Mac “Mystery To Me” (Reprise, 1973)

Fleetwood Mac’s eighth studio album—which peaked at #67 in 1973 and took three years to go Gold—represented a high point in that group’s unstable post-Peter Green era. Dominated by American guitarist/vocalist Bob Welch and the ever-reliable keyboardist/vocalist Christine McVie, Mystery To Me feels transitional yet also had some fantastic anomalies to help set it apart from a catalog rife with stylistic shifts.

Recorded on the Rolling Stones Mobile Unit, the album definitely was an improvement over its mediocre predecessor, Penguin and more interesting than its successor, Heroes Are Hard To Find. And it showed that Fleetwood Mac had recovered from the major bummer of losing guitarists/composers Danny Kirwan and Jeremy Spencer.

Welch asserts his importance from the opening song, “Emerald Eyes.” Yes, his raspy and dulcet singing is an acquired taste, but it’s one I’ve gladly embraced. His voice hits like a welcome sedative on this romantic ballad on which Mick Fleetwood’s beats slap surprisingly hard to heighten the urgency. On “Believe Me,” McVie reinforces how crucial she is to FM with a rollicking, piano-heavy rocker in the Faces vein, before the song goes on some dreamy tangents. This might be Christine’s hardest-rocking tune, as husband John’s bass avidly pumps along with Mick’s booming bumps. Furthermore, “Just Crazy Love” oozes effortless melodic gold in that patented McVie manner. Album-closer “Why” reveals another facet of McVie’s compositional skill; it’s a stately, stripped-down folk blues that blossoms into a string-laden power ballad about coming to terms with a breakup. McVie’s “The Way I Feel” is a spare, gorgeous thwarted-love ballad that sounds like something Elton John might have turned into a hit.

Things get really interesting with Welch’s “Hypnotized,” which wasn’t a hit but became a fixture on US FM stations (shockingly, the Pointer Sisters covered it on 1978’s Energy). Fleetwood’s triple-time beats mimic the precision boom-boom-boom-tsss of a drum machine, lending the song a trance-inducing pulse that merges perfectly with the terse electric and acoustic guitar filigrees. Welch’s wonderstruck and numb vocals seem to outline the effects of an acid trip—which, when coupled with the trippy, beachy vibes, transforms “Hypnotized” into an unintentional Balearic club anthem, years before those paradisiacal islands became a cultural hotspot.

“Forever” (cowritten by John McVie, Welch, and guitarist Bob Weston) follows in the denigrated tradition of white rockers dabbling with reggae. But it’s surprisingly enjoyable—definitely more tolerable than the Rolling Stones’ “Cherry Oh Baby.” Then again, I’m just a sucker for Welch’s gentle, pure vocal timbres, which fall somewhere between Paul Simon and Canned Heat’s Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson. “Keep On Going” is an oddity in the FM canon, as McVie sings on a Welch-penned song. Even stranger, it’s a swaggering orchestral folk-rock tune, with strings arranged by Richard Hewson—plus Weston plays a lovely flamenco-flavored acoustic-guitar solo.

Another tangent occurs on “The City,” where the Mac pay homage to James Gang’s nasty funk rock. “Miles Away” sounds like the coolest song that the Steve Miller Band never wrote—peaceful-easy-felling rock that nonchalantly accelerates when it desires to. This track could not have been written by any other Fleetwood Mac member but Robert Lawrence Welch Jr. The thorny, complex rock of “Somebody” is as close as FM got to Captain Beefheart. The LP’s only kinda-sorta misstep is the cover of the 1965 Yardbirds hit “For Your Love.” It’s an awkward fit for Fleetwood Mac, but not uninteresting. As with some of Bryan Ferry’s reinterpretations, FM don’t quite get the inflections and nuances right, and that friction sparks an odd sort of joy.

Mystery To Me deserves much more respect than Fleetwood Mac fans—and people, in general—have given it. It’s too bad that this version of the band broke up after it was discovered that Weston was having an affair with Fleetwood’s wife, Jenny Boyd. (Bob, how in blazes did you think this was a good idea?!) -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.

Lijadu Sisters “Horizon Unlimited” (Afrodisia, 1979)

Born in 1948 in Ibadan, Nigeria, identical twins Kehinde (who passed away in 2019) and Taiwo Lijadu were among the few women in that African nation who maintained successful musical careers in the 1970s. They released five strong albums in that decade, none of which are easy to obtain in the US, except for the fifth, 1979’s Horizon Unlimited, which Numero Group just reissued on vinyl and CD. (Thankfully, that Chicago label plans to re-release the sisters’ entire catalog—but not all at once, thankfully, for our wallets.) Trivia: For five months in 1972, the Lijadus toured with Ginger Baker’s band Salt; the former Cream drummer also had been playing in Nigeria with Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti.

My first encounter with the Lijadu Sisters occurred with Strut Records’ excellent Nigeria 70: The Definitive History Of 70’s Funky Lagos comp. According to that LP’s liner notes, “Orere Elejigbo” tells the story of a couple trying in vain to have a child. They visited a native doctor who instructed them to contact the god Ifa. The deity tells them they will conceive a girl and when she reaches adulthood, she should be able to marry whomever she wishes. She ultimately marries a king. The song was a coded way for the sisters to hint to the government to stop going to war and to cease destroying its citizens. The defiant Afrobeat backing—replete with Richard Archer’s jabbing bass line and the ladies’ impassioned unison singing—seriously drives home the point.

The intensely suspenseful “Erora” is an African Head Charge-like charmer with dank low end, including some of the chunkiest drum sounds outside of a Tony Allen session, courtesy of Friday Jumbo, who was part of Fela’s Africa 70 group. Drummer Laolu Akins and talking-drum specialist Soji Adenie add ballast. The Lijadus’ voices are glorious conduits to joy. “Gbwomo Mi” delivers thick Afrobeat action, with a punchy, downtempo rhythm. The sisters soar above the coiled shuffle like headstrong angels—so dulcet and vibrant.

“Come On Home” is loping, funky sunshine pop, African style, and sung in English instead of the sisters’ native Yoruba. That this stunner’s racked up about 23 million listens on $p0t1fy means that it probably received placement in a popular TV show or movie, or gained traction on TikTok, but I’ll be damned if I can find verification of that. The album ends with “Not Any Longer,” which begins with Adenie’s gripping talking-drum solo and then shifts into a slow, ultra-funky chugger with distorted, Billy Preston-esque keyboard squelches. The Lijadus’ most seductive song, it foreshadows some of Grace Jones‘ early-’80s joints.

Out of print on vinyl in the US since 2012, Horizon Unlimited was produced by keyboardist Lemmy Jackson, who also played in the great psych-rock group Blo. All six tracks here are great, and it’s hard to discern which one triggers the most pleasure. But what a wonderful puzzle to solve. -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.

A.R. Kane “69” (Rough Trade, 1988)

To appreciate 69, the debut album by the UK’s A.R. Kane, you have to shed your rock expectations and simply drift in the alien aura that Alex Ayuli and Rudy Tambala summoned from Buddha knows where. While early singles like “When You’re Sad” and “Lollita” relied on noisy surfeit (critics of the time somewhat accurately described them as “the black Jesus And Mary Chain”), most of 69 is downright spare, yet strangely moving. But does it rock? Not really.

That A.R. Kane subsequently were classified as “shoegaze” is not totally on point, either, although they did have elements of that genre. Actually, the duo were more diverse than their shoegaze contemporaries, delving into dub, Miles Davis’ late-’60s/early-/’70s jazz fusion, acid house, and sampladelic dance music (cf. M|A|R|R|S’ Pump Up The Volume).

As for 69, there’s a watery disorientation to much of it, an exploratory restlessness that recalls Tim Buckley’s Starsailor and Can’s Future Days. (Simon Dupree And The Big Sound/Gentle Giant member Ray Shulman produced and contributed bass; his role in this sonic triumph should not be underestimated.) Singer Ayuli’s voice here is a small, unmoored presence buffeted by breezes and gales of sound. It’s a voice deflated of all tension—a pure embodiment of bliss.

69‘s opening cut, “Crazy Blue,” catches you off-balance right away. A feather-light, quasi-jazz romp embroidered with shimmery halos of guitar, it totally goes against the grain of A.R. Kane’s previous recordings. “Suicide Kiss” starts almost funkily before it quickly dissolves in billows of guitar haze, while still maintaining a semblance of song structure. “Baby Milk Snatcher”—which originally appeared on 1988’s brilliant Up Home! EP—sounds like a meticulously carved masterpiece in the context of 69‘s general amorphousness.

“Dizzy,” “Sulliday,” “Spermwhale Trip Over,” and “The Sun Falls Into The Sea” are unprecedented (from a late-’80s perspective) sketches of souls in various states of exaltation. One must conjure ludicrous metaphors to describe these songs, and honestly, it’s too hot right now for me to do that. Go through moldering issues of British mag Melody Maker for examples.

Ultimately, 69 doesn’t douse me in the icy ecstasy that Up Home! does. However, in its own enigmatic way, 69 is a weird trip worth taking. A.R. Kane’s intentions were baffling, and that’s always a positive, in my book. Every foray they made surprised in rewarding ways. Thirty-six years after its release, 69 is still flummoxing heads and revealing new, fascinating facets. -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.

Syreeta “Stevie Wonder Presents Syreeta” (Motown, 1974)

Syreeta Wright (1946-2004) was a fantastic soul/funk vocalist respected for her releases on Motown and its MoWest subsidiary. Blessed with a dulcet and expressive voice, she worked with her genius ex-husband Stevie Wonder on her best albums: 1972’s Syreeta, 1974’s Stevie Wonder Presents Syreeta, and 1977’s One To One. She also contributed to Stevie’s Where I’m Coming From and Music Of My Mind LPs and to jazz saxophonist Gary Bartz’s Juju Man and Music Is My Sanctuary. Syreeta later worked with Beatles/Rolling Stones auxiliary member Billy Preston on a grip of albums in the late ’70s and ’80s.

Ms. Wright was in the running to replace Diana Ross in the Supremes, but Berry Gordy ultimately went with Jean Terrell. Gordy allegedly changed his mind about this decision, but Supreme Mary Wilson miraculously overruled him. I humbly submit that Syreeta would’ve been a fabulous Supreme.

Anyway, Stevie Wonder was on such a creative hot streak in the first half of the ’70s, he could bestow multiple high-quality albums’ worth of tunes to his former main squeeze and still regularly pop out classics under his own name. Stevie Wonder Presents Syreeta showcases the Motown legend’s ex-partner in spectacular form as both singer and lyricist.

“I’m Goin’ Left” is a wonderful way to start an album, its action-packed R&B buoyed to bubbly panache by drummer Ollie Brown and bassist Reggie McBride’s chemistry and Syreeta’s defiant and saucy vocals. Background vocalists Minnie Riperton, Denice Williams, Lani Groves, Shirley Brewer, and Anita Sherman all shine hard, and Stevie had them in seriously tight formation behind the LP’s main character. The love-drunk orchestral soul ballad “Spinnin’ And Spinnin'” gets vertiginous, thanks to Paul Riser’s swoon-worthy arrangement. “Come And Get This Stuff” showcases the singer’s sexy and funky side, with fab backing-vocal ballast and an intricately nimble McBride bass line to die for.

“Your Kiss Is Sweet” ranks as one of Wonder’s greatest, most joyous creations. It’s an upful quasi-reggae strut that elevates with phantom festive steel drums, jabbing bass, and singing that flaunts Wright’s expansive range and sparkling personality. There’s a good reason Fatboy Slim put it in his LateNightTales mix. If you don’t experience love at first listen, you need to see a doctor. Hell, I may need to go to one to get this super-infectious song out of my head…

The rest of the album can’t live up to “Sweet,” and side 2 dips into the maudlin-ballad bag too often for my taste, including “I Wanna Be By Your Side,” a collab with former Spinners vocalist G.C. Cameron. However, “Cause We’ve Ended As Lovers” attains a tender, rueful sublimity in a saga about remaining friends after a romantic breakup. (Written from bittersweet experience, it seems safe to say.) Syreeta’s at her most Riperton-esque here.

Stevie Wonder Presents Syreeta should’ve made the gifted singer a star, but alas, it only peaked at #116 on the US album chart—though hip-hop producers sure love to sample it. But at least Björk covered it in Icelandic on her 1977 debut album. -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.

Keith LeBlanc “Major Malfunction” (World, 1986)

The music world suffered a serious loss when Keith LeBlanc, the powerful and influential drummer for Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five, Mark Stewart And The Maffia, and many others, passed away on April 4 at age 69. The eulogies for his work behind the kit were effusive and widespread. Understandable, as LeBlanc had lent his rhythmic prowess to two major movements in the 1980s, recording several sessions for artists on the pioneering hip-hop label Sugar Hill and for the innovative UK dub imprint On-U Sound.

Beyond those important contributions, LeBlanc sat in on studio dates for popular artists such as R.E.M., Tina Turner, and Nine Inch Nails. He also maintained an interesting, uncompromising solo career, marked by the galvanizing 1986 debut LP, Major Malfunction. This followed the 1983 underground-club sensation “No Sell Out,” in which LeBlanc spliced snippets of fiery Malcolm X speeches into a rock-ribbed electro/hip-hop jam.

With On-U boss Adrian Sherwood at the controls for Major Malfunction, LeBlanc led a group featuring fellow Sugar Hill/Tackhead badasses Doug Wimbish (bass, guitar) and Skip McDonald (guitar, keyboards, engineer). (The title refers to the description of the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding shortly after liftoff in early 1986.) Finally free to do their own thing, LeBlanc and crew let loose with a sampladelic banger built more for the concrete bunker than for the dance floor.

“Get This” launches the record with sick keyboard warpage that’s like a virulent bug moving through an intestinal tract. Soon, LeBlanc’s huge beats pound through a disorienting miasma of disturbingly slurred vocals and fried guitar riffs. On the brutal industrial funk of “Major Malfunction,” LeBlanc threads samples of broadcasters, then-President Reagan talking about the tragedy mentioned in the previous paragraph, with bonus commentary from the Beat author William S. Burroughs, e.g., “Your planet has been invaded.” More jagged, pugilistic electro funk caroms forth on “Heaven On Earth.” “There ain’t no heaven on Earth nowhere,” growls an angry Black man amid sampled yells of the damned. Clearly, LeBlanc’s m.o. was to overwhelm the listener with spoken-word samples and equilibrium-subverting production techniques applied to militant, club-wrecking tracks.

Reputedly, “M.O.V.E.” was a Ministry song that LeBlanc repurposed for his own record; Keith had worked on that band’s 1986 LP, Twitch. It’s a rugged, polyrhythmic shuffle on which African Head Charge member Bonjo’s bongos really slap the track into overdrive. The funkiest and most psychedelic cut here, “Technology Works Dub” is laced with eerie chants and distorted whooshes, with a robotic voice intoning, “Technology works. Technology delivers. Technology is a modern quasi religion.” LeBlanc obviously was skewering the blind faith corporations put in tech while simultaneously using sonic gear designed with it to prove its value in other fields. The chaotic piece “You Drummers Listen Good” closes the album strangely, as a gravel-voiced preacher rants about young women falling for drummers, before it eases back into a slab of exotic funk rock.

The stilted quality of Major Malfunction‘s rhythms was endemic to a lot of vanguard electronic music and hip-hop in the ’80s. While working within those technological limitations, though, LeBlanc found a way to make his beats funky and timbrally exciting—they hit with the exaggerated THWACK of fists hitting faces in Hollywood blockbusters. There were good reasons why so many musicians—both experimental and mainstream—wanted him to supply beats. RIP, Keith LeBlanc. -Buckley Mayfield

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

The Police “Zenyatta Mondatta” (A&M, 1980)

This great Police album contains two songs that I can no longer bear to hear: the smash hits “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” and “ De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.” The latter is Sting and company’s “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” and thus is major cringe. The former’s a decent quasi-reggae-pop tune, but overexposure and creepy, Lolita-esque undertones have ruined it for me. And “Man In A Suitcase” is the sort of inane reggae-rock that gives reggae-rock a bad name. So it goes.

The remaining eight tracks on their third album, however, represent some of the Police’s most challenging and danceable work in which they leave behind any traces of their punk-rock roots while maintaining their B-minus political-rocker commentary. One might say that Zenyatta Mondatta is the British-American trio’s Remain In Light, albeit without the extended lineup that helped to transform Talking Heads in that heady year of 1980. You can hear similar African musical elements in songs such as “Canary In A Coalmine,” a quicksilver, pseudo-Afro-rock burner that, by the way, segues well into Paul McCartney’s “Temporary Secretary.” Freewheeling fun and then some. The hypnotic groove, mesmerizing guitar arpeggios, and shocking monkey chants of “Voices Inside My Head” translate into King Sunny Adé-inflected house music. It’s dance-floor gold.

“Driven To Tears” ranks high in the Police’s canon thanks to Sting’s momentous bass line, Andy Summers’ aerated klang and Frippian guitar solo, and Stewart Copeland’s immaculate rimshots and bongo fills. The poised rave-up in the song’s last minute really lifts this song to an exalted level. The way “When The World Is Running Down, You Make The Best Of What’s Still Around” kicks into high gear while “Tears” is fading out is brilliant, a hip DJ-like move that was rare in new-wave-era rock circles. Summers’ flanged guitar punctuation sprays like a fountain of cool water over Sting and Copeland’s humid, fleet disco-funk rhythm.

The Summers composition “Behind My Camel” won a Grammy for Best Rock Instrumental Performance—which is strange, as it would’ve fit seamlessly into those uncommercial albums he did with King Crimson guitarist Robert Fripp. Ominous and rhythmically stodgy, the track was boycotted by a petty Sting, so Andy dubbed in the bass parts.

Zenyatta Mondatta‘s last two tracks stand as anomalies in the Police’s catalog. Remove Sting’s vocals from the stark dub workout of “Shadows In The Rain” and you basically have an On-U Sound joint. Finale “The Other Way Of Stopping” is a skewed Copeland instrumental that’s full of the drummer’s usual nervy energy and exciting ebbing and flowing dynamics. It’s a weird way to end an album, but by this point in the Police’s wildly popular career, they could pretty much do whatever they wanted. So they did, and good on ’em. -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.

Cristina “Sleep It Off” (Mercury, 1984)

Cristina Monet-Palaci tragically passed away in early April from COVID-19 at the age of 61. She didn’t have a large discography, but what little she did release contained a high percentage of enchanting winners. Perhaps her peak was Sleep It Off, which most fully displays her flamboyant personality.

Cristina’s marriage to Michael Zilkha, co-owner of the excellent funk/No Wave label ZE Records, led to her collaborating with ZE artists August Darnell of Kid Creole & The Coconuts’, James Chance of Contortions, and Don Was of Was (Not Was). Heavy company! The latter produced Sleep It Off at his Detroit studio, and co-wrote three songs—including two of its best. Let’s talk about those first.

“What’s A Girl To Do” starts with some of the best opening lines of the ’80s: “my life is in a turmoil/my thighs are black and blue/ my sheets are stained and so is my brain/oh what’s a girl to do?” And there you have Cristina’s persona summed up from the get-go—an aristocratic hot mess who’s self-aware but making the best of a bad situation by singing over great music. “What’s A Girl To Do” barges into life with a wonderfully warped keyboard riff that telegraphs new-wave oddity and booming beats that translate to club gold. The ultra-jaunty tenor of the music contrasts with the sordid subject matter.

The album’s dramatic and rockiest peak occurs on “Don’t Mutilate My Mink,” bolstered by heroic, beefy guitar riffs by Bruce Nazarian and Barry Reynolds. Cristina’s intonations in the verses recall Johnny Rotten’s on the Sex Pistols’ “Anarchy In The UK.” “My nightdress is expensive/I don’t want to see it soiled/My heart is pretty tender/Don’t want to see it broiled/Don’t want to start my morning/With your traces on my sink/You’ll do just fine without me/Don’t mutilate my mink.” Was’ third co-written song is “Quicksand Lovers,” a femme-fatale portrait framed in a breezy, faux-tropical-electro vehicle.

Another highlight comes on “Ticket To The Tropics,” courtesy of another Detroit character: the Knack’s Doug Feiger. He and Cristina create a brash, danceable new wave with suave key changes and a synth motif worthy of the Time or Prince. Jazz magus Marcus Belgrave—another Detroiter—plays trumpet. The anomalous “Rage And Fascination” bears an ominous quasi-dub groove and stern vocal delivery; it’s the closest Cristina gets to Grace Jones.

The weakest moments on Sleep It Off are the covers. The Sonny Throckmorton composition “She Can’t Say That Anymore”—originally recorded in 1980 by country singer John Conlee—is lackluster. Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht’s “Ballad Of Immoral Earnings” is a duet with an annoying male singer and its quasi-reggae treatment doesn’t suit anyone well. The louche version of Van Morrison’s “Blue Money” is the best cover here. It features Chance on sax and allows Cristina to perfect her disaffected, disdainful voice while adding a sheen of sleaze to Van’s tipsy, throwback R&B.

If you want the perfect summation of Sleep It Off‘s lyrical thrust, “The Lie Of Love,” is it. In this ballad about a problematic romance, Cristina conveys regret and acceptance of hypocrisy with subdued poignancy. It’s not her best mode, but she convinces you that she’s lived through this and emerged with an alluring shred of dignity.

(Note: A fidgety cover of Prince’s classic “When You Were Mine” appears as a bonus track on the CD release.) -Buckley Mayfi

Land Of The Loops “Bundle Of Joy” (Up, 1996)

Seattle-based indie label Up Records put out some overlooked gems during its 1994-2008 run. One of the finest and quirkiest is Bundle Of Joy by Land Of The Loops (aka East Coast musician/producer Alan Sutherland). Deploying beats, bass lines, and synthy FX as well as guest singers and an array of samples, Land Of The Loops created a wonderful hybrid of bedroom indie-pop and hip-hop. Bundle Of Joy is probably Sutherland’s peak.

The aptly titled “Welcome” starts as a kooky collage, before some of the fattest, funkiest beats ever to appear on an Up release (is that Billy Squier’s “The Big Beat”?) enter the fray. These beats engage the delayed, dulcet vocals of Simone Ashby in a cagey duel in a cut as minimal as early Run-D.M.C. Ashby resurfaces on the phantasmal, disorienting “Burning Clutch (five-speed dub),” her vocals recalling the dreamy tenor of Dorothy Moskowitz of the United States Of America. What a heady trip.

Speaking of guest vocalists, Beat Happening’s Heather Lewis appears on “Growing Concern,” delivering her trademark child-like vocals over an easygoing funk charmer, bestowing a distinctly PNW innocence to the album. She also adds darling singing to the sparkling, stuttering funk of “My Head (leaks)” and to “Cruisin’ For Sentient Beings,” which is powered by a classic, urgent break (close to Skull Snaps’ “It’s A New Day,” but not it) that you’ve heard on at least a dozen hip-hop tracks. Nevertheless, the results are fresh.

More evidence of Sutherland’s kaleidoscopic vocal sampling trickery occurs on “Mass Ave. And Beyond,” on which he sprinkles enchanting bleeps and bloops over a starkly funky foundation, and “I Dream Of Ghosts,” which evokes the eerie, spacey dub of early Seefeel, thanks to the sampled angelic sighs. Perhaps LOTL’s best-known track, “Multi-Family Garage Sale (bargain-bin mix),” presents ludicrously bubbly and loping suburban funk with a staccato female vocal sample, snippets of children talking (“Don’t leave me”; Where are we anyway?” etc.), and beats not unlike those in George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog.” No wonder Miller licensed the track for a beer commercial. I bet Sutherland significantly upgraded his studio after this transaction.

Other highlights include “Help For Your Aching Back,” a swirling, psychedelic workout that might should be playing in hipper chiropractors’ offices, and “Day Late & A Dollar Short,” a fantastic sampladelic agglomeration of Buddhist monk chants, children jauntily singing, twangy guitar from the James Bond theme, archetypal sci-fi analog synth emissions, and very rugged, funky beats. Play this in a DJ set and watch people lose their shit—while looking befuddled.

Discogs prices for Bundle Of Joy have jumped up in recent years. It seems odd that no label’s reissued this wonky wonder since its first issue 23 years ago, but perhaps this review will nudge somebody into doing that. (Gotta dream big!) -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

Fleetwood Mac “Mystery To Me” (Reprise, 1973)

Mystery To Me is one of those sort-of-overlooked Fleetwood Mac albums that came between the Peter Green and Stevie Nicks-Lindsey Buckingham phases. Keyboardist Christine McVie and guitarist Bob Welch dominate the songwriting here; while it’s not the best pre-Rumours Fleetwood Mac album, it does contain a few serious highlights. Your enjoyment of Mystery To Me will be predicated on how much you dig Welch’s Valium’d vox, McVie’s plummy singing, and medium-cool blues rock. The strange thing about this record is that its peak, “Hypnotized,” is an anomaly in the Fleetwood Mac catalog. More about that later.

Side one stands out for a couple of McVie compositions. The peppy, catchy “Believe Me,” the most uptempo tune here, comes across very much like “Homeward Bound” off Bare Trees. “Just Crazy Love” is mildly ebullient pop that hints at Christine’s vibrant songwriting on Rumours. “Forever” shambles in on an odd reggae-rock rhythm that’s endearing almost despite itself. The rambling orchestral, quasi-flamenco rock of “Keep On Going” is unusual for bearing a McVie vocal in a Welch-written song.

Side two’s standout is “For Your Love,” as Fleetwood Mac deploy a a subtly different and dreamier rearrangement of the Yardbirds classic, bolstered by lots of dual-guitar fireworks. In “The City,” Welch explains how he can’t handle New York’s darkness, which is all around—even in Central Park, apparently—as his wah-wah guitar squawk propels a swaggeringly funky blues-rock workout. “Miles Away” is breezy, kinetic rock that makes you want to floor it as you zip down the freeway on a journey to the periphery of your mind, while Welch grinds out some seductive, highly torqued blues rock on “Somebody.”

But the real reason to cop Mystery To Me, is “Hypnotized”—which was a minor US radio hit and covered by the Pointer Sisters on their 1978 album, Energy. Urged along by a coolly detached yet insistent, rolling rhythm and colored by the chillest of spangly guitar embroidery, this song is pure proto-Balearic-beach enchantment. Welch’s mellow-bronze vocals perfectly cap this aptly titled jam. “Hypnotized” is my go-to Fleetwood Mac tune when I’m DJing in a bar and as the night’s winding down and I’m trying to lay the foundation for its boozing patrons to get laid.

Overall, Mystery To Me is a slow-grower that boasts a few cuts that belong on any Fleetwood Mac best-of mixtape. You should still be able to find a used vinyl copy for under $10. -Buckley Mayfield