Rock

Steve Cropper “With A Little Help From My Friends” (Volt, 1969)

The legendary R&B/soul/rock guitarist Steve Cropper passed away on December 3 at age 84, and respect must be paid. Best known for his work with Stax Records’ tight-as-hell house band Booker T. & The MGs, Cropper played on hundreds of important sessions and on dozens of hits by Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, and others. He also (co)wrote and produced many of his own classics and chart-dwellers, performed with the early Stax house band the Mar-Keys, and maintained a solid solo career. As many of you know, Cropper was one of the most economical and soulful guitarists ever to plug in.

Wanting to honor the master’s passing, I was tempted to review one of Booker T. & The MGs’ many influential instrumental albums, but decided to focus attention on a lesser-known work: his debut solo LP, With A Little Help From My Friends. It’s a fantastic showcase for Cropper’s R&B and rock chops, and it gives him room to spread his wings more than he could with the concise, precision-tooled tunes he cut with the MGs—that is, until 1970’s expansive Melting Pot. (Cropper’s 1969 collab with gospel/R&B/blues guitar giants Pop Staples and Albert King, Jammed Together, is also worthwhile.)

“Crop-Dustin’” sets My Friends‘ righteous tone; it’s groove-heavy, horn-blasted R&B that makes you wanna keep on truckin’, cowritten with Band Of Gypsys/Electric Flag drummer Buddy Miles. Steve and company turn Chris Kenner’s “Land Of 1000 Dances” into a sizzling banger—no surprise, as it’s never not sounded exhilarating, no matter who’s covering it. Of course, Cropper solos like the champion he is. On another oft-covered chestnut, Pickett/Cropper/Eddie Floyd’s “99 ½,” Cropper’s eloquent, scorched guitar calligraphy elevates one of the sexiest and most ominous soul classics ever to the top of the heap.

“Boo-Ga-Loo Down Broadway” and “Funky Broadway” (the 1966 Dyke & The Blazers dancer) deliver funky, good-time music with a lascivious bass lines and Cropper’s extravagantly soulful licks. The title track is not exactly an obvious choice for a Beatles cover, but it fits with the album’s theme. (Strange, then, that musician credits are largely absent!) Cropper blows the song out into an organ-intensive exposition that rivals Joe Cocker’s bombastic take. With contributions from guitarist Michael Toles and bassist James Alexander, “Oh, Pretty Woman” sounds nothing like Roy Orbison or Van Halen’s renditions. This one is more menacing, as Cropper solos with a seething intensity.

The album closes with a couple of Pickett/Cropper joints: One of Steve’s biggest hits, “In The Midnight Hour,” is given the hip instro treatment, while in the shaker-heavy “Rattlesnake,” Cropper gets off some fleet-fingered filigrees, but lets the horn section steal the glory.

Don’t come to With A Little Help From My Friends expecting anything that sounds like Booker T. & The MGs’ “Green Onions,” the 1962 minimalist masterpiece that established their lean, propulsive soul approach. Here, Cropper and his buddies go for an extravagant, party-igniting attack. It sounds like it was as fun to make as it is to listen to. Rest in power, Mr. Cropper. -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.

Bubble Puppy “A Gathering Of Promises” (International Artists, 1969)

The cover photo of A Gathering Of Promises—with all four members garbed in 18th-century finery—suggests a baroque-pop band à la the Left Banke. And that promise sometimes comes to pass. Which is pretty surprising, given that San Antonio, Texas’ Bubble Puppy recorded their sole album for Lelan Rogers’ International Artists label, home to psychedelic warlords such as 13th Floor Elevators, Red Crayola, and the Golden Dawn. Bubble Puppy’s LP isn’t on that level, but it is a strong slab of rococo hippie rock and another example of one-and-done brilliance. (They would later move to LA, change their name to Demian, and cut a slightly heavier, less catchy record in 1971.)

A Gathering Of Promises opens with Bubble Puppy’s shock Top 20 hit, “Hot Smoke And Sasafrass.” It’s a perfect expression of freewheeling yet tight psych-rock songcraft, full of hairpin twists and turns, accelerations and decelerations, and, as a bonus, a pulse-pounding instrumental passage. Here’s where it becomes clear that having two excellent lead guitarists (Rod Prince and Todd Potter) really elevates your game. On “Hot Smoke And Sasafrass,” Prince and Potter execute the axe-hero equivalent of wheelies. “Todd’s Tune” is a dramatic, windswept power ballad that morphs into a dense, psychedelic workout in the coda. That sort of radical shift in composition marks most of A Gathering Of Promises.

One thing you can’t say about Bubble Puppy: They didn’t write predictable or basic songs. You may not be overjoyed by all of them, but you have to admire the dexterity and invention on display over these 10 tracks. Case in point: the nearly eight-minute “I’ve Got To Reach You.” Reminiscent of Neil Young’s “Cowgirl In The Sand,” but more concise and ornate, it features a complex, corkscrewing guitar solo that would make J Mascis nod his head in approval. And “Lonely” definitely has guitar pyrotechnics that would prompt standing ovations from Dinosaur Jr. fans. If you’re into mellifluous, open-highway hippie rock of great intricacy, you’ll love “Hurry Sundown,” “Road To St. Stephens,” and “Beginnings.”

Another thing about these Bubble Puppy dudes: They’re surprisingly good singers, just a rung below Crosby, Stills & Nash. For contrast, the title track’s an earnest, dew-dappled ballad that hints at the Beatles (think “Dear Prudence”) and Simon & Garfunkel, and, damn it, the Left Banke.

It looks like Sundazed did a recent reissue of A Gathering Of Promises, so copies shouldn’t be too hard to find. -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 Moody Blues “In Search Of The Lost Chord” (Deram, 1968)

While mourning the recent death of Moody Blues bassist/vocalist John Lodge (RIP!), I realized that we’ve not reviewed any albums by his elegant and quite popular British psych-rock group. A very puzzling state of affairs, to be sure. So, time to remedy that oversight.

In Search Of The Lost Chord was the second of a fantastic, six-album run by the Moody Blues that spanned from 1967 to 1971. The commercial success of 1967’s Days Of Future Passed paved the way for the band to enjoy unfettered creative freedom in the studio for Lost Chord. Inspired by Timothy Leary’s lysergic proselytizing and other cultural sources of mind expansion (including Sgt. Pepper’s), the Moodies added flutes, sitar, tablas, autoharp, harpsichord, and cellos to their standard rock instrumentation. And all five members got to flex their compositional muscles. The result is one of the zeniths of major-label psychedelia.

Drummer Graeme Edge’s brief “Departure” prepares you for something momentous, as an ever-rising chord leads spectacularly into the soaring romp of freedom that is Lodge’s “Ride My See Saw.” Although it was a bit late, the song exemplifies that liberating, Summer Of Love spirit and it definitively proved that the Moody Blues could rock. (No surprise that it was covered by NYC rockers Bongwater in 1987.) Flautist/saxophonist Ray Thomas’ “Dr. Livingstone, I Presume” brings whimsical orchestral pop that positively explodes with ebullience in the chorus (“We’re all looking for someone”). Thomas rises to the occasion again on “Legend Of A Mind,” a glorious tribute to notorious trip-trip-maker Tim Leary. This is superbly arranged big-budget psychedelia with absolutely riveting Mellotron and flute passages. A real tour de force, it’s the Moodies’ “A Day In The Life.”

Mellotron manipulator Mike Pinder comes correct with “The Best Way To Travel,” a brilliant specimen of late-’60s UK psych, which, historians agree, is some of the most elaborate and sublime psych. Plus, Pinder sings a bit like Ringo Starr. On Justin Hayward and Thomas’ “Visions Of Paradise,” a gorgeous, circuitous flute intro leads into Days Of Future Passed-style baroqueness, with sitar embellishments. Things get unbearably poignant on Hayward’s “The Actor,” a well-crafted psych ballad with heavenly ambitions. Edge’s cosmic poem, “The Word,” segues into Pinder’s sitar- and tabla-spiced psych gem “Om,” which is enhanced by transportive vocal harmonies. Sure, it’s a period piece, like In Search Of The Lost Chord itself, but, man, what a period. -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.

Jimi Hendrix Experience “Axis: Bold As Love” (Track Record, 1967)

Consensus #1 guitar god Jimi Hendrix was the Big Bang of Black psychedelia, and all of the three albums he cut with the Experience (who included Brits Noel Redding on bass and Mitch Mitchell on drums) are absolutely essential. Each record was uniquely brilliant in its own way. But after four decades or so of listening to them, I have to say that Axis edges out Are You Experienced and Electric Ladyland by a plectrum.

The Experience’s sophomore LP reveals Hendrix’s prodigious range as a songwriter and, of course, virtuosity as a guitarist. The jazzy skitter of “Up From Skies” abuts the tumultuous, hooky rock of “Spanish Castle Magic.” “Wait Until Tomorrow” shows Jimi’s underrated pop sensibility and intricate guitar-bass interplay with Redding, while the unspeakably pretty “Little Wing” and “Castles Made Of Sand” represent Hendrix’s most poignant ballads outside of “The Wind Cries Mary.” In a similar vein, “One Rainy Wish” is damn near a pinnacle of psychedelic soul.

“If Six Was Nine” is a masterclass in menace and sparse dynamics, with a devastating, upward-spiraling coda. “You Got Me Floatin’” boasts one of the most infectious grooves of ’60s rock. “Little Miss Lover” is as funky and rugged as anything on the If There’s Hell Below… comp; whenever I play it, I think it might be my favorite Hendrix tune of all time. The feedback symphony “EXP” displays Hendrix’s experimental inclinations. “Bold As Love” shatteringly climaxes the record and flaunts Jimi’s most powerful vocal performance. And though it’s easy to overlook, the swirling psych-pop of Redding’s “She’s So Fine” holds its own with Jimi’s compositions.

Axis‘ ability to blow minds hasn’t faded in 58 years. -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.

Various Artists “If There’s Hell Below…” (Numero Group, 2023)

This crucial 13-track compilation partially derives from the limited-edition, long-oop 2002 collection Chains And Black Exhaust. Both albums feature the curation of thoroughbred record-collector Dante Carfagna, who tracked down rare singles by several amazing and unjustly obscure Black musicians to give them an afterlife on physical media and streaming services.

The main thrust of the songs on If There’s Hell Below... is a raw, tough-luck rock that nods to Curtis Mayfield (no relation) at his trippiest and most disenchanted. Stone Coal White’s stunned, wah-wah-heavy “You Know” exemplifies the muted, golden glow that pervades the comp, and Sir Stanley’s impassioned line in the profoundly soulful funk bomb “I Believe” (“I believe there’s got to be a better way”), sums up its prevailing attitude.

Elsewhere, Creations Unlimited’s “Chrystal [sic] Illusion” does blaxploitation-flick-soundtrack swagger with LSD, while Iron Force’s “Sweet Poison” melds stoned Hendrixian vocals with Black Sabbath-esque menace. Basement’s “Funky Music” is not the party jam its title would indicate, but a bleak, urban brooder. The standout track is Iron Knowledge’s “Show-Stopper,” a bulbous beast of action-packed psych-metal. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever come out of Youngstown, Ohio.

If There’s Hell Below… stands as one of the Numero Group label’s greatest comps of the ’20s—and there have been dozens, so that’s really saying something. -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.

Count Five “Psychotic Reaction” (Double Shot, 1966)

Talk about one-hit wonders… American garage rockers Count Five harnessed all of their creative and instrumental energies into “Psychotic Reaction,” one of the touchstones of garage rock, as Lenny Kaye astutely noted by placing the track on the vastly influential first Nuggets comp. (The legendary critic Lester Bangs fell hard for it, too, writing a fascinating 1971 essay that imagined all the subsequent albums that Count Five would never record.) Sure, “Psychotic Reaction” took cues from the Yardbirds’ “I’m A Man” and other rave-up-enhanced tunes by that British group, but Count Five took that steez to a crazier level. You might say that the song was their psychotic reaction to Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, and company.

No question, Count Five captured lightning in a bottle with “Psychotic Reaction.” The emotional turmoil of young people heartbreak is/was/always will be a catalyst for extraordinary art, including speed-freak rock and roll. Here, the band locked in on some of the most primal, unstoppable guitar riffs and drumbeats ever, and then proceeded to rocket out to the farthest zones that 1966 had to offer, leaving behind the 13th Floor Elevators and perhaps even Love’s “7 And 7 Is.” But also take a moment to think about an America in which a track as gonzo as “Psychotic Reaction” could peak at #5 on the singles chart. How far we’ve fallen as a nation…

Let us note that Psychotic Reaction is more than just its cataclysmic title track. The LP opens with a potent 1-2 punch: “Double-Decker Bus”’s agitated, harmonica-augmented garage rock with a tense, hair-raising rave-up that’s not as explosive as “Psychotic Reaction” (what is?); and “Pretty Big Mouth,” a cool, sleazy, mid-tempo dancer about “making a woman mine”—a common topic among ’60s garage-rockers. In fact, that subject also arises in the next song, “The World,” which is in a similar musical vein to “Pretty Big Mouth,” but it has dorkier vocals. It’s important to remember that all of Count Five’s members were 18 and 19 when this album came out.

The first of two (!) Who covers here, this “My Generation” proves that it’s a fool’s errand to try to interpret one of ’60s rock’s foundational anthems. Sadly, Count Five just aren’t up to the task, but you gotta admire the balls on these guys… Simply put, Count Five—including main songwriter, guitarist, and vocalist Sean Byrne—don’t have the Who’s instrumental chops or vocal charisma (especially the latter) to approximate the original’s firepower. The other Who selection, “Out In The Street,” makes one ask “Why?” I mean, it’s a brave attempt at one of Townshend’s brash, youthful statements, but Count Five don’t really deviate from the original. Wasn’t there a non-Who song that these dudes could’ve covered?

Speaking of emulating British Invasion artists, Count Five delve into some 1964-era Beatles worship on “She’s Fine” and “Can’t Get Your Lovin’,” but—let’s not mince words—singer Kenn Elner kind of sounds like a doofus. Better is “Peace Of Mind,” which is the perfect counterpart to the Red Crayola‘s “Hurricane Fighter Plane.” It’s the album’s second-best song, a driving garage-psych beast that, of course, has been overshadowed by the title track. And DJs should be aware that the woozy, watery rock of “The Morning After” would segue well into Nilsson‘s “Coconut” or Three Dog Night’s “Mama Told Me (Not To Come).”

Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that Psychotic Reaction is a classic album. However, it does have enough interesting takes on primitive garage-rock moves to make it a keeper. And with a running time of under 26 minutes, the record efficiently delivers its rambunctious and boozy pleasures. -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 Kinks “Sleepwalker” (Arista, 1977)

The Kinks’ debut for Arista in America, Sleepwalker marked the band’s pivot to arena-rock maneuvers after several concept albums full of horn sections and backing singers, which didn’t garner much commercial success. However, with Sleepwalker, Ray Davies and company got what they wanted, as it peaked at #21 on the Billboard albums chart. Recording in the band’s new 24-track studio, Konk, helped to expand the sound for more spacious venues. And in the process, the Kinks cut one of their strongest records of the ’70s, though it’s often overlooked by those who favor the group’s spectacular and influential ’60s output.

While I don’t consider Sleepwalker a top-5 Kinks LPs, it does possess one of this legendary group’s greatest songs: “Sleepwalker.” More on that later. The album opens with the loquacious “Life On The Road,” surging, melodically rich rock in the Mott The Hoople vein. “I’ve got bloodshot eyes because I’ve been walking the streets all night” Ray Davies sings, hinting at the insomnia motif running throughout the record while also expressing ambiguity about wanderlust. “Mr. Big Man,” a simmering ballad about a friend of Ray’s (possibly) who let power and wealth ruin him, explodes in righteous indignation, as Dave Davies gets off a flowery, powerful guitar solo.

“Brother” is a grand statement song about the importance of people watching out for one another—a celebration of altruistic impulses. The lush, swaying mid-’70s rock of substantial poignancy perfectly supports Ray’s message of hope. In a somewhat similar style, “Life Goes On” serves as an uplifting pep talk for overcoming adversity. Aptly, this tune could compete with your Springsteens and your Pettys for heart-on-sleeve, stadium-rock supremacy. The second-best track on Sleepwalker, “Juke Box Music” starts with a cool funk breakbeat from Mick Avory and quickly heads into some lean, good-time rock about the power of music to affect the way we feel. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy.. Eventually, the song blooms into an anthem that must have sounded fantastic during the Kinks’ late-’70s big-venue shows—especially Dave’s slashing lead guitar lines. Best of all, “Sleepwalker” opens with another funky break and shifts into swaggering rock beast mode, with cascading guitar riffs and incendiary interplay between Dave and Ray. Documenting the insomnia that Ray experienced after moving from London to New York City, “Sleepwalker” out-Slades Slade. As a single, it reached #48, the first Kinks chart placing in the US since 1970’s “Apeman.”

Side note: Sleepwalker would’ve been improved by the inclusion of the stinging “Prince Of The Punks,” a send-up of the UK punk scene roiling in 1976. (Instead, it was the B-side of the “Father Christmas” single.) Somebody at Arista messed up. Side note 2: BMG reissued Sleepwalker in 2024, but it’s not uncommon to find used vinyl copies for under $15. -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 Move “The Best Of The Move” (A&M, 1974)

I generally like to avoid reviewing best-of and greatest-hits comps on this blog, but The Best Of The Move is probably the most efficient and cost-effective way to hear this fantastic British rock group’s finest material. It’s not a traditional best-of collection, though, because it consists of the entire 1968 debut LP, Move, plus assorted singles from 1966-1970. This odd mishmash came about because those savvy A&M bosses Herb Alpert and Jerry Moss realized that Move and those killer 45s had not had US releases, so why not bundle them all together at a discount and make the Move stars in America? Alas, we Americans were too stoopit to embrace the Move, so instead they became a cult band mostly worshipped by Anglophiles. It’s an old, familiar story.

I’ll put my cards on the table now: At their best, the Move belong in any conversation regarding the most acclaimed ’60s British rock legends—the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Kinks, Who, Zombies, Donovan, Cream, the Creation, et al. This was apparent to anyone with functioning ears who heard the Move’s first wave of singles. Main songwriter Roy Wood was a mad genius, an absolute wizard with melody and a prodigious creator of hooks to die for. That he also looked diabolically smart and oozed charisma onstage made the Move’s dismal commercial outcome in the US even more puzzling.

The 13 songs on Move abound with clever tunes that are almost all instantaneously catchy. (The Coasters and Eddie Cochran covers don’t play to the Move’s strengths, however.) The Move’s best songs carry that special aroma of 1967/68 English psychedelia in which whimsy and baroque inclinations coalesce into numbers boasting an exquisite charm beyond the reach of 99% of American musicians. It’s hard to imagine a yank conceiving songs as arch and effervescent as “(Here We Go Round) The Lemon Tree,” “Walk Upon The Water,” “Fire Brigade,” and “Flowers In The Rain.” Our people just didn’t possess that dandified gene like the Brits did during the era when psych, garage, freakbeat, and art rock were intermingling.

As for the singles, lordy… They stand among the greatest ever penned. “Night Of Fear” exemplifies Wood’s ability to cram in many phenomenal earworms within one song. “I Can Hear The Grass Grow” is a stone classic of psychedelia that would segue well into the Beatles’ “Day Tripper.” “Wild Tiger Woman” packs maximalist pleasure while making overtures toward glam rock. If there’s a better song about being zonked in the noggin than “Disturbance,” please let me know. In it, Wood fuses power pop, Tin Pan Alley tunesmithing, and, in the scary coda, dark psychedelia that would spook Arthur Brown and his Crazy World. It’s such a tour de force.

The first Move song to feature Jeff Lynne, “Brontosaurus” might be their heaviest—and most turgid—composition. But everything pales before “Wave Your Flag And Stop The Train.” The pinnacle of Wood’s skill for infectious melodies that effloresce and swerve unlike anyone else’s, it’s one of my favorite songs in the world.

In conclusion, America really messed up by ignoring the Move. Don’t make that same mistake. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Echo And The Bunnymen “Crocodiles” (Korova, 1980)

I bought Crocodiles the week that it came out and it quickly established itself as one of the definitive albums of my freshman year of college at Michigan State University. While 1981’s Heaven Up Here was my favorite LP by Liverpool psych-rock quartet Echo And The Bunnymen for a long time, Crocodiles has since usurped it—in part because it’s prototypical young person’s music. Listening to it 45 years later brings back all the adrenalized thrills and existential confusion that coursed through my 18-year-old body and mind. Hey, sometimes nostalgia has its benefits…

Throughout the first half of the ’80s, Bunnymen singer/guitarist Ian McCulloch regularly declared his band to be the world’s best to a hungry UK music press, and he wasn’t too off base. Mac, guitarist Will Sergeant, bassist Les Pattinson, and drummer Pete de Freitas certainly burst out of the gate with authority on Crocodiles, which has nary a dud.

The record drew plenty of Doors comparisons upon its release, mainly due to McCulloch’s often stentorian vocals and cryptic, romantic poetry. But the Bunnymen’s psychedelia shined harder, stung more sharply, and it came with a post-punk grittiness that contrasted with the Doors’ more florid, jazzy approach. Now, I like the Doors, but I think the Bunnymen’s first four albums have a higher percentage of sublime songs on them the Doors’ first four.

Speaking of sublime songs, album-opener “Going Up” ranks as one of the Bunnymen’s greatest. An intro of spacey fx leads into a fade-in of heroic psych rock worth more than an arena full of U2s. When Mac bellows, “Let’s get the hell out of here/Going up, going down,” that’s the cue for the band to soar out of Earth’s atmosphere into deep space in the song’s second half. Shoot these two minutes of music into my veins. “Do It Clean” achieves another peak in which the group go in search of the ultimate rush and then achieve it… with the scathing rock song that you’re hearing. The line “I’ve been here, there, everywhere/Here, there, nowhere” epitomizes the young person’s frantic mindset while treating their brain like a science-class experiment.

Switching up the pace, the Bunnymen achieve that rare thing with “Stars Are Stars”: the intriguing power ballad; it’s one of their most poignant tunes. With its caustic guitars and pugilistic rhythms, “Pride” whiplashes the listener like 1980-era Gang Of Four. This is a gripping, tormented song in which the protagonist deals with contradictory voices hoping for him to fail or to prove himself worthy by doing something his family members can’t do. More urgent post-punk that’s as serious as your life follows on “Crocodiles.” Here, Echo sound lean, hungry, and ruthless, hell-bent on becoming an important tile in rock’s vast, beautiful mosaic.

“Monkeys” and “Rescue” exemplify the Bunnymen’s enchantingly spectral take on psychedelia. The radiantly chiming “Rescue” stands as one of the best self-deprecating songs ever, capturing the seductiveness of falling into a slump and not living up to your potential, the long, gradual descent into dejection. Mac: “I’m jumbled up, maybe I’m losing my touch/You know I didn’t have it anyway/…Is this the blues I’m singing?” In a manner of speaking, yes.

On Crocodiles‘ final three songs, beginning with “Pictures On My Wall,” things begin to turn dark. The Bunnymen proved themselves to be masters of the morose, but without a trace of hokeyness. They evoked ominous auras with great subtlety and artfulness. “All That Jazz” and “Happy Death Men” obliquely hint at apocalyptic destinies—or, the latter may be a veiled tribute to Joy Division and their ilk. Whatever the case, the Bunnymen—who were in their early 20s when they recorded Crocodiles—possessed wisdom and poise beyond their years, creating one of rock’s most thrilling debut LPs. -Buckley Mayfield

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

Marsha Hunt “Woman Child” (Track, 1971)

Born in Philadelphia in 1946, Marsha Hunt attained cultural cachet and musical brilliance in the UK during the hothouse milieu of late ’60s and ’70s London. She is something of a Renaissance woman, earning notoriety as an actor, model, singer, and novelist. On a more salacious note, Hunt also had more than artistic relationships with some of England’s rock royalty, including Marc Bolan, Mick Jagger (with whom she had a child), John Mayall, and Soft Machine’s Mike Ratledge, whom she married to help her resolve visa problems. In addition, Hunt sang alongside Bluesology keyboardist Reg Dwight (later Elton John), acted in the London staging of the zeitgeisty musical Hair, and reputedly was the inspiration for the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar.” What a legend…

We here at Jive Time HQ are most interested in her musical exploits, though, which she flaunts with panache on her debut LP, Woman Child. Produced by three of the UK’s finest studio wizards—Gus Dudgeon, Tony Visconti, and Kit Lambert—the album goes heavy on covers… some expected, some surprising. With everyone from Humble Pie to Jonny Jenkins to Cher covering Dr. John’s “I Walk On Gilded Splinters,” it’s not shocking for a soulful diva such as Ms. Hunt to take a crack at it. And Marsha really digs into the haunted guts of this New Orleans voodoo-funk classic with apropos gravitas and intensity. It’s clear from the outset that Hunt’s acting chops came in handy when she got in front of a mic in the studio. Her expressiveness is elite.

Hunt also flexes her formidable range on “No Face, No Name, No Number,” an intimate, orchestral interpretation of the 1968 Traffic ballad. The vibe resembles some of the gentler pieces on Love’s Forever Changes. Hunt gives one of the Supremes’ most heart-rending hits, “My World Is Empty Without You,” a nuanced reading, reflecting the lyrics’ profound hurt amid a shivering, orchestral backing and subtle conga patter. Listen closely for her beau, Bolan, on backing vox. On “Keep The Customer Satisfied,” Hunt blows out Simon & Garfunkel’s twee folk song into a gospel/hippie-rock revival, with crazy, wailing sax. And her seductive take on Dylan’s celebratory country-rock nugget “You Ain’t Goin Nowhere” probably made Bobby all hot and bothered.

The first of three Bolan compositions reworked here is “Hot Rod Papa,” in which Hunt switches the gender of Marc’s spare blues-rocker “Hot Rod Mama.” She and her musicians improve the original into sleazy, fried R&B that’s not too far from what Rotary Connection were doing a couple of years earlier. A mellifluous, folk-proggy Bolan number from Tyrannosaurus Rex’s Prophets, Seers & Sages The Angels Of The Ages, “Stacey Grove” doesn’t really play to Hunt’s strengths, but it’s interesting nonetheless. And for all the John’s Children fans, there’s a remarkably sexxxy soul cover of the freakbeat classic “Desdemona,” written before Bolan formed Tyrannosaurus Rex. Here’s where Hunt reveals her swag in excelsior. The way she sings “lift up your skirt and flyyy-iiieee” is a serious climactic moment on Woman Child.

On “Wild Thing,” Hunt once again super-charges a white-boy track (this time by the Troggs) with show-stopping eroticism. She brings the full force of her towering thespianic powers to this groovy ode to raunchiness. Rumor has it that Faces members Ron Wood, Ian McLagan, and Kenny Jones play on this. I believe it.

It should be noted that Hunt’s greatest song, “(Oh No! Not!) The Beast Day,” only appears on a 45 released by the vaunted Vertigo label in 1973. I paid a pretty hefty price for it, but the ROI has been great, as I play it in 90% of my DJ gigs to overwhelming approval. Both that single and this album deserve reissues. It may be quixotic to think that this review will initiate the process, but it can’t hurt to put the idea out into the universe. -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.