Rock

Cher “3614 Jackson Highway” (ATCO, 1969)

[After we reviewed Sonny Bono’s Inner Views in May, it seemed only right and natural to write about a Cher album soon after.]

I love it when an artist’s outlier album is their best. Another case in point: Cher’s sixth LP, 3614 Jackson Highway, recorded at the Alabama studio bearing that address, Muscle Shoals. This is Cher’s Dusty In Memphis, a kind of gritty Southern soul/funk outing that deviated from her usual output. Produced by Jerry Wexler, Arif Mardin, and Tom Dowd, 3614 Jackson Highway was a critical success and consensus Cher favorite among true heads, but the album only peaked at #160 on the Billboard chart. Oh well…

For this career peak, producer Jerry Wexler enlisted the same Muscle Shoals musicians who supported Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Solomon Burke, and others to provide Cher with a new framework in which to flex her superb singing on an interesting batch of other people’s compositions. Coproducer Arif Mardin’s orchestrations are rich and at times syrupy, but they don’t obscure the crack group, which includes lead guitarist Jimmy Johnson, bassist David Hood, drummer Roger Hawkins, keyboardist Barry Beckett, guitarist Eddie Hinton, and backing vocalist/future Grateful Dead member Donna Godchaux (née Thatcher).

Cher sounds like she’s in her element here. She’s always had a knack for grandstanding on large-hearted/robust-lunged ballads, but she also reveals her skill with subtler material, including three covers of Nashville Skyline tracks, which had only come out two months earlier in ’69. Younger fans of Cher’s later glossy pop records might be shocked to learn about the intensity of her Bob Dylan love, which spanned over several records. Changing the title to “Lay Baby Lay,” Cher showed her outsized adoration for this lewd, louche Dylan ditty, and as a huge fan of “Lay Lady Lay,” I can only approve of her faithful cover. A spare and funky “Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You” and a sweet, gospel-tinged “I Threw It All Away” also appear.

3614 Jackson Street brilliantly kicks off with a great rendering of the Buffalo Springfield all-timer, “For What It’s Worth.” The song’s animated by slide guitar accents, ghostly backing “ooh”s, and drums that slap hard, even if they aren’t as funky as those on Sérgio Mendes‘ version, but it’s the jaw harp twangs that lift this into rarefied territory. In a bold move, Wexler instructed Cher take a crack at Otis Redding and Steve Cropper’s Stax classic “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay.” Sure, the OG is unsurpassable, but Ms. Sarkisian’s is a really nice, smooth, and soulful take. Even her voice breaking on it sounds right. Plus, these Southern boys have a natural feel for the material. That same brashness applies to “I Walk On Guilded Splinters.” It must have felt daunting to tackle Dr. John’s sinister swamp-funk totem; nobody will ever top the diabolical original, but Cher and company acquit themselves with panache. And Box Tops fans will be interested to hear Cher’s slowed-down and jazzed-up version of “Cry Like A Baby.”

3614 Jackson Street remains a cheap-heat staple in the used vinyl bins. If you can only own one Cher album, this is 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.

Sonny Bono “Inner Views” (ATCO, 1967)

Sonny Bono was best known as a writer and performer on five pop hits in the ’60s with his singing partner/wife Cher and as comic foil to her on their TV variety show from 1970 to 1977. For a while, Sonny & Cher were in competition with Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood for lady/guy music-group supremacy in the US charts. I’ve always preferred the latter duo, but S&C’s “The Beat Goes On” undoubtedly has amazing durability and there’ve been some fantastic covers of it (Telex‘s and Gábor Szabó’s come to mind). But as someone who watched The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour as a lad, I’ve had trouble taking Mr. Bono seriously. And I’m probably not alone.

However, sometime in the last decade, Sonny’s only solo album proper, Inner Views, came to my attention. Some people I respect called it a psychedelic shocker. When I finally tracked down a copy for a reasonable price, I wasn’t blown away, but I was pleasantly surprised. Opening track “I Just Sit There” starts full tilt with a sitar-tinged hypnolovewheel of psychedelia, nearly 13 minutes of Bono rambling lysergically, like a less erudite, less poetic Bob Dylan, while sounding Dylan-esque on the mic. Also, I would bet your drug money that Brian Jonestown Massacre listened to this mantric song on repeat in the ’90s. (Side note: I wish I could tell you who plays what on this record, but info is scant.)

Comparatively speaking, the next two songs are a comedown. With its “Eleanor Rigby” melodic similarities, “I Told My Girl To Go Away” is a frilly, orchestral psych-adjacent ballad that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Hollies LP of the time, while the morose orchestral ballad “I Would Marry You Today” foreshadows some of Spiritualized’s tenderer moments. Then, in a weird twist, “My Best Friend’s Girl Is Out Of Sight” has the swift, uplifting buoyancy of a Northern soul floor-filler. Damn, Sonny—didn’t know you had it in ya.

Album-closer “Pammie’s On A Bummer” comes off like when a hitmaker and his session musicians take the brown acid and just wing it. On a blind listen, it could very well be some Midwestern basement-dwellers on a private press label getting far out—not a burgeoning celebrity with platinum records on his wall. But then the song turns into a lachrymose folk dirge, as Sonny laments—sounding like Sky Saxon’s little brother—about a female drug addict whose life has gone awry. This was Bono’s attempt at Serious Art™ (I think), but dude just didn’t have the gravitas to pull it off. Kudos for trying, though.

Inner Views has been of print on vinyl since 1967, and the last CD reissue happened in 2005. Nevertheless, you can find cheap copies on Discogs. That being said, it would be cool if Light In The Attic, Numero Group, or somebody like that did a proper re-release with liner notes and everything. -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.

Truly “Fast Stories… From Kid Coma” (Capitol, 1995)

Being one of the best rock bands in Seattle in the ’90s wasn’t as lucrative for Truly as it was for some other Emerald City groups of the era. (How’s that for an understatement?) After a couple of promising EPs for Sub Pop, Truly jumped to a major label for their excellent 1995 debut LP, Fast Stories… From Kid Coma, just as grunge was fading from public consciousness and its potency was being watered down by non-Pacific Northwest epigones such as Stone Temple Pilots and Bush. Guitarist/vocalist Robert Roth, ex-Soundgarden bassist Hiro Yamamoto, and former Screaming Trees drummer Mark Pickerel deserved better, damn it.

A concept album about a comatose youth “reliving a past summer of grandeur,” the songs on Fast Stories have the uncanny aura of a dextromethorphan-induced dream. Like fellow Seattleites and contemporaries Love Battery, Truly showed an acute knack for heroic psych-rock guitar riffs and timbres and vocally, Roth’s feral snarl and melodious moan matched Kurt Cobain’s. Our dude Robert sings like he’s coming out of a nod with the realization that somone’s stolen his car on the exhilarating sludge rock of opener “Blue Flame Ford.” That leads into “Four Girls,” a convulsvie headbanger that alludes to Led Zeppelin’s “Four Sticks.” Yes, it deserves all of the double devil horns.

“If You Don’t Let It Die” is a huge, sweeping slab of space-dusted grunge that really transports you out of the quagmire of your mundane worries. If you want proof that Truly can do wistful power ballads better than Pearl Jam, check out “Hot Summer 1991,” with its melody redolent of nostalgia for a summer gone. Another highlight, “Virtually” is as majestic as Neil Young’s “Like A Hurricane” (is that a Mellotron adding profound poignancy in the background?), but with a gnarlier guitar attack and more stoned singing. “So Strange” is wonderfully ‘luuded out rock with Roth applying thick doses of flange on his languid riffs. Best of all may be “Leslie’s Coughing Up Blood.” As turbulent and cathartic as a vomiting fit, this rampaging rocker should’ve been a hit—or at least a cult fave on the magnitude of Mudhoney’s “Touch Me I’m Sick.” But, alas, no.

But there is some good news! Spain’s Bang! Records reissued Fast Stories in 2022 and Truly play the Seattle club Baba Yaga on March 6. Maybe they’ll have vinyl copies for sale there (Oops, the show’s sold out.) -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.

Roxy Music “Stranded” (Island, 1973)

Brian Eno’s favorite Roxy Music album, Stranded is the British prog-glam group’s first full-length without the wildcard synthesist. Perverse! But the great man has a point, even if I don’t totally agree with him; For Your Pleasure and Country Life vie for the top spot in my mind, altough the self-titled debut LP boasts the best three-song run on any Roxy record (“Re-make/Re-model,” “Ladytron,” “If There Is Something”). I hope to review Pleasure and Country Life at some point; we already tackled Roxy Music.

All that being said, Stranded features three of Roxy Music’s greatest songs—meaning that they’re among the greatest ever recorded: “Street Life,” “Amazona,” and “Mother Of Pearl.” This is also the first album on which Bryan Ferry didn’t write all of the songs; guitarist Phil Manzanera and saxophonist/oboist Andy Mackay contributed, too. In other news, violinist Eddie Jobson replaced Eno on synth duties, so while Roxy’s music lost some experimental unpredictability, it did gain a technically more adept player.

Let’s talk about those indisputable classics first. “Street Life”—which reached #9 on the British singles chart—rampages in the tradition of mercurial Roxy rockers such as “Do The Strand,” “Editions Of You,” and “Virginia Plain”; it’s a vivid encapsulation of the jittery excitement that hits when moving through a big city that’s bursting with possibilities. Many was the time that I’d play “Street Life” before heading out for a night on the town. Implanted in your brain, the song propels you through urbanscapes with extravagant confidence. Try it and see.

“Amazona” stands as one of Roxy’s towering peaks, benefiting from co-composer Manzanera’s prowess with Latin music modes. It’s also one of the group’s funkiest and sexiest songs, one I never tire of playing in DJ sets. Ferry’s expansive vocal range is on full display, shifting from ornery to über-romantic. Lushly layered, turbulent, and full of surprising dynamics, “Amazona” also stands out because of guest musician Johnny Gustafson’s squelchy bass line and its anomalous, quasi-reggae groove. “Mother Of Pearl” busts out of the gate with an exhilarating urgency, and then 80 seconds in it shifts into the suavest downtempo devotional, as Ferry sings poetically about his long, arduous search for the perfect woman. It’s one of the most dramatic change-ups in their catalog.

The album’s lesser songs have interesting elements, too. On “Just Like You,” Ferry falsettos over a pretty piano- and strings-heavy ballad, raising lilting melodiousness and yearning to high art. The eight-minute, gradually building gospel ballad “Psalm” seems like a sincere hymn to the righteousness of believing in Jesus. So if Ferry’s being facetious, then he’s a persuasive deceiver. Cowritten by Mackay, “A Song For Europe” possesses the momentous gravitas and sweeping drama of “While My Guitar Gently Sleeps.” “Serenade” is an understatedly ebullient tune and utterly elegant in that way Roxy Music could execute in their sleep. This talent was strictly a ’70s British thing. No American artist could pull this off—not even Sparks.

Stranded topped the UK albums chart and peaked at #186 on the US’s, which is as stark a portrait of the two regions’ aesthetic discrepancies as you’ll ever find. Sadly, we yanks sometimes were slow on the uptake. -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.

Frank Zappa “Apostrophe (‘)” (Discreet, 1974)

Cantankerous iconoclast Frank Zappa attained his commercial peak with Apostrophe (‘) , which landed at #10 in the albums chart and went Gold in 1976. It’s not hard to hear why. The first side was recorded during the sessions for 1973’s similarly catchy-song-oriented Over-Nite Sensation, while side two arose from various 1972 studio dates, except for “Excentrifugal Forz,” which dated back to the 1969 sessions that yielded Hot Rats, another beloved Zappa record.

The five songs that compose Apostrophe (‘)‘s side 1 form a suite of Zappa’s patented wise-guy, strained-humor rock, mixed with elements of prog, jazz, and doo-wop. In this vein, Frank’s voice tends to get on my nerves, but that’s always redeemed by his wonderfully wonky guitar solos and by Ruth Underwood’s amphetamined, twinkle-toes vibraphone runs. The spasmodic, madly accelerating prog rock of “Father O’Blivion” is probably the side’s highlight. But the laid-back boogie of “Cosmik Debris” boasts the most eloquent guitar solo. It helps that Zappa has a crack team behind him, including George Duke on keyboards, Don “Sugarcane” Harris and Jean-Luc Ponty on violin, Aynsley Dunbar on drums for “Uncle Remus” and “Stink-Foot,” Ruth Underwood on vibraphone and percussion, and Ian Underwood on sax.

Side 2 possesses the LP’s zenith, “Apostrophe’.” This track came out of a jam that featured the phenomenal session drummer Jim Gordon and Cream/Tony Williams Lifetime bassist Jack Bruce. Zappa said it was hard to play with Bruce because his style was “too busy. He doesn’t really want to play the bass in terms of root functions.” Whatever the case, the song’s one of Zappa’s greatest and funkiest creations and it’s blessedly vocal-free. It features Bruce unleashing one of rock’s most thickly fuzzed and deliciously serpentine bass lines, Gordon getting filthily funky on his kit, and Zappa soloing with insane dexterity. My eyes never fail to roll around their sockets like roulette balls when listening to this.

Besides this towering opus, “Excentrifugal Forz” launches into space courtesy of Duke’s sci-fi synth filigrees and Zappa’s scalding, Sonny Sharrock-like solo and the busy gospel rock of “Uncle Remus” (cowritten by Duke) is an anti-racism song in the tradition of Mothers Of Invention’s “Trouble Every Day.” The album ends with “Stink-Foot,” whose sleazy blues rock plagued by goofy lyrics is not exactly a lane in which I wish to spend much time. That being said, Zappa gets off a fantastic guitar solo that makes my synapses do the jerk.

All of which is to say, Apostrophe (‘) is probably the greatest album named after a punctuation mark. It’s hard not to feel possessive about it. If you need an entry point into Zappa’s dauntingly vast solo catalog, this might be the best one. -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 Stooges “Fun House” (Elektra, 1970)

In retrospect, it’s hard to believe that the Stooges’ first two albums—foundational documents for punk rock and heavy music, in general—were difficult to find in shops throughout the ’70s and ’80s. (Talk about “Not Right”…) For a long time, the only records by Michigan’s most influential rockers that stayed in print for extended periods were Raw Power and Metallic ‘KO. Great LPs, for sure, but to this longtime listener, the Stooges thrusted deepest on The Stooges and Fun House. While I love the former’s wah-wah-intensive attack, sleighbells, cavalcade of indomitable guitar riffs, and the intense dirge of “We Will Fall,” I find the latter to be Iggy Pop and company’s apex. What’s more, esteemed figures and serious record collectors such as Henry Rollins and Jack White rate Fun House as their favorite album of all time. I’m almost there right with them.

Among other things, Fun House (at least side one) ranks as one of the greatest soundtracks to sex. (Try it, you’ll see.) Produced by Don Gallucci, the seven-song album possesses no ballads, unless you want to count “Dirt.” Seven of the sleaziest and most lubricious minutes in rock history, this song proved that guitarist Ron Asheton and bassist Dave Alexander were truly gifted and nuanced players, not just purveyors of raw power (not to diminish that aspect of their repertoires). And there was a deceptive, slack funkiness in Scott Asheton’s beats; no wonder the Jungle Brothers sampled them. The lyrics suggest that Ig was coping with romantic rejection (“Oohh, I’ve been HURT/And I don’t care”), but he also displayed some of his most artful crooning.

No exaggeration, Fun House‘s first three songs form a trilogy of sonic violence and lustiness that could energize a superpower’s army. Inspired by Howlin’ Wolf’s vocals, Iggy kicks off “Down On The Street” with a grunt and a feral snarl, as guitarist Ron Asheton, bassist Dave Alexander, and drummer Scott Asheton create a tornado of primal rock heat. “Loose” is simply one of the filthiest songs in rock history. Covered by Australian wildmen the Birthday Party, “Loose” sounds like Fun House‘s cover looks: a fiery vortex radiating pure id. How can you listen to this and not feel impelled to fuck and fight? Speaking of which, “T.V. Eye” concludes the epochal triptych with more pile-driving libidinousness. “Ram it!” Iggy repeatedly shouts, telegraphing the song’s theme.

Side 2 roars into a whole other realm, one dominated Steve Mackay’s free-jazz sax exclamations. The epitome of rampaging rock, “1970” abounds with avalanching riffs, culminating in a peak of Dionysian rock. (Makes sense that the Damned covered it, retitling it “I Feel Alright.”) Count how many times Iggy growls “I feel all right!” because, after all, he’s out of his mind on a Saturday night. Mackay’s tenor-saxophone wails spur Iggy to extreme vocal expulsions, from which the singer likely never recovered. On the title track, Iggy still feels all right while Alexander pushes out his most pugilistic bass line and Mackay skronks, anticipating Contortions’ infernal churn by about nine years. This track stalks like a panther, coils like a motherfucker, and ratchets up the intensity till you’re ready for the loony bin. Album finale “L.A. Blues” may be the closest an American rock group has come to Albert Ayler’s free-jazz eruptions. Marvel as Mr. Osterberg screams beyond the end of his tether on this dome-cracking lease-breaker. This is how you end an album.

I can’t say that reviewing Fun House was the best idea right now, as my tinnitus has flared up into partial hearing loss. But fug it, I just read Jeff Gold’s Total Chaos: The Story Of The Stooges As Told By Iggy Pop (published by White’s Third Man Books), and inspiration took hold. So I took a ride with the pretty music. -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.

Robyn Hitchcock “Black Snake Diamond Röle” (Armageddon, 1981)

The debut solo album by the great English eccentric musician Robyn Hitchcock sounds like an extension of his Soft Boys output. No surprise, as the personnel on Black Snake Diamond Röle features three Soft Boys: drummer Morris Windsor, bassist Matthew Seligman, and guitarist Kimberley Rew. This has always been my fave solo Hitch LP, because it’s his most psychedelic record while also containing some of his most indelible melodies.

The opener, “The Man Who Invented Himself,” is almost a red herring. It’s an absurdly jaunty rocker that ranks as one of Hitchcock’s most ingratiating songs, but it stands in stark contrast to Black Snake‘s prevailing darkness. An oblique tribute to Syd Barrett that was allegedly inspired by the Monty Python song “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life,” “The Man Who Invented Himself” also recalls some of Paul McCartney and Nilsson‘s work and John Lennon‘s “Remember.” While it’s a crowd favorite, it’s the least interesting track here. Following that, “Brenda’s Iron Sledge” comes off like a paragon of sinister rock, spasming and slaloming swiftly in a minor key and boasting a killer earworm chorus. Continuing in the brooding, spazzy vein, “Do Policemen Sing?” vaguely recalls the Mother Of Invention’s “Who Are The Brain Police?” while also possessing the stalking quality of the coda from Television’s “Marquee Moon.” Rew’s guitar adds stingingly jangly texture to this gem.

My long-time favorite, “The Lizard,” is methodical, creepy psychedelia that oozes menace. Rew contributes aquatic guitar embellishments, while Seligman’s bass line triggers a resonant sense of doom. Shivers ensue. With Vibrators guitarist Knox adding adrenalized grit, “Meat” turns into an ideal specimen of energetic new wave. It should have been a hit—and I say that as a vegan. “Acid Bird” essentially sounds like an ’80s British “Eight Miles High,” with all the transcendent glory and brilliantly chiming guitar that that description implies. Another highlight is “I Watch The Cars,” which features Psychedelic Furs’ Vince Ely on drums. A staccato burner about witnessing automobiles zipping up and down the roads, the song’s a total gas, especially when Rew gets off his blazing guitar freakout.

The effusive, outward-bound rock of “Out Of The Picture” could’ve been another alternative-reality hit, with Knox again adding radiantly spangly guitar. Finally, with Mr. Thomas Dolby on keyboards, “Love” serves as the perfect valedictory closing song, a deeply tender and wistful tune with a great sense of space, enhanced by the massed backing “ah”s and lapping wave sounds.

(If you’re in Seattle on February 6, you can catch Robyn Hitchcock playing the Neptune Theatre. He shined brightly last time he came to town in 2023, and I suspect the man’s still got the goods.) -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.

John Lennon “Walls And Bridges” (Apple, 1974)

How did we reach 2026 with not a single review of a John Lennon album on this blog?! Time to remedy that oversight.

While all of the Beatles guitarist/vocalist’s solo joints are uneven, they all include some stunners that prove the flawed genius never totally rested on his substantial laurels. For me, Lennon’s fourth LP, Walls And Bridges, boasts the highest number of essential cuts, although nothing here surpasses “I Found Out” and “Working Class Hero” from his 1970 debut solo full-length, Plastic Ono Band. (I’ll get around to reviewing that someday, Jah willing.)

Walls And Bridges reflects Lennon’s mind state during his 18-month separation from Yoko Ono—colloquially referred to as his “Lost Weekend.” After John and Yoko decided to split, Lennon—with his wife’s blessing—moved to LA with Ono’s assistant, May Pang. During this time, he was boozing heavily and engaged in some tabloid-worthy shenanigans. Realizing that this chaos wasn’t conducive to producing quality recordings, Lennon and Pang returned to New York in the spring of 1974 and he began rehearsing new songs with some excellent musicians. They included the elite rhythm section of bassist Klaus Voormann and drummer Jim Keltner (Ringo must’ve been busy), Ken Ascher (keyboards, piano), Arthur Jenkins (percussion), Nicky Hopkins (piano), Jesse Ed Davis (guitar), and Eddie Mottau (acoustic guitar). John proceeded to write some of his most enduring and interesting tunes, making WAB a return to form after the mushy blahs of 1973’s Mind Games. Maybe estrangement from the love of his life was just the creative boost that the former Beatle needed.

WAB gets off to a brilliant start with “Going Down On Love,” highlighted by Jenkins’ seductive congas. The captivating intro leads into one of John’s slinkiest grooves (aided by Voormann’s fathoms-deep bass line), as John bemoans that he’s “drowning in a sea of hatred” while “something precious and rare/disappears in thin air/and it seems so unfair.” The only Lennon solo song to top the charts, “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” is so exuberant, horn-blasted, and desperate to vanquish sadness that it should’ve become Saturday Night Live‘s theme. I’m not a big saxophone-in-rock fan, but Bobby Keys’ tenor steals the show, and the whole thing—including guest Elton John’s piano—rollicks like a motherfucker.

Continuing in this vein, “What You Got” delivers exceptionally tough funk rock, with Lennon ruefully snarling while the band members party their ass off behind him; Jenkins’ metallic percussion taps particularly elevate the track. Lyrically, it sounds as if John’s expressing a (May) pang of regret over the Yoko hiatus. “It’s Saturday night I just gotta rip it up/Sunday morning, I just gotta give it up/come Monday, mama, I just gotta run away/you know it’s such a drag to face another day.” The near instrumental “Beef Jerky” starts like an enigmatic sci-fi-flick soundtrack, then swerves into thrusting, forward-thinking rock that foreshadows post-punk. Fun fact: One recurring guitar part recalls Paul McCartney And Wings’ “Let Me Roll It.”

A sequel of sorts to “How Do You Sleep?” from 1971’s Imagine, “Steel And Glass” is a slow-building magnum opus that blossoms into a tower of vengeful rock. Some allege that the song’s ire is directed at former Beatles manager Allen Klein, but Lennon said that that jagoff didn’t have an LA tan, as the lyrics state; so it’s more of a composite portrayal of assholes who’d wronged John. Good to know! Perhaps best of all is “#9 Dream,” a pinnacle of blissed-out, celestial rock. It sounds as if Lennon’s singing from the clouds that populated the Imagine LP cover, all of his angst dissipating in billowy strings and studio fairy dust. The jibberish lyrics in the chorus (“ah! böwakawa poussé poussé) came to Lennon in a dream, according to Pang’s autobiography, and they add a je ne sais quoi to the oneiric swirl of “#9 Dream.”

Peaking at #1 on the US albums chart, Walls And Bridges was Lennon’s last great album before his murder in 1980—a tragedy over which many (including your blogger) are still mourning. -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.

Black Merda “Black Merda” (Chess, 1970)

Jimi Hendrix disciples proliferated in the late ’60s and early ’70s—and understandably so. In the same time period, psychedelic soul and lysergic funk were also burgeoning, thanks to Funkadelic, Chambers Brothers, Sly & The Family Stone, Charles Stepney/Rotary Connection, and the Motown writing/production team of Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong, among others. The Detroit group Black Merda were right in the thick of that febrile activity, adding their own special sounds to the mix.

The members—Veesee L. Veasey (bass), Anthony Hawkins (lead guitar), Charles Hawkins (guitar), Tyrone Hite (drums); they all sang, too—got their start in the mid-’60s as session musicians who also played in the Soul Agents. They backed up luminaries such as Edwin Starr, Wilson Pickett, Joe Tex, the Temptations, and the Spinners. You can hear the Soul Agents on Starr’s towering hits “Twenty Five Miles” and “War” and on Fugi’s fantastic psych-funk jam “Mary Don’t Take Me On No Bad Trip.” In 1967, the Soul Agents also did the first Jimi Hendrix Experience cover: “Foxy Lady.” It smokes.

So, by the time Black Merda cut their first album in Chicago for Chess, they were tight as hell and hungry to put out something over which they had total creative control. However, if you thought that Black Merda was going to simply offer freaky rock and funk of the sort heard on the Chains And Black Exhaust and If There’s Hell Below… comps, you’d be wrong. “Think Of Me” is basically folk-blues played on acoustic guitar while “Windsong” peddles mellow, morose blues, like a less ominous “She’s So Heavy.” The contemplative psychedelic blues “Over And Over” could’ve fit well on Muddy Waters’ Electric Mud. “I Don’t Want To Die” is a mournful, tear-jerking ballad. The solid, melancholy rock of “That’s The Way It Goes” rolls a bit like Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s cover of “All Along The Watchtower.” The sweet, midtempo soul tune “Reality” sounds like a hit, but alas, it was a miss.

All of those tunes are fine, but Black Merda really excel when they get more out there. For example, the wah-wah-fueled, psych-rock slow-burner “Good Luck,” with its powerful unison singing, is as soulfully inspirational as anything on Funkadelic’s self-titled LP. The bruising rocker “Ashamed” castigates people who mistreat the less fortunate and ignore injustices, but makes it a righteous party jam. Even better is “Prophet,” hard-thrusting funk rock of great liberatory force, as epitomized by the refrain “Set me free, uh huh yeah.” Best of all is “Cynthy-Ruth,” which is simply one of the great psych-rock songs in history. The taut yet elastic rhythm and hypnotic, warped guitar riffing—plus excellent grunts, “whoa-oh-oh-whoa”s, and “boo-hoo”s—elevate this track to Hendrix-/Funkadelic-level genius. This song along is worth the price of admission.

Black Merda suffered from poor distribution due to management issues at Chess Records, and it didn’t initially garner the audience it deserved. However, the record’s become a cult favorite among funk/psych heads and has been reissued many times on vinyl over the last 30 years, most recently by the Russian label Lilith in 2020. -Buckley Mayfield

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

David Bowie “Aladdin Sane” (RCA Victor, 1973)

Aladdin Sane captures David Bowie after US superstardom hit with Ziggy Stardust and a couple of years before his glam-rock phase cross-faded into his soul-man infatuation on Young Americans. It reflects the madness induced by Bowie’s whirlwind success in America and the influence of American music on the chameleonic Englishman. While it’s an uneven album, Aladdin Sane does contain three of his greatest songs… plus a gaudy, unnecessary cover of the Rolling Stones’ 1967 rollicking proposition “Let’s Spend The Night Together,” which should’ve gone on Pinups.

After the opening “Watch That Man,” a standard-issue mid-’70s British glam boogie, Bowie and the Spiders From Mars band—Mick Ronson (guitar), Woody Woodmansey (drums), and Trevor Bolder (bass)—astonish with the title track, a golden anomaly in DB’s vast catalog. It begins like a suave, jazz-adjacent ballad, almost in a Steely Dan vein, but veers into more turbulent zones, as guest pianist Mike Garson soars into hall-of-fame realms with his mercurial, Cecil Taylor-esque improvisations. The song bears one of Bowie’s most sublime melodies and coolest vocal performances, while Bolder provides an über-hypnotic bass line. It’s still hard to believe that this complex avant-rocker received commercial-radio play. Seventies radio programmers, I salute you.

Apparently Mott The Hoople rejected “Drive-In Saturday,” even after scoring big with Bowie’s “All The Young Dudes.” That decision’s sort of understandable, as the logy, faux-doo-wop of “Drive-In Saturday” lacks the sparkle and swaying bonhomie of the previous Bowie offering with which Mott charted. This slight letdown is more than redeemed by “Panic In Detroit.” Bowie’s “Gimme Shelter,” it’s suffused in quasi-apocalyptic dread and aptly frazzled backing vox by Linda Lewis and Juanita “Honey” Franklin. Ronson’s guitar tone is chunky and irritable and Woodmansey’s drumming is appropriately ominous, as Bowie obliquely poeticizes about the Motor City riots of 1967, after Iggy Pop described them to him. Growing up in the Detroit area, I was lucky enough to hear radio DJs play it to death.

“Cracked Actor” increases the fun factor with its fuzzed-out glam rock that swaggers with more menace than T. Rex. Ronson’s guitar tone is crunchier than a vat full of Grape-Nuts. The baroque, drama-school rock of “Time” finds Bowie verging on Queen territory, with Ronson at his most Brian May-like. “Lady Grinning Soul” also gets arty, albeit with Garson filigreeing his ass off on piano. You can imagine Scott Walker or Tim Hardin crooning this morose song. One of the most immediately lovable songs in the rock canon, “The Jean Genie” is an ingenious, glam-stomp revamp of Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man” riff. I’ve heard “The Jean Genie” hundreds of times and somehow I’m still not sick of it. The refrain of “Let yourself goooo-ew-oh!” feels like the animating spirit of Aladdin Sane, one of Bowie’s more underrated efforts in a decade loaded with classics. -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.

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.