Rock

The Feelies “Only Life” (A&M, 1988)

The Feelies’ major-label debut found them with a slightly more in-your-face production, and, against conventional wisdom, they actually benefitted from it. Their previous album, 1986’s The Good Earth, though beautiful, sounds like it was recorded with moss-covered mics (R.E.M.’s Peter Buck co-produced).

Only Life, the New Jersey rock group’s third album, is a veritable guitar feast. Glenn Mercer and Bill Million deftly twine their electric and acoustic riffs around primal, mantric rock structures. These musicians don’t invent new guitar lexicons; rather, they create subtle dialects on the Velvet Underground’s ur language, which they “speak” as fluently as any band in the USA.

To be blunt, the Feelies display just two kinds of songs on Only Life: the pastoral, meditative chime, à la “Sweet Jane” (side one) and the accelerating chug à la “Foggy Notion” (side two), with occasional forays into whammy-barred spaciness. But within any given song there’s an omnipresent tension between those two styles. Only Life actually thrives on its sameness. As with the Wedding Present, the Feelies sound better as the tempo of their music increases. And they ingeniously sequenced Only Life so that each song gets subtly and progressively faster. Also worth noting: the high-velocity jangle train that is “Away” would segue well into Meat Puppets’ “Away” from Up On The Sun. Pure coincidence or…?

The Feelies’ music always has been devoid of raunch, even on their most manic LP, 1980’s Crazy Rhythms. There’s something monkish about their devotion to rock the VU way. They found what they do best and honed it to perfection on Only Life. Mercer’s affectless, Lou Reed-like voice heightens the sense of sexlessness on these 10 songs. It’s a comforting voice, a kindly whisper or humble exhortation imparting vague, clipped phrases such as “Got a ways to go/So much to know.” Paradoxically, his unexpressive voice profoundly moves you.

In a decision that’s very on-the-nose, the Feelies cover “What Goes On” (one of my favorite songs ever) with blinding speed, but unfortunately add little to the Velvets’ original. Well, who could, really? But it made Lou richer, and that’s what really counts.

Ultimately, the music on Only Life is a romp through the grassy hills of childhood and an urgent shuffle through the subway stations of adulthood. It stands as one of the greatest rock records of the ’80s. (Bar/None did the last vinyl reissue of Only Life in 2016. It’s time for another 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.

Scientists “Blood Red River” (Au Go Go, 1983)

Considered by some to be harbingers of grunge and by others as goth, Scientists always struck me more as Australia’s Stooges. Now, that remote country has fostered many bands with Iggy & company’s DNA, but nobody outside of Birthday Party captured the Stooges’ menacing, seething quality with as much pizzazz as Scientists.

Led by vocalist/guitarist Kim Salmon, Scientists released a self-titled debut album in 1981 whose bubbly power-pop/punk songs didn’t hint at the brooding heaviness that animates their 1983 mini-album, Blood Red River. To these ears, they sounded like lightweight also-rans on that first LP. In retrospect, it makes sense that soon after The Scientists was released, two members left to join the Hoodoo Gurus. Bringing in drummer Brett Rixon, bassist Boris Sujdovic, and guitarist Tony Thewlis had a salubrious effect, as Scientists transformed into a very different and much ornerier beast.

“When Fate Deals Its Mortal Blow” stands as one of the greatest openings to a record ever. Salmon sneers a revenge tale like Lux Interior’s meaner, Down Under Döppleganger while the guitars squeeze out radiated sparks and the rhythm section metronomically marches down a muddy trench with grim certitude. Swagger overload right out of the gate! “Burnout” motors down the garbage-strewn alley with a brutal grunt of a bass line, staccato, pugilistic beats, and guitars like zipping wasps. The song eventually accelerates into a thuggish yet disciplined freakout.

“The Spin” starts exactly like Birthday Party’s sinister blues-rock churn “King Ink,” making it one of the least-surprising moments on Blood Red River. Following in BP singer Nick Cave’s footsteps, Salmon gets off a pitch-perfect, feral Iggy howl. “Rev Head” foreshadows British heavy psychonauts Loop, with some maniacal, Suicide-like repetition (hence the Martin Rev-referencing title) and Alan Vega-esque shouts thrown in for good measure.

One of the coolest songs of the ’80s, “Set It On Fire” forces your mouth agape with jaw-harp-enhanced Stooge-adelia, powered by a thrusting, lascivious bass line, plus well-timed, Jimi Hendrix-meets-Andy Gill guitar explosions. The title track ends the record with sparse, menacing blues rock that, if you saw it stalking toward you, you’d cross the street to avoid it.

Scientists would get trashier and thrashier on 1986’s Weird Love, but for my money, they decisively peaked on the short yet potent Blood Red River. (In 2015, Numero Group reissued Blood Red River. That’s probably the easiest and most cost-effective way to obtain 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.

The Isleys “Brother, Brother, Brother” (T-Neck, 1972)

You really can’t go wrong with any ’60s or ’70s Isleys album. Their long-term quality control has been impressive, especially for a group that’s charted with regularity. With bros Ernie (guitars), Marvin (bass, percussion), and Ronald (vocals) in peak form and brother-in-law Chris Jasper contributing crucial piano and tambourine embellishments, Brother, Brother, Brother was truly a family affair. I bet Sly Stone was a fan.

This is the album where the Isleys’ love of pop singer/songwriter Carole King really blossomed. Even if you’re not a King aficionado, though, you gotta appreciate what the Isleys do with her tunes. The opening “Brother, Brother” is a tender King ballad elevated by Ronald’s sublimely smooth and warm vocal timbre. I’m not a big fan of ballads by soul/funk artists, but the Isleys were, uh, kings in this realm, up there with Al Green and Bill Withers. King and Toni Stern’s “Sweet Seasons” is ambling, congenial commercial R&B that smoothly segues into “Keep On Walkin’,” whose chugging soul rock is marked by Ernie’s unimpeachably funky guitar riffing and Truman Thomas’ Deep Purple/”Hush”-evoking organ.

On “Pop That Thang,” the Isleys return to the squirming, über-funky sound in the vein of the instantly infectious and oft-covered “It’s Your Thing.” “Lay Away” offers yet another variation on that slow, rutting funk groove. It’s pure fucking music, but this time the lyrics conflate love with consumerism. Who knew the Isleys were so cynical? The most popular cut on streaming services, “Work To Do” was my anthem when I worked at a certain Seattle alt-weekly, because of my onerous deadlines, you see. Man, this song resonates. It doesn’t hurt that the rolling, laid-back groove counters the lyrics’ hyper-responsible message—a very satisfying paradox. Plus, it features one of Ron’s most moving vocal performances—which is saying a lot.

On “It’s Too Late,” the Isleys slow this 1971 Carole King smash hit—not unlike what Isaac Hayes did with “By The Time I Get To Phoenix”—and elongate it to 10:31 while infusing it with so much soul, Ms. King had to admit that the brothers had outshone her. Rumors that she dabbed her eyes with her massive royalty statements could not be confirmed at press time. The album ends with “Love Put Me On The Corner,” a ponderous yet poignant ballad with Thomas’ organ carrying much of the churchy weight. I would’ve sequenced the album to end with “It’s Too Late,” but what do I know? I’m just a lowly blogger.

The good thing about these vintage Isleys albums—besides all of the fantastic soul and funk gems filling them, of course—is that they’re pretty easy to find and relatively inexpensive. -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.

Karuna Khyal “Alomoni 1985” (Voice, 1974)

The Nurse With Wound List—which appeared in the UK avant-garde group’s 1979 debut album—opened many minds to a lot of amazing, weird music. Of the nearly 300 artists whom NWW acknowledged as influences on their music, Japan’s Karuna Khyal (and its brother band, Brast Burn) remain perhaps the most mysterious.

But you know what? The dearth of information regarding these phenomenal bands only enhances the listening experience. These bizarre aural documents—Karuna Khyal’s Alomoni 1985 and Brast Burn’s Debon—seemingly manifested magically. Their creator, one Takahashi Yoshihiro, apparently had no interest in claiming ownership or reaping whatever rewards would come from these bafflingly unique masterpieces. And that’s beautiful.

Consisting of two sidelong tracks that total 48 minutes of mind-boggling music, Alomoni 1985 sounds as if it were improvised under the influence of potent hallucinogens… in a remote cave. One may hear a slight connection to fellow Japanese psychonauts Taj-Mahal Travellers, but Karuna Khyal are a much stranger proposition. Like the Travellers, KK occasionally veer into eerie-drone territory, but more often they’re twisting rock and experimental music into unprecedented shapes.

Alomoni 1985 begins with a lurching beat and a wonderfully warped string instrument snarling a mutant blues riff, as the singer chants as if spellbound. A harmonica mirrors that fantastic riff while the heavy, burdened beat continues to trudge. An abrupt transition into a sinister chug follows, almost Chrome-like in its machine-mantra motion, but more organic than those Bay Area industrial-psych madmen ever sounded. Things get very intense and abrasive, and I can imagine a lot of listeners bowing out here.

There’s a stretch in the first track that comes off like Captain Beefheart & The Magic Band covering Can‘s “Yoo Doo Right” while being sucked into a vortex—and this is the album’s most accessible passage! The singer definitely has that gravelly Don Van Vliet timbre, but his language will be indecipherable to most Western ears. (“Kwannik kwannik kwannick TOOLAAAHHH,” eh? Can I get an “amen”?) Some studio black magic eventually turns the voice into nightmarish hall-of-mirrors murmur. It’s too much, man.

The second track starts with some of diabolically scary wind noises, insistent kick drums, and more enigmatic muttering and bellowing. What the hell is happening? I’m not sure, but the oddly angled, chunky proto-techno action foreshadows American weirdos Black Dice by about 30 years. The track gradually morphs into a disturbing marching-band/arcane-ritual procession that takes the Mothers Of Invention’s “Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet” to the next dimension. Karuna Khyal—whoever they were—proved themselves to be operating on a whole other level of genius.

What few original copies of Alomoni 1985 exist on the second-hand market go for hundreds of dollars. Your best chance of obtaining the vinyl for a reasonable price is Phoenix Records’ unofficial 2012 reissue (which Discogs has banned). Or you could search for Paradigm Discs’ 1998 CD. Finally, if desperate to hear the album, you can stream it. But wear good headphones for optimal brain-bonking. -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.

Bob Seger System “Noah” (Capitol, 1969)

The follow-up to Bob Seger System’s classic 1968 debut LP, Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man, Noah is yet another early Seger album that its creator would rather you forget. You won’t find Noah on streaming services nor on CD, and vinyl copies are scarce in the wild. Like Kraftwerk, Bob is not the best judge of his music’s worth. So it is up to his fans and critics to save their scorned, great work from oblivion.

One likely reason Seger has banished Noah to the memory hole is that six of the album’s 10 songs don’t even bear his writing. Guitarist/vocalist Tom Neme basically became the co-leader of the System, and that understandably didn’t sit well with Robert.

Neme’s quality control veered wildly on Noah, but when he was good, he was really good. Take “Lonely Man,” for example. A soulful ballad with deceptive funk in its trunk, the song sounds like the blueprint for Ethan Miller’s Howlin Rain band. This tune really wrings you dry. Funny how one of the greatest Seger songs wasn’t even written by Bob, although he sings his damn ass off for Mr. Neme. Another Neme highlight is “Jumpin’ Humpin’ Hip Hypocrite,” on which he sings in an action-packed, tom-tom-heavy rocker that jams out into bruising psychedelic realms.

But Neme’s “Follow The Children” enters jaunty sunshine-pop song territory, which is not at all Seger’s forte. The vague, feel-good refrain “the reason for living is just to be free” is a beautiful thought, although “freedom” is variable and subjective, right? Similarly, the title track is an uncharacteristically cheerful pop song augmented by Bob Schultz’s sax that departs from that rugged BSS garage-rock template true heads love. Heck, they even let bassist Dan Honaker sing one song (the undistinguished “Lennie Johnson”).

Seger returns to his strengths with “Innervenus Eyes,” one of the toughest garage-rockers in the BSS canon, with intensely whorling and stabbing organ parts, Can-like bass pulsations, and our Bob singing like a man trying to shake off demons. “Death Row”—a classic garage-rock brooder left over from the Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man sessions and originally released as the B-side to “2 + 2 = ?”—closes Noah on a dark, bright note.

But the real shocker here is “Cat,” the most OUT song in Seger’s catalog: he channels Can’s Malcolm Mooney on this crazed duel with Pep Perrine’s drums, cowbell, and maracas. Sure, this strange anomaly has always alienated the folks who swarm to Bob’s post-Beautiful Loser amphitheater shows (assuming they even heard it), but fug those normies. “Cat” is the feral stuff that Seger quickly abandoned, but I’d rather hear this six-minute primal workout on repeat than listen to 10 seconds of “Old Time Rock & Roll.”

Maybe after Seger passes, Jack White or another superfan will get Noah reissued. Until then, prepare to shell out big bucks for this erratic nugget. -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 Ventures “Underground Fire” (Liberty, 1969)

There’s no way most mortals have heard all of the Ventures‘ 250-plus albums. Nor, it is fairly certain, are all of the Ventures’ album worth hearing. Even the band members would admit that many of them were hastily pumped out to capitalize on trends. The Ventures were blessed—or cursed—with the ability to play nearly every style of music with verve and ingenuity. And they and/or their labels seemingly possessed an urgent need for money. So, the Ventures’ discography from their ’60s/’70s peak looks like a precursor to Guided By Voices’, for sheer prolificness.

Now, with regard to this surf-rock institution founded in Tacoma, Washington, I’m a shameful dabbler. But of the tiny fraction of LPs by them that I’ve heard, Underground Fire stands out. As most mortals know, Ventures’ albums consist mostly of covers of popular tunes from whatever period they were released. And they often have a marketable theme—or gimmick, if you want to be less charitable.

By contrast, Underground Fire can pretty much stand alone as a creative milestone for the Ventures. Side one’s all originals; side two’s all covers of some heavy, late-’60s hits that you know and probably love. But the group prove they’re much more than master replicators of popular idioms; these cats can also write some memorable instrumentals, when they set their minds to it.

The title track kicks off the album like the Yardbirds exorcising some blues-rock demons. New lead guitarist Gerry McGee apparently thought that surf rock had runs its course, and the rest of the band acquiesced with his more scathing vision. “Embers In E Minor” is cool, driving rock that has the air of hip British library music of the time. Were the Ventures secret KPM Records fans? One hopes so. Possibly the funkiest song in the Ventures’ discography, “Sea Of Grass” finds bassist Bob Bogle and drummer Mel Taylor really upping their game here. This may be blasphemous hyperbole, but I’d put “Sea Of Grass” in a DJ set with the hardest-grooving cuts by Booker T. & The M.G.s and the Meters.

In “Higher Than Thou,” Bogle’s bass line is a monster of minimalist propulsion while McGee’s guitar leads are greasy blues-rock lightning. It’s a serious party jam that may help you reach its titular state. With its on-the-nose title, “Country Funk And The Canned Head” is, you guessed it, a Canned Heat homage, as well as proto-ZZ Top boogie. (By the way, Mel Taylor was Canned Heat bassist Larry’s brother.)

Underground Fire‘s cover songs are as familiar to most seasoned listeners as the fingers on their record-flipping hand. On “Born To Be Wild,” the Ventures lean in to this Steppenwolf biker-rock staple like their paychecks depended on it. No vocals necessary when you have such slashing guitar interplay and an urgently punchy rhythm section. As for “Sunshine Of Your Love,” folks of a certain age don’t really need to hear this Cream classic in 2024. But if we must, the Ventures’ vicious, funked-up version is the way to go.

There’s also a respectful rendition of “The Weight,” but we only need the Band’s, to be brutally honest. The Ventures’ “Light My Fire” stands as a great contribution to the canon, if you dislike Jim Morrison’s vocal presence. And, if I may conjecture, John Durrill’s rococo keyboard excursions probably impressed Ray Manzarek. The same concept applies to “Down On Me,” except if Janis Joplin’s voice somehow gets on your nerves. McGee tears off fluid, searing leads—just a commanding performance. The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown nugget “Fire” blazes brightly and maintains the album’s theme with panache.

Underground Fire hasn’t been reissued on vinyl in the US in 55 years. Regardless, you should be able to find copies fairly easily and cheaply. I scored mine a few years ago in an Oak Park, Michigan shop for $2.99. -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.

Traffic Sound “Virgin” (MaG, 1970)

I first encountered Traffic Sound in the ’80s, at a time when very few records by Peruvian rock bands infiltrated North American stores. We had access to many Brazilian releases back then, but Peru? Our ignorant, pre-internet asses didn’t even know that that South American country harbored a rock scene. But Traffic Sound were the real deal, and they broke through to receptive heads, becoming many listeners’ introduction to Peru’s rich rock landscape.

Traffic Sound only released four albums, but their second one, Virgin (following a covers-heavy debut indebted to artists such as Hendrix, Cream, and Animals), is both their most popular LP and their creative peak. The band consisted of Jean-Pierre Magnet (sax), Willy Barclay (lead guitar), Manuel Sanguinetti (vocals), Lucho Nevares (drums), Willy Thorne (bass), and Freddy Rizo Patrón (rhythm guitar). Their chemistry was magical.

The acoustic-guitar-fueled title track kicks off the album with widescreen, heroic rock marked by Sanguinetti’s passionate vocals, sung in English—another factor that helped Traffic Sound make inroads into the Anglo-American market. “Tell The World I’m Alive” channels the quasi-maudlin vibe of some of Aphrodite’s Child’s ultra-sincere ballads.

Virgin really takes off, though, with “Yellow Sea Days (March 7th; March 8th; March 9th),” a three-part suite that’s one of Traffic Sound’s towering achievements. It starts in laid-back loping mode, blissed out to the max with spangling acoustic guitar, burbling hand percussion, and distant golden sax mellowness. The second section coils into a predatory groove laced with a fried, descending electric-guitar riff that would make Jeff Beck accidentally swallow his plectrum. The third part gently ascends into a psychedelic reverie as heavenly as anything by Relatively Clean Rivers or Friendsound. In a different but no less sublime vein, “Jews Caboose” is a slice of fuzzed-out, funky, Latin psych-rock that’s heavier than anything Santana and their ilk did. Pure heat.

Virgin peaks with “Meshkalina,” which is by far the most streamed track from this album on $p0t1fy. This song warns about the sinister powers of mescaline, which may make you all the more want to partake. The “yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah YEAH YEAH” refrain permanently scars your brain—but in a good way. Sanguinetti sings, “We were having fun, even though we were dying/Let me die, Meshkalina.” Yikes. As urgent and harrowing as a trip to the ER in a foreign country, “Meshkalina” ranks as one of the greatest drug songs ever. High praise, indeed. (Pun intended.) The aptly titled “Last Song” ends Virgin with a delicate, fluid acoustic-guitar instrumental—quite a contrast to the turbulent “Meshkalina.”

In 2024, the Spanish label Munster reissued Virgin with a photo-laden booklet that includes detailed liner notes. Act quickly. -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.

Screaming Trees “Even If And Especially When” (SST, 1987)

The peak album from Ellensburg, Washington’s finest, Even If And Especially When stands as one of the greatest psych-rock releases of the 1980s. And it holds up today; hell, I just played “Don’t Look Down” in a DJ gig a few days ago night, and it sounded great seguing out of Jimi Hendrix Experience’s “Little Miss Strange.” (Its 1988 follow-up, Invisible Lantern, was almost as sublime. The Trees were on fire in the ’80s.)

Produced by the great Steve Fisk and Screaming Trees, Even If abounds with indelible melodies played with nuanced attention to the details of 1960s psychedelic rock. True, there’s a sense of wheel reinvention here, but it’s done so exquisitely that it matters not. Early on in the Trees’ career, Mark Lanegan (who died in 2022 at age 57) mastered the melismatic singing style that signifies mental transport to other realms. And so many of his lyrics dealt with the perception of traveling to destinations unknown and/or unexpected, e.g., “Yeah, I’ve gone so many places/That I don’t know where I’m at” from “Cold Rain.” Confusion is sex, to quote Sonic Youth, another SST band.

Even If opens with “Transfiguration,” a boisterous mission statement of ’60s psychedelia that’s devoid of kitsch and replete with liberating fervor. The Trees are telling you straightaway to strap in, because we’re blasting off at full speed with no guard rails… and lids will be flipped. “Straight Out To Any Place” continues the torrid pace established on the previous song. Lanegan convincingly sells the opening verses: “I’m burning baby, catch on fire with me/There’s some ghosts in my head/And they’re chasing me through my dreams.” On “World Painted,” the Trees perfected that swirling-miasma-of-wonder mode, before “Don’t Look Down” puts pedal to the metal in a gush of drug-trip-recounting exhilaration (“I get the strangest feeling/Jump up, become the ceiling”).

If you want to hear magical reenactments of the grooviest ’60s psychsploitation cuts imaginable, check out “Girl Behind The Mask” and “You Know Where It’s At.” The midtempo psych saunter of “Cold Rain” boasts an incredible swagger, with Mark Pickerel’s beats possessing an oddly danceable hitch in their stride, while brothers Gary Lee and Van Conner slay on guitar and bass, respectively. It’s been my favorite song on Even If since the album came out 37 years ago. “In The Forest”—which recalls the most exciting aspects of groups such as the Litter and Count Five—is a fantastic climax to a record that revitalizes the hell out of psychedelia’s familiar tropes. This addictive album can withstand repeat listens, with no ill side effects.

Although I haven’t seen it myself, a vinyl reissue of Even If reportedly has surfaced this month from the notoriously frustrating SST label, whose owner, Greg Ginn, typically has been lax to keep its most desirable titles in print. So, affordable copies may be circulating. Good luck. -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.

Tony Joe White “Tony Joe” (Monument, 1970)

The late Tony Joe White should’ve been at least 75% as popular as Elvis Presley. He had the deep, sexy voice, the knack for telling vivid stories in songs set in his Louisiana swampland youth, the tight guitar playing, a sly sense of humor, and the rugged good looks. TJW was the whole package, and he was more versatile than Elvis (who charted with White’s own biggest hit, “Polk Salad Annie”). So while Tony had some commercial success (the aforementioned hit in the last sentence and “Rainy Night In Georgia”) and wrote a couple more blockbusters for Tina Turner ca. 1989, he didn’t come close to the fame and fortune of his fellow Southern stud. Life ain’t fair, etc.

TJW’s first five albums from 1969-1972 are all great and representative of his prodigious sangin’ [sic], songwriting, and guitar-pickin’ skills. I could’ve written about any of them, but I chose his third LP, Tony Joe, because I dig the poncho Tony’s wearing on the back cover and the horse he’s riding looks cool. I also picked Tony Joe because it starts with one of White’s toughest tracks, “Stud Spider,” which Light In The Attic Records placed on the first comp of its essential Country Funk series. In conjunction with Muscle Shoals hotshots Norbert Putnam (bass), David Briggs (organ), and other session-musician ringers hanging around Nashville studios at the time, White weaves a lustful tale of love via the metaphor of spider behavior while he and the boys erect a slow-burning funk edifice to accentuate the lyrics’ drama. Kanye West and Common have sampled Jerry Corrigan’s drums from this one, and it’s surprising more hip-hop producers haven’t.

Further excursions in grooviness occur with “Save Your Sugar For Me,” a paragon of country-funk accessibility, with White’s trademark libidinousness leading the way and female backing vocalists (uncredited, unfortunately) adding that titular sweetness. With natural gusto and grunting lasciviousness, Tony embodies the Southern-fried braggadocio of Otis Redding’s “Hard To Handle.” Clearly, TJW was born to perform this soulful crotch-scorcher. “What Does It Take (To Win Your Love)” (previously done by Jr. Walker & The All Stars) reveals White’s tender side with mellifluous harmonica playing and a confidential singing tone.

Another highlight occurs on “Conjure Woman,” an ominous pounder about a swamp-dwelling witch whom the narrator feared would put a spell on him. The album’s low point is Donnie Fritts/Spooner Oldham’s “My Friend,” a string-heavy ballad that unfortunately tumbles into the maudlin column. White’s better when he straps on the acoustic for some minimalist blues, as he does with “Stockholm Blues” and “Widow Wimberly.” Speaking of blues, White really rises to the occasion with his take on John Lee Hooker’s lean, menacing 1962 original of “Boom Boom.” He lays on the hambone-tough-guy persona thickly while playing mean harmonica and subtly savage electric guitar over the top of the classic’s pitiless lope. This version’s nearly eight minutes long, and it’s all gripping. Ain’t no way Elvis could do it better… -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.

Sadistic Mika Band “Sadistic Mika Band” (Doughnut/Harvest, 1973)

Led by the wife/husband team of vocalist Mika and guitarist/composer Kazuhiko Katō, Sadistic Mika Band released three very good albums in the ’70s (this one, Black Ship, Hot! Menu) that peddled an over-the-top strain of glam rock, with surprising undercurrents of funk. That funk mainly came from bassist Rey Ohara and drummer Yukihiro Takahashi, the latter of whom later played with electro-pop legends Yellow Magic Orchestra.

Sadistic Mika Band often have been called the Roxy Music of Japan, and for good reason: their chops and production values were impeccable and their songwriting teemed with invention and personality. While SMB presented as goofier than Bryan Ferry and company and didn’t attain the popularity of their British counterparts, they did open for them on the UK leg of their 1975 Siren Tour and accrued a fervent cult status among collectors.

This album bursts into vivid life with “Dance Is Over,” full-on glam with flashbacks to ’50s rock & roll, as was common in the first half of the ’70s. Being Japanese musicians, though, SMB imbue the homage with a flamboyant excessiveness and surplus adrenaline. Now that they have our attention, SMB deliver the killer funk bomb that is “Silver Child.” Mika giggles, gasps, screams, and belts over a fathoms-deep groove and absurdly oscillating wah-wah guitar pyrotechnics. The song makes Parliament-Funkadelic at their most extravagant sound buttoned up. Drop “Silver Child” in a DJ set and watch the floor explode.

Nothing else on Sadistic Mika Band quite matches that peak, but a few inspirational flashes occur. “Galaxy Way” offers truly odd tropical funk with marimba and synth while “Milky Way”‘s pseudo-reggae rock foreshadows Patti Smith Group’s “Redondo Beach,” and is accidentally funky, to boot. “Picnic Boogie” is at once a parody of American rock and doo-wop and an apotheosis of it. Mika’s charming sassiness here makes one wonder why she didn’t get more time on the mic for this record. “Arienu Republic” is peak freewheeling glam that would make Marc Bolan, David Bowie, and Gary Glitter stomp their hands and clap their feet. Have Asian musicians ever sounded more British, even while singing in Japanese? Doubtful.

A few songs on Sadistic Mika Band tilt too heavily into sentimental-ballad territory for my taste, but they’re executed with serious panache. This was a common trait in Far East Asian pop music of the mid 20th century and it has its devotees, but maudlin singing has always disagreed with me. Hearing how much sheer glee went into SMB’s music, you can’t help feeling shocked that the band’s catalyst, Kazuhiko Katō, hanged himself in 2009.

Sadistic Mika Band has been oop on vinyl since 1975, though Universal Music Japan re-released it in on CD in 2018. Suffice it to say, a major reissue campaign for SMB’s ’70s LPs is overdue. -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.

Eugene McDaniels “Outlaw” (Atlantic, 1970)

Eugene McDaniels’ outré political-protest-album era was short, but yielded two classics: 1970’s Outlaw and 1971’s Headless Heroes Of The Apocalypse. These records deviated from his previous output as a relatively conventional R&B singer, becoming treasure troves of samples for hip-hop producers and earning love from counter-culture types, too. His rabble-rousing 1969 anthem “Compared To What” was turned into a hit by Les McCann and Eddie Harris, and it somewhat foreshadowed Outlaw. By 1975, though, McDaniels was in full-on loverman mode with Natural Juices. While Headless Heroes has been sampled more and garnered more critical accolades, Outlaw is just as powerful an artistic statement.

To achieve this lofty work, McDaniels enlisted elite session players Ron Carter (bass), Hugh McCracken (guitar), Eric Weissberg (guitar), Ray Lucas (drums), and Buck Clarke (percussion), plus musical director Williams S. Fischer. This team served as exceptional facilitators of soulful, rock-oriented ballads and occasional forays into funk and gospel. Eugene threaded the needle with songs that double as fascinating character studies and trenchant sociopolitical commentary.

“Outlaw” portrays rebellious women who don’t wear bras nor fry their hair, but rather live with nature and not with the law. Surprisingly, “Outlaw” sounds like one of those elegantly stumbling, blues-rock gems from the Rolling Stones’ Beggars Banquet. “Sagittarius Red” offers more Stones-like balladry, flaunting McDaniels’ vast range and emotional depth as a singer, a rich combo of soulfulness and rock bravado.

“Welfare City” is an absolutely joyous ode to flouting convention, hanging out with the kids in Washington Park, and smoking joints. It’s powered by a total earworm of a melody that moves in huge, sugary loops and possesses some of the most infectious “yeah yeah yeah”s and “la la la”s. The gospel intro of “Silent Majority” gives way to a lean, staunch protest song that gathers strength with each passing bar. The guitar interplay between McCracken and Weissberg glints and coils with glorious tension in a tune that’s a perfect merger of Shuggie Otis and Phil Ochs. The song segues seamlessly into “Love Letter To America,” a devastating condemnation of the USA. “Hey, America, you could’ve been a real democracy/You could’ve been free/You could have had me for your friend and not your enemy/The only thing you can respect is violence now/You lost the gift of love, don’t ask me how.” McDaniels renders this brilliant concept with tough tenderness.

In “Unspoken Dreams Of Light,” McDaniels loquaciously castigates the genocide of indigenous peoples (called “Indians,” in the parlance of the time) to a backing in which heartfelt balladry and incisive jazz-funk alternate. It’s a fantastic roller-coaster ride. With its über-funky opening drum break, “Cherrystones” unspools into a low-lit, laid-back charmer in which McDaniels sarcastically lambastes greedy, apolitical assholes. Reminiscent of the sidewinding seductiveness of the Rolling Stones’ “Stray Cat Blues,” “Reverend Lee” relates a tale about a clergyman who succumbs to the fleshly temptations of “Satan’s daughter.” The album closes with “Black Boy,” a trembling ballad in which McDaniels shows the rare ability to simultaneously project vulnerability and strength.

On the record’s back cover, McDaniels wrote, “under conditions of national emergency, like now, there are only two kinds of people—those who work for freedom and those who do not… the good guys vs. the bad guys.” Evergreen truth. -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 Doors “Waiting For The Sun” (Elektra, 1968)

Waiting For The Sun is the Goats Head Soup of the Doors’ catalog. It followed their two most beloved albums—The Doors and Strange Days—and was considered a letdown by most critics and fans upon its 1968 release. Nevertheless, it reached the top of Billboard‘s LP chart. But, as with Goats Head Soup (which had the difficult task of following Sticky Fingers and Exile On Main St.), time has been kind to Waiting For The Sun. Over the decades, the deep tracks on both records have risen in esteem and they’ve proved to be some of the best work by both groups. (Read our review of Goats Head Soup here.)

You can’t say that Waiting For The Sun lacks range. This album contains “Love Street”‘s feathery, filigreed, and quaint romantic pop that threatens to float right off the grooves and “Five To One,” perhaps the toughest and most ominous Doors song—which is saying something in a catalog that boasts “The End” and “Horse Latitudes.” Hip-hop stars J Dilla and Jay-Z and Plunderphonics prankster John Oswald all sampled “Five To One,” which provides a helluva climax for Waiting For The Sun.

Waiting For The Sun also possesses the Robby Krieger-dominated “Spanish Caravan,” in which the guitarist flexes his considerable flamenco chops. The melody eventually gets as convoluted and bombastic as anything ELP or Yes would do a few years later. Then you have “My Wild Love,” which is constructed like a work song, with backing chants, claps, and stomps. Like it or not, there were very few tracks that sounded like this on rock records of the time—especially on those released by major labels.

You got “Yes, The River Knows,” an intimate jazz-pop beauty, not unlike Tim Buckley ca. Blue Afternoon. and also the relentless earworm of big hit “Hello, I Love You.” Bizarrely, the Doors may have unknowingly blueprinted a strain of synth-pop on “Hello, I Love You,” with its sassy automaton shuffle. Yes, the rhythm resembles that of the Kinks’ “All Day And All Of The Night,” but Manzarek’s keyboard drives it instead of distorted guitars and it’s stiffer in the joints, and that makes all the difference. This development was concurrent with Silver Apples’ first LP, which also foreshadowed synth-pop, but in a more blatant manner. “Hello, I Love You” also possess the coolest sound on any Doors record—those three seconds of futuristic, spaced-dusted keyboard wizardry at 1:16.

I have a fondness for the maligned “Summer’s Almost Gone,” because of how it foreshadows Opal‘s “Happy Nightmare Baby.” A swaying, wistful ballad about romantic doubt and confusion, “Summer’s Almost Gone” features Krieger’s bottleneck-guitar sighs sailing over Manzarek’s Ramsey Lewis-esque keyboard curlicues. Less successful is “Wintertime Love”‘s baroque, waltz-time puffery that’s somewhat similar to Love’s “Stepanie Knows Who,” but with much less thrust and excitement.

If you dig sophisticated, multi-part anti-war tunes, “The Unknown Soldier”—which peaked at #39 with a bullet—is the bomb. “Not To Touch The Earth” stands as one of the Doors’ eeriest, most suspenseful, and psychedelic tracks. Krieger forges a mesmerizing guitar motif while Manzarek creates a proto-Suicide throb that intensifies throughout the song. Despite reports of him being a drunken mess for these sessions, Jim Morrison roars at his most portentous and croons at his most suave. The coda is almost as nerve-shattering as that of King Crimson’s “21st Century Schizoid Man.” When people diss the Doors, I like to counter with “But have you heard ‘Not To Touch The Earth'”? If that doesn’t convince ’em of the Doors’ worth, nothing probably will.

I get it: some listeners have trouble with Morrison’s try-hard “poetic” lyrics and self-serious demeanor. But I filter out most of that noise and enjoy Mr. Mojo Risin strictly as a disruptive performance artist who’s competing for attention with the exceptional music behind him. More often than not, Jimbo rises to the occasion and—bonus!—sometimes delivers unintentional humor. -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.