Jive Time Turntable

Crabby Appleton “Crabby Appleton” (1970)

With a lot of obscure rock bands from the ’60s and ’70s you might be able to pinpoint that one ingredient the band may have been missing in order to grab hold of a large audience or get radio play. With Crabby Appleton, any listener should be at a complete loss for words as to how this band got denied the success they so richly deserved! The band’s 1970 debut for the Elektra label speaks for itself, and loudly at that. From the first cut to the last, there isn’t one musical misstep on this entire L.P.! It is truly a lost gem of the early power-pop genre. Led by Mike Fenelley who teamed up with local L.A. band Stonehenge to form Crabby Appleton, the band’s main strength was their irresistible pop rock sound, but there was much more to the band than just a Top 40 style garnered for mass appeal. How many pop-rock bands could also incorporate a Santana styled percussive section into their music and make it sound completely natural? Or suddenly break out into a little classical based prog-rock without missing a beat? That’s not to say you’re going to have to endure any over the top Santana jams or 30 minute Emerson, Lake, and Palmer solos with Crabby Appleton, just a pinch of each to liven up the mix. Rolling Stone magazine actually gave this album a crowning review when it was released and you know THAT’S saying something. I’m certainly glad I took a chance on this album because I was rewarded GREATLY! —M McKay

Wishbone Ash “Wishbone Ash” (1970)

Wishbone Ash’s self-titled debut album is a triumph of early seventies rock. It successfully merges elements of hard, folk and progressive rock to form an original compound. The album starts with the rocking but somehow stuttering “Blind Eye”. The effect is almost teasing. Next up is the harder, more progressive “Whiskey Lady”. This particular track is like Atomic Rooster in some ways: the singing, some tasty, catchy, heavy riffs, longish instrumental sections and great soloing. But then it’s not as dark as most Atomic Rooster and doesn’t feature Vincent Crane’s Hammond organ. Still, it’s an excellent track and one of my favorites from these guys. This is followed by another progressive piece, “Errors of my Way”. This is altogether much gentler with harmony singing giving it a distinctly folky feel. It’s a lovely track, and another favorite.

The second half is devoted to just two tracks. “Handy” is an almost completely instrumental track at over 11 minutes ling. It hints at some of their beautiful, gentle compositions that were to appear on the next album. This is followed by “Phoenix” another long track (over 10 minutes). This again is an almost all instrumental track. Some of the guitar playing here reminds me of early Fleetwood Mac.

“Wishbone Ash” is a great achievement for 1970. —Jim

Rahsaan Roland Kirk “Prepare Thyself to Deal With a Miracle” (1973)

If Rahsaan Roland Kirk truly was a god (you’ll have to grant me this assumption), Prepare Thyself is his book of Isaiah, a document that ties together the history of his people, their current challenges and predicaments, all the while pointing to a glorious future. Classical, blues, Romantic, free, modal, bop: Kirk masters it all, tamps and shapes it into a heroic, tender Black Music.

“Saxophone Concerto” is the fireworks show on the record; Kirk blows for 20 minutes continually amid a din of dancing styles. In places it sounds like circus music, but really, Kirk’s running you down with the whole troupe (bop, chant, free), pointing out the mastery in the chaos with his fiery sax leads. It’s a story of awakening, of talent leading to craftsmanship leading to personal and cosmic freedom. The end is an ocean of drone and liberty. I’m straining here- listen to the record. There’s more. “Salvation and Reminiscing” is a ghost’s workout, his vocalists hauntingly echo his minor-key phrases, before a roiling string section (complete with chimes and timpani) chases Kirk through the woods. He goes through a tonal workout before echoing the strings’ theme, which then gets resolved in a most cinematic manner. There’s still more. “Seasons” puts every post-rock band to shame with its main section. After a folksy duet ‘tween nose flute and what sounds like finger cymbals, Rahsaan coos softly above a plucked bass, lurching between the same two or three evocative notes. Soon, Kirk is pushing the limits of his flute, aspirating loudly, groaning and muttering like a floor-bound Pentacostal. But it’s all joy. I hear snips of what could be him saying “aw yeah”; regardless, he sounds happy as hell, completely peaceful and in control of a fucking cloud machine. For ten minutes, he captivates with an expression of pure awe and a simplistic background that puts today’s guitar-bound clods to shame. I can’t recommend this record enough. —Silent Mike

Hüsker Dü “New Day Rising” (1985)

Some say Zen Arcade, I say New Day Rising. Although fourteen songs long, it feels shorter due to these guys’ songwriting chops. There’s no fat on this disc. “Folk Lore” could’ve been a seven-minute spiel, but the Hüskers get in a couple impressionistic verses and they’re out. The second-longest track, the four-minute “Celebrated Summer,” is absolutely crucial. If God made a mix CD about nostalgia, etc. Other highlights include the epic opening track, which consists of the boys invoking the titular phrase over and over until you BELIEVE it, and “I Apologize,” perhaps the most moving song ever. One of my top ten all-time. Add to that the perfect love song “Books About UFOs” (its “watch out- wha- whooo!” break segueing into the brief solo still has the power to choke me up). Even the curtsies to hardcore (“Whatcha Drinkin'”, “Powerline”) end up catchier and more grand than most Midwest bands could ever dream about. To this day, slews of bands only get as far as the idea of Hüsker Dü – why would you shortchange the masters? This record is aching for you. — Silent Mike

Winner! “Best Place to Buy Vinyl”

Thank you Seattle! Jive Time Records wins Best Place to Buy Vinyl in Seattle Weekly’s Best of Seattle Awards!

“It isn’t the largest record purveyor in Seattle, but the quality of Jive Time’s collection and the knowledge of its staff are second to none. For novice buyers, the $1 and $3 bins are perfect for strengthening a budding collection. And for the more advanced, respectable rock choices and a massive old-school soul, and jazz selection almost always yield a good find.”

Luna “Penthouse” (1995)

Of all the bands to emerge from the early ‘90s rock renaissance, New York City’s Luna deserved much more recognition, praise, and success than they ended up getting. Evolving from a solo project of ex-Galaxy 500 frontman Dean Wareham, Luna’s genesis allowed him to further develop his quirky and self-deprecating songwriting persona: indie-rock’s answer to Woody Allen. The band’s signature sound, reverb-heavy interlocking guitars soaring above a potent rhythm section, achieved an almost narcotic majesty, and it still dazzles to this day; who needs drugs when a band like Luna is doing their thing? Why they weren’t as huge as the undeservedly popular Smashing Pumpkins or as critically acclaimed as the inconsistent Pavement will always be beyond me. Despite numerous setbacks encountered while traversing the unstable landscape of the record industry’s last lucrative era, Luna soldiered on—quietly and gracefully—well into the 21st century, continuing to make great records and playing small but sold-out clubs the world over before finally calling it quits in 2005.

Penthouse is not my favorite Luna album (that honor goes to their previous outing, 1994’s Bewitched), but it’s the one I steer all of my friends toward when they ask me where to start. It was certainly their most commercially successful, and it seems to be the one that makes all the “Best Albums of the ‘90s” lists that music rags like to compile. I can see why; it has some of their best songs. Among them are “Chinatown”, Wareham’s meditation on the pitfalls of the playboy lifestyle; “Moon Palace”, an hallucinatory ballad featuring a 12-string guitar solo by Television’s own Tom Verlaine; and the epic “23 Minutes in Brussels”, often a barn-burner when played live, but packing almost as much of a wallop here as it did onstage. Penthouse’s cover, a grainy black and white photograph of an illuminated Art Deco skyscraper, also reminds me that this LP (along with the Strokes’ Is This It?, which followed a few years later) might be one of the last great “New York City Records”. Like the music within, Penthouse’s seductive cover captures a vanishing Manhattan mystique, one which Rudy Giuliani, gentrification, and 9/11 would eventually all but vaporize. —Richard P

Neil Young “Tonight’s the Night” (1975)

Neil’s finest record? It’s hard to say, but it’s my personal favorite: strange as only Neil can be, frightening, funny, sad, and sloppy as all-get-out, all the while being beautiful. It has that tossed-off feel that can either make or break a record; and it makes this one, in the same way that Exile on Main St. or the Velvets’ eponymous are made, by sounding so intense and so casual at the same time. Emotional intensity and casualness is a tough combination to arrive at, but, somehow, some can manage it – Neil more often than anyone, I dare say. And I can’t quite say why (though I can begin by remarking on the slide guitar and piano), but “Albuquerque” is my favorite Neil Young song, with that mournful chorus, “Oh, Albuquerque…” However often this album has been described as having the atmosphere of a wake… well, it has the atmosphere of a wake. —Will

Technical Spectacle

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Miles Davis “Dark Magus” (1977)

Imagine this – on one shoulder sits Curtis Mayfield, with white wings, white robe, pointing Miles in the direction of Heaven, on the other sits Charlie Parker caked in darkness, promising Miles the sun, moon, anything he wants if he will give in to temptation only once more. Then it begins. Underground Davis, at this grey grisly juncture, cuts a reclusive figure, like someone who shuts the door as soon as the music stops, dealing with his own externally silent internally pounding vices and saviours. His band, long departed from days of inch wide ties and handmade leather shoes sound like they were dragged from ‘Live and Let Die’, those intoxicating rhythmic thrusts evocative of severed goat heads and glistening snakes, Michael Henderson hypnotising himself on his own heavy fingered, staccato bass lines, Davis appearing from behind a headstone to insert his conniving fills and then return to his organ to mediate to his darkness and light sponsors. Just think, anyone one of these guys could grab you just like that and you might never be the same again if you are lucky to return, Reggie Lucas and Pete Cosey’s guitar lines soundtrack to rainy November night terrors, Azar Lawrence’s tenor sax so stifling in tone you could pass out. Joking aside if it got any more nauseatingly bleak it would make ‘Bitches Brew’ sound like an episode of ‘The Brady Bunch’. —KildareJohn

The Move “Message From The Country” (1971)

The final album by the Move, Message From the Country, has a scattered feel, in terms of genre, but has seemingly perfect unity. The band shed bassist Rick Price, reducing it to the core trio of Roy Wood, Bev Bevan, and Jeff Lynne: the first lineup of the forthcoming Electric Light Orchestra. The band were rendered a studio-only act, and their newfound sense of freedom and willingness to experiment in the studio are readily apparent here, making this album also not unlike Sgt. Pepper, at least in essence. However, “The Move” was no longer their primary concern, as they were focusing more on making a bold artistic statement with the first ELO album- which was supposedly recorded at the same time. The result is The Move’s most ambitious and comedic record, simultaneously.

This album, quite simply, could have never been re-created onstage by this lineup. This is mostly because Roy Wood essentially would have had to be a band of musicians unto himself, due to his tendencies to overdub a wide variety of instruments. This problem plagued the initial lineup of ELO as a touring entity, but on record, it only helped, especially here. Without Rick Price, Wood even had to take up bass guitar duties. Veterans Ace Kefford and Rick Price were solid, but surprisingly, Roy Wood blows them away on this album. His bass playing is some of the most throbbing, pulsating, and mind-blowing of its time. Even Paul McCartney’s so-called “lead bass” couldn’t hold a candle to Wood’s playing on several of this album’s tracks, especially the chugging “Until Your Mama’s Gone”.

Interestingly, “The Move” and “The Electric Light Orchestra” were two distinct concepts, and though they were one in the same at this time, they sounded quite different. This album has a more rocky sound, featuring jazzy textures, brass, flutes, and Lynne’s honky tonk-ish electric piano. The first ELO album, on the other hand, focuses on stringed instruments, particularly Wood’s grinding take on the cello, with French and hunting horns by Bill Hunt, giving it a murky, almost medieval feel. There is little overlap, as this album has little to no strings, and that album has no brass or jazzy inclinations. This disparity points to the ultimate split between Wood and Lynne after one ELO album. Lynne wanted to use the orchestral approach, and Wood wanted to incorporate a jazzier, early rock & roll element, as he later did in his own group Wizzard. This immense gulf between the band’s two creative geniuses, however, is only obvious in hindsight, and this album is a celebration of their brief but rich partnership.

The song selection is a rich palette of varied genres, only hinted at in the band’s previous album Looking On . Rather than jamming extensively around a smaller set of compositions, the band sets out to make fascinating musical and lyrical vignettes in a relatively short time span per song. This leads to a fuller list of songs, and ultimately, even greater diversity, which is no doubt the basis of the White Album comparisons. The comedic doo wop of “Don’t Mess Me Up”, the riff-laden “Ella James”, the country-tinged Johnny Cash sendup “The Ben Crawly Steel Company” (another fine lead vocal outing for Bev “Bullfrog” Bevan), the alluringly Middle Eastern “It Wasn’t My Idea to Dance”, the goofy, McCartney-esque “My Marge” are all songs that rightfully shouldn’t be on the same record, yet somehow, feed off each other perfectly. The more serious progressive inclinations of Jeff Lynne’s songwriting, as heard on tracks like “Message From the Country”, “No Time”, “The Minister”, and “The Words of Aaron”, keep the album from straying too far into self-parody.

Simply put, this is an unusual album for The Move, and, in many ways, the polar opposite of the first Electric Light Orchestra album… yet it is the absolute perfect missing link between the two groups. It’s dense and experimental, yet loose and fun- definitely a rarity in prog rock, and serves as a testament to why these three brilliant musicians coming together was such a beautiful thing. —Tommy