Jive Time Turntable

The Cure “Three Imaginary Boys” (1979)

The early years of the Cure were a quite different proposition than their better-known commercial years, a colder, more alienated (and alienating) unit with a darkness at the core of everything they do. Not that they were ever  sunshine and lollipops, but there was a perverse bleakness that permeated their first few albums that lifted ever so slightly as they carried on. Way back here on their debut, they have the rolling, tense sound of post-punk/no-wave, with the clicking rhythms and murky bass lines taking influence from reggae and dub, but with the nihilism and antagonistic energy of punk rock played with a touch more spiky, precise musicianship. You would hardly recognize them as the band they would become, except in an occasional familiar quirk of Robert Smith’s voice.

“10:15 Saturday Night” is one of those obsessively neurotic songs that everyone seemed to be doing around the time (perhaps because they so well fit the nervous energy of this musical style), and one of the best, with a great smeared, jagged guitar solo. It sets the tone of alienation and disconnection that most of the album carries on. What love songs appear here are disguised and usually bleak (and there’s “Object” which denies any affection for a partner – ‘don’t try to hold me because I don’t want any ties, you’re just an object in my eyes, but I don’t mind’), although there is a surprisingly effective total reinvention of Jimi Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” that is more like Devo than the rampant sexuality of Hendrix. Instead, these are songs about dripping faucets, track lighting, subways, the impending extinction of humanity, or about being hung to bleed out on a meathook. Universal stuff. It is not on the whole some of their more distinct work, but it is a very strong example of the post-punk era. —Jared

Glossy Grooves: Selected CTI Recordings

Creed Taylor Incorporated, or CTI Records, is a jazz label fashioned by producer Creed Taylor. Taylor was widely celebrated as the founder of the famed Impulse! label as well as producing classic records for Verve. Impulse! was regarded as being one of the most adventurous labels in jazz during the mid sixties, known for its high quality packaging and eclectic musical styles. When Taylor formed CTI records in 1967, he took these aspects with him. Along with his producing chops, Taylor recruited the great Blue Note legend Rudy Van Gelder, who provided studio time and sound engineering skills. This dream team, alongside some of the top musicians in jazz, created a body of work consisting of high quality, slick (occasionally too slick) recordings of the late sixties and early seventies. Most of the music was a fusion of jazz, funk and R&B, along with Latin themes sprinkled with floating, introspective, surreal interludes. Taylor would frequently provide a string section to the recordings as well. There were also some surprises, with freer more experimental styles integrated into the discography.

CTI remains an important aspect in the evolution of jazz and popular music, especially in hip-hop and neo-soul. Dozens of samples have been lifted from these records; the warm analog production on these records has influenced musicians from all over the spectrum. The presence of Taylor’s craftsmanship (and those tasty beats the DJs all love) can be heard from artists such as LL Cool J and Snoop Dog to Erykah Badu and Prince as well as various electronic free funk groups like Isotope 217. Although several of the records have not aged well (Taylor would often add string sections that tended to water down the music and now sound dated), an abundance of records from CTI still hold relevance today.

Basically, Creed Taylor’s CTI put the “smooth” in jazz before it became a dirty word to purists. In fact, two factors remain pure: the clean beats and the glossy grooves. Here are five records that should be of interest:

1. Freddie Hubbard Red Clay (1970)-A dark, austere album, modern, while at the same time nodding to the great West Coast Cool records of the late fifties. Not only is this essential for any CTI collection but in any jazz collection, period. Electric and acoustic, yet not quite fusion, funky but still swings, this record helped the trumpeter escape the inevitable shadow of Miles Davis.

2. Hubert Laws In the Beginning(1974)-A beautiful record by the flautist Hubert laws. Gentle melodies that standout with steady beats. Soft guitars and vibes along with exotic Latin percussion from Airto that make you want to dance in your dreams.

3. Joe Farrell Joe Farrell Quartet (1970)-An outing led by Joe Farrell on reeds and features the guitar of John McLaughin , Jack DeJohnette on drums, bass extraordinaire Dave Holland and Chick Corea on piano. These cats play a set that smolders but never burns out. There are also some more straight ahead tracks to accompany the avant-garde feel of the record. This is an unusual “outside/inside” record for CTI and a pleasant surprise for fusion, free jazz and straight ahead fans alike.

4: Airto Fingers (1973)-Brazilian percussionist/vocalist Airto was a staple on many recordings for CTI, providing a crucial element to the sound. This is his fist record as a leader for CTI. Here we have a hard hitting Brazilian jazz/rock/funk mixture with Flora Purim bringing some additional vocals to accompany Airto. David Amaro brings an array of guitar styles to the mix from bossa nova comping to fuzzed out rock solos. This is some multifaceted music that can’t be put in any box.

5. George Benson Beyond the Blue Horizon (1971) – A rare, stripped down CTI soul-jazz record from the great guitarist George Benson. Clarence Palmer’s greasy organ licks accentuate the subtle mastery of Jack DeJohnette on drums, bassist Ron Carter plucks the upright bass with much funk. Dig the opening: a hip and fresh rendition of Miles Davis’ ultra cool cut “So What”.

Plenty of other records could have easily been included here. For further exploration, there’s Freddy Hubbard’s Straight Life (1970), a raw jam session that has relentless, immediate grooves and features Herbie Hancock’s electric piano. Vibraphonist Milt Jackson’s Sunflower (1972) is considered a classic by many, a breezy floating record that never gets too light. Drummer Billy Cobham keeps it just rigid enough (even with the string section); I hear the luminous sounds of Sunflower on Zero 7 and Pink Martini records. Hubert Laws Crying Song (1969) Is an early recording from CTI, an introspective piece to the point of almost meditative; highlights include two Pink Floyd covers “Cymbaline” and “Crying Song”. Finally, guitarist Alan Holdsworth’s Velvet Darkness (1976) is an all out fusion affair that could easily be filed in the progressive rock section, another surprise from CTI. —ECM Tim

Are we forgetting your favorite CTI recording? We’d love to hear your comments:

Mission of Burma “Signals, Calls, and Marches” (1981)

Along with early Pere Ubu, Wire, and the Fall, Mission of Burma are on top of the post-punk heap anticipating Husker Du, Sonic Youth, Fugazi, and a whole lotta other stuff that’s made music worthwhile in the last 30 years. Harnessing arty punk noise abandon to a firmly footed garage rawk, and throwing in enough hooks to snare your pop instincts and sonic left-turns to keep you guessing, there are few groups I can think of who made more bracing music in this very bracing period: the aforementioned luminaries rarely topped ’em, if ever. In fact, I’m not sure anyone can top the opening track on this record: it’s been covered to death, but the original is timeless. Fortunately, their well-received reunion has resurrected their two essential early releases from obscurity. Get them both today. –Will

Bob Dylan “Oh Mercy” (1989)

Just when I’d begun to keep my ears open for all the glowing eulogies that were sure to be showered upon the late Mr Dylan’s head, he undergoes a miraculous recovery and produces his finest album of the eighties. I realise that Oh Mercy doesn’t have much competition in that regard but, if I qualify the statement by saying it’s his best since Blood On The Tracks released fifteen years earlier and falls not far short of that pinnacle, I think that puts it into perspective.

Not since the days of Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde On Blonde has Dylan sounded so comfortable fronting a fully fledged band. His voice has the same distinctive croak but sounds richer. Whether that is solely due to the skills of Daniel Lanois in the producer’s chair, I don’t know, but I’m certain a great deal of the credit can be laid at his door. The best songs on Oh Mercy compare favourably with anything in Dylan’s back catalogue. “Ring Them Bells”, “What Was It You Wanted”, “Man In The Long Black Coat” and “Most Of The Time” – a painful telling of not coping with lost love – are all excellent. But, in the end, it’s the negative side of Dylan that this album brings to the fore.

It would be 8 more years before his next great album, Time Out Of Mind, and his insistence in between on releasing second rate material can only be attributed to laziness or a complete disregard for his fans. —Ian

Herbie Hancock “Mwandishi” (1971)

Like a lot of early 70’s fusion, this is highly indebted to Miles Davis’ In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew-era work, combining elements of funk, jazz, and avant-garde with Herbie’s own love of electronic keyboards and primitive synthesizers, low on melodic content but high on atmosphere. His work would get progressively funkier as the years went on, but Mwandishi’s three lengthy tracks are concerned more with creating an otherworldy vibe aimed at your head more than your feet. “Ostinato” emerges out of a spacey haze and rides a funky bass riff for much of its duration, a vehicle for a lengthy electric piano solo and propelled by some exotic percussion. A mellow, sleepy backdrop with washes of echoed electric piano and trumpet flourishes carries “You Know When You’ll Get There,” maintaining a quiet mood, though the band occasionally comes together to play a brief melodic figure, while “Wandering Spirit Song” tempers a similar vibe with frequent bursts of free-form noise. Mwandishi comes recommended to anyone with a love of fusion in the days before it largely morphed into a funk/rock showcase for virtuoso soloing. –Ben

Alice Cooper “Billion Dollar Babies” (1973)

Considering that Alice Cooper’s music was more a soundtrack to his extravagant persona and the sideshow rock and roll theatrics that fans came to love, his early albums still retain a consistent quality as simple stand alone musical experiences. High praise, even if you’re not consumed by the deliberate dark showmanship, the attention grabbing histrionics or the wilful intention to melodramatically shock for the sake of entertainment. Not only did Alice Cooper write strong songs, but they delivered their mix of bombastic heavyweight, glam tinged rock with a knowing pop sensibility and a sense of melody few could compete with. Along with producer Bob Ezrin, and with the powerful dual guitar attack of Glenn Buxton and Michael Bruce, if the band didn’t insult every mother’s heart, they most definitely laid a convincing assault on most kid’s minds.

“Billion Dollar Babies” in many ways is Alice Cooper’s most accessible early work. There’s a more expansive backdrop by the use of a greater range of instrumentation and orchestration. The outstanding opener and worthy cover of the Rolf Kempf original, “Hello Hooray” casts Cooper as the Master Of Ceremonies for every rebellious adolescent searching for thrills with “I’ve been ready, ready as this audience that’s coming here to dream, Loving every second, every moment, every scream”. It lays the foundation for one of the band’s greatest songs, “Elected”, a re-work of a song originally titled “Reflected” from the 1969 “Pretties For You” album. The surging riff that guides the chorus is a revelation in comparison to the original, as Cooper announces himself as the leader of a generation in the simplest terms “Kids want a saviour and don’t need a fake, I wanna be elected”. Much of the remainder of the album perfectly matches Cooper’s ethics to self effacing comedy, manic bravado, and high octane entertainment. There are over egged moments, as in the funereal drawl of “Sick Things”, and the ill fitting polished pop overtones of “No More Mr Nice Guy”, but these slips are overcome by the excellent title track, “Raped And Freezin’”, “Generation Landslide” and the gentle piano ballad “Mary Ann”.

In terms of musical legacy and quality there’s little to choose between 1971s “Love It To Death”, “Killer”, 1972s “School’s Out” and this recording. For a new recruit to Alice Cooper’s wild and wicked world, starting with “Billion Dollar Babies” is the key to enter his dungeon of darkness. —Ben

Sweet “Sweet Fanny Adams” (1974)

One helium-fueled sugar rush of an album, Sweet’s “Sweet Fanny Adams” cuts a glitter-littered path with sky-high vocals, proto-metal guitar crunch, and a set of mesmerizing tunes that find the band splitting writing duties with the Chinnichap bubblegum factory. Sweet seem determined to give their teenybopper image the boot with a series of snarling, bad-attitude rockers like the frantic “Set Me Free,” indignant “No You Don’t,” and the defiant buzz of “Sweet F.A.” lending to the albums aggressive tone, along with glitzy fare like “Heartbreak Today’ and the switch-hitting “AC/DC.” –Ben

Paul McCartney “McCartney” (1970)

A critical dissection will reveal that there’s quite a bit of filler. Yet somehow, taken as a whole, it proves to perfectly capture a mood: an honest snapshot of a place and time. “Maybe I’m Amazed” and “Every Night” are the obvious top choices and “Junk” is an essential McCartney composition. Sifting through the rest is like combing through a great assortment of rags and bones. The instrumentals all have wonderful grooves and there’s really not a bad track on either side. Certainly many of the songs would benefit from a good fleshing out and the album as a whole feels like a set of demos. A set of outstandingly performed demos, that is. It was the perfect album for him to make after the dissolution of The Beatles – imagine the pressure of following not only Abbey Road, but the Beatles as an act! It’s the sound of Paul laying it all out there and subliminally saying “hey, this is what I can do, hope you dig it…if not, I’m not shoving it in your face that I was a Beatle” – a feeling not too far away, but not as severe as John’s “I don’t believe in Beatles”. Where John may have felt emboldened by the break-up and therefore took an extreme approach to his first couple of post-Beatles albums, Paul came out of the box seeming a bit amputated and searching for his sea legs. It’s that emotional honesty that I hear on this album that gives it it’s charm. –BH

Dead Wrong: A Non-Deadhead’s Guide 
to the Grateful Dead’s Studio Albums

There are very few bands as polarizing as the Grateful Dead, but even their most rabid fans and harshest detractors can agree on one point: The band personified a type of relationship a band can have with its audience. It’s now a model that many bands — especially those of the “jam band” variety — emulate and strive for, and one that is almost taken for granted in today’s fragmented music-consumer culture. It’s easy to forget just how pervasive the Deadhead phenomenon was, especially when it peaked during the final years of the Dead’s active existence. But all parties must come to an end, and when the Grateful Dead (wisely) decided to call it quits after Jerry Garcia’s sad but unsurprising death in 1995, the coliseum and stadium parking lots emptied out, and many Deadheads moved on.

Looking back on this era, it’s clear now that the Dead’s cultural impact often eclipsed their actual music. But as the shows become fading memories for those who experienced them and as a new generation of listeners discover the Grateful Dead, the focus is returning to the band’s rich musical history — where it belongs. Often brilliant, usually at least interesting, and only rarely unlistenable, the Grateful Dead weren’t afraid to take chances, and they adapted to changing times and environments while compromising very little for either. It’s a well-worn cliche that the Dead’s strength was as a live-performance unit. Indeed, a hardcore Deadhead can likely recite the set-list, verbatim, from the second set of a 1987 Alpine Valley show, but if you ask him if the original “Fire on the Mountain” is on Terrapin Station or Shakedown Street, you’re likely to be met with a blank stare.

In many ways, this preference for the live Dead is warranted, but it’s not always justified. The Dead’s natural habitat was onstage, for sure, but even during their best years (late ’60s and early ’70s), their exploratory jams did not always take flight, and they could be sloppy and meandering just as easily as they could be virtuosic and transcendental. Sometimes the controlled environment of the recording studio helped the Dead reign in some of their more excessive tendencies and focus their creative energies into making more cohesive musical statements. The end results of these endeavors varied widely in quality, especially during their later years. And there is certainly no avoiding the fact that the band suffered a critical blow in 1972 with the loss of lead vocalist/organist Ron “Pigpen” McKernan, who brought and took with him an irreplaceable rawness and blues authenticity. Still, most of the Dead’s studio output from all stages of their storied career is at least worth a listen. And now, revisiting their catalog, it’s clear that some of it can even be called essential. So here, for newcomers to the band (or old-timers wishing to explore the more neglected areas of their work), is a short list of some of the Dead’s more notable attempts at conquering the studio LP format, warts and all.

1. Anthem of the Sun (1967) Many fans of ’60s garage rock (this writer included) love the Dead’s raw and hyperactive debut LP (read our review), but devotees of hardcore 60’s psych will take to this follow-up even more. Melding snippets of live performances to effects-heavy studio-recorded material, the band weaves a sonic tapestry that is at once puzzling and mystical. While some slow bits occasionally threaten to bog things down, this early artistic triumph shows the studio Dead at their most adventurous.

2. Aoxomoxoa (1969) Originally to be titled, “Earthquake Country”, this is the Dead’s most atmospheric record. Folksy, quiet, and dark, its songs are subtle and sometimes don’t even seem like songs at all, more like stream-of-consciousness sound poems. On shaky ground with the rest of the band during the recording sessions, Pigpen and Bob Weir’s presence is minimal, making this mostly Garcia’s show. Still, his creaky vocals, coupled with Robert Hunter’s surrealistic lyrics, make for a record that is wonderfully creepy and bizarre.

3. Workingman’s Dead (1970) This is the first release in a pair of career and genre-defining country rock albums. For many, its follow-up, American Beauty, is the best studio album the Dead ever recorded. But most of these folks would agree that Workingman’s Dead comes in a very close second. Possessing a slightly grittier sound than the more polished American Beauty, every track here is a winner. Some of the band’s most popular songs such as “Uncle John’s Band” and “Casey Jones” are here, but it’s the less overplayed tracks that make it one of the greats. Among these fine moments are “New Speedway Boogie”, a commentary on the fateful Altamont music festival (where the band shared billing with the Rolling Stones) and “Easy Wind,” a showcase for Pigpen, who seizes the opportunity to make the most soulful five minutes to be heard on any Grateful Dead studio album.

4. Blues for Allah (1975) The Dead released three studio albums on their short-lived record label in the mid-70s: Wake of the Flood, From the Mars Hotel, and this one. All entries in this “Grateful Dead Records Trilogy” show the band’s growing jazz and fusion influences, and Blues for Allah represents the culmination of this productive experimentation. The Dead had been on hiatus a year before the LP’s recording sessions began, and this seems to have done them a world of good. Pigpen is long gone at this point, but keyboardist Keith Godcheaux is on fire and contributes some of the best work he’s done since joining the band. (And thankfully, the presence of his wife/backing-vocalist, the much maligned Donna, is kept to a minimum.) Featuring the “Help on the Way-Slipknot-Franklin’s Tower” song cycle, a live staple for the rest of the Dead’s career, this is the closest the Dead ever came to bottling their onstage lightning.

5. Terrapin Station (1977) In the late ’70s, the Dead signed with Arista Records, and the label would release the remainder of the band’s studio output during the band’s active existence. Many of these records are riddled with half-baked ideas, unsuccessful attempts at then in-vogue musical styles, and dated production values. Terrapin Station is certainly not immune to these pitfalls, but there’s something very interesting about watching a band, one who for many years avoided the usual machinations of the music industry, try to reinvent themselves as an FM-friendly arena rock act. Even more interesting is the fact that here the Dead sometimes threaten to pull this off! Though dated and overproduced, Terrapin Station is probably the band’s strongest later studio effort, and it still retains a certain charm. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about the two records that came after it, Shakedown Street and Go to Heaven.

Further listening: Ironically, the Dead had their biggest commercial success with 1987’s In the Dark, long after their creative peak. Though its hit single, “Touch of Grey”, made the band more popular than ever, many early adopters despised the album. To be fair, it did represent a return to form as far as songwriting was concerned, but its production values keep it eternally trapped in the ’80s. If you must hear the Dead’s studio work of this era, it might be worth a listen. But a better route to take is one that stops by the many wonderful solo efforts of the Dead’s individual members. Jerry Garcia’s first LP, 1972’s Garcia (read our review), easily holds its own alongside the Dead’s best work. Percussionist Mickey Hart also recorded some great stuff, and his first album, Rolling Thunder, featuring a star-studded lineup of musicians and vocalists, is a must hear! —Richard P

Did we leave out your favorite Grateful Dead or Dead-related solo LP? We’d love to hear your comments:

Guided by Voices “Alien Lanes” (1995)

Arguably better than Bee Thousand for its sequencing alone, Alien Lanes runs at breakneck speed and nestles the tiniest fragments of the group’s highly fragmentary career in among some of their (his) all-time best cuts (“Watch Me Jumpstart,” “(I Wanna Be a) Dumbcharger,” “Game of Pricks,” “Closer You Are,” “Motor Away,” “Striped White Jets”), which appear in a particularly high ratio over the course of what, at nearly 42 minutes, must qualify as a lengthy record by GBV standards. There’s the rub, though: it may be a little too long; even at what seems a comparatively more languid pace, Bee doesn’t have any downtime like “Auditorium” or “King and Caroline:” before this one’s 28-song onslaught has come to a close, I get the feeling it wouldn’t have suffered from a six or seven cut grooming. So it’s only the second best of their four or five classics. Blame Bob’s usual lack of quality control. –Will

Taste “On the Boards” (1970)

I couldn’t imagine being a guitar player in the mid sixties to early seventies. Players were evolving faster than the sound of the notes they played. Hendrix came from a parallel world and was changing everything, Clapton was making his mark, along with Jeff Beck, Jimmy Paige, and Carlos Santana just to name a few. Meanwhile, a reclusive Irishman named Rory Gallagher was tearing it up with his Stratocaster, earning a fraction of the recognition of what the aforementioned players were gaining. Gallagher’s second record, On the Boards (1970) with his power trio Taste, is one of hard rock’s understated gems, a fiery, raw blend of blues-rock, jazz, folk, country, and sophisticated progressive rock. All three players shine in this stripped down affair. The opening track, “What’s Going On” is a biting, hard rockin’ ominous number about social discord and the mixed signals of the times that are felt through Gallagher’s gruff voice. There’s the jazzy swagger of “It’s Happened Before, It’ll happen Again” (he also blows a convincing sax on this track). “If the Day was Any Longer” is a vulnerable ballad with an earnest seduction too it; some sweet harmonica augments the tenderness. Side two begins with some elaborate slide guitar workouts on “Eat my Words” that would make Duane Allman’s eyebrows rise. The title track is another jazz-tinged tune; Gallagher’s Strat chimes with bright, clean tones but contradicts this with a dark melody. “See Here” is an acoustic track that has a searching, yet sweet lullaby vibe too it that never seems to resolve musically (in the good way). There are also some basic blues rockers that could’ve easily gone into tired, honkey- tonk, bar fight territory but were saved not only by Gallagher’s astounding guitar playing but his intricate song writing as well. Rory Gallagher was a guitar player’s guitarist, but to the general public one of the most (arguably the most) overlooked guitar players of all time; who knows why; maybe he just wasn’t “psychedelic” enough. All that put aside, On the Boards is a remarkable album; and a true testament to his masterful six string navigation and his brilliant song craft. —ECM Tim

How does it feel to be the greatest guitarist in the world? I don’t know, go ask Rory Gallagher.’ —Jimi Hendrix

Hank Mobley “Soul Station” (1960)

Hank Mobley recorded this album fresh out of jail after being convicted for heroin posession. Maybe it was relief at finally being free, but the playing here is beautifully relaxed and poised, with a strong sense of flow. As a player, Mobley was sometimes ill-served by recording engineers, but he sounds superb here. And no complaints about the band! There’s nothing revolutionary here, which may lead you to underrate this record; I used to, but the more I get to know it, the better it sounds. —Brad