Jive Time Turntable

The Ventures “The Ventures Christmas Album” (1965)

The Ventures, who seemed to crank out a dozen-odd albums every year during their heyday in the 1960s, released this gem in 1965. It distinguishes itself from its holiday brethren by using a mixture of two styles that should be antitheses of each other: the Christmas carol and surf music (or more fundamentally, winter and summer). Traditionally, the heart of each of these styles lies in evoking a mood. The danger in trying to evoke two moods simultaneously is that it might become a hokey mishmash (like those “Santa-in-a-Hawaiian-shirt” tourist trinkets for sale in the islands). Through the skill of The Ventures and their producers, however, the two are combined into a fairly seamless whole, both heartfelt and fun – a pretty nifty trick. As on their other surf records, the guitar tones of Don Wilson and Nokie Edwards are still king, but sleigh bells (more or less subbing for the hi-hat) and glockenspiel challenge for supremacy in the mix. This elf approves! Favorites from the album include the majestic “What Child Is This” and “Silver Bells.” –Wilson

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Yes “Time and a Word” (1970)

1970s Time And A Word is one of the greatest first-generation Progressive Rock albums, and a wonderful musical snapshot of a young and unsettled Yes that hadn’t quite yet settled into their later Prog Godhood role. Only two-thirds of the “classic” Yes lineup is here, Jon Anderson at Frotman, and the wondrous Chris Squire at Bass and Bill Bruford at Drums. Otherwise it’s part-time Yes man Tony Kaye on Keyboards and Yes’s original (And quite substandard compared to Steve Howe) Guitarist Peter Banks. Still Time And A Word is a wonderful solid album with some truly amazing songs hidden in it’s grooves. The title track is, in my opinion, the most gorgeously beautiful song Yes ever created. And No Opportunity Necessary No Experience Needed is simply thrilling. If you are a fan of Yes, or Progressive Rock you need Time And A Word. –Karl

Van Morrison “Astral Weeks” (1968)

“If I ventured in the slipstream, between the viaducts of your dream…” and so opens the poetic dream masterpiece, Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks.” It’s one of those monuments to human emotion that has the power to carry the weight of your life with it. The funny thing is, I really wasn’t feeling Van for the longest time, always shelving him away in the “mom-rock” bin. Then all of a sudden something hit me and quickly snowballed into the realization of his genius. With Astral I find the strength lies in the fact that, although the production is both classical and traditional in instrumentation, the record comes across as highly psychedelic from the mysticism of the arrangements. It’s similar in that way to the first few Leonard Cohen records or Townes Van Zandt’s “Our Mother the Mountain,” And for being such a contender among quality poetic-psyche LP’s, it’s easily available and usually pretty cheap, so there’s no reason why you can’t check it out. –Alex

Charles Wright and the Watts 103rd St. Rhythm Band “Express Yourself” (1970)

Somewhere between the funk formalism of James Brown and free-spiritedness of Sly Stone can be found Charles Wright. In a perfect world, this enormous talent would be mentioned in the same breath as Redding, Gaye, and Green, but Wright’s long-term success was hobbled by the line-up changes of his various backing bands, inconsistent records, and other music biz unpleasantries. Though he recorded lots of great music–even his weakest efforts are at least worth hearing–this record is his best. Its title track is its most famous (and most sampled), but other tracks like “I Got Love” and the free-form funk freakout, “High as Apple Pie parts 1 & 2”, give it a gospel-like sense of joy. Few reissued records have caused as much confusion as this one. The original release kicked off with a tight little number called “A Road Without End”. Future pressings, however, replaced that track with “Love Land”, which appeared on his previous LP, In the Jungle Babe. “Love Land” is a great song in its own right, but it doesn’t suit the feel of Express Yourself as well as the track it replaces. For this reason, an original pressing of the record is well-worth tracking down. –Richard P

Back “Sea Change” (2002)

Covering The Zombies, John Martyn, and Nick Drake during his sessions and tour of Sea change, Beck’s influences are ly heard and channeled this time around. While Mutations was all over the place, here Beck works on a very focused playing ground yet stretching some songs to the limit like the bare “Paper Tiger” or very solemn “It’s All in Your Mind”. His voice reaches such a level of power and beauty that could never have been foreseen coming from Mr.MTV Makes Me Wanna Smoke Crack, especially in the country tinged “Guess I’m Doing Fine”. There is just such a chilling yet peaceful tone to Beck’s voice and overall melodies that fully captures what the man must’ve felt to put out such an unpredictable yet honest record.

Beck has always channeled his place in life and views throughout his albums, whether people could see it through his bizzare language and theatrics is something less debatable. Mutations was his Moon & Antarctica (read: Hopeless, disenchanted sad sack record) but you would have never known, but here we see the most straightforward lyricism yet from Beck. The bitterness (“Is that what you thought love was for?”), the one sided love (“I can’t cry them anymore/I can’t think of what they’re for”), and hopeful hopelessness (“Let it pass on the side of the road/What a friend could tell me now”); Everything here is easy to read into yet nonetheless powerful or mysterious.

As much of a downer Sea Change was in 2002, it gave me a real sense that Beck went on this sorrowful, soul-draining spiritual journey so I wouldn’t have to. It was quite the opposite but Sea Change turned out to become one of the best friends I’ve had. Life’s turned out to be less of my own private award show of Mr. Holland’s Opus and more of a grim train ride passing by everyone I’ve hurt and everyone that’s failed to see how I’ve helped them. I guess I’m at the “Already Dead” part of my life working up to “Side of the Road”, so it makes sense that the 2nd half of the album has began to click with me. It’s also has begun to make sense how strangely beautiful the most awful moments of your life can be, especially when Sea Change is your soundtrack. –Allistair

Fleetwood Mac “Tusk” (1979)

I believe that the true power in this world is love. There’s obviously a strong universal relation to the longing of the soul. I also believe that Fleetwood Mac just might be the best musical representation of love. I could probably write about any Mac record, making similar points, TUSK just happens to be living on my turntable at the moment. It’s not a perfect album by any means, but when you dive deep into this band, it all hits the spot. TUSK is the double-LP follow up to their multi-platinum break up monster, Rumors. Of course there’s no way Tusk could ever have been nearly as much of a commercial success, but that’s what’s nice about it for me, there’s at least one full-length records worth of killer pop “anti” hits that still satisfy the listener in the same way, beautiful vocal coloring over lindsey buckingham’s percussive strumming and driven home by that wonderful snare crack that mick fleetwood perfected in the pop years. Plus this seems to be the point where Buckingham really took over the production and, for lack of a better term, went insane. So the arrangements are wacky as hell at some points and he must have played at least 50 different stringed instruments on it, but what’s love without craziness? Give this a chance if you haven’t already. For lovers only. –Alex

King Crimson “Red” (1974)

A caged beast of a record, and easily this group’s best, it strips away most of their obscurantist pretensions to serve up a guitar bass and drum assault that runs frequently into the red and is something to behold: Bruford’s drumming is jaw-dropping, while Fripp plays with a dark metallic intensity that suggests he’s one of rock’s wasted talents. I can even put up with John Wetton here, whose ferocious bass playing is more like a second (maybe third) lead instrument and whose singing has a kind of macho bravura that suits this music’s seething intensity. Still, the beast is caged. I’m always a little let down by the second side, which is what keeps Red from essentially essential status, with the wandering “Providence” (another crack at the improv-based excursions heard on the previous album) and the somewhat undercooked “Starless.” No, I’m not kidding: “Starless,” which many listeners seem to think is a masterpiece, could’ve used a little more work. I’m forever disappointed by the whole trajectory of this track, which at 12-some minutes would’ve benefited from a few more (the majestic ending should’ve been lengthier, to provide a kind of bookend equivalent to the sturm-und-drang of “Red;” it may be quibbling, but it’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to). So, instead of the Godzilla of prog-rock tracks, “Starless” is merely a woolly mammoth. This group never made the great record they should’ve made. This one’s the only one that comes close. And oh so close. –Will

Go-Go’s “Beauty and the Beat” (1981)

Much as the Rock press would like to think, The Go-Go’s were never Punk Rock. What they did take from Punk was the ethos rather than the music, the ability to form a band from a group of like minded individuals who perform music, disregarding technical musical ability or preconceived notion that rock is a masculine world, and for a brief moment they were the Darlings of the music industry. “Beauty And The Beat” is a testament to this ethic, brash, fun, slightly shambolic, but always heartfelt Power Pop. Formed in 1978 and originally called The Misfits and made up of Belinda Carlisle (Vocals), Jane Wiedlin (Guitar, Vocals), Charlotte Caffey (Guitar, Vocals), Margot Olaverra (Bass), and Elissa Bello (Drums), the band’s major breakthrough would come through building a following from their support slot for British Ska nutty boys, Madness, and this led to a contract with Stiff Records for a one off single “We Got The Beat”. The major record labels showed an interest in both the single and the live following the band were attracting, and The Go-Go’s signed to IRS in early 1981. This, their debut would reach number 1 in the Billboard album charts for 6 weeks and would eventually go to sell over 2 million copies. Spiky Power Pop at its best, the Jane Wiedlin/Terry Hall co-composed single “Our Lips Are Sealed” would be the star attraction, along with other highlights including “We Got The Beat”, “This Town”, “Lust To Love”, and the fine closer “Can’t Stop The World”. A surprisingly assured album, that carries alongside its demure directness, a touching astuteness. –Ben H

Tim Buckley “Starsailor” (1970)

Tim Buckley had already begun to alienate his folkie fanbase with “Lorca” a few months earlier– what the hell was up with this golden-voiced disciple of Fred Neil? Why would he release an album filled with meandering free jazz-like structures and vocal gymnastics that made it sound as though he was being disemboweled? Well, if they wuz bewildered by “Lorca,” “Starsailor” musta felt like a kick in the groin. Not only was it a continuation of the avant garde themes which in hindsight, he’d barely scratched, it was a full-on operetta revolving around the pit of anguish that burned in his guts; he also began to fully utilize the five and a half octave vocal range he had at his disposal.

I’m gonna hazard a guess that Buckley had been listening intently to Leon Thomas– particularly his work with Pharaoh Sanders on “Karma.” He liberally borrows Thomas’ conventional-croon-to-absurd-yodel on several tracks, most notably “Monterey,” a dissonant Voodoo Blues that conjures a vibe equal parts atavistic ritual and sleazy mating call. Bunk Gardner, late of the Mothers of Invention, provides some Ornette-esque sax squawk, further pushing the song into uncharted territory– at least for the early 1970’s zeitgeist. “Moulin Rouge” is a brief slice of Franco-Pop that coulda easily been recorded by Edith Piaf– I only mention it as it is one of the few cuts that provides a respite from the suffocating melancholy and bordering on psychedelic experimentation that makes up the rest of the LP. For instance, the ethereal title track is akin to smoking far too much DMT, only to discover that instead of encountering the promised elves hiding in the artificial netherworld, you find yourself surrounded by bloodthirsty, shapeless abominations far outside the realms of HP Lovecraft’s worst nightmares. Lee Underwood’s stellar guitar work also deserves a nod. His connection with Buckley borders on preternatural– be it the spare, mournful licks he uses to accompany Tim’s wounded wail on the oft-covered/butchered “Song to the Siren,” or the majestic, fleet-fingered riffs that double Buckley’s vocal on “Come Here Woman.”

If you’re new to the elder Buckley, this may not be the best place to start. I’d recommend “Dream Letter: Live in London” for virgins, as well as for fans of his offspring, a certain Jeff. –Jake P

Mercyful Fate “Melissa” (1983)

Melissa unleashed the dark majesty of Mercyful Fate on welcoming hordes of eager metalheads ready to set sail on a lake of fire, the band picking up where Priest left off with their late 70’s platters of pain and injecting an elevated sophistication and malevolence embodied in the angelic blasphemor wails of King Diamond. While the edge of Melissa’s sacrifical blade is slightly dulled by the tangled fortress “Satan’s Fall” on side two, the purity of purpose in classics like “Evil,” grave robbing “Curse of the Pharaohs,” and the pummeling “Black Funeral” let loose such torrents of spectral ferocity and hell-spawned riffage that Melissa stands as an all-consuming plethora of wicked delights. –Ben