It’s amazing to think that one of the great eccentrics of popular music, Julian Cope, originated from what, on an initial listen, appears to be a straightforward post punk, electronic pop band. Delve a little deeper beneath the swathes of synthesised sound however and those original impression begin to subtlety alter. The lyrics carry an esoteric intelligence which belies their frivolous accompaniment and the unusual inclusion of a brass section is a masterstroke. But, as someone far smarter than me once said, “Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t make it profound”. What gives this album it’s cutting edge is the combination of all these elements which come together to form a frenetic, catchy, cohesive whole. The Teardrop Explodes were cut from the same cloth as Echo And The Bunnymen but their use of synths gave them a far more radio-friendly edge. I love the dumb chorus for “When I Dream” and the pounding drumbeats on “Bouncing Babies” and the way the keyboards seem to jog along with Cope’s voice on “Brave Boys Keep Their Promises”. The brevity of the brass on both “Ha Ha I’m Drowning” and “Treason” is both unexpected and uplifting. In fact the whole of Kilimanjaro can be treated as just an uplifting pop album but there’s far more going on than that. The problem is that whatever is going on is securely locked inside Cope’s mind. Yes there are references to television series The Outer Limits in “Sleeping Gas” and that song also mentions Rafferty, a seventies series staring Patrick McGoohan which was a precursor to Hugh Lawrie’s House, but I’ve no idea why those things are namechecked. Like a line in another song says: “Poppies are in the fields, don’t ask me what that means”. The thing is, you don’t need to know and maybe it’s even better not knowing because you never know what to expect with Cope. Kilimanjaro is often overlooked when discussing post-punk music – it deserves better. –Ian
Jive Time Turntable
Badfinger “Wish You Were Here” (1974)
Simply put Badfinger’s best album, contains no hit singles and was surprisingly pulled from the shelves (which can’t have helped Pete Ham’s fragile mind) but everything here has a cohesion and quality control lacking on other albums. ‘Just A Chance’ is a fabulous rocker, amongst the best of the band’s career, ‘You’re So Fine’, ‘Know One Knows’, ‘Love Time’, ‘King Of The Load’ could all quite conceivably been hit singles, all show the band’s poppier style to fine effect, ‘Got To Get Out Of Here’ and ‘Dennis’ show off a more acoustic, reflective almost countryish style whilst ‘In The Meantime/Some Other Time’ and ‘Meanwhile Back At The Ranch/Should I Smoke’ are pure power pop, lavishly arranged, musically and melodically as inventive as the band was ever to get, it lacks one of Ham’s gorgeous ballads but otherwise this is as good as they ever got, shame then that it was to be the band’s final album before Pete Ham’s suicide, they could have gone on to even better things. –Derek
Captain Beefheart “Trout Mask Replica” (1969)
The Captain’s best known album really divides opinion. Some see it as utter unlistenable garbage others see it as some sort of musical nirvana. In truth it probably falls somewhere between the two extremes. It is indeed hard to listen too and it takes time to fully absorb the music. It is like the blues has crashed into an Albert Ayler gig and the two don’t make easy bedfellows. Still there is some incredibly complex and impressive playing contained within. The Rhythm section must have had nightmares when Beefheart turned up with the score, yes every note was written not improvised. Also if possible the lyrics seem even more out there than usual and reside firmly in the leftfield. The album does however contain two of my favourite Beefheart tracks in “Moonlight On Vermont” and “Dachau Blues.” –Jon
Free “Free” (1969)
From the moment I heard the opening chords of the funky Stones-like strut “Trouble On Double Time” I was hooked on “Free.” Free’s self-titled second LP is a bit more retrained than Tons of Sobs and more soulful than their breakthrough album, Fire and Water, making it my favorite, and one that holds up to repeated listening. Side one kicks off with the ominous classic “I’ll Be Creepin,” followed by the aforementioned “Trouble” and closes with the hypnotic “Mouthful Of Grass,” a memorable, mostly instrumental track with a choir supplying wordless vocals. Side two doesn’t disappoint as it begins with the heavy blues-rocker “Woman” and ends with the melancholy “Mourning Sad Morning.” For those most familiar with Free through their overplayed hit “All Right Now” or through lead singer Paul Rodgers’ stint in equally overplayed Bad Company check out this early LP and their equally fantastic debut, Tons of Sobs. –David
Lou Reed “Lou Reed” (1972)
Yes, a couple members of Yes do perform on this, the first solo album by the so-called godfather of punk, but thankfully you rarely sense it. And no, I suppose this isn’t essential Lou Reed; but minor Lou is better than no Lou, and better than most other music, too. These are barebones arrangements, tentative and sketchy, but they point the way to his incredibly strange 70s career as well as taking a rather bleary look back at the last couple of VU records. That is to say, this sounds like the burned out leader of the Velvet Underground has to borrow some of his old band’s tunes in order to get a full album out; but it also sounds like a rock ’n’ roll original busy reinventing himself in new times. So “I Can’t Stand It” gets the 70s guitar-rock treatment, while the version of “Lisa Says” is the same arrangement that we hear on the VU Live 1969 set, injected with even more sleazy soul. There are some real missteps, particularly when Steve Howe makes his presence felt: the first incarnation of “Berlin” starts out well but gets a little goofy, with flourishes thoroughly out of step with Reed’s aesthetic; and “Ride into the Sun” sports a guitar solo that’s simply tasteless. “Walk and Talk It” is another Velvets’ remake that doesn’t come off particularly well, with a Stonesy riff that sounds tossed off and limp. And there’s no question that the take on “Ocean” here is deeply flawed, with tympani and cymbal swells that don’t adhere to the rest of the album’s low-key vibe. But there are at least two lost classics buried here too: the infectious “Wild Child” and the wistful “Love Makes You Feel” seem to me just about essential Reed songs. And yes, it also sounds shitty, production-wise—especially the drums, which sound like ice cream buckets. But this lends the album a trashy Lower East Side feel that I find irresistible. All in all, this is a fine, fine little record that is unjustly overlooked even by his biggest fans. –Will
The Modern Lovers “The Modern Lovers” (1976)
This albums flawlessness is unparalleled. Jonathan Richman has crafted an ideal record that is filled with exceptional songs. “Pablo Picasso” has to be one of my favorites. I can never get enough of it and “Hospital” is right there alongside it. Just beautiful love stories told with such panache and Richman’s voice is perfectly suited with each spoken word. Listening to “Hospital” is heartrending, but when reading the lyrics it’s almost like a six year old wrote it. But, this album is anything but ordinary. It’s a candid masterpiece that ranks at the top of all my lists. –Jason
Jethro Tull “Stand Up” (1969)
First off, let me confess that I don’t particularly like Jethro Tull. I find their output longwinded, pompous, tedious and dull … except for this record, which I inexplicably adore. There’s a light, airy feel to even the hard rock numbers here, while the music effortlessly fuses elements of rock, folk, blues and classical. The rhythm section — Glenn Cornick’s melodic bass and Clive Bunker’s steady-as-she-goes drumming — anchors the songs, which are gentle, wistful and delicate … not generally words I’d associate with Ian Anderson. Everything works — the bouzouki-driven “Fat Man”, the gorgeous ballad “Look Into The Sun”, the intense rock of “A New Day Yesterday”, the Bach arrangement “Bouree” … Yes folks, there was a time when Tull “had it”. Sadly, apart from a couple of singles recorded around the same time (notably “Living In The Past”), the band would move onto other (in my opinion, less rewarding) territory. Fact is, not even their next album, Benefit, sounds like Stand Up. By far their crowning achievement. –Tom
David Axelrod “Song of Innocence” (1968)
Trying to put a tag on the music of legendary producer David Axelrod is almost impossible as his music, especially [when] early offerings such as this, straddles so many genres. You get funk, jazz, classical and rock all thrown into the melting pot to create a rather unique sound that has had a large influence on many people. Nowhere has this been more apparent than in hip hop and trip hop where this LP has been heavily sampled. If you are a fan of those two genres prepare to hear a lot of familiar breaks when you hear this record for the first time. The LP itself was heavily influenced by the poetry of William Blake hence there is a dark brooding feel throughout and Axelrod uses layers of strings playing minor keys to obtain this mood. The drums and percussion drive the music on and there are some fantastic guitar breaks. –Jon
They Might Be Giants “They Might Be Giants” (1986)
Quite the mixed bag, but the goodness is really good (“Don’t Lets Start”, “Youth Culture Killed My Dog”, “Boat of Car”) and the badness is gone before you know it (“Rabid Child”, “(She Was) A Hotel Detective”, “Chess Piece Face”), washed away in the swift flow of quirky tunes and strange ideas that make up TMBG’s debut album. And you’ll likely disagree with my choices for good and bad, as well, since everything here is so eclectic. It’s hard for me to take any of this too seriously, because the band ly doesn’t, but as usual, they always sprinkle in enough food for thought and maybe-profound lyrics that it doesn’t desolve into complete camp. In this early stage of their career, they kind of sound like a mix between the Residents and Weird Al. Only better than that description sounds. Soon, they would refine their aesthetic and make more fully realized statements. –Lucas
The Beatles “Magical Mystery Tour” (1967)
Released only a few months after Sgt. Pepper’s, Magical Mystery Tour had mighty big shoes to fill. Despite its expected chartbuster sales figures, many felt let down by what seemed a musical afterthought. Being guilty by association with the only truly lame Beatles film, sporting an unbecomingly goofy cover, and appearing to be yet another Capitol Records “hatchet job” release, it seemed doomed to a lifetime of disrespect from the start. But over time this lovable underdog has solidified itself both as a fine collection of songs and an essential document of a band just moments away from the most dramatic artistic shift of its career. MMT represents the triumphant last hurrah of the “Psychedelic Beatles”. While the iconic “I am the Walrus” is certainly its most famous example, Harrison’s lost-in-the-fog dirge, “Blue Jay Way”, delivers its most profoundly surreal moment. In fact, it’s the seldom-heard-elsewhere obscurities that propel MMT to greatness: “Your Mother Should Know”, a nugget of Macca’s sterling pop songcraft; the dreamy “Flying”, the only instrumental to ever make it on to a proper Beatles LP; and “Baby You’re a Rich Man”, their catchiest-ever non-hit. Sure, there are the hits too, but these somehow coexist with their less radio-saturated counterparts. While “Penny Lane” and “Strawberry Fields Forever” were released as a double A-side almost a year before, their absence here would be unthinkable. And “All You Need is Love”, originally recorded for an unrelated global telecast, ends up providing one of the greatest album closers in history. UK fans remain critical, perhaps justifiably; they got a much shorter EP version. But years later, when reconnoitering the British albums for release on CD, Apple decided that this superior version of MMT would join the ranks of the Beatles’ “Core Catalog” thus conceding that –- just this once -– Capitol got it right. – Richard
Cannonball Adderley “At the Lighthouse” (1961)
Cannonball Adderley is a tremendously joyful performer. It’s the trait that makes him such a great foil for melancholy Miles on their collaborations. It’s also the trait that makes At the Lighthouse such a beautiful album. A lot of jazz music is aimed at expanding boundaries, or breaking them down entirely. A great deal of the most highly regarded work is exploratory in nature, and that exploration can be breath-taking. There is something to be said, however, for simplicity. The musicians on At the Lighthouse never force a note. Each solo is in complete service of the song, rather than taking the first opportunity to bust free of the song’s framework. The rhythm section of Sam Jones and, particularly, drummer Louis Hayes are economical and straight-forward. Adderley and his brother Nat deliver lovingly crafted solos and have a precise but easy-going chemistry when playing together. The real stand-out, in my mind, is pianist Victor Feldman. He always waits patiently for his solo (always third) and accentuates the rhythm section. Then, he takes the reigns and delivers these long, eloquent solos while still helping to propel the song along. Really lovely stuff. If your thing is Ascension and The Shape of Jazz to Come, and you’re only interested in the outer edge of jazz, then this album may not be for you. If you just love great music, however, then this magical, casual recording of a night at a club in 1960 will make you smile, guaranteed. –Lucas
The Rolling Stones “Sticky Fingers” (1971)
The Stones in peak form, having with this album reached the point where everything always seems just on the verge of falling apart (listen to that lazy backbeat on “Sway,” easily one of their greatest songs; the chorus of “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking,” with its vocal declamation/piano vamping/guitar sliding just off-kilter enough to be note-perfect). One of the few rock albums to utilize horns and strings with proper contextuality (only to be outdone with their next release…): rather than filling in space or adding some “mood” or “colour,” these additions flesh out the emotional range of the songs themselves (as does the Santana-lite jam at the end of “CYHMK’ing”, with its suspenseful repetition and restraint). Despite being nearly killed by FM radio, “Brown Sugar” remains a perfect opener, with that fantastic electric/acoustic guitar interplay and the castanets, which burst in through the saloon doors and swagger on up to the bar, but only hint at the brash, swaggering shitkicking that the listener gets from this album. “Moonlight Mile” is a perfect closer, sleepy, resigned, yet ecstatic. The sleaze factor also helps (packaging and all), what with the sex and drugs and generally foggy malaise over the whole thing, letting the highs really rise in contrast. They couldn’t consciously make an album this good – it ain’t about consciousness, it’s about guitar, bass, and drums. –Will
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