50 Albums: Session #43

There are a few unintentional themes in this selection – the randomiser seems to have a thing for San Franciscan disco and hip hop.

I love disco, but alas, not all disco is created equal. Once disco was shown to be a decent way to make a buck, labels were ready to find ways to exploit it. Some of it was awful, some of it was pretty great, most was somewhere in between, and like most genres that get big quick, there’s often more awful than great. Some of it, like The Village People, started firmly in the middle. This self-titled debut (1977) isn’t bad; to be honest, the opening track, an ode to San Francisco is pretty decent, and the rest of it is OK too. But even though it’s a real short listen (less than 25 minutes), it’s nowhere near as engaging enough for me. They would go on to commercial success with some pop-disco mega-hits, although much less good records, but even though this is as good as they got, I’ll still pass. (On the video, note all the original ‘people’!)

Bowie‘s mid-80s period starts properly here. Tonight (1984) followed hot on the heels of Let’s Dance, and broadly matched the template laid out there – except less good. Despite the fact that the two big singles are both pretty grand (Loving the Alien and Blue Jean, still neither the best singles of his career), the album is still a let down and one rarely played, especially not from start to finish. It was not Bowie’s lowest point, but it was a definitely sign that he had lost his way.

I know that I am supposed to like Earl Sweatshirt, and I sort of do. I like that he is out there and doing his thing. Doris (2013), his first proper album, is a fascinating mix of sounds and ideas, and there are lots of bits that I think are great. However, I find the sum of it all a little off-putting, and I don’t gel that well with Sweatshirt’s flow – it doesn’t roll well for me. I do wonder if I spent more time with it, let its lyrical and musical themes sink in a little, maybe I’d click.

I recall The Bake Sale (2008) by The Cool Kids getting a lot of buzz too. I came across a copy about ten years late and I could see the charm – it mixed the inventiveness of alternative hip hop with old school beats. And yet, I listen and don’t find myself in for the long haul. The moments that are great, are great, but I can sit this one out.

Just last session, I was writing about 16 Horsepower and David Eugene Edwards, and the album Secret South went through without any doubts. Edwards’ subsequent project, Woven Hand, mined the same territory, following the blueprint laid out by the final 16 Horsepower album, Folklore, but with a broader palette of instrumentation. To my surprise, from the off, I just haven’t gelled with it anywhere near as much – it feels a little contrived, without the natural energy of the earlier sound. Mosaic (2008) was the fourth (or fifth) album, and the last one I bought. I kind of gave up at that point.

Enter Scott Walker 3.0. In brief: there was Scott of the Walker Brothers and his four astonishingly rich solo albums – lush European ballads with over-whelming arrangements; this is followed by cruising Scott – careening in neutral into AOR country; Scott 3.0 was first sighted clearly in his four song suite at the end of the ill-fated Walkers comeback album, Nite Flites, but it took an additional six years until we saw him in plain view once again. From this point on, rules are made to be broken, and his increasingly operatic vocals plumb the horrors of existence like never before. Climate of Hunter (1983), at first glance, is fairly conventional musically – the music does not seem so out of place for the sort of serious, grown up pop rock we find in David Sylvian, Bryan Ferry, Peter Gabriel and so on. The first track is, again on first glance, only notable on account of Scott’s vocal style and the lyrics. The lyrics are heading off into a very different territory – this is how you disappear sings the man who had done just that. But from the opening track onwards, we have a slow dismantling of expectations. The songs, if you can call them that are less important than the sense of dis-ease and threat that accompany them. Walker’s instruments are rich, looming, cool, unfussy. He would get more avant-garde musically – see The Drift – but here the weirdness is insidious (augmented by unexpected choices – track three has harmonies from Billy Ocean). Check out Track Six (only half the tracks are named) – it booms from a half life into chattering and crashing and yawning beasts. Very special.

To be filed alongside other re-discovered late 60s/early 70s gems like Bill Fay, Gary Higgins, Linda Perhacs and Rodriguez, UFO (1969) by Jim Sullivan is one of the best, and has started to get the reputation it deserves, if only in certain circles. What’s special about it? Everything and nothing. In essence, it’s late 60s, American folk rock/chamber pop, not especially atypical of the West Coast scene, tastefully, but ornately arranged with light psychedelic touches. But everything is spot on: it grooves where it’s supposed to groove, soars where it’s supposed to soar, lyrically and vocally, it’s perfectly pitched. A classic.

P.G.Six is the alter-ego of Patrick Gubler, who produced a clutch of mesmerising alt-folk albums in the early 2000’s only to disappear into other projects. (Apparently, he has recently released a new P.G.Six album – I’ll have to check it out.) It’s a low-key album sitting equidistant between Bert Jansch, Richard Thompson, and Neil Young. That largely sums it up – it’s great – a very mellow, easy-going record, less freaky than his earlier records, a gentle listen. Highly recommended.

How to describe beloved weirdo-indie band Broadcast? They’re a strange band, alright. Looked at from one direction, they are revisiting the kitchy, lightweight girl pop from the 60s, from another the electronic experimentalism of Delia Derbyshire and the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, from another, their strangeness recalls the folk horror of kids occult writer Alan Garner. Ha Ha Sound (2003) is probably my favourite of theirs. Not every song hits, a few lack crispness for me (others may disagree) but the tone of the record gathers pace and the fuzzy decay on the synths become magical and linger in the imagination. These were a special band.

Sylvester is unjustly known for one mega-hit, but truth is, he was an incredible singer and a great interpreter – before he was known as a disco star he was in a rock band, covering Neil Young amongst others. Sylvester (1977) was his break-out album, the album where he found himself as a disco artist. It was produced by the legend Harvey Fuqua, who had worked with The Flamingos and Marvin Gaye amongst many others, and he knew what to do with a voice this sweet. Lead off from the album is the incredible Over and Over, a favourite a Larry Levan’s Paradise Garage. From there, though, the album mixes it up with gospel inflected soul and blues rubbing shoulders with dancefloor flavours. I Tried to Forget You is great, and set the template for last years Gabriels record. Worth noting also are the backing singers, terribly named Two Tons of Fun, later better known as The Weather Girls. Their vocals add a freer gospel dimension to Sylvester’s falsetto – especially on I Been Down, where they take the lead.

It’s not really fair on the other hip hop records in this group that the third album is Stankonia (2000) by Outkast, one of the most relentlessly, fun, inventive and successful bands of the genre – a combination that is guaranteed to press my buttons. The combination of Big Boi and Andre 3000 is rightfully celebrated – they are both phenomenal rappers, with clear identifiable personalities and styles that shine track after track. It helps that the album houses their huge breakout pop hit, Ms. Jackson – an unfeasibly happy earworm – it’ll stick in your memory but in a way that it’s hard to begrudge, it’s such a great hook. It also has the cutest video. But anyway, the whole record is great.

Our last record is Fire of Love (1981) by The Gun Club, one of the finest American punk bands. First up, I’m not sure that they’re best described as punk – if we’re talking broadly, then sure – punk; but they’re neither like the Dead Kennedy’s or The Clash – they’re more primal than both. I’ve heard them described as punk-blues, which is closer – they certainly channel the ‘older gods’ of American music, the blues, rock’n’roll, even country. In this respect, their closest musical cousins are probably The Cramps, although you’d likely hesitate to push that comparison (even though they did share a temporary guitarist in the legendary Congo ‘Kid’ Powers). Anyway, at their heart is fevered soul of Jeffrey Lee Pierce, who hollars and screams and preaches, and howls his way throughout the record. He exists in the classic rock’n’roll margins of sex, death and drugs and every song is a window into his world. Put simply, this is one of the finest albums of its type – every song is worth the price of admission – highlights include (for me): every song on the record. Check out the video. This is a slightly later line-up (Powers on guitar, and Patricia Morrison, later of The Sisters of Mercy, on bass). Also, if you recognise Pierce’s haircut, be reminded that he was the president of Blondie‘s fan club, and had a letter from Debbie Harry on the correct bleaching method that he carried with him.

We have a problem. Five are out, but there are seven vying to go through. In the long run, all seven will go through, but right now, someone will have to wait it out…