No preamble this week, other than I’ve finished a new baseball setting horror story this week and the office is kicking my butt. Here are some of the tunes flying behind it all…
One: Reverend Horton Heat – “Big Sky” and “Cruisin’ for a Bruisin’ ” Live in Phoenix, AZ 1994
The soul of the Twang Thang, Duane Eddy, never wholly left us. In fact, he splits-time his reincarnation through Brian Setzer and the Reverend Horton Heat, two holdout greaser punks who’ve long kept the torch for 1950s rock ‘n roll and in Setzer’s case, Big Band. The Reverend Horton Heat, real name, James C. Heath singlehandedly invented the underground punk movement called “psychobilly,” as in playing Fifties three chord nirvana at hyperspeed. Emphasis on swirling twang and inhuman rapidity on the slap bass, Jimbo Wallace in this band running a three-way tie for king with Lee Rocker and Kim Nekroman of the Nekromantix.
Psychobilly really took off in the late 1990s and 2000’s and still clings to life, rebranded through the horror leagues with a gawdy but fun cosplay of whiffle cuts and Bettie Page sculpts our parents and grandparents made fashionable. Today, sleeve tattoos and nasal piercings meet poodle skirts meets cigarette packs rolled up in Fruit of the Loom plain white tees. Some of the giddy creatures Reverend Horton Heat hath wrought are Nekromantix (whom you can count on showing up here on a future FTF segment), Koffin Kats, The Meteors, The Chop Tops, Tiger Army, The Young Werewolves, Swamptrash and HorrorPops.
I’ve seen Reverend Horton Heat play twice and had my mouth creaked open both times their entire set. Once with slick willy cowpunks Southern Culture on the Skids. RHH was only a click slower both times than the mayhem in this rowdy live clip from 1994. You won’t need your morning coffee to kick your day off with this stuff in-hand.
Two: Peter Murphy – “Cuts You Up”
This is one of my favorite voices in music, the baritone British Goth icon who fronted dark art neveau alt legends Bauhaus before staking an esteemed solo career. Peter Murphy sang in the background of many writing and lovemaking sessions throughout my life. I owe my old friend, Jason, and a one-time Goth girlfriend, Angie, for turning me on to Murphy. I was mesmerized me upon first greeting, especially with the exquisite “Marlene Dietrich’s Favourite Poem” and later, Murphy’s clever pep ditty making a song about the va-jay-jay sound like literati, “The Scarlet Thing in You.”
Though the bowstring being pulled across the bass to simulate violin sweeps from “Cuts You Up” is cringeworthy in this clip, the song is an infectious toe-tapper which stuffed my ears as readily as The Cure, Depeche Mode, Faith No More and Soundgarden in sophomore year of college during 1989. His later works are far more eccentric, much in the way he started with Bauhaus, but Peter Murphy’s voice remains endearing as ever. Prayers and well-wishes to Murphy, who has been bowing out in rehab stints to attend to his health.
Three: Ultravox – “All Stood Still”
UK new wave legends Ultravox at their sizzling, skritchy, zappy best, the sound of No Future London at The Heat Death of the Universe. Morphing from Tiger Lily to Ultravox! to Midge Ure’s revisionism, these guys went for broke from 1979 to the mid-Eighties and lit the new wave scene afire, ironically scoring their biggest hit with the lower-key exotica of “Vienna.”
Catch the brilliant ska strumming toward the final stanza of the bouncing elasticity of “All Stood Still.” See what I did there, lol? Even though bands on the long-ago British music show Top of the Pops seldom allowed their guests to play live, Ultravox’s energy makes you believe they’re having a real go instead of synching.
Four: The Flamingos – “I Only Have Eyes for You”
Back to the Fabulous Fifties and the greatest love jam of them all. Silky, lusty, moody, dreamy, subtly haunting, breathy, romantic beyond all the words given and implied in this doo-wop masterpiece. I reiterate; the greatest love jam of them all. Change my mind, I triple dog dare you.
Five: Latour – “Blue”
My first gig writing in the music scene was actually in electronic and Goth. I was already into 1990s techno as I’d begun exploring any and all genres outside of my core interest of metal, punk and rock. I remember seeing Basic Instinct in the theater and feeling jealous as eff Michael Douglas was getting shagged on and off the dance floor by Sharon Stone’s character, Catherine Tramell, and the way Tramell’s jilted lesbian lover was throwing Douglas eye daggers made it seem so unnervingly authentic.
This song spools behind the entire drama and I fell in love with “Blue,” unaware it was that same Latour goof who made people twitchy with his hysterical rave number getting mainstream play for a blip, “People Are Still Having Sex.” Latour’s self-titled album may sound dated compared to all that followed in the electronic scene and EDM partiers today might consider this trite. However, “Blue” absolutely pumps and when I’m in a Basic Instinct listening mood, I always pair off Jerry Goldsmith’s erotic tapestries (a repetitive score, yes, but so damned alluring) with Latour’s “Blue.” All part of the journey.
Hi hi, friends! It’s another Friday, and another round of FTF for ya. I got a few private messages encouraging me to keep this segment going and I appreciate your support. So, without further ado, here’s another batch of mixed genre tunes I hope you have fun digging into. Cheers, y’all…
Classics IV – “Stormy”
The British Invasion of the 1960s brought some of the most creative, psychedelic, at times bombastic (looking at you, Ray Davies and The Kinks) vibes in music history. Eventually UK artists stopped trying to emulate The Fab Four and sought their own butterscotch and peppermint happy pills. Classics IV had a handful a hits, some low-key and melancholic like “Sunny” and “Traces.” For me, their foot-tapping, note swinging ditties “Spooky” and “Stormy” are where it’s at.
The Clash – “Magnificent Seven,” live, the Tom Snyder Show, 1981
The greatest punk band that ever lived, The Beatles of the genre. Fearless pioneers who pushed all boundaries of what they helped build. Punk bands in their wake chased after reggae, dub and ska elements after The Clash, Madness and The Specials broke the doors wide open. The funk and jive studio cut of “Magnificent Seven” from The Clash’s Sandinista album was an example of their transitional noodling. It was a street-savvy shuck out of the gutters and thrusting their will into the bleeding eyesore that was New York City during the 1970s and early Eighties. When The Clash came on The Tom Snyder Show in 1981, they peeled the paint off the studio with this blistering version screaming of urgency. Their curtain call of “Radio Clash” on the same program did likewise. One of the greatest live performances I’ve ever seen from anyone, bar none.
The Jackson 5 – “I Wanna Be Where You Are”
My son is a huge Michael Jackson fan, considering modern gangsta rap is his primary jam. I eventually surrendered my Jackson 5 greatest hits package to him after he repeatedly asked me as a younger lad to leave it playing in his stereo at bedtime. Some people forget how Michael and his brothers first took the world by storm as a family before he and his sister, Janet, became pop icons. The J5 were everywhere in the Seventies, and my mom did the same for me as a child as I did for my kid. Almost everyone beneath the age 50 has no clue a Jackson 5 cartoon existed, but TJ and I always talk whimsically about that over Sunday morning tea, since that’s when it aired, at least in our neck of the woods. The J5 had one monster hit after another as a unified, funky dancing machine. Yet I think my son and I see eye-to-eye with “I Wanna Be Where You Are” as our mutual favorite Jackson 5 jam.
The Dining Rooms – “Pure and Easy”
Staying stuck in the theme of Six Feet Under the show, this electro chill gem corralled onto the first soundtrack is aural yumminess decked with a slick bossa nova groove turned upside down. It carries a shuffle-slide prompting gentle neck bobbing and a twangy guitar reverb that smacks of sheer coolness. Only one song in the land can outdo the sublime bravado of The Dining Rooms’ “Pure and Easy.” That would be Primal Scream’s “Trainspotting.” Cue either as my official entrance theme.
Anthrax – “Indians”
Thrash icons Anthrax shy from no one when they have something to say. In 1987, they stood tall for our aggrieved Native American brothers and sisters with this speed metal fist in the air against racism, persecution and gross thievery of an entire culture’s right to subsist. The video for “Indians” shook things up and made, at least the heavy metal community, more aware of the tucked-away atrocities befallen of the descendants of proud tribes shoved into quiet pockets of poverty. It also has some of the best moshing footage of the times.
So this time I thought I would mash up my “Five Friday” themes and offer up a quintet of songs plowing through my head and from my stereo this week. The genres are varied, ditto for the vibes. The mind of Van Horn is a wild place to be, and I hop music styles on a dime at all times. With that caveat, I do hope you have a go and listen through.
The (International) Noise Conspiracy – “The Reproduction of Death”
Punk met ’60s Swinging London with political fang from Sweden’s The (International) Noise Conspiracy. They had something powerful and energetic to say before they toned their sound down over time. The raw exuberance of their few first albums is exactly what I’d hoped to have in a band of my own. Never happened, but when I’ve had a hard day, The (International) Noise Conspiracy is one of my go-tos. “Capitalism Stole My Virginity,” just sayin’
The Weeknd & Kendrick Lamar – “Pray for Me”
The Weeknd may be an upper strata R&B-hip hop megastar nobody saw coming until a few years ago, and a few of his more controversial songs push my tolerance. Overall, I dig the guy a lot and play his entire catalog in a full push whenever I dive into him. What did he for Avatar: The Way of Water is majestic, but nothing compares to his theme for Black Panther. No doubt Chadwick is shucking and jiving on the great delta beyond to this one.
The Church – “Reptile”
One of the singular masterpieces of classic alternative rock (going double for the album it’s found on, Starfish), Australia’s The Church dropped a piece you can’t help but studying for the dual melodies swimming overtop an already highly textured track. Every single instrument employed on “Reptile” counts, is mixed to the fore and that beat…Jesus wept.
Sia – “Breathe Me”
One of a bare handful of songs that’s ever pushed me to the brink of tears upon first contact. I may not be a fan of Sia’s pop stuff nor her mondo coif image, but “Breathe Me” is one of the most emotive songs I’ve ever heard from anyone in recording history. I’m not sure what impresses me more how this song has been used in visual media, the Polaroid parade of this video or its usage in the finale of the HBO series, Six Feet Under (my second favorite show of all-time), scoring what fates become of each of the show’s principal characters.
Tool – “Stinkfist”
Prog metal wizards Tool aren’t for everyone, though they are a former boss’ favorite band ever, to this chagrin of his wife, who used to complain to me in private how often she’s subjected to their music. Tool can go on and on in their heady music, but nobody engages their audience in multimedia fashion the way these guys have. Sink in with this one if you dare for its garish imagery and grinding rhythm. When the song climaxes, it climaxes, crikey. I hit my Tool section only when the mood really hits, mostly the Aenima album and this glorious intro song, my personal favorite from the band.
So let’s do this without much preamble this week other than to say Happy Friday and thank you as always for swinging by Roads Lesser Traveled!
One: Last Saturday was one of the most epic nights of baseball I’ve ever had with my bestis mensch, Shawn, at Camden Yards. Great seats, great company, the Orioles championship Class of ’83 including our man, Eddie Murray (for me, the GOAT I was blessed to have met as a kid back in the day with Cal Ripkin) and a terrific 7-3 win by the Orioles.
We initially got skunked out of a 20,000 only Murray bobblehead giveaway even showing up an hour early thanks to some rough traffic jams. The game was nearly sold-out and competition for Eddie’s bobbler was fierce, even amongst fans of the visiting team since Eddie was once a New York Met. Yet the baseball gods found a way to bestow us the bobbles anyway after the game. I’m still in awe of how it happened. We got the Murrays! Orioles Magic, we were feelin’ it happen. Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!
Two: Legent bourbon is one of THE finest swills I’ve ever had. My boss gifted me with a bottle of Legent a few months ago as an atta-boy for my part on a million-dollar closing. I fell in love with it. There’s a certain best mensch I mentioned moments ago whose wedding party gift will look very similar to this picture above, just sayin’.
Three: So we tried Dave’s Hot Chicken on Wednesday and they’re not playing in the hot department. I went for the full Monty and tried the Reaper spice. They actually made me sign a waiver before taking it out. God’s honest truth. I said then it would be the weekend before TJ lets me kiss her again. Luckily, that was false. 🙂
Four: I’ve not been as much as a cereal guy as I used to be maaaaaany moons ago. In fact, other than the annual box of Boo-Berry my folks gift me and my son as a Halloween treat tradition, I’ve just shied away, even though I love the healthy-for-you cereals that would’ve made Mikey up here sneer.
TJ knows her cereals, and she keeps bringing home the stuff adults love and kids cringe at, including Life cereal. It’d been so long since I had me some Life, it was a breakfast mouth-gasm. Hey Ray Ray! He likes it! Again.
Hey hey, my friends! Hope the week’s been kind to you. It’s been a while since I’ve done a Five Friday operation here at Roads Lesser Traveled, but I’m in the mood since there’s been a lot tumbling around in my head, most of it good, some…well, we’ll leave that mess all on the back burner where it belongs. So here are five things at the front that are worth mentioning:
One: I have had the best traffic stats here on the ol’ blog this week in a long time. By my count, this was my second-best week ever. I know a lot of it comes down to consistency and interaction and hopefully dropping content y’all are enjoying. My spare time between family and work is pretty slim, but it was a productive content and other blog visitation week. I want to thank all of you for amping my visits. Thank you to all of my new followers who came aboard this week (definitely a record number of newbies in a week for RLT, woot!) and simply, thanks for your support. Virtual huggies, fist bumps, low hand slides, all that jive.
Two: Iron Man may have had a dramatic exit out of the MCU in the movies ala Avengers: Endgame, however, Tony Stark is alive and well in the comics and, of all things, he’s getting hitched! No, not to Pepper. No, he’s not stealing Peter Parker’s eternal flame, MJ. Not even Hellcat, with whom he had a fling in the last volume of Iron Man the comic. No, Stark has lost everything in this current run of the title, penned by Gerry Duggan, and he’s out for vengeance against the anti-mutant crusader who usurped his fortune and tech, Feilong.
What does Stark have left after his pal Jim “Rhodey” Rhodes gets framed and arrested for a murder he didn’t commit while helping Tony shell out (yeah, pun intended) his armament buildings controlled by Feilong? A generation-passed membership into the Hellfire Club and what is being set up a future marriage to X-Men supreme Omega, Emma Frost! This whole plot seems wackier than an eight appendaged Spiderman (yeah, that really happened), but Duggan, who is also writing a hefty load of X-Men and prime engineer of the dramatic “Fall of X” storyline now in full motion, has been aces with The Invincible Iron Man. Consider that my current drug comic right now. Gimmick or not, the nuptials between Stark and Frost is a must-read! Bring tha noise!
Three: My son is getting close to driving age, which means he’s growing up and has been much faster than I wanted him to. Sounds like familiar vernacular to any parent, I’m sure. Over the years, I’ve had a tough time navigating what media is appropriate for him to consume, whether it’s video games, music, movies, all of it. Every teenager growing up has to push the envelope with his or her parent(s). What gets considered taboo becomes the ultimate sneak spree. I know all about it, considering the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre was on my mom’s no-no list while I was growing up. This was at the dawn of VCRs and video tapes. My old buddy, Shawn, and I had an “in” at a local video store and being hungry horror hounds, we were able to get Chainsaw on the down low, and, as it turned out, far worse, considering the original Texas romp was tame in the gore department.
I think of that all the time when I figure how much my kid snuck behind my back and how we’re now well past it. Where I was hardline conservative in parenting, more liberal in my politics, sociology and overall thought process, I’ve softened up over time with my kid. He’s seen it all, done some choice things I had to take him to the mat over, but in a summer of healing for all of us a family, enter the old Showtime series, the American version of Shameless, running on Netflix. Two years ago, I would’ve ripped all access to any media from my kid if he’d tried to pawn this. Now, here we are, almost done with Season 2 (he already binged the entire run once since it’s summer break for him) and I love the fearlessness of this show. It reminds me of HBO’s Six Feet Under, my second all-time favorite show in the way that anything goes, no filter or border is safe, and yet all of the insane shenanigans of Shameless is so well-executed, such a flippin’ riot, I keep studying it for my own work.
Funny how parents and their kids can sometimes come to an awkward, if harmonious meeting at the generation gap.
Four: Tomorrow, my cousin Shawn (a different Shawn than Texas Chainsaw Shawn, lol) who will be my “best mensch” at our wedding, and I are going to the Baltimore Orioles game, my first since COVID. I used to take my family to Orioles and Washington Nationals games a lot before the outbreak, because we had limited entertainment funds and we were either at a library, a park, the movies or a baseball stadium. My son got the shits of baseball, unfortunately, to the point he likes to do what teenagers do and give me grief saying the Orioles “suck.” Just because.
Well, yeah, they fell like a brick on hard times in the past few years, but if you’re paying attention to baseball, the Orioles are currently flying high. Way high. I won’t quote the stats, because I’m a firm believer in sports jinx, but anywho, tomorrow, the Orioles will be honoring the 1983 team which last won a World Series for Baltimore. 40 years ago. We’re talking Cal Ripkin, Jim Palmer, Rick Dempsey, a ton of O’s legends including my man, Eddie Murray. The team is not only bringing back much of that wonderful Class of ’83, there’s an Eddie Murray bobblehead giveaway! I had to go. I just had to. It’ll be a blast just to call out the chant when Eddie steps out on the field tomorrow, just like we did at the height of Orioles Magic back in the day: “Ed-die! Ed-die! Ed-die!”
Five: A hijack of a post I did at Facebook last week:
“Happy stat of the week. A couple weeks ago, I went to the doctor for a routine and TJ asked me to have them draw blood for a cholesterol check. Turns out that registered high and I was also told I have a pre-diabetic condition. I came in at 192 pounds which isn’t bad, but definitely a result of nursing my third back pull of the year and heavy intakes. My vest for my wedding suit was too tight, a wakeup call of its own.
Doing my research, I knocked out excess carbs due to a lazier than usual diet, quit stress snacking at work, restricted myself to 4 alcoholic drinks only in a week and got back to basics with healthier eating. My sugar intake spiked as it will living with a teenager, but I refuse to use that excuse any longer. With my chiropractor’s help, I have been running 2-3 miles 3 times a week on mixed elevations, 4-5 miles on a track as I prepare for 5K and 10K races in September. Intensive lifting days as I feel froggy. Two weeks later, I came in this morning weighing 182.5 pounds. Nearly 10 burned off in that duration.
Do yourselves a favor, especially as you get older; keep on top of your health and keep a close eye on cholesterol and sugar levels.”
I’m happy to report that my weigh-in this morning showed only a .5 pound gain for a lean and stealthy 183. Hopefully I can maintain this momentum.
Five From the Shelf Friday will return, but it’s been a week, oy, so let me swing into the weekend with five thoughts looming on my mind…
First, Memento Mori, the new album from the now-duo of Depeche Mode, drops today. My copy should be hitting me this afternoon from Amazon and I have already scored a pair of tickets for the tour in October. Word has it Memento Mori will be stripped (pun intended), reverential and somber in remembrance of the recent passing of Andy “Fletch” Fletcher. Whatever vibe prevails, I will no doubt be soaking up Memento Mori on repeat.
2. It’s been two years already since TJ came back into my life. We were close friends, compatriots, fellow writers, co-workers and equal parts nerd and knucklehead. I never thought a day like this would come after so many years apart, where she would enter mine and my son’s lives to become my future bride. Life has a funny way, and this whole thing seems predestined, regardless of the painful roads it took to reach this point. See you at the altar in October, babe.
3. Spring Equinox is here, yay! However, we’ve been so smashed-up busy with life and drama we totally missed Ostara. Overdue love and honor to you, Brigid, blessed be. We suck.
4. We just had a pipe leak in the townhouse we’re renting and leaving in May. Right after that, a vanity mirror in the fourth level bathroom became unhinged. And worse, my key broke off inside the bolt lock! Good times, ain’t we lucky we’ve got ’em. Things come in threes, so says the magickal law, but I would add that every single place I’ve lived in my adult life, when it comes to moving on, each house has had its own rude way of not only saying goodbye, but spitefully dropping its protest against me/us.
5. Warmer weather means it’s getting time to hit the trails! You all know me by now…it’s been a month of running and prep at the gym for spring through fall hiking, though TJ and I are both getting older and have to watch those knees. No excuses, though. See ya soon, roads lesser traveled!
Happy St. Patty’s Day and Sláinte to all you Irish and non, and all those pretending to be. Hail to Clans McDermott and McKnight, who bred with my German-Dutch ancestors and later down the DNA chain got with an Englishman to later put me on this planet. I honor my Irish descendants as much as the rest of my lineage. Earlier in the week I ran a local Celtic Canter 5K with a couple of buddies and we later took down Blacksmith pints (i.e. a Guinness blended with Smithwicks, though make sure you pronounce it correctly as “Smitticks” before you get laughed out of a true Irish pub) at a favorite haunt, O’Lordan’s in Westminster, Maryland, my former hometown. TJ and I will be back there again this weekend with another crew and we look forward to having our bellies warmed and our ears filled with local Celtic music and the camaraderie of longtime friends. Appropriately, I’ll lead off this week’s Five From the Shelf Friday with The Pogues
The Pogues – If I Should Fall From Grace With God
Of all the many times I’ve seen Celtic folk-punk band Flogging Molly play (one of the coolest parties onstage anywhere), I wish I’d had a chance to catch their inspiration, The Pogues, play just once. While my favorite Pogues album will always be the rowdy and ribald Red Roses for Me, there’s no arguing these Irish rebels rampaging their London recording studio hit their finest and most impactful stride on If I Should Fall From Grace With God. Far less of a hyperactive pogue mahone (translated from the Gaelic póg mo thóin as “kiss my arse”) by the time slushy-voiced (and back then, slushy everything) Shane McGowan recorded their third platter in 1988 The Pogues had done some soul searching. Thus, at times, If I Should Fall From Grace With God rings of atonement.
I spent two days this week listening to The Pogues, Flogging Molly, Dropkick Murphys, The Tossers, The Dubliners and The Chieftains, the latter two being far less hectic and more sanitized in traditional Irish music. Today, for St. Patty’s Day, expect some Thin Lizzy in my ears. Thin Lizzy, still the pride of Ireland, being the most criminally underrated rock band in history. Getting back to If I Should Fall From Grace With God, the album marks the peak of The Pogues’ success, largely on the back of a runaway hit, “Fairy Tale of New York.” The song speaks of the disenfranchisement and exploitation of 1800’s Irish leaving their famine-stricken homeland for what seemed like a guarantee of better times on American shores. You can watch Gangs of New York or bend an ear to Shane McGowan and later, Dave King in Flogging Molly, to get a better grasp on why we celebrate St. Patty’s Day, even if the modern age is one hypocritical, all-inclusive excuse to get shitfaced off of Irish carbombs, a Guinness with a shot of Jameson and Bailey’s each dropped into the pint. The same as Cinco de Mayo, where even the richest racist can pretend he is Mejicano for a day with a bottle of Clase Azul Blanco.
Broadening on what The Pogues had established an album prior on Rum Sodomy & The Lash,If I Should Fall From Grace With God stays true to their clap-happy, stomping scripts on the title track, “Sit Down By the Fire” and the deliciously profane “Bottle of Smoke,” all songs you should hear in a true Irish pub, no matter if the date be March 17th or not. Where If I Should Fall From Grace With God becomes a work of art is where The Pogues push their tin-whistling, jig-stepping modes on the somber and quixotic “Lullaby of London,” where accordion, banjo and mandolin tell the solemn story of an Irishman coming home from London, only to take his grievances out of on his own child. “Thousands are Sailing” perks of The Chieftains and Bruce Springsteen with a more rock-driven approach, while the blaring cacophony of brass horns and piano give figurative voice to the bustle on “Metropolis,” this while pushing a swinging Celtic melody into it. You see where The Pogues were going with this; the Irish trying to find a voice in a city doing more to engulf and subjugate them instead of embracing their rich heritage. Be it New York or their homebase of London.
“Fiesta” is an out-of-nowhere whiz-bang trip through a durango-popping cantina where two oppressed cultures meet in communal happiness. Flogging Molly replicated “Fiesta’s” brave tinkering on their far faster “Sentimental Johnny.” Yet the song which should take all Irish and even those far-flung mutts with ancient lineage back on home to river-cutting greener banks is “The Broad Majestic Shannon.” Try not to sigh over your Tullamore Dew…
Prince – Small Club 1988
The G.O.A.T. IMNSHO.
It’s common knowledge Prince Rogers Nielsen swung a mighty mean axe and was the definition of multi-instrumentalist. Everyone knows he was a funk, soul, rock and pop brother who hit the pinnacle of his popularity during the 1980s and early Nineties before letting the spirit of independent creativity get the best of him, sales-wise. For the triumph of Purple Rain as a soundtrack and movie, there were the colossal thuds of Under the Cherry Moon and Graffiti Bridge, though each film at least has killer music to brag about. That, and the understated comic larceny committed by Jerome Benton from The Time in those awkward films.
All that being said, I followed Prince all the way to his tragic death, first latching onto him with 1980’s Dirty Mind. I was a mad chump sucker upon first greeting of that humming synth line, a bigger metronome than the actual beat laid down by Dr. Fink. I won’t bore you all trying to cram all the Prince love I can inside this post. His work will pop up on future posts, that’s all but a guarantee. My favorite Prince album is Sign o’ The Times, even more so after getting the 8 CD box set reissue, and props to The Revolution, New Power Generation, 3rd Eye Girl and all the vast personnel serving as his backing band. I will always attest the Sign o’ The Times crew was Prince’s most potent, Sheila E especially as his best drum wrecker. The synchronicity of this Prince band, whew…to coin the man’s song title, still would stand all time.
I had the privilege of seeing Prince twice, for the Musicology and Emancipation tours. The latter with Chaka Khan and Larry Graham of Sly and the Family Stone as his openers. Graham and Khan joined Prince for an encore rendition of “I Feel For You,” Khan’s greatest hit written by Prince. In deference, they performed it in the key slide of the way Prince originally conceived it. Graham would later join the NPG. Anyone who’s seen Prince play live will tell you there’s no experience comparable to it. As an uber Prince fan, I have quite a few bootlegs and radio broadcasts of his concerts and they’re spectacular enough. Yet my fellow uber Prince devotees will agree, it was the man’s after-party shows where his true greatness was set free.
Of the many live recordings I have, a few being these legendary after-party gigs, Small Club 1988 remains my favorite. Likewise a radio broadcast performance on the Lovesexy tour captured at Paard van Troje, The Hague, Netherlands, Prince and the gang (still with Sheila E on the kit) freestyle the hell out of their instruments through long marathons of funk, soul and rock. After a 12 minute instrumental session that tees off the set with all due credit hype, they tag a few Prince classics like “D.M.S.R.” and three Sign o’ the Times gems, “Forever In My Life,” “It’s Gonna Be a Beautiful Night” and “Housequake.” “Housequake” being a trusty main show player, yet they planted it this time as one of the band’s sweatiest renditions. With it being an after-party show, no rules apply, so there are covers everywhere, such as The Temptations’ “Just My Imagination Running Away” with a monster long guitar solo from Prince even The Temps themselves wouldn’t be able to stand up to. “Down Home Blues” and “Cold Sweat” are other playgrounds for Prince to peel the paint to, while the 15:58 slide through The Staple Singers’ charge of positivity, “I’ll Take You There” was one of countless times he covered it live. Mavis Staples being a background fixture of his career.
Deep cut Prince fans will delight in early-on workings of “Still Would Stand All Time” and “Rave Un 2 the Joy Fantastic,” neither tune sounding like their final delivery on album, yet they were mad crazy crowd pleasers well beforehand. Small Club 1988 wraps on a relentless throttle of funk with “It’s Gonna Be a Beautiful Night,” nearly as frenetic as what’s performed in Sign o’ The Times, the concert movie. Also of note is getting to hear an early-on appearance from Prince’s mainstay vocal sidepiece, Rosie Gaines. As much a dynamo in voice as Prince himself, and she’d be around for quite a while through his “symbol” phase. What you think you know about Prince is one thing. To submit to his late night show is to forget the dawn isn’t far away. Prince rocked and socked his VIPs, and luckily, we’re all VIP.
The Fixx – Ultimate Collection
English new wave band The Fixx is one of those groups endeared to me on multiple levels, first and foremost, inspiring a novel that may have failed, but I will find a way to use the title in a story, especially after receiving frontman Cy Curnin’s direct blessing for usage. I’m talking about “Saved by Zero,” one of my all-time favorite songs. It hit me in 1983 at the exact time a 13-year-old in transition from bullied to recovered and confident needed to hear something in song ringing of empathy. Every time “Saved by Zero” and “Red Skies Tonight” from a year prior came on the radio, I stopped whatever I was doing to give them my full attention. In particular, the former with its empowering lyrics, “Holding onto words that teach me, I’ll conquer space around me,” and of course, the enigmatic chorus, “so maybe I’ll win…saved by zero…” After sharing this anecodte with Cy by email chat, I was thrilled to pieces he backed my request to use the song title. I have the story out again and pared down of what turned it into a turd. The revisions seem to be gelling more. So maybe I’ll win that one…someday…
This Ultimate Collection for The Fixx’s set of funky electro pop is pretty stellar, minus a few throwaway tracks toward the end, but that seems to be the case with many band career retrospectives. What it does have is the megahits “Saved by Zero,” “One Thing Leads to Another,” “Red Skies Tonight” and “Stand or Fall,” all anthems to my generation and especially the latter two, which were sung all over my school, me included. If there’s one song The Fixx did to challenge my pole position spot of “Saved By Zero,” it’s the slap-happy, funk-bombed “Are We Ourselves?” as perfect a song dropped by anyone, especially with a mere two-plus minute running time. It gets in, it makes you shake your ass, then it slips away into the fadeout in such quick fashion you’re begging for another minute longer. Genius writing. Not so much radio darlings before or after the early-to-mid-Eighties, The Fixx still turned out great Euro-theatre cuts housed on Ultimate Collection like “Lost Planes,” “Some People,” “Sunshine in the Shade,” “Less Cities, More Moving People,” “A Letter to Both Sides” and “Secret Separation.” “The Sign of Fire” is the other track grabbed from Reach the Beach, a cassette, along with Shattered Room, I played mercilessly until Beach split apart. I should’ve told Cy about that too.
Another dynamic to The Fixx’s music is their bass. I always considered (and I’m sure I’m not the only one, including the players themselves) Dan K. Brown The Fixx’s answer to Duran Duran’s John Taylor. At least once every few spins, I’ll focus on just Brown plucking and thwapping away, even if he took a sabbatical from the band between 1994 and 2008 and it’s not him but Alfie Algus, who served 1983 plunking for The Fixx all over Reach the Beach.
State your peace tonight and every night.
Zach Robinson and Leo Birenberg – Cobra Kai original score
There is zero explanation why Cobra Kai has become the pop culture phenomenon it is. Well, maybe because it’s just the right antidote of mindless fun television used to be before everything got so damned serious. Cobra Kai is brainless, it’s improbable, it’s off-the-chain nuts, but it’s all done with such reverence for its source material, The Karate Kid films, and let’s just give William Zabka and Ralph Macchio all the credit they deserve. They’ve kept in enough shape to pull off much of what they’re doing onscreen outside of the intercut stunt work. Would either one (or a teamed-up duo) be enough to take down a dojo empire for realz, even with former nemeses-turned-bros bolstering their ranks? Hell no, but Jesus, Cobra Kai has been stupid fun from frame one. I love this show and I’m not ashamed of it, especially getting to see nearly all of the returning ensemble who have shown up, and the attention to detail in bridging the 1980s Miyagi-verse to the new blood of the 2020s. And what a fantastic job the youngbloods have done. Without them, Cobra Kai would be a silly retro grudge match over at 90 minutes instead of five going on its final sixth season as the addictive karate soap opera it is.
As crazy good as the show may be, it’s the music casing all that action and random moments of introspection and tenderness elevating its relevance. Yeah, there’s a ton of Eighties rock classics spewing about the series. It brings an old fart like myself right on home. However, are you paying attention to the brilliance of the scoring in these seasons? We’re talking about an outrageous stew of Japanese taiko and koto, metal, punk, hard rock, EDM, orchestral, new wave and bubblegum pop. What Zach Robinson and Leo Birenberg have done, more an extension of instead of a direct homage to Bill Conti’s Karate Kid scores, is to create as hectic and balls-out a chop-sockey microcosm befitting of the martial arts-addicted California Valley. “Awake the Snake” which opens the Season 1 soundtrack states the show’s entire prospectus with its Survivor-esque march and stomp rhythm with guitars, synths, whumping taiko drums and ki-yaaa! shouts in the background. Sounds corny and it certainly is, but you’d also have to be half-dead not to get all charged up by it!
I have all five seasons of Robinson and Birenberg’s Cobra Kai scores, the fifth one autographed, being the utter tool I am. You already know the show’s pumping theme song, “Strike First,” and it’s much better hearing the whole thing here, but where the Cobra Kai world finds it soul in theme comes when orchestrating Daniel Larusso’s wistful remembrance of his old sensei with “Miyagi Memories” as you do getting a sense of Johnny Lawrence’s downtrodden (self-induced, of course) plight of being a has-been middle ager with the sullen rock twang of “Ace Degenerate.” I could pluck a gazillion tracks and there are a gazillion on each season’s scoring, but to believe the hype of the show is to invest in its music. You won’t know what hit you by all the genre swap blindsiding on these scores, the pinnacle of Robinson and Birenberg’s considerable knowledge of music coming to head on the pulsating electronic rawk bash behind “Hallway Hellscape” on the Season 2 score. If you’ve seen the show, you know full well the song implies, and you won’t help yourself but grin with glee at the surf measures thrown into the bruising mix. “Miyagi Metal” on Season 3? As Johnny Lawrence himself would say in an Eagle Fang Shirt, not his former digs, it’s just kickass.
deadmau5 – W:/2016ALBUM/
Yep, it’s back to deamau5 this week. If there was anything that could dethrone Depeche Mode from my multiple players last week, it’s this gem, an album Joel Thomas Zimmerman himself has no real love for. A damn shame, because after all his noodling and Nine Inch Nails idolatry on while(1<2), he got back to basics on W:/2016ALBUM/. Even more, he one-upped his game. Most of his fans agree that deadmau5 dropped an entertaining and focused set of bass-bombed dance and trip hop numbers on W:/2016ALBUM/. It got six full plays from me this week, just sayin’.
The dance thumpers on this album are “4ware,” “2448,” “Deus Ex Machina,” “No Problem,” “Strobe” and “Let Go.” The trancy, throbbing numbers are “Whelk Then,” “Snowcone,” “Three Pound Chicken Wing” and “Imaginary Friends.” In between full-plays of the album, I backed the latter four up a number of times, considering the extensive lengths of each. I even dropped “Snowcone” atop a TikTok I made during the week. The shit just swings, man.
If I have any general complaint of deadmau5, it’s the predictability of his arrangements, i.e. a soothing, syncopated intro opening into the song’s primary rhythm which is almost always audile glue, only to repeat and embellish the intro as a breakdown before resuming what we’re invested in. He does this scheme so repeatedly it can be annoying, but in the case of W:/2016ALBUM/, there’s so much joy to it, bounced to close with the spritely “Strobe,” the repetition in craft is more than forgivable.
This week’s Five From the Shelf Friday comes with a theme sparked by an enthusiastic response I wrote at the God Hates Goth blog in response to a Depeche Mode post. The Mode is deeply special to my heart for many reasons, and while I know many of you are already scrolling down to see if Violator made the playlist this week, or Some Great Reward or Speak and Spell, these are the five I rolled with, four being my absolute favorites and in the case of Ultra, one that took time to grow on me but later turned into a heavy rotator. Don’t worry, though, I’m just finishing spinning Delta Machine with Some Great Reward on deck.
Following the tragic loss of Andy Fletcher, Depeche Mode is pared down to its primary voices, the immaculate archangel, Martin Gore and the man wearing his chastisements like an honor badge through his wrenching tones, David Gahan. The Mode has a new album coming in a couple weeks, Memento Mori, and I’m geeking already. A bittersweet listening experience awaits us all, if you’re a fan.
Songs of Faith and Devotion
My favorite Depeche Mode album, it has the richest layers with Martin Gore’s guitars which begin to take more of a prominent stance. Everything about this album is a reflection of sex, drug abuse, self-loathing and seduction, all leading to a state of redemption and a grasp for spiritual enlightenment by the album’s end with “Higher Love.” You know most of it is David Gahan soul searching and his in-and-out bouts against addiction. “I Feel You” is one of the slinkiest, sexiest songs the Mode ever dropped and they’ve dropped a ton. Not to be outdone, but outdone nonetheless by the sultry, heavy petting session of “In Your Room,” my absolute favorite Mode song. “Walking In My Shoes” is an alternative rock anthem to stand all time, while “Condemnation,” “Mercy in You” and “Get Right With Me” drips of a southern American church gospel session dropped into a Manchester, England recording studio. “One Caress,” Jesus wept, pun intended. It’s one of Martin Gore’s finest shining moments, and the man never fails. Gore against a slashing chamber fugue ensemble. We’re all blessed.
Black Celebration
A Goth’s tenebrous paradise, especially when paired with Jesus and Mary Chain, The Mission or Lords of the New Church. Or The Cure’s Pornography, which I have done many times in a listening session. Black Celebration is one of Depeche Mode’s crowning achievements, even with its dank clatters and moody textures. It’s still rich in body like the title track, “Fly On the Windscreen,” “It Doesn’t Matter Two” and “New Dress.” There is still a lot of upbeat swinging vogue to Black Celebration on “Here is the House” and the carousel swish mocking the Goth scene on “Dressed in Black.” “Stripped” is the album’s calling card, of course. To most people, it presumes to have a sexual connotation, but the band themselves indicate “Stripped” talks about the dumbing down of culture via technology. This edict coming all the way back in 1986.
Music for the Masses
For most fans, this is the holy grail Depeche Mode album, while the casual fan is all about Violator. Both incredible albums marking the pinnacle of the Mode’s success. I came to them through this album and the girl I dated who introduced me to it. I have sweet, fond memories of lovemaking with her and a subsequent girlfriend, the latter being the Gothiest of Goths. It’s not only “Strangelove,” just about any longtime Mode fan’s favorite number. “Never Let Me Down Again” is the stomping, anthemic whisk into an electronic nirvana, replicated on the flipside (vinyl or cassette-speaking) with “Behind the Wheel.” “The Things You Said” is so dreamy I can picture the ecstasy that summoned its creation, and the ecstasy coming my way later in the album via “Little 15” and especially in holdout for the breathy accompaniment behind “I Want You Now.” When I listen to these songs over and over again, I remember I shed more than my clothes then. I shed an entire identity, transitioning from metalhead to alternative rocker. I even shaved the back of my head and grew a tussled tuft on the front, trying to replicate Martin Gore. Sigh…good times…
Songs of the Universe
Of all the post-Alan Wilder albums, I think Sounds of the Universe is the masterpiece of them all, though Playing the Angel, Spirit and Delta Machine are all stocked with greatness. You can hear the confidence pushing out as a trio on Universe, which took Depeche Mode some stumblebumming on Ultra and Exciter to reach this level. The emotions are wrought right out the gate with “In Chains,” wailing out the album’s prospectus. There was no tinkering around this time. Depeche Mode went for broke as if it would be their final hour and this album just smokes. “Fragile Tension” pumps with absolute desire with Martin Gore downpicking his sorrowful guitar strikes and yet the song’s ambition to capture an erotic moment of seduction yells of both frustration and hopefulness. The same desperation all but sobbing through the gorgeous “Come Back.” “Hole to Feed,” “Wrong” and “Peace” are all so skilled and, well, damn, I could spend this post breaking down the brilliance of Sounds of the Universe track by track if I wanted.
Ultra
Over time, I’ve come to view Ultra as the little Mode album that could. This came after the insane success of Violator and it marks a new beginning with the departure of Alan Wilder. It sounds dark, gloomy and confused and it resounds of loss which the band experienced. With David Gahan tumbling down the ether of addiction at the same time, Martin Gore literally had to pull a rescue operation to get Ultra made. I’ve come to see the gallantry of his efforts here. Less rich in texture, it still has volume and edginess on its signature cuts, “Barrel of a Gun” and “It’s No Good” with a sparseness opening up for a different swim through “The Love Thieves,” “Home” and “Useless.” For me, Ultra’s true moment of glory comes on the luxuriant “Freestate.” If David Gahan was bombed while recording this one, you’d never know it. He masterfully pleads through the song’s snaky rhythm, punching back beat and Martin Gore’s beautiful slide guitars. It’s a signal of what came from “Personal Jesus” and Songs of Faith Devotion and would re-emerge on Delta Machine. The guitars on “Freestate” alone puts it in my top five Mode songs.
Happy pre-weekend, y’all! The response to last week’s instalment of Five From the Shelf Friday was so upbeat it prompted me to continue on. I know I originally said I would write brief anecdotes about the albums I’ve selected, but, well, this week I’m a bit gabbier. I have a mix of rock, soul, electronic, metal and some horror romp music that’s far better than the dreck it serves. Enjoy, my friends!
Van Halen – 5150
If you were around when it happened, you no doubt recall the vicious division inside the Van Halen camp nudging an angry David Lee Roth to go solo, while the band recruited sweat rocker Sammy Hagar to fill Roth’s seemingly irreplaceable shoes. The DLR band went large with Roth hiring the best freelancing guns available in 1986: Steve Vai, Billy Sheehan and Greg Bissonette. Eat ’em and Smile and Skyscraper were as large as they sounded, big-time anthem rock filled with far more flurrying chops and scales than Van Halen. Roth was out to make a point, a George Steinbrenner or Jerry Jones of the rock trade. And yet the home camp delivered two albums without Roth that defined a generation as much as the Roth-led Van Halen albums did. Some diehard Van Halen fans balked at Sammy Hagar’s run with the band on 5150, OU812 and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. In fact, so divisive are listeners this period of the band’s history is often referred to as the “Van Hagar” era. So competitive were the stakes between 5150 and Roth’s Eat ’em and Smile in 1986 it was the fans who were rewarded more than robbed. “Yankee Rose” versus “”Dreams,” whew, the stakes couldn’t have been higher back then.
For Van Hagar, I mean Van Halen’s purposes, 5150 became a summertime infatuation, even though it came out in March, and I had it on cassette on release day. So far in theory from its predecessors, 1984 on back, the emphasis on a more commercial sound, staked out with “Jump” and “Panama” an album prior, 5150 was a pop rock juggernaut in its own right. I mowed my parents’ lawn and idled on their yard swing with “Good Enough,” “Best of Both Worlds,” “Why Can’t This Be Love” and “Dreams” (perhaps the most uplifting song Eddie VH and company ever dropped) through my Walkman while my knees jackhammered in time to the manic craze of “Get Up.” TJ and I had a glorious revisit to 5150 in the car and we sang nearly the entire hook-laden album together, while she gyrated in her seat like we were at the old Capital Center near Washington, DC. I told her about the time I switched my Spanish teacher’s instructional cassette with 5150 in her player as a prank, Sammy Hagar’s lead-in yowl, “Heellllloooooo baaaaaaaby!” startling the entire class. Good times, Senora Kirschensteiner, you were such a great sport. Those are the things dreams of made of…
deadmau5 – while (1<2)
I began my music journalism career in 2003 covering electronic and Goth. Back in the day, it was still called “techno” with its numerous subcategories “chill,” “house,” “trip hop,” “breakbeat,” “trance,” “ambient,” “downtempo” and of course, the blanket phrase, “electronica.” Nowadays, it’s simply “EDM.” Whatevs. Joel Thomas Zimmerman, known better behind a console and turntable as deadmau5, has become one of the industry’s most respected (and to some, as reviled as Paul Oakenfold and Moby) electronic artists. A lot of electronic music fans label deadmau5 as progressive house music, which is more applicable to the bookend of his eight studio album (at this time) catalog. Earlier albums like Get Scraped, Vexillology, Random Album Title, For Lack of a Better Name and 4X4=12 show deadmau5 more in humming DJ mode as one of the most skilled remixers out there. Yeah, Zimmerman’s balloonish mouse headgear onstage has been one of his gimmicky draws, even if Marshmello hijacked his shtick and ran to the bank with it. 2016’s W:/2016Album/ was a sort of return to basics for deadmau5, but it’s 2014’s while(1<2) showing the man’s true progressive side.
This is a double album depending less upon deadmau5’s trademark throbbing bass bombs (the whumping opening number “Avaritia” and “Infra Turbo Pigcar Racer” aside) and going for broke with more articulate structuring using downtempo and ambient elements. For certain, deadmau5 was flaunting his love of Trent Reznor and Nine Inch Nails and not just from the blistery remix of NIN’s “Survivalism.” It’s blatant amidst his own numbers, “Creep,” “Acedia,” “Invidia,” the “Coelacanth” interludes and “Errors in My Bread,” the latter seeming like Reznor’s own outtake from the With Teeth album. Many fans express their joy with “Seeya,” featuring the vocals of Colleen D’Agostino, yet my lock-in to procuring the rare Best Buy version of while(1<2) came thanks to my son, who suckered me into watching him play the first Goat Simulator in many sittings. The ragdoll effect video game features an appearance by deadmau5 in animated form jamming to a mindless, droning crowd atop a building roof to the infectious twisted disco fling, “Petting Zoo,” available only on the Best Buy edition. Ba bum bump, ba bum bump, ba bum bump, ba ba…
Friday the 13th Part VIII – Jason Take Manhattan score – Fred Mollin
Let’s face it; there’s only one reason to discuss Friday the 13th Part VIII – Jason Take Manhattan and that’s the music. I remember going to see Friday VIII in the theater with a buddy, turning it into a review assignment for the entertainment section of my college newspaper. I used the phrase “Pushing it?” as my by-line, since the eighth installment of the sleazy and gory (degrees varying per movie) horror series might as well have been called “Jason Take a Cruise” instead. To Vancouver, since it was used for most of the city footage doubling as New York. The film is an utter disgrace (though nowhere as asinine as Jason Goes to Hell and Jason X) and yet I have Fred Mollin’s highly effective, synth-clashed score. In fact, I confess to owning the scores for all of the first eight Friday the 13th films. I have no shame in it. I only own the first four and the sixth movies as remembrance pieces of my teen years. Back in the day, the Friday films were party time for 80s teenagers. Such a wonderful era to be alive with your rowdy peers from school hollering at the cannon fodder characters, throwing popcorn at the screen, scaring girls in the crowd, which, in turn, got the whole theater screaming then laughing. The carnival atmosphere for Jason Voorhees’ antics stopped at the fifth film, which carries the notorious misnomer “A New Beginning,” this following the fourth film’s blunt lie of being “The Final Chapter.” But I digress. The preposterous ending of Friday V changed fans’ outlook, even though the sixth film, Jason Lives, was one of the best and funniest in the series. The period of forgiveness was short-lived.
By the time Jason Takes Manhattan came about, that theater was half full and nobody was laughing or chattering. A lot of groaning and complaining, though. Death by guitar bludgeoning? Punching a boxer’s head off with one blow in a seriously dumb duke atop a rooftop? Jesus wept. Only when Jason flashed his gnarled face to a group of smartass punkers in Times Square did anyone show life they were still there watching. Some people complained the lack of Harry Manfredini’s trusty ki ki ki ma ma ma stalking echo within the music did Friday VIII a bigger disservice. Manfredini composed the first six films, though some passages were cannibalized over and over throughout the other films including Part VII: The New Blood, which Fred Mollin contributed to. All said in what was a suicide mission, you have to give Mollin credit for his moxy being affiliated with a such a turd. A shame, since he puts a game effort into his work here.
Separated from the film itself, Mollin’s cataclysmic keys were representative of the direction horror soundtracks were heading in the late 80’s, though the tip of the hat goes to John Harrison earlier in the decade with his synth scores behind Creepshow, Day of the Dead and Tales From the Darkside. Even Manfredini himself expanded his horizons by blending synths and electronic into his often-peppy score for Jason Lives. Fred Mollin, who would go on to score Friday the 13th: The Series for television, did a terrific job in a wasted effort, so much his opening rock number, “The Darkest Side of the Night” became an unexpected fan jam only to horror geeks. Partnering up with multi-instrumentalist Stan Meissner, the song is included on the expanded Friday the 13th Part VIII soundtrack, which also includes the terrific rocker “Broken Dream” and “J.J.’s Blues,” numbers created for the female axe shredder in the film, played and pantomimed by Saffron Henderson. I am a total whore for “The Darkest Side of the Night,” which resurfaced again under the band name, Metropolis, go figure. Still, the pumping number remains one of my favorite power rock cuts of the entire decade. Just show some respect and try to survive…on the darkest night…
Voivod – Killing Technology
1987, one of my all-time favorite years. I was 17, a junior in high school, working 25 sometimes 30 hours a week in a grocery store outside of school. I had a girlfriend, one I thought I would one day marry, until she went away to college the following year. A lot of excellent memories of 1987. Headbangers Ball ruled midnight Saturdays. U2’s The Joshua Tree, Whitesnake’s seventh self-titled album, Manowar’s Fighting the World, GBH’s No Need to Panic, Public Enemy’s Yo! Bum Rush the Show and Voivod’s Killing Technology.
Voivod is, perhaps, a new name to you, but for the metal music society, this Quebecois progressive thrash band are nothing less than icons. Far more advanced than their speed metal contemporaries, decades ago and even now, Voivod is one of the dearest bands to my heart. I always say they’re in my DNA. I kept a calm reserve when I interviewed lead vocalist Denis “Snake” Belanger for Pit magazine, and I’m thrilled to pieces I maintain friendly open dialogue with former bassist, Jean-Yves “Blacky” Theriault, one of the fiercest and most articulate players to pick up the instrument. His low-keyed fuzz tones are all his own and referred to in the industry as a “blower bass” sound. The man could keep up, note-for-note, with Voivod’s late guitarist, Denis “Piggy” D’Amour, a shred legend in his own right.
Over the years, Voivod crafted ingenuine prog metal masterworks like Dimension Hatross, Nothingface, Angel Rat and later after Piggy’s death, The Wake and Target Earth. This is a band that once housed former Metallica’s Jason Newsted, for the record. Before all that, there was Killing Technology, the band’s third offering. On Voivod’s prior two albums, War and Pain and Rrroooaaarrr, speed and punk crunch were key, while Killing Technology dusted nearly all thrash and death metal acts of the late Eighties. This while fusing unfathomable melody amidst the breakneck velocity of “Overreaction,” “Tornado,” “Too Scared to Scream,” “This is Not an Exercise” and the outrageously fast title track. I was blown out of the water when I first heard Killing Technology, my first introduction to Voivod. It was an instant love affair which prompted me to declare Voivod in the same college newspaper I mentioned earlier as “the band of the future” during the Nothingface cycle. Their former label, Mechanic Records, were so thankful for my write-up they mailed me a full press kit with glossy photos, stickers, posters and my very first CD copy of Nothingface. This, before I actually owned a CD player. When I pulled Killing Technology down for a listen this week, I let myself loose like I did at age 17. Age 52, it hurts more to headbang, but well worth it, in this case.
Diana Ross + The Supremes – The Ultimate Collection
My early childhood years were filled with psychedelic rock and soul. Motown was always playing in the apartment my mom and dad began our lives in. Even though they would divorce after eight years, I still hear the echoes of Janis Joplin caterwauling over the acid screech of Big Brother and Holding Company on the Cheap Thrills album, while my dad and mom shared a lot of soul and R&B albums which mostly went to my dad, then came to me later. We’re talking Al Green, The Four Tops, The Temptations and of course, Diane Ross + The Supremes. Unfortunately, the records were in such disrepair I had to scrap them. However, for one of the finest Christmases I’ve ever had in 1996, my mother stuffed a box filled with classic soul and funk CDs to reinstall them to my library. All of the aforementioned, plus Barry White, Stevie Wonder, Curtis Mayfield, The Spinners, Isaac Hayes, Earth, Wind and Fire, Marvin Gaye, Sam Cooke, Parliament, Kool and the Gang, Maxine Nightingale, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, just a big box o’ soul. Keep in mind, my momma, whiter than white but hoisting a fistful of hippie inside, never missed an episode of Soul Train back in the day. I can still see her grinding that booty all around our living room on Saturday afternoons. Funny enough, the country stylings of Hee Haw followed Soul Train on our local UHF station and she watched that as well. It taught me early on to give a chance to music from all walks of life.
Later in life, I visited the Stax Records Museum in Memphis and rounded out my soul collection, coming home with Sam and Dave, Booker T & The MGs, Carla Thomas, Rufus Thomas, The Bar-Kays, The Dramatics and a few others. I kept comparing Stax to Motown in my head since it’s an inevitable topic, given the two classic soul labels were vying to rule the American airwaves. In terms of mainstream crossover acceptance, Motown won out easily, culling a diverse audience of races, while Stax had more “it” factor, more punch, more fang, more funk. Stax has a delicious dirty tone I love far more than Motown, and yet, what came out of Motown was soooooo grand, so layered, so rich. Three core guitars, including that shrill, singular note strike floating in the back of most Motown jams. The heated beats, the tapered textures of horns, strings, xylophone, organs, piano and bass…and then…Diana Ross and her Supremes.
My dad had the Supremes A’Go-Go and I Hear a Symphony albums and I used to stare at the cover of the former album with Mary Wilson, Florence Ballard, and the supremest of The Supremes, Diana Ross, twisting and jiving inside separate windows. I loved their colorful mod clothes, I loved their beautiful skin and ‘dos. It never once registered to me back then they were black, and I was white. I was smitten by them. When I heard them sing, I was entranced. As a 52-year-old man going on 53, I still am. This collection my mom selected for me is reminder of what a hot-selling powerhouse The Supremes were. While the biggest tunes they did are front-loaded, it’s simply awesome to hear how many hits continue to roll on this compilation. It’s damned hard to resist the lovesick dreaminess of “Where Did Our Love Go,” “Baby Love,” “Come See About Me,” “You Can’t Hurry Love,” “Reflections,” “Back In My Arms Again” and “Stop! In the Name of Love.” There is very little filler on this 25-song comp, making it mandatory if you want the Supremes in your life. What resonates harder the older you get is the estrogen-fueled retaliation torching a toxic relationship with the snarling “You Keep Me Hanging On.” Or the fierce defiance of “Love Child,” as much as the hopeful ode to love eternal at the end of the collection, “Someday We’ll Be Together.” Oh yes we will. Yes we will.
Music is one of the most important commodities we have in human life. It’s always been a major part of mine, from childhood to graying middle-aged man. I spent 16 years as a music journalist and dabbled in drumming and percussion, though I tanked on the latter efforts. In my time in the scene, I covered metal, punk, Goth and electronic music on the road, interviewing musicians, reviewing new album and video releases and snapping live concert photos. What many people never realized is how eclectic and diverse my music tastes are. I was always proud to connect alternative rock to metal or country to punk, funk music in hip hop and EDM (formerly known as techno) in a review whenever I heard it. I’m so across the board with my passion for music, I’m my own best friend when having a listening session, since I hop genres faster than you can say “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto” without the synth manipulation.
I’m going to try you all out with a little weekly exercise and see if it resonates. I’m calling it “Five From the Shelf Friday,” where I grab five albums at random from my collection and briefly chat about them. Many will be recordings you’re familiar with, some likely not. Some will be dust-offs of albums I haven’t listened to in forever. My library is vast, though sadly purged down from when I used to hoard my freebie hard copy CDs, vinyl, DVDs and Blu Rays from the record labels and I had a literal labyrinth of shelves to store all of that media. My fiancée, TJ, would never have agreed to marry me if all of it came, lol….
Regardless, I have maintained a library in the thousands, so let’s have a go here and let me know, readers, if you’d like to see this run as a continuous segment of “Roads Lesser Traveled.”
The B-52’s – self-titled
No doubt every wedding, company social event and New Year’s party you’ve ever attended, you’ve been subjected to “Love Shack” by The B-52’s. For me, that song’s grown cringeworthy, along with “Roam” from the band’s later year, commercially successful Cosmic Thing. A far, more palatable stretch to the common ear than what The B-52’s began with on their 1979 self-titled debut. Considered a new wave pioneer, I always agreed with that assessment, but I liken the early B-52’s to The Cramps and Southern Culture On the Skids in kindred spirit. Mostly in the way each band cooks up a chili con carnage ambience behind their core of twang. Kate Pierson and Cindy Wilson’s run amok screeches, wails, giggles, ooh-wahs and audile lunacy are tough to digest if you just want to stay neo-groovy in a humdrum love shack that’s lost much of its luster from overplay. “Rock Lobster” is one of the most kickass bits of surf-inspired nuttiness anyone’s ever attempted. As a kid, I actually thought The Munsters had recorded a song when I’d heard “Rock Lobster” the first time. True story. You can’t go wrong with The B-52s oddball but piledriving hike on the Peter Gunn theme with “Planet Claire.” Only Devo one-upped them in that regard.
D’Angelo – Brown Sugar
Modern hip hop has lost much of its hipness and its soul, though I do try to dig for diamonds in the new world rap order. My son turned me on to Childish Gambino, 80purppp and the late XXXTentacion. I turned him onto The Jackson Five when he was a child, and I’ve dropped jazz, funk, soul and early hip hop on him over the years. He’s finding his own way in music, and he loves to try me out constantly until one of his jams stick between us. He is finally starting to explore 90s hip hop, which had me steering straight for one of the lost children of classic hip hop, D’Angelo. This dude was a cornrowed, shredded sex symbol back in the day who dropped only a couple albums, but damn, what gems Brown Sugar and Voodoo were. Inspired by Prince (my all-time favorite musician), D’Angelo had a pure knack for blending funk, jazz and hip hop. Strong beats, sometimes with actual drum kits, funky waves and bass that never blew out your subwoofers like today’s rap does. D’Angelo was smoother than silk and deserves a revisit by the hip hop community. Jonz in my bonz, baby…
Hall & Oates – Ultimate Daryl Hall + John Oates
Rock and soul brothers to the nth power, Hall & Oates were dynamic superstars of their time from the 1970s to late 80s, dropping one megahit after another. Anyone who loves these guys but only want a greatest hits package has had to settle for Best of compilations that were always missing a key hit or two. Not this one. Everything’s on this double album, which unfortunately means it gets stuffed with mediocre filler fluff (wincing at you, “Las Vegas Turnaround” and “Possession Obsession”) and cover tunes you may find yourself skipping over. As a child, I daydreamed to “Sara Smile,” “She’s Gone” and “Rich Girl” when they were on both AM and FM radio. I still feel that magic without the static, listening to them in this format. “Private Eyes” became a 45 platter that stayed in my stylus rotation forever. The beat, man, it’s all about the beat. Even today, I can’t help but back up “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” a few times in a sitting, it’s still that seductive. Same for “Say It Isn’t So” and the blissfully corny “Kiss is On My List.” Daryl Hall, you magnificent bastard, you might have the silkiest chops a white guy ever possessed, and the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve appreciated John Oates’ gnarly backslides.
Sepultura – Chaos A.D.
I’ve interviewed Max Cavalera a few times and he is one the kindest people I’ve ever met. I’ve also interviewed his brother, Iggor as well as Andreas Kisser and Derrick Green from Sepultura, one of the most important metal bands ever assembled. Sadly, the Cavaleras have long since departed, while Sepultura continues to make innovative metal music. I’ve also had the pleasure of hanging on the tour bus for a long spell with Max’s wife, Gloria Cavalera, one of the most brilliant business minds out there. Chaos A.D. was a flip to the script for Sepultura when it came out in 1993. Sepultura being one of the fastest thrash bands around when they started, Chaos A.D. bravely slowed things down with a few thrashers in the mix, instead focusing on grooves, slams, riffs and fusing into the bombastic mix tribal percussion. This inspirational clubbing march motif ushering the game-changing Roots album thereafter. For all the changes, I maintain Chaos A.D. is Sepultura’s heaviest album and it’s inarguably one of the crown jewels of the genre. It remains a scathing indictment against political corruption, social injustice and its combat against racism still haunts true 30 years later. I play Chaos A.D. a hell of a lot and I still get fired up by the title track and “Territory.” Ah, hell, I lose my shit with the entire album. Iggor’s pounding rhythms and blasting tom-snare rolls are incomparable.
Junkie XL – Mad Max: Fury Road soundtrack
I’ll make this short and sweet. I am a junkie (pun intended) for film scores and soundtracks. They fuel my writing. Tom Holkenborg, aka Junkie XL, has a major place in my heart with his scores for Godzilla vs. Kong and Mad Max: Fury Road. The latter film being praised by critics as one of the greatest action films of all-time, I agree a hundred percent. Junkie XL’s score is one of the major elements why Fury Road is a modern masterpiece. The collapsing drums and ripping guitars of “Blood Bag” sends me into pure ecstasy. If I had a workout playlist, it would start with this.
Roads Lesser Traveled 