Seattle quintet Juno was one of those bands from the past decade that there should have been more of. Consisting of guitarist/vocalist Arlie Carstens, guitarist Jason Guyer, third guitarist and keyboardist Gabe Carter, drummer Greg Ferguson, and a revolving cast of studio and touring bass players, the group released only two records at the turn of the century before disbanding in 2003. To label the band “emo-core” is a disgraceful insult to every loud, intelligent guitar rock group of the past half-century; theirs was a sound that would obliterate self-indulgent whiners like Dashboard Confessional or The Promise Ring from the stage in a swift fury. With a three-pronged guitar attack, a daring prog-rock approach to songwriting, and smart, insightful lyrics, it’s no surprise that the major labels and MTV gave them a wide berth while pursuing more marketable groups. A typical live Juno set would usually include amps cranked to eleven, intermittent diving from monitors, splintering shards of feedback, and violent guitar thrashings resulting in head injuries to various members of the band. It didn’t take long for them to become underground favorites.

After an assortment of seven inches and brief courtships by Sub Pop and Jade Tree, Juno signed with Kim Coletta’s DeSoto Records for their debut, This Is the Way It Goes and Goes and Goes (1999). It’s a strong first release, only weighed down by occasional forays into overextended Mogwai-esque boredom-rock during its midsection. It would be hard to argue with Arlie Carstens’ vocal comparisons to Bob Mould, and it’s no more difficult to imagine the Husker Du frontman emote lines like:

You saved for me a memory of my former self,
But I won’t ask if you promise not to tell.
Lord knows we really never had much else.
It slides in real slow, you slide out real slow.
When she died she was just twelve years old.

Yet Juno’s sound is more about texture and subtle nuance, toying with dynamics and structure rather than full-frontal and direct guitar assaults. The organ at the intro of “The Young Influentials” is a nice touch, and what at first seems like a gut-wrenching ballad transforms into an aggressive stop-and-start workout for the band.

“The Young Influentials” – Juno 4:00 (This Is the Way It Goes and Goes and Goes, DeSoto 1999)

All great bands have a secret weapon, and for Juno it was drummer Greg Ferguson, a musician in complete deference of the song, never showboating, propelling each section with reliable time and thoughtful patterns. The rewarding half-time breakdowns are just one of the joys of “Venus on 9th Street,” where the three guitars shtick is applied to magnificent utilization.

“Venus on 9th Street’ – Juno 3:15 (This Is the Way It Goes and Goes and Goes, DeSoto 1999)

The follow-up to their debut, A Future Lived in Past Tense (2001), is one of the best guitar records since Hum’s glorious and criminally overlooked Downward Is Heavenward (1998). The concise six-stringed drills of the debut are expanded into atmospheric spoken-word mood pieces and furious onslaughts of noise, with the occasional marimba-led ballad and hypnotic instrumental tossed in. A Future also shows the band experimenting more with odd time signatures and, as “Help Is on the Way” exhibits, minimalistic repetition. Note how the hammered-on guitars slowly pan left and right during the introduction and how Ferguson’s bass drum delightfully anticipates the next section. At 1:43 the three guitars can’t control themselves any longer, forcefully bouncing off one other as Carstens’ vocals increase in intensity.

“Help Is on the Way” – Juno 5:29 (A Future Lived in Past Tense, DeSoto 2001)

The highlight of the record is saved for the finale, a monstrous juggernaut of a song titled “Killing It in a Quiet Way,” which couldn’t be more misleading. At nearly seven minutes, the track is an ideal illustration of what Juno had matured into over the course of a few years, and encompasses all the best elements of the album. Listen at 3:03 as the guitars erupt into chaos, and at 4:12 Ferguson blasts into one of the sickest 5/4 drum patterns I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing; from there the guitars promptly enter the stratosphere. It’s absolutely stunning, and one of the few songs in existence that is mandatory listening at 130 decibels.

“Killing It in a Quiet Way” – Juno 6:51 (A Future Lived in Past Tense, DeSoto 2001)

Juno was a band that should not be relegated to the annals of obscure 90’s indie rock; every guitar player absolutely must own a copy of A Future, and any fan of rock music in general would do well to pick up either.

Curtis Mayfield, at the summit of his creativity, wrote and produced three soundtracks during the 70’s: the ever-popular Blaxploitation drug saga Superfly (1972), Aretha Franklin’s career-reviving Sparkle (1976), and one of my favorites, the sweet and soulful Claudine (1974) for Gladys Knight & The Pips. The film starred Diahann Carroll as a struggling single mother on welfare in Harlem, and explored her relationship with James Earl Jones, an affable garbage man trying to manage a few kids of his own. This lighthearted drama didn’t make much of an impression on me when I watched it a few years ago; the preachy welfare system lessons were handled awkwardly and tended to detract from the chemistry between Carroll and Jones. Admittedly, I was only watching the film because I love the soundtrack so much and wanted to see how it translated visually.

Knight and Mayfield were both at the height of their popularity in 1974, with the former still coasting on the success of the universally-praised classic Imagination (1973) and Mayfield continuing his string of socially conscious Soul records beginning with Curtis (1970). Claudine’s only fault is its brevity: at seven tracks and with a running time of a little over half an hour, it’s incredibly skimpy by today’s standards. But what it lacks in length it more than makes up for in content. Every track is a solid gem: the irresistibly funky single “On and On” (which spent four weeks at #2 on the Billboard R&B charts), a lovely interpretation of Mayfield’s own “The Makings of You,” and the gospel-tinged “Hold On,” to name a few. “Mr. Welfare Man” opens the album with some incredible string and woodwind arrangements (listen closely for that flute line), airtight interaction in the rhythm section, and a delightfully campy chorus.

“Mr. Welfare Man” – Gladys Knight & The Pips 5:31 (Claudine, Buddah 1974)

One of the more fascinating aspects of the soundtrack is hearing Gladys sing with Curtis’ unique vocal inflections. “Make Yours a Happy Home” wonderfully combines Mayfield’s phrasing style with her Southern gutbucket wails.

“Make Yours a Happy Home” – Gladys Knight & The Pips 4:33 (Claudine, Buddah 1974)

Mayfield’s orchestration skills on Claudine had taken a huge leap forward since Superfly, as the sunny title theme demonstrates. Ideally, I would have preferred more cues and incidental music on the record, but it’s really more of a vehicle for Knight and less an Original Motion Picture Soundtrack; this instrumental track suffices well enough.

“Claudine Theme” – Curtis Mayfield 4:21 (Claudine, Buddah 1974)

I picked up this disc for $8.99 at a Barnes & Noble in Fredericksburg, VA seven years ago, and sadly, it’s gone out of print, with copies fetching up to $189.00 (!) on Amazon. (What an unfortunate shame that some opportunistic prick would have the audacity to make someone pay that much for something that cost less than a buck to manufacture. But I digress.) I’ve seen original vinyl editions for less than $10 on eBay, which may be the best solution to getting one’s hands on a copy – it has my highest recommendation and is a key addition to any classic 70’s Soul collection.