Confession time: way back during the simpler times of the early ’90s, I went through an extended phase of shoegaze mania. Actually, “mania” might be understating it. Eating it, breathing it, sleeping it, living it, et al are far more accurate. I mildly cringe when I think about it now; not necessarily because of the alarming depth of my obsession, but more from the fact that I spent exorbitantly disgusting amounts of money for items like Slowdive’s early vinyl EPs to the first Pale Saints 12″ to scores of faceless, unmemorable bands that I picked up simply because a random blurb mentioned a Verve comparision in it somewhere. What’s really disheartening is that, with a few exceptions, much of it hasn’t aged well for me at all. Lush’s debut Spooky (1992) used to give me chills; now I find it pleasantly dull. I used to get worked up into a delighted frenzy over the mere thought of Chapterhouse’s Whirlpool (1991); now I turn it off halfway through. And don’t even get me started on Curve. I expected a similar reaction when I chose Texas space-rockers 7% Solution to accompany me on my drive home from work the other night. Nothing could have been more opposite; I was so enraptured that I don’t remember the journey home at all. (Perhaps I shouldn’t recall this anecdote so fondly, but I digress.)

7% Solution formed back in ‘93 in Austin by guitarist and vocalist Reese Beeman and second guitarist James Adkisson, and included drummer Scott Sasser and bassist Dwyne Moore. Their first record, titled All About Satellites and Spaceships (1996) after a series of children’s books, is a self-produced and self-released dreampop gem that incorporated a novel idea: the band had twice as many discs as they did sleeves, so they included a second extra disc in the insert to “give to a friend.” This approach is exactly how I received my copy; my good friend Trinitone was addicted to Parasol mail orders at the time, who had highly lauded the group. Lyrically, All About Satellites is a loose concept album about separation and isolation, but since the vocals are wholly buried in the mix, what really stands out is the overall sound. And what a glorious sound it is.

Any guitarist who can achieve a tasteful incorporation of the E-bow into their playing scores automatic points with me, but not only do both guitarists utilize it well, Adkisson plays through not one, but two Digitech Whammy pedals from his effects arsenal. Add to the equation the fact that his approach was more textural and less note-oriented, and the result is a thick, swirling cauldron of sound as dense as an ocean fog, with flurries of pitches pealing into the stratosphere. Adkisson’s ability to transform his Fender Strat into a sky-sawing synth is reminicent of Pat Metheny’s work in the early ’80s or the more melodic side of Robert Fripp, but with more of an emphasis on molasses-like drones, whale songs and bird calls, and replications of a string orchestra.

“Revolve” was one of the more popular and relatively “straight-forward” tracks on the disc, opening with a pinging guitar line that provides the foundation for the song, along with some noticeably fluid drumming from Sasser. Beeman contributes to the druggy, delayed soundscape by repeating each lyric once, and at 1:44 the swell of E-bowed guitars acts as a chorus, rising and falling with each bar. At 4:11 he begins a lovely finger-picked solo based around octaves that is expertly fitting in the production, then the wave crests and crashes onto the shore for the final chorus as Beeman intones hypnotically, “I miss you so.”

“Revolve” – 7% Solution 7:07 (All About Satellites and Spaceships, X-Ray 1996)

The band really lets loose on the whirlwind-like “Built on Sand,” an early album highlight and one of the noisier excursions here. Sasser’s drums are the most prominent instrument in the mix, his cymbals ricocheting off the howling wall of drones and Beeman’s drowning vocals. Suddenly the skies clear at 1:54 as the guitars gently cycle through a melody and Sasser begins a rumbling tom pattern. Anyone familiar with R.E.M.’s Lifes Rich Pageant (1986) will perk their ears upward at Beeman’s lyrics here. The climax occurs near the end as Adkisson rips sirens of glistening feedback from his guitar, the rest of the band swarming in ecstasy.

“Built on Sand” – 7% Solution 6:28 (All About Satellites and Spaceships, X-Ray 1996)

All About Satellites and Spaceships was enough to establish 7% Solution as a sizeable contributor to the American shoegaze scene, but the band released one last album before the end of the decade, 1999’s Gabriel’s Waltz. A more subdued, introspective record, Gabriel’s Waltz lacks the some of the fire and restless exploratory nature of the debut, but is a remarkable and mature statement nonetheless. Inspired by the poetry of Anne Sexton, most of the tracks are in 3/4 or 6/8 time, misleading many listeners into thinking that the group was trying to compile an album of waltzes in the traditional sense. “Carousel” is a detailed, circular instrumental that signals their broadening musicality and the advanced interplay between band members. Beeman establishes a watery guitar loop while Adkisson layers E-bow on top, and Sasser sounds like he’s in heaven with a tempo like this. Subsequent bands like Chicago’s The Timeout Drawer would take this sound and run with it wholeheartedly.

“Carousel” – 7% Solution 4:54 (Gabriel’s Waltz, X-Ray 1999)

7% Solution disbanded in 2004, with Adkisson, Beeman, and Sasser forming Sickert with Lisa Lipkin and Adkisson also playing with psychedelic instrumentalists A Five and Dime Ship. He also manages the band’s MySpace page, which includes some excellent and revealing blog entries on the group’s history, individual songs, and recording process.

“Sweet Child o’ Mine” – The Aluminum Group 4:18 (Wonder Boy Plus, Minty Fresh 1999)

Leave it to those gay ol’ Navin brothers to kidnap one of the most recognizable and popular guitar ballads of the ’80s, strip it of its sweaty bar-room masculinity, and present it as a tender, lilting reflection on innocent love. From the first notes of that instantly familiar lead (on acoustic guitar, no less), Guns n’ Roses‘ definitive anthem of sleaze-rock goes from the back seat of a flame-painted Camaro to the interior of a spiffy new Volvo, from a drunken jukebox dedication to a bedtime lullaby to a newborn baby girl. This triggers a lot of gag reflexes whenever I happen to play it for friends, but the organ during the chorus and those dreamy maj7 chords are so unexpected that it retains its freshness every time I hear it. And the trombone solos are like icing on the cake. I’d pay to see the look on Axl’s mug the first time he heard this, assuming he bothered, of course.

“California Dreamin’” – American Music Club 2:35 (San Francisco, Reprise 1994)

This hidden bonus track on American Music Club’s swan song couldn’t have been a more appropriate fit for a cover, given the album’s subject matter. Where The Mamas & the Papas injected the original with their own brand of druggy, freespirited sunniness, Eitzel’s interpretation has all the fun of a dreary, morning-after smoker’s cough. His withered voice aches its way through the chilling wail of subtle feedback that hovers behind the mix, propelled by naturally distored drums and a bass guitar that sounds like it was mic’ed from a shitty ten-dollar practice amp. Vudi wisely reproduces the guitar solo note-for-note, still one of the most finely crafted solos in pop history. “California Dreamin’” is one of those songs that should come with a warning, as it’s damn near impossible to erase this from my head once it’s stuck there.

“Welcome Christmas” – Califone 2:08 (Christmas Sampler, Perishable 2001)

Being that this is Black Friday and all (yet I’m still stationed at work in my non-retail job), I thought a classic heartwarming carol would warm the spirit and set the tone for the season. Califone’s warped take on this Dr. Seuss holiday hymn is typical of Tim Rutili’s noisy junkyard explorations of rural Americana; no surprises there. It just happens that this sounds like the spectral cries of the damned, dragging their chains as they toil in eternal servitude in the bowels of Hades. But wait - is that a little girl’s voice singing along? What the hell is going on here?!? Fortunately, the track’s brevity prevents it from permanently haunting my subconscious.

“Lay Lady Lay” – Ministry 5:44 (Filth Pig, Warner Bros. 1996)

As lambasting as the initial reviews of Ministry’s Filth Pig (1996) were, the most scathing attacks focused on the band’s ill-advised choice of including this cover near the end of the record. Though I respect his work as a songwriter, I couldn’t give a rat’s carcass about Dylan’s music, which perhaps explains why I didn’t view this cover as a defiant sacrilegious piss on his legacy when it was released over ten years ago. Paul Barker’s bottom-feeding, gutteral bass tone practically makes the song, despite Al Jourgensen’s utter lack of vocal enthusiasm, quizzically adopting an odd British inflection at times. Though it wears out its welcome around the fourth minute or so, this isn’t really as vehemently objectionable as the naysayers made it out to be.

“Come As You Are” – Dani Siciliano 5:11 (Likes…, K7 2004)

Dani Siciliano had some brass to present the nth cover “Come As You Are” on her debut; what could she possibly add to this Nirvana classic that hadn’t already been done before? Well, for starters, other than the lyrics, it’s a completely different song. I would be so bold as to presume that it actually was an original track that was waiting for vocals, and Siciliano just happened to like the way Cobain’s verses complemented her arrangements. Sonically, this is a treasure trove for the ears: a springy upright bass dominates the proceedings, presiding over an army of insect-farm percussion, moody film noir horns, and Siciliano’s smoky nightclub voice.

As gloriously timeless as the music itself is, what I admire most about Marvin Gaye’s ’70s catalogue is the crystalline distinctiveness of each release, rendering internal comparisons within his discography pointless. There is the universally-heralded, genre-defining breakthrough What’s Going On (1971), the obligatory Blaxploitation soundtrack Trouble Man (1972), a passionate and charged plea for divine love in Let’s Get It On (1973), the divorce court-ordered soap opera Here, My Dear (1978), and two outstanding live records where the shrieks of the hysterical female audience members often drowned out every other sound in the mix.

I Want You (1976), Gaye’s collaboration with Motown songwriter Leon Ware, went overlooked for years until experiencing a renaissance of sorts in the early ’90s with the emergence of the “neo-soul” movement. Although it’s far from Marvin’s most personal statement, it was an incredibly important record to him at the time, to the point where he was still fine-tuning his vocals just days before the masters were due to Motown. Despite what the liners would have you believe, I Want You was not well-received by the critics upon its release in March of ‘76, calling it “slush for disco dancers,” with Marvin guilty of a “constant, rather jaded horniness.” The fans thought otherwise, as the album went on to go platinum. In retrospect, and from a strictly sonic perspective, where Let’s Get It On teased with seduction and foreplay, I Want You served as the the actual act of intercourse.

While the successful title track is perhaps the most well-known single here and serves as the theme of the album, it is “Come Live with Me Angel” that is truly the centerpiece of I Want You, and was actually originally planned as the recurring motif instead. At six and a half minutes, it’s certainly the longest selection and occupied a generous portion of side one on the original LP. It’s the ideal culmination, musically and lyrically, of the array of ingredients that make I Want You such an original statement: the rich, disco-lite orchestration and the softly pulsating grooves contained within, paired with Marvin’s near-explicit lyrics (for the time) and thematic content all made for an irresistible slice of Soul heaven.

The track begins with an odd seven-note drum fill from James Gadson before diving right into the full scope of the production; the percussion buildups and slowly escalating strings (á la Barry White) have been discarded in favor of immediate sensuality. Gentle horns state the theme over a feathery bed of woodwinds, strings, and a synthesizer, while the rhythm section, supplemented by bongos, saunters tightly and confidently. Marvin enters shortly after, complemented by a lovely contrapuntal figure for the violins. As the first verse begins at 0:24, the ingenious arrangements by Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson blossom into evidence. In a mere two bars, the following can be heard:

• A chilly descending arpeggio on a Rhodes in the left channel;
• Two electric guitars: one coolly outlining the harmony (right) while the other gyrates sleazily under the influence of a wah pedal (left);
• A faint taste of the horns providing dashes of color under the guitars;
• An exotic, loose bongo pattern dripping into the rhythm;
• Chuck Rainey’s magnificent open bassline, allowing ample room for the above;
• And an elegant four-note ascending line for pizzicato strings that overlaps into the next bar.

As Marvin’s multi-tracked vocals begin the verse, the attentive listener will immediately recognize a curious new inflection in his delivery. Compared to the direct, emotionally charged declarations for love and compassion on What’s Going On and Let’s Get It On, Marvin’s voice sounds subdued, casually intimate, almost mumbling in the mix. It’s as if he’s softly cooing in his lover’s ear while lying in bed, illuminated by moonlight as he nurses a joint. (Given his penchant for tracking his vocals while sprawled out on the couch in the control room of the studio, the above scenario probably isn’t far off the mark.) Over a vamp of “I wanna be your lover,” Marvin croons the following lines:

I don’t understand your mood, baby
I really, really wanna be your lover
When you want some solitude, sugar
You can’t have it, ooh yeah, baby.
Darling, please walk around me (at least) three times a day
So I can get ‘cha, baby.
I want to be true at least three times a day, in all the ways, baby.
You can have your way if you decide to stay.

When presented with the lyric sheet, Marvin’s intentions become a little less wide-eyed and innocent, bordering on conniving and mildly threatening, albeit in a somewhat playful way. Essentially, he is explaining to his woman the rules of the household: as long as he receives sex three times a day, in “all the ways,” she is free to come and go however she pleases. He has little patience for her moods, simply wanting nothing more than for her to display herself to him, toying and teasing with him to turn him on. Note how the verse is 18 bars instead of the standard 16 to accommodate the last line, summarizing the conditions of staying with him. Marvin becomes more descriptive of his bedroom stamina in the second verse at 1:42:

Ooh, this is where all your fantasies end.
Let me explore all your treasures
I’ll turn you on to all of those freakish pleasures.
Good experienced company, like me,
Who knows all the ways, is what you need, baby.
Just you and me, locked up for days.
After we eat breakfast in bed, turn on the music for our heads.

This is Marvin’s argument to get his woman to remain in his home, offering to fulfill all her fantasies and enticing her with “freakish pleasures.” He tells her that only an experienced lover such as himself could satisfy her, and daydreams about the morning after as they eat breakfast in bed and listen to music. After the second chorus, which is repeated twice (note Gadson’s hi-hat accents at 2:46), the real payoff begins at 3:24: the heavenly sublime vamp that escorts the song back to the bedroom for the finale.

Musically, this is where the song elevates from the terrestrial into the stratosphere; never have I heard a coda as beautifully paced and elegantly arranged as this. Gadson alternates over to the ride cymbal as he and the Latin percussion begin to vibe off each other in a loose, improvisatory manner. Chuck Findley begins a fiery trumpet solo that contrasts nicely with Marvin’s icy “ooohs” reverberating in the distance. Rainey’s decision to play an ascending bassline under the chromatically descending progression is a stroke of genius. Gwanda Hambrick’s faint gasps and sighs help steer the song toward climax. Unable to contain his feverish arousal, Marvin’s breath quickens and he begins chanting “sock it to me” (cluelessly misinterpreted by some critics as “suck dick,” evidently unfamiliar with ’70s vernacular). This outro, subsisting on only four chords yet contributing to nearly half of the track’s running time, signals the transition from Marvin’s conscious requests for lovemaking to a surreal, dreamlike state of intense sexual pleasure. His desires have finally been answered as his lover submits to him.

“Come Live with Me Angel” – Marvin Gaye 6:30 (I Want You, Motown 1976)

A revealing alternate mix of the song is found on Motown’s Deluxe Edition, which includes an omitted bridge and a much longer trumpet solo from Findley.

“Come Live with Me Angel (Extended Mix)” – Marvin Gaye 7:37 (I Want You: Deluxe Edition, Motown 2003)

There are two qualities of the human experience which are inarguably subjective: humor and eroticism. With that in mind, dear reader, it is futile for me to tell you that this is unquestionably the sexiest, most erotic song in the history of recorded music; and yes, I am very familiar with the catalogues of Teddy Pendergrass, Luther Vandross, and the aforementioned bedroom master Mr. White. Judge for yourself, but only as the music is intended to be heard: late in the evening with the lights dimmed low and your lover close by.