Quincy Jones feat. Astrud Gilberto “Who Needs Forever?” The Deadly Affair Verve 1967

Media mogul and record producer Quincy Jones is one of the most recognizable names in popular culture, but few are aware of how extensive his résumé reads
outside the realm of pop music. During the ’50s and ’60s, the man was practically ubiquitous. As a young trumpeter, he toured with the likes of Lionel Hampton and Dizzy Gillespie. He arranged for Duke Ellington and Ray Charles. He studied theory in Paris with Nadia Boulanger. He also wrote over thirty scores for film and television, including the Poitier vehicle In the Heat of the Night (1967) and The Bill Cosby Show (1969). When factored in with the phenomenon that was Michael Jackson in the late ’70s and into the ’80s, Jones’ career has been incomparable in the music industry. His story isn’t based around a lucky industry connection or a string of right-place-right-time circumstances. Jones most certainly put in his work, and deserves every bit of success that he has earned over the decades. But enough of the history lesson; onto this week’s song.

Jones first began soundtrack work with acclaimed director Sidney Lumet on the psychological drama The Pawnbroker (1964). The film and score were such a sensation that the duo continued working together, resulting in the soundtrack to the spy thriller The Deadly Affair (1967). (Verve paired the two onto a single disc for a 1996 release.) Recorded during the height of the bossa nova craze, the latter is mostly known to bossa enthusiasts for the lone Astrud Gilberto contribution on the film’s signature tune “Who Needs Forever?” Many of the cues in the soundtrack are derived from various elements in the song, from the mysterious acoustic guitar at the introduction to the slinky sax solo at 1:49. Gilberto’s cool detachment is de rigeur for this sort of thing, but Jones is careful not to let the string arrangement compete with her, emphasizing certain phrases with punctuations from the woodwinds or flighty harp arpeggios. The suspenseful ending is the best part of the song, a resolution that arouses a sort of anxious calm, stoking the audience’s enthusiasm for the film (and the soundtrack).

“Who Needs Forever?” – Quincy Jones feat. Astrud Gilberto 3:10 (The Deadly Affair, Verve 1966)

Last December I posted a list of “Ten Rarely-Listened-To Albums,” a handful of records I’ve had for years but never gave more than two or three spins. This list is in a similar vein, only they’re albums that I’ll never voluntarily listen to again, despite receiving my nod of approval. It’s the one major downside of collecting music and sharing it with others; eventually someone is going to ruin your relationship with a record and tarnish your memory of it, whether it’s an ex-girlfriend who nearly destroyed your life, a close friend with whom you never speak now, or (usually in my case) the rest of the free world not knowing when enough is enough. In general, the word “overexposure” has negative connotations – sunburns, deficient film, child-raising techniques – but for purposes here my use of the word should imply “no longer fresh” or “no appeal left in it.” I’m not hating on these records, because I think they’re iconic statements in popular music, but external factors have entirely diminished any demand I had for them. So enjoy the mp3’s from these albums, dear reader, because you’ll never see them on this site again.

Jeff Buckley Grace Columbia 1994

At the time of its release in ‘94, Jeff Buckley’s Grace (1994) didn’t stand a chance with me. I was at the height of multiple fixations – Wu-Tang chiefly among them – that some ’singer-songwriter’-type who looked like he missed grunge’s brief window didn’t even catch a second glance. When I re-discovered Buckley’s music a few years after his death, I scolded myself for not recognizing the man’s songwriting talent and that uniquely angelic voice, plus he had the stones to cover “Lilac Wine,” a song which Nina Simone had rightfully claimed as her own decades ago. Then, by some odd twist of fate or alignment of the planets, I must have heard Buckley’s version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” twenty times in one week. It was featured on every television show, played twice an hour on every FM radio station, heard in every bar and restaurant across the country, and served as the score to the dramatic climax in every film. Even worse, everyone within earshot would suddenly stop what they were doing to experience their own personal moment of wistful reflection, like that one Seinfeld episode when Elaine’s boyfriend heard “Desperado” and demanded silence. I never cared much for the song in the first place, which served only to intensify my overdose, but it seemed like after that week Grace was inescapable, and soon “So Real” and “Mojo Pin” were added to the entire population’s playlist. You created some timeless music, Mr. Buckley, but your songs have reached such a level of familiarity that listening to Grace would be like me enjoying a surprise visit from a group of Christmas carolers on my doorstep in July. In other words, it ain’t gonna happen.

“So Real” – Jeff Buckley 4:43 (Grace, Columbia 1994)

The Clash London Calling Epic 1979

Of course The Clash don’t deserve to be on this list. For thier inclusion, I blame the manager of a paper goods store that used to employ me about three years ago. Evidently, someone must have mentioned to her that The Clash would be a hip addition to her otherwise abominable taste in music, so she picked up London Calling (1979) one day and brought it into work. What at first was a refreshing diversion from the endless shuffle of indie garbage like The Decemberists and Death Cab for Cutie became an aural nightmare of maddening proportions, as my manager would often spin the disc a full four to five times during an eight-hour shift. Any complaints to her would only result in a defensive and snappy retort flavored with subtle hints of termination. After a few weeks I decided that I’d had enough, and quickly shanked the underside of the disc with an unraveled paper clip when no one was looking. The look of heartbreak on my manager’s face upon discovering my horrid crime matched my guilt at having to dishonor such a great band’s music, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I’m sure the group would understand.

“Spanish Bombs” – The Clash 3:18 (London Calling, Epic 1979)

Miles Davis Kind of Blue Columbia 1959

Some of you may remember that about two months ago I compiled a “Ten Non-Essential Jazz Records” list. Kind of Blue (1959) was the sole catalyst for it. Miles Davis was one of the greatest artists of the past century, I certainly won’t argue that (particularly since I own more records by him than any other artist). Kind of Blue is a gorgeous and timeless record, absolutely necessary for anyone with any appreciation of music. So we’re all in agreement here? With that being said, exactly how many times will I have to hear this record during the course of my life? Somewhere in the tens of thousands, perhaps? I understand that Kind of Blue is the ‘go-to’ jazz record for most of the population, but please, folks, know that it’s not a bad thing to branch out a little. I know it may seem like a revolutionary concept, but you don’t have to own just one jazz album. Trust me, there are plenty of other records similar to Kind of Blue, and who knows, maybe you’ll end up liking them even more; all it takes is a little time and research. In the same way that you probably wouldn’t want to eat lasagna every night for dinner, some of us don’t want to hear this record every time we step outside.

“Flamenco Sketches” – Miles Davis 9:26 (Kind of Blue, Columbia 1959)

New Order Substance Qwest 1988

While I’ve always had a healthy amount of respect for them, I’ve never been able to achieve fandom with New Order. Yes, Peter Hook’s basslines frequently drive me to ecstasy. Stephen Morris‘ hugely-underrated drumming amazes me every time I hear the band. I’ve even been known to give Gillian Gilbert’s simple yet tasteful keyboard flourishes the occasional double-take. Without New Order, the entire electronic/dance movement of the ’90s would have been an entirely different animal, such was the band’s influence on the genre. My single reservation with the group – and it’s a doozy – lies with singer and guitarist Bernard Sumner, whose vocals and (especially) lyrics are on par with Anthony Kiedis where cringe factor is concerned. I used to work at a coffee shop where a friend tried for weeks to convince me of the band’s brilliance, but I refused to be swayed. His solution was to play Substance (1988) on repeat for hours on end until I caved, but it only fueled my contempt for the band and the record. I can still appreciate them now, of course, but that stark cover gives me chills to this day.

“Thieves Like Us” – New Order 6:36 (Substance, Qwest 1988)

Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here Capitol 1975

Granted, I was never much of a Pink Floyd enthusiast to start with, but few records have taken me so long to realize that I flat-out disliked them like Wish You Were Here (1975). For months I attempted to convince myself that the nine-part album centerpiece “Shine On You Crazy Diamond” (which occupies more than half of the record) was an epic masterpiece. I pretended that “Welcome to the Machine” actually held my interest after the third listen, and that “Wish You Were Here” didn’t elicit more than a yawn. Toughest of all, I tried to suppress all urges to listen to Animals (1977) or Meddle (1971) instead. Sure, I’ll acknowledge that it’s a ‘classic’ record and it means a lot to many listeners, but “Have a Cigar” aside, I’ve found this album to be about as exciting as a loaf of Wonderbread.

“Have a Cigar” – Pink Floyd 5:08 (Wish You Were Here, Columbia 1975)

Pixies Doolittle 4AD 1989

It amazes me that I still catch flak when I state that I’d rather hear Trompe le Monde (1991) than any other record from the Pixies. What the hell do you expect, people? I can’t get past the production on the otherwise excellent Surfer Rosa (1988), Bossanova (1990) bores me to tears, and Doolittle (1989), the band’s defining moment, has been shoved down my ears by every restaurant, bar, and venue I’ve ever frequented. No, I don’t want to hear “Monkey Gone to Heaven” for the hundred-thousandth time. I wish the lead guitar on “Here Comes Your Man” didn’t give me a headache, but it does. Yes, “Wave of Mutilation” is a great song, but how many more times must we emphasize the fact? To every lazy-ass sound man who plays this record between sets, know this: not everyone wants to hear Doolittle every time they go out to see a band, and some of us – exacerbated by foul beer taps, malfunctioning air conditioning, and that seven-foot-tall asshole that insists on being front and center – may be prone to bouts of verbal and physical abuse in your direction. Increase your chances of survival by maybe putting on another record while you’re testing mics and various D.I. boxes on stage.

“Here Comes Your Man” – Pixies 3:21 (Doolittle, 4AD 1989)

Radiohead The Bends Capitol 1995

I’ve digressed before on this site about the ongoing personal hangover that is Radiohead, so I don’t feel any need to drag the water yet again. But occasionally I’ll ask myself: why, if given a choice, would I pick the mediocre Pablo Honey (1993) out of the band’s records to listen to first? Could it be that it’s the one album of theirs that hasn’t been ground into my subconscious from years of overexposure? The Bends (1995), even more than the universally-heralded OK Computer (1997) and Kid A (2000), has by far aged the worst out of the band’s catalogue since it reached ‘agreeable public acceptance’ status with every bartender in the country a few years ago (except for that shrieking feedback part at the end of the guitar solo in “Just”). To be clear, I’ve never “bar-hopped” a night in my life, but on one recent evening I happened to visit three subsequent alcohol-serving establishments, and to my shock and chagrin, each played a song from The Bends during my patronage there. Don’t you people ever get sick of hearing this album? You don’t ever tire of singing along to “Fake Plastic Trees” for God only knows how many times now? The reverse sequencing of “Sulk” and “Street Spirit (Fade Out)” doesn’t annoy the piss out of you? For Christ’s sake, play Doolittle for a change, something – wait, no, forget I said that.

“Just” – Radiohead 3:54 (The Bends, Capitol 1995)

The Roots Do You Want More?!!!??! Universal 1994

I thought I’d have more than one hip hop platter on this list, but The Roots‘ Do You Want More?!!!??! (1995) was the only entirely unlistenable selection I could find. This one is because of an old roommate whose obsession with the group bordered on clinical. While I initially admired his devotion and enthusiasm, I soon grew wary of his shallow credentials when he dismissed Rakim and KRS-One as “simplistic.” A quick peek at his CaseLogic uncovered the nasty truth that The Roots were the only hip hop he listened to besides a scratched-up Goodie Mob disc that he likely found under a couch somewhere. From that point on I would antagonize him by referring to the group as “Stetsasonic wannabes” and lead MC Black Thought as “all brains, no balls.” It was all in good fun back then (for me, at least), but when I tried to enjoy Do You Want More?!!!??! a few years ago I found that I just couldn’t sit through it. “Proceed” was only accompanied by intense visions of my roommate playing Madden NFL in the living room with the track on repeat, and I didn’t make it much further into the disc beyond that. A shame, too, because from what I remember it’s a great record, but these days I’m more inclined to opt for ‘untainted’ gems like Illadelph Halflife (1996) and Things Fall Apart (1999) during those now-rare Roots hankerings.

“Distortion to Static” – The Roots 4:18 (Do You Want More?!!!??!, Universal 1995)

Wilco Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Nonesuch 2002

A prime example of a great record slowly withered into aversion from months of overexposure. I know I may come across as a snob when I hate on this record, and perhaps I am to a certain degree (ahem), but I’ve always been a firm believer in the adage that the best things come in small doses. Like, I don’t know, chocolate. Or a fireworks show. Or a concise little four-bar guitar solo. Not an entire album, in this case Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002), that I had to hear on repeat for an entire summer, played by everyone from my closest friends at parties to unknown hipsters in their shiny new VW Beetles at stoplights. Even now, when I hear “Heavy Metal Drummer” or “War on War” in public and everyone begins tapping their feet and bouncing delightfully, I restrain myself and smile passively, silently wondering how a perfectly decent but far from exceptional album swept an entire generation by storm.

“Kamera” – Wilco 3:30 (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Nonesuch 2002)

Stevie Wonder Songs in the Key of Life Tamla 1976

Again, an artist that most definitely doesn’t belong here, but due to external circumstances beyond Stevie’s control, I’ll never touch this record again. We all know he was a phenomenal songwriter, but my experience with this record goes beyond everyday appreciation. You see, I spent three years at music school (and by “spent” I mean my grandkids will still be paying for it long after I’m gone) surrounded by (mostly white male) geeks whose crotches of their pants used to tighten at the mere thought of bands like Dream Theater and shredders like Steve Vai. I had a harmony teacher who was well aware of this, so one day he brought in lead sheets of as many selections as he could find from Songs in the Key of Life (1976) to analyze. Far from my favorite platter from Stevie’s ’70s discography, but it was a refreshing change of pace. By the third week I couldn’t bear to hear another note of this record, and for the rest of the semester my gag reflex would trigger if I even thought I detected “Isn’t She Lovely” coming from somewhere. Imagine yours truly actually tiring of endless discussions on subdominant minor modal interchange and other various harmonic turnarounds within a song! Even now I’ll occasionally wake in the morning with a foul, bile-like taste in my mouth and “Another Star” mysteriously stuck in my head.

“All Day Sucker” – Stevie Wonder 5:05 (Songs in the Key of Life, Tamla 1976)

Ennio Morricone “Il Clan Dei Siciliani (Main Titles)” Il Clan Dei Siciliani Cam 1970

Exploring the discography of the most prolific soundtrack composer alive is quite an intimidating task. I thought I was up for the challenge about six years ago, during the height of my Ennio Morricone obsession, but gave up after calculating the thousands of dollars in various Italian imports that the project would cost me. We’re talking hundreds, literally hundreds of records, people, and most of them unavailable domestically. Soundtracks to avant-garde horror flicks. Spaghetti Westerns. Sweeping romantic love themes. Action-filled suspense yarns. Softcore porn. Morricone did it all, and while most of his soundtracks are pretty average, very few are disposable, and they all have at least some musical element or mood that’s worthwhile. Plus, the man invented an entire genre, one that countless bands mine for ideas to this day, and is one of the few composers where one can add an “-esque” to his surname and the reader will know exactly what is implied. His double-disc A Fistful of Film Music (1995) (sadly out of print) is absolutely phenomenal and the most ideal place to start with his catalogue; any remaining copies left are worth snatching up anywhere they can be found.

I was considering a Top Ten Morricone Title Themes post (which I still might drop), but I was itching to share one of my favorites of his, the title to Il Clan Dei Siciliani (The Sicilian Clan) (1970). While the film itself was an average heist caper, Morricone’s title piece rewards repeated listens unlike any other item in his discography. Based around a chromatically descending four-note idea, what’s initially so entrancing about the motif is the way it’s placed in beats of three on top of the 4/4 signature. The flutes that enter at 0:34 provide an exotic countermelody, and at 1:04 the strings enter to establish the beautifully melancholy theme. Sure, he probably goes overboard on the jaw harp but that’s part of its charm, and I’d take this over Rota’s The Godfather Theme (which is heavily indebted to Morricone) any day. (John Zorn was particularly taken with this title, arranging it for his Naked City collective and reworking a version for the reissue of his Morricone tribute The Big Gundown [1985].)

“Il Clan Dei Siciliani (Main Titles)” – Ennio Morricone 3:37 (Il Clan Dei Siciliani, Cam 1970)

The following is the first of what will hopefully be a series of collaborative posts with the one and only Dan Love of From Da Bricks fame. In addition to his insightful and thought-provoking writing, Dan’s taste in hip hop mirrors mine to an almost frightening degree, so the idea of partnering up for a drop seemed as natural as breathing. Our love for all things Soul Brother has resulted in a tag team-like discussion of Pete Rock’s greatest remixes, the five of which Dan nominated and I agreed with wholeheartedly. This is something we hope to continue in the future, so be on the lookout for more official entries in our unofficial ‘Pete Rock Appreciation Society (P.R.A.S.).’ (And thanks to Dan for hosting the audio for this round.)

From Da Bricks: Whittling down my favourite Pete Rock remix productions to a mere five is a near impossible task that has caused me much turmoil over the last couple of weeks, but as I wipe the final drop of sweat from my brow, these are the constant flames that have risen from the ashes of my fortnight’s procrastination. Time for some analysis.

The first thing to note is that all five of my selections fall into a two-year timeframe, rather expectedly in between the two Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth albums. Of course, this wasn’t just a great era for our boy Pete Rock, but for hip hop music in general, so there are few surprises here, but it is indicative of the fact that this period would probably be generally regarded as the vintage years for Mount Vernon’s finest (something that Flood has already drawn attention to with his Pete Rock instrumental mix). I could roll out a list of superlatives as long as my arm here, but these are all perfect examples of his characteristic production style of the era: uptempo vibe, boomin’ drums, screeching horn tracks and a big slab of soul all working together to create warm, sumptuous and, somewhat paradoxically, gritty packages that all fans of the genre have come to worship over the last decade and a half.

Floodwatchmusic: I’d say the genesis of Pete Rock’s entire style occurred sometime around ’91 or ‘92, which rapidly came to fruition on the All Souled Out EP (1991) and the Mecca and The Soul Brother (1992) record. Soon everyone from PM Dawn to Biggie was requesting the remix treatment from him. What amazes me now, in retrospect, is how intact and advanced his production style was when he entered the game; there is a level of inherent musicality in each of his tracks that would seem to come from years of crate digging and woodshedding with the SP-1200. Rarely does one hear a Pete Rock production or remix from this era that could classify as “transitional,” or even “experimental.” There is a confident intent of purpose to his early work that is is often lacking in the output of most young producers, to say nothing of his originality and innovations.

FDB: The second thing that strikes me about these selections is that in all five cases, the songs in their original incarnations are all slammin’, and this should lead us to a fuller appreciation of Pete Rock’s remixing abilities. It is significantly simpler to take a wack song and make it better than to take an already great song and make it greater, so the fact that these are all bangin’ in the first place simply serves to highlight his production prowess. These are anthems made into even bigger anthems, and I think you would be hard pressed to find another beatmaker in the game who has managed that feat with such consistent finesse.

Das EFX – “Jussumen” (1992)

FWM: I find it hard to consider any Das EFX platter a ‘classic,’ even their debut. While Dre and Skoob revolutionized hip hop lyricism in terms of delivery and wordplay, more often than not they lacked a distinctive musical counterpart to complement their unique approaches to the mic. My chief complaint with Dead Serious (1992) is the uninspiring but serviceable production, a stock assembly of James Brown loops and Skull Snaps drums that lacks any sort of personality. Enter Pete Rock, whose remix of “Jussumen” (originally appearing as a B-side on the “Mic Checka” 12”) should’ve been the blueprint for the remainder of the album’s tracks. Pete was going apeshit with those Mountain drums back then and one can detect their presence here, buried into the fabric of the track. It’s noisier and a lot more textural than I would expect from him at the time, but it works beautifully for the duo. Favorite moment: at 0:58, when the music drops out as Dre begins his verse with a “yiggidy yes.”

“Jussumen (Pete Rock Remix)” – Das Efx 4:45 (Mic Checka 12”, EastWest 1992)

House of Pain – “Jump Around” (1992)

FDB: This remix falls much in the same vein as the “Hip Hop Hooray” remix, in that in both cases Pete Rock takes a crossover smash and makes it better. However, it shares more sonically with his work on “Shut ‘Em Down”, released in the same year and featuring similar musical elements in its composition. The opening eight bars are crafted beautifully, the warm and playful bassline providing a backdrop for the gradually building drum track that drops hard into the first verse. The upbeat tempo of the song and horns that echo in and out of the mix propel the groove forwards throughout the verse sections and the additional horns at the chorus make this song feel glorious. Whereas the ‘Shut ‘Em Down’ remix has a slightly darker quality, the ‘Jump Around’ remix is a straight up party banger whose sole purpose seems to be to get you on your feet with your hands raised skywards. It works.

“Jump Around (Pete Rock Remix)” – House of Pain 3:57 (Jump Around 12”, XL 1992)

Public Enemy – “Shut ‘Em Down” (1992)

FWM: This remix gives me chills to this day. Not to slight the Bomb Squad (who executive produced), but this reinterpretation is so much better than the original that it eclipses it entirely. What I love most about the production here is its dense, circular claustrophobia, a nebulous mass of sound that’s almost suffocating. Again, Pete uses those crushing Mountain drums as a foundation for a continuous sax line that weaves in and out of this mix, a filtered ascending bassline, and a strange vocal sample that makes an occasional appearance on the downbeat. The sheer power of this track, combined with Chuck D’s booming vocal, could move an army at full volume. And to top it off, the Soul Brother #1 spits a playful eight bars in the middle of the chaos – just because he can.

“Shut ‘Em Down (Pete Rock Remix)” – Public Enemy 4:41 (Shut ‘Em Down 12″, Def Jam 1991)

Naughty by Nature – “Hip Hop Hooray” (1993)

FDB: To my mind, Naughty by Nature should be considered the blueprint for the perfect hip hop crossover group, as they managed to successfully craft cuts that had a broad appeal whilst maintaining the gritty aesthetic favoured by true hip hop enthusiasts. “Hip Hop Hooray” could perhaps be considered the pinnacle of their achievement, its uplifting, anthemic nature certifying it as classic material. In light of this, The Chocolate Boy Wonder’s accomplishment with his reinterpretation of the song is nothing short of astonishing, as I feel it trumps even the original’s bounce and sense of grandeur. The delayed horns are of course an essential feature to this particular beat, but perhaps of greater interest for me when considering Rock’s wider discography is the use of a piano sample in this instance, an instrument that he pretty much left alone on Mecca and The Soul Brother and which only featured spasmodically on The Main Ingredient (1994). The incorporation of Rakim’s line from “Microphone Fiend” rounds the cut off perfectly, as do Pete Rock’s signature remix adlibs that let you know who’s in charge of the boards just in case you hadn’t guessed it already.

“Hip Hop Hooray (Pete Rock Remix)” – Naughty by Nature 4:30 (It’s On 12”, Tommy Boy 1993)

Jeru the Damaja – “Can’t Stop the Prophet” (1994)

FWM: I hadn’t come across this remix until recently, and after years of internalizing Premier’s original, it admittedly took some warming up to. What eventually sold me was, of all things, the snare that Pete uses here, and the way he decorates the drum track with additional hits to increase the boom-bap factor. A strong jazz flavor (which always complemented Jeru’s delivery well) is prominent as well, as Pete utilizes a descending vibraphone progression for melodic content, and in two octaves for additional variety. The minute and a half of scratching and cutting that closes the track is the sweetest kind of aural candy to these ears.

“You Can’t Stop the Prophet (Pete Rock Remix)” – Jeru the Damaja 5:03 (You Can’t Stop the Prophet 12”, Payday/ffrr 1994)

With all due respect to most of the writers who contributed, Stylus’ recent 50 Greatest Rock Drummers list was hands-down the most laughably absurd and crudely presented feature I think I’ve ever read on the site. Not only is there is no apparent logic at all behind the placement of each candidate (the list seems to disregard credentials, influence, and, you know, talent for criteria such as record sales and off-stage notoriety), more importantly, it served to further establish the idea that the umbrella of “rock” has expanded into so many sub-genres and styles that comparing Clyde Stubblefield (apples) and Igor Cavalera (oranges) on the same list is not only hopelessly naïve, it’s flat-out ignorant. That and any list that places Moe Tucker some dozen slots above Neil Peart is immediately discredited on principle alone. Regardless, Stylus contributer Cosmo Lee’s Invisible Oranges inspired me to compile my own drummer list, only within the dark realms of metal and hard rock. The following ten individuals are ranked not according to speed, timing, or any other technical ability, but simply by how much I enjoy listening to their playing.

10. Mike Bordin Faith No More, Ozzy Ozbourne

Undoubtedly my first pick in the left-handed drummer category, Mike “Puffy” Bordin’s friendly, down-to-earth nature belied the tremendous force that he applied to the drum kit. Not only did his drums sound phenomenal (perhaps he tuned them to actual pitches?), but Bordin was just at ease ripping through blistering thrash patterns as he was locking into a peppy bossa rhythm, country stomp, circus waltz, or whatever Mike Patton had planned for that day’s rehearsal. And hell, I could never hold it against him that he single-handedly caused the dissolution of Faith No More by accepting the drum throne position for the Ozzfest headliner; the band was on its way out by ‘97 anyway. What Bordin left behind is a solid and tasteful body of work that any young drummer would be proud to aspire to.

“Stripsearch” – Faith No More 4:29 (Album of the Year, Slash/Reprise 1997)

09. Brann Dailor Today Is the Day, Mastodon

Although his drumming style has now matured into something resembling controlled chaos, Brann Dailor’s one-time stint with Steve Austin’s Today Is the Day and his early work with Mastodon is the musical equivalent of an ADD-riddled caffeine overdose. Purists scoffed at Dailor’s octopus-like flailing, which sounded like a Billy Cobham solo filtered through Damon Che’s technical faculty, with a heapful of drum ‘n bass skittering for good measure. On the surface, what appeared to be reckless self-indulgence of the worst order actually made perfect sense in the context of the music; Dailor’s drumming was the breath of life to those lumbering, monolithic riffs the other members threw his way. He began to tone down the level of frenzy on Leviathan (2004) and especially last year’s Blood Mountain (2006), but Dailor can still navigate through the knottiest time signature with ease, and just his snare chops alone are a wonder to behold. His energy has always been infectious, and it’s difficult to imagine another drummer who could fill his shoes in one of the most popular metal bands working today.

“Workhorse” – Mastodon 3:45 (Remission, Relapse 2002)

08. Gene Hoglan Dark Angel, Death, Strapping Young Lad

The first time I heard Gene Hoglan’s drumming, on Death’s Individual Thought Patterns (1993), I was in a state of denial. Nimble 70’s fusion, hyper-technical prog rock, and thunderous death metal were somehow combined into one singular way of playing, embodied by a dude who couldn’t be human. What’s so remarkable about Hoglan’s approach is how surprisingly musical it is, whether it was his ’80s work with LA thrashers Dark Angel or his current gig with Strapping Young Lad. Sure, he can rumble along with the heaviest of them, but there is an innate musicality in the way he provides texture and little splashes of color to liven up his drum parts. Focus solely on his ride cymbal and hi-hat accents on “Zero Tolerance” for an insight into his genius, as well as proof that it’s nearly impossible to air-drum along to the guy with any sort of accuracy.

“Zero Tolerance” – Death 4:48 (Symbolic, Roadrunner 1995)

07. Ted Parsons Swans, Prong, Godflesh, Jesu

While Ted Parsons‘ metronomic timekeeping is one of his greater claims to fame, he deserves a spot on this list because of one critical weapon that should be in every drummer’s arsenal: taste. There has never been a moment in his career where he overplayed his role, vied for the spotlight, or just flat-out butchered his drum part. The descriptor “questionable” just doesn’t apply to Parsons, not only because of his reliability and utter deference to the music, but more due to his impeccable grasp of what makes a drum pattern so satisfying, from his hip hop-influenced grooves to blindingly fast thrash attacks. On Prong’s mid-’90s releases (Cleansing [1994] and Rude Awakening [1996]) it was almost as if Parsons had transformed into a machine, his mind and limbs replaced by microchips and robotic mechanisms. He’s been working with Justin Broadrick since the turn of the century, and continues to show up at the occasional drum clinic or recording session. A generous part of Parsons’ appeal lies in his versatility, to say nothing of his shotgun-like snare on those early Prong records.

“Irrelevant Thoughts” – Prong 2:37 (Prove You Wrong, Epic 1991)

06. Igor Cavalera Sepultura

I remember when metalheads around the world acted as if it were the second coming of Christ when, upon the release of Chaos A.D. (1993), Sepultura’s Igor Cavalera began incorporating Brazilian tribal drumming into his playing. Who would have thought that those exotic rhythms would have worked so well underneath detuned thrash riffs? Since the age of fourteen, Cavalera has been providing the rhythmic foundation for one of the most popular international metal bands in the world, and his playing has influenced countless young drummers. His work on the band’s earlier records was somewhat chaotic (remember, he was still in his teens), but by the time of Beneath the Remains (1989), his authoritative, no-bullshit approach had become the backbone of the band and often the most interesting element of the music. After a twenty-year spell Cavalera left Sepultura last year (”artistic incompatibility”), but he left behind a legacy that most drummers could only dream of, not to mention one of the top ten most memorable drum performances in metal, on the group’s biggest hit “Territory.”

“Cut-Throat” – Sepultura 2:44 (Roots, Roadrunner 1996)

05. Dale Crover Melvins

It’s hard to believe that the career of the Melvins has extended beyond two decades, but here they are in 2007, still experimenting with variations on their sludge-metal formula, still capable of raw and uncompromising heaviness, and still batshit insane. Dale Crover’s thundering, heavy-handed approach to the kit has contributed to the band’s trajectory perhaps more than his alter ego King Buzzo, and certainly more than whatever poor soul happens to be filling in the bassist’s slot at the moment. Crover has always operated under his own labyrinthine logic, attacking each component of the modern drum kit with a furious determination that alternates between shocking and straight-up bizarre; and if one suddenly finds him slipping into a standard 4/4 rock pattern, it’s probably for his own ironic amusement. Stylistically, there simply isn’t another drummer in existence that could be compared to him, a crushing, brute force that propels the music forward with an almost violent momentum. Crover’s secret weapon is the element of surprise, as he always opts for playing something that one would never expect any drummer to play, whether it’s imitating a clumsy six-year-old on his first two-piece setup or conjuring sheets of white-noise cymbal soundscapes. He looks scary as hell to boot and I’d venture to guess that he’s clinically deranged on some level, but God bless the dude for keeping me entertained some fifteen years now.

“Manky” – Melvins 4:36 (The Maggot, Ipecac 1999)

04. John Stanier Helmet, Tomahawk, Battles

Few drummers hold such an air-drum addiction as John Stanier. Let’s put aside the fact that one could write an entire musical dissertation on the ability of his right foot and focus on his hip hop-influenced approach, his often-overlooked speed, and the direct and raw brutality of his playing. Plus, the guy has the best snare fills of anyone I’ve ever heard. Stanier’s greatest contribution to the modern drum manual is that it’s perfectly acceptable to inject a little groove underneath a riff, and the lack of double bass drums doesn’t have to necessarily hinder one’s style; just listen to the number of pinched kick hits during the verses of “FBLA” to glean some insight into his revolutionary approach. I was afraid when Helmet disbanded back in the late ’90s that I’d never hear from him again, but Stanier has only refined his playing, returning to challenge himself with Mike Patton’s Tomahawk and his current outfit Battles. Then again, he could sit in with The Roots and still move the crowd just as effectively as ?uestlove. His shit just bumps like that.

“FBLA” – Helmet 2:40 (Strap It On, Amphetamine Reptile 1990)

03. Martin Lopez Opeth

As one of the few who was utterly disillusioned with Opeth’s Ghost Reveries (2005) upon its release, I figured that if anyone could pull the band out of the keyboard-laced wankery of their new direction, it would be drummer Martin Lopez. When I heard of his departure from the group earlier last year, I could only hang my head in frustration as I watched my favorite active metal band slowly unravel (guitarist Peter Lindgren’s withdrawal back in May was yet another nail in the coffin). I’m unsure of his future plans, but Lopez could man the kit for a power-pop band led by some mascara-scarred emo brat and I’d still buy their record. Since his opening percussive slaughter on “April Ethereal” from My Arms, Your Hearse (1998) (his debut with the band), his versatility and fluidity have been absolutely critical to the development of Opeth’s sound. Through beautiful twelve-minute epics of mysterious complexity, countless variations in tempo and feel, and head-spinning time signatures, perhaps Lopez’s greatest skill lies in the fact that he makes it all seem so easy. I’m struggling to think of another drummer who has displayed such proficiency over the course of six full-length albums for any band, metal or otherwise. Martin Lopez, you will be sorely, sorely, missed.

“Godhead’s Lament” – Opeth 9:47 (Still Life, KOCH 1999)

02. Dave Lombardo Slayer, Grip Inc., Fantomas

He’s Dave Lombardo. Of course he’s going to be on this list. Feel that subterranean roar ripping through your chest? That’s just Dave Lombardo’s double bass drum work. Or how about that crackling explosion in your neck that’s now surging down your spine? That’s just Dave Lombardo executing a descending tom fill with perfect accuracy and timing. Hear every note that your favorite metal drummer just played? That’s because of Dave Lombardo and his massive influence on modern metal. An old friend and I used to play this game where we’d construct various “calling cards” with his name, like: Dave “Other Drummers Are Just Lesser Deities” Lombardo. Or Dave “My Floor Tom Just Crushed Your Skull” Lombardo. Go ahead, say his name out loud. Chant it like a mantra. Then take a look at his résumé, now nearing the 30-year mark, and tell me that there is another individual out there whose drum throne sits higher than that of the king of metal drumming.

“Hostage to Heaven” – Grip Inc. 3:57 (Power of Inner Strength, Metal Blade 1995)

01. Ken Owen Carcass, Blackstar

I know, I know – it seems like I’m incapable of discussing any aspect of metal without bringing up Carcass or their masterpiece Heartwork (1993), but precious few records have resonated as much within me, and it strongly remains my favorite metal album of all time these many years later. See, like most folks, I have this mental list of things to do before I die: skydiving from 13,000 feet above the earth, hiking the Andes, lolling for a month in some Mediterranean villa, transcribing every note of Ken Owen’s drum work on Heartwork to study and cherish. Not to slight the band’s earlier grindcore material (or the less popular country-fried stoner metal of their later stuff), but had Owen never played another note of music besides Heartwork, he would still be at the top of this list. The term “thinking man’s drummer” would be applicable were it not such a tired cliché, because every pattern Owen blesses with his ridiculously skillful chops seems honed to perfection after months of contemplation. Lightning-fast blastbeats, mid-tempo grooves, stomping tom patterns, militaristic snare rolls – Owen did it all, with equal parts savage and elegance that no drummer to date has been able to match.

“Carnal Forge” – Carcass 3:55 (Heartwork, Earache 1993)