A few weeks ago, as I was shifting around some boxes in my closet in order to install an additional bookshelf, I happened upon a box full of CDs that I had apparently forgotten about completely. A quick rush of excitement came over me, and I imagined a scenario of revisiting a record I hadn’t heard since childhood, recognizing its lost brilliance, and subsequently incorporating it into my regular listening rotation. Yet as I thumbed through them, my elation gave way to bitter disappointment when I realized that there was a good reason why most of these discs had been stashed away for years. So I began sorting through the two dozen or so CDs contained within the box, giving each a cursory listen, and determining one of two possible outcomes for each: graduation to my record shelves (”Liberation!”) or a return to this Pandora’s Box of regretful purchases that will certainly never see the light of day again (”Eternal Closet Obscurity”). The following are some of the more memorable discoveries.

Dream Theater Images and Words Atco 1992

My God. I was off to a bad start already, and yes, I’m aware that the mere mention of Dream fucking Theater here could effectively destroy what remaining musical credibility I may be desperately clinging to. Just when I think I’ve forgotten entirely about a particularly painful phase of my musical timeline in high school, this one always seems to rear its ugly head. Allow me to defend myself. When I first began playing electric bass at the age of fifteen or so, my ears became sponges – devouring, porous sponges – that soaked up anything in the near vacinity that featured above-average bass playing, regardless of style, genre, or accepted taboo. This explains why I can still recite, note-for-note, lyric-for-lyric, a healthy 75% of Rush’s catalogue; I rigorously conditioned myself for a good six months to become oblivious to Geddy Lee’s helium overdoses or lines like, “But glittering prizes and endless compromises shatter the illusion of integrity.” Sadly, Dream Theater was a key character in this grotesque theatrical drama, at least for that brief spell when I had a few friends that used to regularly justify them for me. I was impressionable almost to a fault in those days, but what teenager wasn’t? I knew the sentence for this one before I even burned “Under a Glass Moon” to upload here. Listen at your own risk.

Verdict: Eternal Closet Obscurity

“Under a Glass Moon” – Dream Theater 7:03 (Images and Words, Atco 1992)

Greta No Biting Stardog 1993

Proponents of post-grunge mid-’90s rock, of which I’ll admit to championing at most soapbox opportunities, somehow conveniently forget about bands like Greta, a group of burned-out longhairs from Los Angeles that couldn’t seem to decide whether they wanted to plunder wholesale from Jane’s Addiction, Alice in Chains, or any number of flannel-clad rockers who enjoyed their fifteen minutes on MTV’s “Buzz Bin” at one point in time. The irony of this record’s title shouldn’t be lost on anyone. I won’t blame you for refusing, but one listen to “Love Is Dead” reveals why this band’s whole schtick was as transparent as the disc’s plastic case: an indulgent chance to showcase some jazz ‘chops’ during the verse, the ensuing ’surprise’ when the aggro-fueled chorus slams the listener, and the repeated couplet, “I don’t want to be the one to be missed, I just want to be the one to be kissed.” Anything less obvious would be a revelation. I read somewhere that Greta actually got their shit together and put out a respectable sophomore release, but I had long vacated the premises by then.

Verdict: Eternal Closet Obscurity

“Love Is Dead” – Greta 3:17 (No Biting, Stardog 1993)

Hen-Gee & Evil-E Brothers Pendulum 1991

I’m struggling to figure out where the hell this one came from, and I have no recollection of ever listening to this. Truth be told, I hardly made it through ten minutes of this disc. Despite their connections with Ice-T’s Rhyme Syndicate collective, everything on this record – beats, lyrics, whatever – is so incredibly pedestrian it’s almost shocking that it was allowed commercial release. I’m sure siblings Hen-Gee & Evil-E had good intentions with this, their only release, and they’re undoubtedly sincere, but I actually felt uncomfortable while I was sorting through the tracks. Not to be crass, but Hen-Gee’s delivery, which he questionably peppers with Spanish, is about as smooth as chunky vomit, and the production is a mishmash of swingless, third-rate new jack beats with nary a solid hook to be found. This one’s getting buried at the bottom of the box.

Verdict: Eternal Closet Obscurity

“Brothers” – Hen-Gee & Evil-E 4:58 (Brothers, Pendulum 1991)

Kwamé and A New Beginning A Day in the Life: A Pokadelick Adventure Atlantic 1990

I do, however, remember Kwamé, sleepy-eyed fixture of the bubblegum-rap contingent who is unfairly maligned to this day. Despite the lame choreographed dance moves, those goddamn inescapable polka-dots, and a career-crushing diss by Biggie, a listen through one of his early records shows how unique the dude was for his time (and age – he was only seventeen when he recorded this). If nothing, you have to admire the guy for doing whatever the hell he wanted on his records, whether it was mock-singing in feminine voices or mimicking the sound of a record scratch before every other syllable. While A Day in the Life (1990) certainly has its share of embarrassments (”Ownlee Eue,” “Oneovdabigboiz”), my sides were splitting at the sheer ridiculousness of tracks like “Itz Oh Kay,” where Kwam begins by spitting a slew of lame nursery rhymes, moves onto hilariously bad one-liners (“I ain’t Chinese food, I don’t get taken out”), and calmly reassures a worried female in the chorus who is unable to contain her love for him. This kind of comical absurdity doesn’t write itself. Welcome to the CD shelf, Mr. Holland.

Verdict: Liberation!

“Itz Oh Kay” – Kwamé and a New Beginning 4:08 (A Day in the Life: A Pokadelick Adventure, Atlantic 1990)

Larva Waiting for Daybreak Energy 1994

And we’re back to the forgettable ’90s alt-rock again. Let’s see if I can convey an impression of the music just by describing the insert for Waiting for Daybreak (1994). The design is truly hideous, dominated by cartoonish, flowery ivy leaves and a blocked woodsy font. Sample track titles include “Empty,” “Devotion,” and “Remember Me.” The band members are listed by first name only, with bearded lead vocalist Roger posing shirtless next to his thank-you list. Guest musicians are preceeded by the heading “Additional Musical Vibes.” The phrase “Remember: ‘Legalize Don’t Criticize’” is plastered in huge lettering across the liner notes. I think I’ve said enough. Larva is further proof that anyone – anyone – with long hair and guitars could get a record deal in the early ’90s.

Verdict: Eternal Closet Obscurity

“Kia” – Larva 3:38 (Waiting for Daybreak, Energy 1994)

Monster Voodoo Machine Suffersystem RCA 1994

Normally, I wouldn’t put too much stock in a Canadian band calling themselves Monster Voodoo Machine and titling a record Suffersystem (1994), but this disc isn’t anywhere near as bad as it may appear. In fact, it’s actually kinda good. I know next to nothing about these guys, but their combination of jackhammer industrial rhythms, huge desert biker riffs, and NYC hardcore aggresion works wonders on this record, which I hadn’t thought about in years. “Motionless” is nothing more than a succession of undeniably badass stoner riffs that’s akin to branding one’s skull with a hot poker. It’s the kind of stuff that inspires critics to think up ludicrous genre tags like “tattoo-parlor metal.” It certainly won’t dominate the next few weeks of my existence, but Suffersystem makes a nice little addition to my metal collection, if anything, for the occasional mixtape fodder.

Verdict: Liberation!

“Motionless” – Monster Voodoo Machine 4:04 (Suffersystem, RCA 1994)

Redhead Kingpin and The FBI The Album with No Name Virgin 1991

Only the late ’80s R&B/hip hop scene could’ve produced a skinny kid with an orange-tinted fade calling himself Redhead Kingpin and dubbing his dance squad The FBI. The Album with No Name (1991), Redhead’s sophomore release, didn’t contain any hits as popular as, erm, “Pump It Hottie,” but it was evidently hot enough for me to spend my hard-earned allowance on it back in the day. This wasn’t as cringing as that Hen-Gee & Evil-E record, but it does have plenty of thin keyboards, bouncy new jack nonsense, tepid PG lyrics about cultural upliftment, and a song titled “3-2-1 Pump!” that should’ve caused an uproar in Earth, Wind & Fire’s legal department. The only moment worth salvaging on the record is saved for the finale, a duet between Redhead and – guess who – Kwamé called “Gimme Dat Girl,” where the two compare each other’s mack skills and the latter hilariously describes his means of seducing a woman. Other than that, the album’s inherent disposability doesn’t really deserve a name anyway.

Verdict: Eternal Closet Obscurity

“Dave & Kwamé (Gimme Dat Girl)” – Redhead Kingpin & The FBI feat. Kwamé 4:59 (The Album with No Name, Virgin 1991)

Lisa Stansfield Affection Arista 1990

Confession: I was ready to dismiss this record right off the bat with a few lines about the vapid Euro-dance scene of the ’80s and, I don’t know, a comparison to Taylor Dayne or something. Instead, I listened to it. And then I, uh, found myself kinda liking it. In all seriousness, this record has some flat-out amazing hooks, arrangements that would make Barry White and Gene Page proud, and a remarkably seductive late-night vibe, all commanded by a woman with a voice that has no business belonging to that of a white girl. You know the hits: “All Around the World,” “This Is the Right Time,” “You Can’t Deny It” – the mere tip of the iceberg as far as the quality of the material here is concerned. Hell, any of the thirteen tracks here could have hit the singles chart. Hate on Lisa all you want, but I’m keeping this record. And no one’s going to stop me.

Verdict: Liberation!

“Sincerity” – Lisa Stansfield 4:49 (Affection, Arista 1990)

It seems that the labels are finally warming to hip hop when it comes to elevating certain classics to the coveted “deluxe edition” class, with Paid in Full (1987), Illmatic (1994), and the recently-released Road to the Riches (1989) seeing double-disc reissues in the past few years. While these are entirely deserving of the treatment, there is a handful of records that are just as worthy of a first-class overhaul: I’m talking bonus DVDs, multiple essays, never-before-seen color photos, and bonus tracks galore. The following are my three contenders.

Public Enemy, Fear of a Black Planet (1990)

I’ll just come right out and state it: give me Black Planet over It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back (1988) any day. While it didn’t quite have the sheer cultural shock and sonic revelation of its predecessor upon its initial release, Fear of a Black Planet is one of the finest examples in hip hop of honing a craft down to perfection. The Bomb Squad’s sole objective here was to make the loudest, noisiest record in history, and they pushed the limits of sampling technology as far as the envelope would allow. Using It Takes a Nation as a starting point, every element of the sound is pushed even further to the extreme, from the impenetrably dense soundscapes to the wildly chaotic drum programming to Chuck D’s scathing, more focused diatribes. And there’s no “Cold Lampin’ with Flavor.” The triple-disc deluxe edition would contain:

• A fully-remastered version of the album, upping the overall levels as well as boosting the bass and bringing fuller clarity to the highs

• Alternate mixes and extended versions, including “Fight the Power,” the “Burn Hollywood Burn” and “Brothers Gonna Work It Out” remixes, dubs and uncensored editions

• As many instrumentals as possible to further demonstrate the full sonic assault of the Bomb Squad, especially “Welcome to the Terrordome” and “911 Is a Joke”

• A third disc containing the entirety of Terminator X’s Terminator X and the Valley of the Jeep Beats (1991), about as strong an argument for an unofficial “sister record” if there ever was one

• An in-depth interview with Hank and Keith Shocklee on their songcraft, studio equipment at the time, and sampling techniques

• A track-by-track analysis from Chuck D on his inspiration for the lyrical content

• Full-color photos and concert stills of the S1Ws, with or without fake Uzis

• No mention anywhere of Flavor of Love

“B Side Wins Again” – Public Enemy 3:45 (Fear of a Black Planet, Def Jam 1990)

Ultramagnetic MCs, Funk Your Head Up (Polygram 1992)

This record sharply divides Ultramagnetic fans to this day, with one camp calling it an A&R-tampered disaster while the other champions it as an unheralded masterpiece. I fall somewhere toward the latter, but what’s most important here is that Funk Your Head Up, out of print for over a decade now, just needs to be reissued, period. A brief bit of history here: the Ultramagnetic crew signed to Mercury on the strength of their phenomenal debut and now-classic Critical Beatdown (1988). Inexplicably (although hardly surprising), the label deemed the original mixes of Funk Your Head Up as “too hardcore” and brought in unknown producers Solid Productions to doctor the record into a more radio-friendly unit shifter. Thus the now-dated R&B touches on “Stop Jockin’ Me” and “I Like Your Style” were somewhat uncomfortably situated next to “rougher” material like “Go 4 Yourz” and “Porno Star.” This complete mess of a record would be rightfully restored of its original intended brilliance by a double-disc edition containing the following:

• Remastered versions of the released “label” mix on Disc 1 and the original “hardcore” masters on Disc 2 for comparison purposes

• Alternate mixes and instrumentals of “Poppa Large” (including the “East Coast Mix” or “video mix”) and “Make It Happen”

• Full-color photos of Kool Keith in a straightjacket and Tim Dog with his monstrous Eric B.-like gold chain

• An essay by Robbie from Unkut.com on the multiple levels of “Pluckin’ Cards,” easily the widest-encompassing diss track in the history of hip hop

• An additional essay from Kool Keith’s psychologist on his frame of mind during the recording of the album, á la Charles Mingus

“Poppa Large (East Coast Mix)” – Ultramagnetic MCs 5:32 (Poppa Large 12”, Mercury 1992)

Wu-Tang Clan, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (Loud 1993)

To those either too young to remember or hiding under a rock at the time, it’s difficult to describe the impact this record had on hip hop when it was released in late ‘93. I remember being one of the few that was utterly nonplussed by Dr. Dre’s sunny West Coast G-funk, and it had almost been a year since I had purchased a rap release by the time 36 Chambers dropped. It dramatically revitalized my feelings toward hip hop, and the revelation hit me hard: there was hope! Any self-respecting fan of hip hop will already have this album memorized, so the deluxe two-disc-plus-DVD edition has to be packed with notable goods such as:

• A fully remastered 36 Chambers with notable emphasis in the bass frequencies

• The uncensored or “bloody” version of “Protect Ya Neck” substituting the radio edit on the original track sequence

• The complete, remastered nine-track demo for the record displaying alternate verses and mixes

• Again, as many instrumentals as possible (especially “Bring Da Ruckus,” “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’,” and “C.R.E.A.M.”) and alternate mixes and radio dubs

• The music for the entire record performed by El Michels Affair

• A bonus DVD featuring each video from the album, as well as interviews and live appearances from the period

• An essay from RZA on his manipulation of the Ensoniq ASR-10 keyboard/sampler for the bulk of the production on the record

• For newcomers, the requisite bios and aliases of each Clan member, with never-before-seen photos of Ghostface Killah’s face still blurred and Method Man rocking the professor specs

“Bring Da Ruckus (Demo)” – Wu-Tang Clan 3:29 (Wu-Tang Demos, self-released 1992?)

“C.R.E.A.M. (Instrumental)” – Wu-Tang Clan 3:38 (C.R.E.A.M. 12”, Loud 1994)

In other things Wu-related, I wrote a piece over at EarFuzz yesterday about RZA’s soundtrack for Jim Jarmusch’s Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999).