I’d be lying if I said that there weren’t a few records in the past month that have sparked my affections.  To wit:

Invisible Cinema (2008) by young pianist Aaron Parks had ‘red flag’ tagged all over it when it arrived on my doorstep a few weeks ago.  The blonde highlights, facial permastubble, and “influenced by Radiohead and Death Cab for Cutie” bio blunder just begged to be on the receiving end of my seething vitriol, until I played the disc.  Shockingly, breathtakingly good.  More on this kid later.

I’m still not sold on Stereolab’s Chemical Chords (2008) yet, but their records have always been growers for me.  It’s getting there.

Marco Benevento’s Invisible Baby (2008), however, is one of the best albums I’ve heard so far this year.  I don’t know what the hell to call it, but I loved it upon first listen.  You’ll thank me for this one.

Then there’s this 40-year-old jewel that I hadn’t heard until recently:

“Respect” – Rotary Connection 3:06 (Songs, Cadet 1969)

Yeah.  That “Respect.”  Play it as loud as you feel comfortable with.

For those who haven’t heard Q-Tip’s recent podcast interview on Juan Epstein, it’s pretty much a must-hear.  The part where they bitch to him about cueing the downbeat of “Electric Relaxation” had my sides splitting (via Unkut).

And check Phonte’s reactions to ten slow jams thrown in his direction, from Raleigh, NC’s, Independent Weekly (via No Trivia).

As usual, Jeff “Passion of the” Weiss hits the nail on the head with the near-painful “Swagger Like Us” debacle.  Is this what passes for a ‘posse cut’ now?  Over a goddamn M.I.A. sample??!?

Speaking of debacles, Poplicks has been killing it with their coverage of the latest in U.S. politricks.

Psyched for that new Metallica album, huh, brocious?  Shit, yea - wait, did you say, “no”?  Check Cosmo Lee’s take on the whole publicity machine.  The title of the post says it all.

I wouldn’t exactly describe my Internet connection as “light-speed,” so it was an incredibly big deal for me to watch VBS’ recent five-part series on Norwegian black metal.  This, of course, only served to underline the tremendous let-down that was the ending.  Still, some truly creepy moments here, and there is an eerie serenity to the Scandinavian countryside that I found captivating.

A recent favorite discovery has been Intensities in Ten Suburbs.

Fufu Stew offers up a delicious “fast food” mix that’s worth downloading - and this is coming from someone who rarely, if ever, downloads online mixes.

Give me another few days to get my act together and posting will resume, promise.

]]> http://floodwatchmusic.com/2008/09/reader-meet-lazy-author/feed/ http://floodwatchmusic.com/2008/08/my-id-vs-ego-on-gzas-pro-tools/ http://floodwatchmusic.com/2008/08/my-id-vs-ego-on-gzas-pro-tools/#comments Thu, 21 Aug 2008 02:21:15 +0000 floodwatch http://floodwatchmusic.com/?p=244 Ego: So I heard you actually visited your local record store and purchased a couple of CDs the other day. When was the last time that happened?

Id: I know, it’s been forever, right? You thought I was going to sleep soundly knowing that there’s a new Stereolab release that I didn’t own yet?

Ego: But you’re not here to argue over the new Stereolab, are you?

Id: No, I’m going to need more time to digest its kaleidoscopic, bubblegum-pop brilliance.

Ego: Whatever. So GZA’s Pro Tools (2008): afternoon power nap or all-night snoozefest?

Id: Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s not outstanding or anything, but it’s better than what I expected, which, granted, has become the clichéd kneejerk criticism of most Wu output these days. The production is solid for the most part and GZA’s pen hasn’t softened in the slightest.

Ego: Yeah, yeah – can I ask you something that’s been on my mind for, I don’t know, I guess the past few years or so?

Id: Why do homogeneous “indie” artists and songwriters continue to waste their time and resources by mailing me their shit for review?

Ego: No, no, that – well, yeah, of course, but no, what I want to ask is: remember when GZA was hungry?

Id: Say again?

Ego: I’m talking about when dude was hungry – his cool, deliberate flow locking into every beat with deadly precision, dropping the most insanely cryptic similes and gems of wisdom, and whose multilayered lyricism was unrivaled, achieving in eight bars what the other Wu clansmen needed 24 or 32 for?

Id: Say, that’s a novel approach. Let’s compare Pro Tools to Liquid Swords (1995).

Ego: All I’m saying is that it sounds like the guy hasn’t had his morning coffee yet on half of the cuts here. Give him a shot of adrenaline, for Christ’s sake. The blunted, low-key demeanor on “Short Race” and “Paths of Destruction” would work wonders for Masta Killa or Raekwon, but for GZA it sounds like he’d rather be playing chess or something. On “Cinema” he sounds damn near lethargic.

Id: Yeah, but what is he, like 42 years old now? We shouldn’t expect “Protect Ya Neck”-like levels of urgency here. The Grandmasters (2005) record already signaled the shift in focus toward introspective musings, advanced wordplay, and spellbinding narratives. Check the intro of “Groundbreaking”:

I’m in the schoolyard, rhyming with my brother Jamal and Ra-la (sp?),
Vibing to the beat and imagining how far the sound traveled at the turn of the volume.
It would shake the gravel before we heard the loud boom.
It vibrated through the parking lot, shattered a few windshields,
Set of a spark and shocked the local UPS cat, but we didn’t stress that,
He had a slow leak, a front tire almost flat.

In a word: phenomenal. The listener can visualize the setting immediately, imagining the cipher and the casual interaction between the characters, and marvel with GZA on the basic principles of physical acoustics, right on down to the description of a delivery driver’s truck in the distance – to say nothing of the alliteration and various internal rhyme schemes here. GZA hasn’t lost his touch one bit.

“Groundbreaking” – GZA/Genius feat. Justice Kareem 2:33 (Pro Tools, Babygrande 2008)

Ego: Yeah, but at times it feels like the technicality outweighs the emotion. I mean, he’s done the record labels thing, the celebrity names thing, and now he’s moved on to the auto industry (“0% Finance”)? I want battle rhymes and wolf tickets, dammit.

Id: I hear you, and yeah, admittedly “Alphabets” sounds mad corny in principle – to the point where a description of the song is unnecessary – but for those who can simply step back and appreciate The Craft at its essence, it’s astonishing. It makes one wonder where GZA’s head was at when he decided to cede an entire track to some gravel-throated weed carrier named Ka (“Firehouse”).

Ego: He’s not awful, but seriously, save it for the next Sunz of Man album. Let’s talk about the production.

Id: Meh. Hit or miss.

Ego: But again, a lot better than you predicted, I imagine. The Wu satellite producers really stepped up their game here and reserved some of their best material for GZA – Bronze Nazareth, Arabian Knight, and Mathematics all contribute soulful bangers. “Pencil,” by the latter, knocks like nothing else I’ve heard all year, and Black Milk’s “7 Pounds” is a definite highlight. RZA also continues to baffle behind the boards with the futuristic, synth-overdriven “Life Is a Movie.”

Id: Speaking of RZA, what’s up with his verse on “Pencil”?

Ego: It’s arguably the best verse of his entire career!

Id: I know! Well, “Impossible” would be hard to top. But yeah, it’s the perfect blend of that metaphysical drivel that makes sense only to him and straight-up superheroic trash talking. You know, you’re beginning to sound like you actually like the album.

Ego: It’s a grower, for sure, but so was Legend of the Liquid Sword (2002), and I thought Beneath the Surface (1999) was pure garbage up until a couple of years ago.

Id: I feel a deep Wu mood coming over me. What do you say, let’s go download Cappadonna’s The Cappatalize Project (2008) and eat a gallon of ice cream!

Ego: I say let’s not get too carried away here. We’re going to have problems if I catch you in the middle of a Google search for “Ice Water Inc new album”.

“Pencil” – GZA/Genius feat. Masta Killa & RZA 3:58 (Pro Tools, Babygrande 2008)

10. Mikael Åkerfeldt Opeth, Bloodbath

Unlike most Opeth fans, I’ve never been able to work myself into a fit of apeshitting hysteria over Mikael Åkerfeldt’s “clean” singing. It’s perfectly serviceable and almost always tasteful, but I’ll take the guy’s cavernous roars over his pleasant tenor any day. I’ve expounded upon the band and Åkerfeldt’s genius enough here in the past and I don’t want to retread covered ground, but my familiarity with Opeth’s music runs so deep that I actually experience a calming solace upon hearing the leader summon the demons of hell with that gargantuan growl of his. These days Åkerfeldt is prone to sing just as often as he roars, sending me pining for the days when he would overdub his fiendish howl into a swarming atmosphere of evil, as on “Demon of the Fall.” Either way, this list simply wouldn’t be complete without his inclusion somewhere.

“Demon of the Fall” – Opeth 6:13 (My Arms Your Hearse, Century Media 1998)

9. Al Jourgensen Ministry, Revolting Cocks

Ministry architect Al Jourgensen may seem like an odd choice for a candidate here, but I’ve always been amazed at how well he’s been able to subtly adapt his voice into his surroundings over the years, whether he’s hissing and taunting his subject (read: W.) like a schoolyard bully, exhaling blue-flamed fire over machine gun-like bursts of industrial noise, or wailing uncontrollably like a lunatic. Compare his throaty grunts on “N.W.O.” to the deafening shouts of “So What,” or Filth Pig’s (1995) battery acid-guzzling “Lava” with anything off last year’s The Last Sucker (2007); clearly, vocals aren’t just an afterthought for him. Jourgensen’s unbridled howling is the perfect amalgam of white-trash ferocity, devilish malice, and tongue-in-cheek mockery, and when combined with a drilling riff and jackhammer drums, the results are pure fire. Enjoy your long-deserved retirement, Al.

“Filth Pig” – Ministry 5:16 (Filth Pig, Warner Bros. 1995)

8. Burton C. Bell Fear Factory

Fear Factory never had the most unique sonic formula – mix one part Napalm Death and one part Godflesh, add the technological paranoia thing, and there you have it – but the level of industrial rhythmic precision the band introduced to the scene was unprecedented, laying the groundwork for bands like tech-metal practitioners Meshuggah to hone and develop into stop/start perfection. At first listen, vocalist Burton C. Bell appeared to be little more than a second-tier Barney Greenway – albeit just as powerful – until dude suddenly transformed into a wide-eyed choirboy, alternating between innocent singing and gutteral roars at the drop of a hat. And unlike Greenway, his enunciation was clear enough that a lyric sheet was almost unnecessary, even in full-on rage mode. Bell has yet to receive his full due as pioneer of the contentious “clean” vocal style that was seemingly everywhere by the end of the ‘90s, but his lower range has and still is truly a force to be reckoned with.

“Scapegoat” – Fear Factory 4:33 (Soul of a New Machine, Roadrunner 1992)

7. David Vincent Morbid Angel

Had Morbid Angel’s David Vincent continued in the style of the spectre-like shriek he introduced on Alters of Madness (1989), he’d likely be at the top of this list. As history would have it, however, the bassist was suffering from a nasty cold during the recording of the group’s death metal masterpiece and wouldn’t revisit that particular vocal style again. Yet the frigid howl that permeates Blessed Are the Sick (1991) and Covenant (1993) holds near as much potency, even if it’s buried in the mix at times and overshadowed by Trey Azagthoth’s jaw-dropping guitar theatrics. Clarity and diction were never Vincent’s strong points, but he compensated with the atmosphere of menace and terror he brought to each recording. Put a smear of reverb on his vocal track and the scale of the band’s nightmarish wall of sound increases drastically.

“The Ancient Ones” – Morbid Angel 5:54 (Blessed Are the Sick, Earache 1991)

6. Ihsahn Emperor

Emperor’s Ihsahn was one of the first of the Nordic horde to advance beyond the simplistic and commonplace black metal rasp and into something like a vocal chameleon, equally adept at bellowing roars, deep chanting, stinging whispers, and chest-thumping operatics. At the heart of it all was his signature thorny shriek that was the equivalent of shouting into a hurricane. Seriously, dude could disrupt entire weather systems just by breathing a certain way, and on symphonic metal milestones like the achingly gorgeous Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk (1997) and the absolutely punishing and unrelenting IX Equilibrium (1999) he didn’t hold back in the slightest, scraping the ear canals of the helpless listener like jagged, rusty nails. Ihsahn’s calculated control of his sonic environment was his greatest asset, hovering over the proceedings like a malevolent and vengeful supernatural force. For grandeur and awesome power alone, no one compares to him. Confession: he still scares the shit out of me.

“Thus Spake the Nightspirit” – Emperor 4:30 (Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk, Candlelight 1997)

5. Chuck Schuldiner Death

I still miss him. I miss his nimble, breathtaking fretwork, which made 32nd-note runs and tremelo squeals look like child’s play. I miss his endlessly imaginative songwriting, which would careen into stratospheric heights of melodic majesty just as fast as it could scrape the earth with churning, subterranean riffage. I miss the unexpected poignancy of lyrics like, “Do you remember when things seemed so eternal?/Heroes were so real, their magic frozen in time” (“Symbolic”). And I miss his urgent, almost croaked vocal, which didn’t seem particularly unique during Death’s heyday but grows more impressive with each year since his passing in 2001. Chuck Schuldiner’s ability to sing with any measure of proficiency while executing guitar riffs of the utmost complexity guarantees him a spot on this list regardless of the vocal style. Schuldiner’s vocals had mutated into a sort of black metal rasp by the release of Death’s swan song The Sound of Perseverence (1998), but it’s the throat-scraping viciousness of the band’s releases from earlier that decade that I favor the most. The immeasurable wealth of talent that this guy had is still difficult for me to wrap my head around.

“Together As One” – Death 4:09 (Human, Relativity 1991)

4. John Tardy Obituary

Were it not for John Tardy, Obituary would have barely registered as a blip on my radar in the early ‘90s. Sure, the band was a critical component during American death metal’s growth, but musically, their run-of-the-mill riffage never did much for me. Except for Tardy, who could scream over an album of Limp Bizkit instrumentals and I’d buy it without hesitation. Tardy is one of the few metal vocalists who is committed to sounding genuinely tortured, both physically and (especially) psychologically, spewing out nonsensical lumps of syllables and indecipherable barks like a rabid animal. His vocal technique could best be described as a series of wildly varying atonal pitches rather than a constant, clipped growl, and his presence is instantly recognizable, making him one of the most singular frontmen in the music’s history. Without him, the likelihood of Obituary becoming a mere footnote in the history of death metal would be ten times more probable. And his scream? Check the intro to “Final Thoughs” for proof that hell on earth really does exist.

“Final Thoughts” – Obituary 4:09 (World Demise, Roadrunner 1994)

3. Mark “Barney” Greenway Napalm Death, Extreme Noise Terror

Imagine receiving the full brunt of a furnace explosion and you’ll get a pretty good idea of the dry and scalding vocal force Mark “Barney” Greenway brings to Napalm Death. It’s impossible to envision the band now without him. Subtlety and variation simply aren’t a part of Greenway’s modus operandi. He operates on one setting – full blast – and nearly twenty years later, he’s made an art form out of it. No disrespect to previous Napalm vocalist and Cathedral mastermind Lee Dorrian, but Greenway ushered the group into a new level of extremity that was unmatched by the time of his debut Harmony Corruption (1990). Even as the band flirted with a more mainstream, groove-oriented sound on Diatribes (1996) and Inside the Torn Apart (1997), Greenway remained absolutely uncompromising in his vocal approach, refusing to “clean it up” or make the music more digestible, right down to his near-indecipherable Birmingham brogue. Many have tried to match Greenway for consistency and pure sonic intensity, but to little avail. How the guy has a normal speaking voice after ritually mutilating his larynx all these years is beyond my understanding.

“Christening of the Blind” – Napalm Death 3:21 (Utopia Banished, Earache 1992)

2. Jeff Walker Carcass

Ironically enough, when Carcass’ Jeff Walker was encouraged to share lyric and vocal duties during the band’s formative stages, he couldn’t muster enthusiasm about it; all he wanted to do was play bass and maybe design some of the group’s album artwork. That is, of course, until he borrowed his sister’s medical dictionary and proceeded to pen the most hilariously gruesome odes to forensic pathology, delivered in a scraping, paint-peeling rasp that was the “little bear” to guitarist Bill Steer’s “papa bear” vocals. As the band progressed beyond old-fashioned grindcore and into the more melodic (but no less crushing) territory of Heartwork (1993), Walker took full rein of the vocal content and had whittled his voice into something akin to a demonic whisper, his growling and hissing standing in even starker contrast to the boogie-metal of Swan Song (1996). His sole desire seemed to be to rip apart the fibers of the meaty chunks of surrounding riffage with his incisors and swallow them whole. I’ll never tire of him.

“Rot ‘n’ Roll” – Carcass 3:49 (The Heartwork EP, Earache 1993)

1. Daniel Weyandt Zao

I’d never expect a Christian metalcore band to top any list here on the site, but such is my devoted gravitation to All Things Daniel Weyandt, vocal proprietor of Zao. I probably first heard the group sometime in ’99 when a friend introduced me to their Liberate te ex Inferis (1999) record one evening, presumably to watch my head spin, Linda Blair-style, at the magnificent concentration of sheer evil in Weyandt’s mangled voice. Some metal fans like their vocals in grunts and barks, others lean toward the venomous rasps, and more than a few prefer James LaBrie-like pomposity. Weyandt’s are my poison of choice: chilling, teeth-gnashing, acid-gargling, unintelligible thrashings of human sound that make my blood curdle in terror and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. As a musical collective, I’d hardly consider Zao in the league of any of the above bands – the riffs are simple yet effective, the songwriting is passable, the playing is average (although original drummer Jesse Smith was a fucking monster on the kit). Weyandt is pretty much the sole reason why I’d ever listen to them; perhaps I have a certain fascination with hearing what sounds like someone violently ravaging an animal carcass in starved derangement. I guess I’m a little warped like that.

“Lies of Serpents, a River of Tears” – Zao 2:39 (Where Blood and Fire Bring Rest, Tooth & Nail 1998)

It’s impossible to overstate how much Isaac Hayes’ music means to me. He was my gateway into the Soul and R&B of the 1970s, when I discovered a copy of Hot Buttered Soul (1969) in my father’s LP collection back in high school and played it endlessly on repeat through a pair of headphones. There was an indefinable intangibility to it that I couldn’t wrap my head around then and still can’t; simple descriptors like “funky” or “dripping with soul” barely scratched the surface of what really made “Walk on By” or “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” so special. The rhythm section thumped and knocked like nothing I had heard before, the string and horn arrangements were gifts from heaven, and Hayes rich baritone enveloped and comforted my soul like a warm blanket. I picked up Shaft (1971), which occupied my stereo for a solid six months, then Black Moses (1971), which quickly became the object of my affection if only for the sheer balls-factor of the title alone. I slowly began to acquire everything and anything with the man’s name on it, from Fantasy CD reissues like Chocolate Chip (1975) to worn LP copies of Disco Connection (1975) and the hilariously tasteless cover art of Juicy Fruit (1976). I have disc after disc of CD-Rs that I’ve burned over the years of various Issac Hayes mixes, intended only for myself; titles include “Hayes Sex Romp ’73-‘76” and “Ike’s Raps: The Complete Recordings.” Night after night I’d fall asleep to his records, their deep grooves lulling me into subconsciousness. In short, I couldn’t get enough of him.

Hayes’ music became the standard for which I held other artists of the 1970s by. He could transform a simple pop song into a sweeping, multi-part opus that could easily occupy a quarter of an hour without meandering in the slightest. At their prime, no other artist could touch his rhythm section (led by guitarist Charles Pitts and drummer Willie Hall), who could dig into a groove like they were determined to reach the center of the earth. His arrangements were truly one-of-a-kind, from the soft, whispering woodwinds to the staccato horn bursts. At the center of it all was the voice, commanding yet tender, velvety smooth but heavy as hell. The voice that could be heard casually joking with his band, swooning millions of women during a ballad, rapping to the audience over a slinky vamp, or roaring throughout the L.A. Coliseum at Wattstax. Years later, my exhaustive familiarity with Hayes’ music has never grown stale or tiring. To these ears, it will always and forever be timeless.

He was a pioneer and a visionary, a musician and bandleader of enormous talent, a personality and presence that was both warm and passionate. There will never be another like him. Mr. Hayes, you will be sorely missed.

“Rock Me Easy Baby” – Isaac Hayes 8:17 (Groove-A-Thon, ABC 1976)

Melvins “Youth of America” Electroretard Man’s Ruin 2001

A smattering of interrelated thoughts after a dedicated half-hour of having my eardrums rattled by Melvins’ “Youth of America”:

• This song simply cannot be played at a volume of less than 100 decibels; otherwise, 95% of its potency disappears.

• To date, Melvins have yet to release a cover that tops this – “Candy-O,” “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and various Kiss and Pink Floyd retreads can only stand in the shadow of this interpretation. The Wipers’ original never made much of an impression on me until I heard Buzz Osbourne’s shredding, disemboweling guitar solo here.

• Never has one song been more of a sole reason to purchase a record – in this case, the odds n’ sods collection Electroretard (2001) on the now-defunct Man’s Ruin label. Everything else on the album pales in comparison to “Youth of America.” Plus, who doesn’t want to own a record titled Electroretard that has no connection to Crystal Castles?

• Hearing “Youth of America,” at the appropriate volume, is equivalent to: A) having your testicles sandblasted, B) feeling like the old lady who gets breath-blasted in the “Come to Daddy” video, C) hurtling through an asteroid field at Ludicrous Speed, or D) coming to the conclusion that your band will never be able to execute something as perfect as this.

• Dale Crover has the energy level of a five year-old on a strict diet of Pixy Stix. Look at the guy – he looks like Neil Young’s estranged younger brother who’s spent half of his life in a correctional facility, neatly personifying the comment “he ain’t right” better than anyone on Earth. Dude can’t be human!

• “Youth of America” reaffirms the notion that sometimes simplicity is best. Drums, bass, a couple of multi-tracked guitars, and a vocal. Done.

• “Motorik,” “biker rock,” whatever you want to call it: this song completely defies stasis. The ideal application of “Youth of America” would be an open desert highway at sunset, speedometer hovering around 95, top down, engine roaring underneath the chugging bass, the guitar feedback sweetly harmonizing with the howling wind as the pavement blurs below the wheels.

“Youth of America” – Melvins 9:17 (Electroretard, Man’s Ruin 2001)

Summer, for me, isn’t about dreamy indie pop, ‘90s G-funk, or breezy tropicália. It’s about Soul, specifically the kind recorded between the years1970 and 1979. I’d say about 75% of the Soul and R&B I listen to happens during the summer – there’s just something about the overall vibe of the music, whether it’s a pseudo-disco floor-stomper or a heart-crushing ballad, that’s complemented by the longer days and higher temperatures. My father also played a lot of Motown and Stax platters around the house when I was growing up, and I have vague recollections of hearing The Temptations and Otis Redding on summer evenings, echoing through the house and out the windows while I was running around outside. There isn’t anything particularly groundbreaking about this mix, and it isn’t packed full of obscurities and dusty funk rarities. Hell, even the title is a little uncreative and a weak attempt at alliteration. These sixteen songs are incredibly personal to me, however, and are the essence of summertime to these ears. I spent a lot of time on the sequencing and the tracks are blended together, so those looking to download in order to isolate one of them may be disappointed. Enjoy.

Seventies Summer Soulstice 68:52 (.zip – 93.85 MB at 192kps)

1. “Joy” – Isaac Hayes 6:06
from Joy (Stax 1973)

The slinky riff that provides the basis for “Joy” is one of the most addictive things I’ve ever heard. Hayes’ attempt to replicate the grandeur of “Walk on By” wasn’t anywhere near as successful, but the arrangements here – the forceful horns, the string charts, and especially Willie Hall’s drumming – are astonishing. I began fading near the six-minute mark; showcasing the full sixteen minutes of the track wasn’t something I was comfortable with.

2. “Day Dreaming” – Aretha Franklin 3:32
from Young, Gifted and Black (Atlantic 1972)

Aretha’s “Day Dreaming” perfectly captures the thick, almost surreal haze that descends upon my neighborhood on sticky summer evenings. The way her words tease and dance around the beat in the verses gets me every time.

3. “Thank You for Your Love” – The Dramatics 4:19
from Whatcha See Is Whatcha Get (Stax 1972)

A more obvious choice would have probably been “Hot Pants in the Summertime” from the Dramatics’ self-titled debut, but the lazy pace of “Thank You for Your Love” was much more suitable here. Sonically, it just doesn’t get any better than this: the hard panning of the drums in the left channel, the strings on the right, that oversaturated buzz of a guitar in the middle, and of course, the sweet harmonies of the quintet. “If you didn’t hear me the first time, I’m gonna say it again!” Phenomenal.

4. “You’re Welcome, Stop on By” – Bobby Womack 3:35
from Lookin’ for a Love Again (United Artists 1974)

This was always my favorite of Womack’s run of singles in the ‘70s, with a strong vocal performance and a nice blend of the guitars and keyboards in the mix. The way he could time his spoken-word intros to lead into singing on the downbeats was one of Womack’s many strengths, to say nothing of his fluid guitar comping.

5. “Move Me No Mountain” – Love Unlimited 3:46
from In Heat (20th Century 1974)

If I could find a flaw with the overlooked and criminally out-of-print catalogue of Barry White’s Love Unlimited ladies, it would be that there are far too many ballads dominating the material. Not that the trio couldn’t handle them, but they were at their best on mid-tempo grooves like “Move Me No Mountain,” which opens In Heat (1974). The flute that makes an appearance here is irresistibly sexy, and Nathan East once again proves why he was one of the most underrated session bassists of his time.

6. “The Day the Robin Sang to Me” – The Manhattans 3:40
from There’s No Me Without You (Columbia 1973)

This song slays me, plain and simple. I can’t think of a better tune to play on a warm morning in June. The backing vocals sound like they’re emanating from a break in the heavens. And don’t even get me started on that perfect touch of reverb that’s applied to the flute.

7. “Dreaming’s Out of Season” – The Montclairs 3:11
from Dreaming’s Out of Season (Paula 1972)

Phil Perry of The Montclairs was like the Mark Eitzel of ‘70s Soul – I wouldn’t call him a miserable bastard, but the dude excelled at penning ballads that weren’t far from genuinely depressing. Which is why I adore the group, naturally. “Dreaming’s Out of Season” was their most popular hit, meaning that only a few hundred could recognize the song these days. Admittedly, this may be my only ‘obscure gem’ concession to the mix.

8. “I Want to Be Free” – Ohio Players 6:43
from Fire (Mercury 1975)

It’s difficult to hear “I Want to Be Free” without picturing Mark Wahlberg diving into a swimming pool as the opening drum solo (what the hell is that all about anyway?) crashes on the downbeat. No summertime barbeque is complete without this song – it’s an absolute mess of tempos and disconnected sections, but that’s what makes it so charming.

9. “Blind Alley” – The Emotions 2:55
from Untouched (Stax 1971)

I included “Blind Alley” not only to keep the mix from slumping into an endless string of ballads, but because it’s one of the highlights of The Emotions’ earlier, more adventurous years. I could write a hundred-page analysis on the bassline alone – it’s truly a wonder to behold.

10. “Never Gonna Leave You” – Eddie Kendricks 4:07
from He’s a Friend (Motown 1975)

Kendricks was entering the autopilot phase of his career by the time of He’s a Friend (1975), but he stepped it up for this midnight ballad, an ode to his woman’s, erm, domesticity. The arrangements are a bit formulaic for 1975, but the rhythmic shift to a slight swing around the halfway mark is a nice touch.

11. “Take Me Just As I Am” – Lyn Collins 3:29
from Check Me Out if You Don’t Know Me by Now (Polydor 1975)

She’s Lyn Collins. Aka The Female Preacher. Aka Mama Feelgood. Aka one of the most sampled ladies in Soul. Aka the woman who can make your liver quiver. I dare you to hear this and sit still for its duration.

12. “Can’t Hide Love” – Earth, Wind & Fire 4:06
from Gratitude (Columbia 1975)

With so many warm-weather classics to choose from it’s hard to settle on one pick from Earth, Wind & Fire, but the sensual groove of “Can’t Hide Love” is especially fitting for a summer mix. Three listens in and I guarantee you’ll be attempting to reach the heights of Philip Bailey’s “bet-CHA!”s. The way the vocal lines hover over the chromatically descending progression during the coda is one of the most ingenious things the group ever did.

13. “People Make the World Go Round” – The Stylistics 5:59
from The Stylistics (Avco 1971)

“People Make the World Go Round” is the mix’s centerpiece, if you will, from what I feel is the quintessential Soul record of the 1970s: The Stylistics’ debut album. There isn’t another song that comes remotely close to its uniqueness: the revolutionary use of marimba, the 9/4 signature, the socio-political lyrics that still resonate nearly 40 years after it was recorded. Its timelessness is undeniable.

14. “Searching” – Roy Ayers 4:03
from Vibrations (Polydor 1976)

I got to flex my limited mixing skills with the transition into Roy Ayers’ “Searching,” which was entirely unintentional, I swear. This track is an effective hint at closure to the mix as it winds down, and sounds best accompanying a long sunset.

15. “Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)” – Marvin Gaye 4:26
from What’s Going On (Motown 1971)

I used to blare this song from my fourth-floor apartment on summer evenings when I was living in Virginia years ago. It would be easy to say that I included “Inner City Blues” here because of its chilling relevancy, but truthfully, it’s just one of my favorite Marvin Gaye songs.

16. “Neither One of Us” – Gladys Knight & The Pips 4:20
from Neither One of Us (Motown 1973)

Oh my God. Gladys’ “Neither One of Us” has got to be one of my top ten favorite songs of all time. I am rendered absolutely useless when this comes on; attempts at conversation or any kind of interaction with me are hopelessly futile. I can think of few Soul songs as wholly perfect as this (The Supremes’ “You Keep Me Hanging On” comes close) but none can hold a candle Gladys’ heart-wrenching performance here. How anyone even attempted to write or perform a ballad after hearing this is beyond my comprehension and a testament to the human will. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go melt somewhere.

From the desk of my hipper-than-thou alter-ego (I jest): I’ve been revisiting the Tropicália: ou Panis et Circenses (1968) album for the past week or so, and while it always floors me that there isn’t a dull moment on the disc – on a collaborative album of a cross-section of artists, no less – Gal Costa’s “Baby” has been resonating with me lately; I listened to this track four times in a row on the drive home from work the other evening. Sure, I’ve heard it plenty of times before, but there is a certain bashful charm to this song absent from the other selections on Panis et Circenses – perhaps it’s Costa’s casual toggling between English and Portuguese for the vocal, or Caetano’s lazy entrance to duet with her as the track fades. It sounds like Rogerio Duprat’s floating string arrangements are held together by a spider’s silk, just on the cusp of bursting into dissonance as they fall to the ground. The flavors here are simple and sublime. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the analog fidelity is absolutely pristine.

“Baby” – Gal Costa and Caetano Veloso 3:31 (Tropicália: ou Panis et Circenses, Polygram 1968)

There’s something about mid to late July that has me breaking out 3rd Eye Vision (1998) every summer for a week or two – maybe it’s the angle of the sun or something. Oakland’s Hieroglyphics may have crafted their quintessential “crew” track with “You’ll Never Know,” but “Oakland Blackouts” remains the group’s finest moment to these ears. (Alright, truthfully, I’m not even that familiar with the rest of their catalogue, but it’s the best cut on the album, hands down.) Both Opio and Del’s flows tease the pulse of the track marvelously, slinking in between the beats, conjuring abstract rhyme schemes that only each one comprehends. Heads are always quick to clown that whole late-‘90s, “scientifical” style that dudes like Kool Keith, Afu-Ra, and post-6 Feet Deep (1994) Gravediggaz were on, but I’m such a sucker for that shit, and the less sense it makes, the better. Opio and Del don’t take it quite that far, but don’t think I didn’t catch those references to floppy disks and the laws of gravity.

“Oakland Blackouts” – Hieroglyphics 4:31 (3rd Eye Vision, Hieroglyphics Imperium 1998)

9th Wonder’s beats have been annoying me since I revisited The Minstrel Show (2005) this past spring and realized that there’s no getting around the “hollow-ness” of his productions – let’s not mince words: they’re basically just re-pitched soul samples with the low end chopped off, substituted by a thick bass patch on the keyboard, and some simple drum programming to flesh it out. Occasionally dude is capable of some slick slicing and dicing that makes my head spin, but ultimately he suffers from the same production aesthetic that plagues Kanye: his joints sound amazing on the first or second listen, but the replay value tapers off drastically after that due to a lack of depth, craft, taste, or any combination of the three. So it’s kind of a shock that Jean Grae’s Jeanius (2008) is as good as it is with 9th backing her up behind the boards, but then again I can’t really envision her spitting over some gritty mid-‘90s Buckwild shit. She sounds focused and confident, hungry yet relaxed, and gushing with candor, while 9th turns out some of his more enduring beats of the past few years that complement her flows nicely. The Phonte guest spot “The Time Is Now” sounds awkward in the middle of the record – it should have been the closer, or second-to-last cut – but it’s my favorite song on an album that’s creeping its way up the year-end best-of list. That’s right, haters – keep snickering.

“The Time Is Now” – Jean Grae feat. Phonte 3:43 (Jeanius, Blacksmith 2008)

Nachtmystium’s Assassins: Black Meddle, Part 1 (2008) has been causing quite a stir in the metal community recently, with the black metal naysayers lambasting the record’s lack of “tr00” authenticity while some of the more passive listeners are patting the band on the back for doing something different. I’m still not sure how I feel about the album, and the asinine title, tired Pink Floyd flourishes, and yes, that sickeningly awful saxophone that appears in the second movement of “Seasick” don’t help matters in the least. Still, the guitars have a nice crunch to them and there’s a nice balance of energy and melody that’s tough to ignore. I particularly love the way “Your True Enemy” bursts out of the speakers in the first ten seconds. Yet I’d be lying if I said Assassins didn’t make me want to listen to that Averse Sefira record that dropped earlier this year, whose harsh, shadowy textures I found almost impenetrable after a dozen listens. In the meantime, Nachtmystium suffices as some of the more easily digestible American black metal in recent memory. It’s not bad, but ultimately it may be a tad bland for my taste.

“Your True Enemy” – Nachmystium 4:15 (Assassins: Black Meddle, Part 1, Century Media 2008)

Years ago I was mindlessly flipping through the used bins at my local record store when I happened upon a batch of Napalm Death discs, all for $5 each, likely the fruits of some absent-minded hardcore kid who realized he didn’t have the stones to stomach one of the most brutal bands of the past twenty years. I walked out with six CDs under my arm, from Harmony Corruption (1990) to Words from the Exit Wound (1998). I gave each one a few spins before moving on to God knows what else, but I remember I made a mental note to avoid Diatribes (1996), the quintet’s half-hearted stab at some sort of mainstream acknowledgement. When I submerged into my Napalm obsession a few weeks ago I discovered, much to my delight, that it’s not a bad record at all – in fact, it’s really quite good, though I’m sure I’d have my head taken off by the neurotic Scum (1987) collective for such blasphemy. Third cut “Ripe for the Breaking” has been on repeat in the ol’ Hyundai hi-fi, terrorizing my neighbors with its stuttering 7/8 signature riff, choking blastbeat, and mosh-frenzy groove during the midsection. Napalm Death is one of the few metal bands that I’ll occasionally listen to solely for the vocals – Barney’s roaring furnace of a voice could raze entire acres of rain forest. Which reminds me: I need to get a “Top Metal Vocalists of the ‘90s” list together.

“Ripe for the Breaking” – Napalm Death 4:01 (Diatribes, Earache 1996)

This was kind of a random pick. As stunning as Orbital’s Orbital 2 (1993) (or “The Brown Album”) is, I always felt like the record’s pacing slacked a bit during its second half for the tracks “Walk Now…” and “Monday” before the final sugar rush of ecstasy that is “Halcyon + On + On.” Listening to it the other evening (again, soundtracking my commute home) it occurred to me that “Monday” is the clearest, most obvious blueprint for studying Orbital’s sound back then. As dated as some of the keyboards are here, the entire track is built on their oft-imitated “sound stacking” technique, the compositional process where layers of simple, interrelated motifs are added or subtracted to create a sense of flow – I don’t think any other song in their catalogue that demonstrates this technique as linearly. I can’t believe I used to skip over this track – its heavenly climax is an aural prism of sorts, raindrops of shimmering notes and sounds falling into micro-patterns on the eardrums. The Hartnoll brothers were unstoppable at this stage in their career; it’s telling that their seven minutes of album filler trumped 95% of the rest of the electronic music released in ’93.

“Monday” – Orbital 7:07 (Orbital 2, FFRR 1993)

Until I became familiar with the inner workings of the now-commonplace, garden-variety Pro Tools rig, I used to stand stupefied at the skittering digital tweakings of guys like Squarepusher and Bogdan Raczynski. Not that I’m anywhere near capable of such meticulous aural sculpting myself, but about 75% of their music’s appeal was trying to figure out how the magic trick was pulled off; when I discovered the joys of simple plug-ins on my own workstation, suddenly the mystery was gone, and thus my enthusiasm withered away. Not so with Amon Tobin, who seems incapable of crafting digital soundscapes that are anything less than spine-tingling. I’m not sure why his past two releases – his soundtrack to the game Splinter Cell: Chaos Theory (2005) and last year’s Foley Room (2007) – received such mild receptions, though admittedly both are incomparable to his seminal Supermodified (2000) from a few years back. The former, especially, has been receiving some play as of late, especially “El Cargo,” which is featured on the second, um, “level” of the game – I actually purchased Splinter Cell after hearing Tobin’s soundtrack, which is the first time I’ve ever done anything like that. What keeps “El Cargo” destined to return visits is the fact that every time I hear it, my ears identify the downbeat on one of two legitimate places in the beat, which drives me batshit crazy. There are so many elements that have no place coalescing as well as they do here: the disembodied voices, that chunky guitar, the body-throttling drums, an ominous piano motif. Best enjoyed at maximum volume in pitch blackness.

“El Cargo” – Amon Tobin 4:23 (Chaos Theory, Ninja Tune 2005)

Few collectives since the birth of rock ‘n roll have inspired such a cultish throng of hyper-obsessive acolytes (or Pattolytes, if you will) like Faith No More. Hopefully they’ll have reached this part of the post to read my disclaimer instead of immediately scrolling down to the comments section to expound a litany of obscenities and threats directed solely at my personal well-being: I like Faith No More. Shit, I used to love the band. I still get goosebumps from Mike Bordin’s drumming (see here). Bass players don’t get much more solid than Billy Gould. Roddy Bottum still holds one of the best monikers in rock music (say it out loud, and insert a “fuckin’” in there for maximum effect). But as I get older, the more I question the soundness of my rampant enthusiasm for the group during my musical coming-of-age back in the ‘90s. A cursory examination of Faith No More’s six full-length studio records over the course of their roughly a decade-and-a-half existence reveals the following: a phenomenal “classic” record, a decent but lesser “breakthrough” album, two barely passable and seriously flawed attempts in genre-hopping, and two rank, steaming piles of drivel that are essentially unlistenable to these ears. Not exactly an All Star-worthy batting average. Does this sound like a group who deserve the massive truckloads of reverence and acclaim that’s still heaped upon them to this day, ten years after their disbandment?

The core of Faith No More – bassist Billy Gould, drummer Mike “Puffy” Bordin, keyboardist Roddy Bottum, and guitarist Jim Martin – was formed in San Francisco in the mid-‘80s. After a revolving door of singers (most infamously Courtney Love) the band inexplicably settled on Chuck Mosely, a walking trainwreck of a vocalist who was one part surfer burnout, one part pseudo-rapper, and about ten parts drug-binge hangover. During these formative years the group’s sound was basically a heavier kind of party-hardy funk, anchored by Bordin’s thunderous drums and Gould’s popping bass, and punctuated by Martin’s thin, buzzing guitar and Bottum’s simple string-pad flourishes. It wasn’t exactly an original or complex formula, but it was about the only thing that worked with Mosely’s semi-retarded barks acting as vocals. Other than the title track, debut We Care a Lot (1985) is entirely forgettable, an insipid, throwaway mess of lightweight, one-note-riffing funk-metal. Follow-up Introduce Yourself (1987) benefited from slightly stronger songwriting and a fuller production, but Mosely’s obnoxious, ham-fisted presence is unavoidable; there’s just no getting around the guy. The band got more mileage out of “We Care a Lot,” reprising it for a single the following year, an anthem that would have forever rendered Faith No More to “one-hit novelty” had the members decided to fold and return to their day jobs. Fortunately, Mosely’s days with the group were numbered, and the frontman was sacked shortly after the record release party for the album due to his erratic behavior and excessive drug and alcohol use.

“Anne’s Song” – Faith No More 4:34 (Introduce Yourself, Slash 1987)

So two weeks prior to recording The Real Thing (1989), the band recruited a young Mike Patton to handle vocal duties, recommended by Martin after heard a demo of Patton’s other band, Mr. Bungle. Light years ahead of Mosely, Patton was unquestionably, almost shockingly talented, a vocal chameleon of sorts whose contorted whines, tough-guy roars, and clipped rapping was a perfect match for Faith No More’s new direction, with hooks and intensity in equal measure, livened by a beefed-up production from Matt Wallace to boot. This was the age where an edgy video could propel a band into the stratosphere, and it worked for Faith No More in spades – love it or hate it, everyone remembers the video for “Epic.” Lesser album cuts like the title track and “Zombie Eaters” revealed a depth and focus to the songwriting that had been previously absent from the band’s material, while second single “Falling to Pieces” and “Underwater Love” retained some of the playfulness that characterized their earlier work. To help rein the modern kneejerk criticisms of The Real Thing as “dated,” it’s important to remember that prior to its release, not many bands were combining funk, metal, and hip hop as effectively, for better or worse (accusations of the regrettable birth of the nu-metal that plagued the ’90s aren’t entirely unfounded). Granted, I could happily go the rest of my life without hearing “Edge of the World” or “Woodpecker from Mars” again, but as far as breakthrough albums go, The Real Thing delivers for the most part.

“Zombie Eaters” – Faith No More 5:58 (The Real Thing, Slash 1989)

With The Real Thing’s worldwide sales just shy of four million units, the pressure was on the group to produce a worthy follow-up. Yet no one knew what the hell to make of Angel Dust (1992) when it was released in the summer of ’92. Any buoyant whimsy left over from the previous album was gone, replaced by a darker, warped, almost oppressive atmosphere that confounded critics and alienated fans wanting another “Epic.” The band’s desire to experiment and avoid the carbon-copy follow-up resulted in one of the finest records of the decade, accented by the fact that Faith No More had finally discovered a unique sound that was entirely, sublimely their own. Patton, especially, went from a spandex-clad kid with a funny haircut to a vocal revelation seemingly overnight, jump-cutting from a piercing shriek to a baritone croon in the blink of an eye with breathless dexterity. Angel Dust managed the feat of each track sounding completely unlike the others without the album losing any sense of coherency as a whole: the full-throttle assault of “Caffeine,” the nightmarish sludge metal of “Jizzlobber,” the country-fried trailer-park drama of “RV,” the pulsating funk of “Everything’s Ruined.” Then there are the cuts that defy description, like “A Small Victory” and “Malpractice”; even the inferior tracks like “Crack Hitler” trumped anything the group had recorded to date. Within a few months of its release, it slowly became apparent that Faith No More had unleashed a masterpiece upon the public. The band toured the hell out of the album, working the European summer festival circuit and appearing at outdoor arenas with the likes of Metallica, Soundgarden, and Guns N’ Roses.

“Kindergarten” – Faith No More 4:31 (Angel Dust, Slash 1992)

(As an aside and bonus, here’s the movement from Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8 (1960) that was sampled in “Malpractice” [though the band actually used The Kronos Quartet’s version].)

“String Quartet No. 8 – II. Allegro molto” – Dmitri Shostakovich 2:44 (Manhattan String Quartet: String Quartets 3 and 8, Centaur 1986)

Then the problems started. After releasing a Commodores cover as a single (“Easy”), Martin, who for many was the “look” of Faith No More and had publicly expressed his displeasure at the outcome of Angel Dust (he had very little input in the compositional process), was fired under less-than-amicable circumstances. The search for a new guitarist began, with the group welcoming (somewhat reluctantly) Trey Spruance of Mr. Bungle into the fold. King for a Day… Fool for a Lifetime (1995) was written mostly by Gould, Bordin, and Patton – Bottum’s signature keyboards are curiously absent from most of the material (he was reportedly battling drug addiction at the time of the recording). Spruance, one of the most brilliant and mind-warpingly original guitarists of his generation, is sadly relegated to little more than distorted power chords here; it’s genuinely difficult to believe that it’s his playing on the album. Whether he was just out for a paycheck or had a total lack of enthusiasm for the songs is anyone’s guess, but the sound ultimately suffers for it, and one can’t help but long for the color of Bottum’s keys. Lead single “Digging the Grave” was nothing spectacular, suffering from a stripped-down blandness that characterized much of the record. “What a Day,” “Ugly in the Morning,” and “Cuckoo for Caca” are Faith No More-by-numbers, and even some of the riskier songs, like the midnight lounge-soul of “Evidence” and the country twang of “Take This Bottle,” don’t survive more than a few listens. The tracks that work best are the ones that are the least self-conscious, like “Just a Man”’s dub-meets-Gospel-ballad, the collision of showtune funk with a lively brass section on “Star A.D.,” and the atmospheric prog of album centerpiece “King for a Day.” Spruance departed before touring was scheduled to begin to finish work on Mr. Bungle’s magnum opus Disco Volante (1995), and Faith No More was yet again without a guitarist. The band promoted roadie Dean Menta to the guitar slot for the tour and parted ways with him shortly afterward.

“King for a Day” – Faith No More 6:35 (King for a Day… Fool for a Lifetime, Slash 1995)

There are a few items of note at this juncture in the band’s career. For one, their popularity on either side of the Atlantic had see-sawed, with a new legion European listeners following the group’s every move while their prominence in the States had waned. Side projects also began to dominate the lives of each member, with Bordin finding lucrative side work manning the skins for Ozzy, Bottum concentrating on his Imperial Teen, and Patton venturing further into the esoteric abyss with Bungle and solo work for John Zorn’s Tzadik label. Under these circumstances, it’s a miracle that Album of the Year (1997) turned out as well as it did, although the response from the public was generally lackluster. Jon Hudson of Systems Collapse filled in for the role of guitarist for a dozen selections that more or less followed in the anything-goes mold of King for a Day, ranging from some of the group’s finest work (the stunning “Stripsearch”) to miserable, uninspired dirges (“Paths of Glory”). A funereal air of finality – but not quite closure – hangs over the record like a fog, and anyone who had been following the group’s trajectory since the beginning of the decade couldn’t deny their own suspicions that the half-hearted attempt of Album of the Year was a clear signal for an impending breakup. Sure enough, Gould announced the split in the spring of the following year, but by that point, only the diehards were lamenting Faith No More’s disbandment.

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

I’ll admit that much of Faith No More’s material has aged well with time, albeit somewhat peculiarly – Album of the Year becomes exponentially less of the disaster I made it out to be upon its release with each passing year, and there was a point in the late ‘90s when I couldn’t even sit through one song from The Real Thing. With an oeuvre this uneven – let’s not forget those earlier Mosely-fronted outings, much as we’d all like to – and given the patchy, hit-or-miss nature of the group’s later work, I posit my original case: is Faith No More really worthy of Hall of Fame status? I’m certainly up for hearing arguments in their defense.

(1978) Funkadelic – One Nation Under a Groove (Warner Bros.)
(1979) XTC – Drums and Wires (Virgin)
(1980) Talking Heads – Remain in Light (Sire)
(1981) David Byrne & Brian Eno – My Life in the Bush of Ghosts (Sire)
(1982) XTC – English Settlement (Virgin)
(1983) Cocteau Twins – Head Over Heels (4AD)
(1984) Minutemen – Double Nickels on the Dime (SST)
(1985) John Zorn – The Big Gundown (Nonesuch)
(1986) Camper Van Beethoven – II & III (IRS)
(1987) Sonic Youth – Sister (SST)
(1988) Talk Talk – Spirit of Eden (EMI)
(1989) De La Soul – 3 Feet High and Rising (Tommy Boy)
(1990) Public Enemy – Fear of a Black Planet (Def Jam)
(1991) Black Sheep – A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing (Mercury)
(1992) Faith No More – Angel Dust (Slash)
(1993) Stereolab – Transient Random Noise Bursts with Announcements (Elektra)
(1994) Shudder to Think – Pony Express Record (Epic)
(1995) Mobb Deep – The Infamous (Loud)
(1996) Orbital – In Sides (FFRR)
(1997) Emperor – Anthems to the Welkin at Dusk (Candlelight)
(1998) Tortoise – TNT (Thrill Jockey)
(1999) Built to Spill – Keep It Like a Secret (Warner Bros.)
(2000) The Sea and Cake – Oui (Thrill Jockey)
(2001) Opeth – Blackwater Park (Music for Nations)
(2002) Underworld – A Hundred Days Off (V2)
(2003) Ellen Allien – Berlinette (BPitch Control)
(2004) Ghostface Killah – The Pretty Tony Album (Def Jam)
(2005) Sleater-Kinney – The Woods (Sub Pop)
(2006) Enslaved – Ruun (Candlelight)
(2007) Pig Destroyer – Phantom Limb (Relapse)

2008 is yet to be seen, but my money’s on the upcoming Enslaved release – and I haven’t the slightest what it will sound like. Expectations, you say?

Actually, before I commence linkage, I’ll reiterate for the umpteenth time to those who haven’t sent me an email asking why I haven’t been posting in over three months: my RSS feed thingy has been updated since I upgraded to WordPress 2.5 back in April. It’s over on the sidebar, moved up near the top for everyone’s convenience. Update it for a magical, mystical, majestical experience involving coverage of 20 Rush songs in 20 separate posts.

Last October I penned an ill-conceived essay on where I was “at” with indie rock. Last week fluxblog’s Matthew Perpetua concisely nutshelled my smattering of thoughts in one sentence: “We’re stuck with a generation of young indie musicians who are more interested in fitting into pre-existing genres and aesthetic communities rather than developing their own concepts, sounds, and styles.” Then he goes on to suggest that today’s musicians should be studying the ideas of Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814 (1989). Brilliant.

Based on his hilarious guest drops over at Passion of the Weiss, I’ve always thought that if there was anyone who absolutely needed an online page for expressing opinions and provoking discussion (some may know it as a “blog”), it was Philadelphia’s phinest, Zilla Rocca. He now has one. It’s called Clap Cowards. Don’t sleep.

What a sad, sad world we live in when a fascinating recent discovery that “a series of chirps and whistles” emitted by Earth and caused by radiation is subjectively summed up by the media as:

“The sound is awful.”

Because natural sonic phenomena should sound like a lost Mozart sonata. Unbelievable.

Dan Love’s beat deconstructions are always first-rate, but his recent analysis of Black Moon’s “Enta da Stage” was particularly stellar.

Moistworks’ entries have been surprisingly hit-or-miss lately, but Brian’s ruminations on drinking certainly fall into the former camp.

So Oh Word’s Rafi logs into his Facebook account one day, and… you just have to witness this hilarity first-hand in order to believe it.

Doc Zeus posts the best review I’ve read yet of Nas‘ latest, titled (of course) Untitled (2008). Suffice it to say that it will not make my Year-End List.

Favorite new site: The House Next Door. The internets need more film blogs like this.

Lastly, I plan on counting down the days until the US release date of Enslaved‘s latest long-player, due sometime in October. To further fuel to my anticipation, does anyone (read: other WordPress users) know of some kind of widget “counter” that I can put in the sidebar? Hit me up via email or in the comments.