The Streets Original Pirate Material

The Streets Original Pirate Material

Get It At Discogs

When Streets tracks first appeared in DJ sets and on garage mix albums circa 2000, they made for an interesting change of pace; instead of hyper-speed ragga chatting or candy-coated divas (or both), listeners heard banging tracks hosted by a strangely conversational bloke with a mock cockney accent and a half-singing, half-rapping delivery. It was Mike Skinner, producer and MC, the half-clued-up, half-clueless voice behind club hits "Has It Come to This?" and "Let's Push Things Forward." Facing an entire full-length of Streets tracks hardly sounded like a pleasant prospect, but Skinner's debut, Original Pirate Material, is an excellent listen -- much better than the heavy-handed hype would make you think. Unlike most garage LPs, it's certainly not a substitute for a night out; it's more a statement on modern-day British youth, complete with all the references to Playstations, Indian takeaway, and copious amounts of cannabis you'd expect. Skinner also has a refreshing way of writing songs, not tracks, that immediately distinguishes him from most in the garage scene. True, describing his delivery as rapping would be giving an undeserved compliment (you surely wouldn't hear any American rappers dropping bombs like this line: "I wholeheartedly agree with your viewpoint"). Still, nearly every song here succeeds wildly, first place (after the hits) going to "The Irony of It All," on which Skinner and a stereotypical British lout go back and forth "debating" the merits of weed and lager, respectively (Skinner's meek, agreeable commentary increasingly, and hilariously, causes "Terry" to go off the edge). The production is also excellent; "Let's Push Things Forward" is all lurching ragga flow, with a one-note organ line and drunken trumpets barely pushing the chorus forward. "Sharp Darts" and "Too Much Brandy" have short, brutal tech lines driving them, and really don't need any more for maximum impact. Though club-phobic listeners may find it difficult placing Skinner as just the latest dot along a line connecting quintessentially British musicians/humorists/social critics Nöel Coward, the Kinks, Ian Dury, the Jam, the Specials, and Happy Mondays, Original Pirate Material is a rare garage album: that is, one with a shelf life beyond six months.

Richard Thompson Rumor And Sigh

Richard Thompson Rumor And Sigh

Get It At Discogs

While Richard Thompson's devotees will tell you the man is a triple-threat genius -- passionate vocalist, compelling songwriter, and sterling guitarist -- even his most loyal supporters will concede that the dour nature of his songs and the no-frills production of many of his albums make the bulk of his catalog tough sledding for the uninitiated. Given this, 1991's Rumor and Sigh is arguably the best album for those wanting to sample Thompson's work for the first time. It captures Thompson at the top of his form on all fronts, but also gives his songs just enough polish to make them approachable for the unconverted, and though it's several shades darker than the average adult-contemporary album, it honors Thompson's obsession with romantic despair and the less pleasant quirks of fate without sounding depressing in the process. Producer Mitchell Froom tricked up Thompson's sound a bit, but his approach added to the material rather than interfering with it; the topsy-turvy keyboards and sharp, snapping drum sound on "Gray Walls" and "You Dream Too Much" actually add to their narrative drama, and Froom coaxed some of Thompson's most soulful vocals on "Why Must I Plead" and "I Misunderstood." Thompson actually gets funny on "Don't Sit On My Jimmy Shands" and the darkly hilarious "Psycho Street," and Thompson fans who like his work straight with no chaser will be knocked flat by "1952 Vincent Black Lightning," perhaps the best traditional-style number in his songbook, and the harrowing "God Loves A Drunk," an unnerving tale of several kinds of addiction. While Rumor and Sigh is quite slick by Thompson's standards, its clean lines and bright mix serve both the songs and the bandleader quite well, and make Thompson's tunes sound like the radio hits they've always deserved to be.

The Afghan Whigs Gentlemen

The Afghan Whigs Gentlemen

Get It At Discogs

The Afghan Whigs' sound was growing larger by the release during the days on Sub Pop, so the fact that Gentlemen turned out the way it did wasn't all that surprising as a result ("cinematic" was certainly the word the band was aiming for, what with credits describing the recording process as being "shot on location" at Ardent Studios). While Gentlemen is no monolith, it is very much of a piece at the start. While "If I Were Going" opens things on a slightly moodier tip, it's the crunch of "Gentlemen," "Be Sweet," and "Debonair" that really stands out, each of which features a tightly wound R&B punch that rocks out as much as it grooves, if not more so. Greg Dulli's lyrics immediately set about the task of emotional self-evisceration at the same time, with lines like "Ladies, let me tell you about myself -- I got a dick for a brain" being among the calmer points. The album truly comes into its own with "When We Two Parted," though, as sad countryish guitars chime over a slow crawling rhythm and Dulli's quiet-then-anguished detailing of an exploding relationship. From there on in, things surge from strength to greater strength, sometimes due to the subtlest of touches -- the string arrangement on "Fountain and Fairfax" or the unexpected, resigned lead vocal from Scrawl's Marcy Mays on "My Curse," for instance. Other times, it's all the much more upfront, as "What Jail Is Like," with its heartbroken-and-fierce combination of piano, feedback, and drive building to an explosive chorus. Dulli's blend of utter abnegation and masculine swagger may be a crutch, but when everything connects, as it does more often than not on Gentlemen, both he and his band are unstoppable. 

 

Japan Gentlemen Take Polaroids

Japan Gentlemen Take Polaroids

Get It At Discogs

The last album with Rob Dean, Gentlemen Take Polaroids was also unquestionably the album in which Japan truly found its own unique voice and aesthetic approach. The glam influences still hung heavy, particularly from Roxy Music, but now the band found itself starting to affect others in turn. Even the back cover photo says as much -- looking cool in glossy, elegant nightwear, the quintet had a clear impact on Duran Duran, to the point where Nick Rhodes obviously was trying to be Sylvian in appearance. Musically, meanwhile, the swooning, hyper elegant Euro-disco sheen of Quiet Life was polished to an even finer edge throughout, the title track and the obvious descendant of "Quiet Life" itself, "Methods of Dance," in particular sheer standouts. Sylvian's sighing, luscious croon is in full effect on both, and the arrangements are astonishing, Karn's fretless purring between Jansen's crisp, inventive, and varied drumming, Barbieri's icy keyboards filling out the corners. What makes Gentlemen Take Polaroids even more of a success is how the group, having reached such a polished peak, kept driving behind it, transforming their exquisite pop into something even more artistic and unique. "Swing," in particular, is an astounding showcase for the Karn/Jansen team; snaky funk at once dramatic and precisely chilled, brass section blasts adding just enough wry, precise sleaze, Sylvian delivering with focus and intensity while not raising his voice at all. "Nightporter," meanwhile, is a hyper ballad and then some; a slow-paced semi-waltz with Barbieri's piano taking the lead throughout with wonderful results. Further hints of the future come with the album closing "Taking Islands In Africa," which Sylvian co-wrote with future regular collaborator Ryuchi Sakamato, and which wraps up the whole experience with a gliding, supple grace.

Back In October

Hello Everyone I Be Back On The 3th Of October

Aid00

 

The Monochrome Set Eligible Bachelors

The Monochrome Set Eligible Bachelors 

Get It At Discogs

One of the classic albums of the early '80s by a band that doesn't get the love it should, the Monochrome Set's Eligible Bachelors from 1982 is a tour de force of wit and musical imagination. This was their first album for their new label, Cherry Red, and they certainly made the most of their opportunity. Songwriter and vocalist Bid turned in a set of witty, urbane, and hooky tunes that fulfilled the promise of the quartet's earlier recordings, guitarist Lester Square showed himself to be a master off catchy riffs and perfect fills, and the rhythm section of bassist Andy Warren and drummer Lexington Crane kept things light and swinging. Bustling through 11 songs so sharp and intelligent that it's easy to listen to the album multiple times without getting bored, the band and Bid are at the absolute top of their game, a game that others like Haircut 100 and Orange Juice were also playing. The Set and their ilk merged jangling guitars, jazz-influenced chord changes, painfully arch lyrics, deadpan vocals, and jumpy rhythms into something shiny and fun, quite often with a dark undercurrent. Eligible Bachelors is certainly the equal of Pelican West or Rip It Up; the surplus of songs that sounded like hit singles everyone forgot to buy ("Fun for All the Family," "I'll Scry Instead"), trenchant bits of social commentary set to a jittering dance beat ("The Jet Set Junta," "The Ruling Class"), and pretty pop tunes ("Cloud 10") see to that. Unlike those albums, it didn't catch fire with the general public, and left the Set pondering just what they had to do to break through. If creating their masterpiece couldn't get the job done, what was left for them to do? Luckily for fans of Bid and his band, they didn't give up, but even if they had, Eligible Bachelors would stand up as a definitive work of the post-punk/new wave era. [Though the album had been reissued a few times in the intervening years, it wasn't until 2018 that Cherry Red gave Eligible Bachelors the expanded reissue treatment it deserved. Along with remastered sound and a nice booklet, the album is expanded to three discs. Along with the album proper, the first disc adds 15 singles released between 1978 and 1983, including the one song that actually became something of a hit in 1979, "He's Frank (Slight Return)." Disc two includes a treasure trove of radio sessions; a snappy demo for "The Ruling Class"; and a batch of fun rarities. All the rarities had been released previously in different places, but it's good to have them together under one roof. The final disc comprises Fin, the live album released by Cherry Red in 1986 featuring recordings made at various venues between 1979 and 1985; a solo demo made by Bid in 1986; and the three-track single he released in 1986 for Él Records, a label run by Mike Alway, who had initially signed the Monochrome Set to Cherry Red. The extras are all well chosen and really give an incisive and fun look at the band around the time leading up to and after the release of Eligible Bachelors.]

Colin Newman Bastard

Colin Newman Bastard

Get It At Discogs

Although he doesn't cop to it on the accompanying literature for Bastard, Colin Newman's seventh record since the dissolution of Wire is heavily influenced by contemporary pioneers of trance/dance like Orb and Aphex Twin. But Newman goes at it in a brash, singular and typically erudite fashion: After recording several of Bastard's tracks with his vocals—Newman was Wire's primary singer—he made a conscious decision to remove them. As such, the record shows a less obvious personality than his sung material. But there's still a sense of humor: Newman's take on drum 'n' bass, the skittish "Slowfast (Falling Down The Stairs With A Drum Kit)," is so dizzyingly fast it'd be virtually impossible to dance to. Other tracks, especially "Sticky" and "Spaced-In," vibrate with an almost robotic funkiness. Unlike late-period Wire (or Wir, as it were), Bastard's grooves are not coldly antiseptic and numbly detached; a thick mix of insistent guitar and pointedly plucked electric bass on "May," and the spiraling "Spiked," show Newman's musical ideas to be as flexibly coherent as ever. Through his Swim~ label, Newman has been releasing an interesting slew of esoteric and ambient music in various permutations—usually electronic. But this time, he seems to have purged much of those minimalist/house elements, and has wisely avoided saddling these songs with too much technology. Bastard represents his first rock-oriented material in a long time, and while Newman claims to have been interested in (and unsatisfied by) recent similarly inclined music, his album ends up owing nothing to anything but itself. It's an impressively visionary, futuristic record from a musician who's still important.

Porcupine Tree Stupid Dream

Porcupine Tree Stupid Dream

Get It At Discogs

Porcupine Tree's first album for K-Scope/Snapper starts out with a definite bang -- "Even Less," with some of the quartet's biggest, blasting rock epic music yet, yet also shot through with the gentler, acoustic side that makes Porcupine Tree so intimate and lovely. The net result easily calls Yes to mind, but Steven Wilson's not so high-pitched as Jon Anderson and Richard Barbieri completely avoids Rick Wakeman's extreme idiocies -- prog that knows when less is more. With that as a fine signal for the album as a whole, Stupid Dream takes it from there -- Wilson as a songwriter and singer both sounds recharged and more ambitious, while the group collectively pours it on. The loud passages feel truly sky-smashing, the calmer ones perfectly close, and the overall sense of build and drama -- "A Smart Kid" is a fine example spot-on. Strings from the East of England Orchestra and guest work on Wilson's sometime Bass Communion partner Theo Travis add even lusher atmospheres without swamping the tunes. As always, the group isn't afraid to experiment where others merely re-create check out the funky breaks Colin Edwin and Chris Maitland lay down on "Slave Called Shiver," not to mention Wilson's catchy piano figure and Barbieri's Hammond organ fills. Lyrically, Wilson comes up with some of his best work yet. "Piano Lessons" looks back on past musical learning and a doubtful teacher as a spur to trying harder, while "Pure Narcotic" offers up a romantic scenario and tip of the hat to Radiohead all at once: "You keep me hating/You keep me listening to The Bends." There's actually a musical hint or two of the Oxford quintet as well -- the acoustic guitar/drum intro to "This Is No Rehearsal" is a good example -- but leave it to Porcupine Tree to drop in some fully plugged in metal, as well