Sonic Youth made a major step forward with 1987's Sister, their first album where the songs were as strong as the group's visionary approach and they rocked with the force and authority they'd clearly sought since the beginning. If 1988's Daydream Nation didn't make as decisive a leap in terms of theory or style, as far as execution was concerned, it was Sonic Youth's first unqualified masterpiece, a triumph that made them one of the most respected bands in indie rock. Initially released as a two-LP set, the sheer scope of Daydream Nation was ambitious, but the longer tracks worked to Sonic Youth's advantage, allowing them the space to lay down solid melodic structures and then use them as a framework for extended jams (thankfully, the band made splendid use of their wanderlust without wearing out their welcome). Sonic Youth were playing at the top of their game on the Daydream Nation sessions; the guitar interplay between Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo was stronger and more intuitive than before, and bassist Kim Gordon and drummer Steve Shelley had grown into a powerful rhythm section that cut an impressive groove, giving the band a greater freedom to explore the space around them without getting lost. Sonic Youth were not simply tighter on Daydream Nation, they were making better and more satisfying use of their arsenal of alternate tunings and bent but elemental song structures, and the final product fused their love of creatively applied noise and the sound of the electric guitar with song structures that merged elements of punk, prog, boogie, and psychedelia. The journey from the trippy joy of "Teenage Riot" to the hot-rodded choogle of "Eliminator Jr." was a bracing, glorious experience, and Daydream Nation confirmed their status as one of America's best and most original alternative rock bands, and one that had a shot at a future outside the underground -- a pleasant surprise given the alienating air of their earliest work.
With both early EPs and the M/A/R/R/S smash success behind them, A.R. Kane found themselves more than ready to go ahead with a full album in 1988, and did so wonderfully. It's safe to say that the start of the opening track alone, "Crazy Blue," resembles little else recorded that year or any other one -- a few plucked guitar notes, a sudden jazzy scat-vamp by singer Rudi with his truly unique voice, then a more direct poppish strum, the woozy line, "Ooooh...everything's gone crazy now," followed by a series of intense reverbed chime sounds and bongo-like percussion. From there on in, things take a turn for the strangely captivating in song after song. Never simply poppy nor completely arty, and definitely not just the Jesus and Mary Chain/Cocteau Twins fusion most claimed they were (admittedly song titles like "Spermwhale Trip Over" and "Baby Milk Snatcher" easily led to the description!), A.R. Kane here feels playful, mysterious, and inventive all at once, impossible to truly pin down. The best one-two punch on the record comes from "Sulliday," with buried, measured percussion and evocative drones, and "Dizzy," featuring a mesmerizing call-and-response by Rudi with himself, veering between more gentle, direct vocals and echoed shouts, eerily foretelling much of what Tricky would similarly do years later. An unfairly long-lost classic.
With his transformation from pop pinup to accomplished adult songsmith complete by the mid-'90s, former Haircut 100 frontman Nick Heyward was free to relax and crank up the amps. And while the crunching chords that open The Apple Bed may have thrown some fans of Heyward's gentler days, this is in many ways his best solo outing -- one that, guitar muscle aside, doesn't really stray far from the tuneful pop he's always had a gift for creating. Credit the newfound aggression with Heyward's signing to Creation; it certainly sounds as though he spent some time listening to the beefed-up Beatleisms of that label's mainstays, Oasis. But his own take on the Fab Four ends up being more faithful without having to resort to swiping riffs outright. The leadoff cut, "Stars In Her Eyes," bursts into a soaring chorus vaguely reminiscent of "She's Leaving Home," while the irresistible "Heavy Head" decorates a classic British descending chord progression with "Penny Lane"-style piccolo trumpet. Meanwhile, a trio of rockers -- "The Goodbye Man," "Dear Miss Finland," and the bonus cut, "3 Colours" -- rock more convincingly than you'd ever have imagined from a chap who once wore his sweater tied around his neck. It end up being the sort of album everyone wished McCartney would make in the '90s, but didn't quite. Luckily, Heyward took care of it.
A welcome comeback after the flaccid dance-pop of 1987's insipid Love, Stray is among Roddy Frame's most assured and diverse collections of songs. Unlike previous Aztec Camera albums, there's not one unifying style to the disc, and the variety makes Stray one of Frame's better collections. From the assured rocking pop of the singles "The Crying Scene" (the closest thing Aztec Camera ever got to an American hit single) and "Good Morning Britain" (a rousing collaboration with Mick Jones of the Clash and Big Audio Dynamite) to the cool, Chet Baker-ish cocktail jazz of "Over My Head," Frame covers the waterfront, but it's the quartet of songs that constitutes the second half of the album that impress the most. These four songs, "How It Is," "The Gentle Kind," "Notting Hill Blues," and the tender acoustic closer "Song For A Friend," are a loosely connected cycle mingling folk, soul, and pop in varying proportions. Starting with a bitterly cynical denunciation of modern society, the four songs move through sadness and resignation to a hopeful, sweet closure. Shorn of the pretentiousness that mars some of Frame's earlier lyrics -- written, to be fair, while he was still in his mid-teens -- the lyrics on Stray are the first that stand up to Frame's remarkable melodic sense. The simple, low-key production by Frame and Eric Calvi also retreats from the unfortunate excesses of both Love and its misbegotten Mark Knopfler-produced predecessor, Knife. With the exception of Aztec Camera's 1983 debut High Land Hard Rain, this is Roddy Frame's best album
Although Let Me Up (I've Had Enough) found the Heartbreakers regaining their strength as a band and discovering a newfound ease at songcraft, it just didn't sell that well. Perhaps that factor, along with road fatigue, led Tom Petty to record his first solo album, Full Moon Fever. Nevertheless, the distinction between "solo" and "Heartbreakers" is a fuzzy one because Full Moon Fever is essentially in the same style as the Heartbreakers albums; Mike Campbell co-wrote two songs and co-produced the record, and he, along with Benmont Tench and Howie Epstein, all play on the album. However, the album sounds different from any Heartbreakers record due to the presence of former Electric Light Orchestra leader Jeff Lynne. Petty co-wrote the lion's share of the album with Lynne, who also is the record's main producer. In his hands, Petty's roots rock becomes clean and glossy, layered with shimmering vocal harmonies, keyboards, and acoustic guitars. It's a friendly, radio-ready sound, and if it has dated somewhat over the years, the craft is still admirable and appealing. But the real reason Full Moon Fever became Petty's biggest hit is that it boasted a selection of songs that rivaled Damn the Torpedoes. Full Moon Fever didn't have a weak track; even if a few weren't quite as strong as others, the album was filled with highlights: "I Won't Back Down," the wistful "A Face in the Crowd," the rockabilly throwaways "Yer So Bad" and "A Mind with a Heart of Its Own," the Byrds cover "Feel a Whole Lot Better," the charging "Runnin' Down a Dream," and "Free Fallin'," a coming-of-age ballad that could be Petty's best song. Full Moon Fever might have been meant as an off-the-cuff detour but it turned into a masterpiece.,
For this release, Mellencamp continues to steadily evolve, and most of it is in a good way. He is still in his "Americana" phase, which meant lots of country-ish, rustic instruments. Where this record differs from his last is that the music is much more quiet, simple and stripped down. Since Mellencamp could (and does so here) write very memorable melodies, it's not a problem that this record has evolved so much from his early days of American Fool or Uh-Huh. This is a much more simpler record.
True, he had basically passed his commercial peak at this point. Fortunately he didn't seem to care, and neither did the critics. It was work like this one that would one day get him in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, even if there's very little "rock" on here at all. Consider the most memorable cut Jackie Brown. It's definitely a much more laid back tune with all acoustic instruments. Mellencamp's message of the poor, forgotten character is right up front for us to hear, and it tugs at the heart strings. This was the kind of the thing that he was so good at when writing and recording.
Sadly, it's when Mellencamp is angry and his vitriol comes out that he sounds at his worst, and unfortunately that side of his personality is here as well. He makes a very poor, immature stab and Ronald Reagan on Country Gentlemen that's so stupid that it's dreadfully embarrassing.
Most of the record, thankfully, stays away from these kind of messages, and, yes, Mellencamp is always pissed about something, but his message - whether it's the feminist cry of Martha Say or the hope of anything better in Mansions in Heaven is mostly augmented by very well crafted and memorable melodies - which lends this album to be one of the best of his
In 1988, few heavy metal bands were comprised of all black members, and fewer had the talent or know-how to inject different musical forms into their hard rock sound (funk, punk, alternative, jazz, soul, rap) -- but N.Y.C.'s Living Colour proved to be an exception. Unlike nearly all of the era's metal bands, the group's music has held up over time, thanks to its originality and execution. Living Colour leader/guitarist Vernon Reid spent years honing his six-string chops, and was one of the most respected guitarists in New York's underground scene. He couldn't have done a better job selecting members for his new rock band -- singer Corey Glover, bassist Muzz Skillings, and drummer Will Calhoun -- as their now-classic debut, Vivid, proves. Though the album was released in mid-1988, it picked up steam slowly, exploding at the year's end with the hit single/MTV anthem "Cult of Personality," which merged an instantly recognizable Reid guitar riff and lyrics that explored the dark side of world leaders past and present (and remains LC's best-known song). The album was also incredibly consistent, as proven by the rocker "Middle Man" (which contains lyrics from a note penned by Glover, in which he pondered suicide), the funky, anti-racist "Funny Vibe," the touching "Open Letter (To a Landlord)," plus the Caribbean rock of "Glamour Boys." Add to it an inspired reading of Talking Heads' "Memories Can't Wait," the Zeppelin-esque "Desperate People," and two complex love songs ("I Want to Know" and "Broken Hearts"), and you have one of the finest hard rock albums of the '80s -- and for that matter, all time
Probably the first album to successfully merge the seemingly disparate sounds of rap and heavy metal, Rage Against the Machine's self-titled debut was groundbreaking enough when released in 1992, but many would argue that it has yet to be surpassed in terms of influence and sheer brilliance -- though countless bands have certainly tried. This is probably because the uniquely combustible creative relationship between guitar wizard Tom Morello and literate rebel vocalist Zack de la Rocha could only burn this bright, this once. While the former's roots in '80s heavy metal shredding gave rise to an inimitable array of six-string acrobatics and rhythmic special effects (few of which anyone else has managed to replicate), the latter delivered meaningful rhymes with an emotionally charged conviction that suburban white boys of the ensuing nu-metal generation could never hope to touch. As a result, syncopated slabs of hard rock insurrection like "Bombtrack," "Take the Power Back," and "Know Your Enemy" were as instantly unforgettable as they were astonishing. Yet even they paled in comparison to veritable clinics in the art of slowly mounting tension such as "Settle for Nothing," "Bullet in the Head," and the particularly venomous "Wake Up" (where Morello revises Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" riff for his own needs) -- all of which finally exploded with awesome power and fury. And even listeners who were unable (or unwilling) to fully process the band's unique clash of muscle and intellect were catered to, as RATM were able to convey their messages through stubborn repetition via the fundamental challenge of "Freedom" and their signature track, "Killing in the Name," which would become a rallying cry of disenfranchisement, thanks to its relentlessly rebellious mantra of "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!" Ultimately, if there's any disappointment to be had with this near-perfect album, it's that it still towers above subsequent efforts as the unequivocal climax of Rage Against the Machine's vision. As such, it remains absolutely essential. [In 2012, an expanded edition of the album titled XX was released, which tacked on three live tracks and a disc of original demos
When Beggars Banquet reissued the Go-Betweens catalog in 2002, each album was remastered and repackaged with a bonus disc of rarities -- except, inexplicably, 16 Lovers Lane. In 2004 Bernard MacMahon's fine Lo-Max label (and Jet Set in the U.S.) has finally set the record straight and given this classic of 1980s Aussie pop the treatment it deserves. The band's final recording is delivered in stellar slipcased, double-disc form, utterly remastered by Bill Inglot and Dave Schultz, in a handsome package loaded with lyrics, photos, and utterly cool, unabashedly fan-boy liner notes by Andrew Male. And while the brilliant sonics and killer box is something to write home about, it's the bonus disc that is the real prize for fans. The actual bonus material begins at the end of disc one, where, tacked on to the album is a CD-Rom section with two different videos for "Streets of Your Town," and one for "Was There Anything I Could Do?." Disc Two contains ten cuts, beginning with the single version of "Love Goes On" (remixed by Tony Visconti). Unreleased session cuts like "Wait Until June," "Casanova's Last Words," "Mexican Postcard," and "Rock and Roll Friend" didn't make the album cut, but were close to finished versions and are presented here regally. Demos of three other songs, "You Won't Find It Again," "Apples in Bed," and "Head Over Heels" -- sung and played by only Grant McLennan and Robert Forster on acoustic guitars -- are stunning, naked moments that echo the most vulnerable moments on the album itself. Add to this a live version of "Running the Risk of Losing You," recorded during the band's last performance at a bar in Sydney, and a wonderfully rough, intimate version of Bob Dylan's "You're a Big Girl Now," recorded at McCabe's Guitar Shop in Santa Monica in 1988. Played by Forster, McLennan, and violinist Amanda Brown, it is unplugged, nearly unmic'ed. Forster's vocal is wracked with emotion. This set is the boss treatment, in fact the only fitting treatment for 16 Lovers Lane, one of the greatest pop records of all time, even if most of the world doesn't know it yet. Fans will have to have this, but even more, those interested in checking out what all the fuss is about the Go-Betweens and this album in particular could be no better-served than by this platter as an introduction.
