While Birdbrain was a marked improvement over Buffalo Tom's self-titled debut album, Let Me Come Over was truly the great leap forward for the band, sounding richer, more imaginative, and more emotionally powerful than anything they'd attempted in the past. Guitarist Bill Janovitz, bassist Chris Colbourn, and drummer Tom Maginnis individually displayed a greater command of their respective instruments, and collectively their interplay was certainly more confident and intricate, having traded in the muddy clamor of their first recordings for a more layered sound (complete with overdubbed acoustic guitars) that was clean, vibrant, and compelling. (Producers Paul Kolderie and Sean Slade certainly helped, bringing a clearer and better-focused sound to these sessions than J Mascis drew from the band.) And while Buffalo Tom were shouting less on Let Me Come Over, they seemed to have a lot more to say; the lovelorn "Taillights Fade" and the yearning "Velvet Roof" have heart and soul that dig a good bit deeper (and are also a lot easier to sort through) than their previous work, while even hard rockers such as "Stymied" and "Saving Grace" reflect a new maturity and seriousness of purpose. In fact, if Let Me Come Over has a flaw, it's that Buffalo Tom seem to display a bit less joie de vivre than one might have expected, though after gaining this much in the way of both skills and smarts, you can't blame them for wanting to show them off a bit. [In 2017, Beggars Banquet Records celebrated the 25th anniversary of Let Me Come Over's release with a special edition of the album that was expanded to a two-disc set with the addition of a 17-song live show recorded in London in 1992. The live disc confirms that, on-stage, Buffalo Tom were more than capable of delivering the same energy they generated in the studio. And if the live performance is a bit looser than the studio tracks, the strength of their attack and the passion they put into their performance are additional reminders of why this band meant so much to so many. Some fans might balk at the notion of buying Let Me Come Over again just to get the bonus live disc, but for those who were looking for a reason to replace their old copies of the album, this expanded edition may be all the excuse they will need.]
Even when the industrial revolution happened, few North American bands sounded as manic and dense as the mighty Skinny Puppy. Tackling unpopular political topics, blurring distorted vocals into synth lines, sampling news broadcasts and horror films -- these were the tactics that Skinny Puppy utilized on VIVIsectVI, one of their true masterpieces. It takes multiple listens to the album to even get to the songs underneath, but once the sonic wall has been punctured it is easy to hear why Ogre is so volatile. His rants, which alternate between a lazy drug moan and a harsh screech, were one of the few in the genre that actually sounded poetic amongst the noise and beats. He can completely carry a noise collage and transform it into a brooding song ("Harsh Stone White") or he can stick to a fairly normal song structure and simply scream his lungs out ("Human Disease (S.K.U.M.M.)"). And the music is absolutely confounding, constructed out of sounds and noises that somehow never seem overbearing despite the sheer amount of them. The most important lesson that Skinny Puppy teaches here is the lesson of variety. VIVIsectVI is still a challenging, multi-layered album years later because the music never stays still. The beat will just disappear, Ogre's vocals will suddenly go from a whisper to a scream, everything will disappear but a creepy sample, then the song will kick back in with a different beat and a new synth part. And that's just "Who's Laughing Now?," one of the true classic industrial songs of any era. No album by this band is easy to start with, but this is easy to keep listening to, if only to absorb everything that happens on each track. Anyone with an interest in the genre should not overlook Skinny Puppy, and this is one of their shining moments.
Often cited as Front Line Assembly's best album, 1989's Gashed Senses & Crossfire saw the Austro-Canadian ensemble fulfilling the underground promise of their early releases and riding the very crest of the industrial music tidal wave as it broke over the entire planet. The album may not have enjoyed the same sort of watershed sales or mainstream recognition as KMFDM's and Ministry's concurrent releases, but the creative versatility displayed by collaborators Bill Leeb, Michael Balch, and unofficial member Rhys Fulber, was truly second to none. In fact, it was precisely that eclecticism that made the album so challenging and less commercially successful, yet ultimately fulfilling, as listeners were forced to contend with acerbic dance numbers ("No Limit," "Digital Tension Dementia," etc.), hypnotic metal machine music ("Antisocial" "Bloodsport"), and hauntingly ethereal meditations ("Prayer," "Sedation") alike, without discrimination. In the end, the key elements binding all of these disparate constructions together were the atonal croaks and croons that passed for vocals, and Front Line Assembly's formidable production talents, which brought meticulous detail to the inordinate number of instrumental layers stacked within, and the innumerable sonic artifacts that peppered them with surprises. In short: a triumph of man, machine, and music. Notably, Gashed Senses & Crossfire was also the final FLA album to feature founding partner Michael Balch, who was replaced full-time by future electro-metal producer Rhys Fulber for the following year's Caustic Grip.
They Might Be Giants Flood
On their major-label debut, Flood, They Might Be Giants exchange quirky artiness for unabashed geekiness and a more varied and polished musical attack. Although the album contains two of the group's finest singles in "Birdhouse in Your Soul" and "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)," the overall record is uneven, since the group's hooks aren't quite as sharp as before and the humor is either too geeky or leavened with awkward social statements like "Your Racist Friend." Even with its faults, Flood has a number of first-rate songs, and it's a strong addition to their catalog, even if it isn't as weirdly intoxicating as its predecessors.
A brilliant fusion of pop and gonzo humor, 1994's Chocolate and Cheese is arguably Ween's finest moment. Building on Pure Guava's more focused approach, the album proved for once and all that along with their twisted sense of humor and wide musical vocabulary, Dean and Gene are also impressive songwriters. Over the course of Chocolate and Cheese, Ween explore virtually every permutation of pop, rock, soul, and funk, from the opening song "Take Me Away"'s rootsy rock to "Roses Are Free"'s homage to Prince's shiny Paisley Park era. On the dreamy, British psych-inspired "What Deaner Was Talking About," the Afro-Caribbean funk of "Voodoo Lady," and "Freedom of '76," their funny, sexy tribute to '70s Philly soul, Ween don't so much parody these styles as reinvent them. Indeed, "Drifter in the Dark"'s surprisingly traditional country and "Joppa Road"'s spot-on soft rock foreshadow 12 Golden Country Greats and White Pepper, respectively. Despite Chocolate and Cheese's polish and prowess, Ween prove they're still proudly politically incorrect with "Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down)" and "Mister Would You Please Help My Pony?" two of the creepiest songs about childhood ever recorded. "The HIV Song" revels in its questionable taste and "Don't Shit Where You Eat"'s laid-back pop is one of the album's subtler jokes. Old-school Ween weirdness surfaces on "Candi" (the shouting in the background was recorded from the trunk of Dean Ween's car) and the crazed stomp of "I Can't Put My Finger on It." "Buenas Tardes Amigo," an epic, spaghetti Western-inspired tale of murder and revenge, and "Baby Bitch," a wry but stinging retort to an ex-girlfriend, show how good Ween are at taking silly things seriously and serious things lightly. That's exactly what makes Chocolate and Cheese such a fun, exciting album.
Josef K's complete studio recordings can be had on two discs. Young and Stupid and The Only Fun in Town/Sorry for Laughing, both of which were reissued in 2002, tell the whole story, yet they were deleted by the time of Entomology's late 2006 release. The disc marks the first time anything Josef K-related has been released Stateside, and it passably packs the highlights. Half of the tracks are pulled from Sorry for Laughing (a 1980 album that initially didn't make it past the test-pressing phase) and The Only Fun in Town (a 1981 album that featured some re-recordings of Sorry for Laughing material), while the remainder wraps up all the essential sides from the band's singles, in addition to a 1981 BBC session for John Peel. If you have the 2002 LTM reissues, there's no need to obtain the disc; it would be completely redundant. If you don't have them, you'll be getting the vivid gist of a sharp and short-lived band -- one that delivered brief, spastic shards of over-caffeinated post-punk with skittish vocals on the verge of spinning out of control. Along with Fire Engines, Orange Juice, Associates, Altered Images, Scars, Simple Minds, Aztec Camera, and Cocteau Twins, Josef K were standouts of an extremely vital post-punk era Scotland
Officially the band's fifth full vinyl release, Rust Red September finds the group further moving away from the brusquer hooks of its earliest days to a calmer reflectiveness. If anything, the duo also achieved a light, airy pop feeling with this album, slotting it alongside more successful sounds from the U.K. in the mid-'80s without actually breaking through or, on a happier thought, pandering to achieve such success. This newer approach comes courtesy of Bates' singing voice, here sweetly overdubbed at many points with butter-melting-in-mouth effect -- indeed, such is the purity he reaches here it almost sounds like he should be in a Scandinavian jangle pop act! "New Risen," the single from the album, balances both a catchy melody and a curious, unexpected keyboard/rhythm arrangement -- the closest parallel might be to the similarly not-quite-straightforward work of the Associates, if on a generally calmer level. The elegant arrangements he and Becker create truly, completely shimmer with a strange, sparkling power, light without ever sounding either airily new age or anything remote easy listening. Consider Bates' simple but effective electric guitar work on "Pearl and Pale," which had to have been an influence on any number of later acts on the Projekt record label, heartbreaking chimes, and atmospherics while avoiding simply turning on the effects pedals. Becker's abilities with rhythm work serve the duo quite well -- what initially seems like an intriguing-enough off-time drum pattern on "Leaves Are Dancing" takes a further subtle turn with the introduction of another percussion line on the chorus, steering away from 4/4 into differing realms. His many other understated touches throughout -- the accordion wails on "No Perfect Stranger," the beautiful synth backing on "Bright Play of Eyes" -- help further the beauty of this striking album. The CD reissue of Rust Red September contains some excellent bonuses for the appreciative fan. Three, "To Steven," "Sun-Like-Gold," and "To Elizabeth S.," originally from the Myths. Instructions. I compilation on Sub Rosa, are rougher, murkier instrumentals with an appropriately shady appeal. The remaining three are the B-sides from the Sun Bursts In EP that followed the album, resulting in a near comprehensive picture of the band's work at that time.
Working hard to further their penchant for hashing together paisley underground psychedelia and classic post-punk, Sad Lovers and Giants followed their first two acclaimed singles with the hefty EP Epic Garden Music in fall 1982. With a delicious blend of gloomy guitar and bass infused with punch and verve that recalls early Cure, and a sophisticated wordplay that was uniquely their own, the quintet split the songs between seaside and countryside, between earth and air, and inflected a little of each into the music. Absolutely cohesive and completely on track, the songs on this set are slick and smooth. From the opening "Echoplay" and the foggy "Clocktower Lodge," which walk a quiet edge, to the pure pop of "Alice (Isn't Playing)" and the ominous closer "Far From the Sea," which sounds as if vocalist Garce Allard sang his part through a window outside the studio, each moment is a masterpiece. And, though most of the songs maintain similar a tempo and intensity, "Clint" snaps heads around, while "Lope" features a sublimely off-kilter sax solo from David Wood. It's an addition that brings the closing dregs of a traveling circus to mind -- or, perhaps in a nod to the side's vibe, a closing seaside town that has turned a woolen shoulder to November wind and rain. Sorely overlooked outside of England, Sad Lovers and Giants may have been lost in the wake of the post-punk generation's heroes, but they haven't been forgotten. They remain a small pearl -- a gem of the ocean that birthed them.
The first full album by Television Personalities, recorded after a four-year series of often brilliant D.I.Y. singles recorded under a variety of names, including the O-Level and the Teenage Filmstars, is probably the purest expression of Daniel Treacy's sweet-and-sour worldview. The songs, performed by Treacy, Ed Ball, and Mark Sheppard, predict both the C-86 aesthetic of simple songs played with a minimum of elaboration but a maximum of enthusiasm and earnestness and the later lo-fi aesthetic. The echoey, hissy production makes the songs sound as if the band were playing at the bottom of an empty swimming pool, recorded by a single microphone located two houses away, yet somehow that adds to the homemade charm of the record. Treacy's vocals are tremulous and shy, and his lyrics run from the playful "Jackanory Stories" to several rather dark songs that foreshadow the depressive cast of many of his later albums. "Diary of a Young Man," which consists of several spoken diary entries over a haunting, moody twang-guitar melody, is downright scary in its aura of helplessness and inertia. The mood is lightened a bit by some of the peppier songs, like the smashing "World of Pauline Lewis" and the "David Watts" rewrite "Geoffrey Ingram," and the re-recorded version of the earlier single "I Know Where Syd Barrett Lives," complete with deliberately intrusive prerecorded bird sounds, is one of the most charming things Television Personalities ever did. This album must have sounded hopelessly amateurish and cheaply ramshackle at the time of its 1981 release, but in retrospect, it's clearly a remarkably influential album that holds up extremely well.
