Despite the band’s name, there’s not much of a party going on in the lyrics of this UK quartet’s thoughtful second album. World events and how they affect today’s young people in the UK are at the core of the band’s viewpoint.
This charming 1978 Harmonia Mundi release was a big audiophile favorite when vinyl was still king for reasons that will become obvious to you should you choose to pick up this Speakers Corner reissue.
Sundazed has just released the first five Byrds albums cut from the original mono master tapes, which didn't see that much action when new and haven't seen much since. Thus the sound on this first one has a chance of being positively stupendous and it is.
When this arrived I stated the obvious to myself “Why would I want to hear Dion sing the blues?” I can hear Robert Johnson do his own tunes, I can hear them “rock-a-fied” to great effect on any number of albums from the 1960’s, I can hear other blues greats, from Mississippi John Hurt to Howlin’ Wolf to Lightnin’ Hopkins, singing their originals and covers, some superbly recorded, and generally I was so down on this disc that I played it more to see how awful and/or pointless it was.
“Tastes good on th’ bun” are all the lyrics you get on “Tastes Good on th’ Bun,” the opening tune, of the Ween brothers’ new collection of closet clutterers and leftovers. There’s a tune called “Big Fat Fuck.” Can you guess the lyrics? Close. Add “Feelin’ like a” and you’ve got it.
This year's (2006) showing of this 1965 animated special drew a huge audience. I don't have the numbers but I think it beat everything in its time slot.
The production, arrangements and recording are strictly decent (but clean and well crafted) demo-quality, the drummer boat-anchors the tunes behind the beat—he’s no Ringo—and with tunes such as “You’re Like Lead” (you’re always bringing me down), and “Rubber Soul,” and with an album title like Love Is Not Enough (get it?) you have to wonder if these guys are doing Beatles or Rutles.
Rosanne Cash’s moving, sometimes mysterious tribute to her late parents and step-mother June Carter Cash was, for me, last year’s most profound and affecting album. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t sat down to write about it until this year.
Forget the Van Gogh-like cover. There’s nothing crazy going on here, or perhaps these four guys just wanted to subliminally suggest that you lend an ear. I’m glad I did.
This obscure little 1967 instrumental gem rescued from the dustbins of antiquity by Sundazed featuring guitarist Earl Hooker backed by an anonymous group of musicians including a drummer, bassist, organist, sax player and perhaps a rhythm guitarist, or Hooker’s overdubbing himself, is nothing more than a series of funky jams that show off Hooker’s unique curlicue guitar twanging style.
Riverside issued this Charlie Byrd album in 1960, two years before his collaboration with Stan Getz on the classic Jazz Samba (Verve V6-8432), which has been reissued by both DCC Compact Classics and Speakers Corner (still in print, I believe).
Cynics tired of the RHCP’s act say they’re running on fumes. Yes, well then what accounts for the remarkable success of this album, packed with the band’s usual rap/rock/funk mix? That’s an easy question to answer. It’s reliably hard, funky, powerful, spare and big. It goes down easy but still engages.
Joni Mitchell’s “road weary,” intensely personal adult confessional, released in 1971, shattered forever what appeared to be her carefully cultivated “hippie chick” image at a time when her star had ridden it to unimaginable heights on an almost vertical trajectory.
Bop clarinetist Tony Scott (born Anthony Joseph Sciacca in Morristown, NJ), who plays on this Sarah Vaughan album as part of an octet that includes Miles Davis (then 24), passed away the day before this was written, on the last day of March, 2007. An obit I read says that the eclectic Mr. Scott also arranged “The Banana Boat Song (Day-O)” for Harry Belafonte. As I write this sentence, his velvety clarinet sings prettily behind Vaughan at the end of “It Might As Well Be Spring.”
After collapsing on stage three years ago and nearly dying of complications brought on by Hepatitis C, Austin, Texas based rock and roller Alejandro Escovedo returns with a deeply moving John Cale produced album that reclaims his past musical ferocity, while moving the 55 year old survivor forward into sensitive new musical and lyrical territory.