Pearl Jam, Vitalogy

Bands that believe their own hype believe they can play what they want and this makes for interesting musical studies: sometimes you get the Beatles, and sometimes you get this. Now, for a band to have sufficient hype they have to be sufficiently good, and therefore rarely are such high-on-hype albums bad. Vitalogy generally exemplifies this principle but it's largely because of the songs that aren't so strange; the alternative ballads like "Better Man" and "Nothingman" play the best because they're not so off the wall, and there's some good bluesy rock in "Whipping," "Corduroy" and (in spite of the cheesily transparent metaphor) "Spin The Black Circle." However, their self-granted libertinitude in the studio doesn't prevent a couple by the numbers tracks ("Not For You") yet aides and abets the creation of various other musical deformities ("Pry, To" plus the sped-up musings of the mentally ill in "Hey Foxymophandlemama, That's Me" and the abusive accordions and flyswatters (!) of "Bugs"). It also birthed the impressive yet baffling deluxe nonsense of the packaging, the CD in a tightfitting sleeve and the booklet a simultaneous satire and shrine of a billion early medical condemnations of self-abuse. That's a good description of this album: they clearly enjoyed themselves while doing it, but it's not something all of us would like to observe for 55 minutes. The reissue adds three uninteresting alternate takes. (Content: adult themes and some mild-moderate language.)

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Paul Simon, Stranger to Stranger

I know of at least three Paul Simons, one of them semi-personally, but this was the first one I ever heard the voice of and decades later his pipes still sound largely the way I remember. Roy Halee is back to helm and this can sometimes be a recipe for disaster when late-career musicians aren't reined in by late-career producers, but the album starts out well enough with the menacingly wry throwback shuffle of "The Werewolf" and its jazzy jam "Wristband." I also enjoyed the instrumental interludes as a change of pace ("In the Garden of Edie," though, really?), and "Proof of Love" has some of his strongest and most enjoyably complex soundwork yet. Simon's usually more trenchant personality sketches fail him here, however, in that the music isn't compelling and the people aren't sympathetic ("Street Angel" on one hand, but particularly "In A Parade" with its namedrops of antipsychotic medication and the atypically profane "Cool Papa Bell"); similarly, the title track feels almost like he couldn't get the words out fast enough, vainly chasing the pro forma beat with his syllables as the session band plays on obliviously. Fortunately, a spark of the old Simon shows in the ethereal conclusion of "Insomniac's Lullaby," sleeping soon unto death, perfectly capturing those disquieting moments of meditation on the void to come and the hope to be after. Despite the title, he doesn't feel like a stranger to me with that same voice playing in my head since my younger days, and even as one-trick ponies go — and this album still is that — I'm glad he's still crazy after all these years. The deluxe edition adds a couple cast-off tracks which are interesting but short and not on the main album for various good reasons, and his self-cover duet of "New York Is My Home" with Dion is sluggish and uninspired, but the live versions of "Duncan" and "Wristband" (recorded from A Prairie Home Companion) are remarkably compelling and fresh especially to someone like me who usually doesn't consider live tracks to be bonuses. (Content: F-bombs on "Cool Papa Bell" and adult themes on "Duncan.")

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Cake, Comfort Eagle

It's a fair cop to say this album is more of the same, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but the innovation of Fashion Nugget isn't nearly as innovative the second time around (the perplexing Prolonging the Magic notwithstanding). There's still snark and satire ("Commissioning a Symphony in C") and odd name dropping ("Meanwhile, Rick James ..." though I like the beat), but they take a backseat to the character studies ("Opera Singer," probably one of the album's most inspired moments, or "Shadow Stabbing") and lyrics which on balance manage to be more thought-provoking than simply perfunctory. Unfortunately, the stylistic variety isn't nearly as sophisticated; the arrangements skew more conventional alternative, and somewhat to its detriment, though John McCrea's vocals still cut effectively through the occasional moments of ennui. Indeed, the standout jam ("Short Skirt/Long Jacket") is really just a bowdlerized "Frank Sinatra," with the same vocal rap but rhythm guitar instead of organ, and his voice isn't enough to save the title track which throws a lot of catchphrases around in a bid for relevance but ends up being aggressive nonsense ("Dude!"). Likewise, the closer "World of Two" almost achieves the stark acidity of "Friend is A Four Letter Word" but its interesting chord choices don't benefit much from the more-of-the-same-style production. I'll give them a pass on this record and suggest at the parent-teacher conference that they're bright and they'd get better grades if they just sat down and did the work. (Content: no concerns.)

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Electric Light Orchestra (The), (No Answer)

The stench of amateurism is all over this album, from the infamous snafu with its title (even the U.S.-domestic Epic CD release still perpetuates the ambiguity) to indecision over the use of the definite article, and that extends to the music, featuring such tracks as a baroquely muddled tone poem on the largest battle ever fought on the British Islands ("The Battle of Marston Moor (July 2nd 1644)") and a jazzy guitar bit that's as good as it is because it rips off "Classical Gas" nearly completely ("First Movement (Jumping Biz)"). You can't even blame this on the usual irregularities one sees with débuts because all three players were the final line-up of The Move, by then almost seven years old. And yet. While there's a lot that's pompous ("Manhattan Rumble (49th Street Massacre)") and a lot that's nutty ("Look At Me Now"), and enough parenthesised subtitles to give a typesetter a stroke (ahem), there are also some earnest moments ("Whisper In The Night" and "Nellie Takes Her Bow"), some undeniable charm and even some genuine genius. Not just "10538 Overture" — though it's an outstanding serving of orchestral prog and unquestionably the best track of the first half — but also the rich "Queen Of The Hours" and most of all the plaintive "Mr. Radio," a delightfully mournful treat that became the obvious template for all of Jeff Lynne's future work. This album is not a classic, but some of it is, so some of it will do. The Epic CD reissue adds the usual undeveloped in-progress tracks of little listening value and the Harvest 40th anniversary reissue doubles down on the same for no discernible difference. (Content: no concerns.)

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Yello, Zebra

The Swiss technofunk duo's hit the skids lately post-Flag, and this isn't the album that really rescues them from it. Yet those creative doldrums don't entirely overrun this outing and there are some genuinely good tracks amidst the average ones. Dieter Meier has never been a strong lyricist and some of his weakest lines are here (such as "Fat Cry" or the otherwise amusing "How How"), and several of the grooves are recycled multiple times ("Suite 909" in the much better "Tremendous Pain" and "How How"'s later "premix" track), but the beats are fun (in particular the silly throwback "S.A.X.") and the lighter, less overproduced tone is welcome. Blank and Meier have done better work elsewhere and this album doesn't really measure up to their talent, but enough high points balance the lows for even casual fans to enjoy. (Content: no concerns.)

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Harpers Bizarre, The Complete Singles Collection

Probably the best known sunshine pop band among the genre's brief 1960s blossoming, this collection is the easiest way for modern ears to access their unusual discography. Fronted primarily by Ted Templeman, more famous later as a producer than a performer, their earlier works as the Tikis and the Other Tikis are best described as undistinguished and their presence on this collection merely counts for completeness. Fortunately, their recordings under their better known name are of far greater quality. To be sure, the band relied on covers almost to a fault ("Chattanooga Choo Choo" and their ponderous take on "Knock on Wood"), but they usually did them competently ("Both Sides Now," "Anything Goes" and Templeman's arrangement of "If We Ever Needed The Lord Before") and frequently as good or better than the original (particularly their big hit "The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feeling Groovy)" but also the lovely Van Dyke Parks track "Come To The Sunshine" and the hypnotically captivating "Witchi Tai To"). Unfortunately their efforts in broadening their oeuvre didn't work so well, such as their vain attempts at going country; "Virginia City"'s faux parochialism clangs (at least it's short), along with "Soft Soundin' Music" to a lesser extent and the out-of-place "Battle of New Orleans." Similarly, while "I Love You, Alice B Toklas!"'s psychedelia-soaked production doesn't wear as badly as those did, as an obvious product of its time it doesn't stand as an eternal classic either. Their artistic sense may not be nearly as sublime as other sunshine acts like the Free Design, but they were at least for awhile better attuned to pop music's fickle demands, and arguably thus aged better in the aggregate. However, this collection faithfully accumulates their highs and lows with equally determined precision, and we all know what that averages out to be. (Content: a couple sly drug references.)

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The KLF, The White Room

The final album in this duo's multipartite ode to themselves is this soundtrack they didn't release to a film they didn't make before they blew up their entire catalogue and burned a million quid. Or, rather, unreleased except for this modified form, some of its original structure apparently intact, complete with their usual level of self-aggrandizement, layered sound and raucous atmosphere. Indeed, its soundtrack origins die quite hard; the programming and changes in tempo feel like you hit the third act right on time around the last third of the album. Plus, while I'm sure this gives myself away as merely a casual fan, I actually found the self-referential callouts wore out their welcome awfully quick. Yes, dammit, we know you're the KLF and the Justified Ancient Grand Pooh-Bah Vizier Knights of Cincinnati or whatever and the joke was funny exactly once; I don't need to be informed of this and/or whether you're still in the building/business multiple times in the first half, but the groove tightens up when they dial down the self-promotion and the music is overall sharper and more focused (compare with, say, Chill Out). My favourite moments are the slow jams, in particular "Build A Fire," "No More Tears" and "Justified And Ancient," because they're light, airy and melodic in all the ways the harder moments aren't; "Make It Rain" and "White Room" aren't bad either for much the same reasons, though of the faster and trance-ier tracks, only "Last Train to Trancentral" has enough going for it to overcome all the other ways the in-your-face production is obnoxious. I'm concluding this petulant flameout was their way of quitting while they were ahead but Arista is allegedly still pressing this CD in the States, and on balance there's still more to like than not, so I'm sure they'll make that million pounds back soon enough. (Content: no concerns.)

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Trouble Funk, In Times of Trouble

A solid if unexceptional effort from one of the better go-go acts out there. This is not nearly as tight as Drop the Bomb, and too much funk at the time (including this one) was succumbing to the more synthesized feel embodied by Bootsy and other such contemporaries, but it'll still get you moving almost just as well. "Spintime" is the synth-heavy lead in, but it's got an amusingly tricksy beat and the beat don't quit either there or in the title track immediately following, a bit more of a party jam with stronger vocals and brass. (That one-two punch is then followed by the pleasant "Share Your Love," old-school and conventional yet still satisfyingly smooth.) On the other hand, "Good Times" is funky but not all that special, and "Say What" doesn't get off the leash enough for a good go-go going on; plus, the track that really had me scratching my head was "Freaky Situation," Dyke Reed trying for a weird Lou Rawls-Barry White feel making references to his lover's smell (!) and saying she could be "my X-rated movie star, because I know how freaky you are." After that kind of creepiness it's good that "Funk N Roll" is there to close out the album, the hardest-edged track of all but the one with the best melody line and some witty commentary on changing music trends. This might not be the funk I'd reach for in my times of trouble, but while there are better examples of go-go out there (even from this very band) you'll still get good mileage out of this one. The CD reissue adds the instrumental backing of "Funk N Roll" but also two live show jam recordings apparently abridged from their Saturday Night Live live album. I usually find live bonus tracks tedious, and the recording quality is poor, but while they take a little while to get cooking they're actually rather fun for a party atmosphere and aren't just retreads of the earlier cuts. (Content: adult themes on "Freaky Situation.")

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Oingo Boingo, Dark At The End Of The Tunnel

This is another of my road albums, usually for late night driving in the California desert when the only things to keep me company are tumbleweeds and Coast to Coast AM. I suspect this was about when Danny Elfman was starting to notice his hearing was going (and his appetite for high energy mischief with it) given how sedate in general it is compared to their prior albums. There are touches of the old brass-heavy moments in tracks like the opener "When The Lights Go Out" and "Flesh 'N Blood," which could have come off Dead Man's Party if it were about double the tempo, but this outing's overall feel is more congruent with the balladic and longer groove styles of "Skin," "Out of Control" and the bittersweetly lyric "Is This." Indeed, it's those more anodyne hooks and smoother jams that make this a better driving album while at the same time coming off as somewhat less sophisticated; the rhythm sections almost piece together too well in their homology, a strange observation to make about a composer as prolific as Elfman. While I was less enamoured of tracks like "Glory Be," "Dream Somehow" and "Long Breakdown" largely for relative want of distinction, they still flow as well as the others, and I'm not really reaching for the skip button much when they're up. The LP omits "Right To Know," a rather well-realized bunch of meditations on afterlife's uncertainties, but the album's closer "Try To Believe" has a strange but welcome gospel feel, touches of zydeco, fuller brass and a hopeful, aspirational air. I'm not sure who Elfman was singing it to (himself?) and I'm not sure how much of a light at the tunnel it ends up being (the title on the spine notwithstanding), but the album is more idealistic than it pretends to be even if the craftmanship doesn't quite get there, and that song's always a nice one to arrive to. (Content: no concerns.)

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Macintosh Plus, Floral Shoppe

I like interesting musical experiments, and I like the Mac Plus (the first Mac I ever used), and overall I like this. To be sure, vapo(u)rwave is a partially acquired taste; the stuttery starts and recordskippy bits, for example, may be a deliberate design aesthetic but they mostly just make an otherwise ethereal experience choppy (particularly "Geography," which is frankly obnoxious). On the other hand, the spread-out-like-peanut-butterrrrr super slow sample jams (Diana Ross! ... Pages?!) underlie this album's biggest winners all sedate, sumptuous and even just a little bit satirical in their deliberate excesses. I could have "Lisa Frank 420" on loop all day with Diana's slowlooped purr floating in the air, or better still this album's best jam, the pleasingly and atypically more conventional "Chill Diving With Ecco," which despite its seemingly deliberate repetitiveness never seems to grow old (see also "Te"). Like most derivative styles, this one from chillwave, the format steals too much from its ancestors to truly stand alone and this exemplar of the form seems to have its best moments when it frankly rips them off, but that doesn't mean it's not enjoyable. The cassette reissue (!) slightly changes the playlist as do the various digital releases, not better, just different, all of which can be found online at various locations including the Internet Archive. (Content: no concerns.)

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DeVotchKa, How It Ends

A quirky landmark in gypsy punk, this unusual album from a unique band is easily unlike anything you've ever heard before, and that's not just for having more accordion music than a Weird Al-themed bar mitzvah. The band is at its best when it's at its most pensive; witness the heartrent wistful moans of Nick Urata on "Dearly Departed" and the almost jangle-pop "Too Tired," along with the beguiling instrumental "Charlotte Mittnacht." Their stunt styles are less solid, though: I rather like the crazed Romany klezmer feel of "Lunnaya Pogonka" but it gets a little old on "Such A Lovely Thing," and I don't care for their mariachi moments in "We're Leaving" and "The Enemy Guns" (complete with white guy Spanish) really much at all. (Not to mention the odd "Viens Avec Moi" which defies categorization in a bad way.) Still, the album wins points for fearless creativity and general listenability, though the star of this variegated pageant is undeniably the beautiful title track's soulful meditation upon futility, recapitulated to great effect in the closing "Reprise." Given that, I'd have to say it ends well. (Content: no concerns.)

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Albin de la Simone

An interesting album from a new and talented Frenchman, this début nevertheless suffers the same sort of identity crisis many first such albums do. There are many jazzy, fluffy moments that make you feel like you're walking about the Seine on a sunny day, including the charming intro ("Ils cueillent des jonquilles" [They pick daffodils]) and the folksy, off-kilter "Ton pommier," but there are also mildly obnoxious europop moments ("avant tout, I want you", the second track, even), slink ("Elle aine," with guest Feist singing her other Canadian language), pensive impressionism ("Délice"), even a bit of baroque rock ("Tu es là"). I wasn't too enamoured of some of the derivative pieces on the second half (the dull "Cigare" and the aimless "Les piranhas" in particular), but while he may be stylistically tres confus at times there is one brilliant track that manages to tie it all together, the seventh and best ("Quand j'aurai du temps" [When I have time]), springy, zesty, complex and far too short. (My second favourite, "Amour, amitié" [Love, friendship], the album's brooding vibrato-laden closer.) As unfocused as it is there's a lot here to like, and even if his style never settles the skill in this unusual yet appealing first effort is still reward enough. (Content: couldn't find a problem, but my French is terrible.)

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The Best of the Specials

The Specials are special because over their brief existence they didn't really know what they wanted to be: are they ska? Are they soul? Are they reggae? Do they care? Not particularly, and that generally worked for a brief period until the band said a collective "sod it" after four years, three albums and lots of dry cleaning bills for their two-tone suits. (Ignoring, of course, the chaotic period of the Special AKA culminating in In The Studio, and the various later and only tangentially related reincarnations.) This CD/DVD collection is superior to their other compilations because it tries to take a good cross-section of their albums as well as their better known singles, so the completists will enjoy it particularly, though their best work wasn't ever released on any LP at the time ("Gangsters" and "Ghost Town" especially). In fact, with only three albums to choose from, maybe four if you count the live EP Too Much Too Young (solely represented here by the title track's infamous ode to contraception), this disc ends up regurgitating a fair bit of them and even includes their weaker moments (for me, the nadir is "Racist Friend," which shows cancel culture was just as much a thing in Thatcherian England). Jerry Dammers is no Paul Weller or even Joe Strummer, and his unsophisticated lyrical acumen undercuts his message (especially exemplified by "Doesn't Make It Alright" and "War Crimes," and to a lesser extent "Nelson Mandela" though you can't hate that beat), but the band's dogged willingness to adopt just about any musical style they thought they could jam to means pretty much everyone's going to find at least part of their collective works entertaining. Look out for my second favourite Specials track "What I Like Most About You Is Your Girlfriend" and the most inexplicable music video ever made to accompany it, which you can experience on the DVD in all of Dammers' leering gaptoothed extraterrestrial glory. I don't review DVDs here, but this one is noteworthy not only for featuring live footage ("On Video") but also that and several other music videos ("On Film") including several tracks that don't appear on the CD at all. American fans, do note the second disc is PAL; it's a good thing Blu-ray saved us from television standards with oppressive digital rights management instead. (Content: some adult themes.)

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Boards of Canada, Music Has The Right To Children

In my United States the National Film Board of Canada was that weird governmental agency that came up with strange yet inspired pieces you saw in animation festivals and avant-garde movie theatres. They'd find someone to come up with anything and everything, and then they'd run with it (see also The Big Snit, The Cat Came Back, etc.). I'm not sure if this Scottish group had the same cultural context but they certainly embraced the same industrious variety with cryptic titles, dreamy, nostalgia-suffused affection ("The Color of the Fire"), aspirational textures ("Open The Light"), gauzy vocalizations ("An Eagle In Your Mind," "Turquoise Hexagon Sun," "One Very Important Thought"), triphop beats ("Telephonic Workshop," "Sixtyten," "Happy Cycling") and even a touch of noodly funk ("Aquarius" -- "yeah, that's right!"). All of these features probably best come together in the strident synthesizer, cheery child vocals and the confident, almost sauntering backbeat of "Roygbiv," but it's painfully short, and one of the many tracks on this album (like the ominous "Smokes Quantity") that leaves you wanting to stay in the moment just a little bit longer. Conversely, there are just as many tracks that, like all ambient music, needs you to imagine more of a "there" there than there is (such as "Rue The Whirl" with its accidentally recorded chirping birds, the reductive minimalism of "Olson" or the scratchy vocal sample and meandering melody of "Pete Standing Alone"). Don't get me wrong: there's nothing intrinsically wrong with this competent album — in fact, much like the Film Board was, it's sometimes absolutely brilliant — but overly studious musical diversity is often indistinguishable from formlessness and so is this. This album's best moments will only reward the devotedly attentive listener, and while I thought it was well worth it, not everyone is going to want to make that investment. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Best of the Art of Noise

This is a mildly challenging review to write not because of the music but because of the sheer number of editions that exist. In broad strokes, however, you've got a Blue and you've got a Pink (and at least one release has both), and one is clearly better than the other. As with many proto-ambient acts sometimes the quantity is just as important as the quality, and the 12" mixes on Blue — particularly the CD release — frankly deliver. While the lead-in "Opus 4" is a little underdeveloped, the big hits are mostly here, including the classic "Beat Box" (especially glittering on the long-play CD as "Beatbox (Diversion One)"), the slightly ominous "Close (To The Edit)," "Dragnet '88" (I liked it, but the music is clearly better than the movie), and my personal two favourites: the extended Max Headroom feature "Paranoimia," Matt Frewer gabble intact, and the so sumptuous it brought tears to my wife's eyes "Moments in Love," this 7 minute form eclipsed only by the 10 minute ecstasy on the vinyl of Into Battle (which you can find on the CD of Daft). Low points, but only by comparison, are eight minutes of Tom Jones trying to get in your pants ("Kiss," although I appreciate the smarmyness as contrast) and the harsh and lugubrious "Legacy;" this, plus the peculiar omission of "The Army Now" from their first EP, loses that fifth star but is still a must-have for any collector of synthopop. Pink, however, is almost atavistic in its choices, reverting to 7" mixes for virtually all the tracks. There are also some appallingly suspect substitutions, such as the complete absence of "Beat Box" (replaced by "Yebo," its world beat fusion being fun to listen to, but hardly revolutionary) and "Moments" (replaced by "Instruments of Darkness" which is just trite in its message); only the replacement of "Close (To The Edit)" with "Robinson Crusoe" is anything close to an even swap. There is still "Peter Gunn" with the wacky Duane Eddy twang, but less of it, and another version of "Paranoimia" with a slightly different script that Edison Carter fans will want to find. The rest is the same but in abridgment, and abridgment is pretty much the entire theme of Pink: a meagre compilation that only hints at luxury, but enough remains to tempt listeners back to the superior release. Will I still be perfect tomorrow? Perhaps, but only one of these two will be. (Content: Tom Jones' hormones.)

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Pink: 🌟🌟🌟

Chromeo, Head Over Heels

The wackiest musical restraining order I think I've ever heard. Nobody calls them concept albums anymore, but that's indeed what Montreal's Levantine funk act hath wrought, a meditation on attraction's incarnations all the way from infatuation to incarceration ("I'm not a creep," insists Dave-1 on the ironically named "One Track Mind"). The grooves are overall pretty sweet, especially the album's gleefully berserk standout single "Bad Decision," played in slut chic fashion joints worldwide just before your girlfriend buys that tube top, and the Gap Band-esque "Count Me Out" with its deep and funky baseline. At times there's even a remarkable amount of self-reflection ("Just Friends," "Slummin' It") but the second half's illustrations of love gone wrong get depressing and the tedious two-part "Bedroom Calling" wears out its welcome before it even begins; fortunately there's a strong finish in the smooth "Room Service," bookending the excellent "Must've Been" that leads off. You can't expect an even effort from an album devoted to relationships anything but, and P-Thugg's legs on the cover really are too distracting with that beard, but while I'm not head over heels for this album I certainly feel I could park outside its house with a pair of binoculars. That's praise, right? (Content: adult themes, a couple S- and F-bombs.)

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Les Rita Mitsouko, Marc & Robert

France's oddest musical duo, and that's saying something, n'est pas, decided they weren't odd enough and had to pair up for a few tracks with America's oddest fake English duo. This may not have been a wise idea; indeed, this album actually was their lowest charting effort in their home country, though that may simply mean French audiences found its Anglophilic tendencies treasonous. As means of adaptation acoustic instruments are credited in the liner notes but sunk in the mix, bringing forth a more synth-heavy style which suited Sparks' contemporary output, and Catherine Ringer's vocal range matches Russ Mael's eerily well. He doesn't sing French so good ("Hip Kit"), but what do you expect from Americans? — rather better is "Singing in the Shower" even though it turns the French half basically into a glorified session band. The non-Sparks tracks are actually the majority, and it is here that Les Rita's usual sprawling madness reasserts itself in things like the shrilly schlocky continental pastiche "Mandolino City," the aspirational "Ailleurs" and the luxurious "Petite Fille Princesse," though there are less inspiring efforts, to be sure: "Le Petit Train"'s attempt to be thought-provoking is undercut by the overpowered dance beat and their independent English language output is just bizarre ("Harpie & Harpo" and "Perfect Eyes" in particular, though the eyebrow-raising "Tongue Dance" at least has a good groove to recommend it). Marc & Robert's incautious mashup of styles and even languages is on balance a little too unbalanced to appeal to the casual listener, but Europop devotees may find it a refreshing change of pace, Sparks fanatics like me will certainly find it interesting and Canadians will at least understand the lyrics. The CD issue adds another Sparks cover of sorts in "Live in Las Vegas," but this Ringer-Mael duet is a rare live performance actually worth listening to even if you're not a Sparks freak. (Content: no obvious issues, though my French est beaucoup rusty.)

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Kurtis Blow, The Breaks

Hip-hop owes a lot to God for letting it borrow Kurtis Blow a few years, giving us this album's title track and one of the most influential transitional tracks during the old school crossover days. Being a transitional album, however, it is neither fish nor fowl by its nature; the musical chops are solid but the sometimes impressively sumptuous R&B backings periodically clash with his otherwise competent rapping. There isn't as much stylistic variation as you might think, either: all three tracks on the first side are basically the same riff ("Rappin' Blow Part II," "The Breaks" and "Way Out West"), with the latter track in particular overstaying its twelve-inch-length welcome. On the other hand, the second side has the amazing "Throughout Your Years," an even better outing than "The Breaks" itself, which manages the unbelievable trick of making rap simultaneously meaty yet poignant and heartfelt. The briskly breezy piano and bass really help though, which brings me back to that point I made before about the musical backing. In fact, when he sings "All I Want In This World (Is To Find That Girl)" he actually puts his rapping to shame with vocals at least as melodically lyrical as the backing band even if the words themselves aren't really all that special. Not all of it comes off well (especially the incredibly ill-advised Bachman-Turner Overdrive cover "Takin' Care of Business," where not even the hot guitar licks can rescue it), but it's hard to fault him for being the pioneer (the superfunky "Hard Times" in particular accurately predicts where the genre was heading). In that sense, then, give God a shout-out for this album leading the way; perhaps the breaks are just part of His cosmic plan after all. The CD reissue includes an instrumental version of "The Breaks" and an unusual Christmas-themed rap that gets points for an original topic but loses them for another recycled beat. These are fine as far as they go, but I found it curious they omitted the B-side instrumental for "Rappin' Blow Part II" which, despite being good enough for the samplers, apparently wasn't good enough for Mercury. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Heavy, The House That Dirt Built

Mailed directly to you from 1975, or possibly 1979 if the lead-in cut from the rather grim film "Don't Go In The House" is to be believed, you'd swear this LP dropped into a time warp and came out in the present day a CD. The outcast's fantasy hit single "How You Like Me Now?" (set up by the highly competent if quizzically short "Oh No! Not You Again!") is a delightful and amusingly venomous jam as funky as anything James Brown ever churned out, while later the solemn yet equally solid "Short Change Hero" presents a pensive contrast that truly shows off their musical range. I also rather enjoyed the bluesy "Long Way From Home" and while "What You Want Me To Do?" didn't bowl me over lyrically, the acid guitar and heavy riffs certainly did. There are unfortunately low points: the cynical, almost contemptuous "Sixteen" was designed to leave a bad taste in your mouth, and it does; similarly, "No Time" is a little too raw and jarring to fit with the rest of the album's exuberant feel. But the closer, the expressive "Stuck," redeems much of this throwback-styled album with its gentle orchestration and heartfelt vocals. It's not the strongest album I've ever heard, but if dirt truly did build this musical house, they've certainly exceeded such ignominious origins. (Content: adult themes on "Sixteen," mild profanity in "Love Like That.")

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The Stranglers, Rattus Norvegicus

When the band bills itself as a bunch of violent murderers, you're in for something ... different. Fast, frenetic and unapologetically unrefined, the overall feeling of this surprisingly complex proto-punk album is one of barely contained chaos. This works for it and sometimes against: the wacked-out keyboards in the lead track "Sometimes" feel like a thoroughbred champing at the reins, just one neurologic misfire away from galloping off a cliff, and the driving line in "Ugly" gives way to a mishmashed dissonant bridge that leaves you right back where you started. On the other hand, when it tightens up you have amazing stuff like the deserving if over-parenthesized single "(Get A) Grip (On Yourself)," its energetically interwoven instrumental lines ruined only by a bafflingly cacophonous conclusion, and the almost progressive rock (oh, the sacrilege!) stylings of the odd yet slyly compelling multi-part suite "Down in the Sewer" ("lots of diseasezzzzzzzzz"), bringing the album to a raucous climactic end. Their tongue is a bit too much in their cheek for the lecherous "Peaches" and the arguably misogynistic "Princess of the Streets," though to be fair, to call it simply a smear on women is to miss the joke entirely, but the sound is unmistakable, the high points are incredible, and even the low points are interesting. You'll never hear another album quite like it and while it's decidedly not for everybody, that's certainly worth three stars. The CD reissue adds the unremarkable but listenable "Choosey Susie" (allegedly the same girl as the Princess), the early prototype "Go Buddy Joe" which leavens the relatively straight rock and roll with a taste of their later style, and the noodly live jam "Peasant in the Big Sh*tty" whose infamously jittery 9/4 time signature is only part of why it makes you queasy to listen to. The first and last were apparently included with initial pressings, and the second backed the "Peaches" single; they're not incompetent, but there's good reason they're not on the main album. (Content: innuendo and adult references, some profanity.)

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