Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols

On the eve of Queen Elizabeth II's funeral it seems like the right time to do Britain's one hit punk wonder, and, well, 45 years later it's still a pretty good album. No matter Malcolm McLaren's manufactured pretentions at the time you can never tell how much they're kidding ("we mean it, man!"), and whether it's playful, puerile or parody the grinning verve never quits, so if its sole enduring legacy is only ever to smash good manners I'm sure they're still proud. Where it's strongest is the music and the snarling (dig the contempt in "Pretty Vacant"), and they get credit for gleefully daring to touch the third rail over and over (abortions, German concentration camps, record companies) in a way no one else was willing to even when sometimes the lyrics let them down. I mean, "Anarchy In The U.K." doesn't even rhyme half the time as you scream along to it anyhow. But of course then there's "God Save The Queen," an smirking, caustic anthem of little-r republicanism no reputable republican will play, such that even Johnny "Rotten" Lydon himself bade her Godspeed and said any attempt to cash in on the song would be — wait for it — tasteless. Sorry, Charlie, you'll never get that honour as King! Current reissues throw in a couple B-sides, and they're worth picking up, because that's all the music you're getting out of this band. (Content: F-bombs in "Bodies," S-bomb and epithets in "New York," violent imagery.)

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Cat Stevens, Izitso

Cat Stevens becoming Yusuf Islam wasn't the most surprising thing he did in 1977, surprisingly, when he whipped out the synthesizers for what's my favourite album of his because it's so odd and yet sounds so good. Heck, you have actual proto-trip on a Cat album ("Was Dog a Doughnut?") back when people thought that was just something Peter Sellers did before he fell over. The best part of the album is not that it's inventive for inventiveness' sake but that it understands when not to be: intro track "(Remember the Days of the) Old Schoolyard"'s Moogy fanfare brings them in solid, but gentler tracks like "(I Never Wanted) To Be a Star" and "Child For a Day" know when to say when. Particularly underappreciated is "Life," with a welcome touch of prog in the bridge, and of the instrumentals while "Was Dog a Doughnut?" gets all the retrospective bemusement "Kypros" has a throwback beguilement all its own. The tracks in the middle kind of blur together and he was probably bit too stingy with the schmaltz overall, but wow, what a record. It cries out for the modern re-release it so richly deserves, in particular the legendary Ringo Starr sessions which to date only exist as bootlegs. (Content: no concerns.)

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They Might Be Giants, BOOK

The TMBG formula still holds in 2021 — an inexplicable cover, an opaque title — but for a late-career record it's a relief this one's not purely by the numbers. Reflective of quarantine sensibilities the tracks are longer and (at least for this band) more meditative, especially my favourite track "I Can't Remember the Dream," the backwards echo of "I Broke My Own Rule" and the mesmerizing "Wait Actually Yeah No," though their tilted college rock feel is alive and well in tracks like "Moonbeam Rays," closer "Less Than One" and "Brontosaurus" ("It had been going so well/and then I broke my eggshell") with even a bit of dance music in "I Lost Thursday." Longtime fans may decry the lowered weirdness quotient, with the possible exception of that farty foghorn thing in "If Day for Winnipeg" and the album's best lyrics "Put on the cuffs/I've broken Godwin's law," maybe the subtle sly snark of "Super Cool," and in a like fashion some of the songs are uncharacteristically downright conventional (even with the lyrics "Darling, The Dose" could practically be a lost Beach Boys session; the boring "Lord Snowden" comes off like Al Stewart in a bad way). But other than the unnecessary lead-in "Synopsis for Latecomers" which absolutely fails to set the proper tone at all, there's really only two serious things wrong with this disc: first, dammit, why are there no track names in the CD gatefold, and second, why do we have to pay so much to get your baffling too-big-for-liner notes companion book? Don't tease me with that title if there's not gonna be one. (Content: no concerns.)

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Led Zeppelin, Houses of the Holy

Although Edwin Meese would probably arrest you for the cover (it's a wonder the RUC didn't at the time), for my questionably informed money this is some of the band's best work. The range is more sophisticated and the production is better, and instead of just blues and rock there's ballads ("The Rain Song" — take that, George Harrison), wacky riffing ("The Crunge"), and even reggae ("D'yer Mak'er"). But yes, some blues and rock too: "Dancing Days" and Robert Plant's ode to his daughter in "The Ocean," plus a mashup of everything in "Over The Hills And Far Away" and the raucous, rollicking lead "The Song Remains the Same" (with a touch of prog to punch it up). One song fails to fire on most cylinders (the lugubrious "No Quarter"), the lyrics rarely match their tracks' melodic complexities and newer fans will wonder where the title track went (it's actually on Physical Graffiti even though it was recorded around the same time), but outside of their compilations I still think this album delivers more consistently than nearly all their other studio work. The 2014 reissue adds a second disc of rough mixes, though I submit that kind of thing was exactly why Coda flopped. (Content: no concerns.)

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Pylon, Chomp

Hypnotic, at times baffling and never like anything you've heard before or since, the most accessible release from the elder statespersonpeople of the turn of the Reagan era Athens-alt scene (to be sure a coarsely relative statement). The formula doesn't stray a great deal from Gyrate; Vanessa Briscoe's murky, murmury vocals still diffuse more fog than they dispel, with sharp edges and shrieks like flashlights suddenly igniting in your eyes, and the same sort of taut paranoia propelled by the unstable yet purposeful shuffle of Curtis Crowe's drumming and the deep slap of Michael Lachowski on bass. Rather, the difference is in production and mood: the grit is there, but it's swifter and airier ("Beep," floaty closer "Altitude"), it even flirts with layers (the almost whimsical "Italian Movie Theme"), and the lyrics land more heartfelt than simply angsty ("Yo-Yo," "No Clocks"). But just to remind you they'd never sell out, the centrepiece remains the tinny menacing dirge of "Crazy," and lead-off "K" lets you know any new affectations are entirely under their own control. After all, to let it be pigeonholed as mere post-punk or new wave would ruin the idea. (Content: no concerns.)

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The Clash, London Calling

It's noteworthy to observe that for however many music acts don't know what they want to be at the beginning, a few of the greats do a style sprawl right in the middle. Yes, London Calling has all the punk attitude you expect from their third album, but also spreads on a healthy helping of soul, jazz, rockabilly and even a touch of ska and reggae (no doubt Guy Stevens' towering influence), and to my great surprise it all goes together brilliantly. You want a revolution? They'll play it. You want strutting and brass? They've got it. Social commentary? Silly jams? Name it. (Pete Townshend-esque guitar smashing? Sure!) The amazing part is how well it meshes; the undercurrent of attitude fuses it all well. In fact, there's so much great stuff here and the deft touch between edgy and entertaining is so adeptly handled that I can't think of a song I didn't like. But that's kind of its weakness, isn't it? It's 19 tracks of everything under the sun, and I do mean everything — like almost every double album ever made it goes on a bit too long even if the going's really good. The 25th anniversary version adds on a disc of premixes which have the same energy but not the same level of production, and except for the handful of unreleased tracks mixed in they're interesting exactly once. (Content: adult themes in "Lovers Rock," violent imagery in "Spanish Bombs," "Koka Kola" and "Guns of Brixton.")

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Crowded House, Intriguer

What impresses me most about this album is how, like a boat deftly piloted between hostile cliffs and crags, it brings you some dramatic scenery without smashing on the rocks. There's enough alternative edge without veering into grunge ("Inside Out"), enough texture without getting caught up in snobbery ("Saturday Sun") or moroseness ("Archer's Arrows," "Either Side of the World"), and sunny beats without drowning in sugar ("Twice If You're Lucky"). Heck, there's even a touch of country without being clichéd ("Elephants"). The slashed wallpaper cover unnerves me and the lyrics sometimes seem better on paper, but Neil Finn's earnest vocals never back down, and the guitar, melodies and luxurious backing deliver especially with Yank import drummer Matt Sherrod coming into his own after Time on Earth. Easily their best work since their first life in the late '80s. The deluxe version DVD includes the music video for "Saturday Sun," some live concert film from Auckland and an extended studio recording session, but unless you've got a jones for a Kiwi concert and don't want to buy a plane ticket, only the live cut "Don't Dream It's Over" gives you something new. (Content: no concerns.)

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Yellow Magic Orchestra, BGM

Those guys from Tokyo are at it again. With a frankly fraudulent title and a more idiosyncratic style (even, incredibly, a fashion of rap), BGM rewards the active listener despite its name with unusual textures and harmonies and early use of the famous TR-808. There's not much sampling here, either, which may have been due to the limits of the technology but also gives it a stronger musical identity. Some of the tracks are a little loopy for the casual interest ("Happy End," "Camouflage") and the vocals are as weak as ever (except for the Bowiesque "Cue"), but there's startling studio craft ("Music Plans," "Loom") and lots of layers ("1000 Knives") to geek out on, and electronica nerds won't be disappointed. (Content: no concerns.)

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Deodato 2

Continuing almost straight on from Prelude, Deodato hews again to a careful mix of original works and redos — and, unlike many of his contemporaries, actually succeeds. Though some of the covers let it down, it's not his classical stuff that does: his arrangements of Ravel's "Pavane for a Dead Princess" and Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" are sumptuous, super and right on point (I like Walter Murphy's arrangement of the latter best but this one is still outstanding), and the two original pieces on the LP, "Skyscrapers" and "Super Strut," are entrancing jams with lots of jazz and depth to get lost in. Instead, it's the more modern rearrangements that fall flat; on the original LP cut, this was "Nights in White Satin," which lost its sexiness along with the vocals and runs like emasculated Muzak, and his replay of Steely Dan's "Do It Again" on the CD reissue analogously flails. But the CD reissue also adds two more excellent original tracks ("Latin Flute" and "Venus"), so no matter which one you've got, you're getting a lot of good music. (Content: pure instrumental.)

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Green Day, Dookie

You know what you're getting into from the title. The lyrics are sophomoric and none too sophisticated ("Sassafras Roots" was the dimmest bulb) and some of the riffs ring samey, but it starts hard ("Burnout"), goes fast and doesn't really stop. Plus, for as simplistic as the themes are, their tongue's in their collective cheeks enough that the joke might be on me ("When I Come Around" and "Longview"). This brand of punk has a little too much bubblegum for the hardestcore ("Pulling Teeth," "She") and their intermittent slower moments don't quite connect (especially "F.O.D.", though I salute the venom), but those are brief and a matter of degree. It's iconoclastic, ebullient and irreverent, the kind of album that really sticks to the wall. (Content: S- and F-bombs, adult themes.)

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The Jam, Snap!

What made The Jam really stand out was, for all the neo-Mod trappings and punk class consciousness, its fundamentally optimistic blue-eyed soul basis throughout. Paul Weller may have been a jaded observer of humanity in the form of all the best punk bands, and sometimes the style leaks through, but don't confuse that sort of societal mirror with nihilism (cf. Sex Pistols, etc.): if society could be shown its wrongs, it could change them. That means the thuggery in "Down in the Tube Station at Midnight" or the bitter ennui in "Smithers-Jones" or even the hoarse defiance of "Going Underground" are rooted in a very different outlook that this collection shows truly evolving, peaking in piercing social studies like "Town Called Malice" punctuated by pop-friendly cuts like the evergreen "Start!" or the resigned acidity of "The Bitterest Pill (I Ever Had To Swallow)." Indeed, it's their earlier, more proto-punk efforts that are the weaker tracks on this exquisite compilation, though only by degree. Originally a double LP with a special 4-track live EP in the earliest pressings, for years fans contended with Compact Snap!, a 60-minute bowdlerization which eliminated eight tracks and all of the EP to boil down to a nearly complete singles pack. Universal corrected this indignity in the 2009 rerelease, even throwing in the EP, but I'll say for my money that the twelve missing tracks were good but hardly essential. There's something to be said for getting straight to the point. (Content: mild expletives.)

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Mark Ronson, Uptown Special

Get your friends together and groove because it's a funk party throwback album in 20-freaking-15, and all Ronson's buddies are coming here to jam. Sure, you have Bruno Mars and the chart topper "Uptown Funk," and it's so fun and fresh you can almost forgive the heavy rotation it gets. And yes, two Stevie Wonder artsy-fartsy bookend collabs smacks of stunt casting, and the callback in "Crack in the Pearl" was unnecessary. (Plus: Mystikal on "Feel Right" needs to chill the heck out.) But for as plastic and commercial as the production comes off, the Kevin Parker tracks ("Summer Breaking," the unironic use of the word isosceles in "Daffodils," and especially the gauzy, glittery edges of "Leaving Los Feliz") have real emotional heft to them, and "In Case of Fire" and "Heavy and Rolling" run silly, smooth and sparkly in suitable measure. Not consistent enough ("I Can't Lose" - oh really?) nor long enough to win that fifth star, but he certainly didn't send his guest performers home in the morning with nothing to show for it. (Content: F- and N-bombs on "Feel Right," mild expletives on "Uptown Funk," drug references in "Leaving Los Feliz.")

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David Bowie, (The Rise and Fall of) Ziggy Stardust (and the Spiders from Mars)

Compare with Lou Reed around this time: Bowie had some of the same challenging subject matter, definitely a similar milieu, clearly cross-pollinated styles, and yet delivered a cleaner, clearer product with actual performance value. (Thought question: whose fault was Transformer, performer Reed or co-producer Bowie?) The turbulent early 1970s still ring true in "Five Years," but the net effect is more carefully constructed, and even prattly nonsense like "Soul Love" and throwaway tracks like "It Ain't Easy" or "Suffragette City" (a good glam bopper, at any rate) rub shoulders with richer productions in "Moonage Daydream," sharp character studies in "Lady Stardust" and of course gorgeous crown jewels like "Starman" and the title track. Even though his lyrics (and for that matter the bare wisp of a concept) aren't always on point, when they are they cut deep, even literally in closer "Rock'N'Roll Suicide" which manages to be sensitive without being (too) maudlin. Not all Bowie's contemporaries learned the artistic lesson this album teaches — maybe Ian Hunter, but probably one of the few — and definitely to their detriment. (Content: adult references and mild language.)

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The O'Jays, Back Stabbers

A provocative landmark of soul from title to tracks. Yes, you have the hit singles like "Back Stabbers" and the instant hook of "Love Train," but the album cuts and B-sides are almost just as solid, particularly the feel-good grooves like lead-off "When The World's At Peace" and the effervescent "(They Call Me) Mr. Lucky." Some clever lyrics are on offer here too, my favourite being the thoughtful infidelities of "Listen To The Clock On The Wall" as an interesting emotional foil to the album's more acerbic offerings (the title track for sure but also "Shiftless, Shady, Jealous Kind of People," which doesn't mince any words with its opinions). The fifth star falls off partially for "Back Stabbers"' core riff turning up too many places but largely for its carefully considerated sedateness; while this is also its strength, it also means some otherwise better cuts take longer to get cooking than they ought to ("992 Arguments" and ironically "Time To Get Down" in particular). But other than that the rest is sublime, and I've got no qualms saying so right to their faces. The 2011 remaster adds the abridged single of "Back Stabbers," and as such is largely pointless by definition, but the six-minute remix of "Love Train" is as close to a 12-inch as you'll get of a song that really deserves one. (Content: adult themes on "Listen To The Clock On The Wall.")

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Muse, Absolution

I had to check the disc to make sure I was hearing Matt Bellamy sing and not Thom Yorke, but I was, and I meant that in a good way. One of the better prog outings so far during this turn-of-the-21st renaissance, at their finest ("Apocalypse Please," "Blackout," the classical piano of "Butterflies and Hurricanes" and the paranoiac closer "Ruled By Secrecy") the vocals, rafter-high harmonies and effervescent, atmospheric orchestration (even an explicit entracte and interlude) are everything a revanchist rock mannerist would desire — with a Storm Thorgerson cover to boot. They didn't forget the rockers either ("The Small Print") nor the softer moments ("Endlessly"). The fifth star falls off for some intermittent stylistic issues; headliner single "Stockholm Syndrome" doesn't know if it wants to be symphonic or slamming and "Falling Away With You" and "Hysteria" have too much grit and not enough texture. But an album that flirts this much with religion and theology even as it includes the "Thoughts of a Dying Atheist" ("it scares the hell out of me/and the end is all I see") clearly aspires to greater thematic depths than most other pop. On that level, it succeeds handsomely. (Content: no concerns.)

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Def Leppard, Pyromania

This album didn't create hair metal (it's not even clear High 'n' Dry did that), but between the ballads and banging it sure made it work. Tossing their heavy metal roots in the bin, they channeled their inner Dokken and turned out an album that you'll dig every track on even if none of it burns, er, breaks any new ground. Choice moments: the as-you-see-it "Rock Rock (Till You Drop)," some actual albeit actually cheesy pathos in "Photograph" and power anthem "Foolin'." Oh, and don't forget Mutt Lange's mock German count-in to "Rock of Ages," the most relevant contribution a producer has ever made to any album. The 2009 reissue adds a 1983 show live set-list, though other than their cover of CCR's "Travelin' Band" die hard Leppardists won't find a lot there that's new. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Depeche Mode, Violator

A veritable oil slick of a disc, black and sleek and smooth on the surface but with iridescent flows and transitions that really grab on to you. It's a little, uh, unrefined in parts and the first couple tracks ("World in My Eyes," "Sweetest Perfection") are thematically banal, but the melodies cover its rougher moments and set up the finer ones to come, especially "Enjoy the Silence," the ominous "Policy of Truth" and "Blue Dress," admittedly a little pervy, but featuring a lovely emotive bridge to the final track. And hey, dig the Floyd "One of These Days" callback in "Clean," and "Personal Jesus" gets points for being conceptually memorable even if the erratic beat isn't exactly a religious experience. A landmark for the twilight of new wave, this album is where they most lived up to their talent. The 2006 reissue adds four bonus tracks on the DVD companion disc, though the two remixes that follow them feel more perfunctory than innovative. (Content: Adult themes in "World in My Eyes" and "Blue Dress.")

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Ohio Players, Gold

The best of their work for a general audience, not least of which for being one of their few album covers you can actually show in public (that is, if your mother's fairly open minded, or if she previously appeared in Playboy). Most of the big hits made it — one glaring exception to be noted — like "Love Rollercoaster," "Skin Tight" and "Fire," but there are also two decent new tracks ("Feel The Beat (Everybody Disco)" and the disordered but earnest "Only A Child Can Love") and a couple excellent album cuts, notably "Far East Mississippi," which fully captures the sweat and seamy menace after dark of the 1970s Deep South like no other song. Plus, by being a mid-career compilation, they managed to avoid including the crap the band churned out after it. The funk is fabulous and the beat is solid, but it loses a fifth star for two omissions: "O-H-I-O," from Angel immediately following, so we'll partially forgive that, but I can't abide them failing to add "Funky Worm." ("Jive Turkey," which is included, is zippy but no comparison.) After all, if they really did to Ester Cordet what rumour says they did, surely that reputation would have induced Westbound sniveling in fear to negotiate its inclusion. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Pearl Jam, Ten

No alternative band likes to be a prototypical anything because everyone's a special snowflake, but this album set the aesthetic a billion acts consciously aped for a decade to follow and arguably none of Pearl Jam's own follow-ons transcended it either. Despite the fact contemporary listeners might find it comparatively sedate or maybe even slow, and the production isn't always dynamically adventurous, the album delivers with weighty themes, McCready/Gossard's skillful guitar riffs and the bassy, groaning vocals of Eddie Vedder. The grind is good when it's hopping ("Even Flow," "Deep"), and there's a surprising amount of philosophical thought ("Alive") mixed with genuinely tender, raw emotion (from the conflicted eroticism of "Black" to the aspirational nostalgy in "Release"), at least when it doesn't devolve into amorphous angst ("Once," to its detriment). In fact, that accessible level of emotion is the strongest part of the album, translating unobstructed by artifice even when the band's stylistic reach gets past their grasp (the harmonic ambiguities of "Oceans" get an A for effort but an incomplete for melody). It's why a single like "Jeremy" succeeded: despite, or perhaps because of, the childlike lyrics and the disturbing subject matter, you could feel the buried anger fume in every string and syllable, and for five minutes we were all that tortured kid together. Indeed, exactly that sort of effortless auditory transference is why this album still succeeds today. The 2009 reissue adds a few Mookie Blaylock demos from the interregnum between Mother Love Bone and this incarnation; they are inferior to the worthy B-sides and session outtakes that are also included (especially "Brother," which really should have been included to start with). Although the iTunes re-release's live bonus tracks make for a solid show, the physical reissue is really the one most fans will enjoy more, though the replica cassette and LP inclusions might be a little much. (Content: F-bombs, adult themes, violence.)

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Prince, Welcome 2 America

A posthumous release of a 2010 recording, this newly released gem from his estate is one of the better outings and certainly the best release so far since his unfortunate demise. The funk and R&B are solid but sufficiently updated for the modern taste, and while his self-production is a little stingy with the dynamics, its live jam feel is blessedly free of booth diddling; both he and his skillful backing mercs play like he never left this earth. Lyrically it's a mixed bag, some great uplifting semi-gospel ("1000 Years From Here," "One Day We Will All B Free") and thoughtful topicality (title track, "Born 2 Die") undermined by puerile manstrutting ("Check The Record," "When She Comes," snicker snicker nudge nudge), but the insta-singles are fun ("Hot Summer") and the slow moments burst with soul ("Stand Up And B Strong"), and his now almost nostalgic use of single character words means you won't have to spend a lot of time texting the track names 2 ur friends. (Content: adult themes.)

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