Zapp

The world did not need a third P-Funk clone after the artificial bifurcation of Parliament and Funkadelic, nor did said clone need to be produced by Bootsy. The music's good enough in a basic sense, I suppose, but notable mostly in its quantity than their quality ("Coming Home" in particular could have been twice as good if it were half as long) and its repetitiousness drags the 40 minute runtime out into six sometimes interminable tracks. I like a 12" as much as the next guy, but give me something new to listen to. Still, "Funky Balance" on, er, balance manages to exceed its unnecessary length with a legitimate if repetitive groove, "Be Alright" is a solid R&B outing, and of course the classic "More Bounce to the Ounce" — almost stylistically out of place with its enthusiastic new wave funk — starts the album off strong. The chief issue is that it goes downhill from there; no amount of juice can save it from its own self-cannibalization. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Yes, Close to the Edge

Some of the best prog nonsense from any band. The lyrics are gobbledygook ("total mass retain"?) and the jams go all over the place, but it's all so earnest and played so straight that it feels like it really means something, and the beauty of art rock is that it can mean anything you like. The strongest is the long-play title track, which showcases an early riff I'd swear I've heard Phish rip off plus an astonishing array of instruments and production effects, including a haunting bridge with water drips and echo as if they were playing a subterranean stage hundreds of miles beneath the surface. It builds incredibly well, too, up to a tremendous finish, something that the other two tracks, as accomplished as they are, do not manage nearly as effectively. That isn't to say they aren't good, though "Siberian Khatru" is a little too noodly and "And You And I" is a little too spare, but their chief sin is only being lesser. The 2003 reissue includes a castrated A-side cover of Simon and Garfunkel's "America" which includes their odd vocal take and excludes the more interesting jam that follows, along with the typical tedious studio outtakes, though the distilled-down single version of "Close to the Edge" as "Total Mass Retain" is a good starter track for the casual interest. This is probably the version to look for because the so-called 2013 definitive edition is absolutely excessive in what it includes and would intimidate even the most ardent Yes-head. The audiophiles will geek out on the surround mix, though. (Content: no concerns.)

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Frank Zappa, Hot Rats

Zappa's first after jettisoning the Mothers of Invention, this brash and breathtaking landmark of acid fusion seamlessly blurs the lines between prog and jazz in over forty minutes of wild-eyed bliss. (Also wild-eyed: the GTOs' Miss Christine on the cover emerging hot, pink and bothered from a concrete crypt.) All six tracks are stellar but "Peaches en Regalia" is the undisputed jewel from its infectious hooks, fascinating multi-instrument harmonies and startling production effects like buzzy reeds yipping away at double speed like kazoos; its little brother "Son of Mr. Green Genes" is nearly as good for nearly the same reasons, and Zappa even got something consistent out of Captain Beefheart for a change as the sole vocalist on "Willie The Pimp." Loses its fifth star solely for its more meandering moments not being everyone's cup of tea, and that's truly the only reason, because instrumentally and technically the album is near peerless. Hardcore Zappatistas will menacingly scrap over the relative virtues of the original LP mix (resurrected on current CD pressings) versus the 1987 Rykodisc CD, the latter largely reflected in a substantially expanded "The Gumbo Variations," but I'm not that rabid and "frankly" either is excellent. It should also be noted that Zappa himself did the 1987 remaster, so there's no use appealing to authority. (Content: mild adult themes on "Willie The Pimp.")

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Bob James, 12

Another smooth, sinuous and unspectacular outing from the king of unchallenging jazz, though I'm not actually dissing him here, because too many in this genre fail to accomplish even that. Tracks like "Midnight" and "No Pay, No Play" run a little long but hold your attention well enough, as does "Legacy" with its gentle if lengthy guitar, while "Ruby, Ruby, Ruby" and its lead sax roll along superbly like tires on the freshest road. There's no unique verve (compare with "Angela" from Taxi) and no gripping central style, yet it's all so sufficiently consistent you won't much care. The '80s synths and beats (especially in "Moonbop" and "I Need More of You") do sometimes wear a bit dated to modern ears, though the album's ironically at its best when it indulges in it; indeed "Courtship," the ripely rambunctious second track, is undeniably its strongest (and shortest) piece with complex arrangements and a delightfully shifty rhythm. This unambitious outing won't blow your mind or your speakers, but you'll probably find yourself grooving along to it anyway. (Content: pure instrumental.)

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Patrick & Eugene, Postcard from Summerisle

It's got a big helping of British whimsy but that gimmick dies quick. Lead-in "The Birds and the Bees" is a genuinely zippy earworm that deserves all the airplay and ad spots it's wound up in (like the one with VWs multiplying like, er, Rabbits), and "A Dog's Tale" is a cute little number from the view of man's best friend — even if it rips off the same basic hook. On the other hand, most of the rest of the album is afflicted by overwrought style pastiches that are skillful but don't really gel ("Circus Train" and "Tribal" in particular but also the ponderous Flanders-and-Swann wannabe "Old Times"), and they have rather suspect choices in covers: the retread of Kylie Minogue (!)'s "Can't Get You Out of My Head" bops along credibly enough but their version of the "59th Street Bridge Song" is pedestrian and their Beyoncé (!!) cover of "Crazy in Love" is obnoxious. Despite the obvious instrumental and engineering talent here it didn't really seem to translate into anything very engaging. CD issues include a single "pop mix" of "The Birds and the Bees" plus another interminable instrumental "Garden of Love," though there are a few impressively atmospheric moments of note. (Content: mild adult themes in "Crazy in Love.")

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Chumbawamba, Tubthumper

And they say socialists can't dance. Not nearly as tart nor as astringent as their prior post-punk incarnation, they're still topical and they're still barbed, but this time they've got a beat. The rollicky "Tubthumping" got into a lot of people's heads who'd never heard of the term, and the album shoots its wad a little quick by front-loading it with that and their other strong singles "Amnesia" and "Drip, Drip, Drip," but there's still a lot to be said for the zippy remainder. The audio clips between tracks are a little distracting (though I did enjoy the, er, thematic meditation from Rising Damp), but they're all in good fun, and the vox populi extracts really cut to the heart. Still, people dared call them sellouts? Put the pop shift aside for a moment and consider this album brought anarcho-syndicalism to a generation that couldn't even spell it. How about their comparison of a faithless union leader to Pontius Pilate in "One by One" (complete with hymn backing)? How about their sharp-as-knives criticism of lifestyle-oriented lifestyles in "The Good Ship Lifestyle," or the seductive ease of the blame game in "Scapegoat" (with a instrumental callback)? "Outsider" and "Smalltown" may not be as lyrically adept, but they're still standing up for the non-conformist. Heck, even Alice Nutter was saying people could just go nick the album off the shelves if they wanted to. Now, that's commitment to putting the products of production in the proletariat's hands. I wonder if I still have the receipt. (Content: mild expletives with more severe ones bleeped, gleeful Marxism.)

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Run-DMC, Raising Hell

Hip-hop wasn't big until this album, really. But this album made it really big and did so almost effortlessly. Dig the variety: silly stuff like "My Adidas" and "You Be Illin'" (setting the mold for later acts like DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince), beatboxing in "Hit It Run," hard beats in "Peter Piper" and "It's Tricky" and phat rock and bass in "Raising Hell," probably the most technically well-constructed track on the disc. "Dumb Girl" might hit a little too close to home for some and "Son Of Byford" is a dopey throwaway, but "Proud To Be Black" is a literate, aggressive and proud history lesson any listener of any colour can learn from. And let's not forget their new advance in sampling, where instead of just DJing the song Aerosmith came back to actually perform on their cover of "Walk This Way" and rebooted themselves in the process. That's big. The 2005 remaster includes an "acapella" version of "My Adidas" which isn't all that special and the two radio spots (one complete with outtakes and producer) are absolutely brainless, but "Lord Of Lyrics" has a solid rock backing strong enough to make the main album and the rough cuts and glitches of the "Walk This Way" demo have a strangely affable feel that puts you right in the studio. (Content: mild expletives; S- and F-bombs in the "Live At The Apollo" spot.)

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Simon & Garfunkel, Bridge Over Troubled Water

This was the first album I ever owned, part of a four-pack of Simon and Garfunkel cassettes my parents got me in junior high, and even to this day this one is still the standout. It was more than just the folk music of their early days and even transcended the eclectic wider-world feel of Bookends, yet remained grounded in the human stories and the murmuring vocals they started with. It didn't hurt that there was much more of it, too; there are many strong tracks here, not least the opening title track with Spectoresque reverb and shimmery stings of percussion like seawater splashing on rock, plus the tortuous memories of "The Boxer" past his prime and the meditative airy B-side "The Only Living Boy in New York," though as a kid I gravitated towards the peppier ones such as the slightly salacious "Cecilia" and "Baby Driver." Indeed, the song I'm personally most fond of, even though it is by no means their best work, is the unreliable narration of "Keep The Customer Satisfied" who winds his suspect tale of persecution with a rockabilly feel and a full set of brass that is in fact just as satisfying as advertised. The live "Bye Bye Love" seems tossed in at the last moment, and "Song For The Asking" yields a wantingly wan goodbye for their last and greatest work, but precious few of their albums together or solo have ever approached its excellence and its appeal is practically universal. The 2001 remaster adds two demos, the Haitian folk song "Feuilles-O" which is engaging but far too short and too much of a throwback, and a disappointingly flat-sounding earlier take of the title track; neither are at all as compelling as the main work. (Content: mild adult themes in "Cecilia" and "Baby Driver.")

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Queensrÿche, Empire

It's a rare band that puts the progressive in progressive metal, though politically that wouldn't be the title track where Geoff Tate's officious voice-over bemoans the relative dearth of local law enforcement funding. Still, tracks like "Best I Can" and "Resistance" hit hard in all the right ways, and even if this album does sit right on the transition from hair metal to grunge (hear those synth hits in "The Thin Line") "Jet City Woman" and "Another Rainy Night (Without You)" mostly avoid sounding too dated. But the slower, meatier and more deliberate pieces ("Della Brown", "Hand on Heart," "One and Only") have real art and a rich sound fostered by the environmental effects throughout the album and even a cameo from an answering machine; oddly, the otherwise beguiling "Silent Lucidity" may have the most ornate prog trappings but wears the least well in authenticity, almost a cynically deliberate attempt at a metaphysical "Comfortably Numb" (Michael Kamen's presence wouldn't be a coincidence, either). Nevertheless, you could do a lot worse for hard rock, and much of the pretense of lesser art metal bands is refreshingly absent. The 2003 reissue added three ill-advised B-sides, including a disastrous cover of "Scarborough Fair," and the 20th anniversary second disc is another lazy pack-in all-live recording not sufficiently interesting to seek out on its own. Just buy the original; you can probably find it cheaper too. (Content: adult themes in "The Thin Line.")

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U2, No Line on the Horizon

I know Bono was shooting for "future hymns" but this album sounds an awful lot like previous ones, with some interpolated actual hymns ("White As Snow") thrown in for good measure. There isn't the wildness of Achtung Baby, the experiments of Pop and Zooropa or the punch of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb; what persists is a throwback feel with that same level of lyrical complexity but a hollower style that varies widely from refreshingly ethereal to vaguely claustrophobic. I like the more contemplative pieces ("Moment of Surrender" and "FEZ-Being Born") but some are just hackneyed ("Unknown Caller" with out-of-place references to passwords and the Macintosh Finder), and "I'll Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight" has their classic verve but still sounds more like a soundcheck than a studio. (Strangely, it's those Steve Lillywhite-produced tracks that are the weakest artistically; you can really tell who had the reins when.) Fortunately they can intermittently find their edge with solid, harder-hitting tracks like the title and the off-kilter Middle Eastern shifts of "Get On Your Boots," and in the end it's still a good album, but it nevertheless comes off as slightly beneath their talent. The iTunes bonus tracks aren't anything to write home about either; the Crookers remix of "Get On Your Boots" in particular merely makes a pleasingly daffy track daft. (Content: S-bomb on "Cedars of Lebanon.")

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Sparks, Halfnelson

They later billed themselves as Englishmen; they were not. They billed themselves as Halfnelson; that didn't stick (in fairness Albert Grossman was largely to blame). They billed themselves as good; their début wasn't. All the pieces were there: Russ Mael sang like a 12-year-old with tight pants, Ron Mael had his stache, the lyrics were wacky and the wit was undeveloped but present. Unfortunately, the melody lines are all over the place, self-savaging otherwise better tracks ("Wonder Girl," "Simple Ballet") and dooming others ("Biology 2"), and producer Todd Rundgren left too much to the band who resorted to stripped-down mixes and studio jams because of their inexperience. The rock sort of works ("High C," "(No More) Mr Nice Guys") but doesn't really play to their strengths, and the more competent slow jams like "Fletcher Honorama" are listenable but hardly stand out. But glimpses of the future show up now and then: "Saccharin and the War's" war sacrifice motif for weight loss is only let down by the flat recording and "Slowboat" might have fallen off a better album yet to come. That album wasn't the next one A Woofer in Tweeter's Clothing, either, which reissuer Edsel put together in a two disc set. The production under Thaddeus Lowe is richer, but the same problems persist, and it wasn't until they jettisoned the Mankeys and went to Island Records that they really took off. The most curious inclusion is a earlier mix of "I Like Girls," practically a demo tape, and nowhere near as fun as the fully realised version from Big Beat. About the best I can say is they got better. (Content: mild adult themes.)

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Al Stewart, Modern Times

For my money this remains his finest work: Alan Parsons' production is tight in the right places and sumptuous when it matters, and Stewart didn't lay it on too thick with the lyrics or his usual obscure historical fetishes. (They're still obscure, mind you, but this time around at least he doesn't wallow in it.) While "Next Time" is a bit wan and is easily the album's one weak track, "Not The One" is a moving story of relationships with a strangely satisfying twist, "Apple Cider Re-Constitution" has a peppy beat against a benignly apocalyptic setting and the title track is a deft, musically complex comparison of nostalgia's simultaneous pleasure and pain. There's also the character study "Carol" with useful neologisms such as "a cocaine holiday," and besides being great to sing along with "Sirens of Titan" rewards you with just enough literary indulgence to feel sophisticated without feeling stuck-up, which is always a solid balance to strike. The 2000 and 2007 reissues add various B-sides and retreads; they're neither as compelling or memorable as the main album, though the pleasant Beatle-esque charm of "Elvaston Place" does stand out. (Content: mild adult themes in "Carol" and "Modern Times.")

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Rick James, Come Get It!

Not nearly as nuts as the later Street Songs and its (in)famous standout single "Super Freak," his first solo album and the only one with his Stone City Band is better grounded, more funky and less ridiculous. It's still sassy and it's still got that trademark leering vibe, but the disco elements don't suck (especially "You And I," its best track, and "Be My Lady"), the bass struts right along even if tracks like "Sexy Lady" seem to lose their step a little, and he can deliver a surprisingly authentic level of emotion when he wants to ("Hollywood"). Of course, it wouldn't be a Rick James album without drugs (the eye-rollingly transparent "Mary Jane") and smarmy sex (the tiresome intro of "Dream Maker," though the R&B that follows isn't too bad), but unlike what followed there's more here than just startling the blue hair brigade. The 2014 reissues add longer versions of "You And I" which don't add much musically but they're still more of a good thing. (Content: adult themes, drug references.)

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Roger Waters, The Pros and Cons of Hitch Hiking

After the apparent break-up of Pink Floyd you assume he just had to get things out of his system, but there was no wise producer to tell him no. Tracks named after times on a clock face, sodden in self-indulgent lyrics from disjointed and emotionally distant vignettes, as Waters howls like an impotent cat in heat set to Michael Kamen's excessive arrangements: who has time for this? No one likes to think about their mid-life crises and forty-two minutes of someone else singing (badly) about theirs is less enticing still. I couldn't find a single track I liked even a little bit; even the Holophonics couldn't rescue this mess. (Content: adult themes, harsh language on "4:58" and an F-bomb on "5:06.")

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Cake, Pressure Chief

Danceability is not the typical descriptor I would give a Cake album, but this one gets your boogie bouncing. It's not just the horns and John McCrea's vocals, though those persist and flourish; it's also the newly phattened backgrounds with Xan McCurdy's heavier bass and Moogy synthesizers, all of which are so expertly paired that none of it comes across as gimmicky. The lyrics have sharpened up, too: "Wheels" captures the exile inherent in a relationship on the rocks (favourite line: "muscular cyborg German dudes"), "No Phone" could apply to any introvert anywhere desperately trying to escape, and while it's a Bread cover "The Guitar Man" paints the perfect picture of a flawed man who just wants to jam. It's still more evolution than revolution; "Take It All Away" is clearly inspired by their earlier cover of "I Will Survive," light songs like "She'll Hang The Baskets" and "End of the Movie" are really stylistic throwbacks and while "Carbon Monoxide" is sassy it's just a little too on the nose. But it's the groove and sheer exuberance of songs like "Dime," "Palm Of Your Hand" and particularly the album's finest moment "Waiting" that simply make you swing and sing, and not a track on this disc feels like a pop sellout in the end. (Content: F-bombs on "Carbon Monoxide.")

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Alice Cooper, Billion Dollar Babies

Who puts snakeskin on an LP gatefold? The same kind of man who would sing about necrophilia, that's who. But don't let that scare you off, necessarily: there's also a fabulous reworking of an earlier track as "Elected" (whose snark and brass section deserve airplay every November), tables turned with male sexual harassment in "Raped And Freezin'" and no doubt a vignette of Cooper's daily life in "No More Mr. Nice Guy," which really must be simultaneously experienced in the so-tacky-it's-great Pat Boone cover. But, yes, the creepy stuff. If you have the stomach for this sort of satire, what's notable is how, uh, tactfully it's approached: there's just enough menace in "Billion Dollar Babies" (and Donovan on guest vocals) to get the point across, just enough implication in "I Love The Dead" to hint not all is platonic. Only "Sick Things" gets a little too literal and "Generation Landslide"'s topical content gets boring and preachy. Nevertheless, do remember this album's not for everyone; there's even a song about the horrors of the dental chair, complete with groans and drill ("Unfinished Sweet"). Sir, at long last, is it safe? (Content: adult themes.)

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Rush, 2112

Given that half this album is consumed by an overwrought, hackneyed high-concept space fantasy of a hapless figure struggling (having rediscovered the guitar, no less) against priestly institutionalized oppressors, what's left? Other than "A Passage To Bangkok," an amusing if hazily transparent marijuana-fueled odyssey, and the licks if not the lyrics of libertarian fetish "Something For Nothing," not a lot. The actual music is well produced and I am the last person on earth who will begrudge a prog band an artistic excess or two in their suites. But even Geddy Lee's generally on-pitch banshee impersonation goes flat at times, particularly in "Tears," and then there's the lyrics and "2112"'s story. Didn't space rock die in 1969? (Content: sly drug references in "A Passage To Bangkok.")

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Tony! Toni! Toné!, Sons of Soul

What a revelation: an R&B act with actual instruments and actual musicship where the samples serve the tracks instead of just being them. And they built on what they learned in the tropics of Trinidad to turn out a unique album that's clearly of its genre but still stands alone in its quality. Lightfooted lead-off "If I Had No Loot" deserved all the airplay it got, and the throwback soul moments of "What Goes Around Comes Around," "Tell Me Mama" and "Leavin'" brilliantly fuse styles both old and new, yet there's no shortage of new jack swing ("Dance Hall," "Fun") and slow jams ("I Couldn't Keep It To Myself" and the knowingly corny "Slow Wine," with honey-on-biscuits vocal advising "let me explain") to round out the cycle. Some aspects aren't so positive: "My Ex-Girlfriend" is misogynistic schadenfreude with a beat, "(Lay Your Head On My) Pillow" is just a little too transparent, the drudgerous "Tonyies! In The Wrong Key" is probably on the wrong record too, and the otherwise dazzlingly smooth "Anniversary" and its 9-minute running time exemplify the album's other collective flaw, that it drags on just a little longer than it ought to. But most of their contemporaries were content to rely on overproduction and undercreation, and many still do, so let this be the analogue antidote. They're truly the offspring of the magic of soul, and I suspect soul overall is pretty darn proud of them. (Content: adult themes.)

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Cock Sparrer, Shock Troops

Oi! The most your typical Septic has ever heard off this album is admittedly its best, the knowing "I Got Your Number," run sped up in Jackass 3D while the team commits hijinx and at least one bodily injury in the exhaust from a private jet. But the punk is fun and the quality isn't suss, and if they lack some of the political awareness of their contemporaries that also means they lack some of their obnoxiousness (and outlasted them too, as "Where Are They Now" did prove). That doesn't mean they won't take prisoners in the process ("Take 'Em All") and it doesn't mean they fail to be topical ("Working," "Secret Army"), but if they're smart enough to know revolution is just replacing one type of oppression with another ("Watch Your Back") then they're smart enough to be more than attitude. As proof, at the end and out of left field comes the atmospheric, almost meditative naval story of "Out On An Island" that easily matches the best output of more outwardly cerebral bands. Even if that didn't sell many records to any audience, this one's still a keeper. The later reissues correct its chief flaw of brevity with even more great tracks; most, including the easily available Captain Oi! CD release, include "Argy Bargy" and the wacky B-side version of "Colonel Bogey" (with a spoon solo!), but the 18-track Taang! release throws in five more as well. All the contemporary reissues also include their only other notable single "England Belongs To Me," which became infamous as an anthem for skinheads who mistook its pride of country for white supremacy. These guys just can't catch a break. (Content: S-bombs on "Take 'Em All" and "Droogs Don't Run.")

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Judy Collins, Wildflowers

Willowy, waiflike and insubstantial, a vocal portrait of its singer, it's still got its charms even if the hoity-toity folksiness comes off as more condescending now and then than quaint. The Joni Mitchell tracks ("Michael from Mountains" and of course "Both Sides Now") are the best, with baroque flair and strings like a chamber trio in the summer sun and Collins' voice suggesting the very flowers you know are woven through her hair. Her own tracks are more morose and melancholic, however (though "Since You Asked" is nicely arranged, at least the verses), and the three Leonard Cohen selections ("Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye" in particular) just go breezily nowhere. The oddest conceit is the actual baroque Middle Ages fifth track, which apparently topped the Billboard charts in the 14th century. I suspect she aspired to high art; I suppose there are worse things than ending up high-falutin' instead. The Elektra reissue pairs it with the immediately following "Who Knows Where The Time Goes" which is itself hardly perfect, but maintains all the best musical attributes of this album while managing to be better produced and better written besides. (Content: no concerns.)

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