Scott Grooves - Pieces Of A Dream

Soma Quality Recordings: 1998

A deep house record is the last sort of sound I'd expect of an album with this sort of cover art, but Scott Grooves is from Detroit, so maybe Soma Quality figured sci-fi was justified. Still, what even is going on with this collage? Blue Earth, red pyramids, array of radio telescopes with a parade of elephants, flying ladybugs and butterflies. Pieces of a dream indeed, fragment of familiarity strewn about a nonsensical adventure in the land of Nod. But, oh man, once you realize you get into that lucid state of being, then the real fun begins. Here I come, Giza Pyramids Of Mars!

Patrick Scott got his start in the early '90s with Detroit-based Soiree Records International, releasing a smattering of EPs as Key Statements and DJ Scott. He soon adopted the name Scott Grooves, and signed with Soma Quality for a debut album, which did gang-busters for him. It seems, however, all that extra attention didn't suit his Detroit upbringing, and he went almost entirely independent after, self-releasing through his own, various prints (From The Studio Of Scott Grooves, Natural Midi). He remains active to this day, one of Detroit house's lasting fixtures along with Kenny Dixon Jr. and Mike Huckaby, though perhaps not as recognized as his Motor City peers. For a moment though, Mr. Grooves most definitely was, thanks to Pieces Of A Dream, and more specifically a singular track off the album. Let's talk about it now!

So Mothership Reconnection, a reworking of Parliament Funkadelic's tune of similar name. Clinton's here! Bootsy's here! Barrett's here! Worrell's here! Daft Punk is here! Okay, on the remix, but considering the French duo seldom did rubs of other people's music, you bet Soma Quality made it a huge selling point on the single. Their remix isn't on this album, of course, but don't let that dissuade you from checking out the original, over nine minutes of tight, funky action.

Getting to rework the P-Funk crew wasn't the least of Scott Groove's 'collaborations' either, rounding up several jazz musicians throughout. Opener Expansions features famed vibraphone player Roy Ayers plying his trade for a few extended solos, plus one Charles Green gets in a Rhodes solo at the end. Saxophonist Keith Kaminski struts his stuff in The Sax Speaks, and I'm thankful it's a solo that doesn't send needles through my ears (read The Verve Story reviews for more information). Bumpin On The Underground brings in Perry Hues for some smooth guitar action, and The Scat Groove has Gwen Fox doing that vintage “a-hey a'ya a'ya zim'da a'dem-dem a'daya” of jazzy lore.

Throughout it all, Scott Grooves lays down, well, solid house grooves, never letting his production overshadow his guest musicians. He's got a few, regular jams to himself for that (Pieces Of a Dream, New Day, Feels So Good), deep house with a touch of that futurist vibe Detroit is so well known for. Folks may come for the P-funk, but guaranteed they'll leave sated by the D-funk.

Various - Nu Balance

City Of Angels: 1998

This is the sort of CD that was destined for North American pawn shops. Everything about it triggers apathy, an item lost among the glut of an over-saturated, late '90s compilation market. It's got The Designer's Republic eye-catching aesthetic, but none of the skill. There's a big ol' NU plastered across its face, a desperate attempt at convincing you this CD, this one right here, contains only the most cutting-edge jams available. It's even got a snowboarder on the cover, despite having nothing to do with snowboarders, snowboarding, or boarding snowboarding hordes – but that's the cool new nu counter-culture, as is this music featuring drums and bass, so slap that dude on. And, should you flip the case just to see what sort of tracks it might have, there's The Crystal Method's Keep Hope Alive, luring you in with familiarity. Never mind it's the AK1200 rub of the tune, Nu Balance might be worth further investigation if the surrounding tunes are of comparable quality.

That all said, I didn't find this CD in a pawn shop; at least, nothing local. I did spot it while surfing Amazon though, when browsing about for Balance DJ mixes. With such a cheap asking price, I figured it might be worth a couple talking points, and maybe even unearth a couple overlooked gems from a bygone era in the process.

Ah, no. City Of Angels, the label behind this CD, looked to capitalize on the West Coast's growing interest in jungle, highlighting domestic talent whom I'm sure were much cheaper to license out. A nice sentiment, giving overlooked U.S. names some shine, but considering the dearth of recognizable American d'n'b producers from that time, unfortunately not a profitable one.

A chunk of music in this ten-tracker comes care of Jungle Sky, a very important label out of New York City. Helmed by DJ Soul Slinger, it nurtured what little d'n'b scene there was on this side of the Atlantic, letting it simmer and grow while British-based Metalheadz, Moving Shadow, and Prototype dominated the discourse. Soul Slinger himself offers two cuts, more on the leftfield side of jungle production. 5 AM Rinse from 1.8.7. is even odder, in that its lo-fi quality sounds like it was ripped direct from a live pirate broadcast, including ever-present MC. Elsewhere, DJ Ani's Eastern Influence really, really, really wants to be Photek's Ni Ten Ich Ryu - charming for the effort.

City Of Angels alum Front BC (more commonly known as The Rip-Off Artist) does some regular ol' d'n'b jams with The Front and Ojai (touching on the LTJ vibe in the latter). Westside Chemical do more of a chill tekno-jungle thing with Potstar, and Nu Balance rounds out with unremarkable ragga and neurofunk from acts that aren't even worth mentioning since they've no other Discoggian presence. As it goes for this CD in general: some interest for the scene faithful, but it's clear America was still playing catch-up to the U.K.'s top dons.

Everlast - Whitey Ford Sings The Blues

Tommy Boy: 1998

Throughout hip-hop's history, there's been the ongoing side-story of The Next Great White Hope. I won't get into the nitty-gritty of this tale here, as I only have a mere [self-imposed word count], and it's a topic that could cover a couple volumes worth of perspectives. The bottom line is there's always someone out there called upon to be the torch-bearer of Caucasian representation in rap. Your Beastie Boys. Your Eminem. Your... um, Vanilla Ice. Yet one name always slips from this discussion, despite being one of hip-hop's most successful artists throughout the '90s, one Erik Schrody. You know him better as Everlast.

Not that I blame the initial apathy, his 1989 debut Forever Everlasting one corny-ass example of rap, even with an Ice-T bump (that video for The Rhythm!). Fortunately, he also realized label management was forcing him into a mould he didn't fit, so Mr. Schrody soon found himself teaming up with Danny Boy and DJ Lethal, creating a little group by the name of House Of Pain - you've definitely heard of them. That only lasted a half-decade though, so Everlast went back to the solo scene, taking on a new persona of 'Whitey Ford', and put some learned guitar skills to use.

Hey, rap and rock were already mingling by the late '90s, so why not try the same thing with the blues? It has a similar origin story (music of poor black communities; co-opted by a lot of white guys), and it had been so long since Everlast's first album, perhaps the public would buy him as a road-weary troubadour of the down-trodden. Heck, how many outside hip-hop circles even knew there was an 'Everlast' as part of House Of Pain?

Not many, I wager, throwing those expecting more blues-hop in the vein of mega-charter What It's Like for a loop when throwing on Whitey Ford Sings The Blues. Some of rap's respected talents drop in for a cameo (Prince Paul, Guru, Sadat X with a few verses), and there's a fair bit of the traditional hippity-hop throughout the album. Heck, the intro is a parody of The Fat Boys, about as retro as rap could get in '98. Throughout, you get Everlast rapping about getting money (Money (Dollar Bill)), haters (Tired), drug abuse (Painkillers), rockin' the mic (Praise The Lord), and funky beats (Funky Beat). And it's all perfectly solid rappity-rap that Everlast displays. About two-thirds of Whitey Ford Sings The Blues doesn't shake the rap foundations the slightest.

Yet we mostly remember this album for the times he goes blues crooner (Ends, What It's Like, Today, Death Comes Callin'). It was such a unique, fresh angle to take the genre, it couldn't help but stand out from the pack. Still, I don't think folks were eager hearing more of it either, no one capitalizing on this sound to such a degree in subsequent years, Everlast included. But hey, it got him that collab' with Santana. That's gotta' be a plumb feather in his hat.

Ice Cube - War & Peace Vol. 1 (The War Disc)

Priority Records: 1998

The first Ice Cube record many white metal fans bought, because they sure as Hell didn't know any better. Check it though, that scowling rapper guy, he's on the Family Values Tour, performing with nu-metal bands like Korn, Limp Bizkit, Orgy, and weird, angry Germans. They might have even recalled him from other stuff, like movies (Friday, Anaconda, that one about black youths in South Central), and something called Westside Connection where he sampled a Nine Inch Nails song. After pairing up with Korn though, folks well outside Ice-C's traditional scene were finally taking notice of his music output. And a good thing too, because by this point, many in hip-hop circles were writing Cube off as having lost the socially-conscious spitfire of his early work in lieu of lucrative movies and rock tours. War & Peace Vol. 1 all but cemented such notions.

Westside Connection did keep some embers glowing, proving Cube could still throw down lyrical beatdowns with the best of them. However, Common released a crushing dis' in The Bitch In Yoo, plus The Nation Of Islam forced various hip-hop groups to a peace summit so no more senseless deaths would arise from their beefs. It clearly sawed Cube's teeth off, changing focus to take on 'made-man' rap as the Don Mega. He's the king of his West Coast Mountain, yo', running these clubs and gangsta concerns, and like Hell he's gonna' relinquish that throne without a fight. Fine and all, such topics inspiring many rappers to be the best at their game. Trouble is, fewer hip-hop heads were buying it, seeing less of the 'hood narrator Ice Cube, and more O'Shea Jackson, business man and Hollywood actor. 'Don Mega' was just another mogul character, one that was quite played out by '98 in the hip-hop world (see: Puff Daddy, Master P, etc.), and definitely not one fans of older Cube cared to turn to for some social commentary. But hey, it's fun headbanging to crunchy guitars in Fuck Dying, amirite?

Another problem stems from production. There's the aforementioned rock-fusion, including Limos, Demos & Bimbos riffing on The Police's Behind My Camel I think (because sampling 'Sting' was cool). Much of The War Disc consists of Southern rap producers though, including N.O. Joe, E-A-Ski (notable for his work on early No Limit Records – Master P even cameos), and Bud'da, plus Cube on a few cuts himself. It's all got high-grade studio polish, but aside from a couple riffs and basslines, sounds like generic gangsta funk to my ears.

That all said, Cube does remain charismatic throughout, even when rapping about cliche topics. And when he does unleash some captivating narratives, such as the reflective Ghetto Vet, or nuttiness of Once Upon A Time In The Projects 2, it shows he could still tangle with hip-hop's best. Just a shame he so often settled for mediocrity here – good enough for all those metal kids checking him out for the first time, though.

The Orb - U.F.OFF - The Best Of The Orb

Island Records: 1998

It’s embarrassing admitting this, but U.F.OFF was the second Orb record I ever picked up. For sure I knew about all their previous albums (Orblivion was inescapable the year prior), even took a couple in as demos at music shops. For whatever reason though, I never bothered buying the Very Important Albums until well after the fact – wow, did Pomme Fritz really sour me on the Orb Experience that much? Yeah, cannot deny it did a little, but that whole ‘living in Canadian hinterlands’ where ‘electronica’ was scarce didn’t do me many favors either. Plus, having The Orb in your CD collection wasn’t exactly the ‘cool’ option around my peers, everyone more hip to The Prodigy, The Chemical Brothers, and Orbital. So the conglomerate that Alex Paterson built forever floated on the fringes of my fancy, an act I knew important enough to respect, but not necessarily dig through. You can bet my last dollar then, that finding a handy Best Of retrospective would give me the Orb crash-course I so desperately needed – got me all Orb-woke, son.

Obviously, a tidy twelve-tracker of The Orb’s first decade of music making is only scratching the surface, mostly settling on radio-friendly versions (or 7” mixes) to tell the tale. This includes the Orbital Dance Mix of A Huge Ever Growing etc. etc., which isn’t a remix from Orbital. Little Fluffy Clouds always was the dancier cut from Ultraworld, whereas Youth’s rub of Perpetual Dawn gives the tune more house pep (and, that bassline!). Further along, DJ Asylum (a reworking of Asylum from Orblivion) hits fast and hard with the breaks and earworms compared to its album counterpart, there’s an Original Mix of Towers Of Dub that lacks the harmonica but adds goofy dialog between a cop and hippie in trial, and a new track of Mickey Mars answers the question of “what would it sound like if The Orb used that Native chant from Enigma’s Return To Innocence?”. The remaining classic singles (plus Pomme Fritz (Meat ‘N’ Veg)) are generally so short as to only offer their basic components before moving on to the next cut. Hell, the lone Orbus Terrarum track, Oxbow Lakes, doesn’t even officially appear, hidden away as a secret song long after Pi (Part 1)’s minute-long runtime fades out.

Still, hearing all these vintage Orb tunes finally gave me enough appreciation for their work to start digging further, which I done did. Strange that such a release would have come out but a third into the group’s existence though. Did The Orb conglomerate figure their time in the sun was done? No, but their deal with Island Records sure was, feeling mistreated and maligned by the Major at that point. I mean, the cover art and title of this Best Of couldn’t be less subtle about their feelings if they tried, which astounds me they got away with it at all. Just a shame their retreat led to some of their most inessential work too.

Fear Factory - Obsolete

Roadrunner Records: 1998

How does one follow an album that creates an entirely new form of metal in the process - a unique genre cross-breeding with industrial while never losing sight of its thrash roots, and that few would or could replicate for years to come? By getting super-artistic, naturally, settling for nothing less than a high concept ‘rock opera’ opus, exploring ideas and expanding themes only touched upon in Demanufacture. Fear Factory would fully commit to an LP narrative, with a distinct Three-Act story, all the while pushing their songwriting abilities beyond the full-throttle intensity that marked their prior work – so many different time-signatures, mang! It would be bold, it would be unprecedented, it would challenge metal in daring, new- wait, are those record scratches in Edgecrusher? Oh no, it’s too soon to hop on the nu-metal bandwagon!

Obsolete (or ºBSΩLE†e, if you’re ace with your character map) was ambitious for a third recording effort, one that could have flopped had Fear Factory overreached their ability. Instead, the album would go on to be their best selling record, though clearly feeding off the positive buzz Demanufacture and touring generated (also, that cover of Gary Numan’s Cars, which obviously fit nowhere here). Things were definitely looking toppers for Fear Factory then, but a series of unfortunate incidents following Obsolete’s release put a serious grind on the band’s future prospects. Those are musings for another time though, if I ever review any of their albums between this and Genexus (not very likely).

The setting for Obsolete should be familiar to anyone clued into the band’s dystopian outlook, laying the future-shock stage plainly with opener Shock. Follow-up Edgecrusher gives us our protagonist – or antagonist if you’re cheering for the machine overlords – and aforementioned wiki-wikis aside, is a solid bit of groove-mosh. Stomp-thrasher Smasher/Devourer introduces us to the Edgecrusher’s foe, a police mech run amok (“you’re a loose cannon, Literal Walking Cannon!”), while Securitron (Police State 2000) gives us the ruling overseers keeping the rabble in check. All par for the course in this sort of tale.

The middle portion of the album gets into the society in revolt, ol’ Edgecrusher helping stoke the fires for freedom against humanity’s oppression from the robotic ruling class. This being Fear Factory, the titular cut doesn’t mince words in letting the silly homo sapien populus know their place in this strange forbidding world. Having original robot-fetish singer Gary Numan provide a digitized bit of opening dialog certainly helps sell that notion (hey, you already got him featuring in that Cars cover). Ol’ Edgecrusher seeks salvation of a sort in Resurrection, where the band’s propensity for grand theatrics soar high, ending the album on an uplifting, hopeful outlook for this ruined society.

No, wait, there’s one more track, Timelessness, a mournful dirge complete with backing orchestra (thanks, Rhys Fulber!). Seems our salvation was for naught, Edgecrusher captured and carted off to jail after all. Machinery always wins out in Fear Factory’s world. Resistance is futile.

Klaus Schulze & Pete Namlook featuring Bill Laswell - The Dark Side Of The Moog VII

Fax +49-69/450464/MIG: 1998/2016

This series resembles a ‘90s TV show more than I initially gave it credit for. The first few albums/seasons were the feeling-out process, launching with the premise, figuring out what makes the concept work, and hoping you find enough of an audience before getting canceled. Okay, I doubt Namlook would have pulled the plug on The Dark Side Of The Moog if sales were poor, the chance at collaborating with Klaus Schulze a passion project more than anything. Plus, given Fax +49-69/450464’s strict limitation of pressed copies, how could you determine popularity through sales anyway? By how fast they sell out? What they go for on the second-hand market? Incessant pleas from fans for more copies, just this one time, oh please!?

Back to the TV analogy. While The Dark Side Of The Moog had tweaked and refined some aspects of its concept for the first few seasons/albums, it wasn’t until its fourth that things coalesced into something truly distinct in of itself. The Schulze/Namlook tandem was finally working as a mutual work, with both participants accentuating each other’s strengths while helping hide their weaknesses. The loose, freeform approach to each album prior settled into a concrete core if not in vision, then at least in structure. And who can forget that brilliant bit of stunt-casting with legendary bassist Bill Laswell, adding a fresh dynamic to the established interplay between the two main stars.

As with most successful TV shows, we’re in the Golden Years of the series now, but almost uniformly it’s around Season 7 where we find the first flecks of froth in the inevitable backwash of creative success. The Dark Side Of The Moog VII has these hallmarks too. For sure it maintains what’s worked before with the same degree of polish and finesse, but a few cracks of staleness unfortunately crop up too. For one, at an even fifty minutes long, this is the shortest album in this series, period. Laswell’s input is almost completely moot by this point too. He still contributes to two of the six tracks, but beyond some dubby effects lurking in the mix of Part I and space drone in Part III, I don’t hear much of his distinct sonic ticks. I know these tracks are Pink Floyd puns, but Obscured By Klaus seems entirely apt in this outing.

Part I and II mix into one another, moving from Berlin-School ambient to electro. The album then radically changes tone with Part III, nineteen minutes of spacey ambient that moves into another round of spacey electro in Part IV. I’d like this more if one of the synth solos wasn’t among the lamest I’ve ever heard (even from trance camps!). The final two parts, at nearly twelve minutes total, mostly shows off Schulze’s modern classical chops, again fine but nothing we haven’t heard before - which I can say for this album in general too. It’s little surprise only one piece was tapped from here for that Evolution retrospective of the series.

Various - Trancespotting II

Hypnotic: 1998

Hypnotic wasn’t a label known for follow-ups to their compilations, almost always moving onto another collection of tracks with a completely unrelated title. A couple mini-series did emerge in their early years, like Influence x.x and Ambient Auras, plus those Tribute To [‘70s or ‘80s pioneer] were gaining enough traction for additional volumes. They also launched a remix series called In To The Mix around the same time as Trancespotting, which featured some solid acts like Chemical Brothers, L.S.G., Prodigy, and Leftfield. By its fifth volume though, In To The Mix was peddling shit remixes of funk, disco, and R&B acts like James Brown, The Trammps, Ohio Players, and Sister Sledge. You do you, Hypnotic.

So a sequel to one of their numerous compilations wasn’t without precedent, and it was clear Hypnotic was aiming for a change of direction in the year 1997, when that ‘electronica’ buzz was looking mighty lucrative. Still, you go with Trancespotting in this? Did that brand recognition with the movie truly turn out so well? It was an alright CD, but beyond highlighting the label’s scattershot roster of trance-leaning acts, didn’t have much of a selling angle. Maybe riding the jock of a popular movie/soundtrack was all you needed.

Trancespotting II generally picks up where the first one left off, mixing in ample amounts of the goa and psy while breaking things up with tracks wholly unrelated to the genre of trance. Hey, if it worked on the first one…! (did it?) Once again we’re opened with a System 7 cut in Expansion (Conspiracy Mix), and one can never go wrong with a little Juno Reactor action, in this case the techno-heavy Robert Liener’s rub of Magnetic. Bypass Unit offer up Tunnel Floatation for this CD, though it’s a fairly rote slice of goa by their standards. Heck, the main man behind Bypass Unit, Rene Abildgaard Jensen, has a better cut of psy jib on here with his solo project Colorbox (track I.D.: Grey Spook). Another Bypass Unit alum in Allan Robert Hejl shows up in his Shiva Ram guise with the oddly boshy Spanish Girl. Astralasia throw in a bangin’ remix for industrialists Spahn Ranch – damn straight parent label Cleopatra would worm their acts into Hypnotic’s business whenever possible. And couple ultra-obscure one-and-done acid acts like Solar Plexus (3) and Crude Infinity round out the rest of the psy stuff, little of which highlights the genre at its best.

But who cares about that when the real reason to hear a Trancespotting CD is for the ridiculous out-of-genre contributions! And hoo, are there some doozies, Trancespotting II offering no less than two house tracks! Like, I’ve no doubt Hypnotic was all excited in securing a Giorgio Moroder remix, but his rub of famed UK pop act Heaven 17’s Designing Heaven is pure gay club action. There’s also more big-beat action from Transmutator, an inexplicable contribution of minimalist paranoia-techno from Scanner, and as for Voigt Kampff’s Falculator, WTF is this? Hard-house garage??

Various - Tranceport: Paul Oakenfold

Kinetic Records: 1998

This is such a redundant CD in my collection, the very epitome of having all the same tracks in a different order. And not a terribly good order at that, so many tunes better served on other mixes and compilations. I wouldn’t even have Tranceport, had it not came bundled with a former owner’s collection looking to offload their discs (one guess who’s!). And yes, I must qualify this review with a haughty proclamation of being ‘too good to buy Tranceport’, or something to that affect. I definitely knew of Oakenfold’s mix, hearing it circulated on dub-tapes during my Canadian Hinterlands exile. Between this and his Live At Oslo contribution to the Global Underground series, Oakenfoldmania was running wild among my circle of peers. And yeah, I fell sway too, but thanks to other mixes of his that stood out from the pack. Tranceport though? Sorry, but by the time I might have considered buying this CD, these anthems were well played out for yours truly.

Obviously, I was a minority in this, for Tranceport became infamous for not only giving Oakenfold a significant boost in the lucrative American market, but promoting the genre of trance as well. For sure it had its dedicated, underground following, especially among folks fancying the psy side of things, but the progressive sound tearing up the UK club scene? No more so than your regular rave, most media attention focused on other European exports like big beat, French house, and trip-hop. If you wanted trance CDs without paying ridiculous import prices, your options essentially boiled down to old-school German back-catalog and whatever goa compilations drifted this way.

Tranceport, on the other hand, was released domestically (thus cheaply!) by Kinetic Records, a sub-label of American institution Reprise Records (founded by Frank Sinatra; endlessly tagged on this blog via Neil Young). This isn’t much of a surprise, as Kinetic was basically set up as the sole Stateside distributor of Perfecto material, including Oakenfold’s releases. Once club music gained more traction in America, Kinetic would move on from all things Perfecto, but given just how popular ol’ Paul was growing at this time, an exclusive mix to capitalize on his fame made good business sense. Or, considering Tranceport would go on to be a running series for Kinetic, having the popular Oakenfold kick it off made good business sense. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if the latter was the case, considering how slapdash this CD comes off. “Yeah, mates,” ol’ Paul would say, “here’s some anthems for ya’ to get started. Is my contract with you now finished? Good, off to tour with U2 then!”

The CD itself? Yeah, Tranceport’s got some anthems. I’ve talked about most of them already though, and don’t feel like typing what you’ve already read in a different order. Of the tunes I haven’t discussed before, El Niño’s overlong breakdown’s annoying, Time reminds me of old-school trance, and Gamemaster is such a rip-off of Quench’s Dreams, I can’t even dignify a finish.

The Brian Jonestown Massacre - Strung Out In Heaven

TVT Records: 1998

I’ve hit saturation point of how much alternative music I can handle. What a petty complaint. It’s not like I’m digging into the truly obscure recesses of the indie realms, most names cropping up well-known, respected talent with deserved critical and commercial success. Plus I’ve spent these past two months keeping a toe or two in electronic genres I’m familiar with, all the while exploring the darker regions of a specific sub-genre. Yet here I am, face to ear with another indie rock band I know nothing about, hearing tunes that are all fine and dandy Worhals, but my mind sub-consciously keeps turning it to mush. It’s as though the previous fifty releases I’ve reviewed are a smorgasbord of music, filled with entrees I’m familiar with but several I’ve never actually sampled. And darn it, I’ve paid for the All You Can Eat option, so I’m gonna’ sample everything in this spread. But man, am I ever feeling stuffed finally getting to those last few dishes.

Anyhow, The Brian Jonestown Massacre. This is a band headlined by one Anton Newcombe, the sort of eccentric musician I’m sure many music scribes have described as ‘authentic’ or ‘audacious’, fearing few paths with his sonic adventures. Starting out as a ‘shoegaze’ group, the San Fran band shows no shame in their love of psychedelic rock, and curse their luck getting their start in the ‘90s. No, wait, that's when starry-eyed gazes back to the decade of Dylan, Beatles, Byrds, and Stones kicked in, to say nothing of movie soundtracks revitalizing ‘70s music for a younger generation. This was the perfect time for The Brian Jonestown Massacre’s brand of rock to flourish!

TVT Records certainly thought so, signing the band to a fat, multi-album contract after their underground cred starting bubbling over. The result is Strung Out In Heaven, an album that sounds like an HD remaster of ‘60s folk rock. Apparently band member Matt Hollywood wrote more of the songs in this outing, what with Anton getting too deep in that heroin lifestyle. Silly Anton, you save that drug for the ‘70s throwbacks – ‘60s was all on that acid trip, yo’.

Listening to this album, I feel like it was intended as a soundtrack for an epic Americana indie film, another celluloid attempt at On The Road where the only bad choice the protagonist makes is going home. Seems TVT Records felt the same way, the packaging straight out of some ‘60s pulp cinema, the band members listed on the cover like stars of the film. There’s plenty of dreamy melodies, groovy Hammond organs, folksy strumming, and stoned singing, a total love-letter to times past as envisioned by musicians far removed from the era. Too much of an ode, turns out, Strung Out In Heaven failing to sell anywhere near TVT’s expectations. Realizing the band was a bit too ‘out there’ for the major independent print, Brain Jonestown Massacre mutually split from TVT, and they went back to making weirdo music again.

Massive Attack - Mezzanine

Virgin: 1998

The only Massive Attack album you probably have, despite many critics pointing to their other albums as the ones you’re supposed to have. Not sure what the consensus between Blue Lines and Protection is, though I’m almost certain the group’s (duo’s?) post-millennium material is generally held in lesser regard than Mezzanine. This one smacks right in the middle of the transition, but due to the super aggressive marketing the mighty Virgin machine did for the album, critics can’t help themselves in being contrarian, pointing to an earlier effort as the definitive Massive Attack experience. Back when they were still a tightly-knit band that included burgeoning vocalist wunderkind Tricky as part of their roster. Back when they were laying the groundwork for an entire genre, and not simply cashing in when trip-hop was at its peak of prominence.

Hah, no, Mezzanine isn’t a cash-in, though Massive Attack definitely got mad paid here. Angel and Teardrop are among the most heavily licensed tracks in their discography, only losing out to Unfinished Sympathy for top honors; and that one had a seven year start on these two. On the other hand, additional singles Risingson and Inertia Creeps weren’t anywhere near as successful, the latter failing to chart even in the UK. Considering how trendy trip-hop was in the late ‘90s, with Teardrop hitting Top 10 in Massive Attack’s homeland that same year, it’s surprising such popularity didn’t translate into further success for their singles. D’at album sales number, tho’! Were Teardrop and Angel enough to propel Mezzanine into the stratosphere of platinum accolades? Yeah, but all those critical awards the album earned after needed strong songs to prop it up, and we have those in spades too.

Right, I quipped Mezzanine not being as critically hailed as their earlier records, but Massive Attack didn’t earn those ‘one of the greatest bands of all time’ plaudits in a vacuum. When tasked against their contemporaries, the original Bristol posse was nigh untouchable, always uttered with just that extra bit of reverence when compared to the likes of Portisehead and Morcheeba. The fact Massive Attack could come in at trip-hop’s apogee and release such a smooth flowing, densely dark album like Mezzanine is nothing less than brilliance. In lieu of the multitude of copycats, Robert del Naja (Mr. 3D) desired taking the group closer to the realms of post-rock - out of the domain of dubby-thick hip-hop that defined the genre they’d built. The move paid off, broadening the band’s appeal into the world of indie music and movie scores. It also gave them room to further explore their sound, fusing gritty guitar tones and cinematic flourishes with their vintage big beats, dense reverb, and somber urban soul, generally keeping each track fresh and unique throughout for a required playthrough.

Not everyone was on board with this development, original member Andrew “Mushroom” Vowles leaving Massive Attack after this. The enduring popularity and lasting legacy of Mezzanine suggests ol’ 3D was onto something special though. Dream on.

Method Man - Tical 2000: Judgement Day

Def Jam Recordings: 1998

A four year gap isn’t that much, all things considered. ‘90s hip-hop though, things were moving fast, stars rising and falling at an unprecedented rate, fueled by an MC arms race to the top of Mount Brag-N-Swagmore. Your label could only achieve immortal greatness if you had the best talent signed to your print. Death Row had 2Pac, Bad Boy had Biggie, No Limit had Snoop Dogg, Loud had Wu-Tang Clan, and so on. Def Jam had many legends to their name too, but most of them had established careers, showing little of the spit and fire needed that propelled the emergent labels of the ‘90s to the top. As a quick signee to Def Jam after the smashing success of Wu-Tang’s debut, Method Man looked to be the breakout star of the group, one that would usher in a new generation of hungry MCs for the storied print that Rick Rubin built.

One problem though: Mr. Clifford Smith wasn’t interested in being a solo star, completely content sharing the spotlight as part of a back-n-forth (Redman, Street Life) or a crew of equally charismatic rappers (Wu-Tang, Monstars, heh). All fine and well if one’s career aspirations stay humble, but when everyone from the fans on the streets to the CEOs in the record label towers demand more, four years turns to an agonizing wait, one the Ticallion Stallion gleefully mocks in Tical 2000 through a series of phone call skits. People ranging from accountants to radio DJs to even the tribble-cultivator Trump himself all chime in wondering what the bloodclot is taking Meth’ so long with this album.

Figuring out a theme would be my guess. Of course the nearing millennium would spark some inspiration, but aside from the opening and closing tracks (Perfect World and Judgement Day), it’s not a subject touched upon. Instead, Johnny Blaze runs the gamut of witty wordplay, sexy wordplay, thug life wordplay, club don’ wordplay, and that’s about it. Hey, it’s not like the subject matter in his lyrics have mattered much of a damn - Method Man could have excelled through sheer charisma alone, his deft skills on the mic’ keeping you hooked once reeled in.

Unfortunately, even that isn’t enough to save Tical 2000 from the sin of filler. Despite folks clamoring for more Method Man, most everyone agrees there’s too much bloat given the limited amount of topics covered. No matter how solid the beats are or how hype the guest spots are (seriously, I’ve never heard Street Life sound this good!), it all turns to repetitive mush in the back-half. It probably doesn’t help that the midpoint offers a hilarious Chris Rock skit, where the comedian goes on a never ending spree of Method Man aliases that cannot be stopped by gunshot, nor rabid dogs, nor rabid dolphins. Hell, he can’t even be killed by fire, and even The Thing could be killed by fire. After a high such as that, there’s only down to go.

Various - DJ-Kicks: Andrea Parker

Studio !K7: 1998

Proving it’s never too late for serious knowledge to smack one across one's face, I was completely blindsided by this CD. For starters, I had no idea who Andrea Parker was, a fact in itself not too surprising since the DJ-Kicks series often taps DJs and producers well under the radar. However, that lack of information instilled a preconceived notion of what I was in for based on cover art alone. Forget even looking at the track list, I was certain Ms. Parker was gonna’ bring the soul-funk downtempo nu-jazzy vibes with this mix. Clearly that’s her musical calling, what with being adorned in the sort of garment worn to classical performances or high-end wine tastings, frolicking about shag flooring and vinyl backdrops. Plus, this was released when Studio !K7 was going through their downtempo jazz-dub phase with DJ-Kicks, featuring such names like Terranova, DJ Cam, and Kruder & Dorfmeister. Surely this lady from the UK would fall in step with this sound too.

And I’d be perfectly fine with that, but what I got was even better. Ol’ Andrea, turns out, has more in common with techno, electro, and booty bass (!) than anything so highbrow as jazz-dance. Hell, the second track on here is Dr. Octagon, the salacious nerdcore alter-ego of Kool Keith, followed upon by two Carl Craig cuts, and a whole lot of Detroit tuneage after. See, if I’d just looked at the track list first, I’d have known what I was in for, what with names like 69, Model 500, Dopplereffekt, Drexciya, and Bambaataa throughout. On the other hand, it’d have ruined the fun surprise of all expectations being so utterly smashed. It’s getting rare such purchases can do that, and isn’t that the whole point of the dig to begin with?

That all said, Ms. Parker’s set isn’t terribly surprising in of itself. If you like your vintage Detroit techno and electro, you’ll like this, with plenty of familiar names (those namedropped above) and outliers rounding things out. Visions Of Mars from DJ Panix is some mighty mint electro, and darn obscure too, given it was all John Litchfield and Mark Burrows did with this alias (not that they were highly prolific anyway). There’s also a little breaks action in this mix, care of Renegade Soundwave’s classic The Phantom and lesser known Da Tunnelz from Sons Of The Subway.

As DJ-Kicks mixes are often released to coincide with a chosen jock’s other projects, Ms. Parker throws her name into the electro hat with her own track Unconnected at the end, sure to be one of the highlights from her debut album, Kiss My Arp, of the same year. Wait, let me confirm that with Lord Discogs… *checks* What, this track came out before this mix, on the fifth volume of the classic Trance Europe Express series? Damn, this woman keeps with the surprises - I gotta’ check out more works. Ooh, this IDM/electro/bass label of hers, Touchin’ Bass, looks promising…

Blue Öyster Cult - Collections

Columbia/Sony Music Entertainment: 1998/2004

Blue Öyster Cult is a famous hard rock band from the ‘70s, and a very important group in the popularization of cowbell. No, wait, that was a Saturday Night Live skit with Christopher Walken and Will Ferrell, playing up the fact BÖC’s best known song has an incredibly distracting cowbell in it. Seriously, have you ever heard (Don’t Fear) The Reaper? What am I saying; of course you have, especially on your Classic Rock station, where you can hear all the songs from your dad’s (grandpa’s?) youth. It’s not like these blue cultists cultivated the cowbell, most of their songs almost devoid of it (at least what’s on this Collections CD anyway). For such a smooth slice of stoner rock though, hearing that *clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk* in the percussion is obtrusive, jarring, and perfectly ripe for comedic send-ups. It’s just a shame a whole generation now only thinks of Blue Öyster Cult as that cowbell band. Don’t folks know they’re actually that Godzilla band?

Seriously though, BÖC’s story reads about as cliché as most rock bands of the era goes. Started out doing psychedelic rock, got a bit darker and heavier when Black Sabbath became a thing, scored a major radio hit (The Reaper, yo'), and started chasing them dolla' bills after such success. Naturally, it alienated their long-standing fanbase, and they were quickly abandoned by all but the most dedicated of followers. Even a return to form in the '80s couldn't turn their fortunes, and soon the band was relegated to the has-been bargain bin of your record shops, an occasional glimpse of recognition afforded them when getting in on a '90s stoner soundtrack. Hey, I told you this was a standard story.

Fortunately for Collections, we’re mostly dealing with their early-to-mid ‘70s material, only two songs making the cut from the ‘80s. Of the latter decade selections, Burnin’ For You is probably the only other Blue Öyster Cult hit you’ve heard of, even if you didn’t realize it was a Blue Öyster Cult hit. Elsewhere Black Blade sounds like a stab at Who or Queen on the operatic bent, but they work in bloopy synths and an actual vocoder (!) for an energetic climax, so it’s awesome.

As for the rest, there’s Rolling Stones boogie rock (This Ain’t The Summer Love), chipper proto-punk rock (The Red And The Black), weird classic bar rock (O.D.’d On Life Itself), and lengthy freak-out psychedelic rock (7 Screaming Diz-Busters) – these all came from their second album, Tyranny And Mutation. Damn, guess that’s the Blue Öyster Cult album you’re supposed to have, even if it doesn’t have (Don’t Fear) The Reaper on it. There’s also Flaming Telepaths from Secret Treaties, which fears no piano, chorus, guitar solo, or dated synth too overblown or garish, but a lot more fun than pompous prog rockers go. What’s with the hard cut though? Did the original smash into Astronomy, or does the single intentionally leave you hanging like that? C’mon, BÖC, who’s the joke on? I gotta’ know!

Faithless - Sunday 8PM

Arista: 1998

I know I'm supposed to declare Sunday 8PM the only Faithless album you're supposed to have, even if you're not a Faithless fan. It is, after all, the best of their discography, an excellent summation of the group's musical talents, nary a duff track in the lot, and all that good rot. Doing so, though, sells the importance of Insomnia on Reverence way short. I can guarantee there wouldn't be a Faithless as we’ve come to know them without the success of that single. Rollo and Sister Bliss would likely have retreated to other pet projects, absent of critical kudos, legions of fans, and piles of money-cash. Insomnia was so big, everyone doubted they could have topped it, and the debate still lingers whether God Is A DJ does the deed or not.

Still, Reverence was the experiment, everyone working together to see if their vision could work. Lo’, they succeeded, but having spent such a brief amount of time on it (a month!), what could they do with more prep and production? The answer is Sunday 8PM, an album that takes everything that made Reverence such a charming excursion and refines them into a wonderful whole.

You’ve got the chill-out instrumental opener The Garden fusing all sorts of influences like trip-hop, acoustic folk, and cinematic dub. You got rugged conscious hip-hop fused with melancholic orchestras on Bring My Family Back. There’s crackly folk-hop Postcards, which actually samples a Dido song released that same year rather than cut another vocal for the track – guess Rollo couldn’t help being efficient there. Why Go? goes for the full soul croon, which I thought was sung by Faithless’ still-employed soul-croon extraordinaire Jamie Catto. Silly me, he’s on the gospel-hop Hour Of Need, whereas that silly-hatted DJ Boy George gets the vocal on Why Go?. Elsewhere, Dido gets an actual song for herself in Hem Of His Garment, while Maxi Jazz throws in another sexy song with She’s My Baby. His shining moment on this album though, is Killer’s Lullaby, a chilling tale of sinister thoughts and deeds. The production on this track is positively stunning, starting with a soft, unassuming ambient session, then unleashing harsh trip-hop weirdness, and hitting a climax of cascading harpsichords and apocalyptic choirs, ending with a final, quiet denouement. Holy descent into madness, Batman!

Oh, and there’s two smashing club anthems in here too, God Is A DJ, and Take The Long Way Home. You’ve heard them, especially the former. I don’t need to talk about them as much.

Another feature of Sunday 8PM that trumps Reverence is just how well it flows together, including partial mixes between some tracks. The first Faithless album had good flow too, but this one’s sequence is sublime, shifting moods from introspective to exuberant, from harrowing to jubilant. It’s definitely one that deserves the full play-through treatment, though any track stands strong on its own too. Yes, even that titular sonic doodle in the back half. That bass pitch, mang!

Der Dritte Raum - Spaceglider

Virgin/Ultra Records: 1998/1999

Of course I’d have Spaceglider in my collection (or Raumgleiter to the fine folks of Germanland). And I know what you’re thinking: I got this totally because of the cover, having no prior knowledge of who Der Dritte Raum is or even the famous tunes that came bundled within the album. Please, like I wouldn’t recognize “The Third Room” from his Harthouse days. Nor could I miss the omnipresent hits Hale Bopp and Polarstern, the two subdued hybrid anthems finding their way into numerous compilations, DJ sets, and the like. And why not, both tunes serving as perfect pieces for when a trance DJ wanted to go a little techno, or a techno DJ wanted to go a little trance – though it was almost always the former case. So naturally, upon discovering Der Dritte Raum was getting a new album out care of the Almighty Virgin (and promoted by Ultra in my lands), you bet I ordered a copy despite currently living in the hinterlands of Canada. I mean, just look at that cover! How could it not be cool?

Okay, buying Spaceglider truly was nothing but an impulse purchase based on nifty sci-fi artwork – at least I’m consistent. Having no actual prior knowledge of who Der Dritte Raum was wasn’t stopping my curiosity’s need to be sated. I had a feeling I’d be in safe hands though, the ordering promo blurb promising there’d be trance on this disc. At a time when trance had long abandoned its early cosmic themes and krautrock influences, seeing an album that implied some of those attributes within (Starship! Astronauts! German words!) gave me some hope I’d get the goods.

So imagine my fear upon hearing opening track Infrarot, a quirky bit of electro funk featuring a squawky sound like a robot beatboxing. Oh dear, what had I stumbled upon? True, genre dalliances was something Der Dritte Raum loved throwing about, even going proper-electro with Subraum and tech-house with a touch of jazzy swing in Tagnachtlied at the end of Spaceglider, all with mint results. Man though, was I fearing I’d landed in some IDM kitsch after that first cut.

Fear not, 1999 Sykonee, for it’s not long before Andreas Krüger is bringing all sorts of groovy techno and trance. As this is a mostly continuously mixed album, many tracks serve the needs for proper builds to Polarstern and Hale Bopp in that distinct, stripped-back, punctual Der Dritte Raum style, but always having enough strength to stand on their own too. Überdruck works a bit of acid funk, Irrfahrt bends its head down for some minimal action, and Lava fears not soaring into space on acid bliss. The main Spaceglider mix ends with more traditional techno before moving onto the aforementioned quirk tunes, making for a tidy album overall.

And quite a surprising one at that, Spaceglider resolutely old-school for a time when anything trance leaning demanded bigger and bolder. This would have been brilliant for 1994, but sounds bolder for 1998.

Eminem - The Slim Shady LP

Interscope Records: 1998

Seven years wasn’t long enough for the bitter aftertaste of Vanilla Ice’s brief dominance at the top of the charts. Perhaps that shameful moment in hip-hop’s history could never be cleansed from public consciousness, forever ruining whatever hope white rappers not named Beastie Boys might have in breaking it in that scene. Heck, the only other marginally successful Caucasian group in ’97 was ICP, and few gave them much care since they were so thoroughly committed to their clown show, no one took them seriously. And hip-hop are serious musics, see, dealing with serious issues of the day, and serious stories of rags to riches. What could a white boy from Detroit know of hardships in America?

Plenty much, turns out. Via an extreme persona dubbed Slim Shady, Eminem offered a look inside the side of life below the poverty line for American Caucasians (re: white trash), a topic almost unheard of in the world of rap. Punk rock, sure; metal, of course; blues and country, sometimes yeah. Hip-hop though, that's music for the black community, performed for the black community – how could they relate to the things Mr. Mathers dealt with?

Not much, to be honest, but they couldn't deny his skills on a microphone, spitting out battle rhymes and telling stories on par with any of the best MCs of the ‘90s. It was enough to draw the notice of Dr. Dre himself, hearing fresh fire in the kid from Detroit that hadn't been heard in hip-hop for years, the old guard all too comfortable in their established roles. Eminem had the talent, the unique perspective, and the drive to take the world by storm; all he needed was the guidance, which Doc' Dre provided. Then they released the corny-ass My Name Is, instantly dividing the MTV generation on whether Eminem could ever be taken seriously.

Oh all right, it was mostly me, but I don't doubt I was alone in suspecting Eminem nothing but a novelty one-hit wonder after that video. Hell, even the stuff he was graphically detailing wasn't too far off from the shock humor of South Park and Jerry Springer. Hip-hop associates kept telling me, “Don't judge him by that one song, it's the worst one off the album. You gotta' hear the rest of it, man!” Yeah, yeah, I'd nod, but considering I had yet to take my proper rap plunge, fat chance I'd ever hear The Slim Shady LP in full. Still, tracks like Guilty Conscience, My Fault (aka: the mushrooms song), and Role Model did find their way to my ears at the odd house party, and I couldn't deny they were fun, twisted tunes.

But nay, it wasn't until after hearing The Marshall Mathers LP and growing to appreciate Eminem the artist that I finally went back to The Slim Shady LP. And lo’, it was indeed a good album, a wild, reckless ride through lower class society’s worst traits. I sure don’t want to stay there for long though.

Dogon - The Sirius Expeditions

World Domination Recordings: 1998

I’ve probably said what I’m about to write before, but I’ve been writing these reviews for nearly thirty-two months now. I’m bound to repeat myself a few times, return to salient points, and reiterate former rants when appropriate after a ton of time has passed between. And this fact, this tidbit of aged wisdom I’m about to impart, it needs repeating, must be repeated so we all remember its sage advice such when another generation emerges that deserves the knowledge. Whatever is this bastion of high intellect I’ve bequeathed upon thee hence, and shall do so posthaste? Yes, what is this peon of insight that will bring clarity of mind and soul to all that who shall now read it?

An album like Dogon’s The Sirius Expeditions would never have gotten attention without the ‘brick & mortar’ music shop, and that’s a darn shame.

Actually, I don’t know if that’s true anymore, what with a million and one micro-meme genres popping up every year now. A lot of those seem to start out as a joke though, something done as a lark to impress fellow young bedroom producers on a /mu/ hub, but man oh man do they get attention. Dogon, however, have some serious talent behind them, musicians that know their way around a studio and song craft. They’re loosely ambient, but that doesn’t stop them from going all esoteric with pseudo-jungle beats and whatever it is they’re doing in Plexus (big beat acid Orb jam?). They do ridiculously sentimental New Age tunes (Pah), mysterious ethnic –fusion dub (The Round Buddha Factory, Melonheart), sun-kissed hippie festival glaze-outs (a cover of Pink Floyd’s Fat Old Sun, and sorta’ follow-up Joven Flaca Luna), and brooding, meditative ambience (Locus Voci, The Unknowable). Naturally, the titular twelve-minute cut runs the gamut of all these features, then goes for the super-epic orchestral build to sell that cosmic journey.

Okay, I’m way overselling The Sirius Expeditions. The tonal shift throughout this album is jarring, making for a difficult playthrough. This is the sound of a group (primarily Miguel Noya and Paul Godwin, with assorted musicians joining in for the fray) with a ton of ideas but knowing full well their reach will be limited. Lord Discogs lists scant else by Dogon, two other albums and little more. So they go for the gusto, indulging in all their idiosyncrasies while proudly proclaiming “we’re not commercial, we’ve came to grips with ourselves with that”. It’s a wacky ride that’s at times exhilarating, other times charming, but equal parts confounding. I’ve played this many times over, thinking this will be the time it all clicks, yet something consistently holds me back.

Hey, at least I’m giving it repeated plays, something that can’t be said of many other CDs in my collection. And I’d never have gotten it too, if it hadn’t been idling on that Virgin Megastore shelf so many years ago. Praise be the random chance purchases, and all the bizarre musics that may come with them.

Depeche Mode - The Singles 86>98

Mute: 1998

Depeche Mode, the band everyone loves when they want to get in touch with their darkside, and will get beaten to a bloody pulp by the South Park goth kids for it. Depeche Mode, the band that’s seen so much reinvention over the years, even their long standing fans have formed tribes based on which version is the one true Mode. A band that had a singles package released before their most recognized songs hit the radio waves, followed the year after with another ‘greatest hits’ album to accommodate those, and was still followed upon by some of their most famous songs. They soundtracked everything from foppish New Wave clubs to nebbish S&M dungeons to family friendly mall speakers. They’re the band you enjoy until their sound falls out of fashion, secretly admire while no one’s looking, then proclaim a long-standing devotion when it’s cool to do so again.

So yeah, Depeche Mode has had a career, one lengthy enough for retrospectives dividing their different eras. Obviously the mid-‘80s record The Singles 81 → 85 covered the early portions of their discography, but albums Black Celebration, Music For The Masses, and Violator came after. These LPs held the songs Stripped, Strangelove, Behind The Wheel, Enjoy The Silence, A Question Of Lust, A Question Of Time, A Question Of Your Personal Jesus… Basically every song we’ve come to associate with Depeche Mode (that reverb!), even those who contend Just Can’t Get Enough is their crowning achievement.

Naturally another greatest hits package had to capitalize on these singles. Like, shortly after the ‘90s took form, when their darkwave synth-pop sound could no longer stand toe-to-toe with trendier sounds like industrial rock and raving techno. Get a few extra dollars from their fans and- wait, Depeche Mode’s still going? What’s with this ‘adapting with the times’ strategy of theirs? It’ll never work, “never” claims the critics! Well, the band must have been doing something right, for they managed a whole second CD of singles from their ‘90s efforts.

Honestly, CD2 of The Singles 86>98 isn’t as memorable as CD1. The albums released during that period - Songs Of Faith And Devotion and Ultra - have their fans, and it’s remarkable the band navigated the ‘90s as capably as they did before ‘80s revivalism gave them another boost with 2001’s Exciter. Yet, hearing them go all distorted in I Feel You and Useless, or try trip-hop with Barrel Of A Gun, doesn’t quite mesh with how I, a passive fan, fancy the group. Leave the angst-ridden sonics to Nine Inch Nails, and give me more of that cinematic melodrama bombast in Little 15. Wait, why is that song on CD2?

I guess there’s no harm in slapping a second disc of material to an essential first, but was there no other way of summing up thirteen years of band’s career? CD1 has all the songs you know and love, CD2 has the fans-only material. So much cake that needs eating too.

Sandoz - Chant To Jah

Touch/Soul Jazz Records: 1998/2002

Swell, not even a week deep into my collection of ‘S’ albums, and I’ve already hit two mislabels. Technically, Sandoz In Dub is a subtitle, specifically for a series of LPs Richard H. Kirk released in the latter years of this alias, but leave it to Media Player to get that backwards. Not even sure how the next album in my alphabetical order got so messed up, but let’s ignore the near future for now, going back to the past with another anecdote of my buying habits.

No, I’m kidding; though I should mention that Chant To Jah was the first Sandoz CD I bought. Somehow even finding one on store shelves feels like a fluke, except as with Digital Lifeforms: Redux, this was a re-issue, in this case by Soul Jazz Records – it’s kinda’ their thing. Why they went with this particular Sandoz album though, I haven’t a clue. Chant To Jah only had a few years behind it, and while undoubtedly hard to find, no more so than any other early Sandoz album. Maybe the relative ‘newness’ of the album made it an easier sell, or Kirk grew tired of Touch’s ‘scarcity is art’ marketing; or Soul Jazz head Stuart Baker adored Chant To Jah above all other Sandoz LPs. What strange machinations these record labels concoct in the odd hours of our times.

I was also initially put off by this album because I had no clue what I was in for. The only prior track I’d heard under the Sandoz banner was the ambient dub outing Beam, so I naturally thought this would be more of the same. Clearly not, as Chant To Jah goes full-in with its reggae roots and African vibes. On the surface, it sounded fine, but nothing terribly different than so much other musicians of similar ilk. Compounding my lackadaisical impression of this album was Digital Lifeforms itself when I finally got to hear that one. The sublime tribal techno and dub fusion going on in the Sandoz debut was unlike anything I’d heard before, and remains a remarkable unique entry in that ultra-micro niche avenue of electronic music. I constantly returned to Digital Lifeforms to pick out new little nuances to Mr. Kirk’s craft, whereas Chant To Jah would only get an occasional token playthrough.

Funny enough, it was those repeated plays of the former that finally led me to appreciating the latter. The combination of Jamaican and North African music already offers intriguing interplay of their distinct attributes, of which ol’ Rich does remarkably well for an industrial keyboardist. It’s the techniques learned from that wholly unrelated scene, however, that lends the music here a grit you won’t find much elsewhere. Snares clank, vocal chants distort, and dub reverb echoes off concrete halls. Yet despite the harsh textures, the soulful vibe of Afro-dub remains intact. That’s some serious musical skill pulled off, drawing you in to hear those same nuances that marked Digital Lifeforms. Took me damned long enough to get it, though.