Cypress Hill - III - Temples Of Boom

Columbia: 1995

You're one of the biggest names in hip-hop, but it's almost entirely because of a mega-hit single that's something of a novelty track. Of course, Cypress Hill never intended Insane In The Brain to reach such market penetration that even white-bread suburbia was singing it. Indeed, if anyone actually paid attention to the lyrical content, it's not a terribly positive spin on psychedelic abuse. Have it wrapped in an upbeat rhythm and irresistible earworm of a chorus, however, and no one will know. Or care.

Perhaps Cypress Hill did care though, which would explain why their follow-up to the multi-platinum Black Sunday - III: Temples Of Boom - went in such a drastic, darker turn compared to their prior work. Yeah, there always was an edge to the music DJ Muggs produced, the sort of street-level grit that came with the sampledelic nature to his tunes. Rare would it get outright Gothic and bleak. It's like he took the moody atmosphere of Cock The Hammer and thought: “Yeah, a whole album of that!”

So Temples Of Boom comes with an extra layer of grime and grit, as if south California has never seen a ray of light, everything blanketed with paranoia and... Well, not quite despair, moments for a casual blaze still releasing some of the pressure cooker of existence. Still, better watch your back, because these streets are just as savage as ever, 'hoods getting ever deeper into their primal psychosis. I mean, if the lead singles of Throw Your Set In The Air and Illusions don't portray an existence just barely hanging on by a thread, I don't know what will.

The only comparison I can make of Temples Of Boom - at least in this era of hip-hop - are the harrowing moments as heard in Liquid Swords. Which makes sense, as RZA drops in for some beats and bars on Killa Hill Niggas. I just have to imagine Muggs taking notes down from Bobby Digital, like a young monk studiously listening to the words his master is speechifying.

“But wait,” you say, “aren't Cypress Hill megastars now? How do they get off rapping about gangsta' shit?” Ah, therein lies the secret genius of Temples Of Boom: they're not literally rapping about lived experiences here (though they had), but as more a concept, an urban horror story, focused on mood and atmosphere rather than explicit realism. In fact, the few times they do touch upon Real World things (scene posers in Strictly Hip Hop; outright dissing former friend Ice Cube in No Rest For The Wicked), you're taken out of their grim world. Well, lyrically anyway, Muggs' beats still on point throughout.

I'll just go ahead and say Temples Of Boom is easily Cypress Hill's most underappreciated record. Yes, it was a stark turn at the height of their fame, but having gone through the entirety of their discography, almost nothing comes close to how creatively atmospheric they went here – easily until Elephants On Acid.

Nas - God's Son

Columbia: 2002

I will never claim being an expert in all things Nasir Jones. For the longest time, all I really engaged with him was the obligatory purchase of Illmatic every fan of hip-hop must. For sure there were parts of his career that intrigued me, but little I was compelled to dig into.

So take this with as much sodium carbonate as you can handle without causing kidney stones, but having actually listened to most of Nas' discography now, I'm claiming God's Son the best of his '00s output. Yes, better than the comeback Stillmatic, better than the critical darlings of Hip Hop Is Dead and untitled, and most definitely better than the double-LP Street's Disciple (think everyone agrees that's the worst of the decade).

This isn't me just being contrarian, saying such for hipster cred or something. Yeah, this album doesn't get brought up as much as the others, so is easily forgotten. It doesn't have any outright bangers or easy talking points going for it. No, just a solid record front to back (well, save one track), and in my mind, that's its greatest feat. The only other release under Nas' belt to that point you could say the same of was Illmatic, and though It Was Written and Stillmatic were good too, there were still a couple things holding them back from being as top tier. I'll touch on the former at a later date, but regarding Stillmatic, I felt it was as good as it needed to be, to resuscitate Nas' name in the rap world, and that's all. Was there that much doubt he could rebound though? Somehow I think not, most folks believing the ability was there, so long as the will was there.

Which is what makes God's Son that much better. Released a mere year after Stillmatic, whatever fire was lit under Mr. Jones continued burning hot (an artist like Nas doesn't lose inspiration just like that), now without some ungodly amount of expectation placed on him. Free to weave more 'hood tales, sexy come-ons, reflective poetry, Jay-Z disses, and the like, all refined to Eastcoast hip-hop perfection. Except Zone Out with Bravehearts. Have no idea what happened there.

Even the 'corny' tracks are fun! I Can is basically a 'work hard and honest to achieve your dreams' dressed in a uplifting-yet-rugged nursery rhyme. Book Of Rhymes has fun with the notion Nas owns pages of unused verses, presented with some self-deprecating humour. Another 'revived rhyme' from Tupac appears on the acoustic (!) Thugz Mansion (N.Y.).

To be fair, things get really metaphysical towards the end of God's Son, with more odes to the deceased and reflections on the future. I'll allow it, Nas having well earned the right to pontificate. And at less than an hour runtime, the whole record breezes right on by, leaving you wishing for more (like Illmatic!). Trust me when I say, even by 2002, the issue of rap album bloat hadn't subsided by a long-shot.

Cypress Hill - Black Sunday

Columbia: 1993

So I started a Cypress Hill collection. I'm surprised I even got into them this late in the game, but when one decides to digest an entire discography, sometimes some albums stand out so much, you just gotta' have it for yourself, proper-like. And if there's ever one album from this posse that you're supposed to have, even if you're not a Cypress Hill fan, it's easily this one. Is it their best album though? Oh, wait, I already said it was when I did my survey. Review's over, then!

Seriously though, it's surprising just how successful this album turned out, and not just because it's the one with Insane In The Brain on it. Okay, it's almost entirely because of that, but I mean how well the rest of album holds up despite its presentation. Like, if you didn't know better, you'd think this was something other than a hip-hop record just off of cover art alone. No street hoods menacingly glaring at a camera, no pictures of urban squalor, no bikini babes or bling paraded about. Just a stark cemetery with a dead tree and a pile of bones, a picture straight out of Gothic horror. What's gangsta' about being Goth? Sure, B-Real was part of the Bloods (they vampires, right?) before getting into music, but he never made it focus of his lyrics.

Yet some tracks paint quite the picture of rain-soaked streets with frightening things creeping in the shadows. Cock The Hammer especially captures this essence, an almost savage piece of imagery with thunder storms and distantly echoing alarms backing B-Real and Sen Dog going on about a stealthy hunt (some additional dancehall rapping don't hurt either in selling the 'concrete jungle' vibe). Quite a few tracks are of similar nature, living life on the edge trying to survive in an inhospitable environment. What's remarkable is half the time, such topics are seemingly played lightly. When The Shit Goes Down, What Go Around Come Around, Kid, and Hand On The Glock are comparatively bouncy and almost happy-go-lucky given the subject matter. I guess it couldn't be helped when your biggest hit is almost a novelty track, so some light-heart vibes would seep elsewhere. Or maybe it's just all that weed they be smokin' in the studio.

Yeah, they talk about the ol' mary jay on here, though not as much as some seem to remember, only two tracks really dedicated to it (Legalize It is just an interlude). Considering I Wanna Get High kicks the album off though, complete with a sample from Black Sabbath's The Wizard, it's easy to hear how that's the impression everyone comes away with. Excessive liner notes about hemp uses doesn't hurt either.

What's funny is, given marijuana's general acceptance in modern times, these tracks hold up better than the straight-up gangsta' posturing cuts. Ironic, considering rap music about drug use was once thought of as the more controversial topic than cliché-ridden gang bangin' lyrics.

Sunscreem - O₃

Columbia: 1993

(a Patreon request from Philoi)

Sunscreem pretty much marked the end of the first 'rave band' era of UK acid house. Y'know, when all those musicians would form groups making loved-up clubbing tunes you could as easily hear on Top Of The Pops as at the illegal barn party. Sunscreem wasn't a rock band per se, but they had all the accoutrements of a rock band: guitar, bass guitar, drums, singer, and keyboardist. Just a lot more emphasis on the keyboard guy, laying out those synth leads and piano licks and backing pads.

After Sunscreem though, successful 'rave bands' all but vanished. You might get a guitarist with the keyboard guy, but seldom the full ensemble. Meanwhile, most who tried carrying on past 1993 generally crumbled with their follow-ups, Sunscreem no less a victim, though that has as much to do with label bungling as it does with sounding dated in a few short years.

Said label bungling must be the reason we never see a reissue or remaster of this record. O₃ has five singles to its name, nearly all of them charting in some way. Several somehow hit the top spot on US dance charts, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Madonna, the Jackson siblings, and Whitney Houston. You'd think such prestige would place Sunscreem among the greatest rave-dance-house acts of all time, but no, all folks remember of them now is as a flash-in-the-pan success, plus a respectful nod from Sasha & Diggers. Even their biggest hits aren't brought out for regular trend-whoring remixes, as though Sony is indignant at keeping the master tapes all to themselves.

O₃ could use a remaster though, some parts of it definitely showing its age, mostly on the rhythmic end. Whenever I hear ol' skool breakbeats as heard on tracks like Portal, Perfect Motion, and Chasing Dreams, I can't help but compare to what Liam Howlett was doing and think, hm, yeah, these need more beef. They aren't important though, merely transitional tunes for the big songs with Lucia Holm bellowing her lungs out. Okay, Your Hands gets a pass for its proggy Balearic charms.

But yes, the highlights of O₃ are tunes like Pressure, Love U More (controversial rape lyric notwithstanding), Idaho, Walk On, and Broken English. Man, especially Idaho and Broken English, Sunscreem building and building those songs to eruptive peaks despite rather humdrum starts. Heck, the whole album plays out like that, with Release Me serving as a triumphant reprise of the earlier Pressure, encouraging that full play-through. Shame they tacked on one more piano anthem track after, diluting such a strong conclusion.

A classic album, then? Eh, not quite, if I'm honest. Despite showing plenty of personality in their singles, the surrounding tracks are treading well-worn anthem house tropes, such that you couldn't pick them out of a pile without Ms. Holm there. Given more time and evolution, Sunscreem could have grown into a real player in the 'electronica' era, but sadly, such was not the case.

Alice In Chains - Alice In Chains

Columbia: 1995

Of the Big Four Of Grunge, I know the least about Alice In Chains. I'm sure I heard them in music video rotation and soundtracks, as you couldn't escape the grunge movement growing up a teenager of the Gen-X variety. Compared to the ubiquitous presence of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden, however, Alice In Chains somehow slipped me by. I always saw Nevermind, Ten and Superunknown on store shelves and within peers' CD collections, but I can't recall spotting Dirt among them. Maybe I didn't know what to look for, what tunes I should have noticed on their mixtapes, but fact remains for much of grunge's peak, I only knew Alice In Chains in name only, as yet another band that the rock world seemed to really like. Them and Blind Melon.

Hell, even when this particular album dropped, with cover art you couldn't turn away from if you tried, it still took me a while to clue in it was an Alice In Chains record. Like, weren't they pioneers of the Grunge Tree or something? Then again, Live kinda' made the Grunge Tree a joke, so I can understand why they'd not want anything to do with it. Instead, let's get a photo of a poor three-legged canine, and on the flip, feature a three-legged human! Nice way of showing how having too little and too much of something (in this case, legs) can be an impediment to one's existence.

Right, time to get into music discussion, and I'm afraid this is about where I'll lose all those AiC fans. As said, my knowledge of the band is extremely slight, even with their biggest hits. This self-titled third album did hit the top spot on on the Billboard 200, but I don't recall hearing much of anything from it when it was new, much less compared to their earlier work. I can only offer my thoughts on how it sounds to these virgin ears in the here and now.

And boy, is this ever one sludgy, grungy sounding album. I know the genre had moved on from its original form by '95, but AiC do a good job keeping the bleak tone intact, despite an ever increasingly optimistic decade (drug problems help). There really isn't much in the way of hooks or melodies, everything a dank, dour, atonal thrum of guitar distortion and Layne Staley's depressive vocals. Anything that does leap out is usually on the bass end, like the heavy rhythm stomp of Sludge Factory and God Am. Some kick the tempo up (So Close, Head Creeps) but for the most part, we're trawling through the Seattle murk.

I actually find the atonal nature of this album addictive, like a comforting glumness I want to explore further. Sit back with headphones, the layers of distortion overwhelming, and peel them back, finding the golden goo underneath. Alice In Chains may not catch my attention so readily as other rock, but it does keep luring me back for another spin.

Jamiroquai - Travelling Without Moving

Columbia: 1996

The only Jamiroquai album you probably have, if you're American. Or Canadian. Or Australian. Or New Zealandian. Yes, Travelling Without Moving was the band's major global breakout, finally cluing the planet Earth into what the Brits had known for a few good years – that acid jazz thing is rather quite cool an' funky, y'know. What's funny is despite being their best selling album by several leagues, Travelling Without Moving never hit the number one on the charts, not even in their native UK. Granted, competition was fierce for such a coveted spot that year, including The Fugee's The Score, Spice Girls' Spice, Kula Shaker's K (um, who?), George Michael's Older (he was still popular there), and... wow, Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill? She was obviously huge in Canada, but I had no idea the Brits also loved her that much.

So everyone knows Virtual Insanity, because everyone has seen the video for Virtual Insanity. Quite a few folks also know the retro-disco single Cosmic Girl, because cars. Some people might know the retro-funk of Alright and High Times, though I feel these singles would be better received in recent times, after hipsters and Bruno Mars made listening to such music culturally popular. Most of us on the Western side of the Atlantic weren't ready to accept non-ironic funk-n-soul back into our lives though (t'was all about that G-funk).

That's the singles, but if you're drawing a blank beyond the tracks that “had that cool video” and “was in that episode of Daria”, you can imagine how the rest of the album fared with general audiences. And that's a crying shame, because listening to Travelling Without Moving, you can hear there's some insanely talented musicians at work, fearless in their genre fusion even as the big, bold Billboards beckoned them.

Like, Didjerama, a pure tribal-dub outing with a didgeridoo lead! Then they follow it with more simmering didjeridoo action in the chill funk-soul session of Didjital Vibratations. Who does that on a 'pop' album, especially on the cusp of Spice-mania? Oh yeah, acid jazz guys, because they're all about finding the funk in whatever ways they can (it's not really a jazz genre).

Then there's funky Latin vibes in Use The Force, boppin' reggae vibes in Drifting Along, more disco vibes with the titular cut, more funk vibes with You Are My Love (wee, Moog action!), plus a couple soul outings too (Everyday, Spend A Lifetime). Because you need that love-makin' downtime when there's this much freakin' funk funkin' around. And just in case you forgot what year this came out in, Do You Know Where You're Coming From? gets in on that trendy jazzstep action. Can't be an acid jazz album without d'n'b, I guess.

Given it's sales numbers, it feels weird to say that Travelling Without Moving is an overlooked gem of funk and soul music. Considering the only thing most folks remember from it is an associated video though, that's sadly the case. No more excuses!

Various - Now And Then: Music From The Motion Picture

Columbia: 1995

If it wasn’t clear that much of this current backlog was formally owned by a person of the double-X persuasion, this should all but confirm it. Now And Then was a movie fully intended for a female audience, an attempt at Stand By Me for all the mothers and daughters of America. Well, maybe not specifically intended as such by writer I. Marlene King, but it sure was marketed that way. Big mistake that, the movie critically panned for being a rehashed ‘feminist Stand By Me’. Ooh, couldn’t get away with such a derisive critique these days, even if there’s some truth in the matter.

But why shouldn’t there be such a movie? With so few generational, female-led vehicles out there, star Demi Moore felt strongly enough in the project to help fund it herself. If my own mother and sister are anything to go by, it certainly succeeded, Now And Then on constant rotation once the VHS came out. Who cares if the plot was paper thin, the storyline syrupy-sweet, and big-name actresses in Moore, Rosie O’Donnell, Melanie Griffith, and Rita Wilson barely appear - Now And Then was about the memories of times past, growing up in the early ‘70s. A total nostalgia trip for mothers, while bonding with their daughters as they related to the younger cast. And if I’m honest, I didn’t mind putting up with the movie either, what with Thora Birch and Christina Ricci as part of the cast. Don’t deny it, all my ‘90s bros, you did too.

Naturally, the only sort of music that could accompany such a film is the bubblegum pop and chart topping R&B of the era. Rolling Stone magazine and all its spiritual successors may have constantly gone on about the revolution of rock, continuously peddling the narrative of which bands were the Very Important Bands we should honor, respect, and study. All well and good, but it was stuff like The Archies’ Sugar, Sugar that the majority of people were playing on the radio at this time. The scene of the girls riding their bikes singing Tony Orlando’s Knock Three Times? My mum swears her childhood was exactly like that! The Monkees were perfectly willing fill-ins of moptop pop once The Beatles buried themselves in the studio. And hoo, let’s not forget Motown’s complete dominance of this era either: The Jackson 5, Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross, and Freda Payne – all mega-selling names most folks would enjoy over that ‘stoner’ rock the weird boys would listen to. Not that there’s a little room for rock in this soundtrack, Free’s All Right Now and Badfinger’s No Matter What finding their way in as well. It’s pretty safe-sounding stuff though, total AM radio material college students wouldn’t have any use for.

But then, the music for Now And Then wasn’t curated with me in mind. It’s a snapshot of what girls of the early ‘70s were playing, and we can’t fault it for that. Ricci growing into Rosie, however…

Big L - Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous

Columbia: 1995

The story of Big L is one of so much promise, and so senselessly squandered by random acts of street violence. He may have been lost in a plethora of Eastcoast rappers carving out their fame in the ‘90s, but dropping what’s often cited as one of the underground hip-hop classics at a mere 20 years of age is nothing short of incredible. Think of all the heavy hitters of the era he was up against: Biggie, Wu-Tang, Nas, Mobb Deep, not to mention the emergent Jay-Z, DMX, Big Pun, and, um, Ma$e (plus probably a dozen more I’m neglecting an obligatory namedrop). It’s understandable that someone as lyrically raw as Lamont Coleman would fall through the cracks, another casualty of a major label bungling young careers. Whether he would have found a commercial breakthrough in the new millennium, or remain one of the underground’s champions remains one of the tantalizing “what ifs?” of hip-hop lore. Sadly it was not to be, Big L murdered in a drive-by before the age of 25.

I’d heard of the Brooklyn rapper when starting my dig through hip-hop, though mostly in passing reference. A shortened discography didn’t help matters, Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous his only record released while still alive, while the posthumous The Big Picture (1974-1999) gathered material he’d been making for a second album. The latter offered us Ebonics, an incredibly clever track showcasing amazing lyricism that clued me in that I should be giving Big L some proper attention. Another factor was the live shout-out Gang Starr gave him as the very first track on their double-CD retrospective collection Full Clip: A Decade Of Gang Starr. The fact these legends would do such a thing on a release centered on their career suggested Big L was definitely an MC worthy of some stature. Finally, after a friend from out East came for a visit and kept insisting we play some Big L on a road trip, well, that just sealed the deal.

And playing through Lifestylez Ov Da Poor & Dangerous, yeah,I hear how this young MC put even Nas on notice. His topics are well-tread street rap, but nonetheless gripping as he spits his rhymes. Weaving tales of the ‘hood life, survival of the illest, gotta’ do what you gotta’ do to get through it all, all the while questioning why lesser MCs in the game are getting mad paid while talent such as his languishes in obscurity. Big L’s lyricism is spotless, vivid with his imagery, dynamic with his multi-syllabic rhymes (known as ‘compounding’ apparently; always learning something new!), riding beats with flow that’s fierce yet smooth. The music production is almost entirely that Eastcoast funk-n-jazz loop based stylee, mostly handled by his Diggin’ In The Crates Crew members Buckwild and Lord Finesse (you’ve heard their beats before, trust). It all reminds me of Del’s No Need For Alarm, hip-hop strictly for the underground heads, though with heavier Eastcoast grit and menace. Mint material, all this.

Bob Dylan - Bringing It All Back Home

Columbia: 1965/2003

A much better introduction to Bob Dylan long-players. Hell, it just might be among his most iconic albums for a number of reasons. For one, there’s the big hullabaloo over his ventures into the realms of electric music. Hey, that means Bringing It All Back Home is actually relevant to this blog! Nah, not really, the ‘going electric’ part merely his embrace of rock music after an early career as a traditional acoustic folkie. This was seen as a Very Big Deal though, like a betrayal of sorts; musicians just didn’t cross genre and scene boundaries, yo’. You started as an acoustic folk singer, you stayed in your lane. You started as a country crooner, damn straight you weren’t offering those pipes to Motown soul. A rock band was a rock band, though maybe you might get in on that blues action too.

Point being Bobby Dylian proved one wasn’t so chained to their genre as record labels so often claimed. The Beatles could make more than simple ‘love me do’ jangles. Brian Wilson could pen tunes about things other than surfing. And most importantly, you could even meld genres together! Rock music was traditionally lyrically simple stuff, catchy little numbers intended for dancefloors and malt shops, with no time for anecdotes and storytelling. Dylan said nuts to that, retaining his wordsmith abilities without sacrificing the energetic rockabilly jaunts.

And while Subterranean Homesick Blues, Maggie’s Farm, Outlaw Blues, On The Road Again, and Bob Dylan’s 115th Dream enthusiastically rock with the best of that era’s tunes, Mr. Zimmerman doesn’t just dwell on a single genre either. There’s a touch of the country in She Belongs To Me and Love Minus Zero, plus a flurry of folk songs to finish the album out. These include some of his most endearing pieces like Mr. Tambourine Man, famously covered by The Byrds that same year, and maybe-sorta’ about LSD (and if so, a much better allegory than the ham-fisted weed puns of Rainy Day Women #12 & 35). Somber Gates Of Eden is also here, foretelling the inevitable hippie burnout of the ‘70s before there was even much of a hippie movement to begin with. And if you ever need a more perfect example of Dylan’s seemingly stream-of-conscious lyricism, have a gander at It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).

I bitched some about Dylan’s singing on Blonde On Blonde, but he sounds perfectly fine here. It’s like the brisk rock tempos prevent him from oohver enuunsiating. 115th Dream hilariously starts with an aborted recording session, lending the whole album a playful vibe, and that ol’ Bob isn't always so serious about himself. Finally, Subterranean Homesick Blues is probably most famous for offering the closest thing to the first music video. True, the scene of Dylan holding up cue cards in an alleyway as the song plays was taken from a tour documentary, but it’s been so smoothly extracted from the film, it may as well be a music video made for MTV. Dudes!

Bob Dylan - Blonde On Blonde

Columbia: 1966/2004

The only Bob Dylan album you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a Bob Dylan fan. That said, do not let this be your introduction to the guy’s work. Mind, I honestly don’t know how one’s supposed to properly take in Mr. Zimmerman’s work. Every Dylan disciple will claim all his ‘60s material is essential, while the ‘70s is good, except when it’s actually very bad, but he was being intentionally bad so it’s actually good. Not that ‘80s stuff though, that was just bad-bad. Dammit though, we only have time to listen to a couple albums in our super busy lives. What’s the absolute best-best album we’re supposed to have? Blonde On Blonde apparently, but that comes with a huge caveat as far as I’m concerned.

I’m by no means a Dylan expert – the fact I’m reviewing this album is by happenstance of a former owner’s contribution to my CD hoarding. I know the history though, the legacy, the influence he’s had on some of my favorite artists. I’ve heard the iconic songs and the loving tributes. But diving into all his music? Sorry, Neil Young’s filled my need for folkie-rocker protester musician. So take these thoughts with grainy sodium, because Blonde On Blonde strikes me as the sort of album one can only fully appreciate as someone thoroughly versed in Dylan’s discography, idiosyncrasies and all.

Many call this his opus, but I’m not hearing much more here that can’t be found on his other ‘electric’ records of the era. There’s definitely a lot more of it though, which is great if you can’t get enough of that clever lyricism and metaphorical storytelling his reputation’s made on. And boy, choosing those famous, unheralded Nashville session musicians when his New York recordings weren’t up to snuff was a brilliant move, the backing tracks fun and exuberant throughout. I just wish I could hear them better in the final mix.

Right, folks come to a Bob Dylan album to hear Bob Dylan doing Bob Dylan th’angs, but damn if his cadence doesn’t grate after a while. Yes, I know this iis just the waaay he sings some-times, which is fine in small doses. For the double-LP length of Blonde On Blonde though, I completely tune out in the back half, especially so for the eleven-minute closer Sad Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands. There are some lovely words being sung, just not in the way they’re being sung, plus he recycles so many melodies from the first half, it’s like the album’s spinning wheels. And why on Earth is that harmonica so damn high and shrill, drowning out the awesome session musicians? It isn’t even all that good a’ blowin’.

By the end of it, Blonde On Blonde comes off like an endurance test for what you can get out of Dylan. If you’re totally down with ol’ Bob, every moment is mana. Methinks one need a little bracer of his other material before coming into this one though.

Jerry Goldsmith - Star Trek: The Motion Picture (20th Anniversary Edition)

Columbia/Sony Legacy: 1979/1998

Still not the geekiest thing in my music collection, though I can't deny it being somewhere in the Top Ten. If I had any of the Star Wars soundtracks, it'd certainly be geekier than that, though not as geeky were the original Battlestar Galactica among my CDs. I guess it's proper-nerdy to claim I've got any Star Trek soundtracks and not Star Wars, but here's the thing: I'll never have to purchase a Star Wars soundtrack. Those compositions are so ubiquitous in geekdom, there's no effort in hearing John Williams' music. Hell, there's a disco medley of Star Wars that occasionally pops up on my work radio – ain't no way you'd hear the same for Star Trek.

In any case, it doesn't matter whether having Star Trek: The Motion Picture is geeky or not, because connoisseurs of sci-fi soundtracks agree Jerry Goldsmith's score is among the best out there. When you think Star Trek, you almost inevitably think of that main theme, a triumphant piece of music, ready to explore the cosmos in the name of adventure and discovery. Of course, it helps they reused the theme for The Next Generation, all but assuring its permanent place in pop culture, but The Motion Picture was its debut, and likely the only thing most folks recall of the movie. That, and the fact it was a slog of special effects over-indulgence. But hey, it’s one of the only Trek movies to go super-hard sci-fi, and I kinda’ appreciate for that, even if I only ever watch it on the laziest of rainy afternoons.

Before I got this soundtrack though, another reason I would throw the movie on was to bask in the wonderfully alien sounds of Craig Huxley’s Blaster Beam, an eighteen-foot long monstrosity of piano strings, aluminum, magnets, and artillery shell (yes, really). Huxley was already making incidental sounds and clips for Trek related media, but when he showed the instrument off to Goldsmith, the composer instantly knew he had his signature sound for the movie's antagonist. And a good thing too, the Blaster Beam injecting a remarkable amount of omnipresent menace and character to nothing more than a lot of special effects and a Voyager probe prop.

Some feel Goldsmith's score was wasted on The Motion Picture, but it's honestly one of the few shining positives of the movie. All those scenes of flying through space, flying through space clouds, flying over impossibly giant probes, and an inconsequential love story would have fallen flatter than Saturn’s rings without the music. Goldsmith captured the mystery and awe of exploration and the unknown as best as anyone could for a hard sci-fi movie, and is worth a listen on those merits.

Thrown in this 20th anniversary collector’s edition is the old Inside Star Trek record, where Gene Roddenberry conducts interviews with cast members and gives lectures. It’s pure Trekkie fluff, with a curious take away: Mr. Roddenberry’s fascination with sex in sci-fi. Ah, so those mini-skirts weren’t standard issue after all.

Fugees - The Score

Columbia: 1996

Fugees’ The Score annoyed me to no end when it first came out. It was inescapable, everyone hyping the ever-loving Hell out of it, songs on hourly rotation blasting from radio airwaves and music video transmissions. Not to mention the nonstop requests at whatever teen dance, Christmas party, or wedding I was attending, when all I wanted to hear out was a little Dance Mix 96 instead. Okay, so I only heard Killing Me Softly, because it was among the most omnipresent singles of that year. That was enough to convince me The Score wasn’t worth my time though, as teenage ignorance is wont to do.

Slowly but surely I came around to the Fugees' multi-platinum selling sophomore effort (thanks, jungle remixes!). Killing Me Softly is what it is, a fine cover of a classic soul song that gave Lauryn Hill the spotlight on the album, Wyclef and Pras politely stepping aside for her moment to shine (save some hype man calls). What finally made me a fan, however, was the way she could command a hook so effortlessly.

Ready Or Not is the obvious one, but the strangely forgotten Fu-Gee-La is another winner, her rendition of the Teena Marie original worming its way inside your brain matter for long-term residence. Seriously, I listened to The Score about a week ago, and her Fu-Gee-La chorus is still randomly spinning in my head! It doesn’t hurt it’s got such a wicked bottom end, deep in the dub with a swaggering dancehall bounce. Why doesn’t anyone bring this song up anymore? It was the lead single, including a prominent sticker on the front proudly proclaiming it as the reason to buy The Score. It had two extra remixes added as bonus tracks, including one from dub reggae legends Sly & Robbie! Yet to this day, nadda and zilch is mentioned of it. Hell, I don’t even recall anyone talking up the track even when the album was new – even the goofy kung-fu Chinese restaurant skit prior to it got more play than Fu-Gee-La. Revive this song, yo’!

While the rest of The Score if often bypassed from the big tunes, that’d be a disservice to your ears. Yes, the Fugees were only ever modest MCs, but they rose to fame when gangsta tropes and New York City mafioso raps were the big hotness on the East Coast. In feeding off their influences of reggae, dancehall, soul, and the conscious end of hip-hop, they stood apart from all their contemporaries, offering an easy-going vibe for an increasingly aggressive scene. They could throw down when it came to battle skills (How Many Mics, The Score), though their focus was aimed more at inner-city strife, especially back in Wyclef’s native Haiti.

Speaking of Wyclef, just how brilliantly daft is some of his production here? Sampling Enya – freaking Enya! – for a hip-hop track and making it work is amazing in of itself. Still, I always knew Boadicea was a dope cut, if given right context.

Leftfield - Rhythm And Stealth

Columbia: 1999

We’re not many, us Leftfield fans who prefer Rhythm And Stealth over Leftism. Mind, most enjoy both albums to some degree, but when pushed for a proclaimed love between the duo’s sole two LPs, Leftism gets the like-thumbs first. And why not? It’s got the classic tunes many are familiar with - Release the Pressure, Song Of Life, Open Up - plus a bevy of classy cuts running from downtempo dub, tribal ‘riddims, and progressive house. These are all easy sounds for a casual consumer of electronic music to vibe on, which was kinda’ the point when Leftfield put that album together anyway. They had new markets to penetrate.

With Rhythm And Stealth though, Barnes and Daley basically said nuts to all that and started treading where their contemporaries feared to venture. They go deeper into the dub, getting their gear good and gritty with Roots Manuva on opener Dusted, then on the cusp of UK super-stardom. Compared to the floating bliss of Release The Pressure, this is one confrontational kick-off by comparison, Leftfield letting their loyal fanbase know they’re in for a rougher ride on this LP. And in case you fooled yourself into thinking it was just a one-off, the pummeling beats and rough rhythms of Phat Planet, Double Flash, Dub Guessett, and 6/8 War reinforces the notion Leftfield aren’t playing nice for their sophomore effort. That’s half the album devoted to unrelenting submission of your psyche, radio-friendly jams be damned. And if you’re obligated in making a radio-friendly jam, I’ve no problem with it being Afrika Shox, a nu-skool electro-funk outing that rescued Afrika Bambaataa from Italian euro-dance Hell (much love for Feel The Vibe tho’!).

Still, they do mix things up with tunes more in line with the reggae dub that inspired much of their output. Chant Of A Poor Man brings back Cheshire Cat for some dancehall business, Swords is basically Leftfield’s stab at trip-hop (getting featured on all the hip rave movies of the time, ‘natch), and a pair of crackly ambient dub outings with El Cid and Rino’s Prayer mark the mid and end points of the album. Come to think of it, each half of Rhythm And Stealth is remarkably similar: opening single with prominent rapper, instrumental banger, downtempo cut, another instrumental banger, and ambient outro. Wow, I never realized that until now! I feel so stupid.

Album programming aside, the fact Rhythm And Stealth caught many off guard is one of the key reasons why I prefer it over Leftism. Barnes and Daley knew they couldn’t repeat their debut, the genres there they’d helped pioneer already coming off dated by decade’s end. Instead, they gambled on pounding dub rhythms and productions fused with other hot genres of the time, once again carving their own sound in the process. It’s an album where the listener must take in on its terms, crossover fans be damned. My kind of LP then, though understandable why Rhythm And Stealth left others cold.

Various - Ovum Sampler

Columbia: 1997

You couldn’t escape this CD. There it sat on every single store shelf, because it was an affordable retail disc with a hot name in Josh Wink on the tracklist. There it sat in the collections of fellow electronic music aficionados, because it was a cheap compilation that had Josh Wink’s hot new single, Are You There… included. There it rested in every pawn shop, because when folks inevitably do their music purges, this was always one of the first to go. I’ve a feeling, should I be forced into selling CDs for ramen noodles again, I’ll harbor no regret over sending Ovum Sampler back to the used music bargain bins that I plucked it from. (er, if anyone will even accept CDs anymore)

Ovum Recordings itself has had a storied history over the years, one of the American leaders in all things deep house, tech-house, and vibey goodness from the City Of Brotherly Love. After the ridiculous success of Higher State Of Consciousness, Winky boy undoubtedly wanted more control over his own productions, hence setting up a label he and like-minded Philadelphia producers could build their careers on. King Britt also had a hand in the early development of Ovum, often releasing music as Sylk 130 because... it was an actual alias? Oh yeah, King Britt's name really is King Britt. He was destined to produce jazzy deep house, wasn't he?

So Ovum got rolling with Wink and Britt providing the early bulk of singles; a few others like Size 9 and Scuba (no, not that Scuba) rounded out the rest. A sampler disc should logically offer a smattering of all the artists one might find on the label, but for some reason, we only get three tracks from Sylk 130, two tracks from Wink, and two from Jamie Myerson, a young musical prospect that had recently signed to Ovum.

The Sylk 130 cuts are about as you’d expect from King Britt, though do a good job showing his eclectic range – it doesn’t hurt two of them are remixes. The Reason is a pure jazz-funk work, with a soulful croon from Vicki Miles and a rub by John Wicks; meanwhile, Tek 9 of 4 Hero offers a hip-hop vibe for Getting’ Into It, and the final Sylk 130 tune, Incident On The Couch, is all hazy nu-jazz, perfect for all your spliffed-out needs. As for Wink’s contributions, yes, Are You There… is here, but it’s the Size 9 Groove Mix. Well, that’s disappointing, this version far too loopy even by Wink standards. New Groove’s far more interesting, a minimalist slice of acid techno with spacey synths in support. Float on, my son. Finally, Jamie Myerson gives us some jazzy d’n’b in Everything Is Gonna Be Alright and… Balearic electro-chill in Unity Gain?

Wow, Ovum Sampler’s actually quite diverse, maybe too diverse for a label showcase. Guess that’s why folks don’t give this CD much care anymore, preferring these artists in the context of their own albums.

Grooverider - Mysteries Of Funk

Columbia: 1998

For most of the '90s, I was incredibly ignorant of drum 'n bass. Though I knew of it by way of occasional crossover tunes like Goldie's Inner City Life and... um... hmm. Okay, so that was about all I knew of. Fortunately, the ‘deebee’ scene couldn’t be contained forever, and for a furious four months at the end of ’98, jungle was about all my pals and I listened to – mostly jump-up jungle, mind you, but it was a start. And yet, I felt something lacking in those two-step rhythms and bomber-style basslines - something clever, something with heart and soul, and something not so gimmicky. Putting my ace electronic music discovery skills to task, I dug around for a name that could fill that gap: asking experts, reading magazine, searching chat rooms, making the Vancouver pilgrimage...

Well, no, that’s bullshit. Grooverider’s Mysteries Of Funk was in fact a Christmas gift from a music warehouse working aunt. She knew I liked that ‘dance music’ stuff, and I’d get a tiny bundle most years. Why she included Grooverider’s debut album that winter of ’98, I’ll never know, but damn if it wasn’t exactly what I needed to hear from d’n’b.

The tale of Mr. Bingham’s only proper LP is one of years upon years of anticipation. Grooverider had been instrumental in nurturing jungle’s formative darkside era, and when it grew stale, became a leading figure in a new style, tech-step. Most of this was accomplished through his DJing, though he’d release the odd single and remix along the way too. It was enough to get folks itching at the chance to hear an album of ‘Rider’s production palette. Luckily, Mr. Bingham had an ace up his sleeve for making Mysteries Of Funk a success; or rather, an Optical in the studio.

Perhaps most surprising about this album is, for a release by a tech-step don’, there’s only a few such tracks. Where’s Jack The Ripper was the main ‘hit’ off here, which doesn’t sound too far off Optical’s typical sound of the time. There’s also Cybernetic Jazz at the start and Starbase 23 at the end, both opting for jazzy grooves and dark ambience before unleashing their feral basslines. Oh yeah, there’s a lot of jazzstep on here too.

Right, jazzstep was the commercial and critical hotness around the time, Goldie leading the way and Roni Size/Reprazent cementing it. Ol’ Groovy also having his hand in there makes sense. With his offerings just as solid as any of the heavy-hitters of the genre, by all means get on that double-bass slaps (On The Double), scat-jazz hijinks (C Funk), muted trumpets (Time & Space), and general nuttiness (Rivers Of Congo) action. Goes great with those fierce rhythms throughout (no, not Fierce; it’s Optical).

Mysterious Of Funk wasn’t a game changer in the d’n’b scene at large, though it did convince me of its potential. It’s also a strong showing from a man that’d earned his stripes. Grooverider’s contribution was good too.

Prince - Musicology

Columbia: 2004

The music scene Prince had flourished within at his commercial peak was no longer recognizable, tons of young upstarts feeding the crowds with watered-down funk and drunk-dumb crowd pleasers. There was no soul in music anymore, no respect for the masters who’d laid the groundwork. Time to take the music back to its source, then - back to the old school that inspired him, with little to none of the modern trappings that plague contemporary music. And to kick off this initiative would be an advertising campaign unlike any other before, including an instantly catchy lead single paired with a perfectly charming video. Unfortunately, once the full album dropped, folks quickly realized all the media hype was just that, and were left with a disappointing product that could never have lived up to its build-up. Oh well, at least Daft Punk still earned a Grammy for the album. Wait a minute…

Yes, in an uncanny coincidence, the stories behind Prince’s Musicology and Daft Punk’s Random Access Memory are remarkably similar, although I suspect Daft Punk’s version will be talked about longer than Prince’s. When Mr. Nelson came out with Musicology, it was the first time in years the general music media showed interest in him again. Part of it likely was due to his induction into the Rock 'N Roll Hall Of Fame that same year; or maybe it was the fact his old label disputes throughout the '90s was finally subsiding, thus allowing Mr. Nelson to retain his famous performance name, and not some wonky symbol. It sure makes it easier for journalists to proclaim “Prince Is Back!”, even though he never really went away. Additionally, Musicology was a return to a major label for distribution, in this case Columbia. With everything pointing to a triumphant narrative, this album was destined to re-establish Prince as the preeminent tastemaker of all things funky and soulful, at a time when music critics so desperately wanted it so.

Yet within a year, Musicology was a distant memory, folks more intrigued by Prince’s growing free-distribution marketing instead. This, from an album that earned Mr. Nelson his first Grammys (two of them, even!) since the ‘80s. Not that those awards are worth much credibility anyway, but the point is for a collection of music that everyone pegged as an instant classic, folks instead instantly forgot about it.

Can’t say I blame them either. Hell, I bought into the hype, and aside from the titular cut, Illusion, Coma, Pimp, & Circumstance (kinda hip-hoppy), Cinnamon Girl (not a Neil Young cover), and The Marrying Kind (power chords!), I can never remember anything off here. There’s funk, there’s soul, there’s Prince, but where’s the ingenuity, the earworms, or the thrilling songcraft? In making an album that’s an ode to the music of his upbringing, he neglected to make it uniquely his. Anyone versed in classic R&B could write these tunes. With little on Musicology standing out from funk ‘n soul standards, the album quickly disappeared from public discourse.

The Offspring - Ixnay On The Hombre

Columbia: 1997

I'm going to lose a lot of punk credibility, but The Offspring's– wait a minute, what punk cred' do I have? Aside from electronic music's 'digital punks' The Prodigy and Gorillaz, I haven’t come within a hair of that scene – and no, I don't have any Alex Empire either. I did grow up around the stuff, many of my musically inclined associates learning to play Green Day riffs and such. Hanging out with Peter Punk and Oliver Oi’ provided enough exposure to the music, constant rotations of Epitaph and Fat Wreck Chords filling whatever need I could have as a teen. Oh, and a pair of songs from The Offspring’s Smash made it onto a mixtape. What can I say, that album was freakin’ huge in 1994.

Right, so any real hardcore punks reading this (oh ho-ho-ho!) are biting their thumbs at what constituted a punk scene where I grew up. “Green Day? NOFX? Bunch’a fuckin’ mainstream pop shite, they are, mate,” says the street rat with liberty spikes. Fair enough sentiments from the hardcore, but even in the pop-punk side of things, lines were being drawn. Smash’s popularity quickly led to Offspring burn-out, such that when Ixnay On The Hombre came out, it didn’t sell as spectacularly as their breakout. Of course, by the time Americana was released, a new generation of high school kids were won over by the band’s pop-punk charms. Shame The Offspring couldn’t pull the same trick a third time, but by then emo was all the rock-kids rage.

Where was I again? Oh yeah, that punk credibility thing. The Offspring's Ixnay On The Hombre is a far better album of punk and rock than most would expect, with an opening salvo of The Meaning Of Life and Mota kicking all sorts of ass. I gotta play these whenever I need firing up to do anything. Hell, even doing the dishes sounds awesome while thrashing away to Mota!

The Offspring do show some musical diversity throughout, getting funkier with Me & My Old Lady and I Choose, slower with Gone Away (reminding me of Tears For Fears), and regular ol’ rocky with Amazed, which is nice for album pacing. Let’s be honest though, these guys are at their best when they tear out with the damned ear-wormiest hooks around. Despite many of the songs’ topics coming off immature (though I’m pretty sure Cool To Hate’s supposed to be ironic), you can’t help but get caught up in the energy of their music.

Speaking of which, holy shit, I had no idea All I Want was on this album! The tune’s hopelessly ingrained into my noggin’, as I’m sure anyone that’s played copious amounts of Crazy Taxi can attest to. Man, I was boss at that game.

I doubt anyone reading this on an electronic music blog cares to check out Ixnay On The Hombre on a whim. If you’re feeling daring though, it’s certainly not a bad place to get acquainted with the punk scene.

Peter Tosh - Legalize It

Columbia: 1976

An album you’re supposed to have, if you’ve ever been a pothead. You didn’t even have to smoke much, but having Legalize It in your collection signified support of legislation de-criminalizing the wacky-tabacky; or maybe you just needed a familiar, un-ironic record cover to roll your joints on. And yeah, I definitely was something of a ganja indulger when I picked up Peter Tosh’s debut solo album, but it was because I enjoy those vintage roots reggae jams, I swear!

Several others must have too, as Legalize It has gone down as a reggae classic, and seen several re-issues, remasterings, and remixes this past decade (though not as much as his old bandmate, Bob Marley). Heck, some have even gone so far as to give the album a super SACD upgrade, including full-on 5.1 Surround! As the cheap-ass cover to the left shows, I don’t have such a copy in my possession. I found it in a bargain bin, though as this is Columbia, it wouldn’t surprise me if it was one of those Columbia House options you got in the early ‘90s. It’s also about as tinny as a cheap CD transfer can be, which was about the extent I was willing to splurge on a marijuana protest album, even when I was taking tokes on a semi-regular basis.

Actually, title track aside, Legalize It isn’t much about drugs at all. As was a common theme with Mr. Tosh’s work (and for which he got in trouble with authorities for), protests against injustice and poverty is the name of the game …sometimes. He didn’t get really opinionated until his follow-up albums, but opts for a mix of tunes here. So we get the political stuff in Legalize It, Burial (lambasting gangsters and corrupt officials for never attending funerals of the poor …I think) and What’cha Gonna Do? (about a woman who’s family is being ruined by police and ticky-tacky arrests …I’m pretty sure). Following those, there’s tunes about how awesome Jah is (Igziabeher), pleasant love ditties (No Sympathy and Ketchy Shuby …maybe), and broken relationships (Til Your Well Runs Dry). Okay, I have to admit, I had to do some research online about these lyrics, because like all Jamaican music, their gloriously daft version of English can confound even a fifth level linguist expert (he even understands Scottish!).

Let’s face it though: the real reason to check out this album is for those lovely reggae jams. If your only exposure to the genre is Bob Marley or Sly & Robbie, you’ve missed out on what the genre has to offer, as their tunes were often wonderfully studio crafted works. Tosh, on the other hand, comes off more ramshackle and live – which really, is the best way to hear roots music. There’s something entrancing when hearing various instruments seemingly out of sync with each other, yet somehow maintains rhythmic consistency through it all. It’s, like, getting high, or something.

Leftfield - Leftism

Columbia: 1995

These ‘definitive electronica albums’ often weigh me down. Not for a lack of things to say, oh no – if anything, there’s too much to say, though undoubtedly covered far more extensively than I’d ever manage within self-imposed word count. Trouble arises when you know the narrative, understand the impact, and appreciate the execution, yet can’t always muster the spark that wins you over as it has so many others. I like Leftfield. I like Leftism. I like progressive house – whatever it was supposed to be even back in the day – and have nary an ill thought when it comes to this album. It’s also one of my least played LPs of those seminal mid-‘90s “supposed to have” electronic music releases. In fact, it took me years to finally get around to grabbing a copy, more as a sense of completist obligation rather than any urge to hear Open Up or even Inspection (Check One) again.

Part of the problem is Leftism’s very nature, an attempt at bringing their trend-setting sound into the mainstream consciousness. Not an entirely daft idea, and when Columbia signed Leftfield, I’m sure they figured they’d have similar success as Virgin did with all those other ‘rave’ groups (The Future Sound Of London, The Chemical Brothers, The Massive Attack, etc.). And they were right, Leftism getting sales, plaudits, and all that good stuff. Unlike those acts, however, something feels lost in Leftfield’s transition from underground taste-makers to crossover stars.

Perfect example is the new version of their first hit Song Of Life. The original was a prog-house staple, establishing all the chugging rhythms, clever samples, and dream-like qualities that defined the early scene. On Leftism, however, it opts for the chill road instead, nearly half the track devoted to a revamping of the Song Of Life b-side, Fanfare Of Life. Great sounding cut, of course, but clearly aimed at the home-listening demographic, as is much the album.

Right, Leftfield couldn’t simply release their old club hits in ’95 as they first appeared earlier that decade – the musical innovation arms race was blindingly fast at that time, and grooving, dubby house tunes were already coming off dated. To keep pace, Barnes and Daley dipped their hands in other genres. Techno crops up in Black Flute, Space Shanty, and Afro-Left (though again, the album version pales compared to the pounding Afro Ride cut on the single), breaks get their nod in Storm 3000, trip-hop finds its way care of Original, and chill-out has its moments with Melt and 21st Century Poem; all of which mixed through Leftfield’s trademark bottem-heavy, dubby soundscapes.

Does this sound like too much market-driven genre hopping? Congratulations then, you’ve discovered Leftism’s primary problem. Whether the duo believed they could pull off an ‘all-encompassing’ dance album, or it was mandated by overhead to cover every potential market, I haven’t a clue, but the result is a good sounding LP lacking, erm, progressive electronic music adventurism. We can’t scare away those potential Oasis fans, after all.

Pink Floyd - Is There Anybody Out There? (The Wall Live 1980-81)

Columbia: 2000

The only rock opera you're supposed to have, even if you're not much of a rock opera fan. What about The Who's Tommy, you ask? Pft, that one never had tunes as wickedly catchy as Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2 or Young Lust, nor as emotionally evocative as Hey You and Comfortably Numb. That's four classic rock staples, not to mention a whole bunch more should the station get more adventurous (though you’ll never, ever hear Bring The Boys Back Home, I guarantee ...unless it’s a The Wall tribute).

Oh, you’ve noticed this isn’t The Wall, but a live recording of the same album. Heh, it’s a good album, but I can’t see anyone other than completists needing both. It’s essentially the same thing, only this one comes with crowd noises (pretty cool hearing a cheer when Waters asks whether “they’ll like this song” in Mother), extended versions of some songs (including the awesome What Shall We Do?, cut due to vinyl constraints; not sure why CD versions haven’t added it back in though), and the usual extra energy good live recordings always have. So one or the other, it probably doesn’t matter which you get, but here’s my case for getting the live version.

The whole concept Roger Waters had in mind for the piece was one of audience interaction; or rather, losing contact with the very audience that’d come to see Pink Floyd in concert. What better way to depict such an event than by building a literal wall between the band and crowd? Along the way, a whole narrative came about, mostly based on Waters’ life growing up and alienation with the rock lifestyle. While the specifics may differ, the idea of building emotional barriers in our life is easily identifiable, and it’s no surprise The Wall was as successful as it was as a body of music alone. Taking it to the spectacle of the stage, where Waters could engage in all sorts of call-and-response moments with the crowd, only enhances the concept. A song like Is There Anybody Out There? is a haunting piece on its own, but imagine standing in a darkened stadium with nothing but a faceless wall looming in front of you, the band all but gone from sight. Or being urged on by Waters to tear down the wall at the end, a cathartic release for anyone that suffered from such insular depression. Damn, wish I could have seen that back in the day, but I’d only taken one trip around the sun by that point.

Anyhow, when it came time to pick up The Wall (because it’s a rock opera album- never mind), I went with this live version – it seemed appropriate, given the emotional punch of many songs being intensified with audience interaction. Not as good as being there in person but it’ll do until Waters carts out another tour for it over here. He’s still spry enough to do it at, what, one hundred and three?