U2 - The Best Of 1980-1990

Island Records: 1998

Probably the most obvious item to have in one's music collection, if you've ever only been a passive fan of the biggest band out of Ireland. And weren't of buying age when their most famed albums were being released. So me then, by the late '90s. Those big hits of the '80s just kept playing on the radio, see, even cautiously appearing on classic rock stations now (then). Reminding folks of a different time in the band's lifespan, before all the weird, artsty, 'electronica' stuff took them over and oh, wouldn't it be nice to have all those '80s songs in one, handy place? Man, the 'Best Of' compilation market was such an easy game back then.

Thing is, it was about time for U2 to compile their greatest hits. The band was two decades old into their career, and while as globally popular as ever, perhaps starting to see some strain in their ambition. No, best to reflect on all that came before, the stepping stones that got you to wear you've gotten, and isn't it handy that there's enough material to divide each decade up into two separate releases? Especially for those who felt U2 lost the plot as the '90s wore on? Not me though, I was entirely ambivalent about it!

But yeah, this one was a no-brainer when it was announced, for me and several million other souls - so many classics all in one tidy place! Pride (In The Name Of Love)! New Year's Day! Sunday Bloody Sunday! The Big Three off of The Joshua Tree! A couple more off The Unforgettable Fire, including The Unforgettable Fire! There's even something off their first album, I Will Follow, which makes sense since that jam is quintessential U2 of the '80s, a strident rocker with wonderful melodic overtones. Amazing that they made that so early in their career. The only album not represented here is their sophomore effort October, at least officially. The titular song does appear in 'secret song' capacity, which I guess makes sense since the record never spun off any popular singles. Didn't want to totally forget it though.

So a straight-forward 'best of' collection from U2, but that's only nine songs, and there's still a bunch of space left on the CD? What else can we put in there? Hey, how about a B-side from The Joshua Tree, and make that the lead single for this? Yeah, that's the ticket! Not gonna' lie though, I kinda' despise The Sweetest Thing because as a 'new single' intended to remind the world of U2's '80s glory, it was ridiculously overplayed. Matters weren't helped when it seemed like all their music sounded like that in the following decade.

Okay, that's one more song, but dang'it, there's still more space. What to do, what to do... Oh, screw it, throw in four songs from the Rattle And Hum project at the end, that should be enough. Not like anyone listens to CDs the whole way through anyway.

Anduin - Stolen Years

SMTG Limited: 2012

When I saw this in an online shop, I knew I had to get it sight-unheard. That cardboard border, the artful picture, the unrecognizable musician with post-rock ties... it must be a new Slaapwel Records release! Never mind the label's only released one (1) new item in the two years I first discovered them.

But nay, 'tis not an unearthed Slaapwel Records album. That there's a whopping eight tracks is proof alone, much less the fact they all average around four to six minutes in length. It is an interesting item I've stumbled upon though, and once again I have nothing but my over-eager, hunter-gatherer purchasing instinct to thank for it. Seldom have I been led astray by such impulsive actions, and it was nice of Anduin to keep the faith alive a little longer.

Not to be confused with the Matthew Dear project Audion – because I know your brain has been doing that from the moment you saw the header – Anduin is the brainchild of Jonathan Lee, a chap who's floated about various rock bands these past couple decades. Some were punk, some were post, and some were whatever eclectic ideas were flowing freely in a given jam session. This naturally led Mr. Lee to explore the instrumental, abstract side of his muse, giving rise to Anduin, a project that lasted about half a decade, seemingly mothballed since 2015. Stolen Years was the last full-length record released under the guise.

With absolutely no idea of what to expect going in, I wasn't even sure I'd ended up with a 'music' record as Behind The Voyeur's Wall Of Glass started. So quiet, so subdued, and are those sounds of children playing coming from the track, or the park across from my apartment? Also, someone get WD-40 on that squeaky door stat, why don't ya'? A moody synth tone burbles in and out, a kick that sounds like someone bouncing a basketball emerges, and a lonely saxophone jam adds a creaky blues vibe. It's all rather bleak, but in a melancholic sort of way, like reflecting on one's decrepit life from the confines of a weathered, abandoned flat.

Much of Stolen Years plays out like that: prominent looping field recordings placing you within a vivid setting (so much dirt and grit), sinewy synth pads crafting lonesome moods and tones, and collaborator Jimmy Graphery providing saxophone or flute solos adding human soul to the proceedings. Only final track Irene breaks the mould, shooting for an opulent wall-of-sound ambient outing for closure.

What I find so interesting about Stolen Years is despite the rather simple elements in play, it's extremely difficult pinpointing exactly what kind of music this is. The closest comparison I can come up with is the dark ambient jazz of Phonothek, but not so oppressive and bleak as that duo goes. Stolen Years feels much too intimate to be dark ambient, yet not so lost up its rectum to be jazz. A curious, addictive one, this.

Dead Coast - Shambolic

Annibale Records: 2016

It honestly could have remained a singular compilation indulgence. A specific genre itch that was tied to a specific period of time, and needn't be explored any further. Maybe I'd have gotten myself a Dick Dale collection as well, but surf rock wasn't something in need of diving fully and completely into. Much less wade through the vast, murky shores of indie rock seeking any contemporary bands carrying the music's legacy into the modern era, because there always are a few who find inspiration in super-niche styles of a bygone time. It's just what indie rock do, mang!

Fortunately, and remarkably coincidentally, I stumbled upon a Bandcamp newsletter highlighting all the contemporary bands carrying the music's legacy into the modern era. Like, almost instantly after I'd picked up that Surf Beat compilation. The only explanation for this astounding timing is the sweet Sirens of surf rock heard my longing wail across the Pacific shores, sending me a serenading screed whence I needed it most. Yeah, that tracks.

Thus here I am (rocking you like a hurricane?), reviewing the debut album from Dead Coast, a band out of London that clearly has its ears turned to the early '60s of the California coast. And not only am I reviewing their debut album, but I'm going with the digital copy, because all the hard copy versions were already sold out, but I wasn't gonna' deny myself some fresh musical exploration based on outdated conditionals.

And no, this isn't an all-in surf outing, just as much a 'Merseybeat' and psychedelic rock showing too (Lord Discogs also lists Garage Rock, Blues Rock, Stoner Rock, and Space Rock among the genres Shambolic entails, but what does Discogs know?). The most surfy of the songs on here are probably Ask The Dust, Hills Made Of Sand, Good In Her Blues, and Because I Know You. Mmm, such lush, dreamy reverb, bringing to mind lazy hazy days swaying by sunny shores under palm trees, salty waves lapping at your feet and all that good summer stuff. Plus, can't knock that authentic lo-fi recording quality, as though ripped from the sixty year old, 7” records.

That's only four songs out of a tracklist of thirteen. If the surf-inspired tunes don't cut it for you, you can always vibe on the garage-beat outings like Jenny Loves The Sun, Why Are We Still Together, and Just Don't Give Yourself (ooh, getting a White Stripes feeling off that one). Then there are the weirdo tunes, like ESP that's got that blues thing going, but features a Theremin (or approximate) solo. Or Overcome, an instrumental psychedelic freak-out that pauses at points for some slow jam time in a Tiki lounge (oh hi, Khruangbin, fancy seeing you here); Bossa For Stanley would fit in that lounge too.

So overall, a good first outing in this strange yet familiar musical realm I'm treading out into. I mean, it ought to have been, what with this album coming recommended by Bandcamp and all.

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Zuma

Reprise Records: 1975

Sometimes the best way to get out of a depressive funk is to abandon one group of music buddies, reconvene with another group of music buddies, and hang out on the beaches of Malibu getting all up in that mid-'70s bachelor life. Lots of booze, lots of 'rawk', probably some drugs too, though none of that super-heavy shit that had been going around, leading to too many deaths of colleagues. Or maybe a little on the psychedelic bent, Zuma marking the point where Neil Young started singing about ancient Aztec and Incan lore, the sort of stuff one can't help but be inspired by after ingesting a little psilocybin. Me, I just go and listen to every album I own in alphabetical order, but if writing music about Cortez the killer and mythical lady-birds is what does it for you, have at it, guy.

Weird inspirations aside, one of the reasons Zuma came to fruition is Young's old band Crazy Horse had found themselves a new guitarist after the passing of Danny Whitten. It'd only been a few years since then, but in Neil Young terms, that's practically a lifetime, a whole stage of his career cycled through. Insisting he come and check out the dude's chops on the axe (or however you say it), Mr. Young was impressed at how well he could perform both lead and rhythm guitar parts on such classic Crazy Horse collaborations like Cowgirl In The Sand and Down By The River.

That's because this here Frank Sampedro was a huge fan of the group, often jamming away on his own to the album Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere. So much so, in fact, that ol' “Pedro” joked he'd probably played those songs more than Young and Whitten ever had. Feeling that familiar fire that made their earlier works such kinetic monuments to classic rock, The Young & The Restless Horse hit the studio with the same carefree approach as before, cranking out tunes about blue barstools, stupid girls, and other love-lorn chestnuts.

Aside from Cortez The Killer though (sounding kinda' short to my ears at seven-and-a half minutes, since I'm used to the live Weld version), Zuma doesn't have much in the way of classic Young material. Some good, solid rock music, for sure, a few tunes of which are little more than excuses for the band to just go off while bemoaning past relationships (as I said, a total bachelor fest). There's also Danger Bird, the closest thing to a companion piece to Cortez The Killer in its epic sense of scope, though it doesn't reach the seven minute mark, nor has been trotted out for live sessions as often, so it's unsurprising the song goes overlooked in the annals of Young et Cheval de Fou music.

Which is Zuma in a nutshell. The players involved were basically rediscovering their synergy with this outing, and would create greater works together after this.

The Beatles - With The Beatles

Parlaphone: 1963/2009

The only Beatles album you're supposed to have, even if you're not a Beatles fan. It's got the iconic cover photo, after all, one even The B-Sharps ripped off. It's also the 'indie' option of their first two albums, lacking the instantly recognizable hit singles of Please Please Me, like I Saw Her Standing There, Love Me Do, and Lennon's famous throat-wrecking rendition of Twist And Shout. Instead, you get almost-as instantly recognizable hits like All My Loving, I Wanna Be Your Man, and Starr's tub-thump rendition of Please Mister Postman. Okay, they're both chocked full of vintage Beatlemania 'choons', but With The Beatles has the iconic cover and the slightly lesser-known classics, critical factors in building music hipster cred. Plus, it was the last album released before America caught on to their music, butchering their releases into nothing like the UK versions in the process. Basically, you'd be a true O.G. vinyl God if you had With The Beatles in America - or was Canadian. Yeah, my country got With The Beatles months before them yankees had any official music from the Liverpool-Four. Having ties to the Commonwealth was still reaping some benefits.

As always, it's nigh impossible for me to review an album that's been psychoanalyzed to death by music scribes nearly twice as old as I. The Beatles' story is so etched in Western culture that it'll likely last far into the future, when rock music is but a distant memory, but tales of troubadours conquering the globe endure. So it's rather quaint coming back to these early records when they were still mostly a British phenomenon, rockin' the billy, Merseying the beat, and coverin' the cross-Atlantic classics. No Bob Dylan folksy influences found here yet, my friends.

If you're wondering just how these lads managed to sell over a million copies of With The Beatles (a feat previously accomplished once in Britain, via the South Pacific soundtrack - haven't heard it either), it wasn't just their snappy duds and puckish charms. These guys really were good musicians, already finding ways of mixing things up as a record played through. Little Child has harmonica! Till There Was You has bongos! Please Mister Postman has cowbell! I Wanna Be Your Man has Ringo singing! And yes, it's the same song The Rolling Stones did too. Lennon and McCartney wrote the tune, then figured maybe Jagger and his band might have better use of it. Mickey and the Stoners definitely did, but then them Beatles went and did their own version of it anyway, each being released within weeks of the other. What's funny is Lennon figured the tune just a throw-away, because like Hell he'd give the Stones or Ringo the spotlight on a good song.

Even if you're just a fan of the Number-One hits, it's hard denying all the charming melodies and vocal harmonies throughout With The Beatles. These guys had the look, the sound, and the drive for something unprecedented in rock music: global domination.

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.

The White Stripes - The White Stripes

V2: 1999

For as big a band The White Stripes became, they certainly have humble beginnings. I wonder if they'd have even broken out of Detroit obscurity without a couple lucky breaks. For sure Jack and Meg White had a good sound going for them, but this was the late '90s, you see, and theirs was a sound no one in the world of Corporate Rock had interest in. Maybe if one of the elder statesmen of blues classic rock made a throwback garage album, that would get some buzz, but a couple of kids out of the Motor City? Hell, the music press already had a new hero from that area to fawn over, a white rapper who somehow earned Dr. Dre's blessing. Now that's a story!

This duo may never have had much aspiration for their music beyond dominating their local scene, but boy did they go all out in doing so. Jack White was already a seasoned journeyman playing in various bands, but when his recently married wife Meg had a kick at the tin cans, they realized their musical synergy was better than anything else he'd been working on before. Thus they dubbed themselves The White Stripes, with a peppermint candy theme in their presentation, about as retro a rock look as you could hope to get in the '90s. While working the underground rock stages for about a year, indie label heads noticed the duo had “It”, and were offering them record deals. They signed with Cali-based Sympathy For The Record Industry (they of Chemical Dolls, Love Dolls, The Lazy Cowgirls, Mad Daddys, Loudspeaker, Experimental Audio Research, and The Pooh Sticks) for a debut album.

And, well... it's certainly a debut album from The White Stripes. They already had a deliberately simple sound to begin with, and if their so-called magnum opus of Elephant wasn't breaking the mould by much, then a self-titled debut sure as Shirley ain't either. If anything, it can't help but be as basic as blues rock gets, Jack and Meg still in the process of realizing their full potential. It's certainly a good ol' rowdy time throughout, the production as heavy and thick as you could get in the '90s. At sixteen tracks long, most averaging the two-to-three minute range, The White Stripes supplies a nice variety of hard rockers, bluesy downbeaters, and... um, that's about it. Hey, it's not like the songs last long anyway.

Still, as decent a debut as this album is, it didn't get much attention in the rock world – they were more interested in the output of Limp Bizkit and Creed, dont'cha know. However, an influential UK DJ by the name of John Peel (perhaps you've heard of him?) happened upon the album, taking an instant liking to it. Naturally, his word gave The White Stripes an in with the always savvy British market, while The U.S.... had to wait for a Lego video to finally catch on too. Then they couldn't stop praising this album!

Gorillaz - G Sides

EMI Music Canada: 2002

By the point of Demon Days, springing for additional Gorillaz material seemed a no-brainer. Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett were so meticulous in expanding the brand's memorabilia and lore that you almost felt left out if you didn't check out every aspect of it. Nowadays, it's easy-pie doing so, most resources readily available online. It's also made doing interactive media all the more challenging for the duo, as among Gorillaz' many manifestos, one of them was to always use cutting edge technology in bringing their virtual band to the masses. It's gotten so technical that they've brought Murdoc and 2-D into our meat-space via remote imaging and cartoon holographic digital-quantum trickery, hackery, puppetry, wizardry, and 23@47~{ry. It's a far cry from their early, simple days, when having CD-ROM bonuses was about the peak of extra content.

I mean, that was one of the selling points of G Sides back when wasn't it? The two music videos included on the CD? It's honestly remarkable they fit two on here in the first place, most CDs only having room for one vid' at best. And while including Clint Eastwood would be rather redundant by 2002 (that got massive rotation on TV the year prior), no one had ever seen the Rock The House video yet. I don't know if that one ever aired, either debuting on G Sides, or as an unlockable on the original Gorillaz website. I barely even remember how that thing operated, only that it was considered state-of-the-art web design way back in 2001, with the original Gorillaz CD acting as a key to bonus features like cartoon shorts and the like. As I had a barely functional piece of junk PC at the time, I never got to explore 'Murdoc's Winnebago', and by the time I did get a computer that could, Gorillaz had already moved onto Phase 2, rendering the site obsolete. Oh well.

Obviously all that content is now easy to find online, meaning the only reason to get G Sides now is for the music. Okay, that was a reason back then too, though you must have been one hardcore fan to spring for this album – or just liked more of Mr. Hewlett's artwork. Gorillaz has evolved into a remarkable institution these days, but fifteen years hence, it was seen as little more than a novelty with a clever marketing campaign and some killer singles. That much of the debut album is filler, however, isn't brought up much anymore, seen as a bunch of genre fusion lacking a concise concept linking it altogether as later albums would. If you're down for more of such genre fusion, plus alternate versions of Clint Eastwood and 19-2000, then G Sides is a fun little bonus to the Phase 1 material. It's even got Noodle doing a couple solo outings with electro-pop Faust and trip-hop Left Hand Suzuki Method, singing in Japanese and all. It's as though she could make a whole Gorillaz album herself or something.

Various - The Verve Story: 1944-1994 (Disc Two: 1953-1957)

Verve Records: 1994

Right, it wasn’t just the nifty box-set design that caught my attention when buying this. The name Verve Records does have some pedigree even to those as unenlightened of jazz’s storied history as I, so it was a safe bet checking out a 50th Anniversary collection for a proper knowledge-drop on the music.

To simply call it a jazz label hardly does the Verve print justice though, adopting many other scenes as tastes and trends shifted through the ‘60s and ‘70s. They brought us the Righteous Brothers, The Velvet Underground, The Frank Zappa And The Mothers Of Invention, and assorted folksy music too. Jazz remained Verve’s breaded butter though, and even as the music slowly dwindled from prominence, it found a comfortable role in reissuing its back-catalog, all the while gobbling up other jazz prints as labels consolidated their assets into mega-labels. They’re apparently now under the Interscope Geffen A&M Records banner, but not before making stops with MGM, PolyGram, and Universal. I can’t imagine founder Norman Granz figured his print would ever take such a convoluted journey.

Before he set up Verve Records though, Granz had a couple other prints. CD1 focused on his seminal Jazz At The Philharmonic concert tours (not so much a label, but a cross-label brand), and Clef Records, which ran for a decade before being absorbed into Verve. Around 1953, Granz set up another label called Norgran Records, though it too was consolidated into Verve in ’56. It’s this five year period that CD2 cribs its material from, the mid-‘50s in all its boppin’ glory.

Yeah, there’s a good deal of the bebop groove here that’ll have you realizing where the roots of rock’n’roll originated from – the rhythm guitar was getting more opportunities to strut its stuff, that’s for sure. Naturally I’m fonder of this stuff, though hearing more blues-leaning jazz doesn’t hurt either. And while swing was essentially on the outs by the Fifties, that didn’t mean big-bands went by the wayside too, quite a few offerings of ‘orchestras’ on display here (minimum six musicians present, singer optional). I can’t help but think of grand Hollywood spectacles of hip, urban life while hearing these tunes, which is in stark contrast to the more modest, quieter pieces like Art Tatum’s piano solo Tea For Two and Benny Carter’s My One And Only Love - now I’m at a stuffy cocktail party.

However, the most prominent new addition to the Verve legacy CD2 showcases is vocalists. Obviously jazz music had singers before, but when Granz established this print, it was with promoting singing talent in mind. This included such vocalists as Anita O’Day, Billie Holiday, and Ella Fitzgerald, who he personally managed. In fact, the first official Verve release was a collection of Cole Porter covers sung by Ms. Fitzgerald. For my money though, that duet with Louis Armstrong (They Can’t Take That Away From Me) is the clear highlight. Dang near everything ol' Louis did was gold.

Various - The Verve Story: 1944-1994 (Disc One: 1944-1953)

Verve Records: 1994

Like any good and true ‘lover of music’, I had to eventually pay my pittance to jazz music. Where to start though? Its history is impossibly immense, with no hope of simply dipping one’s toes within - even the shallows are as vast as a continental shelf to the scene’s endless oceans. Acid and nu-jazz have provided me a few backdoor avenues, though only delayed the inevitable proper step into the world of swing, blues, bebop, Afro-Cuban, bossa-nova, smooth, cool, free, and a zillion others, I’m sure (and you thought electronic music could get convoluted in its genre demarcations). A ‘best of’ collection seemed an appropriate starting point, but how does one differentiate the soulless corporate cash-grab compilations from the earnest sets curated by authorative historians? Packaging is usually a good indicator of quality, hence why I impulsively sprung for a 4CD box-set celebrating the 50th Anniversary of Verve Records sitting in a used shop – the box has a nifty, faux-vinyl texture to it.

This, of course, means I must now write four reviews of jazz music. No, there’s no avoiding it, no loopholes in my arbitrary rules I can exploit. I’ve written reviews for Every. Single. Disc. of box-sets that include Neil Young, Pete Namlook & Klaus Schulze, Pete Namlook tributes, plus two centered around video game music. It’s only appropriate and decent that I afford jazz music the same prestige (shut up, Goa Trance – Psychedelic Flashbacks, you’re irrelevant to this discussion).

Think there’s not enough material to cover here? Please. I could easily spend four reviews discussing the players involved on CD1 alone, though most of it would be dry regurgitation of historical talking points. I have practically no intimate knowledge of such musicians like Bud Powell, Charlie Parker, Illinois Jacquet, or Machito & His Afro-Cuban Orchestra. I do recognize some names here though, like Billie Holiday, Lester Young, Roy Eldridge, Nat King Cole, and the ever-famous cheek-puff maestro Dizzy Gillespie, but that’s through sheer cultural osmosis. I can tell you how these guys were influential in the development of jazz music, but not why it’s significant with any sort of clairvoyance on my part.

Nay, the most I can offer here is detailing the ‘feels’ such music gives me, and yeah, CD1, I feels ya’. The disc covers the first ten years of Verve’s history (technically not even Verve yet, but I’ll get to that later), when jazz was moving on from swing and into its bop era. For the most part, I quite like this era, what with its brisk rhythms and free-wheelin’ solos (soundtracking cartoons of the time doesn’t hurt either). There’s an energy and zest for performing to the best of one’s abilities captured with these recordings, a chunk of which are live as performed in concert halls. Even the slower, bluesy numbers have enough soul in them I can’t help but hang on each note. Add in that authentically crap, crusty, ripped-from-records quality, and it feels like I’m transported to another time and place.

Neil Young - Blue Note Café

Reprise Records: 2015

While the idea of Neil Young becoming a Chicago bluesman named Shakey Deal, supported by a nine-piece band called The Blue Notes, has some intrigue behind it, I wasn’t itching to hear the results. If anything, the controversy surrounding the project’s lead single, This Note’s For You, was far more fascinating, for the video was initially banned from MTV. Whoa, what hardcore content could have been within that made the supposed edgy music station so worrisome? Potentially pissing off corporate sponsors was all, but considering the video featured a Michael Jackson stand-in catching fire, you can bet the estate that helped build the station’s rep would get a might bit ticked. And yet, This Note’s For You won MTV’s Best Video Award that same year. Irony!

A good ol’ Young controversy is always worth checking out the associated material, but an album of modern blues rock wasn’t the most appealing. For one, studio recordings of the stuff seldom did the genre favors, especially with ‘80s production standards. Plus, this felt a bit of a bandwagon jump, this sort of music gaining traction with lots of rockers of the era. Well fool me on that one, the truth a simpler story. Yeah, big musicians like Eric Clapton and U2 were searching for the ‘roots’ of their music in America, and everyone celebrated Stevie Ray Vaughn’s return to grace, but beyond that? Nay, big band blues revival no more significant in the late ‘80s than before the sound’s resurgence at the start of that decade (re: The Powder Blues). Young’s dalliance with a backing brass band was just that, a spurt of inspiration he was quick to capture, then just as quickly move on once the tour was done. It's why beyond the titular single and maybe Ten Men Workin’, no one remembers much from the resultant album. Most of the tunes were hastily slapped together, basic songs that his band could riff over to their heart’s content – typical Neil Young, then.

Still, it was enough for many ace nights on the tour. A live album was even initially planned, but since the album proper didn’t sell that well, it was shelved, Young moving onto better things (like Rockin’ In the Free World). That didn’t stop a plethora of bootlegs from hitting the market though, especially for the die-hard collector as the tour yielded a bevy of new, unreleased material. Some of it occasionally sprinkled out over the years, including the epic Ordinary People two decades after the fact, but most figured these recordings were forever lost. Praise be unto thee, Archives Project!

Two CDs of various gigs stitched together is overkill, but damn if there isn’t tons of great music within. So many unearthed gems (Don’t Take Your Love Away From Me, Bad News Comes To Town, Doghouse), epic takes on classics (Tonight’s The Night, Crime In The City, Ordinary People), and all the bluesy guitar solos you can handle. A lot of trumpet and saxophone too, if that’s your jam.

The Tragically Hip - Trouble At The Henhouse

MCA Records: 1996

We always assumed they’d be around, consistently making affable alternative rock for the bars and the hockey stadiums and the mega-Canadian events. They’re like that reliable Mom-N-Pop deli shop in your neighborhood that could make a perfect pea and bacon soup, or sports store that still sold that one brand of curling broom. You never needed them in your life, but somehow felt enriched by having The Tragically Hip there, something to return to whenever the Want presented itself. And upon hearing of lead singer Gordon Downie’s terminal brain cancer, and how The Hip’s current tour would be their last with him, every Canadian suddenly found themselves in want of returning to the band’s music. Even those who’d only had passing interest (*cough*) tuned in for their final performance together in Kingston, Ontario. While it’s entirely possible The Hip could carry on as a band without Downie, it’s difficult imagining so, the man such an integral part of what made The Hip who they were. Without those poetic tales of common clay under unusual circumstances, they’d never have wooed such a large swath of Canadians finding some connection within their songs.

See, this is what I’m writing about. Who really cares about this singular, twenty year old album of The Tragically Hip when this band that so many of my countrymen adore may have just played their last ever concert! It overshadows everything else in the here-and-now, unlike way back in Spring 2014 (!) when I wrote my first couple reviews of them. I’ll give it the ol’ college try though.

Trouble At The Henhouse was the follow-up to their most critically acclaimed record, Day For Night. The band was probably at the peak of their popularity by the mid-‘90s, and this album quickly capitalized on that, scoring them one of their only Number One hits in this country with lead single Ahead By A Century. Yeah, funny thing about The Hip is, while their LPs typically did gang-busters on the Canadian charts, the singles seldom ever cracked Top 10. Anyway, it’s easy to hear why Ahead By A Century would finally do the damage, a pleasant folksy ditty with a heavier bridge near the end, and instantly catchy lyrics like “And that’s when the hornet stung me; And I had a feverish dream.” The song that always catches my ears though, is Butts Wigglin, though probably entirely due to its use in the Kids In The Hall movie, Brain Candy. (and, um, that title)

Quite a few songs off this album made the rounds on Canadian radio (Gift Shop, Springtime In Vienna, Flamenco), while others get heavier (Coconut Cream, Let’s Stay Engaged) or bluesy (Sherpa, Put It Off). Trouble At The Henhouse doesn’t really offer much new from The Hip though, and the band would start a very long slide into MOR rock territory after this. Enough memorable tunes lurk here that it’s still in discussion as Essential Hip, but probably the least as such from their ‘90s heyday.

Neil Young - Tonight's The Night

Reprise Records: 1975

This is Neil Young dead centre in the ditch; or the middle album of his acclaimed Ditch Trilogy. Though released as the third album of the three, it was recorded between the live Time Fades Away and comedown blues of On The Beach. It also features one of his most ragged collections of tunes ever, perhaps only topped by the impossibly fun-n-sloppy Re-Ac-Ter down the road. This was seen as a revelation for many a critic, a resounding triumph of back-to-basics grubby rock by one of the scene’s veterans, delivered at a time when many rockers had grown fat and content on their earlier commercial successes. Not this Young fellah’ though! He saw that fame, lived that dream, got all that paper, bought that ranch, and got super-depressed over it, beating Roger Waters’ infamous crisis of faith by a few years.

Naturally, none of this was planned on Young’s part. Rather, compounding issues like testy tours, fears of creative stagnation, and dying friends all led to Tonight’s The Night. As the story goes, the double-whammy drug deaths of Crazy Horse leader Danny Whitten and roadie pal Bruce Berry got Neil off the road and seeking some good ol’ camaraderie from his closest musical friends. No, not Crosby, Stills and Nash, the ‘supergroup’ still in a state of mutual ‘frenemy’ flux. Rather, he hooked back up with the remaining Crazy Horse members, plus wonderkid guitarist Nils Lofgren, Harvest’s ace pedal steel guitarist Ben Keith, and producer pal Jack Nitzsche for a session at brother-of-Bruce's ramshackle studio. An all-star line-up of Young’s ‘raw’ repertoire, then!

They basically all got drunk, got stoned, played billiards, and played music late into the night, their recording time an extended wake for their departed comrades. Music quite literally about Bruce Berry the man (Tonight’s The Night), about the pitfalls of the druggie lifestyle (Speakin’ Out, Tired Eyes, Lookout Joe), some lighter moments (Roll Another Number), but generally everything just going to shit (World On A String, Albuquerque, Mellow My Mind). Tunes mostly stick to stoner blues, though with a little rock and country thrown in for good measure.

It’s also very unpolished material, about as ‘live’ sounding as a studio session can get, and hardly of quality label heads figured someone with Young’s fame could conceivably want out on the market. Following the equally unprofessional and commercial letdown that was Time Fades Away, you bet Reprise Records was leery about releasing this album as was. Another contentious tour playing the album in its entirety, well before any singles or records were pressed, only made frustrated fans more irate with Young’s increasingly agitating antics. Tonight’s The Night was thus shelved, perhaps indefinitely, yet another ‘lost classic’ in the annals of rock history.

Then, a couple years later, while going through some demos of new material, Young played the Tonight’s The Night sessions as a point of comparison. He instantly thought, “Hey, this is some raw, real stuff. Let’s go with this instead.” And he done did.

U2 - The Joshua Tree

Island Records: 1987

The only U2 album you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a U2 fan. What, you thought it’d be Songs Of Innocence? I suppose that’d be technically true, if only for a brief time before seventy-seven percent of iTunes users demanded it scrubbed from their libraries. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past Bono or Tim Cook assuming it was a U2 album all their customers were ‘supposed to have’, because that’s what good U2 and Apple users accept. Well, just because everyone adored The Joshua Tree and the early ‘00s albums that tried replicating it doesn’t mean folks will lap up any ol’ forced giveaway. We need that illusion of choice, yo’.

Like how everyone under the Western sun ‘chose’ to anoint U2 as The Greatest Rock Band On Earth after this album. Right, it’s not like they had that much competition in the year 1987, folks getting weary of synth pop and sterile corporate rock. Bono, The Edge, A. Clay’, and Mr. Mullen were already darlings of the college rock scene, and could probably have rode a tidy career on their early rough sounds, the Brian Eno experimentation of The Unforgettable Fire be damned. But wait, that Bono fella’, he’s seen some shit these past few years, amazing wonder and splendor in the untamed lands of America, and such horrible, horrible ghettos in the lands of Africa and Central America. He felt inspired to mesh these extremes, offering music that could replicate the expansive mountains and deserts of Earth while bringing U2’s political leanings to larger issues than the plight of the Irish. This could have all turned into an embarrassing bout of pretentious music making the likes the ‘80s had never seen. The fact we’re still talking fondly of The Joshua Tree - that for all of U2’s insufferable antics in the ensuing decades, we still hold their fifth album in such high esteem – goes to show just how gracefully they knocked this out the park. Hey, Americana reference, how apt!

The album opens with Where The Streets Have No Name, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, and With Or Without You, a trio of songs everyone points towards as the definitive sound of the band. It’s among the strongest starts to any record, made more so by the lush production Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno affords. Bono wanted their music to sound as open and far reaching as the American deserts and plains, and by Jove and Joshua tree, the Lanois-Eno tandem know how to deliver. Couple that with impassioned, poetic lyrics delivered by Bono, and it never comes off preachy or sanctimonious. Issues were all the rage in the ‘80s, and these songs probably highlighted them better than anyone.

Oh yeah, there’s a whole bunch of album after this too! Lots of loving nods to American blues, with plenty of jangly guitar licks and thick bass picks. Would have been a great album in its own right, but man, those first three songs, eh?

Pantera - The Great Southern Trendkill

EastWest Records: 1996

Overlooked? Bypassed? Forgotten? Not words I’d assign to Pantera’s eighth fourth album, but it doesn’t surprise me that The Great Southern Trendkill is sometimes deemed as such. It’s coming off a streak of critically-hailed, genre-defining LPs, the sort of peak few metal bands ever achieve in such a short period of time, much less maintain for a lengthy career. And Pantera had been in the game for well over a decade at this point, noticeable cracks forming from the stresses of so much success. Singer/growler Phill Anselmo was growing erratic during their live shows, rising tensions with the other band members to such a degree they had to record in separate studios. Also, thrash metal in general was on a downslide by the mid-‘90s, much of the old guard unable to keep pace as younger upstarts like Korn were taking metal down different roads. Pantera had proved incredibly adaptable though, and The Great Southern Trendkill was as good a point to reaffirm their place in metal’s domain. I’d say they succeeded, impressions of the time be damned.

What works in this album’s favor is Pantera’s willingness to mix things up again, to go acoustic and mellow more often. That doesn’t stop them from getting all out aggro though, the opening titular cut as vicious an assault of thrash as any metal committed to disc - mid-track, they get back to the groove jam with a kick-ass Dimebag solo that’s oh-so delicious. There’s nary a weak cut following it either, tunes capably mixing between funky rhythmic rock (Drag The Waters), sludgy blues odes (10’s), and heavy thrash stompers (13 Steps To Nowhere). I’m also surprised that Anselmo did his recordings in a totally different studio than the rest of Pantera, because he sounds just as locked in as ever. No matter his issues outside music, guy could still deliver when called upon.

Things get quite interesting in the second half, where Pantera show some new tricks in the crafting of an album. Suicide Note is presented in two parts, the first an acoustic country-blues ballad which was sure to throw fans of Vulgar Display Of Power quite for a loop. As Part 1 ends on something of a cinematic note, Part 2 erupts with as much ferocity as Pantera has ever shown. Definitely among the best one-two punches in Pantera history.

Great Southern Trendkill mostly ends on a run of thrash, with a detour to the epic metal of Floods, something of a return in tone to Cemetery Gates. It has the acoustic passages, groove metal portions, and a lovely solo at the end that fades out into the heavy monster riffs of The Underground Of America. Floods is a good tune, but it seems Anselmo had to try his voice at the ‘grunge warble’, sounding off to my ears. Stick to the southern drawl, yo’.

Still, Great Southern Trendkill ends Pantera’s ‘90s run strong, an emphatic exclamation mark. Tragic so much of their story fell apart after.

The White Stripes - Elephant

V2: 2003

The White Stripes are the greatest rock band of the last twenty years, if you were to ask any long-time follower of that scene. Like, I’m talking long-time, since at least the late ‘60s. In one fell swoop, Jack and Meg obliterated any and all developments, nuances, dalliances, diversion, explorations, and permutations of rock music, bringing the scene back to its simple, garage roots. More punk than punk, more blues than grunge; punting the pretentions of prog, nuking the new wave for some old wave. Um, making metal mobsolete? Help me out here, guys and gals.

Mr. & Ms. White weren’t the only musicians making garage rock, but they were the first to connect with that all-important “yoof” demographic, breaking out of obscurity with a flurry of memorable videos on MTV (and almost single-handily making Lego cool again). Soon after, all manner of garage rock bands entered the airwaves. With a quickly crowding scene, however, come increased demands and expectations on the perceived leaders, to prove they deserve their perch upon the podium of classic rock’s saviors. Whether by circumstance or design, Elephant was destined to be The White Stripes’ Statement Album. They were no longer the plucky upstarts out of Detroit, but a force the world of old rock was hanging their hopes on. Plus, y’know, no pressure from signing on a major label, one offering a vinyl roll-out when the format was practically toast. Nope, no pressure at all. Good thing Jack White’s obsessive enough of an artist to get the job done, then.

Yeah, they smashed it out of the park, Elephant earning all the plaudits, praise, and rock awards. And though it couldn’t sustain the garage rock mini-revolution for much longer (folks getting all up in that Coldplay shi’…), the album’s held up greatly, thanks in huge part to the raw, unvarnished quality the Stripes deliberately utilized. The liner notes proudly proclaims no computers were used in the production, with only vintage analogue gear for the recording process and self-imposed time-frame for studio sessions (ten days!). They wanted this sounding as authentic to the garage bands of the mid-‘60s as possible post-millennium, and damn if they didn’t succeed. Fortunately, they also gave the tracks plenty of heft, such that the raw, grainy distortion and thumping drum kits are rich and full, nothing over-compressed and flat; timeless, and all that. Take that, Red Hot Chili Peppers!

Seven Nation Army was the big hit off here, but I’ve been rather blasé about it all these years. Too monotonous throughout, y’see, though definitely kick-ass lyrics. Nah, I prefer these Stripes when they just rock the f’ out (Black Math; Girl, You Have No Faith In Medicine; Hypnotize), or get right-proper blues heavy and sludgy (There’s No Home For You Here; Ball And Biscuit; I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself). And dammit, the acoustic jam with Holly Golightly at the end is just too adorable, in spite of the depressing topic. Country in a nutshell, eh?

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.

OutKast - The Love Below

Arista: 2003

Of course the reason a high percentage of folks bought OutKast's last (and final?) proper album was for that one song on Mr. Benjamin's solo effort, The Love Below. It was such a hit, such a smash, such a pop culture revelation, it turned André 3000 into a superstar overnight, the video serving as much a spotlight on his many stage talents as anything music related. It probably could have launched a semi-successful solo career had Hollywood not lured him away for so long, ushering in a new era of rappers forgoing the standard hip-hop beats of the day for more funk, soul, jazz, and blues fusions. Where you could croon to R&B while mixing in electro synths while sticking to a conceptual theme for the full eighty minutes a CD offered. Where you could be as quirky as you could go, all the while exposing a sensitive side almost unheard of in the world of rap. Come to think of it, hip-hop has come around to such developments in recent years, though most keep pointing to Kanye West as the spearhead, The Love Below practically forgotten these days.

Maybe hip-hop just wasn't ready for it. For sure they didn't mind influences from Prince and Funkadelic making their ways into their jams, but only for a track or three, and always with the sounds of the street kept intact. This was a full-on, take-it or leave-it indulgence, and save a few of those killer, undeniable earworms OutKast could always be counted upon, many left it in the rear view. Even those who only came for Hey Ya!, knowing nothing of the group's history in the Atlanta rap scene, were challenged by the oddities André 3000 wilfully filled The Love Below with. Lord knows when folks bring up this double-LP, they always speak of Speakerboxxx with more fondness, finding Big Boi’s ode to Southern hip-hop the easier to take of the two.

Listening to The Love Below a decade on, and all that lovely hindsight firmly reminding us this could end up being the final OutKast album, it makes things much easier to appreciate what André 3000 was shooting for here. For sure you can mix in some askew blues moments (Take Off Your Cool, Prototype) with your broken-beatnik electro (A Life In The Day Of Benjamin André, Pink & Blue). Or why not some frantic jazzstep (Spread, My Favorite Things) with classic jazz vibes (Love Hater, She’s Alive). Honestly, The Love Below sounds like Mr. Benjamin is exercising every muse he never fully explored in his years of OutKast, all in one go. The whole ‘love’ concept of the album is just something to hang all these disparate tunes on, and while it’s all interesting to hear, Lord help us if a b-side version of this is ever revealed. It probably didn’t need to run the full eighty minutes, though I cannot deny being intrigued by every next track as ol’ André reveals another of his many tastes.

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Sleeps With Angels

Reprise Records: 1994

Sleeps With Angels is one of the best albums Neil Young and his Crazy Horse ever put out, yet hardly gets mentioned in discussion. True, some of their other records had more impact on rock’s landscape – no one's taking away classics like Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere and Rust Never Sleeps. This one though, note for note, chord for chord, guitar for piano, drum for flute, distortion for melody, Sleeps With Angels is a beautiful album. Not because it paints a pretty picture, oh no! These are some incredibly bleak songs, topics of death, decay, and depression all presented in as grungy a way as blues rock can go. There's something captivating about all this misery though, like scenes out of an art-house film without the pretentious waffle that comes with it.

For instance, the criminally overlooked song Driveby, which deals with drive-by shootings and the tragedy they so often create. Young doesn't preach, laying out one senseless scenario after the other, the music he and Crazy Horse provide marching at a sombrely pace as though they're funeral pall-bearers. Their harmonized chorus, simply the title of the track, is such a heart-breaker, you wonder if the band themselves suffered a drive-by death in the family.

And so much of Sleeps With Angels is like this. Prime Of Life details the insidious nature of tabloid magazines ruining the Royal Family, the titular cut touches on Kurt Cobain's suicide with distortion dragged through the ugliest gravel pit, Western Hero forlornly recalls past glories of an old cowboy, Trans Am forlornly recalls past glories of a Trans Am, Safeway Cart paints a portrait of ghetto decay, and the epic fourteen minute long Change Your Mind tries consoling with extreme depression, wary of the spectre of suicide ever lurking in the shadows. My God, it wasn't that many years prior Young gave the world the sentimental Harvest Moon, much less teaming up with The Horse on the free-wheeling Ragged Glory. Even the one 'cock rocker' on here, the hilarious Piece Of Crap, rants on about disposable consumerist junk. What made them turn so dour? '90s, man, f’n '90s.

I wonder if that’s why Sleeps With Angels doesn’t receive the same Boomer plaudits as Young’s older work. The songcraft is all here, Neil & Crazy as tight-knit yet wonderfully loose of a unit during their ‘90s resurgence, but older folks just don’t talk it up much. Are the topics too touchy for his traditional audience, a sense of all the things that generation had worked for run ragged and cast aside by Gen-X’s emergence upon adulthood? Figures Young found a common link between the two with his music, the grunge aesthetic he helped pioneer turned into musings on the state of the nation. Its topics the adults could relate to, but wrapped in a package appealing to the teens, and all the more brilliant for it. Sadly, that also lands Sleeps With Angels in a nowhere land between disparate music scenes, often neglected by both.

The Beatles - Abbey Road

Capitol Records: 1969/2009

The only Beatles album you're supposed to have, even if you're not much of a Beatles fan. Sure, they're no longer at the crest of their creative powers, but it's arguable they indulged in their ideas a bit too much (not to mention the drugs). Concept albums? Studio experiments? Bunch of nonsense. You're a rock band, lads, why you no rock anymore? Even the Liverpool Four knew they weren’t firing on all cylinders, lacking the creative synergy that propelled them above and beyond all other bands of their era. Individually, they were doing fine for themselves (even Ringo!), but imagine if they combined their forces to their fullest potential as in the old days. Oh, the wonders they could create, a tight-knit band once more, with genre exploration learned and now with the wisdom to use it effectively.

At least that was the hope on Paul McCartney’s part. He somewhat succeeded too, Abbey Road officially the final studio album The Beatles recorded together as a band, though that wasn't the original intent. The creative conflicts that had led to the various gulfs between each member had simply grown too wide by '69 for any lasting truce, so it's all the more remarkable this album is as cohesive has it turned out. In the ultimate of compromises, side one features songs that, though not related to each other, at least fed off their rock and blues influences; side two would shoot for an album-orientated concept that Paul still wanted, in this case as a medley of short pieces.

I'll level with ya': for the longest time, I had no idea which Beatles songs were even on Abbey Road. Hell, some of the tunes that are on this record I didn't know were Beatles songs. I always thought Oh! Darling and You Never Give Me Your Money were Rolling Stone songs, while I Want You (She's So Heavy) sounds far more like something the progressive rock camps were churning out at the time, including a lengthy runtime for any rock tune of the day (nearly eight minutes!). I'd heard it plenty of times on the classic rock station, but never clued in this aggressive song was from the same group that once did Help! and Norwegian Wood. Plus, that Moog. When did The Beatles ever use a got'dang Moog when there was maybe a half-dozen in existence at the time? Oh Harrison, and your never-ending search for weird instruments. The big ones, however, are Come Together, Something, and Here Comes The Sun. I guess Carry That Weight’s memorable too as a sing-along anthem, and folksy Octopus’s Garden is so corny that it wins you right over.

Of course, the lasting impression everyone has with Abbey Road is that cover. It just might be the most famous photo shoot The Beatles ever did, inspiring many to replicate it themselves. Oh yes, along with all the other things the Liverpool Four innovated, you can include creating the first Rock Meme to that list. Probably.