Ghostface Killah & Adrian Younge - Twelve Reasons To Die

Soul Temple Records: 2013

Mr. Coles could keep making Ghostface origin-story albums until the end of his life, never running out of fresh angles on the subject. And really, what else is there left to rap about as the G.F. Killah? Most of his early material centred on standard hip-hop topics: street tales, mafiaso aspirations, commanding the microphone with skill above his peers, bragging about his success in sales, within the sheets, and all that good stuff. However, no matter how impeccable Ghostface presents the material, it does grow repetitive after a while when the subject’s been so thoroughly covered for over two-decades now. So, instead of rapping about all that real shit, let’s get conceptual and rap about blaxploitation vigilante stories or Italian mobster horror stories, all linked by how the Ghostface Killah came into being. Sounds like fun!

This story goes as thus. Tony Starks (Mr. Coles’ mafiaso alias) raised through the mob ranks from hired hitman to self-made man. This naturally pissed off all the DeLuca old guard, and Ghost’ doesn’t mince words in how his skin color added extra fuel to the ensuing turf wars. How dare a black man gain so much power, but there’s little they can do about it, Tony’s influence growing ever stronger in the lands of gangster clichés. Everyone has their weakness though, and sure enough, Starks is lured into a trap by a femme fatale, taken out like so many Scarfaces. In typical high-mobster fashion though, it’s not enough to execute him on the spot, his enemies concocting a ridiculous post-death humiliation. His remains are melted down into vinyl, pressed into twelve records owned by those who perpetrated the crime. Damn, I bet those slabs of wax go for just as much as that one-copy Wu-Tang Clan album.

Well, buyer beware, for there’s a twist to this story benefiting an episode of Tales From The Crypt. Turns out Starks’ spirit endured, haunting the records such that should you play one of them, he’ll emerged as the Ghostface Killah looking to exact a revenge most gruesome indeed. The second half of Twelve Reasons To Die details all the myriad ways his enemies meet their ends, and no one is spared. From the heads of the DeLuca family that ordered his hit, to the women and children they spawned, Ghostface shows no mercy or remorse in his wrath. Guess Wu-Tang Clan ain’t nuttin’ to fuck with even after they die.

Twelve Reasons To Die was seen as something of a career resurgence for Mr. Coles, his last critically hailed album being Fishscale seven years prior. It didn’t hurt that he’d paired up with the emerging, highly touted funk and soul producer Adrian Younge, who approached the project as though scoring a classic Italian horror film from the ‘60s; if said film was shot in the Bronx, anyway. It proved such a success that the two paired up again for a sequel this past year. Ooh, Rae’s a supporting character on that one? Tickle me piqued!

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…

Bone Thugs-N-Harmony - E. 1999 Eternal

Ruthless Records: 1995/1998

The only Bone Thugs-N-Harmony album you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a Bone Thugs-N-Harmony fan. Took me damn long enough to get it too! You’d think, after relaunching this blog with all that Bone Thugs love that E. 1999 Eternal was already been in my collection. Nope, though I did intend to pick it up shortly after getting that Creepin On A Come Up EP. Made sense considering how much I talked up the Cleveland crew’s debut LP and all. Not sure what happened though. I do recall getting side-tracked by hip-hop from Ice Cube and Public Enemy in the ensuing year, not to mention music funds being put towards a few “DJ Mix Series On A Budget” projects. Then there was another Waveform Records splurge, a Juno Reactor splurge, filling a few blanks from Wu-Tang Clan, an indulgence in Nine Inch Nails… wow, Lord Discogs sure is great at chronologically chronicling one’s buying habits!

Whatever the case, I finally done did get me some E. 1999 Eternal (because going back to playlist those early Ace Tracks reminded me as such), and I feel like such a tool for holding out this long for it. Right, I already know the hits off here practically beat for rap, so ingrained in mid-‘90s airplay they are. Tha Crossroads was the big one of course, and undoubtedly the sole reason many grabbed this album. Interestingly, the original version was quickly replaced by the more popular Dj U-Neek’s Mo Thug Remix that was featured on the classic Grammy nominated video. Their reflective, harmonious vibe is what many came to associate with the group, including yours truly when hearing tracks like 1st Of Tha Month and weed odes like Budsmokers Only and Buddah Lovaz. It’s not that I wasn’t aware of their heavier, thuggish ruggish mould, but it wasn’t the sound getting the radio (re: school dance) play or video rotation on MuchMusic. This album though, damn is it ever a heavy one.

The success of Tha Crossroads belies the fact Bone Thugs-N-Harmony cultivated an underground image of gritty, ultraviolent gangsta menace with a taste of the occult. Their world wasn’t just harrowing tales of the ghetto, but one also tempted further within the darkside of life, relying on spirits and demons for guidance in their lives. The contrast of rapid-fire double-time raps with harmonic soul is like hearing the angel and demon on your shoulders, though in the case of E. 1999 Eternal, the sinister tone of the music suggests all their sins are winning out. Down ’71 (The Getaway), Land Of The Heartless, Die Die Die, Eternal, and Mo’ Murda.. . all gripping street narratives with solid beats, chorus-chants, and ominous sounds, never sacrificing intensity for the chance at a little chart action. It was probably all a bit much for those expecting more Crossroads within, but that didn’t stop Bone Thugs from aspirations of rap dominance from here on out. For more ill than good, unfortunately.

Michael Jackson - Thriller

Epic: 1982/2001

The only album you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a music fan. Considering Thriller remains the top selling record ever, such a statement isn’t hyperbolic in the slightest. Chances are good you either have Thriller, know someone who has Thriller, or have heard no less than half this album in your lifetime. Yes, even you toddlers incapable of reading this. And if you’re one of those sacks that deliberately avoided Thriller because… reasons, you’ve most definitely seen or heard the covers, the parodies, the memes, or the paraphernalia that spun off from here. Michael Jackson’s opus reintroduced a generation to the concept of an album as an event, one many future pop stars continue replicating to this date with varying degrees of success.

Quincy Jones remains humble in interviews regarding Thriller’s success, the producer often stating he and Jackson were only out to make the best album that they could, not a cultural touchstone that would shape the ‘80s. C’mon, Q’, you had to know you were on some next level shit with this record. You don’t spend an inordinate amount of time and money knocking out the same ol’ R&B tunes everyone else was peddling. You go and get yourself all the best equipment and resources you have available, cross-blending and genre fusing all the fashionable black music of the time while mixing in cutting-edge studio tricks and sounds.

Classic contributions like full horn and string sections, backing soul singers, and funky-ass guitar licks. Modern technology in the form of synthesizers, drum sequencers, and vocal modulators. Obscurities like Afro-funk (Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’), emulation of outlandish instruments (theremin in Thriller, Blaster Beam in Beat It), and guest spots like Eddie Van Halen in Beat It, Vincent Price in Thriller, and Paul McCartney in The Girl Is Mine. Seriously, one does not get themselves a Beatle without expecting a significant hit on your hands.

Even without the Holy Trinity of Michael Jackson singles, Thriller would be remembered as one of the greatest R&B records of the ‘80s, perhaps ever. Along with the Soul Makossa inspired chant, Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ is a great slice of disco funk. Though not released as a single, Baby Be Mine’s got some serious boogie going for it. The Girl Is Mine is pure R&B sap, but delightfully charming (Shyamalan Twist: fed up with Michael and Paul’s bickering, the girl takes off with E.T.). Airy ballad Human Nature did solid chart numbers, P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing) gets in on that P-funk vibe, and The Lady In My Life is a fine enough R&B standard to close out on.

But yes, we all know why you’re here. The best bassline of the ‘80s in Billie Jean. The best guitar riff of the ‘80s in Beat It. The best video of the ‘80s in Thriller. These pushed the album from ‘damned good’ into iconic status. Not bad for a genre that seldom got a whiff of recognition from gatekeepers of the old music industry.

King Midas Sound, Fennesz - Edition 1

Ninja Tune: 2015

It took The Bug several years to release new music after his critical smash, London Zoo, but the man behind The Bug, Kevin Martin, did keep busy with other projects. Feeling the itch for something with a little more soul, he hooked up with downtempo jazz crooner Roger Robinson to form King Midas Sound. The resulting album, Waiting For You..., provided a fresh spin on urban soul, mixing The Bug’s grit with a traditionally smooth style of music. Throw in a few additional vocals from dubstep vocalist Kiki Hitomi, and you’ve got something akin to a Massive Attack record for the grime generation. Then the project went on hiatus, Mr. Martin’s time consumed by touring, not to mention the pressure of doing that eventual London Zoo follow-up.

Well, that’s all done and dusted now, so ol’ Kevin got to reconvene with Mr. Robinson for another kick at the King Midas can. Instead of simply retreading their first album though, they wanted to push their concept of dub ‘n’ soul as far as they could, to creatively challenge themselves as well as the expectations of their audiences. Thus, the Editions series, where the duo invites a like-minded producer into the studio for a session and sees what come may. Mr. Martin states he has four such albums planned, but kicking this off is guitar fuzz and experimental glitch producer Christian Fennesz. You might remember him such albums like Hotel Paral.lel, Music For An Isolation Tank, AUN – The Beginning And The End Of All Things, plus forty seven degrees 56' 37" minus sixteen degrees 51' 08", and Venice. Yeah, he’s the sort that would have been comfy on Mille Plateaux, if he wasn’t already releasing much of his music on the ‘arty’ label, Touch.

Right from the outset of Edition 1, the Fennesz influence is apparent. Throughout opener Mysteries, droning pulses melt into static dub while Robinson’s vocals float through the fuzz as calm strings glide throughout. Second cut On My Mind finds a beat and Kiki on the vocals, which brings it a little closer to the first Kind Midas Sound album, but there’s still ample ambient static fuzz making it distinct to Fennesz’ style. Third composition Waves goes for a bleak bit of beatless music, moody soul oozing from the edges before morphing into a lengthy stretch of pure wide-screen ambient. Loving Or Leaving is the closest we get to something for the grime heads (trap hi-hats!), and even that’s impossibly cavernous in its dub.

Really, droning ambient dominates much of Edition 1, some tracks like closer Our Love and thirteen-plus minute Above Water forgoing vocals altogether. Even the few remaining tracks that utilize Roger and Kiki treat their words as just another instrument of sonic layering. It makes that second Instrumental CD seem redundant at first glance, though the absence of vocals is apparent in the tracks that did still center on them. Who’d have thought they’re crucial components on an album of thick ambient and soulful dub.

System 7 - System 7 (Original TC Review)

10 Records: 1991

(2015 Update:
I've still yet to take the plunge into System 7's full discography. Shame on me. There's no reason I shouldn't have by now, especially with so much online streaming available at my whim. Maybe that should be a New Year's resolution, to finally take in the entirety of Steve Hillage and Miquette Giraudy, and all their quarter-century of System 7ing. It's not like I expect some wild, unfortunate genre experiments along the way, the duo essentially sticking to their psychedelic trance, prog- rock jamborees through the years (decades!). If anything, their debut remains the least System 7y thing they ever System 7'd.

This review isn't as cynical as I remember, though why I had to get my hate on with the accordion, I don't recall. No wait, I was still feeding off the backlash of Samin's Heater, that's why. I suppose I couldn't help but let my Gen-X jadedness get the better of me too, snickering at such earnest lyrics. Funny how a few extra years of added wisdom has mellowed my stance on them now. That is wisdom I feel now, right? Maybe just gas.)


IN BRIEF: A prog rocker gets chummy with dance culture.

Probably the last name you’d expect to have a trendy club hit in this year of 2008 would be Steve Hillage’s System 7 project. Although he and Miquette Giraudy have long been respected figures within dance music, their tendency to skew towards the psychedelic side of the electronic spectrum hasn’t earned them the spotlight since that style’s mid-90s heyday. Yet along comes Mr. Minimal-Marmite-Man Dubfire with one of his remixes, and propels the latest System 7 single Song Bird high into some of the more hip dance charts out there.

Such seems to be the story of Hillage’s career. It isn’t so much you’d expect him to fade into obscurity, but for all intents and purposes one would assume his contemporary relevance should. After nearly two decades as a prog rock guitarist, Hillage discovered acid house when Alex Paterson of The Orb fame discovered him. System 7 is born soon afterwards, gained a plethora of fans amongst the early goa-trance scene, became a fixture at Glastonbury’s dance tent, and just when you’d think this project has slipped away into irrelevancy, it’s thrust once again into the presence of another generation of party-goers. Perhaps that hippie attitude has provided Hillage with plenty of good karma after-all. Where he goes from here is anyone’s guess, but even if this recent mini-thrust back into the spotlight is to be his last, Hillage has done plenty in his career to deserve such good will.

Really, I don’t think anyone would have expected Hillage to be a fixture within dance music culture for so long given the rather unique plunge System 7 first took. This self-titled 1991 debut is a strange relic of its time, where scene networking could yield powerhouse collaborations of the sort found on here. Along with Dr. Paterson, you have Hillage working with techno-don Derrick May, at-the-time ace-producer Paul Oakenfold, Steve Waddington of The Beloved fame (remember them?), and Martin Glover (Youth) just on this album alone (the System 7 moniker would go on to include work with Laurent Garnier, Juno Reactor, Carl Craig, Greg Hunter, Drum Club, and recently Jam el Mar and Eat Static - whew, but is this ever a namedrop session). Yet, because System 7's concept was more about Hillage’s forays into dance music, the idea of this being some kind of electronic music supergroup was never really considered.

Nowadays, this album has mostly faded from the collective clubbing consciousness for various reasons. For one thing, it remains the only album that hasn’t been re-issued on Hillage’s new A-Wave label, although legal complications with the distributors - UK-based Ten and American-based Caroline (whom had to change the group’s name to 777 over other legal complications) - may have something to do with that. Primarily, though, it tends to be neglected since it bears little resemblance to the sort of music the project would go on to be known for.

And just what kind of music is on here? If you’re familiar with Stereo MC’s, that’ll give you a starting point, because another thing that easily dates System 7 to the early 90s is the incredibly liberal melting pot of genres on offer. There’s house, techno, ambient, soul, breaks, prog, pop, and even hints of psychedelia. With so many different influences contributing, there was no possible way a cohesive style would dominate throughout. Heck, where does one even start when describing what these songs sound like? How about the material that isn’t dated?

The Derrick May pairings easily sound fresh even today. Thumping techno cut Altitude remains superb, with Listen and ambient-intermission Fractal Liason finding the Detroit native’s futuristic touch working wonders with Hillage’s spacey guitar work; any of these offerings could hold their own in a modern-day set. Meanwhile, Alex Paterson’s ambient house specialty can be felt on Sunburst, along with his studio wizardry in Dog, coda-like follow-up Thunderdog, and the straight-forward club-cut Miracle (where Oakenfold lends his talents as well). The production on these is quite remarkable too, where it seldom feels like you’re being fed simple dance loops. There be practiced musicians in them studios, my friends, with arrangements that make ample use of their experienced song-writing skills.

On the other hand, the vocal songs are way early 90s. Whether it be Aniff Cousins’ contemplative raps (think a proto-Maxi Jazz) or Olu Rowe’s soulful singing, their themes remain constant. Freedom Fighters, Habibi, Bon Humeur, Dog, and Strange Quotations all feature lyrics that feed off the “good times are coming” attitude that was prevalent in much of the Western world following the collapse of the Soviet Union. All fine and well, I suppose; you certainly have to admire the optimism. However - and this may just be a generational gap thing - some of the messages delivered in these songs strike me as New-Agey Boomer platitudes, something that was quite common in adult pop music of the time. Looking back on it now with the benefit (detriment?) of cynical Gen-X hindsight, one can’t help but feel a little embarrassed that all the hope of social and political change of that time never gained much traction. Musically these songs are fine (well, aside from that accordion in Strange Quotations), but whether you enjoy the lyrics or not will probably boil down to personal preference. Interestingly, vocals were seldom utilized by System 7 after this release.

Anyhow, fast-forwarding back to 2008, System 7 is certainly a product of its time, and frankly has a difficult time holding up. It’s seldom mentioned when talk of early 90s releases is taking place, and despite the strong musicianship on display, remains lacking in anything one could identify as ‘classic.’ If you’re in the market for electronic music from that era, you’ll find definite worth in this album. However, for those instead just looking to get acquainted with System 7's discography, the Point 3 releases are a better starting point.

Written by Sykonee for TranceCritic.com, 2008. © All rights reserved

Various - DJ-Kicks: Hot Chip

Studio !K7: 2007/2008

DJ-Kicks has been on the market for twenty years now, an incredible feat for any mix CD series. Wait, there isn’t any other with such an accolade! In terms of longevity, the closest comparison could be Pete Tong’s Essential Mix, but the Tongster never committed every entry to a physical format. On one hand, that’s a shame, because there’s been some incredible episodes of Essential Mix that are only available through unofficial, dodgy channels, and a physical medium would make archiving them easier. On the other hand, dear God, can you imagine the shelf space required if they were all on CD? Just keep that terabyte of info on an external harddrive, mang.

Of course, the vinyl and aluminum format has its limits too, printing runs only lasting so long before resources or interest fades. Still, with a respectable reputation and savvy marketing on one’s side, it’s easy enough to trot out the reissues, which Studio !K7 did for DJ-Kicks during their 2008 downtime. For sure there were some older mixes that could use exposure to a newer audience, but I’m befuddled by Studio !K7’s selection process here. Almost nothing from pre-2000 made the cut, while some incredibly (then) recent CDs were thrust back out on the market. Take this DJ-Kicks from Hot Chip, only a year old before being given the reissue treatment. Just… why? I can’t think of any reason this needed another version on the market, not to mention those from other recent mixes by Booka Shade, Henrik Schwarz, and Four Tet. Okay, maybe that last one – the Four Tet fanbase is rather ravenous.

In any case, Hot Chip, those highly eclectic electro-disco new wave pop weirdos, gives us a suitably eclectic mix full of electro, disco, new wave, and pop weirdness. And some tech-house too - everyone was obligated to play tech-house in the back-half of the ‘00s. Such variety is what happens when you invite five guys into the DJ booth though. Hell, even if this set only comprised the tastes of core members Alexis Taylor (the dorky one) and Joe Goddard (the cherub one), it’d still be all over the place. About the only route they could have gone was the mixtape method, and Hot Chip does just that. The opening salvo alone contains electro-pop soft-rock Nitemoves from Grovesnor, flirtatious back-and-forth hip-hop in Positive K’s I Got A Man, big beat soul-funk from Gramme’s Like U, and a mash-up of Subway’s Persuasion’s synth crescendos and choppy tech-house rhythms of Soundhack’s B1. Erm, I’m not sure which B1; Soundhack had a couple.

That’s what this DJ-Kicks entails: mini-sections of outlier tunes (Um’s The Man’s Got Me Beat, Young Leek’s Jiggle It, Nôze’s Love Affair) rubbing shoulders with trendy contemporary hotness (Dominik Eulberb’s Der Buchdrucker, Wookie’s Far East, Lanark Records’ The Stone That The Builder Rejected) and chintzy classics (Joe Jackson’s Steppin Out, New Order’s Bizarre Love Triangle). If you don’t mind the stop-start flow of such a mix, then have Hot Chip’s DJ-Kicks a go.

Marvin Gaye - Collections

Columbia/Sony Music Entertainment: 2001/2004

It’s just not fair. Marvin Gaye had turned things around in his life, looked primed to take the ‘80s by storm after struggling for much of the previous decade. Columbia got him out of his Motown contract, plus all the promotional perks that came with being on the label, and he provided them with an instant classic with Sexual Healing, for which he won all sorts of awards and accolades for. If he could keep that mojo going, the three album deal with Columbia might have brought us a trilogy of the greatest modern R&B music ever written, no small feat in a decade that saw the emergence of tons of smooth, soulful crooners. But no, the cruelty of the fates decreed that he'd be murdered by his own father in an argument, denying the world the heart-warming tale of musical triumph over bitter tragedy. No wonder that Marvin Gaye biopic has struggled to get greenlit – who'd want to watch something so depressing?

As a means of completing that three album contract, two posthumous records were released by Columbia. The first, Dream Of A Lifetime, used various recordings from the Midnight Love sessions (aka: the Sexual Healing LP) in making a follow-up to that highly successful album. The third, Romantically Yours, gathered earlier sessions from aborted projects during Gaye's Motown days, creating something of a throw-back candlelight soul album in the process. It stands quite in contrast to the previous two, using traditional instrumentation over the electronic beats and production of Midnight and Dream. These weren't cash grabs either, producers and long-time collaborators Gordon Banks and Harvey Fuqua aiming to honor Gaye’s memory, with the albums intended as a love-letter to his fans.

Thus, when it came time for ol’ Marvin to have his honorary Super Hits/Collections, there wasn’t a heck of a lot for Columbia to choose from. Obviously Sexual Healing is here, but what else from these albums generated some chart action for the Gaye estate? Funky Sanctified Lady was the other major one, which features vocoder action no less. More interesting is the original title, Sanctified Pussy, which can still be heard from Gaye in a muffled sort of way.

That’s about it for singles though. I haven’t a clue how Columbia went about compiling this CD, why they chose the tracks they did. It’s a very small sample of Gaye’s discography, though does provide a respectable overview of his talents, even if more than half of this track list is heavy with the early ‘80s funk and soul. And if you’re looking for his vintage sound, the latter portions with orchestras and lounge jazz croon is fine. I guess.

Sorry, I don’t have nearly enough experience with his ‘60s and ‘70s output to know if songs like Walkin’ In The Rain and Stranger In My Life hold up. Y’all are probably better off springing for a comprehensive greatest hits or box set (again) if you’re after a proper Gaye experience.

OutKast - Stankonia

Arista: 2000

Wu-Tang Clan may have opened my ears to the possibilities of what hip-hop could sound like, but OutKast's Stankonia obliterated whatever biased barriers I had left. Not that my reaction was much different from everyone else who nabbed a copy of this album, Big Boi and André 3000's fourth LP lauded for its fearless genre-bending music by even the most cagey of rap veterans. Folks in the know were already hype to OutKast's potential though, even if the duo continuously exceeded expectations at this point in their career. I was coming in raw, with no knowledge of their history within the Atlanta scene. All I knew about Southern rap was whatever No Limit Records was churning out, and Stankonia sounded nothing like Master P. Then again, Stankonia sounded like nothing else on the market period.

For one thing, this album was among the first, if not the first, of major records in American hip-hop to inject the breakneck pace of drum ‘n’ bass rhythms into the scene. I’m sure some UK act had done the deed prior, or at least lyrically conscious MCs were spittin’ verses overtop Roni Size cuts, but music intended for raves was well outside the interest of this continent’s ghetto regions. Figures, then, it’d take these OutKast types to make that bold step into 155BPM territory with B.O.B. and smaller track ? (yes, it’s called that). Big Boi and Mr. 3000 weren’t satisfied just aping some rhythms though, making use of their newly acquired studio to indulge in all sorts of electronic sounds and productions. Red Velvet is pure electro, Snappin’ & Trappin’ goes weirdo electro (wasn’t really called trap yet), Gangsta Sh*t blasts heavy southern bass funk, Slum Beautiful fears no time signatures, and I’ll Call Before I Come tinkers with a drum machine like a toy box in Prince’s hands. And don’t forget all those funky Moog worms about So Fresh, So Clean, Xplosion, and Stanklove.

Stankonia was also where André started feeling the soul-croon itch, which initially gave his chums pause whether they were going to lose his rap talents. Instead, Big Boi let him run with it, and the result was some of OutKast’s most endearing songs ever, including their first major hit with Ms. Jackson. There’s also freak-out rock with Gasoline Deams, P-funk soul with Toilet Tisha, salsa with Humble Mumble, and plenty of quirky dalliances within multiple interludes. It’s funny how the more traditional hip-hop cuts with Spaghetti Junction and We Luv Deez Hoez, while fine enough productions, are almost forgotten amongst the genre bending going on. Well, no, you’ll never forget the hook in We Luv Deez Hoez.

Listening to Stankonia, it’s easy to understand why many OutKast fans were hesitant in embracing Speakerboxxx / The Love Below. This album finds the duo seemingly at the threshold of exploring amazing new approaches to hip-hop, whereas the latter, though a passion-project, was a step back. The relative lack of anything since has only made hearts grow fonder for this stank.

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.

Peter Gabriel - So

Geffen Records: 1986

The only Peter Gabriel album you're supposed to have, even if you're not a Peter Gabriel fan. Unless, that is, you were already a Peter Gabriel fan, enjoying his work with the O.G. Genesis line-up and his following art-rock solo work. Then So is probably seen as a wack, commercial sell-out of an album, courting easy money with huge hits like Sledgehammer and In Your Eyes. Hell, he even gave this record a proper title after his first four were eponymous. That reeks of corporate interference, and it t’was, his label insisting a title so they could market it easier. Man, did they ever, So a mandatory inclusion in any generic advertising shot of CD collections. It worked though, convincing me to 'splurge' on So after spotting it in a supermarket bargain bin. Anything from the '80s with that much public prominence must have some merit to it beyond the recognizable hits, right?

Sure, although this album feels so ‘80s, it almost hurts. Part of that is strictly the production standard of the time, what with the copious reverb and hall effects the decade adored, so if you can’t stand that sound, walk on by. Granted, Mr. Gabriel was partly responsible for it becoming popular in the first place, among the first employing that distinct flat, echoing drum kick everyone associates with Regean Era rock. It also doesn’t hurt having Daniel Lanois as a co-producer either, most famous for lending his talents to U2’s most endearing work. He, too, has an inescapable ‘80s aesthetic, but his widescreen style definitely suits the ambitious, ultra-dense song-writing of Gabriel, so it’s a good pairing in this case.

You know what else was big in the ‘80s? Issues, man. Globalization was rearing its head, and people in prominent positions were all on that raising awareness shtick, Gabriel no less so than any of his musical peers. Opener Red Rain drops plenty of issues afflicting the world, the title alone a not-so subtle metaphor for the blood spilled for unjust causes. Meanwhile, gentle ballad Don’t Give Up narrows the focus closer to Gabriel’s country dealing with Thatcherism. And despite the upbeat funk of the song suggesting otherwise, Big Time is a condemnation of ‘80s consumerism. An unaware Patrick Bateman would approve if he wasn’t already a fan of Collins-era Genesis.

Finally, with world issues the hot topic of social conscience ‘80s folk, it also brought in more awareness of ethnic music. Gabriel was already a fan of such fusions, but with some pop sensibilities, he helped bring worldy sounds to Western radios in Sledgehammer (Eastern woodwinds!), Red Rain (Africa!), and Mercy Street (Brazilian forró!).

That didn’t stop him from getting his art-rock on at the end of So though. We Do What We’re Told has a meditative, rhythmic drone going for it, while This Is The Picture gets beat-jammy with Nile Rodgers and... wait, that bass tone. Could it be...? *checks credits* Laswell. Again with the Laswell. What is he, the Kevin Bacon of bass?

The Beach Boys - Smiley Smile/Wild Honey

Capitol Records: 1967/1990

I didn't get too detailed about the music on Brian Wilson's Smile because it's so much more fun comparing those finished songs to the weird versions found on Smiley Smile. As mentioned, Wilson had the album pretty well planned out, but stress and timing (curse ye', Sgt. Pepper's!) derailed whatever progress he managed. The lead singles in Heroes And Villains and Good Vibrations still made it to the market more or less as intended, but the accompanying tunes were nowhere near properly realized. Part of that is due to their very nature within Smile's arrangement, often interstitial compositions building a thematic whole. As standalone songs though, they don't work as effectively, and definitely not in the versions we get on Smiley Smile.

For instance, Smile has Vega-Tables a bouncy bit of pop declaring one's love for, um, vegetables. Look, the vocals are catchy as Hell, and it’s cute hearing actual recordings of celery and carrots being chomped on. Vegetables, as it's known on Smiley Smile, is more minimalist, like a subdued hoe-down, including blowing into a glass bottle for a rhythm - oh, and Paul McCartney provided vegetable chomps on this version, so I guess that's one point in S.S.'s favour. Meanwhile, Wind Chimes sounds all eerie (!) and creepy here rather than reflective and charming in Smile. Then Fall Breaks Back To Winter is tripped-out woodblock and cuckoo clock nonsense, whereas the harmonic ideas are fully realized in the orchestral firestorm that is Mrs. O'Leary's Cow. And let's not get into the songs with tape manipulations and stoner dullness. Such wacky things might have been acceptable in the '60s, it’s clear most of these were studio jams used to filled space on an expectant album that had Good Vibrations on it.

I can't say enough just how brilliant that song is. When you break each portion down and hear what's going on, which instrument is being used (that theremin!), where each melody and harmony complements each other, its small wonder that it took months to complete. Selling that point are a few bonus supplements on this CD, one with a studio rehearsal, and another an early run-through. I'd say these features are only for obsessives, but I count myself among such folk when it comes to Good Vibrations, so there it is.

Speaking of bonuses, the perk of releasing '60s back-catalogue onto CD is the ample space the aluminum provided, such that they could cram two old-timey albums onto one disc. The follow-up to Smiley Smile was a throwback soul album titled Wild Honey, which some claim is one of The Beach Boys' best albums post-Pet Sounds. It's certainly a different LP in their discography, more emphasis on rhythm and blues than sweet pop harmonies. It also gave Carl Wilson a chance to lead on a few songs, and his coarser singing voice definitely added a rougher veneer to a group still thought of as preppy boys. Goes to show what aping Rolling Stones can do for one’s image.

Harmonic 33 - Extraordinary People

Alphabet Zoo: 2002

Who exactly was responsible for this style of music getting so popular anyway? Groove Armada certainly had huge commercial success, and Röyksopp got a pile of praise too. Wasn’t AIR on this even sooner though? What even was the trigger that had the collective European chill-out market suddenly declare, “You know what needs coming back? Golden oldies easy listening pop jangles, now with funk and hip-hop!” It’s gotta’ be Gilles Peterson’s doing. He was all up in resurrecting the past, and getting Radio 1 airplay broadcasting his tastes to a broader audience incited producers at trying their hand at it. Not that I mind of course, but for a short while at the turn of the century, it seemed everyone was getting in on that retro-sunny ‘60s pop-soul, or whatever the stuff was called back in the day. The past is always better, yo’.

Let’s assume Mark Pritchard’s foray into that style was more coincidence than bandwagon jump, that he simply felt a similar itch when a whole pile of other folks did. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he’d been sitting on ideas for Harmonic 33 for a while, even while doing all that seminal work in the ‘90s with Tom Middleton (Global Communication, Jedi Knights, Secret Ingredients). His output and collaborations (Dave Brinkworth in this case) since the start of the 21st Century points more to a love all things urban and modern, and though the tunes off Extraordinary People takes melodic cues from ‘60s, this is very much an album where contemporary beats dominate.

And hot damn, are some of these rhythms ever dope. They aren’t any more complex than what you’d expect out of typical Ninja Tune, but each unleashes the wormiest little shuffle that it’s impossible not getting your strut on. Plus, that bass, mang! I don’t know if it was sampled or synthesized, but many of these tracks contain one of the grooviest, cavernous cellos I’ve ever heard in jazz-influenced hip-hop, and is a total treat with strong playback options (I dare even the most jaded sod not bob their shoulders in Where Have They Gone). Adding to the funky business is Danny Breaks with occasional turntable scratches, though he doesn’t go as abstract as others do. A point of contention though: these tracks need an MC. A good chunk of them come off like conscious rap instrumentals, and while it doesn’t detract from the whole, it does take some warming up to Pritchard’s style, like it’s missing a critical component.

Back to the pluses in this album’s favor, nothing is taken too seriously, a light-hearted bounce running throughout. Even when a track goes for a melancholic vibe (The Rain Song, Underwater Lady, Kaleidoscope) or psychedelic weird (Extraordinary People, Exotica), they’re nicely contrasted with spritely pianos, light xylophones, or rugged basslines (seriously, that cello!). This is ‘60s easy-listening soul as remembered with the rosiest of tinted glasses, so if you need bitters in your margaritas, I wouldn’t bother buying this CD.

Gilles Peterson - Broken Folk Funk Latin Soul

Muzik Magazine: 2003

The title's a pisstake. It must be. True, the music within this CD does fit the mould of what a 'broken folk funk Latin soul' collection would sound like, but using five descriptors as a genre is plain ol' silly. Not that Gilles Peterson couldn't get away with it though. As the guy who coined the term ‘acid jazz’ when he threw events called Acid Jazz promoting material on his label Acid Jazz, why not go for the ultimate in redundancy, especially as everyone was making up ridiculous genre names for magazine CDs? Muzik had released a 'hooligan house' disc just prior, while rival Mixmag featured 'disco d'nb' with their freebie the same month this came out. Damn it, The UK, stop trying to invent new genre names all the time. It's too confusing for us North American bumpkins.

Wait, is this the first time I’ve talked about Mr. Peterson at this blog? Crap, gotta’ turn this review proper serious now. Not only was he influential in making acid jazz a thing in Britain, but he exposed many a young ‘90s English post-clubber onto various cultured music scenes from the world abroad. Mostly they were jazz fusions from the realms of New York, Latin America, and Afro Nation, but he helped bring some degree of class to the UK’s early garage movement too. No matter how far off the beaten path his records were culled from, ol’ Gilles always kept one foot in London’s urban jungle too.

Still, if you’ve a passion for bringing such music to a willing audience, heading an influential label and DJing out at events is limiting. Nay, to reach the maximum potential earholes, one must go to the airwaves, radio that is. And, at the turn of the millennium, that’s what Mr. Peterson done did, getting him a show called Worldwide on the omnipresent Radio 1 of BBC fame, which he’s maintained to this day. It was about the time this Muzik CD came out that Gilles had firmly cemented itself as a broadcaster on peer with the likes of Tong and Peel, even earning himself an award for Top Radio Show from the magazine that year. Why yes Broken Folk Funk Latin Soul is totally designed to promote that fact, why do you ask?

More compilation than DJ mix, this disc holds a nice assortment of the movers and shakers of the UK’s jazzy urban-soul that consistently bubbled in London’s underground. Mr. Scruff is here! Harmonic 33 is here! The Cinematic Orchestra is here! Roots Manuva is here (because he was everywhere in the early ‘00s)! Talib Kweli’s here! Nirvana’s here! …er, I mean, their song Come as You Are is here, by way of a soul cover care of Dani Siciliano. There’s also conscious rap from Lone Catalysts, jazzdance from Micatone, soul-shuffle jazz from Kuusumun Profeetta, and a cool groove thing by some duo called Underworld. Perhaps you’ve heard of them? You haven’t? Oh, you’re here for that Osunlade joint. Fair play.

Ghostface Killah - 36 Seasons

Salvation Music: 2014

Finally, after sifting through a bunch of Ghostface Killah's back catalog, I can discuss a new album from the prolific Wu-Tang Clan member. Law of averages dictated my alphabetical stipulation and Tony Starks' ceaseless work rate would coincide with each other eventually. What even is his average, on LP per year now? He could have easily faded with his '00s fame, ready to slow down and rest easy on the rap game - no one would think lesser of him. Yet here he is again, slamming back a Shaolin Powerthirst, spitting out four-hundred fresh verses, each filled with the same fire that's driven him since the earliest days of Wu-Tang's formation. What is he, the Neil Young of hip-hop?

For that matter, what else can he rap about? He’s done the street tales, the sexy come-ons, the conscious rhymes, the battles brags, and the made-man narratives... what’s left? Horrorcore? Nerdcore? Yes! I mean, Mr. Coles already takes on aspects of slasher flicks (the ‘ghostface’ persona) and geek culture (Ironman, obviously), so why not embrace them to their logical extreme? Spin some narratives that aren’t as tied to gritty block dramas and rap jargon either, instead take on fantastical elements as witnessed in the pulpiest of ‘70s exploitation films. It’s never held The RZA back.

I don’t think Ghostface is quite willing to go so far off the macabre end as RZA did with Gravediggaz, but on 36 Seasons, he shows no problem having his own Bobby Digital moment. This is a pure blaxploitation action-thriller, a familiar story told for anyone well versed in the cinematic sub-genre. Come, sit by the fire as I weave the tale. A man comes back from time away, usually while in prison, but sometimes to serve duty overseas, or other ‘mysterious’ reasons. His neighbourhood’s changed though: streets have grown rougher, corrupt cops patrol the roads, and worse of all, his woman’s found another man in her life. Not that he blames her, as nine years is a long time to be gone, but there’s something fishy about this cat. More urgent though, is cleaning up the illicit drug game, and as the cops are on the take, the man takes it upon himself to do the deed. A chemical explosion in one such raid leaves him physically incapacitated though, forcing him to see a ‘mad scientist’ for treatment, thus forced to wear a mask in the form of a ghost. Wait, isn’t this Dr. Doom’s origin story?

Actually, the whole ‘becoming Ghostface’ part only takes up a brief portion of the album’s narrative. Also, I’m kinda’ disappointed the ‘Final Showdown’ of the story only lasts one two-minute track’s worth - it felt like 36 Seasons was building up to something bigger. There’s little else worth complaining about though. Ghostface remains as taught a storyteller as ever, the beats ooze ‘70s funk and soul, and AZ makes for an excellent rap foil throughout. 36 Seasons isn’t an essential album, but it’s enjoyable and skill for a vigilante narrative.

Various - Pulp Fiction

MCA Records: 1994

Shame I didn't get to this CD a little sooner – say, last yearish. I could’ve generated cheap traffic by piggy-backing off clickbait articles like “Hey, It’s The 20th Anniversary Of That Movie You Can’t Stop Quoting!” But alas, we're already two weeks deep into 2015, long past the expiry date of people nostalgically revisiting Pulp Fiction's 1994 release. Who cares that it came out mid-November of that year, thus making us but two months late for twentieth-anniversary prestige. Hell, as I recall, Tarantino's opus to the mush of storytelling didn't catch popular buzz until well into '95, finding more fanfare on the home video market where all us impressionable underage Gen-X types could finally watch it. And hoo, what a movie to behold, making not a lick of sense but strangely captivating as Hollywood stars waxed bullshit over obscene circumstances.

Plus the music! Wow, where did ol' Quentin find all that awesome music? His personal record collection apparently, turning many of his flicks into as much a mixtape as they are ‘70s genre-sploitations. Of course, with over two decades to study his methods, having rare, odd, and perfect tunes’ become the expectant norm, and unfortunately nothing’s made quite the impact that the surf rock of Misirlou did. Still, Tarantino made a style of music that had been absolutely dead for three decades hip again. That’s quite an achievement, and though it didn’t resurrect into a reinvigorated scene, it did create a new generation of crate divers digging a little further into obscure musical cul-de-sacs. Erm, not me though – I still had ‘techno’.

So the surf rock is primarily what Pulp Fiction’s music is remembered for, and for good reason. Beyond the killer opener, at least a third of the music on this soundtrack is in that style. Another significant chunk is taken up by dark, bluesy country, though not always specifically from that scene. Heavy rockers Urge Overkill do a cover of Neil Diamond’s Girl, You’ll Soon Be A Woman, and then-newcomer Maria McKee goes full-on whisky folk, but every track has that ‘outlaw’ feeling that Tarantino loves writing into protagonists. Not so much always the ‘bad guys’, as he’s featured his fair share of vigilantes too. More like desperados, and can you think of any sub-sub American culture that was filled with those sorts than the outlaws of the country? Sure, the surfer nation! Nothing caught that vintage American West desperado spirit like freeloaders taking on the mighty waves of the Pacific Ocean, risking life and limb to prove Man was undefeatable in the face of his Mother Nature’s fury. Well, the music suggested as such.

Look, I’m just waxing bullshit here for the sake of my own ego (like a Tarantino movie!). Even if you haven’t seen Pulp Fiction (!), you’ve probably seen a parody or two, and know its music and culled bits of dialog from those. You don’t need me telling you to check this out, because you already have, even if only by cultural osmosis.

Ghostface - The Pretty Toney Album

Def Jam Recordings: 2004

This is the exact moment when Ghostface Killah surpassed any need of Wu-Tang association as a hip-hop talent. Following The Pretty Toney Album, it was clear Mr. Coles was on a totally different level as a solo MC compared to his Clan fam’, and could carry on a successful career without them should he so choose - yep, Wu-Tang breakup rumours were rampant at this time. Fueling that gossipy narrative was the fact nary a Clan member nor their second and third tier MCs have guest verses on this album, a first for any of the group's solo LPs (RZA and True Master did contribute a couple productions though). It led to ridiculous amounts of speculation over whether there was beef between Ghost and Wu-Tang, which he immediately quashes with an opening mock interview skit, but it'd be a few years before it finally simmered away.

There was another factor to all the talk, however; with The Pretty Toney Album, Ghostface was the only Clan member to have a standout solo album up to that point in the new millennium (though Masta Killa's debut wasn't too far ahead). Granted, hindsight's shown that LPs from GZA, Inspectah Deck, and so on weren't awful, but it seemed no one else was maintaining the creative fire that propelled Wu-Tang through the '90s like he was. Def Jam must have believed as much, signing him once his deal with Epic passed, all but cementing his status among the upper hip-hop echelon. Good thing Mr. Coles gave them solid albums and confirming their support was justified, unlike some other Wu members (sorry, Meth').

As The Pretty Toney Album was his debut on Def Jam, the album comes off like a showcase for Ghostface’s various styles of MCing. Okay, he tends to have only one style, a near-breathless stream of conscious attack filled with hyperbole and slang, but his preferred topics range from street tales, near pornographic come-ons, or persona acting. Most of his albums find him sticking to one, but not here. We get various crime sagas with Biscuits, Run (along with Jadakiss), and It’s Over, while relationship shit goes down in Save Me Dear, Tooken Back, and Push (with Missy Elliot at the summit of her powers). A few other topics are scattered about, like Ghost simply spitting fire over lesser MCs (Ghostface, Beat The Clock), plus his obligatory softy song in Love. I can’t say all of these are Tony Starks at his absolute best, but it’s a great primer if you were just getting into his music (a decade late, somehow).

And the beats? Man, you better love them old funk and soul jams, because Ghostface loves them so much, he barely alters his samples at all. At least a third of these tracks is just him rapping over the original songs from the ‘60s and ‘70s, a few tweaks and edits the only noticeable difference, though I honestly don’t know for sure. My knowledge of the soul classics is the bunk.

Gorillaz - Plastic Beach (Proper Review)

Parlaphone: 2010

Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett, you brilliant bastards. First you create a charming ‘anti-pop’ pop cartoon band, then you give them ongoing history and continuity. Following that, you withhold working on said project for only those times you’re bothered to engage with it, turning each Gorillaz release into an event. I quipped in the kayfabe review the cartoon character’s antics were eclipsing their music, but reality isn’t that far off either. The release of Plastic Beach saw a ridiculous amount of multi-media promotion, fully embracing all the broadcasting power of our Web 2.0 society, including any extraneous detritus that comes with it (no, I don’t want the super-deluxe internet-enhanced version of this album, thank you, CD sticker).

Albarn's inspiration for this Gorillaz session came from an unusual place compared to previous albums. Instead of making a musical statement against the corporate machine, the rubbish buried in the sand near his beach house gave him pause with the current state of our planet. What a perfect time to ascend the soapbox then, especially under the guise of a beloved collection of world-class misfits. Hewlett, for his part, wasn't so convinced, feeling particularly finished with the whole Gorillaz concept. Still, with the opportunity to further morph his cartoon creations to reflect a growing sense of global crisis, he rose to the challenge. Murdoc turned further demonic; 2D became traumatized by the events, his distinct black eye sockets now pale white; Russell grew ginormous, a side-effect of swimming all the way to Plastic Beach while consuming all the nasty pollution in the waters between; Noodle was incognito, but don't worry, here's a cyborg replacement. Wee, such fun things we do to these fictional characters!

The result is one of the most conceptually cohesive LPs under the Gorillaz banner, with bittersweet funk and soul melded with tinny Casio electro-hop and quirky Brit-pop throughout. While some could argue such stylistic markers as a bit of a bandwagon jump on Albarn’s part (Owl City was omnipresent), it fits the tone Albarn was shooting for, a mishy-mash of plastic sounds, as though cobbled together from all manner of musical debris gathered at Point Nemo. Plenty of rappers once again join in for guest spots, including Snoop Dogg, Kano & Bashy, Mos Def, plus a returning De La Soul. Unfortunately, none of their verses match the highs found on older Gorillaz hits (you know the ones). Yet, I suspect that was intentional too, Plastic Beach not as interested in aiming for peak chart impact as before, even with a few earwormy bits like Stylo’s breezy electro-funk and On Melancholy Hill’s dreamy lullaby sweetness thrown in.

The caveat with Plastic Beach is it lacks the guiding hand of an establish hip-hop producer (Dangermouse, Dan The Automator), Albarn handling most of those duties himself this time out. He’s definitely learned a lot, showing skill in the style his taken on here. If you enjoyed older Gorillaz for the gritty hip-hop and fearless funk-fusion, however, it’s sorely lacking here.

Gorillaz - Plastic Beach (Kayfabe Review)

Parlaphone: 2010

The remarkable thing about Plastic Beach was that it got made at all. Murdoc Niccals must have burned so many bridges (not to mention countless buildings and studios) throughout his career, it’s any wonder he can find willing participants and collaborators for his music projects. Hell, rumors abound that 2D initially wasn't a willing participant, though Murdoc denies any allegations of kidnapping on his part. Mind, as with anything Mr. Niccals claims, take it with a twenty pound lump of salt, but one cannot deny 2D sounded about as fine in singing form throughout Plastic Beach as he ever has. Maybe he just needs Murdoc's, um, 'encouragement', every so often. Might explain the inspiration for that that secret solo album he recorded while the band was touring this one.

Or perhaps ol’ Murdoc had finally saw the excesses of his life consuming him, and he promised to turn over a new leaf if all his music friends came with him to Point Nemo in making this album. Either that, or he was in need of an army to defend him from those Boogiemen after him. Let this be a lesson to all you budding musicians out there: don’t make deals with the devil for your fame, or you’ll suffer from incessant collectors, and no amount of awesome bass shredding skills is worth that.

Okay, off my perch there. Point is, Murdoc must have gotten incredibly reflective of his life to have written an album like this one. Plastic Beach was never going to be Demon Days, for no better fact than Noodle couldn’t contribute to this album (and sorry, Mr. Niccals, the cyborg could never replace her). A shame, since a few upbeat tunes like Dirty Harry and Dare might have elevated Plastic Beach to unprecedented heights of awesome. Ah well, she had other issues to deal with at the time. Now that the band’s all back together though (where ever they’re currently hiding), maybe they’ll finally find a new studio, and we can hear a proper full-on Gorillaz collaborative project!

Plastic Beach though, man is it ever a mellow album. It boggles my mind that Murdoc wrote the entirety of it – seriously, are there ghostwriters here? That guy from Blur, for instance, who headlined the second unit Gorillaz tour group, he looks suspicious. Or maybe Murdoc is just a bigger softy than he ever lets on, a gumdrop sugar candy wrapped in icky green skin complexion. Guess that would explain why all these rappers and musicians came when he called upon them, though it would have been nice if he’d waited for Russel to show up too. Right, Murdoc felt the Casio drums fit the Plastic Beach theme, but I’m missing that tasty, bassy hip-hop funk from way back in the day. Changing tides, I guess.

Plastic Beach is fine for what it is, though unfortunately the events surrounding the band tended to overshadow the music within. So it goes with Gorillaz these days, doesn’t it?

Various - FabricLive.36: James Murphy & Pat Mahoney

Fabric: 2007

*cover art brought to you by FabricLive's “Cave Drawings In Water Colours” period*

I'm surprised this year's “Fabric On A Budget” venture hasn't turned into as much of a slog as I feared it would. Many of these CDs have been quite enjoyable, some even surprising me in curtailing expectations. Chalk it up to FabricLive's eclecticism, every edition I've covered offering something different from the last. I suppose you could say the same of the fabrics too, but aside from Radioactive Man's pure electro excursion, there isn't that much of a stretch between deep house, tech-house, and minimal house. Compared to the breaks, hip-hop, bass music, rock (!), electro, disco-punk, and mash-up action going down with FabricLive (and I haven't even covered one of the many drum 'n' bass mixes), you can forgive me for finding this series' diversity more exciting than having to indulge in “yet another *blank* house mix” from the other.

Even here, arriving at FabricLive.36, I'm feeling all squee inside, despite knowing almost exactly what sort of music I'm gonna' hear on this CD. James Murphy and Pat Mahoney are LCD Soundsystem, or at least the primary music makers behind the project. Whenever touring with the band, they'd pull a double-gig DJing on the side, which must have let ol' James breathe a sigh of relief not having to bellow out Losing My Edge or North American Scum twice in two nights (to say nothing of his intense cowbell smashing!). As this was about the time they were touring the sophomore LCD effort, Sound Of Silver, of course they'd get a chance at a Fabric mix too – seems the trend with these, after all.

A few tracks aside (Baby Oliver’s Primetime, Mudd’s Adventures In Brickett Wood, Babytalk’s Keep On Move, their then-current LCD B-side Hippie Priest Bum-Out), Misters Murphy & Mahoney (sitcom pitch!) are taking us on a tour of late-‘70s slash early-‘80s disco, garage, and funk. Some tunes are from very familiar names (Chic, Peech Boys, Was (Not Was), Love Of Life Orchestra, Donald Bryd), but being the New York City proto-hipsters that they are, the duo opt for showcasing unheralded acts of the era.

There’s disco-boogie from Gichy Dan’s Cowboys & Gangsters and Punkin’ Machine’s I Need You Tonight (think Tom Tom Club), electro-funk from Elektrik Dred’s Butter Up, and dancefloor-soul from Jackson Jones’ I Feel Good, Put Your Pants on. Also, Good Ol’ James and Pat (lame spinoff show) squeeze in a bit of a Vanguard showcase of the early ‘80s, a veritable giant of independent record labels that’s provided an outlet for tons of jazz, blues, funk, and folk music since the ‘50s.

Mixing? Eh, functional for the most part, given the nature of these DJ unfriendly tunes. FabricLive.36 is more like a mixtape than a live rinse-out with its clever track arrangement – try and guess which disco and funk numbers are actually from the 2000s!