Various - Dance Mix 90

Quality Special Products: 1990

This… actually exists? I had no idea Dance Mix went back so far. My first exposure to the series was with Dance Mix ‘92 (a CD that changed everything for yours truly), but I’d seen a Dance Mix ‘91 on shelves too. It doesn’t even look like it belongs with the subsequent volumes, font and airbrushed cover art seemingly time-warped from the ‘50s – small surprise the inlay shows advertisements for a pile of ‘jukebox classics’ compilations. It’s doubly bizarre seeing it in a collection of CDs filled with grunge and hard rock. Hey, Teenage Ishkur, how did you come about having this?

Teenage Ishkur: This isn’t mine. I don’t listen to dance music. This looks lame and stupid.

Oh. I guess he got this later, after electronic music culture lured him away from ‘angst rawk’. Still, young Ish’ isn’t too far off in his appraisal of Dance Mix 90, even if it’s for the wrong reasons. This is an incredibly sloppy CD, with a bizarre track selection for the time and mixing that would embarrass even a rank amateur. MuchMusic's oversight for later volumes vastly improved upon the formula of DJ mixed dance-pop, such that it became a Canadian fixture larger than any Chris Sheppard compilation.

Between licensing issues and probable lack of knowledge about the scene at large, Dance Mix 90 is hardly a comprehensive collection of electronic music of that year, even at a commercial level. For sure there are big hits – Roxette’s The Look, Yaz’ Situation, and Milli Vanilli’s Girl You Know It’s True - but they don’t make a lick of sense when paired alongside Depeche Mode’s Strange Love, Inner City’s Big Fun, and Soul II Soul’s Keep On Movin’ - to say nothing of the copious amounts of Stock, Aitken & Waterman productions throughout. While Dance Mix would turn the genre hopping into strength once they narrowed their scope, this first attempt comes off a mish-mash of instantly dated synth-pop and club beats.

Then there’s the ‘mixing’. Oh my God, is there ever ‘mixing’. Key clashes, shoes in the dryer phrasing, nonsensical genre blends… Dance Mix 90 is so inept at creating a flowing DJ set, it’s entertaining in spite of itself. I’ll grant the DJ mix CD was still a young concept in 1990, but this has all the production chops of utter bargain-bin toss-off. Every beatmatching attempt is hilariously forced, other times we’re treated to clashing fade-slams that aren’t even timed properly, and there’s a complete second of silence between tracks midway! I understand this was intended for the tape copy of Dance Mix 90, but you don’t allow that shit on a CD designed to be a continuous mix.

This disc’s total pants, yet I can’t help being slightly intrigued by it as well, considering the legacy Dance Mix earned during the ‘90s. Like that Beatles’ Anthology, it sheds light on the inglorious beginnings of an institution many assume was great from the start.

Stone Temple Pilots - Core

Atlantic: 1992

Of course a teenager would have a grunge album in their collection if they were a teenager in the early '90s. Wait, I never did, firmly planting my flag with 'techno' and making little concessions for other musics thereafter. I did have a single mixtape with some Nirvana on it, but that was about as obligated to the grunge scene as I ever got. Still, I have to give the former owner of these CDs credit, collecting mostly obscure grunge. No Pearl Jam, no Nirvana, no Alice In Chains, no Hole, no Smashing Pumpkins, and no Mudhoney; there is a Bush album with the lot I got though. Hey, Teenage Ishkur, why didn't you have most of the recognizable grunge bands with your CDs?

Teenage Ishkur: My older brother has them.

Oh. Well that makes sense.

Stone Temple Pilots may also be an obvious inclusion, but only if you have Purple. Carried by two of their most successful hits in Vaseline and Interstate Love Song, not to mention an iconic cover I’m sure Billy Corgan took notes on, the band’s sophomore effort has gone down as the only album by Stone Temple Pilots you’re supposed to have, even if you’re not a fan of Stone Temple Pilots. Can’t say I was much of a fan myself, always mistaking Vaseline as a song by some other grunge act. By the time I did properly notice them, it was during the promotion of their third album, Tiny Music... Songs From The Vatican Gift Shop, specifically the Big Bang Baby video. With its cheesy So-Cal style, it was all kinds of silly, which I understand was the point, but 1996 Sykonee sure didn’t know that. Stone Temple Pilots thus remained with the rest of grunge on my ‘Don’t Give A Shit About’ list.

As with many things lately, I’ve reconsidered that foolhardy teenaged assumption. Their debut album, Core, is far more kick-ass than I thought it would be, and I see why this band was held in the same breath as Pearl Jam and Nirvana. Hell, with Scott Weiland really getting his Eddie Vedder on, they even sound like Pearl Jam, albeit with far heavier guitars front and centre. It’s like what Metallica might have sounded like if they’d emerged from grunge instead of thrash, a ridiculous comparison, true, but one that my limited exposure to this music made nonetheless.

When Core came out, Stone Temple Pilots were derided as bandwagon jumpers by the regular rock press, a not unfair judgement considering their early work as Mighty Joe Young was more eclectic. That said, this debut is also a competently written and strongly executed album from a group that had earned their stripes in the trenches. For that fact, Core has endured as a minor classic of the early ‘90s hard rock scene. Purple may be more essential to the casual, but if you’re gathering up grunge for your music collection, Core definitely deserves a spot on your shelves too.

James Horner - Braveheart

London Classics: 1995

What a bizarre week of music. That's what I get for taking on someone else's teenaged CD collection, but some sense of it all would be nice. All of these, it just don't add up: ace synth-pop, corny euro-pop, old-timey rock, over-the-top rock, boring-as-sludge rock, and now this. At least James Horner makes use of a tiny bit of electronic music on this soundtrack – like, a brief bit of ominous pad in Revenge - but that's more synth work than half of the other material I've covered this past week (to say nothing of what's yet to come).

Anyhow, Braveheart was the movie that turned Mel Gibson from heartthrob action movie star into super-mega serious acting star. Also, quicker than you could say “bye, Costner”, Hollywood found themselves a sparkling new historical-epic director, ol’ Mel setting the world of film on fire in the ensuing decades with many more successful directorial follow-ups. Then he set his career on literal fire while standing on a rickety rope bridge, likely spouting a bunch of drunken nutjob nonsense.

It's been years since I last watched the movie, endless parodies and Mr. Gibson's increasing meltdowns making it difficult to take it seriously anymore. I never was in much of a hurry to make a repeated viewing of Braveheart anyway, a movie that had a terrific first half, then dragged as dry politics and blunt martyrdom replaced a compelling storyline and intense action. An extended public execution is the movie's climax? Well, that's just all sorts of depressing (and subtle-as-a-brick symbolic). Why not throw in the full Bannockburn Battle at the end, give the audience its proper cathartic release? Oh, right, it’s Mel’s movie.

James Horner’s score for Braveheart perfectly captures the narrative downward slope of this Mediaeval melodrama. By the mid-‘90s, Horner was well established as one of Hollywood’s A-list composers, despite his work never catching onto pop culture until Titanic. Braveheart inched him a bit closer to the top though, with stirring uilleann pipe themes conjuring images of romantic pastoral Scottish days long since gone. Funny, that, as the uilleann pipe is in fact Irish in origin (which explains why I think Celtic music instead), but as these pipes have a softer, melodic tone to them, it’s understandable why Horner would utilize them over traditional Highland Bagpipes.

The pipe theme is often repeated in the early portions of the score, as are many recurring melodies and leitmotifs, of which Horner’s always excelled at (possibly only rivalled by John Williams). As Braveheart plays through, it’s easy to recall all the associated moments from the movie, including the powerful build of The Battle Of Stirling. Unfortunately, the CD never recaptures that peak. As we move into the aforementioned ‘politics-n-martyrdom’ segments, it seems Horner’s run out of gripping music too. It’s still serviceable score work, just nothing as captivating as the pieces that made up the first half. At least they weren’t in danger of also getting turned into a trance tune by DJ Sakin.

Meat Loaf - Bat Out Of Hell II: Back Into Hell

MCA Records: 1993

Didn't I just say Bat Out Of Hell could only have been made in the '70s? Why on Earth is a sequel showing up in the '90s, then? This was the era of grunge and punk (again), leaving bombastic rock opera to the dust bins of baby boomer record shops. Jim Steinman, who wrote most of the music on Meat Loaf's most famous album, had been writing a second Bat since at least the turn of the '70s, but complications in development and a soured relationship with Meat Loaf stuck the project on hold for years. Some suspected Bat Out Of Hell II: Back Into Hell would end up another in the growing list of unrealized rock albums. Yet here it was, fifteen years after the first, and, amusingly, coincidentally, arriving around the time Guns N’ Roses’ Chinese Democracy was announced. Guess something in the rock world must carry that ‘indefinitely delayed’ banner.

So Meat Loaf’s BOOH II: More Heller came out, and unsurprisingly, it was a hit with aging rockers. It probably helped that Steinman and Loaf expand on the youthful nostalgia that made the original such a sleeper hit, showing mature reflection of aging times, themes anyone in their mid-life years could relate to. If there’s a big, anthem chorus along the way, all the better.

And like any sort of sequel, the music and arrangements up the theatrical productions to near breaking point on BOOH II: Helluva Boogaloo. The opening track and lead single, I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That) almost seems like a parody of Meat Loaf (which is funny, considering some critics called Bat Out Of Hell a parody of Springsteen), with bigger string sections, larger choruses with choirs, lengthier guitar and piano solos, a run time easily breaking anything Steinman and Loaf penned together, and the ‘humongous rock star of the universe’ sounding more humongous than ever; or, to sum it up, one bloat of a song. Quite a few folks loved it, but I’d Do Anything For Love is flying into ludicrous speeds of pompous rock overload. How did this get popular in ’93 again?

Yeah, bloat’s a good word to describe this album. Bat The First had some of it too, but vinyl limitations prevented it from getting too excessive. The extra time afforded on CD, however, gives Steinman all the opportunity to go overboard. There’s still some fun cock-rock about though - Life Is A Lemon And I Want My Money Back gets the fist pumpin’ good; the Wasted Youth skit’s a lot of fun, totally deserves a Jack Black re-enactment, and is a great lead in to the arena antics of Everything Louder Than Everything Else; plus I swear M83’s Midnight City nicked part of It Just Won’t Quit.

Michael Bay directed some of the videos spawned from Bat Out Of Hell II: Back To Hell, and this album comes off like one of his sequels: doubling-down on more of the same. Not for me, thanks.

Meat Loaf - Bat Out Of Hell

Epic: 1977

My first exposure to Meat Loaf was an advertisement in an '80s Transformers comic. You know the one, where all the Marvel Superheroes (Spider-Man! Iron Man! Hulk Man! The X-Men Man?) chime in with kids that they'll help him with the Special Olympics, but they weren't sure how. What a weird comic, thinks 1987 Sykonee, more so this Meat Loaf character. I’d never heard about the 'Humongous Rock Star Of The Universe'. My second exposure to Meat Loaf was as an actor. No, not Fight Club. No, not Rocky Horror. It was the Patrick Swayze flick about big rigs, Black Dog; specifically, the TV ad where the gruff announcer does the cast roll, showing Meat Loaf glowering as he chomps down on a big stoggie. What a weird name for an actor, thinks 1998 Sykonee.

Okay, I likely heard his actual music a few times between those two points, but it never registered as anything more than “dad's rock”. And no, my old man wasn’t much for Meat Loaf, but many of his peers were, and Bat Out Of Hell almost certainly has seen rotation on classic rock stations, to say nothing of his ballads playing out at weddings I attended or helped DJ as a teen.

The creation and development of Bat Out Of Hell is a story of perseverance triumphing in the face of relentless doubt, which is likely why its retained rock-n-roll classic status despite so many things suggesting it shouldn’t (kick-ass cover art notwithstanding). For one thing, the music is so over-the-top, almost gloriously so, it’s surprising anyone could take it seriously. Jim Steinman, who wrote most of the music with Meat Loaf and already had a background in musicals, holds little back in unleashing his bombastic arrangements; little surprise Steinman lists Wagner and The Who as influences. Included within are string sections, piano ballads, full complement of blues musicians (including borrowing a few members of the Springsteen’s E Street), and a lead singer with the theatre chops to pull the concepts off with earnest sincerity. Bat Out Of Hell, All Revved Up With No Place To Go, and Paradise By The Dashboard Light may be playing up typical teenage rock ‘n roll tropes in a fantastical way, but they sure are fun regardless.

Paradise By The Dashboard Light in particular’s quite an ambitious bit of rock. Opening with honky-tonk, of all things, it then runs the gamut through arena choruses, goof-ball baseball innuendo, and a wonderful back-and-forth between Meat Loaf and Ellen Foley over going for the ‘home run’, and the implications it would mean for their relationship. Good stuff, and totally deserving of a Broadway musical supporting it.

Steinman reflected that Bat Out Of Hell is “timeless... that it didn’t fit into any trend”, but this album could only have been made in the ‘70s. While not a full-on rock opera, it retains all the swagger of an era fuelled by bold experimentation and aging reflection – it’s ‘70s rock in all its charming pomposity.

Aqua - Aquarium

Universal Music: 1997

Yeureuo-daoncshh ofth the yeaurly ‘90shth ha’ all mwut die’ mwy 1997, mwut the worold wash shtill a cople yearsh away from the nu-italo exploshion that marked europop’sh next shtage of evolushun. Mwridg’ng the gap wash a curioush four-‘iece ‘ailing from the landsh of Danesh. Inishally a ‘appy ‘ardcore group going mwy Joyshpeed, they took thoshe mwumwmwle-gum anticsh to the mainshtream, produshing – eshcushe me a momen’…

Sorry, I had to remove that foot from my mouth, though why I would write like that befuddles me (I don’t talk aloud when I type). See, I recently made some disparaging remarks about Aqua on the TranceAddict forums, likening the group’s goofy presentation and novelty music to the cornball antics of current dance pop. Many contemporary videos remind me of that silly era, Yvis’ The Fox being a prime example, though it was tracks like Laidback Luke’s Pogo and Chicky’s Bunny that set me off. I felt Aqua marked the end of euro-dance’s glory years, a final nail in ruining whatever slight credibility the genre still had in the eyes of the general population when Barbie Girl was the flag bearer. And now I’m forced to contradict myself by reviewing Aqua’s debut.

I’ll get this out of the way: I like Lollipop (Candyman). Maybe it’s that piano hook that reminds me German trance (no, really!), maybe it’s the wonderfully campy sci-fi video, maybe it’s the totally obvious double-entre within a pop song, but I like it. A lot. Even back in the day, when I was anti-Aqua on principle. And I continued liking it, a lot. Now leave me alone about it.

Then there’s Barbie Girl, the inescapable hit you loved to hate, but couldn’t deny the surprising, thought-provoking subtext lurking within an apparent bubble-gum song, a dark statement on the vapid Valley Girl lifestyle. Okay, I’m giving Aqua way too much credit there, but they claim the tune’s a social commentary, so kudos for them in thinking a bit deeper where dance-pop’s concerned (to say nothing about pissing off Mattel to no end).

The rest of Aquarium features more happy-go-lucky euro-dance and the requisite forgettable ballads that pad out pop albums. Roses Are Red, the first single released under the Aqua banner, is pretty good for mid-'90s euro, though it's clear in follow-up singles like Doctor Jones and My Oh My the group were quite content at crafting cartoon music. Can't fault them for achieving their goals, and they look like they had fun making equally cartoony videos (which Katy Perry totally style-bit!), but listening to this is still no more satisfying than munching on cotton candy. Then again, everyone must love the fluffy, colourful stuff, Aquarium going down as Denmark's all-time best-selling album.

Guess I was too hard on Aqua back in the day. I still wouldn’t recommend them unless you’re perfectly fine with music at its most infantile, but they sure don’t deserve the ire of ‘music are serious’ types. Ann Lee and that godawful 2 Times, however…

The Beatles - Anthology 1

Apple Records: 1995

The Beatles are John, Paul, George, and Ringo, a very important band in the world of everything. When they started, however, they were “just a band”, as Lennon puts it in an interview kicking off this anthology of ancient Beatles music. And do I mean ancient, some of the demo scraps on here sounding like they were pressed on sixth generation wax, copied to eighth generation tape, and burned to two-decade old CDR. Who would even care about poorly-recorded, garbled covers of American blues? Everyone, man! It's the f'n Beatles, the most important band in the world of everything, remember? Okay, enough hyperbole.

Still, as The Beatles reached their 30th Anniversary of existence (and despite not being an actual band for two-thirds of that time), the well was running dry on how to milk their legacy. The albums already existed, plus the re-issues, the re-re-issues, the b-sides, the live recordings, the compilations, the greatest hits packages, the other greatest hits packages, and who-knows what else in the bootleg market. Likely, it was demand for unauthorized audio that got this Anthology series going – if people want to hear The Beatles in their crummy infancy, then give the people what they want (for a tidy financial reparation, of course).

They couldn’t release this music as a regular album though – the early demos were of such shit sound quality that even an ardent fan would feel ripped-off. Instead, Anthology presents itself as a historical documentary, spotlighting the behind-the-scenes growth of the band as they developed from unknown entities to global deities, including exhaustive liner notes detailing extra bits of obsessive trivia. Clearly only the hardcore would be interested in a CD version of a three-part VH1 special, but there is some fascination while listening to this, especially so with CD1.

After half a disc of warbly covers, slap-dash sessions, and playing music as little more than a lark, The Beatles suddenly get serious about their craft, songs and recordings much tighter and focused. It’s like someone convinced them they could be greater than they currently were, and it’s no surprise this transition is marked by Brian Epstein briefly reading passages from his autobiography. The man was almost single-handily responsible in fashioning The Beatles into the stars they’d become, and after he remarks how no one was initially interested in the band’s recording tests, we’re treated to two all-time classic Beatles hits, Love Me Do and Please Please Me. The boys were flying high thereafter, never dropping back to earth again.

CD2 features more live shows, TV spots, studio sessions, and covers of well-worn rock staples; again interesting as a chronology of their exploits than the musical content. There’s an appearance with the British comedy series The Morecambe And Wise Show, gigs with endless screaming girls (not The Ed Sullivan Show though), and other assorted wise-cracking moments that runs their career up through 1964. What happened after that… well, that’s detailing for further down the Abbey Road (no, I’m not reviewing the other two Anthologys).

Tool - Ænima

Zoo Entertainment: 1996

Coming into Tool raw is well-nigh impossible, preconceived notions formed well before ever hearing the first rumble of Danny Carey’s drum kit, sludgy distortion of Adam Jones’ guitar, or billowing self-pity of Maynard James Keenan. Dammit, see what I mean? Without playing a single Tool song, I already know of the band’s tendency towards the musically proficient and lyrically po-faced bollocks, information gleaned through peer osmosis. For during their two-decade career, a reverent fanbase developed, one that wastes no time in preaching the Tool-Gospel of the band’s brilliance, and vehemently attacking anyone that presents such dissenting opinions like Tool are just okay, or not the brilliant song-writers legend purports. Thank God I’m way out here in the internet hinterlands, eh?

I figured there’d be some chance I’d like Tool if I gave them a chance, what with being known as ‘prog-metal’ pioneers and all. Well hey, I do like some prog (house or rock) and metal has its moments of awesome too. After giving Ænima three solid chances at winning me over, however, it’s safe to say I’ll never willingly listen to this band again. There’s simply too much nothing going on in this music for me to invest further.

Wait, that’s not accurate. The first half of Ænima contains several enjoyable heavy rock moments. Stinkfist’s hook has great thrashy bits, Eulogy’s even better and builds wonderfully from a quiet start to raucous climax, while Forty Six & 2 and Hooker With A Penis hold my attention with neat sounding guitar tones and drumming. Beyond that though, songs endlessly sludge along with staid musical passages, show-off bridges, and angst-ridden sentiments I grew out of ages ago (if I had them to begin with). The titular cut and a couple skits aside (mmm, ‘Satan’s Balls’…), the back half of Ænima drags with hardly any payoff. A perfect example comes in Pushit, where the band briefly switches to an urgent time-signature, suggesting an oncoming awesome build of tear-out metal; instead, they instantly retreat to a dithering quiet bit that goes on forever. Meanwhile, my thoughts wander to better metal and prog-rock like Pantera or Yes.

What caught me most off-guard though, was how grunge these tunes are – quiet, mumbly singing followed by loud shouting parts (and always unintelligible, buried in the mix). Granted, it’s due to Tool’s reputation as a metal band, but learning of their grunge roots, I totally get their appeal now. All those Holden Caulfields of the ‘90s alternative rock scene, desperate for heavy music that wasn’t so commercial and phony, found kinship in Keenan’s outlook, with challenging music to match. Throw in sound experiments cribbed from the industrial scene and weird, creepy visual accompaniments in videos and tours, and you’ve a grunge album unlike any other before, one that tried taking the genre down daring, new (progressive?) roads. A bold move on Tool’s part, for sure, one they could have pulled off on Ænima, if they’d spent more time on song-craft than technical masturbation.

Eurythmics - 1984 (For The Love Of Big Brother)

Virgin: 1984

It's a shoe-in, I tell ya', a shoe-in! Making a movie based on a book set upon a specific year, who could resist a chance at producing such a sure thing? What does it matter if the über-fascist society George Orwell created in 1984 never came to pass in 1984 – you can get away with an 'alternate reality' movie! Better make sure it hits theatres on time though, otherwise you'll look silly releasing a movie titled 1984 in the year 1985, or heaven forbid even later (suck it, 1956). Yep, only one chance at it. Don't let Big Brother down.

While the movie turned out a success, it didn't come without its share of controversy. Little to do with the actual content, mind you, although I'm sure more than a few folks found the Room 101 scenes squeamish. Nay, the main kerfuffle involved the soundtrack, specifically how two different scores were commissioned without either composer knowing about it.

The director, Michael Radford, had tapped orchestral writer Dominic Muldowney for music, while Almighty Virgin, which financed the film, wanted Eurythmics instead, pissing Radford off. Hey, can’t blame the director in feeling his vision was compromised by record suits, especially with Virgin editing the music cues with both scores as they saw fit. Stewart and Lennox, however, were apparently never made aware of the original score, and thus were caught off-guard by Radford’s ire. Compounding matters was Virgin toying with Eurythmics’ recordings for the LP release, making the soundtrack album as commercially viable as possible with nice, acceptable synth-pop versions of the score. Virgin probably figured they’d have their own Flashdance on their hands. No such luck, me buckos, 1984 (For The Love Of Big Brother) generating one single in Sexcrime, far from a memorable Eurythmics’ hit.

It’s best forgetting the politics involved with developing this album and regard 1984 as a concept LP Stewart and Lennox crafted on a lark, especially since little of their music as heard on this CD did end up in the film. All the icy-cool synth-pop awesome of Eurythmics’ glory years are present, with Lennox cooing on upbeat tracks Sexcrime (banned from Bible Belt airwaves!) and For The Love Of Big Brother, funkier jazz-scat in I Did It Just The Same, and charming ballad Julia. One thing that unfortunately dates these tunes is the use of a vocal sampler on Lennox’ voice, stiffly chopping it at various points (especially for Sexcrime), but it’s a quibble easily bypassed.

Besides, the true awesome of 1984 are the instrumentals, where Lennox’s non-lyrical singing becomes another tool instead of the centrepiece, and sure to surprise anyone only familiar with Eurythmics’ radio hits. Brief ambient interlude Winston’s Diary aside, the remaining tracks drive with mechanical, tribal rhythms and choking electronic soundscapes. Doubleplusgood’s incredibly ear-wormy, Ministry Of Love beautifully captures techno-futurism, and final track Room 101’s suitably menacing as it drags the album to its end with a final slam of iron doors. Chilling.

Various - Mixed Goods XVI

(~): 2003

TRACK LIST:
1. Radar - Flying
2. Heller & Farlay - Deep Sensation (Peace Division Mix)
3. Holden & Thomposn - Nothing (Vocal Mix)
4. Golden Girls - Kinetic 2001 (Vincent de Moor Mix)
5. Blaze featuring Palmer Brown - Do You Remember House? (Bob Sinclar Mix)
6. Luomo - Tessio (Moonbootica Remix)
7. The Future Sound Of London - Slider
8. Future Prophecies - Stalker
9. Frankie Goes To Hollywood - Relax (Jam & Spoon Hi N-R-G Mix)
10. Holden & Thompson - Nothing (93 Returning Mix)

I've been too hard on commercial compilations in the past. Reliving these Mixed Goods of mine, I realize its bloody difficult maintaining a consistent theme when there's limited choices for track lists. At the start, I had plenty to work with, my initial downloading spree spoiling me for ideas on each CD. Here, however, at the end, all I've left are a couple new tunes I could snag, and a bunch of scraps. Mixed Goods XVI may have solid songs on it, but as a listening experience, it's a total mess (yes, even worse than Mixed Goods IV).

That Holden & Thompson classic is the obvious standout here, though I had no idea that the 93 Returning Mix would become the anthem it did. Heck, does anyone even remember the original version (mistitled Vocal Mix here)? The whole chopped vocals gimmick was just that, a quirky effect that turned decent lyrics into something quite unique for the time (and endlessly copied thereafter), and still holds up a decade on. It’s completely understandable why so many Holden fans are, erm, beholden to him, longing for a ‘03 returning stylee.

Hellar & Farlay bring the final 'dark prog' track to the series (more of a tribal outing this time), Future Prophecies the final d'n'b cut, Vincent de Moor’s mix of the classic Kinetic a final bit of trancecracker trance, Radar one more old-school trance tune, and the Bob Sinclar Mix of Do You Remember House? for the last true bit of house (Luomo's track is kind of electro-house though). Meanwhile, a pair of totally random songs in Slider and Relax round things out. I simply had nowhere else to put them until now (then). Huh, quite a coincidence to end Mixed Goods with such a summation; funny how it turned out that way.

That’s finally over though. Thanks for putting up with this nostalgic excursion into my year of personal CD burning. I was leery about this stretch, knowing full well it’d be almost nothing but anecdotes, which I prefer avoiding when possible. Still, maybe younger readers gleaned some interesting insight into that brief era of AudioGalaxy’s glorious heyday.

Okay, I’ve a huge pile of alphabetical backlog to get through now, on account I picked up another CD tower from a friend, under the condition I relieve him of his CD collection as well. Some of the releases and artists coming up, I thought I’d never review. This… is gonna be fun.