This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

For this Cheat Sheet, I adopted a non-canonical view of No Wave, that wonderfully short-lived music and art movement that coughed up some of the most daring and extreme groups of the post-punk era.

To being with, the majority of the movement’s progenitors are featured. These include James Chance & the Contortions (who also recorded under the name James White & the Blacks), Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Mars, Beirut Slump, DNA, Bush Tetras, 8 Eyed Spy and Glenn Branca’s outfits Theoretical Girls and The Static. Primarily performing in D.I.Y. art spaces and galleries in Manhattan in the late 1970s and early 1980s, these groups shared a love for ruthlessly atonal textures, razor-sharp anti-rhythms and short bursts of sonic aggression.

No Wave at the time was often framed as pure sonic nihilism: the end of rock, the end of punk, the end of culture, really. The music is definitely harsh and radical, but in hindsight, it’s also startlingly original, a creature of bold synthesis. These bands totally rocked, despite the fact that they discarded just about every accepted notion of what rock music should sound like up to that point. Hell, most of them couldn’t even play “Louie, Louie”!

At the same time, they weren’t truly anti-history. They had their fair share of influences and idols. Captain Beefheart and The Velvet Underground were key, but so were mid-1970s Miles Davis (On the Corner, Get Up With It, Agharta, Pangaea); minimalist composers such as Rhys Chatham and Tony Conrad; the great James Brown; and of course Suicide, who were probably No Wave’s most direct ancestors.

I also spotlight several releases that help chart the ways in which No Wave fragmented and seeped into the larger culture. Early solo titles from DNA’s Arto Lindsay (Envy) and Teenage Jesus’ Lydia Lunch (Queen of Siam) find the artists filtering key elements of No Wave through synth pop, exotica, jazz and even Tropicália. Another vital musician was the wonderful Lizzy Mercier Descloux. The French singer operated on the movement’s fringes, yet her debut album, Press Color, is an exemplary marriage of No Wave’s agitated zeal and arty discoid funk. Sonic Youth’s early records, especially their debut EP, were wildly important as well. They can be seen as the main bridge from No Wave to post-punk and (later) noise rock.

Finally, I mention several artists who aren’t No Wave, but whose respective orbits weren’t too far off. Operating at the same time as many of the artists mentioned above were fellow New Yorkers ESG and Liquid Liquid. Their respective permutations of stripped-down funk and punkish potency speak to the incredible stew of sounds swirling about the Big Apple in the early 1980s. Then there are England’s The Pop Group and Neue Deutsche Welle pioneers D.A.F. They had little contact with No Wave, but both produced powerfully forceful music that embodied many of the same traits.

Note: The now-iconic No New York compilation, produced by Brian Eno and released in 1978 on the Antilles label, is considered No Wave’s primary document. Unfortunately, it is not available digitally, thus the reason for its absence below.

James Chance & the Contortions
Buy
Everything about Buy is outrageous: the half-naked art chick on the front cover, James Chance’s punker-than-thou brashness, The Contortions’ prickly herky-jerky rhythms. But it’s also truly bold and unique. Rather than bringing about the destruction of music (as No Wave promised us), the group’s debut full-length represented a new and potently cacophonous fusion of art rock, hard funk and avant-garde groove exploration à la Beefheart, Miles and Ornette. Check out the last 50 seconds of “Contort Yourself,” which makes for some of the most exhilarating and dramatic listening of the post-punk era. [J.F.]

Teenage Jesus and the Jerks / Beirut Slump
Shut Up and Bleed
Shut Up and Bleed compiles tracks from two of Lydia Lunch’s earliest projects: No Wave icons Teenage Jesus and the Jerks and their lesser-known predecessors Beirut Slump. The former’s brutish simplicity is still astonishing. Guitar, bass and drums cough up nails and glass, while a wailing Lunch rips back the veil on the hideousness lurking inside her. Beirut Slump are equally sinister, if more atmospheric. You’d think such an anti-everything sound would’ve crawled into a sarcophagus encased in obscurity, yet it wound up inspiring waves of young musicians who went on to invent noise rock. [J.F.

Theoretical Girls
Theoretical Record
This anthology, released in 2002 on the archival imprint Acute Records, was way overdue. For reasons that aren't entirely clear, Glenn Branca's Theoretical Girls were not included on the Brian Eno-produced No New York compilation, despite the fact that they were one of No Wave's essential outfits. Their sound veered between pointillist repetition, clanging garage punk, and atonal maximalism overwhelming in its power and density. "Contrary Motion" and tracks like it exerted a big influence on the next generation of N.Y.C. noisemakers: Sonic Youth, Live Skull, Band of Susans and others. [J.F.

N.Y No Wave
N.Y No Wave (why the second period is missing is anybody's guess) is what one No Wave historian calls a "non-canonical" overview. It spotlights many of the movement's central figures, among them James Chance & the Contortions, Mars, and Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. It also highlights artists who eventually moved beyond the genre's aesthetic (Lydia Lunch, Arto Lindsay), as well as musicians who were, however talented, only tangentially associated. These include the great Lizzy Mercier Descloux and her art project Rosa Yemen, along with notable No Wave forefathers Suicide. [J.F.]

James Chance & the Contortions
Paris 1980: Live Aux Bains Douches
James Chance was a key figure in No Wave, yet as a musician he harbored aspirations that were anathema to the movement’s insistence on destroying all music. This live document from 1980 might capture the Contortions at their most manic and chaotic, but after a few listens, Chance’s unique vision of merging hard funk, free jazz and avant-rock weirdness begins to emerge. The most striking example of that just might be the opening rendition of Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough”; despite the song’s disheveled appearance, the groove underneath is wiry and dangerously disciplined. [J.F.]

Glenn Branca
Songs ’77-’79
Songs ’77-’79 compiles selections from Glenn Branca’s two major late ’70s projects: The Static and Theoretical Girls. This archival approach makes a lot of sense, seeing as how both were pivotal in the evolution of the short-lived No Wave movement. The sonic differences between the groups are interesting to note. Theoretical Girls (tracks three through eight) came first and were more rooted in punk and garage rock. The Static, in contrast, find the composer creating a sound that’s far less in debt to accepted notions of rock music. “My Relationship” sounds like late 1980s goth, really. [J.F.]

8 Eyed Spy
8 Eyed Spy
Founded by Teenage Jesus and the Jerks’ Lydia Lunch and Jim Sclavunos, 8 Eyed Spy were one of post-punk’s first outfits to apply No Wave’s atonal screech and jagged anti-groovery to more traditional rock ‘n’ roll styles: surf, garage, R&B. On such tracks as “Dead Me You B Side” and “Run Through the Jungle” (yes, the Creedence tune), the band sounds like a cross between The Cramps, The Birthday Party and Captain Beefheart. It proved to be a prescient concept that would exert an enormous influence on Jon Spencer and Pussy Galore, as well as the bluesier manifestations of scum rock. [J.F.]

Bush Tetras
Boom in the Night: Original Studio Recordings 1980-1983
With primitive post-punk angularity forever in favor amid hip rock circles, it’s always the perfect time to reevaluate the dance-punk drive of the Bush Tetras. These recordings date from 1980 to 1983 and showcase the group’s meshing of disco basslines, 4/4 beats and punk-rock paranoia. Try “Cowboys in Africa” or “Too Many Creeps.” [Jon Pruett]

Lizzy Mercier Descloux
Press Color
Lizzy Mercier Descloux relocated to New York in the late ’70s. The Parisian musician’s distinctive fusion of Yoko Ono-inspired vocal weirdness, punkish moxie, sonic experimentation and a love for killer dance grooves meant she fit right in with the city’s No Wave and cutting-edge disco contingencies. Though her vision would grow only more ambitious throughout the following decade, 1979′s Press Color is one potent studio debut. It reflects the music and art of her new metropolis, but at the same time, a rabid eccentricity courses through her music that feels wonderfully personal and private. [J.F.]

Glenn Branca
The Ascension
The Ascension is Glenn Branca’s second album after forming/disbanding short-lived projects The Static and Theoretical Girls. Much like its predecessor, the equally visionary Lesson No. 1, it’s a product of the composer fusing No Wave’s monochromatic dissonance/brutalism, sweaty rock ‘n’ roll propulsion, and the densely layered “texturalism” of the minimalism movement. It makes sense that a young Lee Ranaldo played guitar in Branca’s ensemble at the time: such pieces as “Structure” and the anthemic “Lightfield (In Consonance)” totally influenced Confusion Is Sex-era Sonic Youth. [J.F.]

Further listening:

Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Pre Teen-Age Jesus
Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen
Rhys Chatham, Guitar Trio Is My Life!
Glenn Branca, Lesson No. 1
Arto Lindsay, Envy
Lydia Lunch, Queen of Siam
Raybeats, Guitar Beat
Ut, In Gut’s House
Sonic Youth, Sonic Youth
Various Artists, ZE Sound of N.Y.C.
Various Artists, Downtown 81
ESG, A South Bronx Story
Liquid Liquid, Liquid Liquid
D.A.F., Die Kleinen Und Die Bösen
The Pop Group, Y

This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

Hopefully, the release of the five-disc Smile Sessions box set lays to rest the “pop masterpiece that never was” mythology that has sprouted up over the last five decades, gradually wrapping itself around these profoundly misunderstood recordings like impenetrable kudzu. I say “misunderstood” because I’ve long held the belief that Smile is a far more radical statement as a mishmash of demos, snippets and fragments than it would’ve been had Brian Wilson, Van Dyke Parks and the rest of The Beach Boys completed the album in 1967.

What has always struck me about this music (I purchased the bootleg version many years ago) is how its logic and structure predict the evolution of electronica, ambient pop and myriad other forms of electronic-based modern music. This is most evident on Discs 1 and 3. Though Wilson and Parks are working with live musicians (The Beach Boys’ sublime voices married to the Wrecking Crew’s uncanny precision), that sound is configured into clusters, lattices, pixels and fractals. Not unlike basic sampling technology, these building blocks are then used and re-used to erect polymer-like formations. Indeed, a piece such as “Do You Like Worms (Roll Plymouth Rock),” found on Disc 1, contains an astonishing amount of repetition and layering of a decidedly vertical nature. It’s a sonic collage, one with extremely well-etched geometry. When it came to studio experimentation, very few artists at the time were as prophetic as Wilson and Parks; electronic composer Karlheinz Stockhausen and Miles Davis producer Teo Macero are the first that come to mind.

But where did these novel structures come from? In terms of artistic creation, Wilson and Parks were operating on an elevated plain. They are geniuses, obviously. But I’m quite certain psychedelic experimentation — which both have opened up about in interviews over the years — aided in this process. The fundamental effect of lysergic acid diethylamide is to give human perception the ability to “see” past the structures comprising everyday reality and to envision new ways of rebuilding them. In the case of Wilson and Parks, this entailed utilizing the studio to take apart the traditional pop song and reconstruct it from the bottom up. Only problem is, they hit a wall: they were incapable of piecing together these wonderful fragments into a full album.

As the history of rock ‘n’ roll tells us, this failure can be attributed to Wilson’s psychological instability and abuse of psychedelic chemicals. I don’t argue with that. Like a decent number of psychonauts in the 1960s, he most certainly lacked a framework for responsible use. (For more on these critical ideas, check out Dr. James Fadiman’s The Psychedelic Explorer’s Guide: Safe, Therapeutic, and Sacred Journeys.)

Yet this explanation overlooks the technical aspects of the duo’s failure, which is germane to the discussion at hand. It’s not that Wilson and Parks simply couldn’t produce a finished product; it’s that they couldn’t do it without ultimately slipping back into the traditional pop song format, the very thing they were attempting to move beyond. Comparing the versions of “Cabin Essence, “Heroes and Villains,” and “Vega-Tables” to those that emerged on subsequent albums helps prove this point (the 2004 version of Smile is also relevant here). I love these later versions, but outside the proto-ambient “Cool, Cool Water” on 1970′s Sunflower, all of them feel less visionary and way more tethered to accepted notions about what makes good pop. In defense of the other Beach Boys, who were forced to fend for themselves after Wilson’s psychic derailment, they did what they had to do to salvage some amazing music. Moreover, they did an excellent job. In my opinion, The Beach Boys are the greatest pop band of the 1960s, even better than The Beatles.

But to return to my main point, the versions produced by the remaining Beach Boys offer a glimpse into what Wilson and Parks might’ve been forced to do to get Smile ready for release in 1967. Under incredible pressure, and in desperate need of a way around that wall, they would’ve resorted to molding these fragments into music that was significantly more traditional. And this is why there’s really no need to ruminate on the “pop masterpiece that never was,” because The Smile Sessions — in all its disjointed, way-ahead-of-its-time glory — is the real masterpiece.

This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

“Living in the Shadows” is a deep cut from 1995′s When the Circus Comes to Town, one of the very best records of Bert Jansch’s long (and at time tumultuous) career, which ended on October 5th, the day lung cancer claimed his life. Augmented by a muted rhythm section and Mark Ramsden’s vaporous saxophone, Jansch’s thick Scottish accent, all moody and temperamental, garbles most of the lyrics, save cutting little phrases such as “for the whole damn world to see” and “you got to run through the city with your head down, don’t be seen.”

It’s not considered one of his repertoire’s finest hours by any means, yet the song’s title, as well as those lines I just mentioned, say something about Jansch’s stature, or lack thereof, in America. A Scottish-folk legend in the United Kingdom, the singer, songwriter and deeply skilled picker has always been one of these artists we Yanks tie to more familiar names when he pops up during the course of conversation: “Have you heard Bert Jansch?” “No, I don’t think so.” “Oh, he’s great. Neil Young and Eric Clapton totally worshipped him.” Then there’s Donovan and Led Zeppelin, both of whom apparently worshipped him as well.

These validations are, of course, true, yet in the end they are superfluous, really. Jansch is, in many respects, one of the modern titans of folk music and folk-rock. Hitting the British scene in the mid 1960s, he helped construct the “singer-songwriter” persona by taking traditional folk music and acoustic blues, and raking them over the white-hot coals of existential desperation, restlessness and melancholy typical of twentysomething bohemia. The classics came fast and hard during this period, among them “Strolling Down the Highway,” “Oh How Your Love Is Strong” and “Needle of Death” (a tune so profoundly distressing I can barely listen to the thing anymore).

After having established himself as one of the most gifted troubadours and guitarists on the planet, Jansch teamed-up with fellow six-string virtuoso John Renbourn. Together, they assembled The Pentangle (later just Pentangle). Over the course of a half-dozen albums — Sweet Child and Basket Of Light are particularly, utterly brilliant — the ensemble explored a experimental blend of folk, jazz, Celtic music and any other tradition they could lay their hands on. Though they weren’t hippie rockers like Fairport Convention, Pentangle played a pivotal role in the development of progressive rock, folk-rock and, decades later, the modern indie-folk movement (a/k/a freak folk, or the New Weird America).

In the mid 1970s, with the singer-songwriter movement hitting a peak in terms of popularity, Jansch re-focused on his solo career and released a string of albums — Moonshine, L.A. Turnaround and Santa Barbara Honeymoon — that felt like conscious attempts at climbing said peak. And why not? He was 10 times the talent of a saccharine clown like James Taylor (who surely counted Jansch among his early influences). Sadly, these albums failed to deliver him out of those shadows here in the States — but not for lacking in excellent music. This period in his career has become my favorite in recent years; L.A. Turnaround in particular is amazing. Produced by ex-Monkee and country-rock pioneer Michael Nesmith, the music is bluesy, prickly, rickety, rustic and boozy.

Speaking of booze, it was one of Jansch’s most pernicious demons. It exacted a toll for sure. He released some very good records throughout the 1980s and early ’90s, yet he also dropped a few clunkers along the way. In 1987 the bottle very nearly killed the guy. Amazingly, he cleaned up and by 1995 was recordings albums like the aforementioned When The Circus Comes to Town. In his last few years, Jansch, an “elder statesman” by now, had been enjoying something of a renaissance. In addition to a new generation of folkies, from Espers to Devendra Banhart, professing their love for him and Pentangle, he released the thoroughly enjoyable Black Swan album on the Drag City label. He also went out on tour, opening for Neil Young and Eric Clapton, no less.

America never embraced Jansch quite like those two classic rockers, but no matter. He will be missed by those who belong to his intensely loyal cult.

R.I.P.

This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

Since releasing its first strange transmissions in 2004 and ’05, Los Angeles-based Not Not Fun Records has become one of the underground’s most exciting, prolific and influential labels. Their aesthetic is commonly described as “hypnagogic pop,” a tag that does a nice job of capturing the gooey and decayed fusion of synthesizer music, psychedelia, dub, lo-fi rock, exotica and ’80s dance pop favored by much of the label’s roster. We’re talking freaky heavies with names like Sun Araw, Peaking Lights, Robedoor, Maria Minerva, LA Vampires, High Wolf, Sex Worker, Dylan Ettinger and Psychic Reality.

What’s interesting is how every one of these artists feels like a honeybee clone working together to construct a deliciously eccentric hive, yet never at the expense of individual expression. On initial spins, Too Down to Die, Robedoor’s neo-Spectrum descent into the phantom zone, sounds dimensions removed from Peaking Lights’ narcotic-disco masterpiece 936, not to mention Maria Minerva’s Cabaret Cixous, a collection of bedroom-diva grooves mired in solitude and loneliness. Spend enough time with them, however, and shared patterns and sensibilities emerge: the meticulously layered productions that feel like Third World salvage jobs built from discarded technology, the shuddering reverb cascading into negative infinity and, most importantly, the knack for bridging extreme avant-garde rock and dance music. This last quality really is key. No matter how out there any one of these musicians venture, always underpinning the music is a firm, if at times oddball, belief in the importance of communal body movement to (deranged) sound.

Sun Araw
On Patrol
Sun Araw are one of Not Not Fun’s most appealing groups and also one of the label’s most adventurous. The ensemble, claiming a chunk of strange terrain halfway between Jaybird-era Sunburned Hand of the Man and The Slits, filters 21st-century psychedelic rock through a dubby future primitivism heavily informed by musty African funk. On Patrol is packed full of delicious highlights, but its absolute best tracks, like “Beat Cop,” “Conga Mind” and “Deep Cover,” contain an extra element: a veil of lo-fi electronics and deep bass that cajole the grooves into a woozy and hypnotic liminality.

Maria Minerva
Cabaret Cixous
The intriguingly mysterious Maria Minerva hails from Estonia, but her low-tech, avant diva-pop — all dubby, grubby and dreamy — very much mirrors what her Not Not Fun labelmates are up to here in the United States. More than a few tracks on Cabaret Cixous sound as if Minerva took a blowtorch to Phil Collins’ “This Must Be Love,” looped it several times, then added a handful of synth runs and broken beats. To say this music is the sonic equivalent of consuming horse tranquilizers before reclining on a waterbed and gazing into a color wheel for an hour just about nails its overall feel.

Robedoor
Too Down to Die
The Spacemen 3-inspired title says it all. This expansive slab of drone is all about downer space-blues drowning in a wall-of-sound ecstasy that’s both titanic and uncontrollable. Unlike previous releases, however, Too Down to Die doesn’t contain a whole lot of murk. It’s gorgeous and sublime in a decidedly streamlined manner. What’s more, the synthesizer and electronic components have been pushed to the fore, as if the band intended for the sphere on the album cover to be mistaken for a disco ball. After the 22-minute opener, the tracks get progressively shorter — but no less psychedelic.

Pocahaunted
Island Diamonds
Pocahaunted’s discography is too all over the place stylistically for the group to boast a definitive recording. But if you’re pressed to pick one, Island Diamonds it is. Released in 2008, just as the group was evolving from noise-drone mediums into groovy rhythm merchants, the album contains the best of both incarnations. It’s genuinely liminal in this sense. Standout tracks such as “Follow I” and “Ghetto Ballet” come shrouded in thick ether, yet they never dissolve, thanks to the throbbing bass that holds them together. Coining genres is a silly exercise, yet “Gothic dub” does make a lot of sense.

Peaking Lights
936
In a parallel universe, one where dub icon Lee “Scratch” Perry, and not ABBA, dominated the pop charts in the late ’70s, Peaking Lights are the Mr. and Mrs. Lady Gaga of the modern age. If you’re not cranking 936 right this second, then that sounds like nothing but crazy talk. So go ahead and explore this wondrous platter — it’s gooey mutant disco at its most luxuriant and spellbinding. Even when the Wisconsin-based duo ventures far out, as on “Marshmellow Yellow,” your body will still demand a glistening parquet floor and softly strobing light patterns. Oh, and crank the bass, too.

High Wolf
Étoile 3030
The Skaters, particularly cofounder James Ferraro, receive quite a lot of credit for kick-starting the hypnagogic pop movement. And rightfully so. At the same time, the Day-Glo séances of High Wolf (as well as those of fellow Not Not Fun freaks Sun Araw) owe just as much to Jaybird-era Sunburned Hand of the Man. Étoile 3030 picks up where the previously released Ascension left off. This is neo-psychedelia stripped to its shimmering essences: wah-wah, organ, drum and bass. Of course, there exists a significant amount of processing, yet it’s amazing just how elemental this music really is.

LA Vampires Featuring Matrix Metals
So Unreal
At first blush, So Unreal is simply a lo-fi reimagining of New Wave. This impression deepens with repeated spins. The beats and synths echo wearily, as if they’re crushed by the weight of their own nostalgia. Amanda Brown, who fronts Pocahaunted as well, sounds genuinely dazed and confused: her voice floats through that echo but fails to find anything real to cling to. On “How Would U Know,” she dismantles the very notion of self through a repeated perversion of the title: “You could be anyone. How would I know? How would I know? How would I know?”

Umberto
Prophecy of the Black Widow
Nearly everything about Prophecy of the Black Widow, from the campy song titles to the creepy textures, reads like an open love letter to ’70s Italian horror. Indeed, an intense Goblin vibe permeates the album. But this isn’t mere nostalgia — more like the delicious confusion of same. A good chunk of Prophecy of the Black Widow, including the stuttering drum machines and synth stabs, sounds influenced by John Carpenter and Alan Howarth’s soundtrack work. Then there’s the unmistakable Rockwell vibe in “Night Stalking” and “Everything Is Going to Be Okay.” Now that’s really over the top.

Sex Worker
Waving Goodbye
The Not Not Fun roster can be split into two camps: the psychedelic explorers (Sun Araw, High Wolf, Umberto) and the psych-o-delic crooners (LA Vampires, Maria Minerva). Sex Worker (born Daniel Martin-McCormick) belongs to the latter. The title Waving Goodbye could refer to the departure of his sanity. He sounds like a sexually tormented mental patient who happens to own a cheap Yorx sound system and a karaoke machine loaded with synth pop. It’s all very post-James Ferraro weirdness. Nevertheless, the record is one engaging listen, like a war of attrition you can’t seem to walk away from.

Weyes Blood
The Outside Room
The Outside Room is an idiosyncratic album, even for the stridently eccentric label that released it. Weyes Blood (born Natalie Mering) shares with Sun Araw and Peaking Lights a love for analog-rich sounds all decayed and flooded in reverb. Formally, however, she is a genuine progressive-folk singer and songwriter, one whose surging contralto is clearly inspired by Nico and Bridget St. John. Dense and forlorn, this record demands a lot from its listeners, namely copious amounts of time and attention, yet the rewards are many and, most importantly, profound.

Further exploration:
Peaking Lights: Imaginary Falcons
Xander Harris: Urban Gothic
Eternal Tapestry: Mystic Induction
Psychic Reality: Vibrant New Age
Jonas Reinhardt: Music for the Tactile Dome
Dylan Ettinger: New Age Outlaws
Magic Lantern: Platoon
Wet Hair: Glass Fountain
Ensemble Economique: Psychical
Inca Ore: Birthday of Bless You

This piece recently appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

Recently, I scoured the song catalogs for the video games Rock Band and Guitar Hero. Both contain gobs of questionable selections, including indie fluff by The Strokes and even teen pop from Aly & AJ. What I didn’t find is a single Funkadelic tune. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I feel like this means mainstream rock fans no longer consider them to be top-tier rock gods. Tell me I’m wrong. Please!

For me, as well as so many rock fans who grew up in the 1970s, ’80s and early ’90s, Funkadelic were considered one of music’s most badass groups, and Eddie Hazel one of the all-time great guitarists. When I first got into classic psychedelia and hard rock, sitting down and cranking Maggot Brain, particularly the mind-melting 10-minute title track, was a rite of passage every bit as fundamental as blasting Paranoid, Led Zeppelin II and Machine Head. It didn’t matter one bit if their music was considered funk by some, or that they weren’t the same color as most other bands. They rocked.

I’m sure Flea, Mike Patton, Joe Walsh, Vernon Reid, Wayne Coyne, Robert Plant, H.R., Mike Watt, Greg Ginn, Ozzy, Tom Morello, Joe Carducci, Eddie Vedder and so many others would all agree with me: Funkadelic’s imprint is d-e-e-p. By the mid-’70s, their unique and often freaky fusion of brute strength, acid-rock distortion and spine-snapping syncopation had influenced many of the major heavy metal, boogie and Southern rock bands in America and the U.K. This carried into the next decade, with punk, post-punk, No Wave, noise rock, funk metal and especially grunge all carrying numerous Funkadelic chromosomes in their double helices. Mind you, this goes for both sound and image (for the latter, see The Flaming Lips and The Red Hot Chili Peppers.) I love Neil Young to death, but the title “Godfather of Grunge” is wildly overinflated. All those Seattle dudes were also rolling jazz cigarettes to the twisted sounds of Maggot Brain; you can hear it in their sense of groove.

What makes Funkadelic’s omission from the video-game genre particularly egregious is the fact that their impact, however indirect these days, is still super potent. But I guess all these nü metal, groove metal and metalcore bands no longer have any idea where their rhythms ultimately come from. But enough indignancy.

Can you get to that? I wanna know …

Sly & the Family Stone
Stand!
There aren’t enough adjectives in the English language to praise this 1969 release. The energy is near-terrifying, the funk is complex, and the songwriting left us with some of the most memorable and important pop/funk songs of the 20th century. “Stand!”, “I Want to Take You Higher” and “Everyday People” all came off this album. [Brolin Winning]

James Brown
Sex Machine
When talking about the great live albums in James Brown’s discography, 1970′s Sex Machine ranks right up there with the mighty Live at the Apollo and Love Power Peace. Of course, a decent portion of this set is merely live simulation (overdubbed audience and reverb). Nevertheless, if you want to hear the classic J.B. lineup at the very peak of its powers, then this is essential listening. Brown, feeling challenged by the emergence of Sly & the Family Stone and even Funkadelic, pushes his band into some heady spaces: extended rhythmic sequences that feel like byproducts of a genuine hive mind. [Justin Farrar]

The Temptations
Cloud Nine
Everybody knew how great the Temptations’ singles were in the 1960s. But with Cloud Nine, they made their first great album. The vocals are a highlight, but it’s Norman Whitfield’s production and the syncopated funk that stand out. The chaotic title track and the nine-minute funk epic “Runaway Child Running Wild” are the high points on this brilliant album. [Jon Pruett]

Vanilla Fudge
Vanilla Fudge
Vanilla Fudge suffered myriad weaknesses: poor choice in covers, lousy songwriting, way too much schmaltzy blue-eyed soul and an unhealthy obsession with hippie-baked sonic poetry. Despite all this, the band’s 1967 debut was a radical statement about the possibilities of heaviness in rock ‘n’ roll. Whereas The Jimi Hendrix Experience swung hard but with agility, the Fudge rumbled like a couple of continental plates slowly ramming into one another. It’s a plodding aesthetic that would influence a whole generation of hard-rock icons, including Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and Blue Cheer. [J.F.]

The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Electric Ladyland
The 20th century produced few double albums as iconic as Electric Ladyland. It kind of makes sense this was Hendrix’s last album with Noel and Mitch. Where else could the trio take their sound? Transforming the studio into a psychedelic laboratory, they cracked the rock genome and infused it with chromosomes pulled from soul, blues and even folk music. What has been lost to time is just how unique Electric Ladyland sounded in 1968. Other bands had ventured pretty far out: The Yardbirds, 13th Floor Elevators, The Byrds. But none of them rocketed into deep inner space quite like these guys. [J.F.]

Sun Ra
The Heliocentric Worlds of Sun Ra, Volumes One & Two
The Heliocentric Worlds recordings — which over the years have been repackaged to the point of confusion, even for hardcore Ra devotees — are as good a place as any to get a feel for the Arkestra’s drastic evolution during their mid-’60s residency in New York. With the city’s burgeoning free jazz scene exerting its influence, Sun Ra’s music went from quirky and strange to heavy and sublime. Compositions — all twisted, shattered and stretched — now broke the seven-minute mark. Though the playing was still predominantly acoustic, it grew more percussive and abstract, even harsh at times. [J.F.]

MC5
Kick Out the Jams
Words can’t really explain this epic recording: you must listen to understand why MC5 were Detroit’s chosen child. These songs were recorded live at the Grande Ballroom in 1969 and demonstrate how powerful the band was in concert. Their solid, soulful chemistry will drift from your speakers like heavy smoke. [Eric Shea]

Earth, Wind & Fire
Earth, Wind & Fire
E.W.F.’s 1971 debut marks a culture clash between the group’s Chicago jazz and soul origins, and the sunshine pop of its new home in Los Angeles. Bandleader Maurice White aimed to merge the shambling energy music of Albert Ayler, the Latin rock of Santana, and the psychedelic soul and vocal pop of Minnie Riperton’s Rotary Connection and Fifth Dimension. Though “Love Is Life” and “Fan the Fire” have an appealingly ragged quality, neither White’s songs, nor his band, nor lead vocalist and veteran Chicago shouter Wade Flemons met his goals. After a second album, The Need of Love, White fired nearly all of E.W.F.’s original members and started over. [Mosi Reeves]

Funkadelic
Live: Meadowbrook, Rochester, Michigan 12th September 1971
Funkadelic’s earliest albums are profoundly strange and psychedelic, but amazingly enough, their sound was even more out there in the live setting. On this impeccably recorded performance from 1971, individual songs melt into a gooey stew of fuzzy acid dirges and porno-cosmic incantations. Perversely visionary stuff for sure. George Clinton is a freaky scatological genius: “We might pee on you, but we won’t do you no harm,” he at one point implores. Guitarist Eddie Hazel, meanwhile, is a heavy metal feedback warlord. Would grunge and noise rock even have been born were it not for him? [J.F.]

The Chambers Brothers
The Time Has Come
The Time Has Come might be an uneven listen, but it’s an absolutely necessary (and possibly even initial) bridge between ’60s soul and the psych-funk revolution that exploded the following decade. Because of this, the album is divided between earthbound fare (“People Get Ready,” “In the Midnight Hour”) and serious acid vibes, the most significant of which is the 11-minute “Time Has Come Today.” The importance of this track cannot be overstated; the band released it in 1967, two years before Sly & the Family Stone’s Stand! and three before Funkadelic’s debut. Now that’s prescience, people. [J.F.]

Further listening:
Parliament: Osmium
The Meters: The Meters
The Impressions: This Is My Country
Led Zeppelin: Led Zeppelin
Booker T. & the MGs: Soul Limbo
The Stooges: The Stooges
Screamin’ Jay Hakwins: Legends
The Jeff Beck Group: Truth
Black Merda: Black Merda
Blue Cheer: Vincebus Eruptum
The Mothers of Invention: Freak Out!
Eric Burdon & the Animals: The Best of Eric Burdon and the Animals

This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

The recent release of the collection Johnny Boy Would Love This … A Tribute to John Martyn has me once again obsessing over him. This isn’t at all unusual. I’ll use just about any excuse to toss everything aside and focus my attention solely on his music. In my opinion, the late John Martyn is the most interesting, accomplished, unique and challenging singer-songwriter to emerge from the British folk-rock boom of the late 1960s. Nick Drake and Sandy Denny may be more mythological, but neither one explored sound-as-emotion with as much sweaty recklessness as their old pal.

The evolution Martyn underwent between 1970 and the early 1980s was profoundly radical. In that time he challenged the popular conception of the singer-songwriter more intensely than even Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell. His early albums, often recorded with then-wife Beverley, are fairly straightforward acoustic affairs. By 1974, however, he had begun to experiment with tape-delay effects, as well as ideas imported from fusion, soul, funk and dub. The albums Solid Air, Inside Out, Sunday’s Child, One World and (my personal fave) Grace & Danger — all released consecutively — are wildly progressive. Imagine Astral Weeks meets On the Corner meets Inspiration Information, and you’re more or less there. Each one contains stretches that feel as if they could’ve been recorded only yesterday. Little did Martyn know, he was helping lay the groundwork for the future: electronica, post-rock, trip-hop and most recently, hypnagogic pop and chillwave.

What made Martyn such a powerful artist was his ability to sidestep the “man-machine” myth (see Kraftwerk) that informed pop music throughout the ’70s. He loved working with new gear, yet he never relinquished his belief that music was all about what he called the “direct communication of emotion.” In other words, he was a die-hard humanist who used technology to investigate the deepest depths of his inner realm, not replace them with circuit boards.

You should definitely check out Johnny Boy Would Love This …, but if you also want to hear the man himself, then spend some time with my Grace & Danger: The Art of John Martyn playlist as well.

This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

Ever since fusion devolved into flaccid pop-jazz in the 1980s, the genre has been treated with suspicion by more than a few jazz snobs. In fact, fusion didn’t get a fair shake right out of the gate. When Miles Davis went electric and started performing before rock audiences, critics couldn’t stop condemning the man. “SELLOUT!” they proclaimed ad nauseam, even though the music he made was wildly challenging and ambitious.

Between 1969 and 1976, fusion’s first and second waves produced some of the most powerful and forward-looking music of the post-hippie rock landscape. This is the era I’ll spotlight here. Now, it’s important to point out that fusion took on many forms throughout the 1970s. In addition to rock, jazz mingled with funk, Latin music and even avant-garde classical. We’ll touch on all these incarnations. That said, the decade also produced something called “jazz-rock,” a phrase critics and fans often used when talking about Blood, Sweat & Tears; Chicago; The Electric Flag; and similar ilk. These artists don’t figure here; however, definitely check out my Cheat Sheet on Classic East Coast Horn Rock, if you dig classic rock with brass and horns. And while I’m touching on related topics, do explore my Krautrock Cheat Sheet: much like progressive rock, the German movement had quite a lot in common stylistically with fusion.

Miles Davis
Bitches Brew
This is the album that found Miles losing some of his older jazz audience while gaining a new rock-fan following. Though he was considered by some at the time to be a sellout, this is daring music that still challenges and inspires. Wayne Shorter remains on soprano sax; new musicians John McLaughlin, Chick Corea and Larry Young all shine in the spotlight. This 40th-anniversary edition includes an array of bonus material, much of which reveals the diligent editing of producer Teo Macero, plus a different lineup featuring keyboardist Keith Jarrett. [Nick Dedina]

Tony Williams Lifetime
Emergency!
When it comes to the development of fusion, Emergency!, released in 1969, ranks right up there with Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew in terms of sheer brilliant innovation. The ensemble, featuring fellow pioneers Larry Young (organ) and John McLaughlin (guitar), swings hard while harnessing a dirty, grungy sound full of squall, feedback and distortion. Moments emerge when the playing is so intense and so furious that whiplash feels like the only possible result. Fusion eventually evolved into cool pop jazz, but at its birth, as Emergency! clearly demonstrates, it was pure hellish fire. [Justin Farrar]

John McLaughlin
Devotion
Between his work with Miles Davis and forming The Mahavishnu Orchestra, John McLaughlin released this muscular foray into the fusion of Jimi Hendrix-inspired acid rock and post-bop. Though the guitarist’s background is in jazz tradition, he unloads serious riffage; Larry Young’s organ grind is equally heavy. “Dragon Song & Devotion” possesses all the power and bombast of Vanilla Fudge and early Black Sabbath. Overall, Devotion is a fantastic record: raw, unbridled and wildly prescient. There are stretches, in fact, that even look to the post-hardcore experiments of In My Head-era Black Flag. [J.F.]

Santana
Lotus
Chicano rock enthusiasts and ardent fans of Santana’s Welcome-era jazz odysseys will admit that something magical happens every time you let Lotus play in its entirety. The set was recorded live in Japan in 1973; the band’s chemistry (whether spiritually or literally chemical) is an otherworldly storm captured on tape. [Eric Shea]

The Mahavishnu Orchestra
The Inner Mounting Flame
John McLaughlin and Co.’s volcanic effect on fusion (and rock) began with their first record, conceived and released right after they got out of the studio with Miles Davis recording Bitches Brew. There’s nobody that plays guitar like McLaughlin, except for maybe Mike Tyson (if he ever tried). The rest of the band attempts to keep up. Try “The Noonward Race.” [Mike McGuirk]

Soft Machine
Third
Released in 1970, Third marks a major turning point in the Soft Machine sound. Gone for the most part are the collage-like art pop compositions, playful surrealism and intricate vocal passages marking their first two full-lengths. The band is now messing around with fusion, atonality, electronic music, musique concrete, minimal drone and repetition. On top of all this, the grooves are heavier and way more severe. By the seven-minute mark of the first piece, “Facelift,” you know you’re in for one hell of a ride; Mike Ratledge’s searing organ and Elton Dean’s sax-skronk are just going at it. [J.F.]

Weather Report
Live in Tokyo
Weather Report are one of the groups blamed for turning fusion into vapid pop jazz. This is true. However, their early output, particularly this stunning live set recorded in January 1972, is anything but pop. The group really, truly smokes, and for extended stretches. Not a single piece falls short of 10 minutes. The longest, the 26-minute “Medley: Vertical Invader / Seventh Arrow / T.H. / Doctor Honoris Causa,” is a juggernaut in harsh textures, fractured grooves and fearless exploration. Folks who are familiar only with the band’s later albums will surely be blown away by this one. [J.F.]

Henry Cow
Leg End
If there is one album that connects the dots between fusion, progressive rock and avant-garde classical more completely than any other, Henry Cow’s debut, 1973′s Leg End, just might be it. This is one dazzling, daring and demanding record. Performing a tenuous balancing act between free improv and compositional complexity, the group unleashes some truly amazing acrobatics when it comes to rhythm and melody. In a lot of ways Henry Cow are the sonic equivalent of a pointillism painter. Each and every instrument is all about sharp pinpricks of sound rather than sinewy sustain and release. [J.F.]

Return to Forever
The Anthology
Much like Weather Report, Chick Corea’s Return to Forever started the 1970s exploring some fairly heady sounds, yet turned more and more toward accessible pop as the decade progressed. Though this 20-track collection covers the ’73 to ’76 period only, it contains some of the most adventurous music in the ensemble’s discography. Many of the early tracks — “After the Cosmic Rain” and the hyper-kinetic “Captain Señor Mouse” among them — feel significantly more influenced by progressive and Latin rock (that is Yes and Santana) than by Corea’s former bandleader, fusion innovator No. 1, Miles Davis. [J.F.]

Jean-Luc Ponty
Upon the Wings of Music
By this point in Jean-Luc Ponty’s career he had already worked with Frank Zappa, The Mahavishnu Orchestra and Stephane Grappelli. The French musician knew the sound he wanted and how to attain it. Significantly more melodic than the anarchic funk-fusion Miles Davis was then dealing in, 1975′s Upon the Wings of Music possesses real kick. Electric pianist Patrice Rushen lays down punchy lines that perfectly underpin Ponty’s lyrical, ever-mutating violin. One of the best tracks is “Echoes of the Future,” which sounds influenced by Tangerine Dream and other Kosmische musik practitioners. [J.F.]

Jeff Beck
Blow by Blow
Where Miles, Mahavishnu Orchestra and Weather Report approached fusion from the perspective of the jazzbo, Jeff Beck approached it from the perspective of the hard-rock guitarist. Released in 1975, Blow by Blow was a radical departure for the former Yardbird. It’s a record whose influence cannot be overestimated. Though its artistic merits have always been debated, Blow by Blow singlehandedly exposed an entire generation of rockers to progressive-flavored jazz grooves, chords, melodies, etc. [J.F.]

Herbie Hancock
Mwandishi
Mwandishi is awesome, the perfect soundtrack for a night of meteor showers filling the sky with ephemeral patterns, ghostly streaks and shimmering stains. Stylistically, the record picked up where Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way left off. The electric ensemble Herbie Hancock assembled for these pivotal recordings incorporates elements of rock and funk while exploring a kind of proto-ambient sonic hypnotism. Though this is Hancock’s initial journey into the cosmic sublime as a band leader, his ability to fuse acoustic instrumentation with synthesizer-based sounds is already highly evolved. [J.F.]

Joe McPhee
Nation Time
While Nation Time can be tagged fusion, its intense blend of jazz, funk and rock differs significantly from what Miles Davis and Herbie Hancock were cooking up in the early 1970s. This music isn’t spacey or hypnotic; it’s raw hard-bop whose flesh has been torn apart by sharp avant-garde sensibilities. The tag “free funk” is often applied to this record, and it makes a lot of sense. Squealing, screaming and howling, saxophonist Joe McPhee introduces elemental themes that he then pounds into the ground. Meanwhile, pianist Mike Kull and guitar player Dave Jones bash away with ecstatic abandon. [J.F.]

Jaco Pastorius
Jaco Pastorius
Jaco Pastorius tore across the fusion scene the way a tornado tears across a cornfield in Iowa. There existed electric bass in jazz long before the release of his debut album, but Pastorius utterly revolutionized the instrument’s role. No matter what track you’re listening to, be it the funkified “Come On, Come Over” or the sentimental “Forgotten Love,” his fretless-based melodies and dizzying runs are front and center. In other words, Pastorius isn’t standing toward the rear of the ensemble merely providing an anchor; rather, he’s directing traffic and making things happen at all times. [J.F.]

Embryo
Father Son and Holy Ghosts
Germany’s Embryo have garnered more than a few comparisons to Can through the years. The comparisons aren’t inaccurate, yet they do tend to overlook Embryo’s love of jazz-informed rhythms. Released in 1972, Father Son & Holy Ghosts swings with a nervous, up-on-the-beat energy, something Can rarely, if ever, explored. Setting up the rest of the album in fine fashion, the opener “The Special Trip” is edgy and tight. On “Marimbaroos” and “The Sun Song” (the latter of which contains some great horn work by Edgar Hoffman), Embryo embed their wonderful rhythms in a proto-world fusion sensibility. [J.F.]

Further listening:

Sonny Sharrock: Black Woman
Ginger Baker: Ginger Baker’s African Force
Miles Davis: Agharta
Brand X: Unorthodox Behaviour
Ornette Coleman: Body Meta
Gong: Flying Teapot
Miles Davis: On the Corner
James Blood Ulmer: Tales of Captain Black
Larry Young: Lawrence of Newark
Frank Zappa: Hot Rats
Herbie Mann: Memphis Underground
Miles Davis: In a Silent Way
Jerry Garcia/Howard Wales: Hooteroll?
Larry Coryell: Introducing the Eleventh House with Larry Coryell

This piece orginally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

In the early 1980s, some of the best New Wave bands were actually progressive rock groups. This is a bit of an exaggeration, of course. But not totally untrue, when you think about the super-creative ways in which Yes, Rush, Phil Collins and Queen fused the two genres. Ignoring the fact that punk had declared war on the classic rock fossils of the previous decade, these musicians boldly explored synthesizers, funk-inspired dance grooves, drum machines, sound collage, wiry arrangements and icy production techniques. Some truly great music was produced in the process. The Trevor Horn-produced 90125, the wildly experimental The Game and the titanic Moving Pictures are all bona fide classics. Then there’s Collins’ Miami Vice masterpiece “In the Air Tonight,” one of the most striking (and moodiest) pop songs of the 20th century.

Many progressive rockers embraced this brave new world so deftly because it didn’t feel all that foreign to them. Though deeply inspired by punk’s high energy, New Wave owes much of its sonic palette, particularly the earliest synthesizers, to mid-1970s prog and art rock (Krautrock, too). Spend time with Genesis’ The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, Robert Wyatt’s Rock Bottom, Peter Hammill’s PH7, Brian Eno’s myriad productions, or the entire King Crimson discography, and you’ll quickly detect the basic traits of New Wave (and, by extension, post-punk and synth-pop).

These connections can also be felt from the flip side of the coin. Talking Heads’ Fear of Music (coproduced by Eno), most of The Police discography (drummer Stewart Copeland previously served time in Curved Air) and This Heat’s uncompromisingly intense Deceit all contain some seriously proggy touches, particularly when it comes to the quirky rhythms these groups liked experimenting with.

And let’s not forget: on August 1, 1981, at 12:01a.m. precisely, that bastion of New Wave indoctrination, MTV, came alive when it broadcasted “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles. Little did most viewers know the duo were hardcore progheads who had joined Yes as full-time members a year prior.

Yes
90125
Nobody — and we mean nobody — in the early ’80s expected a dinosaur like Yes to release a killer slab of modern MTV pop. Yet that’s exactly what the group accomplished. In terms of British art-rock mingling with New Wave, 90125 is very nearly the equal of Queen’s masterful The Game. Every single track, particularly the hook-laced “Owner of a Lonely Heart,” is an intricately constructed collage full of sharp edges, jagged collisions and oddly funky grooves. The X factor is producer Trevor Horn, who expertly applies his knowledge of disco and club music to the proceedings. [Justin Farrar]

Phil Collins
Face Value
Phil Collins opens his solo debut, 1981′s Face Value, with one of the great pop songs of the 20th century: “In the Air Tonight” (its original video is totally avant garde). The rest of the album, with its emphasis on funk and R&B, isn’t too shabby either. The Genesis drummer-turned-frontman-turned solo star must’ve taken copious notes when working with Brian Eno just a couple years prior; his use of drum machines, synthesizers and ambient textures (John Giblin’s watery bass in particular) is smart and subtle. Face Value’s other hit is “I Missed Again,” but “I’m Not Moving” is even better. [J.F.]

Rush
Moving Pictures
Rush became an arena-rock staple in the 1970s, but the Canadian power trio reached entirely new commercial heights in the early 1980s when they started tinkering with, ironically enough, ideas nicked from New Wave. Apparently, they were grooving hard to The Police before entering the studio and cranking out Moving Pictures, an album many fans consider their best. The young upstarts’ influence can be felt in Rush’s complex ensemble interplay, which has gone from bombastic and muscular to wiry and tight. The record’s centerpiece is “Tom Sawyer,” of course. But the entire set is straight-up aces. [J.F.]

Queen
The Game
Never mind that “Another One Bites the Dust” is one of the most ridiculously funky songs ever recorded — Queen’s 1980 effort proved that these leather-clad, mustached freaks could do whatever they wanted. Huge ballads, ’50s rave-ups, colossal hard rock, triumphant power-synths and disco funk-rock. Have you listened to “Dragon Attack” lately? It’s unbelievable. [Jon Pruett]

Peter Hammill
PH7
For the most part, Peter Hammill’s solo work isn’t as widely embraced as that of his band, the amazing Van Der Graaf Generator. Yet an album such as PH7, originally released in 1979, makes the case that Hammill on his own might be an even more potent artistic force. Without V.D.G.G. surrounding him, he ditches prog in favor of orchestral-laced confessionals, propulsive rockers and, most impressively, dystopian synth-ragers. The uncompromising “Porton Down” is just vicious, and doesn’t sound far removed from the industrial sounds Cabaret Voltaire and D.A.F. were producing around the same time. [J.F.]

Asia
Asia
“Heat of the Moment” was a major hit in the ’80s, despite the fact that Asia were a prog rock supergroup made up of members of Yes, King Crimson, and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. They even had a follow-up hit, the ridiculous and great “Only Time Will Tell.” These songs, and that band, could only have existed in those confused, insane times, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. [Mike Cloward]

Peter Gabriel
Peter Gabriel 2: Scratch
On his 1978 sophomore solo set, Peter Gabriel teams up with producer/guitarist Robert Fripp, balancing gentle but arty English folk pop with complex rhythms and a couple of outright rocking numbers. The punk-appreciating “D.I.Y.” is the clear standout and is sonically comparable to what the pre-Remain in Light Talking Heads were doing at the same time. On the other end of the spectrum, “Mother of Violence” is a gorgeous acoustic number that feels like it could be from The Beatles’ White Album. Though this was a very strong LP, Gabriel’s next album would be his masterwork. [Nick Dedina]

Brian Eno
Another Green World
As unique as Eno’s previous records were, this one raises the bar for the hybrid of pop and electronic music. Eno delves deep into the studio, melding rhythm, synthesized sound and melody into a surreal whole. The album is largely instrumental, but vocal tracks “St. Elmo’s Fire” and “I’ll Come Running” are pop songs unlike any other. [J.P.]

Japan
Tin Drum
Japan’s final LP, a foppish blend of dance-free funk, faux Oriental motifs and arty synth pop, was a big hit across Europe. Tracks such as “Ghosts” showcase David Sylvian’s surreal narratives to good effect, but the whole affair is such a 1980s timepiece that it now offers unexpected joys — kind of like leafing through an old magazine and seeing the ads in a new light. [N.D.]

The Buggles
The Age of Plastic
Don’t overlook this ’80s pop classic. Production deity Trevor Horn had more in him than just “Video Killed the Radio Star.” His considerable songwriting prowess is also evident on “Living in the Plastic Age,” “Elstree” (a tribute to the famed U.K. film studios) and “Clean, Clean.” Crisp and catchy, this LP is not so much a guilty pleasure as an essential point in electropop history. [Nicholas Baker]

Further listening:

This Heat: Deceit
Sparks: No. 1 in Heaven
Robert Wyatt: Rock Bottom
Kate Bush: Never For Ever
Robert Fripp: Exposure
King Crimson: Discipline
Van Der Graaf Generator: The Quiet Zone/The Pleasure Dome
Genesis: Duke
David Bowie: Heroes
Yellow Magic Orchestra: Technodelic
Ultravox: Vienna
Bryan Ferry: In Your Mind
Bill Nelson: Sound on Sound
Be-Bop Deluxe: Modern Music
Talking Heads: Fear of Music
Styx: Kilroy Was Here
M: New York-London-Paris-Munich
The Police: Zenyetta Mondatta
Slapp Happy: Acnalbasac Noom

This piece originally appeared on Rhapsody’s The Mix.

All of our life we’ve been kicked around, we’ve been put in jail, we’ve been shot at, we’ve had dynamite thrown at us. Then, you don’t want us to have nothing.
- Miner, Harlan County USA

Oh, the green rolling hills of West Virginia are the nearest thing to heaven that I know. Though the times are sad and drear. And I cannot linger here. They’ll keep me and never let me go.
- Hazel Dickens and Alice Gerrard, “The Green Rolling Hills of West Virginia”

Right now, as you’re reading these words, an entire region, culture and people are dying off because their lands contain rocks and gases that help fuel, “from sea to shining sea,” our country’s power grid. This is a grim fact. But it’s something the late Hazel Dickens –who died in her sleep on Friday, April 22 — would want us to reflect-on as we mourn her passing. West Virginian to the core and damn proud of it, Dickens, 75, was a courageous and outspoken musician, pro-union activist and feminist who fought for the rights of her fellow Appalachians, from the mountains’ coal miners to its disempowered women.

Dickens, the eighth of 11 children, was born into poverty in the 1930s. She grew-up in the town of Montcalm, about 15 miles north of the West Virginia/Virginia border. Her father cut timber for the mines and preached The Bible. Coal was all around her. In her teens she relocated to Baltimore, Maryland, where she fell in with the then booming folk scene, namely Mike Seeger, of The New Lost City Ramblers, and his wife, singer Alice Gerrard. Beginning in the 1960s, she released a string of albums, spotlighting her commanding mountain voice and unmistakable fusion of bluegrass, folk revivalism, old time and even touches of honky tonk. All her records are quite powerful, but I would suggest starting with the trifecta of Hard Hitting Songs for Hard Hit People, Hazel & Alice and Strange Creek Singers, a collaborative effort also featuring Mike Seeger.

Celluloid captured Dickens’ artistry when she appeared in the rousing documentary Harlan County USA, as well as the films Matewan and Songcatcher. All are vital viewings for those into rural American history.

Rest in peace, Ms. Dickens. Appalachia will miss you.

Rhapsody Round-Up is a semi-regular compilation of record reviews I’ve recently penned for the online music service Rhapsody.com.

Helmet – Meantime
No matter how many nu-metal morons rip-off Meantime, the album’s innovative zest never diminishes. When released in 1992, its unremitting succession of proggy grooves and start/stop dynamics sounded unlike anything else in modern rock. That’s because Helmet were the first high-profile group to filter all the scuzzy noise-rock released on the Tough & Go and Amphetamine Reptile labels through the hardcore-metal crossover then dominating New York. On top of all this, guitarist Page Hamilton threw in a bunch of arty chops he learned while hanging around the Knitting Factory’s avant scene.

Type O Negative – Bloody Kisses
In the early 1990s, Type O Negative’s Bloody Kisses knocked down the walls separating goth, metal and even alternative rock. Augmenting the group’s core sound with cool washes of synthesizer and art-pop moves, main man Peter Steele crafted a sound that derives its power from mood and atmosphere rather than straight-up heavy-metal heft. Indeed, Bloody Kisses is an extremely rich listening experience. Each and every song is a soundscape in need of exploration. At the same time, don’t overlook Steele’s lyrics. The guy possesses an ironic sense of humor that is subtle, if outrageous.

Mitch Ryder – Sings the Hits
When released in 1968, Sings the Hits was a serious flop. After management convinced Mitch Ryder to ditch The Detroit Wheels a year prior, the blue-eyed soul-screamer’s hip-stock totally plummeted. In hindsight, the record isn’t bad by any means. Find a way to get past the too-obvious song list (yet another version of “Walking the Dog”?), as well as the Wonderbread horn charts, and you’ll discover a handful of Ryder’s more virile vocal performances. “Sticks and Stones” is a beast, so is “Let Your Lovelight Shine.” The latter is solid evidence that The Grateful Dead’s Pigpen was a huge fan.

Fear Factory – Demanufacture
Fear Factory blazed an impressive trail in the 1990s. The southern California group explored, over a trio of excellent albums, just about everything, including thrash, death metal, industrial metal and groove metal. Most of the time, as Demanufacture clearly demonstrates, the group looked towards the rise of nu metal. A track such as “Self Bias Resistor” sounds, especially during its more baroque moments, as if it influenced an entire generation of metal dudes, including the heavies Korn and Limp Bizkit. That said, Demanufacture is far heavier than much of the offspring it helped spawn.

Mason Proffit – Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream
Why Mason Proffit didn’t become one of country-rock’s most popular acts in the early 1970s is a mystery that shall never be solved. The Chicago quartet, all decked out like desperadoes, was certainly one of the genre’s all-time best. Last Night I Had The Strangest Dream, an epic meditation on peace, freedom and hippie-bred spirituality, is the group’s third long-player. The Talbot brothers’ harmonies are powerful — but rich and subtle, too. The rhythm section, meanwhile, never goes slack, even on the ballads, like the title track, a rousing rendition of Ed McCurdy’s folk anthem.

Life of Agony – River Runs Red
The exemplary River Runs Red, released in 1993, arrived about five years too early. Though Life of Agony emerged from New York’s hardcore-metal crossover scene, which was thriving in the late 1980s, the group was more or less laying the foundation for nu metal by blending metalcore, old-school grunge and a little goth. But what really made the band stand out were their slower grooves (“Through and Through”) and brooding, epic balladry (“This Time”). These qualities led to a lot of comparisons to Alice in Chains, yet there’s something more overtly metal about LoA.

Cream – Wheels of Fire
On Cream’s first two studio albums, Fresh Cream and Disraeli Gears, the trio was all about studio-bred brevity. It wasn’t until 1968′s Wheels of Fire, a double LP, that the group began to stretch out. Now mind you, it isn’t a perfect album. The more flowery offerings, such as “Passing the Time” and “As You Said,” haven’t aged all that well. It’s the live material found on the second disc that really stands out. “Toad” and “Spoonful,” both of which break the 15-minute mark, are powerful jams that prove why Cream exerted such a massive influence on the development of hard rock and heavy metal.

Vision of Disorder – Imprint
Why Vision of Disorder aren’t more revered in alternative metal circles is a total mystery. For its second record, 1998′s Imprint, the group teamed up with D. Sardy. The hot-shot producer helped the quintet achieve a perfectly balanced fusion of East Coast metalcore and Pantera-inspired groove metal. Not to gross you out, but this record is one giant loogie of venom, spite and bad vibes. No ballads, no progressive wankery, just face-ripping riffage and violent breakdowns that flirt with chaos without ever really descending into it. By record’s end you feel utterly violated — in a good way.

Manassas – Pieces
A nice piece of archival work on Rhino’s part, Pieces is an expansive collection of previously unreleased recordings and alternate takes from 1971 to ’73. Back then Stephen Stills ran with Manassas, a large and rather unruly super-group also featuring the great Chris Hillman, formerly of The Byrds and The Flying Burrito Brothers. Sonically speaking, Manassas covered a lot of ground: Latin-tinged rock ‘n’ roll, country, folk and even a dash of bluegrass. As always, Rhino’s re-mastering is aces. In fact, Pieces sounds better than 99% of the music passing for Americana in the 21st century.

Sepultura – Roots
Roots is a dense and sloppy mess that asks a lot of its listeners. A grand statement addressing Brazil’s culture and politics, in particular the plight of the country’s indigenous people, the record is packed with sonic experiments and novel touches, everything from “tribal” percussion and down-tuned riffs to industrial crunch and funk-metal breakdowns. Even when the music feels bloated and misguided — which is rather often, mind you — Sepultura never stop raging as hard and viciously as they possibly can. Plus, Ross “The Godfather of Nu Metal” Robinson’s production is absolutely decadent.

Little Feat – Waiting For Columbus
Waiting for Columbus came out in 1978, which was a weird time for Little Feat’s first live record to be released. The band hadn’t delivered a killer studio album in three years. Even worse is the fact that Lowell George and the rest of the band were in a nasty power struggle over artistic direction. The latter was pushing the band into proggy fusion and jamming, stuff George detested. Despite these issues, The Feats found a way to get their act together and produce a really good record. The only aspect that doesn’t work is the screeching synthesizer, which hasn’t aged well at all.