Eleven Albums from the Past 30 Years

A little over three years ago I wrote a number of blogs about albums I can’t live without – my desert island picks, if you will – and I ended up with 58 albums. Since then I’ve listened to a whole lot of music, including new discoveries and some older releases that I’d overlooked the first go around, and I thought I’d summarize my favorites in my next few blogs.

Incidentally, while I’ve written several times about the merits of physical music mediums – most recently in January of this year – I haven’t captured the case quite as eloquently as David Holmes in this month’s issue of Esquire. Check it out.

So here goes – in reverse chronological order – a bunch of albums that I’ve listened to over the past three years. And to Holmes’s point, I actually remembered these albums rather than relying on Spotify to tell me my play history.

Sammy Rae – Let’s Throw a Party (2021).  This is only an EP, so if I’m allowed to bend the rules, I’d couple this release with 2018’s The Good Life – also an EP – for one full-length album. My wife and I got to see Sammy Rae in November (and all of my children are seeing her in their respective cities – she’s managed to attract the attention of my 19-year-old all the way up to my 53-year-old self) and she is easily among the top five performers I’ve ever seen. If you have a chance to see her, do it, even if you don’t think her albums are the bee’s knees, which they are. Ebullient, energetic, contagious, Rae is also a vocal gymnast with a kick-ass band. Thanks to my son for exposing me to this artist.

Black Pumas – Black Pumas (2018).  I also got to see this band in 2021 – my first show in 18 months due to the pandemic, and this is simply the best rock band to come out in recent history. Offering swampy, Austin soul, this duo churns out melodies over intoxicating grooves and doesn’t let up. And singer Eric Burton is…well…as amazing as the aforementioned Sammy Rae. A powerhouse. And a kick-ass logo and album cover to boot! Rae could learn a thing or two about their graphic design.

Flying Colors – Second Nature (2014).  Oh, the alluring bombast of prog rock! It’s a genre that these days often borders on metal, which isn’t in my wheelhouse, but wowie wow wow, this release by Flying Colors, a sort of super group with former members of Dixie Dregs, Deep Purple, Dream Theater and others, is the bomb, offering grandiose, anthemic rock that’s complicated and heavy without going over the edge. It’s also melodic as hell, which is what I always desire. This release – the band’s second – is the better of their three releases, and it accompanied me for many hours as I worked on my basement in 2020. I wish I could remember how I first heard of them; I think it may have been the podcast Political Beats. As with so many albums from the CD Age, it’s too damn long and the final two or three tracks should have been scratched, but those first six tracks would make a killer normal album-length venture.

Queens of the Stone Age – …Like Clockwork (2013).  This probably should have made my list from 2019. I first heard the song “I Sat by the Ocean” while driving home late at night and nearly pulled the car over. What the hell was this? A pulsating, edgy ditty with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind lyrics and a unique vocalist. Wonderful, as is the whole album, toes dipping in melancholy and angst that often hits the spot for me. Why it took my TWENTY YEARS to discover this band is mind-boggling, but as I’ve admitted before, I have my blind spots. Like, nearly my entire periphery.

Bright Eyes – The People’s Key (2011).  Kudos to WXRT for playing the song “Jejune Stars” one afternoon while I was driving (You see? It really does pay to drive sometimes and listen to whatever is out there) and thought, hot damn. I memorized just enough lyrics to do a Google search upon arriving home and discovered once again that I was listening to a band that was TWENTY YEARS OLD! I’m seeing this band this Saturday in Chicago and am really excited to see how this band plays live. (Update: they were excellent.)

The Red Button – As Far As Yesterday Goes (2011).  Damn, this is good. Once again Spotify gets credit for this one, as the title track of this band’s sophomore effort came up while listening to Emitt Rhodes’s radio (Rhodes will come up in my next blog). I actually thought the song was a Rhodes recording; it was such early-70s-powerpop-perfection, but this comes from a duo of veteran LA musicians, and they really hit the nail on the head after their 2007 debut. Once again, I learned about a band ten years AFTER the fact. Sensing a trend?

William Shatner – Has Been (2004).  I’ve written about this one before but failed to include it in my top albums back in 2018. With Ben Folds at the helm and with contributions by Joe Jackson, Aimee Mann, Henry Rollins and Brad Paisley, this is a terrific blend of comedy, insight, vulnerability, irony and sentiment. If you’re skeptical, I get it, but listen to the first three tracks on the album and then tell me Shatner doesn’t have something very real to offer.

U2 – How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb (2004).  I remember seeing the iPod commercial with the accompanying U2 song “Vertigo” during the summer Olympics and thinking, well hell, this is refreshing! I love the tune, and probably the first 7 or 8 of this release before it starts to wane a bit. But for me, this is superior to the critically praised All the things You Can’t Leave Behind, and it represents the last gasp of a band that has probably overstayed its welcome. I’m still pissed that I’ve never seen these guys live. Hell, one of my daughters has seen them twice!

Kate Schrock – Dames Rocket (2000).  I’d completely forgotten about this gem, but then last year when I was cataloging my CDs on Discogs I happened upon this album again, having to clear away the cobwebs before my memory started to come back. Of course! I love this album! And those horns were arranged by my old Berklee buddy Tom Snow! I was delighted to be reacquainted with this singer from Maine. The album gets better as it goes, with “River,” “The Wait” and “St. Jude” absolutely killer. Wonderful.

k.d. lang – Ingenue (1992).  Another one of those gems that I simply forget to listen to, but after revisiting it I recalled that this is the real deal. Lang’s voice is unrivaled, absolutely perfect, and the music on this LP offers complex textures: sensual, moody and passionate, desire oozing from the grooves. The album takes it’s time – perfect for sitting back in the recliner with a bourbon in hand on a cold, winter’s evening. The final track, “Constant Craving,” got some radio play back in the day, but the penultimate “Tears of Love’s Recall” is one that really grabs me. 

Psychodots – Psychodots (1991).  Digging into the band The Bears led me to this follow-up band – with the same members minus Adrian Belew – and I spent the next two months listening to this album. The song “Stella” is perfect; I once played it on repeat for an hour straight on my back patio. This band played its last show just a few months ago in their hometown Cincinnati, and I’m sorry I never saw them in any formation, including the original band, The Raisins, whose LP I’m still on the lookout for.

That takes me through the 90s! I’ll add twelve additional album next week as I cover the 80s through the 50s.

Deceptive Downbeats (reprised)

On Adam Neely’s latest video (fantastic, as always), he discusses something called “post-facto metric ambiguity,” a fancy term that I’ve written about previously, albeit under a different term: deceptive downbeats. It’s a way to describe a musical passage – often at the beginning of a piece – that’s difficult to rhythmically understand until a downbeat is established. I love this stuff, and there are a bunch of tunes that trip me up even after I know the “correct” way of hearing them. Neely addressed the intro to The Beatles’ classic, “Drive My Car,” and it’s one of many examples one can turn to. I definitely recommend Adam’s video (and his channel in general) and have copied below my original blog on the subject matter, written almost exactly ten years ago.

Deceptive Downbeats (a musical observation)

February 02, 2012

When listening to music, there’s nothing quite so satisfying as a surprise: a harmony that doesn’t resolve as expected, a lyric that takes a comedic twist or a melody that jumps an odd interval away.

What excites me the most (and what lays to rest any question of my geekdom) is a rhythm that doesn’t change time signatures, but that still manages to fake the listener out, intentionally or not, by calling the downbeat into question. In this scenario, what you initially hear as the “one” beat you come to find is someplace else entirely, and your ears are left to add or subtract a beat or a half a beat in order to get back in synch with a song, like dancing to a CD that skips and having to make an adjustment before you step on your partner’s toes.

My favorite example occurs in the Yes song, “Yours is no Disgrace."  For over three decades I’ve never failed to hear the first chord as landing on the “and” of four in a 4/4 measure.  Give a listen:

I hear the song as: 

But once the band kicks in, it sounds like Yes has subtracted a beat, inserting a measure of 3/4 instead of 4/4 (and with Yes, this is an entirely plausible proposition). In truth, the time signature remains constant for this part of the song, but my ears hear the downbeat incorrectly. The first note lands on the “and” of one, not four:

Even with this knowledge, I still hear the rhythm the way I always have, and after thirty years (note: now forty!), I guess I kind of like it that way.

Another example is Sting’s “Ghost Story.” This song starts similarly, with an instrumental passage absent an obvious count-in.  But even when Sting’s voice enters, the downbeat is in question:

I’ve always heard first note coming on beat two of a 4/4 measure: 

But as soon as Sting sings “Another winter comes, his icy fingers creep,” a half a beat is added, and it become clear that all along the initial note of each phrase had in fact landed on the “and” of one:

Sting uses this deceptive tactic often, though I suspect in his mind there’s nothing deceptive about it since he hears the downbeat where it should be, and there are probably many listeners who hear it correctly right off the bat. But to me, my faulty instincts add to the pleasure of the song, providing just enough jolt to keep things interesting.

AN ADDENDUM: I was going to add a “part two” to this idea many years ago and never did, but there are a few more examples I can think of off the top of my head:

The piano that begins the outro of Supertramp’s “Crime of the Century.”
The intro to “Start Me Up” by the Rolling Stones.
The intro to “Fortress Around Your Heart” by Sting.

Great stuff! Shoot me a message if you’ve got some other examples.

An Ode to Compact Discs

Just a few weeks after I touted the benefits of owning physical LPs, author and journalist Rob Sheffield writes in Rolling Stone this week about the resurgence of one of the most assailed forms of music media: the compact disc. The redheaded stepchild of music formats, Neil Young has equated listening to digitized music to sensory deprivation and torture. Ouch!

But while I’ve never understood store-bought cassettes, even back in their hey-day and especially today as they make a perplexing comeback in used record stores, I totally get why CDs are still a thing, Neil Young’s assertions aside. As Sheffield writes: “Compact discs were never about romance — they were about function.”

I and most other music connoisseurs spent years in the 2000s converting their CDs to easily stored MP3 files for use in iPods and the like, but unlike many, I stopped short of actually removing the physical products from my home. Thank goodness, because I really do like having physical CDs to play, especially when I’m driving in my Mazda, which will unfortunately likely be the last car I’ll ever own that’s equipped with a CD player. I still own the 400 or so that I amassed over the years, including my first purchases from 1986, and I still kick myself for having sold or gotten rid of around fifty CDs back in the 2000s. There’s still something alluring about playing a CD in its entirety, uninterrupted. In terms of functionality coupled with pretty damn-good quality, CDs can’t be beat.

Unless you consider streaming, which – let’s face it – wins in the functionality department and can sound pretty great if you want it to, but Sheffield echoes (and states more eloquently) some of the same arguments I made last week about streaming. He writes:

“…streaming is not a ‘place,’ but a barrage of constant options that many fans find less optimal when you’re in the mood to actually concentrate and listen. You’re probably also streaming on a device that’s nagging you about messages you need to answer right now.”

It’s the same premise that people have made all along: that there may simply be something very human about the need for tactile interaction with one’s environment, and in a culture that’s downgraded music and other media to something disposable, it’s natural that the pendulum would slowly shift toward owning physical products. CDs aren’t perfect, but they at least include liner notes and cover art. As if that’s not enough enticement, I saw scores of them at a used furniture sale last week for 25 cents apiece!

And for all you vinyl purists who lean toward environmental causes, Sheffield notes that for all the hubbub people threw at record companies for housing CDs in grotesque longboxes back in the 80s and 90s, “…the tables have turned – now if you buy an LP online, it’s shipped in a package that’s basically six longboxes.” 

Well played.

For those who aren’t familiar with Sheffield, he’s a hell of a writer, and among music geeks is revered alongside other venerated music-themed artists such as author Nick Hornby (High Fidelity) and filmmaker John Carney (Once, Begin Again, Sing Street). Sheffield resonates to a certain type of person: often male, semi music-obsessed, a bit insecure, and one who occasionally likes to bathe luxuriously in his own heartache. His books Love is a Mix Tape, Talking to Girls about Duran Duran, and Turn Around Bright Eyes are mainstays for many music nerds. I highly recommend each of them.

Is Collecting Vinyl Pretentious?

Last week Katie Edwards of the Independent had a little fun with a provocative essay on how pointless ownings records is. She writes from the viewpoint of a fed-up wife whose vinyl-collecting husband has taken over a third of her dining room. To which I say, “Hey, at least it’s not half.”

But seriously, I think Edwards was writing partly for the thrill of poking the bear, knowing that geeky audiophiles would blow a gasket, because midway through her essay she actually answers her own question of why people purchase vinyl. She writes, “Perhaps it’s the experience of vinyl that’s the clincher? The same way I like to hold a physical copy of a book and turn actual pages rather than read an electronic version.”

I can’t speak for all vinyl collectors, but for me, that’s it, exactly. I’ve never bought into the claim that vinyl sounds better than other formats. I’ve also never owned records that I’m reluctant to play – as Edwards’s husband apparently is – for fear that they’ll get damaged. And I don’t eschew streaming music; according to Spotify, I streamed over 139 hours of music in 2021, 55% more than the average Spotify listener.

But streaming doesn’t just make music portable, it also makes it disposable. I’ve invested nothing into downloading the latest Sammy Rae EP (but you should do so – she’s amazing!). Not money. Not time. Not changing the dial on the radio. Worse, I don’t know who plays on her album, who produced it, where it was recorded or who wrote the songs. Her songs exist in the ether, as if they just appeared one day through no effort of gifted musicians. Vinyl and other physical formats force the listener to reckon with the music, to establish a relationship with it, and to devote physical space to it.

Katie Edwards concedes all of this, but then wonders if the real reason people buy vinyl is to flaunt their tastes over those whose musical knowledge they consider pedestrian. Edwards writes, “Having a showy collection of vinyl – that owners have to pull out and parade in front of uninterested guests stifling yawns – is a display of pretentiousness that turns me right off.”  She also writes, “ I just can’t be bothered with the inevitable scoffing by self-described music buffs who consider themselves authorities on taste just because they’ve got a couple of obscure LPs.”

Okay, I cry bullshit here. If she actually has friends who’ve scoffed at her musical tastes, then she needs to find new friends. More likely, I think Edwards is writing to provocate (as she apparently did me!). Either that or she’s projecting her own insecurities on her music-loving friends, the same way any insecure person might do to describe any other human endeavor.

For example, I have a friend who has a very impressive wine cellar in his basement and likes to present good bottles of wine for gatherings. I don’t really know anything about wine except that I like to drink it. Now, I could be intimidated by this and accuse my friend of arrogance, but really – I just think it’s cool. He’s into something I’m not into. I have no aspirations of becoming a wine aficionado, but I’m glad he is, and I’m happy to ask a few questions so that he can share his enthusiasm with me. The next time he comes over to my house, I will have no problems opening up a $12 bottle of cabernet. I don’t think he’ll judge me for it. I think he’ll ask for a glass.

Similarly, Edwards should have no problem streaming the Heart song “Alone” for her friends, as she claims she’s reluctant to do. If they truly look down on her as a result, then shame on them.

But methinks she doth protest too much. She must know that “Alone” blows.

Ha, I actually like that song. Two can play this provocation game!

My New Band - Anchors Away

When I subscribed a Spotify a few years ago I started making a massive 70s playlist, not of songs that I already knew like the back of my hand, but all of those tunes that pop into my head at odd times, little remnants of my youth when I listened to WOKY Milwaukee in the backyard of Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin. Songs like “Jackie Blue” by The Ozark Mountain Daredevils, “Reminiscing” by The Little River Band, “Just Remember I Love You” by Firefall, and “Lotta Love” by Nicolette Larson. Remember those song? I do, and scores of others, some that I hadn’t heard in decades. I just picked up an album by The Tarney/Spencer Band – a group that is NOT on Spotify currently – because as I was driving down the highway a year ago or so, the song “No Time to Lose” clawed to the surface from the recesses of my mind. I don’t know why it got there, but it’s a great tune, and I love so many of these old songs that don’t get the radio rotation that they used to.

This type of music has been retroactively labeled yacht rock, a very nebulously applied term and one that many musicians resent. But the label seems to have stuck, and the genre has gained a bit of a resurgence. So imagine my excitement when I got the call to join a Chicago-based yacht rock band, Anchors Away? The music is challenging, fun, and more subtle in nature than much of the music I’ve been playing live for the last decade or so. I’ve been busting my butt trying to get 30 songs prepared for my first gig with the band, taking place on October 29th in Downers Grove, Illinois. What I really like about it is the fact that we’re not playing the same old stuff that you can hear on every radio station in the country. No more Rolling Stones, Beatles, and the like. This music may not be new, but it also hasn’t been beaten to death.

Anchors Away has some killer musicians “on board” (see what I did there?) and I can’t wait to get sailing with the crew. It’ll no doubt take me a few gigs to feel comfortable, but I hope you’ll make it out to one of our shows docking at a bar near you. Visit us on Facebook or on our website.