Pink Floyd - A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987)

My wife and I refer to this album as "Permanent Lapse Of Reason" because it seemeth as though our musical heroes began a torpid duration in a strait-jacket on methylphenidate and forgot to color outside the lines with crayons like they always did. Surely, Waters' departure had something to do with it, but we had already learned that these blokes just couldn't play nice anymore and that Waters had exhausted his creative faculties on The Wall as evidenced by his genuine lack of anything on The Final Cut. Good show, jolly rabbit! To be nice, this album is a fair representation of the other band members musical abilities. "On The Turning Away" is simply wonderful. To a lesser extent, "Learning To Fly" seems like it was a great song, but they kept working on it to become a hit and so it goes that it's not as good. Icky ick. "Dogs Of War?" Yuck. All this album proves, with the FInal Cut as its companion piece, is that Roger and David needed each other to make amazing music; this is just David's solo album, and apparently he tried to top Waters' shitty post-war dream with this syphilitic ick. This is just blahhhhhhhhhh. You guys are my favorite band -- how could you do this to me ? D+

Pink Floyd - Atom Heart Mother (1970)

Like Obscured By Clouds, Atom Heart Mother is in the unenviable position of being sandwiched between two better albums -- in this case, Ummagumma and Meddle, respectively. Consisting of five songs, the last of which spans an interminable 13 odious minutes of your life, Atom Heart Mother is not for the easy-eared. First things first, "If" is an endearing little song -- not very inspiring -- but still very good. "Fat Old Sun" is nice and contains a vintage Gilmour solo -- which is to say, amazing; and "Summer '68" is my favorite piece on the album, despite the fact that you'd lose a bet over its authenticity as Pink Floyd; it simply doesn't sound like them. This brings us to the bookends, "Atom Heart Mother" and "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" -- two mental flights to Mars via a hallucinatory conduit. "Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast" is really awful stuff. The absolute udder of the psychedelic scene. Colorful trash, as it were. Or maybe it's de rigueur; what do I know? Listen to it at your own peril. Jeff has a much favorable review for those interested. B-

Pink Floyd - Obscured By Clouds (1972)

Obscured By Clouds is the bastard birthed out of wedlock, the prodigious and stalwart second son secondarily subservient to the grand airs of a more successful first sibling. Meddle was great. Dark Side Of The Moon? Best album ever. So it's easy to forget that Obscured even existed, let alone deserved any kind of consideration. Perhaps "Obscured By Clouds," "When You're In" and "Burning Bridges" -- the album's first three scapegoats are to blame. Do I enjoy them? Yes, but can I cite their chord structures on threat of no more Guinness? Not a chance. 'Tis a shame, methinks, because "The Gold It's In The," "Wot's...Uh The Deal," "Mudmen," Childhood's End" and "Free Four" are incredibly meaty, atypical Floydian compositions. Hell, even if you think me a sometimes hack, a sometimes Viennese Quack -- fuck you, Freud! -- please at least listen to tracks 4-8 -- you won't be disappointed. "Stay" is decent enough and "Absolutely Curtains," the album's closer, seems to halt the album to a fairly tepid, bordering-on-miserable close; but all in all, a solid record deserving of placement in the Floydian pantheon. Oh, and as with Meddle, the guitar work is tasty as usual. B+

Pink Floyd - Piper At The Gates Of Dawn (1967)

Pure madness. How did such an album come to be? Drugs? Most definitely. Zeitgeist? Okay, sure. Syd Barrett? Check. Aurally intoxicating, at times embarrassingly weird, Piper is Floyd's proverbial fist in the face of all music hitherto heretofore. Is it absolutely brilliant? Sometimes. Does it seem positively wretched? Oh yes. But unlike my necessary condemnation of Trout Mask Replica, Piper is far more rewarding in its awkward abundance. "Astronomy Domine?" Delicious. "Lucifer Sam?" Pernicious. "The Gnome?" Who the fuck writes songs about gnomes? The revolting barrage of random cacophony in "Bike?" Genius. And stupid. At the same time. Never has an album (despite my lack of existence in 1967) seemed so perversely fresh. Best ever? Hardly. Important? If I am to conjure up Master Cianan for a moment and his sincere loathing of labeling any album "important," I would say, as I always do, in retort, "Yes! It's important to me!" Just maybe not to you. Rub some oil on your bald soprano. This is the Mad Hatter, over and out. B

Pink Floyd - Meddle (1971)

This is for you, Bob. Meddle, по моему, is perhaps Floyd's transition point between the trippy, not altogether focused and sometimes rambling psychedelia of their first few albums, and the tightly wound musical virtuosity that came to fruition on Dark Side Of The Moon. Simply, it's got a touch of everything, the focal point being the otherworldly "Echoes" -- which is clearly one of the best musical statements of that era. (It sounds even better live.) An ethereal quality, let's call it, seems to permeate the entire album. "Echoes," even at its almost 24 minute length, has this fleeting, pulling away kind of quality despite some incredibly moving and powerful passages. "One Of These Days" is menacing; "Pillow Of Winds" dreamy; "Fearless" like an inevitable marching forward feel; "San Tropez" is a beer in the breeze and a nice bit of sun on your face. All very moody, impressionistic type stuff going on here, but not simply drug music -- stuff you need an amy under your nose for. No, no, this is the kind of music that makes you remember a band named Pink Floyd and not the other numberless psychedelic outfits from that time; they're simply too creative and skilled as musicians to forget them.

"Seamus" for me is one of the worst songs I've ever heard in my life. Pure fucking vulgarity and nonsense. A nasty black blot on an otherwise perfectly written work of a master scrivener. Thankfully it's short and thankfully "Echoes" accounts for half the album. Seriously, folks, if Floyd to you is "Comfortably Numb" and "Wish You Were Here", you are missing out. Dark Side Of The Moon, besides being the greatest album ever, is not the starting point for these fellows. Piper has its merits and flaws; Ummagumma is responsible for some quite exotic divergences in opinion and the poor forgotten Obscured By Clouds, nestled squarely before Dark Side and after Meddle, is quite solid as well. But Meddle is crucial in the band's own catalogue and it should be for you too. No, you don't need to get their soundtrack More like me, but this will still do nicely. Man, and listen to "Echoes" if you haven't already. The guitar is SUPER FUCKING TASTY. A-

Pink Floyd - Dark Side Of The Moon (1973)

I'm considerably aghast at how little I have to say of this album. As I've already professed in the beginning: Best. Album. Ever. Start to finish. Every ooh, every ahh, every timbre and shaft of light. The colours, the lyrics, the dazzling awesomeness of this wonderful little musical prism. It's all here on display, an aura for every ear, an emblem for every ember. A perfect synesthesia. The miraculous graying of forbidden light.

What's not to appreciate? You can choose any colour you like. If you've got no time, you can listen to it on the run. If you've got no money, speak to me; I'll lend you some. No sense waiting for an eclipse; just listen, and breathe. And don't fritter and waste about the Us and Them conflict -- they can keep their hitmebabyonemoretimes and iwantitthatways until they've suffered brain damage. We've got the greatest gig in the sky, circa 1973, always and forever. Besides, there's no dark side of the moon, really. As a matter of fact, it's all dark. A+ (I think I need a Leer jet.)

Talking Heads - Little Creatures (1985)

For being a band frequently described as inaccessible, this record surely has some nice stuff on it. No, I'm not a fan, and I don't concentrate nearly as hard as I do when listening to some of my other recurring faves, but this album is worth a listen every now and again. "And She Was" is a delicious little number that almost leads you into thinking it will remain the awful dreck that tainted nearly everything imaginable during the most egregious musical decade known to man or animal-- fuck you Depeche Mode; you give me daily nightmares -- but it doesn't. "Give Me Back My Name" is pretty creepy. I don't know if the Oxford lads from Radiohead listened to this and wrote "Climbing Up The Walls," but I'm still unsettled by both. "Creatures Of Love" is an alien twang song that somehow works. "I've seen sex and I think it's okay." Maybe it's the way David Byrne sings that ties it all together, I don't know. He's possibly the first lead vocalist who sounds like he's presiding over a demented circus that can somehow carry a tune. "Road To Nowhere" has what sounds like an accordion, I think. I like accordions; you should too. Eat your clam chowder. Ignore tracks 5-8 and enjoy otherwise. B-

Led Zeppelin - Houses Of The Holy (1973)

With the imminent arrival of Valentine's Day, I'd like to switch things up a bit -- after all, have we truly forgotten the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre? No, I haven't the time to massacre seven albums to equal the number of victims, but perhaps -- hear me out -- I can do to one what I would do to seven. Especially if the album is a sacred cow in need of an overdue slaughter whose reputation is supremely undeserving. No, I wasn't there, I didn't get the T-shirt and my zeitgeist card expired a long time ago with my lack of nostalgia. Sorry, I really don't know my victim.

So without further ado, let's venture into the Houses Of The Holy and do some deplorable sacrilege! (Brief caveat: Zep's first four albums are just short of amazing; there, that's my penance rock gods.) I really can't describe how much I loathe this album; it's a complete distillation of all the things that could have went wrong on their previous albums but somehow didn't. Yet, here they are on full display, every popped cyst, abscess and oozing sebaceous gland: egregious imitative blues/reggae/funk pilferings, pointless noodling and guitar wankery, tepid percussion and bass performances, and the seemingly endless caterwauling from the Diocese of this filthy sermon himself, Roberto De Planta of West Bromwich.

What's to say? "The Song Remains The Same" sounds like a bad Zeppelin rip-off; "The Rain Song" is a lot of time I'll never get back; "No Quarter" makes me wish I had one for the jukebox. "D'Yer Mak'er" is atrocious. As soon it starts, I want to pop a brick into Plant's mouth and make him stop. Then, I want Mssr. Page to stop. Then I want John to sober up. Then -- and where is JPJ's mad bass thumping? What can I say, oh my brothers and sisters? -- you know those hypotheticals where people say, oh so-and-so can put out a horrible album and anyone would buy it? This is that album. "The Crunge" is the most awful thing I've ever heard in my life.  "Dancing Days" is a precursor for Plant's later solo material. "The Ocean" is my favorite track to highlight, not because it sucks (though it does), but because I feel like this song exemplifies the excess and pompous nature the band had transformed into. Sure, it sounds like Zep, but a different, more bloated version. All the refinements blurred; all the intricacies swept away in favor of flawless production and the fact that they just didn't have it anymore. The only saving grace to this abortive monstrosity is "Over The Hills And Far Away" -- which I dig and dig so much, perhaps just because it's the only thing on the album I like. Sorry Zep-heads, my purplish tie-dye is comfortable, but I throw it into the wash when listening to this garbage. F

Donny Hathaway - Donny Hathway (1971)

This little long player consists of Donny's expansion from his eclectic compositions on Everything Is Everything to then-current musical styles -- which is to say, all of these songs (except one) are covers. Normally, this is a poor decision -- think Bowie's Pin-Ups -- but Donny does to the originals what most do with Dylan songs: make them supremely better. I find Leon Russell's "A Song For You" to be particularly grating, but Donny's version feels like it's his song, and many oblivious to Mr. Russell probably thought it was his to begin with, so who's to argue? It's one of Donny's greatest songs and showcases his seemingly effortless ability to weave his voice around any lyric, mood or musical set-piece. In fact, besides the perfection that is Sinatra, Donny is probably one of the most treasured voices I've ever heard. It's a shame he snuffed it, and even a greater shame that he's being given the Thelonious Monk treatment as a misguided eccentric. "Giving Up" opens the album, and establishes fairly quickly that the cheerful optimism expressed on his first record was not to be repeated here; and despite my own depraved religious sensibilities, the gospel-like numbers -- especially "Put Your Hand In The Hand" -- are thoroughly rousing, even if they are steeped in a subtext of hopeless longing. Covers aside, the vocal renditions may not be as brilliant as on Everything Is Everything or the music as complex as on Extension Of A Man, but the album still bears the mark of Donny, through and through, and deserves consideration just for that. B

Joseph - Stoned Age Man

Well, I usually burst into elated paroxysms for my darling audience to go out and listen to any albums I dig. Ho-hum, good luck with this one. You'll probably have your chance to pay Jesus back that fifty cents you owe him before you ever find this. I think I found the album years ago as a rare resell on Amazon. This guy doesn't even have a wikipedia page (sniff, sniff). Anyway, from what I myself have gathered, Joseph was an up-and-coming guitarist with some tasty bluesy psychedelia chops who got someone's attention back in the 70s. He cut an album, and then vanished into thin air forever. Seriously, despite having been given better accolades over the years, no one knows what happened to him. Obviously, the album did not do well at the time, but is he dead? Did he pull a J.D. Salinger? There is even dispute as to whether his name is Joseph Long or Longoria or Longeria. Certainly, the myth of this all is kind of silly to ponder, but the music itself is worth a listen. Personally, I think the world wouldn't be as pleasant without "Gotta Get Away" and "Stone Age Man," but you can be the judge -- if you can find it. Maybe I'll burn some copies for any interested parties. No, wait; I won't. I found myself under the large and oppressive boot of the military for years; I don't want the RIAA after me. Overall, the album features a nice amalgam of psychedelic blues and Joseph's husky vocal gruffings. I wouldn't kill myself to find it, but as I'm wont to mention, a D-list band from the 70s is oodles and oodles better than any snot being picked today. B

AC/DC - Back In Black (1980)

I'm listening to this album right now. The crunchy tones, the gritty vocals, the oomph that makes an Oompa Loompa bounce. I mean, is "Hells Bells" not one of the greatest openings to an album ever? Mourning aside, these guys said bon voyage to Bon Scott and hello to Mr. Johnson, and then some. Ok, I'm being crass now. Perhaps my reasoning arises from a sincere inability to express everything all the time, but I must say, if you don't own this album, you mustn't give a fupenny tuck for straight-up rock & roll. "Hells Bells," "Shoot To Thrill," "You Shook Me All Night Long" and "Back In Black" are all radio staples, but they're also ridiculously good, no matter how often you hear them. Yet, four great and amazing songs don't make a great and amazing album, although it is better than the bait-and-shit single tactics record companies use now to get you to recoup losses on egregious bands. Instead, with AC/DC, we are treated to all of the songs having been done extremely well. Nice! And have you given the dog a bone lately? He deserves one, assuredly. Definitely not noise pollution. Definitely not for the background. Listen and relish oh my brothers and sisters, and all that cal. A-