The Allman Brothers Band - Eat A Peach (1972)

Okay, so I wasn't too vicious with At Fillmore East. So for those with whom I do not share such feel-good affinity for the Allman Brothers, rest assured, I dig the living pig manure out of Eat A Peach. What's not to like? Duane's beautiful slide renderings, the furious "One Way Out," the glorious intertwining of guitar melodies on "Blue Sky." Oh, hell. Listen to it here; it's my favorite from them.

"Little Martha" is also a touch softer, too, but Duane is in prime form. "Melissa" is also a song that's a bit softer, but still has some great guitar work. The only drawback, ahem, is "Mountain Jam," inexorably pulled from the Fillmore sessions and possibly the weakest point for me. I do think "One Way Out" and "Trouble No More" were better showcases for their live energy, but alas. And I do love jams, I truly do, just not by these guys. Rest in peace, Duane. B+

The Allman Brothers Band - Live At The Fillmore East (1971)

Since I've been an irresponsible blogger and haven't posted in awhile, I'm going to attempt to make good with two reviews, both from the Allman Brothers. Bob, listen up, because one of them is about to be mildly slaughtered. So, let's just chase the rabbit down the hole, shall we?

"Okay, the Allman Brothers Band." And so begins for most one of the greatest live albums ever -- except I must have been asleep during class, because I don't understand why. "Statesboro Blues" is proof enough, for sure, if it could only sustain my interest after that. Really, truly wonderful little cover it is. But come on, these fellows have better stuff than what this mediocre mess of a live album has become. Duane Allman and Dickey Betts are phenomenal guitarists, but the three boogie jamfests left me wondering if I could have taken three pilgrimages to Mecca and back before they were done. And I'm not Muslim. And I love jams. There was simply nothing consistently inspiring in "You Don't Love Me," "In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed" and especially "Whipping Post." Really, where were they going other than being novel and fulfilling the pandering of a wanting crowd? Live shows are fantastic, but I'm not entirely sold on most of them being good recordings. Very few can do that. This one sounds like even if you were there it may not have been great, either. C

The Mars Volta - Terminal 5 - January 14, 2008

Let me be very clear. This show consisted of two parts -- the one I hated, and the one I loved. After Cedric and his permed buffon and Omar the cracked-out Hendrix made to the stage with roaring approval, everyone suddenly went deaf. That's because for songs 1-7 of the setlist, the sound check technician thought we were at Wembley Stadium. Much like an atom bomb incinerates everything within blast radius, the Mars Volta destroyed our ears with an adverse Phil Spector wall of sound. Besides the staccato drumming, all I heard was noise and an occasional "exoskeletal" or "humans as ornaments." The saxophonist was blowing, Cedric was wailing, Omar was riffing away -- but I nor the entire tepid audience could hear a thing -- for 90 fucking minutes. I honestly wished for the concert to end.

Then, brothers, it came. "Cygnus...Vismund Cygnus." Oh, bliss, bliss, and heaven. Gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. Gravity all nonsense now. "Cygnus" morphed into an extended jam with Cedric climbing the side balcony and spastically plucking the safety wires. "Drunkship Of Lanterns" was simply frenetic. A new tune, off their soon-to-be-released Bedlam In Goliath, "Aberinkula" was positively sick. And then, to end it all, the sickest Volta song you'll ever hear, they played "Day Of The Baphomets." Cedric says he awoke in NYC to the sound of jackhammers and thought it appropriate to end the show in similar fashion. Nice, nice indeed. Too bad the concert just got started right as it ended. C

Setlist:
Roulette Dares (The Haunt Of)
Viscera Eyes
Wax Simulacra
Goliath
Conjugal Burns
Tetragrammaton
Agadez
Cygnus...Vismund Cygnus
Metatron
Drunkship Of Lanterns
Ilyena
Meccamputechture
Aberinkula
Day Of The Baphomets

The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead (1986)

"Sweetness, sweetness; I was only joking when I said I'd like to smash every tooth in your head. Oh, sweetness, sweetness; I was only joking when I said by rights you should be bludgeoned in your bed," so sings Morrissey. Like Sting, he made a name for himself as the vocalist/lyricist in an excellent band (featuring Marquis de Marr, the inscrutable), pumped his head full of pompous snot and tortured the world with his egregious solo work afterwards. But for a brief period of time, Morrissey was splendid. On their third album, The Queen Is Dead, the Smiths unleashed their most complex and textured work yet. First off, Mr. Marr is all over the bloody place, winding and weaving his taut guitar sequences like he didn't know the 80s were supposed to be such dreck. If you don't believe me, listen to "Bigmouth Strikes Again."

Yeah, you know it. This one gets a SUPER FUCKING TASTY from me. "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others," The Boy With A Thorn In His Side" and "Frankly, Mr. Shankly" are superb as well. "Cemetry Gates" -- listen to it, now. You can definitely hear where stellar Brit bands such as the Verve and Radiohead, among others, were influenced. I have very little to say otherwise of this album other than shame on you if you don't have it, and "Never Had No One Ever" is blah. So do yourself a favor and pick up this politically charged, beautifully written, brilliantly played masterwork from the most horrid decade of music known to man. A-

The Beastie Boys - Check Your Head (1992)

Now that the happy from the holidays has been inevitably forgotten, I'm going to get back on the horse and plow and finally post something of mellifluous magnitude. I just looked at the stat counter at the bottoms and noticed many people have been knocking at my door to read the same drivel day-in, day-out without something new to entice them. Meanwhile, behind the facade of an innocent looking bookstore, a certain group of irreverent gentleman nigh on the heels of their neglected Paul's Boutique, came roaring from the ashes of the current music scene (then 1992) with yet another pilfered offering of samples and sounds, and a bit of their self-possessed attitude. Check Your Head is an iffy, irascible assault on the ears, at once familiar and yet still different -- but don't rush to judgment just because I'm not a hip-hop connoisseur; these fellows are famous for a reason, and if "So What'cha Want" doesn't get your attention, I don't know what will. There's a bit of everything here: punk, funk, rap, soul and silliness; but at the end of the day, this isn't the best thing since sliced bread, and had they not had the abundance of samples to use, they would have been like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest -- which is partially why I can't stomach hip-hop: too much sampling. Same with the blues as well as covers that replace original content. So if you want to hear Biz Markie rapping the Beastie Boys name for thirty seconds to the guitar of Nugent's "Homebound" -- it's your cake and you can eat it however you like. But please, cash your chips elsewhere. An exemplary C. And yes, I received permission to sample the clichés.

Faith No More - Angel Dust (1992)

Riding on the enormous success of "Epic," replete with its closing piano and flopping fish, Faith No More decided to pillage Mr. Bungle's exorbitant little closet via Mike Patton as a conduit. Ergo, the smattering of heavy-riffed funkadelic rap fusion is at its arguable best here in Angel Dust, their fourth album, and second with Vice Chancellor Patton. The album opens with "Land Of Sunshine," a freakish carnival ride of a song with filthy bass and guitar lines and an array of Patton's progressive vocal croonings. "Crack Hitler" has a plunky funk rhythm with a scratchy turntable wah tone, some exemplary synth, and is just utterly fantastic. "Midlife Crisis," perhaps as well-known as "Epic," is an incredibly insidious number, featuring the best of Pattton's vocal theatrics and a medley of infectious beats. Hell, even a rendition of the theme for "Midnight Cowboy" is surprisingly rousing. "Caffeine," "Smaller And Smaller" and especially "Jizzlobber" are particularly heavy as well. "Be Aggressive" has some startling lyrical content in between the thumping notes ("You're the master and I'll take it on my knees" and "I swallow," among other lines) and is almost as odd a selection as is the musical content spanning the album -- which is of course why "Big" Jim Martin left afterwards. Despite his enormous guitar presence and prodigious talents, the vocal influence and direction by Patton served him his eventual walking papers. A shame, really, because Faith No More never quite recovered with subsequent sub-par albums. Get 'em while they're hot. A tautly conceived B.

Radiohead - In Rainbows (2007) (second disc)

Since I've already reviewed In Rainbows, I suppose I must review the second disc from the boxset as well. The second disc is comprised of eight tracks, two of which are actually one-minute one-offs of experimental noise ("Mk 2') and a reprise-like coda of "Videotape" ("Mk 1"). Of the remaining songs, I could give a fupenny tuck for "4 Minute Warning" and also find "Up On The Ladder" and "Go Slowly" to be fairly engaging, but not terribly exciting stuff -- although still better than most tripe you'll find on popular albums today. The real meat and matters lies in the remaining three numbers: "Down Is The New Up," "Last Flowers" and "Bangers + Mash." Wowzas people, these are really really good. "Last Flowers" is a mostly piano-driven piece and is, I think, one of Radiohead's more beautiful songs. The recording of this entire album clearly showcases the fact that they wished for Thom's voice to be heard much more clearly. "Down Is The New Up," which was aloft in the rumor bin as a possible name for the album, also features a great bit of piano, with some similar up-tempo beats from "15 Step." "Bangers + Mash" is a song I wished was on the regular LP, but have conceded to the band's reasoning that none of these songs fit musically with the rest of the album. It's the funkiest thing these fellows have ever done and a wee bit different than when I originally heard the song here. Still, it's really nice to see Thom playing the drums while he sings and Jonny nastily striking at his guitar. All in all, B-

Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie - Bird And Diz (1950)

After a week of hell, I've returned to invoke (or attempt) my bombastic blather in the disguise of a review with Bird And Diz. Hopefully, my appreciation for jazz won't supersede my musical knowledge of it, but ah well. This collection of songs features a fairly estimable lineup of Charlie Parker on sax, Dizzy Gillespie on trumpet, Thelonious Monk on piano, Buddy Rich on drums and Curly Russell on bass. This is not the Monk everyone knows and loves, though; his playing is rather subdued and uneventful, as is the drumming and bass. Meanwhile, back in the bat cave, Bird and Diz seem to be strangling each other for the whole of the record (possibly the reason for Thelonious' relegation to the background) with mid-tempo caustic soloing and wild melodies in a constant battle for your attention. Occasionally, they do converge ("Mohawk"), but mostly numbers such as the frenetic "Leap Frog" or equally tense "Bloomdido" share an affinity for the joys of musical flight. "An Oscar For Treadwell" is quite nice, too -- in point of fact, of the six songs here, clocking in at a brief 20 minutos, there isn't a bad bit of music at all, but since I'm obviously a rock guy, that doesn't translate as well in terms of my grading pedagogy, either. All in all, you'll dig the piss out of it. Oh, and ho-hum, I'd give Bird the nod in terms of a victor. B

Rush - Moving Pictures (1981)

The instrumental "YYZ" is the reason I began listening to Rush in the first place -- with its bloated bass blurblings, chunky guitar noodling and tenacious technical drumming -- is Neil Peart a robot, or what? I had heard "Tom Sawyer" on the radio, but I never seemed convinced enough to lend my ears to these guys. I'm sure glad that I did. Now what I didn't do was purchase a greatest hits compilation; what I did do, however, was purchase Moving Pictures first, arguably Rush's best album, if not its most popular, for those very reasons.

The album begins with the now-ubiquitous "Tom Sawyer," a song featuring a hybrid of vintage rock and new wave melodies. Everyone is on point as usual: Neal Peart is not content with just keeping the beat; Geddy Lee wants to spank his bass until he gets arrested for it and Alex Lifeson decides he's in it to win it. Remarkable stuff, really -- that such a trio can create such clean yet powerful music with each instrument easily heard. The torrid "Red Barchetta," the autobiographical "Limelight" and the aforementioned "YYZ" make up the whole of side one, and it's a complete doozy of a side, for sure. I can listen to it over and over for hours. As for side two, I don't care much for "Witch Hunt" and while I like the epic quality of "The Camera Eye" and the meaty "Vital Signs," the second side is simply not as powerful or musically adept. (This actually occurs on most albums I listen to -- the last few songs are always weaker than the first several -- any theories?) Unfortunately, whether you're ready to lay down you first-born for this album, or you prefer Permanent Waves or A Farewell To Kings, this is where it more or less ends for me as these fellows progress towards heavy synthesized new wave. You probably have this album anyway, but still. B+

Derek And The Dominos - Layla And Other Assorted Love Songs (1970)

I'm going to indulge a bit here and act on what lingering loathing I've lovingly lathered over the past few days regarding Mssr. Eric Clapton in the comments section and have decided to put, as Bob would say, the sacred cow on the chopping block for slaughter. I almost chose the overrated Wheels Of Fire, but decided this one would suffice. This is not to say that I'm going to spend the next few lines demoralizing Clapton, but his unwelcome and mediocre spirit will be criticized, for sure. It's not that mediocrity is necessarily a terrible thing, but when such mediocrity is so highly praised, that is when I become particularly agitated, hence his deserved exclusion off my top 50 list, and perhaps even 100, for that matter.

With that, let's get on with the story of Eric's -- er, Derek's -- manic love-fest of an album. It starts off well enough with "I Looked Away," the tender "Bell Bottom Blues" and the rollicking "Keep On Growing" and then, no matter how good Duane Allman's licks or presence, the album suddenly sucks. "Nobody Knows When You're Down And Out" is muddled bluesy dreck; "Anyday," featuring otherwise tasty Duane Allman slide, is pretty much drivel otherwise. This rather lifeless torpor continues on for the entirety of the album, to include the horrible "Have You Ever Loved A Woman" and the most tepid and uninspiring cover of Hendrix's "Little Wing". Two notable exceptions are the ferocious "Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad?" and, of course, "Layla," which I love oh so dearly. Of course, such a heap of praise is not without explanation. See, that opening guitar line -- that was not only played by Duane Allman, but was created by him as well; and those bird-like tones produced during the piano coda are his as well. In fact, I would be positively frightened to hear not only that song, but this entire album as well had he had not appeared on it. I suppose, perhaps, this is Clapton's true genius: surrounding himself with far better talent to substitute for his own shortcomings and riding their coattails. Hence, his additional lack of kudos from me for his time during Cream, Blind Faith and The Yardbirds, although as far as praise is concerned, this is Clapton's best work -- whatever that means. Regardless, it is what is. Thank you, Duane. Screw you, Eric. And I promise to be nice for the next few. C-

The Move - Message From The Country (1971)

OK, time for a rarity. For those comfortably sequestered in camp ELO, allow me to invite an old friend back into the group, someone who spent a good part of the old days in the music backwoods with Father Lynne: The Move, heretofore known as candidate for the unfortunate title of Best-Band-That-Never-Made-It-Big (except perhaps in the UK). Initially led by mastermind Roy Wood, and later inflected with the imaginary Beatle Lynne's orchestral sensibilities, The Move were a solid British band that produced four solid albums, the last of which, Message From The Country, is their finest. Unlike ELO, they had no definitive "megahit," but also unlike ELO, they never had a weak album and weren't an irresponsible singles band.

Beginning with "Message From The Country," the eclectic musical leanings are made readily apparent with the main harmony layered with Lynne's ELO-esque vocal phrasings and Roy Wood's beefy undercurrent. "Until Your Mama's Gone" opens with a beautiful acoustic line and then moves to a bass-thumping, piano-rollicking number that keeps on exploding right until the end. I love that one. "Don't Mess Me Up" is a kind of rockabilly romper and "My Marge" is a campy little joke of a song, but you've got to dig it -- or else. "The Words Of Aaron" is possibly my favorite Move song; I hate to keep drawing comparisons, but it's like a minimalist ELO song musically, but that still manages to retain much of its power. "Ella James" and "The Minister" are good ones, too. Also, as a quick afterthought, if you've heard the song "Do Ya" by ELO, it was originally a Move single released in conjunction with this album. All in all, you can't go wrong with these guys. It's sad they never "made" it in America. B+