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The 30 Year List : 1998 11/30/2011

john scofield : A go go

Some marriages work and some don't. It all depends on the dynamic, really. A great man once said that relationships are about filling gaps. Bringing out some of the better qualities and pulling back the reins on some others. A Go Go was the first collaboration between Scofield and Medeski, Martin & Wood and man did they hit it off from the start.

MMW has always been great but has a tendency to drop off the deep end for long stretches in between flashes of brilliance. Scofield has had a long and good career, but like a lot of jazzmen, can stray a little too far from home (drum 'n bass albums were bad idea, Sco).

With A Go Go, MMW keeps Scofield on the jazz-funk beaten path while Sco keeps MMW from 15-minute spats of stoned wandering. It's also another shred of proof for the case for Billy Martin being maybe the best drummer of his generation. The guy is an absolute machine. Great album.

Check out the clip below from the Estival Jazz in 2007.

Miles Division: Sco and Miles came together for a three-album run in the early eighties. One of these albums, You're Under Arrest, was once described to me by a buddy as "the shittiest record ever put out by great musicians", which is pretty much the exact opposite of A Go Go. Not sure what that means, but it feels like we just came full circle in some way.

Honorable Mentions: Scott Weiland - 12 Bar Blues; Outkast - Aquemini

The 30 Year List : 1997 11/18/2011

1997 : buena vista social club

Timing is critical. Sometimes it's the only thing that really matters. The most amazing thing about Buena Vista Social Club is that these great old Cuban musicians were finally brought together in the twilights of their careers to make this incredible record. Ibrahim Ferrer's voice still blows me away every time I listen to this album.

BVSC almost never happened. Thank God for Ry Cooder for bringing them together and doing it right. Check out the fantastic PBS documentary for the full story.

Don't forget to tune into latest installment of Sunday Morning Sessions after the weekend.

Miles Division: BVSC is more jazz than anything else. I guess.

Honorable Mentions: Radiohead - OK Computer; DJ Cam - Mad Blunted Jazz

mp3: Chan Chan

mp3: Candela

mp3: Dos Gardenias

LC's 30 year list rolls on. Also, 1996. 11/17/2011

the lc 30 year list...continued.

Awhile back we headed down the dusty trail of selecting an album for each year from 1980 to the present. Just one man's ramblings on a lifetime of listening to a lot of music. The goal is not necessarily to try to choose the best album for each year, that's just stupid. But, there are rules. And there are winners. Hopefully, though, there will be no losers.

We're picking this back up where we left off. Like all lists, it will no doubt miss a few gems. Don't be shy to speak up if the train's gone off the tracks...

1996 : Mushroom Jazz 1

Mark Farina's Mushroom Jazz series has something like 7 editions last time I checked. Like most collections, the first one is the best. Half jazzy hip-hop, half cool house - it's the lounge / acid jazz soundtrack to the coolest party you've ever been to.

Miles Division: I mean, Jazz is in the title.

Honorable Mentions: Beck's Odelay; Stereolab's Emperor Tomato Ketchup

mp3: Remember Me

mp3: Longevity

1995: Smashing Pumpkins - Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (Zeppelin Division) 02/01/2010

Retrospect can be a filthy bitch, and it’s interesting to see what ultimately becomes of bands that were gigantic in their moment. It seems like the Smashing Pumpkins are one of those bands that are doomed to be remembered, but that time is just not going to treat well. Maybe it’s because frontman/tyrant Billy Corgan’s controlling has been so well documented over the years. Maybe it’s because after two pretty good albums (Gish, Adore) and two fucking fantastic albums (Siamese Dream, Mellon Collie), everything seemed to blend into the same faceless alt-metal space rock hybrid. Maybe, in the end, the expectations for the Pumpkins to be what they could have been exceeded the output. Either way, I’ve noticed that if they’re ever mentioned anymore – it’s almost as a joke.

Regardless of what 2010 logic dictates, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness made the Pumpkins the biggest band in the world for a short time – and it was deserved. Don’t be one of those people who leans on the past decade to say that Mellon Collie wasn’t a deep and fantastic album. You’re lying to yourself and you know it. And you don’t like those types of backward-looking people, anyway. It’s not becoming of you, and you’re better than that. There are worse things to admit. It’s not like you were wearing silver pants, after all.

You can love this record (and the Pumpkins, for that matter). Mellon Collie is littered with glittering pop-radio gems. There are sickly, androgynous, piano-driven ballads that are depressing and hopeful. The loud, heavy guitar tracks are backed by Corgan’s disturbed and crushing lyrics. A band this loud has never been so epic, tuneful, vulnerable and confidently fucked up all at once.

Zeppelin Division: The Pumpkins were loud and heavy first. They didn’t hit their pop stride until later. For all the radio success that Mellon Collie had, it kicked ass between the lines.

mp3: Bodies

mp3: Stumbeline

1994: Pearl Jam - Vitalogy (Ramones Division) 12/09/2009

Pearl Jam’s Ten, the Smashing Pumpkins’ Siamese Dream, and Nirvana’s Nevermind were the trio of albums that came through and absolutely fucked up a bunch small town kids like myself in the early 90’s, quickly leading to lifetimes of musical geekdom. Ten, therefore, seems like the obvious Pearl Jam choice for any list, but it’s pretty much a known commodity. It rocks. It’s angry. Jeremy’s spoken, we all know the story. Vitalogy, though – this record is creepy. It’s heavy in spots. Even the light shuffle of hits like “Nothingman” aren’t exactly comforting. For the first time, you get the feeling that Pearl Jam is a little depraved. They’re stranger than you thought they were. But they’re also self-conscious. They seem a little concerned about where their own heads took them. In other words, Vitalogy was the first indication that Pearl Jam, already a good band, could be great.

When I first went to Southlake Mall and picked up Vitalogy, I stopped and literally thought to myself “What in the goddamn shit is this? No inspirational high-fives or weird-ass goats?". It’s funny how you remember things – I kept taking the disc out of my coat pocket and looking at it. Before I had even heard a note, it already looked and felt like a departure to a 14 year-old kid. And it was. I didn’t necessarily like songs like “Bugs”, and “Aye Davanita”, but I couldn’t stop sitting in my room and listening to them.

When Eddie Vedder growls “Everything has changed / Absolutely nothing’s changed” in “Corduroy” (a 90’s grunge classic called “Corduroy”, please allow yourself to love that), it’s the sound of a band that only had a vague idea of where they were going. The best thing about Vitalogy is that it doesn’t meet your expectations but it doesn’t necessarily let you down.

Ramones Division: Pearl Jam has never been shy about embracing its Ramones / Buzzcocks roots. Hell, Eddie even gave a speech.

Honorable Mention: Beastie Boys – Ill Communication

1993: Uncle Tupelo - Anodyne (Dylan Division) 12/09/2009

Parting ways doesn’t happen instantly, at least most of the time. The longer you know someone, the more complicated a rift becomes. But when it happens, it’s stratified into stages. It starts with the realization that it’s actually fucking possible to go it alone, and it ends with a complete severing. An obliteration of ties so you can begin to forget. Somewhere after it becomes possible and somewhere before it actually happens, there’s a distinct moment from which there’s no return. A definable turning point. After that, it’s just a matter of time.

That’s really what Uncle Tupelo’s last record, Anodyne, is all about. The band’s twin engines Jeff Tweedy and Jay Farrar had already gotten past the checkpoint where reconciliation was possible, and they just want to finish one last set and start over. Tweedy sings with detachment about “anybody anywhere who’s never been alone” on “Acuff-Rose” and Farrar drolls longingly about being bound to solitude on “Chickamauga”. There’s definitely some beauty in that conflict and resignation, though, and Anodyne is a pretty collection of country-rock tunes that gives you a musical backdrop to the calm that goes with the finality of a tough decision.

Farrar and Tweedy saved their best for last. Some of the best songs of both of their (great) careers are on Anodyne. Tweedy’s “New Madrid” has a finger-pickin’, three-chord, back porch on a summer night sound that gives you hope. Farrar wails about “finding out that the worst is true” on the heart-breaking “Fifteen Keys”. Uncle Tupelo is a band that history’s treated well, although they didn’t have much success while together. They’ve been lauded for pioneering alt-country, but Anodyne isn’t really alt-anything. It’s an album of careful and well-written songs from a couple of guys who were melancholy about the present but hopeful about the next step.

Dylan Division: Farrar and Tweedy are part of the tradition of the American songwriter.

Honorable Mention: Wu-Tang Clan – Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)

1992: Sublime - 40 Oz. to Freedom (Ramones Division) 12/07/2009

What can you say about 40 Oz. to Freedom? It’s reggae. It’s burn-down-the-garage punk in spots. It’s rock and roll. It has a crash pad in the town over from ska. Covers of Toots & the Maytals and the Grateful Dead? Check. Infectious electric-rhythm-reggae guitar over horns and samples of porn and reefer movies? Check. Blue-collar tales about struggling bar-band dudes getting through life in SoCal? Check.

40 Oz. To Freedom doesn’t feel structured at all, and that’s the brilliance of it. This record always felt like Brad Nowell & co. showed up wasted and regurgitated 22 incredible tracks in about 2 ½ days. This was always my favorite Sublime record and it is absolutely fucking effortless. It’s a landmark and it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Blending reggae and punk wasn’t anything new (see The Clash, etc.), but Sublime was more. Sublime was different. 40 Oz. To Freedom was the beginning.

As sunny as Sublime could be, there’s an honesty and self-deprecating brutality just under the surface that you can’t shake when you listen to 40 Oz. That leads to a familiarity, almost like listening to this record makes you one of their buddies. That’s not an easy thing to do. And the Don’t Push / 54-46 That’s My Number / Ball and Chain / Badfish section will still knock your socks off over a decade later.

Ramones Division: Sublime is tough to categorize. But they’re raw, and songs like “We’re Only Gonna Die For Our Arrogance” are as punk as it gets.

Honorable Mention: Dr. Dre – The Chronic

1991: Lenny Kravitz - Mama Said (Zeppelin Division) 11/17/2009

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Lenny Kravitz gets on my nerves. I get tired of seeing him shirtless. I don’t need to see Lenny’s navel. It irritates the hell out of me that he wears aviators in every goddamn spot Rolling Stone does on him. Most of all, I get tired to seeing his face on magazines when I’m humbly checking out a six-pack of Budweiser at the store. I can’t relate to him at all. He seems more concerned with Paris fashion shows and doing sit-ups than he does with music, which I would imagine renders being a musician pretty fucking secondary.

Before losing himself in himself, however, Kravitz did at least put together a couple of good and interesting records. Mama Said is by far the best. Lenny croons a little like Prince and rocks a little like Hendrix. It’s also easy to forget that Kravitz’s secret weapon from his earlier days was Karl Denson on sax – who adds jazz-soul undercurrents on tunes like “What Goes Around Comes Around”. Hell, Slash even stopped by to guest-shred on the heavy “Always on the Run”. (Quick sidenote: As a matter of course, Slash’s appearance alone, anywhere, qualifies anything as heavy. As in, “I saw Slash at Pinkberry last night – he ordered the green tea frozen yogurt. That shit’s heavy.”)

If you have a just-under-the-surface hate for Kravitz, it’s OK to admit it. Just try to remind yourself of Mama Said next time you’re assaulted in the grocery store with a visual of Lenny’s nipple rings poking through a fishnet shirt.

Zeppelin Division: Mama Said has some soft, R&B tunes on it - but it's mostly crunchy electric guitar rock.

Honorable Mention: A Tribe Called Quest - The Low End Theory

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1990: The Black Crowes - Shake Your Money Maker (Allmans Division) 11/15/2009

Music can bring on any number of reactions. If you focus, tune in and really listen - music is pretty fucking visceral. Certain tunes put you in a mood, a subconscious reaction to what your ears are telling you. You don’t even have a chance to think about it. You’re going about your day when a sonic truck broadsides you and blasts you into oncoming traffic. You’re suddenly violent (The Stooges). You’re unexpectedly hallucinating (TV on the Radio). You don’t smoke, but you’re abruptly puffing on a mental cigarette after a quick romp in the sack (Serge Gainsbourg).

The Black Crowes just make you feel better. No pretense. None of the goddamn façade that kills other bands’ would-be intentions. Rich Robinson’s fuzzy blues guitar and his brother Chris’s Faces/Stones vocal swagger will make you smile. That doesn’t mean it’s necessarily sunny, though. “Shake Your Money Maker” is the Crowes’ first record and it’s one hell of an introduction.

Go back and listen to this album. Do it now. Every song is better than the last. But try not to think about it and don’t take my word for it. Chris Robinson wailing “Always drunk on Sunday, tryin’ to feel like I’m at home” over a stoned piano and an uneasy stomp should make you feel something.

Allmans Division: The Crowes, like the Allmans, are everything that’s good and irreproachable about rock and roll’s Southern blues. Not to mention the fact that the last time I saw the Black Crowes live, they had a neon-mushroom backdrop and Rich Robinson was playing the slide like an absolute bastard. I gotta believe Duane Allman was smiling somewhere.

Honorable Mention: Jane's Addiction - Ritual de lo Habitual