Quite possibly the most favored album in my collection, Atco Records’ 1967 released, 1963-64 recorded genius of pop music’s most overlooked son, James Timothy Hardin, This is Tim Hardin redefines perfection with each and every longing, soul-squirming spin. I can’t even begin to explore the majestic landscape that this harrowing album presents, and I’m not g’wan try. At a later date, with a much more educated mind, I’ll tackle the dynamic and vigorous layers of brilliance that this album exerts, but until then, I’ll drink my rye, and simply… enjoy.
Monthly Archives: June 2014
Waylon Live
Ok, so I’ll admit, my bashful affection towards classic country is something I’d normally stutter to admit to, but its presence, recently, has weaseled its (normally) unwelcomed way into my carefree, pleasure-driving (to and from work) odyssey.
Waylon, Willie, Johnny, and Hank (and / or Hank III) will always remain as the synonymous black sheep of my collection, and sometimes, and this is usually accompanied by a period of severe exhaustion, the shepherd needs to stray away from the neatly aligned flock to comfortably align himself (or herself) with the fresh smelling nature of tainted familiarity.
Waylon Jennings, one of the Good ol’ Boys, never meant no harm, and like with all goodhearted thieves and murderers, may very will find themselves in a predicament where the law might get ‘em, then again, the law might not get ‘em too.
Mr. Moe Dee
It’s a Kool Moe Dee kind of Sunday night, and you’re all invited to enjoy the rhythmic spoils of New York’s most prominent master of ceremonies. Dusting off his Trecherous Three mates (Spoonie Gee, DJ Easy Lee, L.A. Sunshine, and Special K), 1986 finds Mr. Moe Dee’s first full-length solo effort on the appropriately titled, Kool Moe Dee.
Need a sleazy, PMRC conscious, mid-80s, old school influenced, mid-school executed hip-hop album without all the calories? Try a steady diet of Kool Moe Dee, and if your Sunday evenings don’t improve after a few weeks, Go See the Doctor.
500 Days Ago…
500 days ago…
I said to myself, “why the hell not?”
I was creatively drained, and needed a 1.21 gigawatt jolt.
I looked into the future, blindly, and saw rose-colored albums spinning on vintage turntables.
I set out to rediscover my collection, one day at a time, and I returned with a wealth of personal treasures. Thank you to all who’ve stopped by. I am forever in your debt.
I Don’t Want the World, I just Want Your Half
Ana Ng and I are getting old, and we still haven’t walked in the glow of each other’s majestic presence
So goes the chorus to this luxurious alt rock staple from 1989. The behemoths of the quirky clever, They Might Be Giants solidified their firm stance in the conscious of modern day audio entrepreneurs with Ana Ng, the first single off their 2nd album, Lincoln.
It’s understandable that TMBG are an acquired taste, but respect must be given to the longevity of their determined, recorded output. With 16 studio albums under their belt, and absolutely no sign of slowing down, the two Johns will, in my opinion, and when the final dust has calmly settled, be revered as pioneers within the global scope of modern day recorded sound. AKA, I dig ’em.
Love You More Funny Love in the Skyline Baby
If you don’t feel like shelling out big bucks for original, 1970 versions of the two Syd Barrett albums (The Madcap Laughs going for $130+ while Barrett goes for $200+), might I frugally suggest this 1974, two LP comp, Syd Barrett. Containing all the tracks from his (only) two albums, in their original order, this poor man’s treasure can easily be yours without the need to pick up a part time job.
More of a suggestion than an overly-simplified examination of the material, my hope is that the money saved on acquiring this reissue will afford the opportunity to accumulate additional records, that previously may have been financially out of reach. Or, it very well may be that you’re not a fan of the mad-hatted ramblings of Mr. Pink Floyd, in which case this offer of goodwill would go vigilantly uncared for. Either way, Syd Barret remains quintessential ear candy for those funny, sunny mornings with your honey love.
Classic-blanca
Caught a bite from the ol’ classic bug this fine evening, so settled on Casablanca Classic Film Scores for Humphrey Bogart. From Sabrina to Key Largo, Passage to Marsielle, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and of course, the opener, an 11-part, 8-minute medley from Casablanca, Charles Gerhardt and the National Philharmonic Orchestra bang out drama personified, neatly bow-tied up and adequately suitable for the kaiser of classic, Mr. Humphrey Bogart.
Play it once, Sam. For old times’ sake.
Comin’ O-F-F
DJ Hurricane… The Hurra… sportin’ a Shaq jersey… circa ’95… what’s NOT to love? The longtime disc jockey for the Beastie Boys… branching out, lingering past the point of comfortability, knifing the vocal chord of his (then) creative mainstay, in lucrative, amiable fashion. Wise men need not step to The Hurra.
Released on Grand Royal, surprise, surprise, the Comin’ Off single (encompassing a total of 9 tracks), allows the sheltered talents of this functionally entertaining DJ to step into the darkened spotlight of the ever-looming B-Boy sun, and allows for personal, creative, hip-hop repression to manifest itself into a advantageous 9-track single-EP, with NBA-minded art-a-plenty.
The Hurra, certainly not favored amongst the masses, as far as hip-hop history goes, needs to be recognized as a menacing stone that need not be overturned.
The Clash, Now in Scented Form AKA London’s Burning
London Calling, the rank, gutter-licking, crowd-taunting, effervescent onslaught of punk rock hierarchy is finally available in candle form… oh, the progress our race has made.
This perfect, mood setting ambience will choke out any foul stench you may find the need to cover up. Accidentally burn a fish fillet and now the first floor smells like pier 39? Pick up the phone… it’s London Calling. Sever your finger while cutting the Thanksgiving turkey and wake up sticking to a pool of your own blood surrounded by the painfully sharp aroma of iron? Answer the door… it’s London Calling.
Whatever your need for a more appealing odor may be, nothing beats the classic, lingering wafts of British thugs, The Clash, and their burning torch, London Calling.
A (Fast-Flying) Future Frankie
What was scheduled to be a more tongue than cheek analysis of Frankie and the Corvettes’ 19? offering (by the same name) has yielded the necessity for a much more in-depth rockabilly / (good-time) oldies tackle than was initially conceived. Respect need be given to Frankie and the Corvettes… that much is (now) clearly understood. (I thank you for bearing with me… this was the only record whose picture I took this morning… and, yes, the piano player DOES look an awful lot like Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords.)
The Prudent Groove 