pupuplatters

examining lost, forgotten, and obscure music youtube playlist

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MAX WERNER :: Seasons ~ 7.8

Radio | RR 16050

The platter before you can be assessed one of two ways: a thematic effort using weather events as a frame, or a concept album built around the drum sound of "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins. Truth is, Mr. Werner's album is a little of both. The record's giddy first half is like a mischievous kid jumping from puddle to puddle on a rainy day. "Rain in May" sets the table: the simple lyrics and childlike melody take me back to the cracked masterpieces Brian Wilson was churning out on The Beach Boys Love You. Here, the additions are a weird mechanical voice robo-singing through the song's finale and the aforementioned Collins drum sound from his ‘81 hit (a lightly ticking programmed beat interrupted by bombastic drums in the choruses). Most of the songs on Seasons can be as deep as the listener prefers. The high atmospheric pressure in "Thunderstorm" could signify fear, and "Raincloud" ties bad weather to a failing relationship. The latter contains some real '60s-style pop whimsy despite the subject matter and fades far too quickly. Songs such as "Like an Autumn Leaf" and "Indian Summer" are practically stomps, driven by tribal chants and memorable call-and-response gang vocals (and check out the ELO influence on the latter). The elephant in the room is the Sprockets-approved version of "Summer in the City," but Werner shows proper respect for the source material. Instead of an indulgent deconstruction, the cover retains the charm of the original tune, strengthened by some catchy drum patterns in the breaks and what sounds like rhythmically chirping crickets. Clouds roll in and the mood turns darker on the flip side of the album, which opens with a rather stunning set of songs. Featuring a particularly heavy Phil Collins influence, the agitated "In the Winter" decries the cold and embodies desperate, schizophrenic isolation quite effectively. Werner transcends on "Crystals (So Cold)," telling of the death of a romantic dream through the chilly lens of side B. It's the kind of beautifully floating masterpiece that Beach House has made a career out of. Over a smoothly gliding synth line and gently ticking drum pattern, Werner sings in vulnerable falsetto about a relationship that appears calm on the surface with trouble brewing at the core. Despite painting a bleak ecological picture on “Cosmic Winter (We’ll Make It to Mars),” Werner is optimistic that humanity will prevail against all challenges, offering the tune as a singalong on the voyage into space. With its friction of minor-key verse rubbing against major chorus, the lengthy title track works as a nice comedown from the preceding trilogy. After a few listens, Seasons really coalesces: Werner's craft begins to outshine the eccentricities of the record, and a deeper theme emerges. From the heartbeat drum pulse that opens the record through the fluctuations of the journey that follow, Seasons ultimately encompasses life, and one worth exploring.

September 27, 2021

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MARSHALL HAIN :: Dancing in the City ~ 9.0

Harvest | ST-11914

Harvest Records, home of a number of wonderfully eclectic artists, is the perfect label for Marshall Hain. This album has been a long-time favorite since I found it in a dollar bin many years ago. I picked it up based on the cover art, a strange Mardi Gras-style scene of gigantic shoes parading down the street. The name of the artist is also a little puzzling. I've seen it clarified with punctuation on other releases. As it appears here, "Marshall Hain" suggests a singular artist, but it actually combines the surnames of our main performers. Kit Hain is the kind of vocalist who could sing the phone book, and Julian Marshall works exceptionally well with female collaborators (see also Eye to Eye, with Deborah Berg). It's hard to believe that they only got to make one album. Judging from the cool confidence displayed on Dancing in the City, the duo should have cranked out hits well into the '80s. Back in '79 around the album's release, I'd expect fans of Breakfast in America to be receptive to Marshall Hain's slick offering of sophisticated pop. A funky excursion into jazz-fusion with a distinctly Euro feel, the hyperactive "Different Point" kicks the album off with a bang, containing some of the record's most impressive playing and a clever bit of wordplay that may zip right by for those not paying attention ("different point of view" in the first chorus becomes "different point of you" at the end). I'm hard-pressed to think of a single more underappreciated than the record's title track. The folks at Harvest were no dummies for naming this version of the album after it (outside of the U.S., the album was titled Free Ride). It's a sublimely atmospheric song about late-night tomfoolery, although it's not a stretch to say that, on a deeper level, the song celebrates belonging. The effect of the smooth keyboard tones, alluring vocals, and pulsing beat is nearly trancelike. Subtle touches include a complimentary vocal counterpoint from Marshall, syncopated hand claps in the chorus, and that trademark descending synth note that was very trendy in dance hits of the time. Similarly sweet tidbits are all over the rest of the album: a persistent guiro in "You Two," a jazzy marimba solo in "Real Satisfaction," a carnival intermission in "Free Ride." The album is bursting with hooks and stylistic variety, and the recording sounds excellent with lively dynamics and rich low end. Good humor is prevalent too, and on "Take My Number," it's slyly perverse. The song plays like the smoothest ballad you've ever heard, full of sweet nothings with backgrounds in the chorus straight out of Motown and a closing vocal arrangement that pays proper tribute to Pet Sounds. It all sounds very romantic for a tune about a fling. The high-octane piano ditty that begins side 2 is inexplicably titled "Take My Rumber." "Free Ride" is coy about a forward proposition, and the Elton John-esque "You Two" ambivalently shrugs at a potentially traumatic love triangle. "Mrs. the Train" flirts with hard rock and is "never gonna stop at your station." The duo know when to be serious, too. Both of the album’s sides feel like a theatrical act, each closing with a show-stopping ballad. At times, the achingly vulnerable "Coming Home" brings to mind the gentle tranquility of "I'm Not in Love," with Marshall's vocal counterpoint returning and fretless bass adding an otherworldly layer. The sweeping "Back to the Green" is every bit as gorgeous as "Coming Home," but it's more of a production. It opens with a low droning note, and a classical-sounding piano slowly fades in. The song addresses a quest to escape city life and serves as the opposing side of the title track, bringing the album to a logical conclusion (intentional or not). The sections of "Back to the Green" aren't terribly well-defined and certain lyrics are repeated at the transition points, giving the song a dreamy quality. After the orchestra swells in the home stretch, the drone reappears as the instruments drift off into the right channel. Although their collaboration was brief, Marshall and Hain were able to transmit their creative spark onto vinyl with great success. Dancing in the City is the kind of album you hope to stumble upon for cheap, a delight from beginning to end. 

April 18, 2021

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JOEY PULLIN AND THE MISSILES :: Give Me Tonight ~ 6.4

Star Travel | ST-100

Mr. Pullin really goes for smash hit glory on the title track of Give Me Tonight, kicking this EP off in style. After a tight instrumental opening featuring a melodic octave guitar line, the song goes directly into the dangerously addictive chorus. It's a cool little trick providing maximum impact and instant musical gratification for the hook-starved listener. The song plays out like a classic, fun-loving single by Eddie Money that you'd crank up on the car radio in the early '80s. Also noteworthy are the call-and-response female backing vocals and the feel-good upward key change near the ending. The song really checks all the boxes for pop pleasure. Pullin is fond of background vocals that provide a kind of conversation with the lead vocal in his songs. This technique is used to great effect on selections such as "Sweet City Nights." It's a bit of a genre exercise with its steel drum and trumpet solo adding exotic flavors. The song’s charms overwhelm any lack of authenticity. The EP contains decent stylistic variety. "Tell Me Janey" is driven by metal riffs played at a breakneck pace, and Pullin's wild vocals hint at a Mark Farner influence (the EP was recorded not too far from GFR’s hometown of Flint, Michigan). This track is followed by a tender 6/8 ballad titled "I Can't Live With You," a nice showcase for Pullin's vocal chops in a slow setting, although it's not quite the epic that the duration listed on the sleeve suggests (6:45 on the back cover, around 5:00 in reality). Give Me Tonight stalls near the end, indicating that Pullin didn't have the goods for a full-length recording. On the other hand, a single (with the title track on the A-side) may have felt like too little, so the length of this recording seems appropriate. Give Me Tonight wasn't going to set the world on fire - lack of lyrical distinction is a weak point - but the blend of independent spirit and professional production is interesting, and Pullin's blank stare and rocker poses are worth examining.

March 8, 2021

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JOHN CLARK :: Faces ~ 7.7

ECM | ECM-1-1176

The first half of "The Abhà Kingdom," which opens Faces, is a mesmerizing piece of music. It sounds exactly how the album's cover image looks: ambiguous, calm on the surface as potential danger lurks. A lone traveler steps out of his car in a desolate stretch of country for reasons unknown. He knows not where he is going or where he has been. Maybe he broke down, or maybe he just wanted to snap a photo of the gorgeous evening sky behind him. Is something hiding in that mass of trees in the distance? The plot twist is our hero is a ghost, of course. Everything about the somewhat puzzling quality of this image coincides perfectly with the album's musical introduction: despite the darkness and mystery, the listener is immediately pulled in. "The Abhà Kingdom" begins with calm, measured playing from Clark on French horn and David Friedman on vibraharp. The cinematic music opens with whole notes playing a beautiful four-chord progression. The meditative grace of the introduction provides an emotional foundation, but the scene gradually becomes less comforting as the action builds. The vibes become jittery, and a very high-pitched cello enters, breaking the serenity with what sounds like a painful howl. The first section concludes when jazzy, freeform drums enter which, ironically, break the stability of the previous section. The cello tenses up and begins to chug, and eventually, all the instruments start to stumble over each other. The chaos segues into a more calm section that resembles the beginning, capping the journey and bringing the piece full circle. While not as impactful, the other selections on Faces also experiment with elements of classical, ambient, drone, and free jazz. The tracks that seem to be less improvisational leave a stronger impression. A stellar vibraphone melody by Friedman drives the 6/8 vortex of "Faces in the Fire." The bouncy, Caribbean feel of "Silver Rain, Pt. III" brings a moment of sunshine to the mostly overcast landscape of the album. On the closer "You Did It, You Did It!," it sounds as if the players got their sheet music all mixed up, concluding with some off-the-cuff giggling from the musicians. When an echo effect is added at the very end, the laughing sounds like sinister cackling, a fitting end to a rather enigmatic recording. I only wish Clark and company would have stretched the first section of "The Abhà Kingdom" to the entire first half of the record, just to see where else they would have gone with it.

February 11, 2021

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CLAY JARVIS :: Clay Jarvis ~ 6.0

CJ Records | CJ-113

Clay Jarvis is another brave soul who did it himself: he founded CJ Records, on which this platter was released, and he composed all of the album's nine tracks. The stark, slightly abstract artwork suggests that the recording may be a confrontational no wave statement. However, one's fears are put to rest by reading the song titles on the back side ("Peaceful Paradise," "Smiling Face," and "We Gotta Love" are a few examples). The sequencing is curious: while most of the album is a full band effort, it begins with two gentle, stripped-down acoustic numbers, giving the impression that this may be more of a loner recording. Then "Roll Me on Down the Line" kicks the doors open with its saloon piano and drunken boogie. The performance is gleefully chaotic, with the musicians so loose that it sounds like they're playing different songs in spots. Jarvis's gritty vocal may have taken inspiration from Danny Joe Brown, and the volume of his voice depends on whether he's right on the mic or if he looks down to check his guitar playing or turns his head to guide the band into a new part. While the ensemble tracks on the album all contain this ragged charm, the acoustic songs sound were recorded with more attention to nuance. One of them, the LP opener "Smiling Face," is a good example of beginner songwriting. It's a simple love song with a pleasant vibe, but it doesn't have a build or a strong hook, and in the end, it might be a little too cute. The other acoustic songs follow suit. The full band rockers dominate the album, and they also offer mixed results. The rather brief "Between the Lines" touches on drug use, and "Burning Band" aims for a playful cockiness often heard on Bo Diddley hits. The rowdy "Gimme All Ya Got" ("before you give it all away") is about a final goodbye before a woman leaves for good. Over a Skynyrd-style chicken-fried backbeat, saxophones honk randomly and Jarvis performs like Kenneth Higney after some guitar lessons and a six-pack of Budweiser. Seasons of restlessness and conflict are contemplated in the psych trip "Summertime," a celebration of youth that actually conjures up a hot, swampy evening in the South. The song's introduction features a screaming fuzz guitar solo that recalls Springsteen's frenzied wailing in "Adam Raised a Cain." I suspect this distinct soloing, prominent on a few other cuts, is performed by second credited guitarist Marlon Nutting. A second guitarist wouldn't be needed if Jarvis were capable of that style of playing. The album doesn't overstay its welcome and it ends with a positive outlook (the nifty line "we're gonna be so strong" repeated in "We Gotta Love"), but it also feels insubstantial as it closes. Some of the material could have used a little more creative juice to make it memorable. As with many independently released oddities, the authenticity of Clay Jarvis is to be admired, but the quirkiness around the songs leaves a stronger impression than the songs themselves.  

January 24, 2021

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CRIMSON :: Crimson ~ 7.3

[No label] | 8310X58

The great accomplishment of Crimson is it makes explicitly religious music easy to digest. The basic approach is twofold: the lyrics aren't heavy-handed, and the performances are enthralling. The sound is tidy with commercial ambition, but the restless dynamics of the songs bring to mind progressive rock. The theatrical "Master of Disguise" is full of starts, stops, and tricky rhythmic shifts designed to knock the listener off balance. While the whole band excels at musically complimenting the material, the vocalists are especially impressive. Throughout the album, they amusingly take huge leaps with their voices, reaching for notes that seem impossible to grab. Lead singer Teri Dew has a crystal-clear voice with a beautiful vibrato, and she's often joined in perfect harmony by a second female with a voice so similar that it sounds like Dew is double-tracked. The opener "Angel Dust" is a trip. As it begins, I can see it grabbing the attention of Alan Parsons fans but shunned by consumers of more staid spiritual music. Ugly scenes of immorality and death unfold, and the music could be the soundtrack of a maniac stalking his prey in a scary movie. Add some distorted guitar and Ozzy Osbourne wailing over top of it, and it's one of the standouts from Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. The lyrics on Crimson are mostly humble and insightful, avoiding preachiness. "Spinning" declares simply, "I really want to believe in something worth believing in." There's probably a tongue-in-cheek Biblical reference in the message of "Lukewarm" that I'm missing, and its slightly goofy synth hook and the way the title is sung bring welcome moments of silliness to a generally serious album. The changes and lush chords of "He Is a Fool" (“who follows a follower”) remind me of a well-crafted Todd Rundgren ballad from the early '80s. In it, idol worship is calmly dismantled, rejected with a sense of peace that is genuinely heartfelt and affecting. The emotional impact of "He Is a Fool" is one example of the effort that went into this record. Although it's an independent release, the pristine shine of the recording isn't lost through a crummy vinyl pressing. Also, the artwork and design (including color-coordinated lyric sheet) are relatively lush. The lack of information about the project gives it intrigue too. While it may not be everyone's cup of tea, the level of quality through all facets of Crimson is rare among comparable albums.

December 11, 2020

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Hi. I have a copy of Word of Mouth by Scott hardie-birney. I love the album, but cant seem to find anything else about him. Do you know anything more about him or his music?

Scott was in the Sin City Band, who released an independent album in the late ‘70s. I’m not familiar with the band, but Scott wrote most of the material, so it’s probably pretty good. The album can be found on discogs and ebay. It looks like he goes by “Scott Birney” these days. Some assorted articles/videos come up if you google that. Thank you for reading!

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LARICCIA :: Worth Waiting For ~ 6.5

[No label] | NR 13373

Worth Waiting For presents an interesting dichotomy about its creators. The band is named after Joel LaRiccia, who provides arrangements and production and is the band's sole lyricist. However, the supporting musicians are featured prominently on the LP's sleeve (including in beautiful illustrations by Joseph Rutt), and lead vocals are shared by several members (my copy also appears to be autographed by guitarist Jeff Bloomer). Focusing only on the music, Worth Waiting For sounds like a collective effort instead of a showcase for a band leader. The frequent appearance of marimba and percussion keeps things mostly mellow, and the freeform hippie vibe throughout is epitomized by "Friends," containing a gang vocal on the hand-holding chorus and a cheering drum circle in the fade out. The album sounds like it was performed by a Christian rock band playing secular material. Only a couple tunes seem to be overtly religious, but the band’s melodies and vocal stylings often bring to mind songs of praise (the stately bridge of “She Said Yes” is an example). The recording is primitive, to say the least, with the drums sounding particularly lifeless in the AM radio aural stew. A homemade sound can enhance the atmosphere of an album, but it's problematic here. First, the album was recorded in a studio over the course of nearly two years, but the cheap-o sound quality doesn't reflect that level of effort. Second, the sonic mushiness often hampers the album's highlights. The delightful "She Said Yes" shows promise with rich guitar voicings in the intro, tricky rhythmic shifts in the break, a unique Motown-meets-hard-rock feel, and an irresistible chorus, but the mix is flat and muddy, sinking the song's charms like quicksand. Pacing and (lack of) song selection are also issues. Worth Waiting For stumbles out of the gate with "Cinnamon's Song," a syrupy love ballad not representative of the bulk of the record, but it rebounds nicely with "Cotton Roller." This track features a chorus and vocal arrangement that will stick in your head for days and is one of the stronger offerings on the album. "All I Need" is a cold sweat, acid rock barn burner performed with real conviction, examining the rigors of the road and a struggle with faith. It is a winner in spite of its overly busy solo break, which sounds like five guitarists simultaneously trying to out-do each other. Taking a cue from the pop symphonies of the mid-'60s, the ambitious "P.M. Advances" finds the band pivoting between moods with ease, patching a number of musical forms together into a unified whole. After a false ending, a Chuck Berry-style rave-up provides a final shot of adrenaline and a dose of optimism with the repeated line “goodnight but not goodbye.” Instead of occupying the third slot in the song sequence, it would have been more effective at the end of the first side or perhaps as the album's penultimate track (with the closer "I Need You" a good comedown). "Rat Race" is the odd duck, a prog-influenced new wave critique of the 9-to-5 world and one of the few pieces not bearing a prominent Allman Brothers/CSN influence. Generally, the album could have been stronger with a bit of trimming and a slightly larger recording budget. Worth Waiting For requires some sifting, but I think patient fans of the style and era would be satisfied with its high points.

July 2, 2020

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JODY KOENIG :: Passion Creek ~ 8.8 | "In the Market" (single) ~ 8.2

Rave | RR-LP1

Passion Creek is one of my favorites from the world of private press obscurities because it is an archetype of great independent music: tunes every bit as worthy as the pop hits of its era but created with minimal frills and fuss. I have to think Mr. Koenig's artistic vision is completely untainted on this obsessively self-contained effort: all songs by Jody, recorded and engineered by Jody, produced by Jody, performed by Jody. The studio where the album was recorded was even designed and built by Jody. I wouldn’t doubt he operated the press when his LPs were created at the plant. Even if you don't like all the music, at least you know with no hesitation that it's the way Jody wanted it. Koenig is quirky (check out that falsetto), but he never tries to be an oddball and lets the music flow with honesty. The giveaway of his one-man-band approach is the poor execution of the drum fills, but Koenig can hold a beat just fine and is skilled on the other instruments he plays. Weird synth sounds and Casio tones sprinkled throughout provide complimentary spice to the typically conventional song structures. The middle section of "Cali" is Koenig’s Brian Wilson moment, an achievement realized by few. A heavily accented triplet in the verse leads into a sublime section of music whose sheer beauty distracts from its weirdness, floating along in dreamland with no clear time signature. The song then resumes with its familiar verse in what sounds like a different key. It's a wonderful, disorienting passage that an outside producer may have tried to smooth out. Several lengthy tracks are present on the platter, but no attempts are made to turn a humble tune into a progressive rock epic. "She's the Girl" stretches to nearly 7 minutes and it opens very unceremoniously, almost as if the tape began rolling several seconds after the song actually started. The track alternates between a carefree stroll and double-time hyperactive bliss and it feels like a journey of emotions, something it wouldn't achieve if it had been crafted as a little 2:35 nugget. As is, the song may not make sense on its own, but it's a ray of sunshine on an album that is actually rather bleak lyrically. Repeating its hymn-like melodies for maximum impact, "If I Walked For Miles" also benefits from its length. When the guitars in the coda harmonize on a stinging riff, it sounds like a ghostly Fleetwood Mac jam circa '69-'70. The spirituality hinted at in "If I Walked For Miles" becomes the central theme of "Chains on the Bible," a bright, beautifully performed bluegrass number that's also the best production on the album, due in part to its drumless arrangement. When Koenig harmonizes with himself, he sounds like Jules Shear. When he's double-tracked, he sounds like Gerry Rafferty, particularly on "Lonely Heart" and "Don't Live Inside Yourself." Both of these cuts also feature Koenig's slightly bizarre, untrained falsetto. While Koenig's talent as a song craftsman is more impressive than his lyrical prowess, the despair of the country waltz "Memories Play Tricks on My Mind" hits hard. I like how the title of "Love Letter, Talk" is sung as "love, let her talk," but I don't know if this was intentional wordplay. For you arty types, the title of the poem-set-to-music “Sad in Love/Zen” is an invitation to the listener to quietly reflect, and “Passion Creek,” which plays with apocalyptic imagery and interplanetary travel, is included only in written form on the album’s rear cover. The only track that goofs is ironically titled "My Mistake," a blubbering, maudlin piece at the end of the first side in which the Casio tones sound extra chintzy and the drums are extra clumsy. Ignoring this blunder, Passion Creek is genuine, tuneful, and highly enjoyable.

Released the same year as Passion Creek, the "In the Market" single follows in the same vein. With the A-side’s palm muted guitars and futuristic keyboards, a strong new wave influence is evident, and a glockenspiel during the verse break offers some lo-fi charm. The major-key chorus contrasts nicely with the darker verses and practically explodes with joy, jangling like power pop but feeling more substantial than that genre suggests. The end contains a tense guitar riff over the chorus progression that sounds like Morse code. "In the Market" falls into the category of killer songs that are unfairly ignored because they don't reinvent the wheel. The listener probably knows where it's going but doesn't know how it will get there, which is the magic of a great tune. The B-side "James Dean" begins with an eerily pulsating beat and skronky guitar from some post-punk nightmare. It eschews a predictable narrative about the pop culture icon, instead using Dean as a springboard to comment on evolving times and concluding that he wouldn't survive in today's world. Passion Creek is more rootsy and introspective than the single, which features a clean-shaven and youthful-looking Koenig on the cover. It seems he put what he thought were his “hits” on the single and saved the weightier material for his long player. I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind the history of these releases, both worthy of investigation.

June 21, 2020

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DAVID KUBINEC :: Some Things Never Change ~ 7.8 | “More Ego” (single) ~ 7.0

A&M | SP-4766

Philips | 6017 259

On the front cover of Some Things Never Change, David Kubinec antagonistically points at the music lover holding the record. With popped collar and raised eyebrows, captured mid-rebuke, he strikes a confrontational pose. He looks a little older and not terribly cool, but he wants to prove his worth to the listener. And he does: he ably rocks with glam sensibilities and a dash of punk attitude. Throughout the record, he uses both technique and sheer rawness to achieve a vocal style that is ragged in the best sense. A light effect is typically applied to Kubinec's voice, but the instruments always sound punchy and natural. The music breathes. The album could be used as a reference recording to demonstrate stereo equipment. My copy is also exceptionally clean and free of surface noise, easily one of the best sounding records in my collection.

A vivid portrait of life on the road, the opener "Another Lone Ranger" addresses expectations, angst, and doubt. Kubinec really goes for it vocally and I get the sense that he's accepted his nomadic life and wouldn't have it any other way (the reflective, almost country-like "Comin' Home" is a hopeful sequel). He's playfully poetic about his adoration of the unattainable on the title track ("I ain't no fanatic, ecclesiastic, or Captain Fantastic, no nothing that drastic"), the chorus of which is one giant knockout hook. His writing is also sharp on "Love in the First Degree," which contains some subtle UFO sounds after Kubinec declares that "not even Captain Kirk could beam me up." This track is very airy with lots of space (one drum fill is a single timbale hit) and a bit wobbly thanks to its odd descending bass line. Some serious existential dread is confronted on "Out in the Rain," which begins with heavy organ and warpath snare drum before transforming into an "All the Young Dudes"-type anthem. As Kubinec howls the song title in the home stretch, it sounds like he's being dissolved by acid rain. The snare rolls return with loudly honking bagpipes as he's stomped into the road in a nightmarish parade march. The album's razor edge becomes a little dull on side B. "Sit on It" is a sleazy rocker that is largely indecipherable (what "pterodactyl on the trampoline" means should probably remain a mystery). Atmosphere seems to be more important than lyrics in the waltz-time number "On the Edge of the Floor." Again, many of its lines are difficult to decipher, and Kubinec can't help but crack up when delivering them. It may be purposefully obscure ("heavy on the rhythm but light on the rhyme" is one phrase I could make out), but it features a swirling arrangement and seductive little melody. Chris Spedding has a moment to shine near the end of "Tear Myself Away," a rockabilly thing that's fun but feels like a disposable genre exercise. "The Elf Sires" is a clever bit of songcraft: Kubinec's career framed as an ancient fable. He begins as a young, wide-eyed fan and is eventually swept up in the business, making music himself and witnessing what really happens behind the curtain. Through ups and downs, he becomes savvy and slightly bitter, repeating "I was better off alone but we've got to progress" as a kind of twisted mantra to push himself forward. Near the end, the song spirals into a cacophonous racket, indicating that the tale doesn't end happily, but it's a powerful closer to a lean and mean album that was unfairly lost in the shuffle.

A couple years after Kubinec's LP, a single inexplicably appeared in the Netherlands. Upon first listen, it's a bit of letdown, only because it sounds like it was recorded in the janitor's closet of the studio where Some Things Never Change was created. The single is self-produced and credited to "Kuby," suggesting an artistic retreat. Nonetheless, with repeated spins, the tunes slowly emerge from the murk. "More Ego" contains a classic '60s-sounding melody backed with the kind of ska bounce that Joe Jackson honed around the time of Beat Crazy. "We don't need more ego" is the song's central theme, but Kubinec pronounces "ego" with a short “e,” making it sound like he’s singing about the popular frozen waffle. Perhaps he had his eye on jingle writing. Pronunciation quirks aside, if there is a Kuby earworm, "More Ego" is most definitely it. Serve it with maple syrup and fruit topping, and your guests will rave. The verse of "The Little Ships" is trademark Kubinec and would have sat comfortably on Some Things Never Change. When a twangy guitar plays the main riff in the fist-pumping refrain, the strings are plucked with such exaggerated force that it sounds like they're going to pop right off the fretboard. You probably won’t find it thumbing through used 45s at your local record shop, but it’s a neat curiosity in this era of Kubinec’s recorded work.

June 5, 2020

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SCOTT HARDIE-BIRNEY :: Word of Mouth ~ 7.4

[No label] | SHB 1952

Inside the beautifully hand-drawn sleeve of Word of Mouth lives a welcoming collection of gentle folk containing some pretty strong songwriting. Whether strummed or picked, warm acoustic guitars drive most of the material. I hear a Gordon Lightfoot influence in the melody and vocal inflections on the opener "Wonderful," about appreciating simple joys in life (including watching turtles sunbathing on a log). A softly chugging hi-hat moves the tune along, vocal harmonies in the chorus give it just enough depth, and the fretless bass that provides the song's foundation is featured in an unexpected solo during the break (the fretless is also pictured on the back cover). Surprises such as this keep things engaging. While its comparisons between a guitar and a railroad are a little silly, "Neck of My Guitar" (listed as “Tracks” on the rear sleeve) contains a trash solo: what sounds like a washboard, pots, pans, and random pieces of metal are tapped and struck as if they were fine percussion. A lot of folk songwriting is story-oriented, but Birney focuses on free associations on various aspects of our human existence. He lets go of inner turmoil in the lively two-step "I'm Not Worried" and ponders self-improvement in "Better Man." Dreaming is a common theme: a "rainbow-chasing friend" is saluted in "Joseph" and "dreamers in between" addressed in "Neck of My Guitar." Among the dream songs, "Gypsy Wagons" is especially great. It's a hazy meditation on recognizing what's important and finding happiness with a partner. Double tracking is used on the lead vocal and the slide guitar solo, but occasionally, words or notes in one take will not mirror the other and trail off into the weeds, emphasizing the hallucinatory feel of the song. Low-key and hushed, "Out on the Line" is a compassionate ode to Common Folk, specifically an aging blue-collar man who is better than the work he dedicated his life to. He's painted as a forgotten hero in a rat race where laborers are patronized ("come on down for your piece of the pie"). Musically, the song tip-toes, not wanting to make a spectacle of its humble subjects, but the chorus begins with a melodic chant of yah-yahs, sounding an awful lot like a sea shanty or a tune a band of drinkers like to bellow on a festive Friday night. Sung from the perspective of an omniscient ghost, "Nobody's Home" cleverly addresses infidelity, and the LP’s finale "Old Grey Coat" takes this tactic a step further. It starts with motivational advice given to an unknown subject, but clues near the middle suggest that the singer is a spirit, possibly God. The final verse repeats the words at the beginning but in first person, a nifty trick. The ending of the song hangs on the line, "I've got a feeling that this feeling's gonna stay...", also echoed from before. Given the cold environment the song establishes, it's unclear to me if that feeling is one of sadness or optimism. The ambiguity of "Old Grey Coat" is satisfying because its meaning is open to interpretation instead of feeling half-written or overly vague. It invites repeated listens and ends the album strongly, and I bet fans of DIY folk-rock from the '70s would treasure Word of Mouth. 

January 30, 2020

[pupuplatters]

HELLO PEOPLE :: Lost at Sea ~ 1.2

ADC | LS 4054

Titling this album Contractual Obligation would have been as descriptive as its actual name. I enjoyed the heck out of The Handsome Devils and Bricks, previous efforts that contain a curious but enjoyable stew of doo-wop, prog, and space rock complimented by Todd Rundgren's typically boxy production. A four-year interim gave the band plenty of time to gather up some strong material, but doing the opposite by producing this stinker proved to be a career killer. The credits on the back cover list the band by first name only (Kim played drums, for example), which means the Hello People are a casual, friendly lot, or they’re rather embarrassed by this effort. Lost at Sea strips all character away from the band's cosmic sound and only offers weak, anonymous playing and worse lyrics. Occasionally hammy lead vocals offer no solace to the listener through this disastrous platter, although tiny glimpses of the band's harmony vocal prowess do peek through. Many musical styles are attempted, but the band's heart is in none of them. It's up for debate on which is more offensive: the limp attempt at a disco single or the stabs at lame boogie rock, each one more miserable than the last. A smattering of odd, spacey effects applied to vocals and instruments are clear bids to replicate the Todd Sound, but these moments quickly float off like unwanted balloons. As each song fades, you can almost hear the band say “sorry, we tried,” barely stifling their laughter. I can't see it appealing to anyone, including hardcore Hello People fans (and how many of them are left?). I went out of my way to find it, ordering a copy from Germany and hoping to bag a winner. The only nice thing I can say about it is the band didn't mangle their cover of “Walk Away Renée.” Being boring is the worst musical crime, and Lost at Sea is guilty on all counts. Get it out of my sight.

January 16, 2020

[pupuplatters]

JAY AYERS :: Jay Ayers ~ 5.8

TAM | TRA-8001

Jay Ayers' self-titled album from 1980 opens with "Midnight Lady," three minutes of yacht rock perfection. High-pitched doo-doos and la-la-las hover overhead as the supple rhythm section lays a rock-solid foundation and Ayers yearns desperately for love, even if it's from a pro. Prominent acoustic guitars give the song rhythmic propulsion like some of the best country-rock hits of the era, and an unexpected clarinet appears midway through to sweeten the mix. The rest of the album suffers for not containing material up to the standard of its leading track. The deficiency is strong lyrics. "It's Only Love" and "Younger Days," both bouncy, soul-tinged numbers, sound great on the surface, but the words are uninspiring and routinely fall into cliché (the former is also, dare I say, square: "It's only love, it's the only thing that everyone wants to acquire"). "Lady in Mexico" sets up a potentially interesting whiskey-fueled story of one that got away, but it winds up mundane and in serious need of a plot twist. "Easy Way Out" connects, delicately addressing depression with an appropriately melancholy backing and topped with a memorable vocal hook from Ayers in the way he sings the song's title. The mood suddenly changes on side B, opening with a lively mashup of "Different Drum" and "Mr. Tambourine Man." The guitars are jangly and the sound is more primitive. When he sings, Ayers sounds like a filthy drunkard wailing for quarters on a busy street corner. Instead of shortening the songs and butting them together to create a traditional medley, the tunes are carefully interwoven together, and the seams never show. While the lyrics don't improve much, the more reckless sound on side B shows more personality than the first half. The cover of "American Girl" doesn't contain the conviction of the original, but the Petty-influenced "It's So Hard" is an engaging power-popper with some nifty vocal interplay. I wonder if the mix of the slithery "One More Night" was intentional. The distant instruments and echo-heavy vocal create a smoky haze, enhancing the lyrics about foolishly holding on to someone. I would love to know the story behind the difference in the album's halves. Perhaps side B's loose and raw recordings were Ayers' early studio attempts, which led to sessions that produced the more professional and mature songs on side A. For the most part, the presentation of songs on Jay Ayers is more fascinating than the music itself.

December 16, 2019

[pupuplatters]

WOODEYE :: Do What Must Be Done ~ 8.1

Stone | [No number]

From the au naturel cardboard jacket (mine’s even autographed on the back) to the mossy folk-rock sounds seeping from the grooves of the disc, rustic is the operative word. A couple primitively recorded, oddly-placed covers of early rock & roll tunes (“Rave On” and “Hey Baby”) enhance the off-kilter vibe. As for the original material: where did these songs come from? They sound like Top 20 hits from an alternate 1970s (it’s possible; see Back to the Future Part II). The masterminds of Woodeye - Rick Chapman and John Curci - craft carefree, dreamlike vignettes driven by beautifully rough-edged guitar and tinged with weird sounds swirling around the edges of the mix. Some frenetic hi-hat work and a random nod to Leslie Gore’s “It’s My Party” in the conclusion of the soul homage “Loves Laughter and Cries” throw an otherwise conventional-sounding love song off the track. The Woodeye boys get philosophical on “Natural Law” (“no one’s ever wise enough to keep from growing old”), a slab o’ boogie marked by an odd chorus of sorts that simply asks “how do you know?” over a psychedelic ascent. Opening with a slow snare build, “Jimmy” tells of a storyteller/singer who indulges in nickel beer (mama says “stay away”). Given its title, “Woodsong” may be the band’s unofficial theme. After beginning with a funky synth bass line, it unfolds with a bit of flute and some weird rolling tom fills. The words seem to be a person’s hazy conscience providing self-help about a rocky relationship. Even better, “Drowsy Water” is the shining jewel in the Woodeye crown: Eagles-like backing vocals wash over a fever dream about Satan stealing the souls of road-bound rock musicians. Git-r-done and find this platter.

April 4, 2019

[pupuplatters]

DAVID WELSH :: Blue Lightning Accent ~ 9.2

Blue Ash | BAR 1850

Blue Lightning Accent is chock full of ear-grabbing fragments and passages; it's up to the listener to piece it all together. Of course, this effect was unintentional by the artist. Like the Shaggs, David Welsh transmits a singular artistic vision. Musical ideas are introduced rather spastically. He has his own sense of time: the flow of much of the album is determined by how quickly Welsh forms the chords on the fretboard. The meter isn't conventional, but it always feels natural, and that's where the record's allure lies. For the truly observant, the title track and "Rock Drummer" are reversed on the back cover, but the two songs' credits and durations are not. Although there are no producer or technical credits on the sleeve, the album is beautifully recorded, a heavy metal Philosophy of the World in hi-fi. The record is a split between slower voice/guitar compositions and energetic, full band rockers (Tom Harriman handles the drums while Welsh covers the rest). The lyrics are a challenge throughout: many lines are simply unintelligible. I'd love to know what the opener "6's, 9's, Tens & Towers" is about. Repeated listens can only offer new clues. The track whips erratically from weird riff to weird riff, and when the guitar and drums actually align halfway through, the song “rocks” for precisely 3 seconds before resuming on the unmarked path. "Rock Drummer" likens pounding the skins to the journey of a climber scaling a mountain. With its rich acoustic chords and woozy scat vocal providing a perfect bridge from chorus to verse, "The Climb Into Heaven" is the highlight among the slower songs. "Water Fall" includes an impressively technical guitar figure in the verse, and when Welsh backs off the vocal mic, presumably to check his playing, it's a charmingly genuine moment. A tornado of Greg Ginn-style guitar and chaotic drumming, "Blue Lightning Accent" could have easily been lifted from The Process of Weeding Out. Welsh turns semi-normal on the album's closer, "Keeping Pace," a recollection of summertime love set to the sounds of a '60s garage rock single run over by a bulldozer. Blue Lightning Accent is offbeat greatness: endless enjoyment will come to the brave consumer just trying to make sense of the thing.

February 27, 2019 

[pupuplatters]

THE BOTTLES :: The Bottles ~ 6.8 | "Valerie" (single) ~ 0.0

MCA | MCA-3177  

The self-titled release by the Bottles contains a lot of things I like in music. It appeared when most records sounded great from a production standpoint and all pop-rock bands became more competitive to keep up with the new wave explosion of fresh-faced artists. A cool aloofness can be found in “She’s a Mystery” and "Look at Julie," the latter about a spoilt rich girl with a "messed-up personality" and containing a rollicking little piano solo in the middle. Sounding a bit like the Cars playing boogie rock, "Elaina" employs an effectively simple and sassy lyric and grooves wonderfully. The contrast between the slick riffing in the verse and bouncy piano in the chorus in "Broken Apart" is exhilarating. Side two contains a pair of pretty gems. "Pulls Me to You" is a heartfelt love song with a stark piano/bass/drums backing. Sung from the perspective of a disapproving friend, "You're a Liar" puts down someone mistreating his partner. The track features some tasteful jangle and a few unexpected chord changes and vocal harmonies. The title of "I Don't Wanna Be Your Man" is the perfect setup for some clever digs and twists on the tired "I want you" motif, but the song's ho-hum lyrics don't push it to any great heights. The closer "Citizens" references "urban suicide" and seems to be about something heavy, but I'm not sure what it's getting at. The Bottles are Peter Bayless and Jefery Levy, shown in uncomfortable close-up on the back cover. Although a drummer and keyboardist also played, I'd like to know why they weren't credited as official Bottles. Although it’s a solid effort overall, only a few tracks could have stood alongside the jittery, skinny-tie hits of the time. A 3:05 edit of "Elaina" backed with enough label support could have made a dent, but in a competitive field of catchier tunes, The Bottles faded away rather quickly. Still, a copy in nice shape is worth a buck or two in a cheapie bin.

The Bottles story includes an odd epilogue that only an obsessive like me would investigate. A single with two new tracks appeared in 1982, a lifetime (in relative terms) after the album had dropped. I had to order it from a friendly Discogs seller in Spain. The timing of the single’s release is strange, so I was really hoping for a diamond in the rough, a rockin' knockout that demonstrated that the Bottles were worthy of a second album that fell through for some unexpected reason. "Valerie" opens quietly with a simple piano figure much like "Pulls Me to You," but it quickly faceplants with cavernous reverb and very melodramatic singing when the other instruments enter. It contains none of the zip or the fun of the album, and you may guess that it's REO Speedwagon with the flu until halfway through the second verse when Bayless' vocal sounds like it did in '79. Ballads were never the Bottles' strength, and "Valerie" is sunk by cheeseball MOR strings, a death march tempo, and cold distance. "Late Night Dreams" begins slowly with voice and guitar, and I wondered if the band really had the audacity to slap two uninteresting ballads onto a single. Eventually the song shifts into a mid-tempo Z-grade Springsteen throwaway. The playing sounds like sleepwalkers were handed instruments, the extent of the producer's work could have been hanging a couple 57s to capture the sounds being made, and the vocal breakdown in the middle is laughably half-assed. Were the Bottles self-sabotaging their career or just completely out of gas? It's a real head-scratcher of a single. The Bottles' best moments are on the long player. 

November 18, 2018

[pupuplatters]

Hello, just was looking around the internet and came across a podcast that featured that Carlo Trenta album. I think they saw your website because they referenced a blog. The podcast was shabby road record show ep #120

Great catch! It was a fun listen. Thanks for sharing.