Headless Heroes Of The Apocalypse - Eugene McDaniels

Well, ladies and gents, I'm sorry to say that I'm going to be taking a break from Solid Gold Easy Action for a while... I've just got too much goddamned shit to do and not nearly enough time to do it. I'll still try and post an album a week or so, and hopefully come back in full force once I get some more free time in my schedule. Anyway, here's an album that oughtta tide you over for a while: Eugene McDaniels's monolithic soul/jazz/funk/folk masterpiece, Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse. From the plunking bass notes and hi-hat clatter that starts the album, it's clear that this a rare-groove long-player to cherish. But the grooviest thing about Headless Heroes isn't its funkiness (it's not exactly a dance album), but its weirdness. Sounding like a collision between the spacey soul-jazz of Herbie Hancock, the folky soul of Terry Callier, and the ornate blaxploitation funk of Isaac Hayes, Headless Heroes is literate and poetic in the way that so few classic R&B albums are. McDaniels sings and emotes with all the improvisational unpredictability of an experienced jazz vocalist (which McDaniels had been for nearly a decade), but his lyrics owe more to America's folk tradition of the 60's than to jazz lyricism. Still, there's some fiery Afrofuturism informing these tight grooves, and manifesto-like tracks like "Freedom Death Dance" are almost psychedelic in their verbal intensity. This album is rightly vaunted as a cratediggers' classic, and it's not hard to see why: every song crackles with righteous energy and soulful pomp. It's not surprising that Headless Heroes was recorded and produced by legendarily ahead-of-his-time jazz maestro Joel Dorn. Even if it's not quite jazz, it's still as groundbreaking and far-reaching as any of Dorn's work with Yusef Lateef or Rahsaan Roland Kirk. I implore to give this album a listen - it is, without a doubt, one of the greatest and most inspiring lost classics of the 70's. The nasty Hendrixian funk of "The Lord is Back" deserves to become part of R&B's canon of classics, while "Supermarket Blues" is a criticism of race relations as witty and sharp as any of the Harlem Renaissance's finest moments.

The Lord is black, his mood is in the rain.

O Lucky Man! - Alan Price

Alan Price’s soundtrack for Lindsay Anderson’s bizarre 1973 allegorical dark comedy, O Lucky Man!, is a marvelous example of a film that could not exist without its pop music soundtrack. O Lucky Man!’s protagonist, Mick Travis (Malcolm McDowell reprising his role from Anderson’s 1968 culture-shocker If…), finds himself in a series of increasingly odd Candide-esque situations that, in supremely dry British fashion, lead the viewer to question one’s place in society like few other movies. Yet it’s Price’s soundtrack that cements the film’s status as a cult classic, and it’s plain to see that Anderson’s eccentric film would not have nearly the impact it does without Price’s contribution. Although Price got his start as organist in the original Animals lineup, there’s not much Eric Burdon-style R&B grit to be heard here. No, the best way I can describe this album is as the greatest album The Kinks never made. “My Home Town” is the best song that wasn’t on The Village Green Preservation Society, and “If knowledge hangs around your neck like pearls instead of chains, you are a lucky man,” is the best line Ray Davies didn’t write. These songs are bound in classic English tradition – music hall pop and skiffle sound as vital as rock ‘n’ roll here, and this is 1973. When The Kinks were reminiscing about the good old days in 1967, the hippies and acid-eaters ignored them. And while Alan Price’s pop ditties in O Lucky Man! didn’t exactly change the way Brits saw society, it certainly sounds in step with the paranoia and uncertainty of the early 70’s. The title track itself is a pop masterpiece, combining ace classic rock and the sharpest, most insightful lyrics this side of Noël Coward. “Poor People” is almost Randy Newman-ish, with its flighty piano and tongue-in-cheek attitude, and “Look Over Your Shoulder” sounds like the kind of heartfelt advice one only gets from one’s elders after a few dark beers. This album has slipped somewhat under the radar as of late(it does sound a bit dated), but Price’s keenness and sophistication sounds just as sharp today as it did three and a half decades ago.

If you’ve found a reason to live on and not to die, you are a lucky man.

Expresso 2222

Even though I love tropicália music, it’s hard to deny that Caetano Veloso is a douchebag. His politics, his egotism, and his sheer obnoxiousness detract, for me, from his (remarkable) music. Yet there’s one point on which Caetano and I agree, and that point is Gilberto Gil. In Veloso’s book, Tropical Truth, he constantly asserts that Gilberto Gil was the greatest musician of the tropicália generation, and I would have to agree. Although I love Os Mutantes to death, and I find Tom Zé to be the most fascinating of the tropicálistas, Gil had the best tunes, the best style, and the best goddamn attitude of them all. While Veloso, the Mutantes, Zé, Costa, and others were all consciously striving to record revolution, Gil was making sublime, timeless music that has aged magnificently regardless of politics. Only Jorge Ben was as sublimely consistent as Gilberto Gil, and if Gil’s records aren’t as groovy and funky as Ben’s, they’re more forward thinking and experimental. This album, Expresso 2222, is the first album Gil recorded in his native Brazil, following two years of political exile, and it’s easily the most joyous and vibrant of Gil’s early work. Drawing on classic samba, psychedelia, and the sort of vivacious funk that Gil had been exposed to in the United States, Expresso 2222 has no need of the wacky arrangements and oddball genre-blending experiments of Gil’s first few albums. “Back In Bahia” is the first classic: a skittering, frantic, soulful blend of Latin percussion, blues guitar, and Gil’s nasal shout. The title track continues in the percussive samba vein, while Gil’s skills as an arranger are apparent on sublime tracks like “O Canto de Ema”. This is the apex of Brazilian music in the early 70’s.

Tanta saudade preservada num velho baú de prata dentro de mim.

Live In London - The O'Jays

It's been a while since I last posted any classic R&B here on Solid Gold Easy Action, so I feel it's about time that The O'Jays made an appearance. Needless to say, The O'Jays were one of the premier vocal group of the first half of the 70's, but their Philadelphia International Records peers such as The Spinners and Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes were known primarily for their lush, string-laden balladry and not their locomotive live performances. At the beginning of the disco era, soul groups were more concerned with crafting studio singles that would translate well to the radio and dancefloor instead of perfecting their live showmanship. But where The O'Jays are concerned, it's the vivacious energy of their performances that define them, and of all the Gamble & Huff-affiliated R&B groups of their era, The O'Jays were by far the most exciting. Though this 1974 release was recorded live in London, it sounds as though it could just as easily be a Wattstax outtake from Philadelphia International's peers and rivals, Stax Records. The energy here is infectious, yet, save for crowd noise, there's not a single note out of place. The O'Jays themselves never sounded so gloriously invigorated as they do here, and the live versions of classic cuts like "Back Stabbers" and "Love Train" hit even harder than do the studio versions. A ten minute version of "Sunshine" is equally majestic, and as it eventually gives way to the dynamite closer of "Love Train", it's clear that The O'Jays were one of the greatest live R&B groups of all time, ranking with the greats like Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, and perhaps even James Brown.

People all over the world, join hands. Start a love train!

The Groovy Collection - Winston Groovy

It's hard for Americans to understand the UK's obsession with reggae, especially since the only authentic Jamaican reggae singer to break through to US audiences was Bob Marley. But Brits have been wrapped up in a passionate love affair with the sunny sounds of Jamaica ever since ska was invented in the late 50's, and the UK-based Trojan Records has enjoyed four decades of dominance in the reggae world. By the late 60's, Great Britain had a solid reggae scene of its own, as islanders made their way to working-class cities like Manchester and Birmingham, as well as London's Brixton and Notting Hill neighborhoods, bringing with them the cool vibrations of their national music. Winston Groovy spent most of the 60's playing in Birmingham as part of The Ebonites, but in 1969 he moved to London and met ska/rocksteady legend Laurel Aitken. Pretty soon Groovy was cutting smooth lovers' rock sides for Trojan and touring the British Isles as one of the most popular reggae singers that side of the Atlantic. Groovy has never gotten as much attention as contemporaries like John Holt and Alton Ellis, primarily because he operated almost solely in England. Groovy's tunes, however, are outta sight, and this 1978 full-length release for Trojan proves it. Syrupy cuts like "I'm A Believer" and a cover of Hank Williams's "Your Cheating Heart" hearken back to the golden days of rocksteady, while tougher cuts like "Oh My My" and "So Easy" cement Groovy's status as one of the kings of UK skinhead reggae. Good vibrations all around.

I like the way you love me when it's love-time.

German Oak - German Oak

German Oak's 1972 debut has a backstory so odd and compelling that only a solid gold krautrock masterpiece could live up to it. Thankfully, this weird slab of avant-garde skeleton rock delivers the goods. And as for the story: five mysterious Germans created an impromptu studio out of a WWII-era Luftschutzbunker (air raid shelter) and recorded several long, repetitious tracks of noises meant to evoke the experience of living in a bunker during WWII. The bunker studio's off-kilter acoustic properties added an eerie, cavernous element to the band's amateurish psychedelic rock style, turning what might have been ordinary instrumental guitar rock into a mass of echoing, inchoate proto-punk/metal/industrial noise. The original album release only featured four tracks, while seven were actually recorded in the bunker studio("Swastika Rising", "The Third Reich", and "Shadows of War" were all released as bonus tracks in 1990). The band's sampling of one of Hitler's speeches at the beginning of "The Third Reich", along with strong use of Nazi imagery, has led many to believe that German Oak was a Neo-Nazi group. This is not the case. In fact, the original four tracks were intended as a vicious condemnation of the musicians' parents' generation, who had stood idly by or actively participated in the Nazis' rise to power. With that said, let's take a look at the music: this is truly, indisputably something German. Vibrations of what would become punk, black metal, industrial, and even primitive techno music are present here in the harsh, metronomic rhythms, the aimless and winding guitar noise, and the bottomless wells of bass that populate the record. "Down In The Bunker" is the first really monolithic track to which we're introduced, and its bleak empty spaces, labyrinthine guitar patterns, and hollow, random percussion fills sound more akin to the throat singing music of Tibetan monks than any form of rock 'n' roll. Emerging out of the darkness of "Down In The Bunker" is "Raid Over Düsseldorf", one of krautrock's greatest shining moments. Sixteen minutes of savage groove, sounding like Neu!'s first couple of albums gone horrible awry, "Raid Over Düsseldorf" is a monster that demolishes everything in its path. Proving that there's more than a tenuous connection between krautrock and black metal, "Raid" certainly brims with as much aggressive energy as anything Mayhem or Venom ever released. The two short tracks that bookend the original album are more typical for psychedelic rock of the period: poorly-played organ dominates. And then it's on to the bonus tracks and more of the madness and intensity that characterizes "Raid". I don't feel as though there's much more I could write that could do this artifact justice, so I'll wrap things up: this is a conceptual masterpiece, and one of the most unique albums of its era. German Oak will never get the recognition of Can and Kraftwerk (their fascistic affectations certainly ain't helping), but for those elite krautrockists who are ready to take the plunge into the darkest depths of weirdness that 1970's Germany has to offer, this is essential.

"We dedicate this record to our parents which had a bad time in World War II."

Kim Kim Kim - Kim Weston

Kim Weston got a raw deal. One of Motown's finest female vocalists, she was never promoted by the label as enthusiastically as other soul sisters like Diana Ross, Mary Wells, or Brenda Holloway, thus relegating her to "lost classic" status. She even recorded a string of hit singles with Marvin Gaye, yet not even these have remained radio standards, outdone as they are by Gaye's many duets with Tammi Terrell. Weston had, however, one of the purest voices in all of rhythm and blues (still does, in fact), and, personally, I find her performance of "Lift Every Voice & Sing" at Wattstax to be one of 70's soul's most triumphant moments. Kim Kim Kim, comes from Kim's time with Stax/Volt following her departure from Motown. Because Weston was effectively blacklisted in regards to radio after leaving Motown (as was the case with most artists who crossed Berry Gordy in some way), this album received almost no airplay and slipped from the memory of all but the most fanatical R&B collectors. This, I think, is one of the greatest musical travesties of the 70's (and that being the era that foisted "Disco Duck" upon civilization!) This is a wonder of an album - every song ought to be a soul classic. Weston's impassioned interpretation of Sam & Dave's "When Something Is Wrong With My Baby" nearly outdoes the original, while silky ballads like "The Love I've Been Looking For" showcase one of the most haunting voices in soul history. But it's not all ballad-esque schmaltz: "Love Vibrations" and "Soul On Fire" are groovy examples of funk at it's stankiest. But it's the closer, "The Choice Is Up To You (Walk With Me Jesus)" that cements this album's status as one of the most well-done soul albums of the 70's: an old-fashioned gospel scorcher, "The Choice..." is breathtaking. It's damn good, and after listening to it, I can't help but feel pissed off that this album wasn't a success. Damn!

I've got soul on fire!

Dubwise - Prince Far I

Prince Far I is one of those mysterious dub maestros that inspires fanatical devotion in his acolytes, yet leaves others scratching their heads, wondering what they're missing. Dub music in general has always been an "either ya get it or ya don't" genre, and Dubwise, a collection of several Far I singles, dub versions, and the instrumental release Cry Tuff Dub Encounter Chapter 2, is sure to be divisive even among dub fans. To some, this will sound like nothing more than a bunch of aimless clatter, echo, and gutbucket exhortations from the good Prince. Speaking of which, it's Prince Far I's distinctive vocal style that defines him as an artist; at some point I read a piece on him that described his singing as sounding like an "Old Testament prophet", and I'd be hard-pressed to come up with anything more accurate than that. Not quite a singer, per se, nor a toaster exactly, Far I is in a class all his own. Dubwise may not be the greatest place to start a dub collection, but for those already initiated into the dub world order, it's a godsend. Abstract, eccentric, but always tuneful, Far I bolsters his atmospheric edits with brief snatches of melody that hint at, but never quite give way to, full-blown roots orchestration. As far as singles go, "Throw Away Your Gun" sparkles with righteous energy, while on the more laid-back tracks from Cry Tuff Dub Encounter, mysterious and futuristic productions like "Borno Dub" and "Ogun Dub" provide the perfect accompaniment for introspective nights or sunny stoned afternoons.

Oh love divine, how sweet thou art.

I Can't Stand The Rain - Ann Peebles

It's going to be hard to write a lucid and well thought-out review of this album because, quite frankly, I think it's absolutely perfect. 70's soul never got more grandiose, sultry, or gloriously left-of-center than it did here, thanks in no small part to Willie Mitchell's tight production work. He and his vaunted Hi rhythm section are on top form here: Al Jackson (the greatest drummer of all time, if you ask me) and his deliciously metronomic drumming takes the rhythm into another dimension, while Mitchell's highly unorthodox studio flourishes create a sonic atmosphere that's alternately tense, joyous, threatening, and sweet. And then, of course, there's Ms. Ann Peebles. Ann was never as saleable a talent as Carla Thomas or Jean Knight, and her creaky, mournful voice was ill-suited to showboaty R&B radio hits. But her work here is nothing short of spectacular. "I'm Gonna Tear Your Playhouse Down" was a minor radio hit and continues to be a popular sample source, due in no small part to Ann's fierce vocal performance. "Run, Run, Run" is another up-tempo hit that recalls Willie Mitchell's deliriously awesome work with Al Green. But wait just a second, folks. Allow me to take a deep breath before I try and extol the virtues of this album's title track, one of the greatest conglomerations of sounds ever put to wax, and one of the greatest soulful and artistic expressions ever seen by mankind. Hyperbole? Fuck that. I could listen to this song thirty times a day for the rest of my life and still feel somethin' way down deep in my soul with every damn listen. It's eccentric, majestic, and downright beautiful, from the unsettling string-plucking that introduces the song, to the brilliant and moving instrumental bridge. Goddamn this is a helluva song. Even if you hate R&B music and everything it stands for, do your soul a favor and give Ms. Ann a listen.

I know you've got some sweet memories, but like a window, you ain't got nothin' to say.

Music Of El Topo - Shades Of Joy

Alejandro Jodorowsky's El Topo is one of cinema's most delightfully baffling head trips. Half spaghetti western, half delirious peyote-frenzied spirit vision, it truly defies classification. Jodorowsky himself composed the soundtrack, a subtly psychedelic (and surprisingly pleasant) combination of Mexican folk motifs and restrained atonal textures. John Lennon once stated that El Topo was his favorite movie; he enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he released its soundtrack on his own Apple imprint. What we have here is not the soundtrack itself, rather, its an artifact direct from 1970's burgeoning counterculture that somehow manages to make El Topo and its legacy even stranger. Shades Of Joy, a California-based psychedelic rock/jazz group tangentially connected to Jerry Garcia, recorded Music Of El Topo in 1970 as a sort of tribute to the film that doubtlessly provided them with many nights of stoned entertainment. What's puzzling about this album is how unnecessary it seems - a jazz/funk/fusion remake of a soundtrack in which the most prominent instrument is a wooden folk flute? Think I'll pass, thanks. But it's truly to Shades of Joy's credit that this album has held up so well over almost four decades. Quite frankly, it still sounds fuckin' spectacular! Shades Of Joy, led by the multi-talented Martin Fierro, weave around tunes and musical signals and motifs from the film, interspersing the flutes and acoustic guitars of the original soundtrack with furious bouts of jazz-fusion improvisation. The two most dynamic pieces here are also the most satisfying: "The Desert is a Circle" and "Flute in a Quarry" are jazz-funk monsters. "The Desert is a Circle" in particular is a dynamite masterpiece: sample-worthy breakbeats abound, and the band stretches out to its limits, all the while retaining the same pastoral Mexican-esque feel of the film's original tune. "El Topo's Dream" is another hot one, and though it doesn't have the groovy frenetic pulse of the two aforementioned tracks, it turns a simple folksy melody into a heroic march that's psychedelic in its scope. The rest of the tracks are more laid-back, settling into the kind of easygoing funk that was a staple of underground films in this era. For a virtually unknown band to rework such a singular piece of musical art in such an unexpected and colossal way is, to my mind, one of the most underrated accomplishments of the early '70's.

Too much perfection is a mistake.

The Black Gladiator - Bo Diddley

One has to wonder what was going through Bo Diddley's head in the late 60's, when he took it upon himself to reinvent the "Bo Diddley beat" for an audience of white hippies. Bo wasn't the only one, however; Muddy Waters went "psychedelic" for his Electric Mud and After The Rain albums, and Howlin' Wolf's This Is Howlin' Wolf's New Album ("He doesn't like it. He didn't like his electric guitar at first either.") sounded like a faceless white acid rock group trying to groom the blues' biggest personality for a crowd of fairweather freaks. These albums, along with Bo's The Black Gladiator, are almost universally regarded as heinous travesties, and considered by many critics to be among the worst albums ever made. Here is where I have to step in and ask you whether you really give two shits about a critic's opinion anyway, because fuck, man, these albums are 100% killer, and Bo's is the best of the bunch. I suppose The Black Gladiator does sound like shit if you approach it from a blues purist's standpoint, which I most certainly don't. Think of this as the marvelous missing link between funky soul and garage rock: it ain't quite James Brown, Stax-Volt, The Rolling Stones, or Quicksilver Messenger Service (although it sounds a little bit like all of those), and it sho' ain't vintage Ellas Otha Bates (there's barely an echo of "Who Do You Love" to be heard here). But it jives, shucks, grooves, and ultimately rocks much harder than most of the "heavy" blues bands that had started popping up around the time the album was recorded. Nothing here deserves to be spoken about with the same reverence as "I'm a Man" or "Mona", but "Black Soul" and "Funky Fly" vamp on into funky eternity, "I Don't Like You" crackles and burns like a deranged, acid-fried version of Lowell Fulson's "Tramp", and "You, Bo Diddley" successfully updates the timeless "shave and a haircut, two bits" pattern that made Bo's career for the peace/love/dope generation. Hot buttered blues, indeed.

I got a new thang, they call black soul!

Cabretta - Mink DeVille

While the Ramones, Blondie, Talking Heads, and Television are rightly heralded as the most earth-shaking bands to come out of New York's late 70's CBGB scene, it's easy to forget that Hilly Kristal's paradisiac punk rock dive bar saw the flowering genius of many other bands that have, to some degree, fallen through the cracks of new wave history. Richard Hell & The Voidoids, The Dictators, and The Dead Boys can all boast substantial cult followings, but they, like their more famous CBGB counterparts, all worked under the new wave/punk rock tag that they helped to establish. With the punk community's creative and iconic stranglehold on the Bowery, there seemed to be little room for Mink DeVille's red-hot romance rock. Willy DeVille and his backing group served as CBGB's house band from 1975 to 1977, serving up a timeless blend of classic rock, blues, R&B, doo-wop, salsa, and the occasional odd zydeco tune. DeVille's skills as a pop songwriter are beyond reproach, but it ain't hard to see how his old-school approach to penning tunes might not have gelled with punk rock's "blank generation". Let's call Mink DeVille a classic case of wrong-place, right-time. After all, the mix of rock heaviness and R&B finesse that Willy was offering up would have fit in perfectly with the punkabilly reverberations of bands like X and The Gun Club in Los Angeles. Willy DeVille's death earlier this year has led to a new awareness of his work, and a well-need reevaluation of Mink DeVille's importance in the canon of 70's rock. The verdict? Classic and killer. Cabretta is slick, sweet, and downright lovable. The cod-Spanish gospel rock of "Spanish Stroll" remains Mink DeVille's best-known track, and its smiley rhythms and saucy come-ons still sound fresh and bold after three decades. "Venus Of Avenue D" is fierce and stylish, like some wondrous combination of Otis Redding and Roxy Music, while "Gunslinger" comes surprisingly close to the punk rock sound that Willy must've been exposed to on a daily basis. The saccharine sweetness of "Little Girl", on the other hand, sounds like the sort of love song that Joey Ramone must have loved to death.

She's my inspiration dressed in red! Spinnin' all my friends' heads!

BIPPP: French Synth Wave 1979-85 - Various Artists

The jury's still out on whether or not the French can rock, but when it comes to robotic jerking and convulsing, the French are kings. France's disco history has been well-documented thanks to big names like Daft Punk and Justice, but their history of robot rock is much more obscure. The French have always displayed a penchant for dabbling in the latest musical electronics, from the tape collage experiments of Pierre Schaeffer, to the hokey Moog rock of Jean-Jacques Perry and Pierre Henry, through the brief "space disco" craze of the late 70's, and living on in various incarnations through Air, the Ed Banger crew, and of course, Daft Punk. But what happens when the Gauls think to combine the computer sounds they love so very much with the tension and aggression of punk? (It may come as a surprise to some to learn that there is French punk other than "Ça Plane Pour Moi") The result is something like Suicide transposed from CBGB to Studio 54, en Français. Most of this collection comes from the post-disco era, however, so that's not quite an accurate summation of this sound. Honestly, it sounds like most early 80's "death disco" or early electro pop, but it contains rather unique strands that are difficult to classify. Some of this might alienate all but hardcore Francophiles (A Trois Dans Les WC's "Contagion", for instance), while more dance-oriented tracks like "Je T'ecris D'un Pays" from Les Visiteurs Du Soir and Act's "Ping Pong" would probably sound perfectly-suited to your local indie dance club. Enjoy it for what it is: French synth-punk. After all, did you even know that such a thing existed up until now?

It's a pretty day to die, my blue eyes and your black eyes.

If Man But Knew - The Habibiyya

Allow me to begin by stating that I know virtually nothing about either Middle Eastern or traditional Islamic music. I have been known to get down to some Omar Souleyman and I certainly dig the sound of the oud, but my knowledge of Middle Eastern culture in general doesn't stretch much farther than knowing the difference between fattoush and tabbouleh. However, I do know quite a lot about 60's mod and psych, so I do know, for example, that high octane mod group The Action (an amazing Brit R&B group, in case you're interested) broke up sometime around 1968 and formed heavy psych band Mighty Baby, releasing two albums of rather bog standard proggy rock before - get this - three members of the band took a trip (double entendre alert) to Morocco, converted to Islam, and abandoned rock 'n' roll for good. Mighty Baby disbanded, and the new Sufi converts forged ahead as an authentic Islamic spiritual group called The Habibiyya. Here, unfortunately, is where I'm bound to fail as a trustworthy reviewer of this album: I think it's great, but for all I know, it could sound to Arabic music enthusiasts like Vanilla Ice sounds to hip-hop heads. Whatever. This sound is so completely removed from that of The Action and Mighty Baby that it's really quite remarkable that the band was able to reinvent themselves so thoroughly over the course of only two years. Needless to say, this ain't psychedelic rock, but it certainly is psychedelic in that it truly challenges and excites the senses. Drones, chants, and rhythms all meld together to create a marvelous head trip of an album. If Man But Knew sounds, to my ears, quite authentic as a piece of traditional Sufi music, but it also manages to retain some degree of eclecticism, particularly in the way it employs traditional Japanese instrumentation like the koto and shakuhachi. Overall, this is a wonder and a joy of an album, and one of the most fascinating products of the newly worldly and culturally aware musical community of the early 1970's.

"A science whose objective is the reparation of the heart and turning it away from all else but God."

Apresentamos Nosso Cassiano - Cassiano

Brazilian soul has never really gotten its due outside of Brazil, and quite frankly it's hard to see why (other than the obvious language barrier that basically insulates most American/British listeners from most of the world's music). Tim Maia, rest his soul, is viewed as one of Brazilian music's most benevolent gods, despite the fact that he basically repackaged American rhythm and blues for a Portuguese-speaking audience, while Hyldon ruled the Brazilian charts during the 70's with his sensuous soul-inspired croon. Here we must introduce the third figure in our triumvirate of Brazilian soul, Cassiano. Cassiano is certainly the least well-known of the three Brazilian soul godfathers, despite his run of hits in the early 70's. Apresentamos Nosso Cassiano, however, stands its own against even the finest American smooth soul albums of the era. There are echoes here of everything from What's Going On to Philadelphia International Records, with a healthy smattering of Al Green's boss make-out jams. But Cassiano's real strength lies in his synthesis skills; everything here sounds distinctly Brazilian. There are aspects of Wilson Simonal's smooth samba and Jorge Ben's Afro-Brazilian funk fusion, but tracks like "Castical" are grandiose experiments in pop that would do David Axelrod (or Brazilian counterpart Arthur Verocai) very proud. "O Vale", a syrupy ballad draped over layers of mesmerizing electric keyboards, is perhaps the album's foremost highlight, but the laid-back funk of "Calçada", with its Stevie Wonder-esque frills, and "Me Chame Atenção", with production that sounds like a wonderful collaboration between Isaac Hayes and Willie Mitchell, are both timeless examples of Brazilian soul at its most thrilling and unique.

Impressionante!

Colombia! The Golden Age Of Discos Fuentes - Various Artists

When talking Colombian music, or Latin music in general, it doesn't get much better than Discos Fuentes. Antonio Fuentes Estrada's labor of love became the first Colombian-owned record label when it opened for business in the 30's and continues today as one of the world's foremost exponents of greasy, ass-shaking Latin grooves. Although marvelously consistent, Discos Fuentes experienced its greatest successes in the 60's and 70's as it strove to legitimize the African rhythms of cumbia and the pan-Latin soul of salsa for a global record-buying public. This collection of swaggering cumbia dancefloor fillers and sly nightclub vamps focuses on the years 1960 to 1976; the years in which American record buyers hungry for a new craze were eager to snap up anything tangibly similar to the Latin music popularized by Afro-Cuban jazz, Tito Puente, and Fania Records. The tracks contained herein, however, still sound gloriously unbound by American dancefloor trends: this is pure Colombian cumbia. Fruko & Sus Tesos and Michi Sarmiento are the most well-represented artists here, with three tracks apiece, and together they manage to steal the entire show. Fruko and his compadres were houserockin' innovators, integrating aspects of tribal folk music and pop harmonies into their spicy salsa, while Sarmiento and his band specialized in a more traditional and laid-back brand of cumbia, stretching out brilliantly on paradisiac cuts like "La Primavera". The most stunning track here, however, belongs to Los Corraleros De Majagual. "El Mondongo" is a ten minute-plus epic of jazzy piano frills, insistent percussion, and spectacular trumpet solos. If you can't get down to this, you had better get your hips checked.

Qué soda!

Klaatu - Klaatu

The story of Klaatu is one of those bizarre musical happenings that could have only come about in the 70's. This Canadian progressive rock band released their first album in 1976 without including any biographical information. The mysterious, mildly avant-garde pop sounds contained therein sounds a wee bit like Paul McCartney on a serious sci-fi trip, leading to a large-scale rumor that Klaatu were, in fact, The Beatles masquerading as this wacky prog band to avoid the pressures of publicity. This rumor obviously deflates after a cursory listen to this album, as Klaatu is not even close to The Beatles' level of quality and consistency. Furthermore, this curio of an album really sounds nothing like The Beatles ("Sub-Rosa Subway" excepted). Be that as it may, Klaatu's debut is an odd, gentle trip that avoids most of prog-rock's irritating clichés in favor of a wholly unique brand of mid-70's pop. The aforementioned "Sub-Rosa Subway", which does indeed smack of McCartneyist songcraft, is prog at its most pleasingly anthemic. The extended jam of "Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft" (later covered by The Carpenters) is delightfully eccentric and evokes 10cc in their more subversive moments, while "Sir Bodsworth Rugglesby III" plays like a disorienting composite of Captain Beefheart and The Bonzo Dog Band. Klaatu could hardly sell a record after folks discovered that they were not, in fact, The Beatles, but this strange, sweet artifact proves that the band had something going for it apart from big-name comparisons.

Meet my computer, he's a friendly son-of-a-gun.

Les Gants Blancs Du Diable - Karl Heinz Schäfer

Direct from the Gallic underground, we have here a sly and sexy film score that only the French could have turned out. Like Michel Magne, Francis Lai, or any number of pitiably obscure French soundtrack composers of the late 60's and early 70's, Karl Heinz Schäfer worked from a jazz background, and this soundtrack is fully of busy bop drumming and sweet West Coast cool-inspired flourishes: vibes and electric keyboards abound. However, pure Francophone jazz this ain't: wicked funk grooves color the more upbeat tracks throughout the album, while the recurring motifs from this score float around with the same sort of general eeriness as can be found on Serge Gainsbourg's albums from this period (particularly his Cannabis soundtrack) and Alain Gorageur's landmark soundtrack to the bizarre sci-fi cartoon La Planète Sauvage. Gorageur's soundtrack, in fact, may be the closest reference point for this album: both are wondrously inventive composites of popular styles of the era (soul jazz, psychedelic pop, and lite funk are all well-represented, even a sitar makes an appearance), and both sound distinctly French, evoking an atmosphere of macabre whimsy, the likes of which would go virtually unheard in popular music until Air dug out their Gainsbourg, Gorageur, and Schäfer records and recorded their own score for The Virgin Suicides in 2000. Les Gants Blancs Du Diable's obvious highlight is "La Victime", a sensuous jam built around a wicked break and tense strings, but other highlights include the sublimely bottom-heavy funk of "Kidnapping" and the dense ambient balladry of "Couleurs". Notice that I've said nothing about this soundtrack's accompanying film; apparently Schäfer's soundtrack so completely outshines the movie that it has been out of print since its original release in 1973.

"An enigmatic man, blind in one eye at first and later blind in both, is the hit man in this French thriller."

Howlin' At The Moon - Don Cooper

Don Cooper, like his recently rediscovered folkie counterpart Sixto Rodriguez, is a clear cut casualty of the folk-rock boom of the early 70's. While the Carole Kings, James Taylors, and Joni Mitchells of the world were out in the public spotlight collecting gold records like Pogs, Cooper was languishing in utter obscurity and desperately churning out pitch-perfect folk-psych jams in a fruitless quest for a hit. Unlike Rodriguez, who has experienced an enthusiastic revival of interest in recent years (due in part to the cult status of his Dennis Coffey-produced 1970 album Cold Fact), Cooper's legacy has largely been left to crate-digging sample-seekers like Andy Votel and the crew at Cherry Red Records. It's truly a shame, as Cooper packed as much lyrical punch as any early-70's folkie, and the loose funk rhythms that populate his recordings are prime sampling material. This best-of compilation functions as a definitive overview of a flower power byproduct left in the cold by a supersaturated folk-rock market with little time or cash for eccentrics like Cooper. Don't let his lack of success deter you though, these tracks are total ear candy. "Blueberry Pickin'" sounds like the Fab Four with more folk and more funk, "Captain Spangles Crystal Song" is the sound of Southern soul perverted by a few golden years of peace, love, and dope, and "Howlin' At The Moon" is a straight-up groover of impressive magnitude.

Seems I never call the sun down, I'm just howlin' at the moon!

Vampyros Lesbos - The Vampires' Sound Incorporation

Here you have it, folks: the Holy Grail of European porno soundtracks, guaranteed to give your Halloween party the erotic edge you've been seeking. Organs overdriven into groovy oblivion, guitars fuzzed-out beyond even the realms that 60's psych dared to explore, and a tight-as-hell rhythm section vying for supremacy with some very horny horns... this is one of the most fab records ever to come out of Germany. Jess Franco's 1970 sexploitation farce Vampyros Lesbos has rightfully gained quite a cult following for Soledad Miranda's frankly ridiculous performance as, you guessed it, a lesbian vampire. But the real selling point of this antiquated slice of European art-porn is its swingin' soundtrack, which sounds like The Mar-Keys joined by Lord Sitar and a crew of German ghouls groaning up a storm for the full Halloween effect. This album combines two soundtracks performed by The Vampires' Sound Incorporation, led by easy listening maestros Manfred Hübler and Siegfried Schwab: several tracks are taken from Jess Franco's titular schlock-fest and a few more from the only slightly less preposterous She Killed In Ecstasy. "The Lions & The Cucumber" hits like a funk bullet, while the blatant Rolling Stones ripoff "There's No Satisfaction" pleasantly recalls the days of zodiac medallions, crushed velvet bellbottoms, and low-budget porno flicks passed off as high art. "We Don't Care" is a monster of a jam, while "The Message", for better or worse, sounds like nothing else in the world of movie soundtracks. Get together some friends who can appreciate the finer things in life and get your Halloween party in gear with this whacked-out, acid-fried art-porn pseudo-masterpiece.

You know what I mean? ...Yeah, you know what I mean.