all about yuzo kayama (1966) – yuzo kayama and the launchers: toshiba records, TP-7100

The beauty of music is that despite the fact that the different genres tend to almost always be culturally based – often through centuries of tradition - it can easily transcend culture, language, and history.

George Harrison heard Ravi Shankar, liked the sound of the sitar, and decided the Beatles needed a bit of India in their music. Jimmy Page started off riffing some hardcore Delta blues, then decided that the sound of the oud would be cool, and so a bit of Middle Eastern music found it’s way into Zeppelin. And, of course, Dick Dale basically tool some traditional Greek bouzouki music , ran it through a Strat with a bit of reverb, and suddenly the world had Surf music.

So why would anyone think it odd when some Japanese cat who found himself digging some surf music (apparently the Ventures were a huge influence) figured it would be cool to go ahead and use that to update some old-style folk music?

The result is a seriously groovy hidden gem by Japanese actor Yuzo Kayama.

Side 1: Koi Ha Akai Bara (Scarlet Roses) Black Sand Beach Kimi Ga Suki Dakara (Because I Love You) Umi No Ue No Shonen (Boy On The Sea) Los Angeles No Nisei Matsuri Running Donkey
Side 2: Monkey Crazy Kimi To Itsuamdemo (Forever With You) Boomerang Baby Violet Sky Yozora No Hoshi (Star Night Sky) Kimi No Supo Wo (Kimi Soup)

Okay, I have to say I didn’t know anything about this guy at all when I got this album. And, in fact, the only reason I got this album is through pure chance. Briefly, my wife (who is Okinawan) found a box of Japanese albums at a garage sale and bought the lot for her mom. Now, mom doesn’t have a turntable, so we did the next best thing: I ripped all the vinyl into digital format and ended up burning some CDs for her. Which meant that I now have about 25 albums from Japan, almost entirely either old folk music (koto or shamisen) or some of that orchestral crooner stuff. But there are a few incredibly cool discs in there as well, such as this one.

The first thing that struck me is that the surf-rock songs are really good. In fact, some of them (such as Black Sand Beach and Los Angeles No Nisei Matsuri) kick butt, and Boomerang Baby is something you’d expect Frankie to be singing to Annette as they dance on the beach. So it wasn’t much a surprise to learn that Yuzo was a huge fan of the Ventures, because his songs definitely have a Ventures vibe (as opposed to a Dick Dale or Surfaris vibe).

What is interesting is how easily surf rock seemed to blend with mid-60’s Japanese contemporary music. But when one considers the nasal quality of the koto and shamisen it’s easier to see how surf guitar would work. Unfortunately, the album , particularly side 1, tends to be a bit heavy on crooner songs, which breaks up the flow of the surf music. Which is a shame, because Mr. Kayama can play some catchy beach pop.

Even with the crooner tunes, this album is a nice collection of bubblegum type beach songs made popular through cheesy teen movies, and is a fun listen.

Oh, and the cherry on top? The disc is pressed in a groovy red vinyl.

Up next: Who says a funk band can’t play rock?

freak out! (1966) – the mothers of invention: verve records, V6-5005

If one was asked to try and imagine a time and place where a young, talented, ambitious, and unconventional musician could have the freedom to work on his craft and find an audience receptive to new, experimental, and (quite often) very weird music, it would be quite difficult to find a better fit than Los Angeles in the mid 1960’s.

And it’s no surprise, given the cultural upheaval happening in the City of Angels at the time. The hippies, gurus, freaks, and heads were alive and well along the coast in SoCal before they descended on San Francisco in the Summer of Love, and their presence created the sort of crucible in which unexpected things are made.

After all it was in LA in the mid-60’s where Brian Wilson imagined and created the revolutionary Pet Sounds album. It was in LA in the mid-60’s where Ray Manzarek and Jim Morrison met, formed the Doors, and released that mind-bending album. And it was where a young Frank Zappa ended up converting a drowsy R&B pub band into the wonderfully bizarre and totally unlike anything before Mothers of Invention. LA nurtured young Mr. Zappa’s creativity, and in 1966 The Mothers had the squares running for their bomb shelters with their debut double-album release, Freak Out!

Side 1: Hungry Freaks, Daddy I Ain’t Got No Heart Who Are The Brain Police Go Cry On Somebody Else’s Shoulder Motherly Love
Side 2: Wowie Zowie You Didn’t Try To Call Me Any Way The Wind Blows I’m Not Satisfied You’re Probably Wondering Why I’m Here
Side 3: Trouble Comin' Every Day Help, I’m A Rock (Suite In Three Movements) 1st Movement: Okay To Tap Dance 2nd Movement: In Memoriam, Edgar [sic] Varese 3rd Movement: It Can’t Happen Here
Side 4: The Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet (Unfinished Ballet In Two Tableaus) Ritual Dance Of The Child Killers Nullis Pretti (No Commercial Potential)

To start with, imagine the grapes you need to have your very first release be a double-album whammy of flat out bizarre music. True, Pet Sounds did come first, but only by about a month, and while revolutionary in use of dubbing and new sonic ideas, it retained enough familiarity and accessibility so normal folks could accept it. But Freak Out! was an entirely different beast.

The subversive nature of the album is clear from the cover. An intentionally color-distorted image featuring a bunch of savage long-hairs wearing decidedly odd clothing, staring at you as if they meant to hang you by the ankles, slit your throat, and make stew from your parts. The inside of the album continues the assault on polite society with sardonic content and ludicrous satire of the straights

And if that wasn’t clear enough, the first song proudly proclaims that Hungry Freaks are on their way to hang you by your ankles, slit your throat, and make stew from your parts:

Mr. America, walk on by your schools that do not teach
Mr. America, walk on by the minds that won't be reached
Mr. America try to hide the emptiness that's you inside
But once you find that the way you lied / And all the corny tricks you tried
Will not forestall the rising tide of hungry freaks, daddy!

Things seem to stabilize after that, as the rest of sides one and two (with the exception of Brain Police) are, more or less, conventional non-threatening songs. However, things proceed to get weird with side three. The “protest” song Trouble Comin' Every Day recalls the revolutionary attitude from Hungry Freaks and is a direct shot at square America (and includes perhaps my favorite lyric of all time. “Hey, you know something people? I'm not black But there's a whole lots a times I wish I could say I'm not white”), but the wonderfully claustrophobic Help, I’m A Rock is the real prize. A long, uncomfortable song with clear Varese influence (as noted in the sub-title) which, through it’s repetitive nature, calls to mind what a bad trip must feel like. The album then concludes with the percussive mind-fuck of side four.


This is an amazing album in a lot of ways, and I can still remember being both repulsed and captivated by it on my first listen. Even today, with my most recent listening, I am still repulsed by it, but in the same magnificent way one is repulsed by Picasso’s paintings or David Lynch’s movies: their refusal to conform, their insistence on subversive content and structure, and their demand of the audience is refreshing and makes it one of those perfect examples of the beauty of the ugly truth, or the sacredness of the profane.

Blow your harmonica, son.

Up next: ガルビの  日本の  サフロク!!

fragile (1971) - yes: atlantic records 1972 reissue, K-50-009

There’s at least one way in which Rock bands are like pro-sports teams: they often end up with significant personnel changes. A few guys leave, a few new guys come aboard, and the band is either made better or worse.

In a way, that’s the story of the band Yes. The original members of the band (Jon Anderson, Peter Banks, Chris Squire, Tony Kaye, and Bill Bruford) were pretty solid, but at some point there were changes.

The original lineup lasted for about two years and released two albums, but hadn’t really caught on until they had their first shakeup when they replaced Peter Banks with the more versatile Steve Howe on guitar. Their next album was the somewhat eponymous The Yes Album, and was a breakthrough. However, the lads weren’t finished, and the next year Tony Kaye left (at least in part because he wasn’t really keen on playing the mellotron, which was the rage at the time) and Rick Wakeman took over on the keys, creating what many consider the all-star Yes lineup.  Their first album was the epic Fragile.

Side 1: Roundabout Cans And Brahms We Have Heaven South Side Of The Sky
Side 2: Five Per Cent For Nothing Long Distance Runaround The Fish Mood For A Day Heart Of The Sunrise

I’ve always thought of Fragile as “Schroedinger’s” album – one that occupied both a state of existence and non-existence, and which required the right combination of band members in order to become real. When Wakeman joined the band it created the proper circumstance, and Fragile fell into the state of “real”.  That reality was explosive, catapulting Yes into that rarefied air of prog gods.

Fragile, itself, is a sort of unbalanced in a way where the songs tend to not really flow into one other in the way that the songs on Close to the Edge do. Part of that is because Fragile includes solo songs from each of the band members, along with the collaborative songs. But that uneven flow is part of what makes Fragile so compelling – even if it can sometimes be a bit jarring. Still, it allowed each of the members to basically flex their musical muscles, and when one hears a song like Cans and Brahms, it’s hard to argue about the logic behind their choice to blend individual with group.

Yes has always struck me as being very atmospheric and ethereal in their music – certainly moreso than their closest prog contemporaries, Genesis or King Crimson – in the same way that, perhaps, Vivaldi is more atmospheric and ethereal than Beethoven or Bach. And as much as I enjoy their music, I just find that Yes is really more the perfect complement to an already existing mood rather than being the way of setting a mood (if that makes any sense). So there are times when listening to them just doesn’t fit. I suppose that’s true of all music, but it just seems more true about Yes than others. There are times when really nothing else would be right or when nothing else would be more wrong.

Fragile certainly is no exception to that. Despite the fact that the album kicks ass, there are times when hearing it is about as comfortable and appropriate as wearing a tailored three-piece suit would be to dig trenches for new lawn sprinklers. But when the time is right (like, during the evening, when you just need to kick back, let the worries drain, and just get nice and mellow), brother, nothing is as right.

 Up next: Suzy Creamcheese, what's got into you?

foxtrot (1972) – genesis: charisma records, CAS-1058

In many ways, despite having already released three albums, in 1972 Genesis were a band still trying to gain traction and really embrace an identity.

The problem, it seemed, was that aside from a small number of hardcore fans, Genesis were either ignored or reviled by both music listeners and critics alike. Their records sold very poorly and their music was called pretentious, inaccessible, elitist, snobby, and dull.

Of course, there is some truth to that. Compared to so-called “everyman” bands, Genesis could be considered pretentious and inaccessible. Musically, Genesis had often complex arrangements and drastic time changes and heavy use of acoustics compared to three-chord, 4/4 time, electric guitar-bass-drums music. Lyrically Genesis tended to rely on poetic and literary themes, often including philosophical speculation as opposed to words about going steady and driving fast cars. And on stage Genesis tended to have theatrical shows, where the “everyman” bands often did little more than perhaps bounce around during songs.

However, the idea that Genesis made exclusive music that could only be appreciated by pointy-headed aristocrats and musical prodigies just flies in the face of reason. By the early 70’s so-called “working class” bands like the Who, the Beatles, and the Beach Boys, had been experimenting with song length, instruments, lyrical structure, and the very nature of rock with albums like Sgt Pepper’s, Magical Mystery Tour, the “White”album, Tommy, Who’s Next, and Pet Sounds.

Clearly complex music wasn’t the problem, so by 1972 it seemed the time was right for Genesis to finally lay claim to their share of attention.

And boy, did they ever with their epic, Foxtrot.

Side 1: Watcher Of The Skies Time Table Get ‘Em Out By Friday Can-Utility And The Coastliners
Side 2: Horizons Supper’s Ready Lover’s Leap The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man Ikhnaton And Itsacon And Their Band Of Merry Men How Dare I Be So Beautiful? Willow Farm Apocalypse in 9/8 (Co-Starring The Delicious Talents Of Gabble Ratchet) As Sure As Eggs Is Eggs (Aching Men’s Feet)

This is one of my favorite albums, and has been since I first heard it as an awkward 12-year old. I remember just being blown away by the grandeur and immensity of the album - particularly by the 23-minute Supper’s Ready. And even now that I am well past 12 I continue to be blown away every time I listen.

It’s difficult to explain what it is about the album that gets me, because there isn’t really one thing that stands out. Foxtrot is one of those albums where the whole is not only greater than the sum of the parts, but may be greater than their product.

To start, the entire concept of the album is captivating. As near as I can tell the album tells of how an alien race comes down to earth, subjugating humanity and allowing a few rather unscrupulous fellows to make a bit of quick cash by exploiting the situation. This inevitably leads to revolt and the overthrow of both the alien overlords and their henchmen. The good guys end up winning, and humanity now finds itself in utopia. The end.

Clearly that’s an oversimplification, but it’s the story I hear every time I listen. And it’s somehow backed up by the gloriously weird and “meta” cover, which features such bizzare scenes as a anthropomorphic she-fox; a pack of hunters including one with an exaggerated nose, a monkey-headed fellow with a halo, and a green alien; six, sainly shrouded men moving across a lawn with the seventh in front, cross held high in hand; and the croquet scene from the Nursery Cryme cover in the distance.

Weird. But oh, so cool.

But really, it’s the music. From the cathedral-like mellotron opening of Watcher of the Skies through the intensity of Time Table and Get ‘Em Out By Friday, the music is just phenomenal. Listening to the intricate interplay of Steve Hackett’s guitar work and Tony Banks’ keyboards backed up by Phil Collins’ maintaining difficult time structure and beat patterns is awe-inspiring.

Towering above it all, of course, is perhaps the holy grail of prog songs, Supper’s Ready. It’s like the Platonic ideal of what a prog song ought to be, and against which all others are mere shadows
approximating at the unreachable form. Truly, if ever there was a prog song to which all others aspire, it’s this one. Sure, there have been longer songs and songs with even greater musical complexity, and songs with even more mythical and grandiose lyrics. Yet for my taste nothing else comes close. Once again, it is difficult to explain why, other than to say that whenever I hear the opening, I simply cannot help but get swept up in the ride.

Even though I listen to this album very frequently this time I tried to really devote myself. I didn’t allow any other distractions, and made certain that I was in the proper state of mind, that the volume was at a suitable level, and that I could just relax and contemplate the cover as the record played.

And it was good. Really good.

 Up next: Ping prog: another prog group’s ultimate album

fly by night (1975) – rush: mercury records 1983 reissue, SRM-1-1023

As much as Caress of Steel represented a transition for Rush from their heavy “Zeppelin/Deep Purple” rock origins to their eventual unique style of progressive rock, Fly By Night represents their initial experimentation with prog.

Not coincidentally, Fly By Night also marks the debut of Neal Peart as the “new guy” in the band, taking the place of John Rutsey, the original drummer, who left for personal and health reasons. Peart, along with assuming percussion duties, also became the main lyricist and (for lack of a better term), visionary.

The vision Peart brought with him tended to be heavy with literary influences (particularly fantasy and speculative fiction), skepticism regarding authority, a natural desire to explore boundaries, and the idealistically simple (and sometimes simplistic) philosophy of youth.

In short, Peart brought with him all of the ingredients needed for a prog band. The fact that Lifeson and Lee were not only receptive, but good enough musicians to indulge Peart’s vision, proved the catalyst. The only thing was for the boys to try the whole prog thing out and see if they liked it.

Fly By Night is the result of the boys trying on some prog clothing and seeing that it was indeed quite a good fit.

Side 1: Anthem Best I Can Beneath, Between & Beyond By-Tor And The Snow Dog At The Tobes Of Hades Across The Styx Of The Battle Epiologue
Side 2: Fly By Night Making Memories Rivendell In The End

The one amazing thing about Fly By Night is that it is perhaps the perfect Rush album homunculus – if an album can be a homunculus. Think about it: it’s got all of the elements that will crystallize a few years down the road when Rush becomes RUSH!, only in a not-quite fully formed way. There’s the selfish social Darwinist Ayn Rand nonsense (Anthem), some strong rock groove (Best I Can), catchy riffs and hooks (Fly By Night), and the ponderously poxy pretense of prog (By-Tor And Snow Dog).

The other thing about Fly by Night isn’t quite as amazing, and that is that, well, it isn’t quite amazing. Song-wise, I mean. It’s not amazing. In fact, it sounds like an album made by a very ambitious band who are excited about venturing into the very wide (and fertile) style of music that will allow them to really just indulge themselves both musically and lyrically. But a band that is still quite young and perhaps not entirely in control of their ability nor entirely experienced enough to really create something amazing. In short, they sound young and enthusiastic. And that's the crux of the problem: this album suffers from the same sort of youthful over-enthusiasm and lack of control in much the same way that sex does.  Young boys may have energy, but they aren't very refined..

Of course that isn’t the same as saying the album is no good. And one certainly can hear a promise of things to come. But really, on it’s own, Fly By Night isn’t something that will stand out as exceptional other than offering that promise.

Perhaps that’s why listening to this album now was so frustrating. I haven’t heard it all the way through for a while, and for some reason I had a much harder time forgiving the flaw of enthusiasm on this play. I suppose part of that is because I’ve been listening to some great stuff lately, and it may not really be fair to compare this album to the last few I’ve gone through. Or maybe it’s because now that we’ve had 40 years since this was released we know what Rush eventually creates, making this pale slightly in the reflected awesomeness of, say 2112 or Hemispheres. But whatever the reason, this is a case where I listened and just found myself feeling perhaps less impressed than I did before or than the music may deserve.

Hell, It’s still way better than most stuff coming out today, though.

Up next: The prog album by the prog band against which all other prog albums and bands are measured

flush the fashion (1980) – alice cooper: warner bros records, BSK-3436

There’s an old wives tale that says sharks must continuously move forward in order to pass water along their gills, and that if they ever stop moving, they will die.

It’s not really true, but the metaphor is powerful, and often used as inspiration.

Thanks to Pete Townshend, Rock has a somewhat related old saying: I hope I die before I get old. The idea here is that “old” doesn’t mean aged, but archaic in attitude and style. In other words, not constantly moving forward (stay with me here, because I am going somewhere with this).

So, in order to survive, musicians, like the shark, have to continuously keep moving forward in terms of growth and development or risk stagnating and being relegated to the heap of dead acts languishing in the “where are they now” file.

See, I told you this was going somewhere.

Evidently this idea must have resonated with Vince Furnier (aka Alice Cooper), because it seems to be the only logical explanation for his decision to suddenly abandon the harder metal rock style with which he established his success and embrace new wave (of all things) with the release of the album Flush the Fashion.

And despite the success of the album, the result is exactly as awkward, ill-fitting, and uncomfortable as one might expect when a metal guy decides to go new wave.

Side 1: Talk Talk Clones (We’re All) Pain Leather Boots Aspirin Damage
Side 2: Nuclear Infected Grim Facts Model Citizen Dance Yourself To Death Headlines

Leaving the unfamiliarity with new wave music aside for a moment, the songs on this album are all very familiar ground for Alice Cooper, focusing on the questions of sanity, identity, and the oppressive nature of society. In fact, there's a strong similarity between the nature of these songs and those on Billion Dollar Babies, which dealt with similar generalities only through different specifics.

Many of the songs on the album are quite good. Clones, Model Citizen, and Talk Talk are catchy, have some clever lyrics, and more than a little of the sort of sardonic humor so closely associated with Alice Cooper. And Pain is right in line with other potent emotionally honest confessions from previous albums.

So, what’s the problem with the album? I guess I just can't get past this new wave thing, and wonder about the bizarre compulsion Alice Cooper had to record in this way. The use of electronic percussion, auto-tune background, synths, and other conventions commonly associated with Flock of Seagulls or Duran Duran just make it too jarring - like expecting water and getting vodka. It's made even worse because there is really no reason for it. It’s not like the sort of glam-rock which Alice Cooper helped create was out of style.  Glam-influenced bands like Def Leppard and Quiet Riot were huge in the early 80’s, so one would think that Alice Cooper would be more than in his element, what with him being the damn paterfamilias of that genre, and all.

That irreconcilable incongruity really stood out at this listen. It’s almost as if this were a novelty record, kind of like if Black Flag were to release a 12” disco single, or if Andy Williams or Pat Boone were to release a heavy metal album.

Oh, wait, that last one actually happened.

The point is, this just doesn’t fit. And apparently Alice Cooper agreed, because the albums following this tended to go back to his normal style, saving us from the Alice Cooper ska album.

 Up next: A trio progresses

fine art of surfacing, the (1979) – boomtown rats: columbia records, JC-36248

It seems like whenever we think of foreign (i.e. non-American) music, we always default to England and not, say, Germany or Finland or Uruguay.

And with good reason, too. Let’s face it, that wretched, cold, miserable little island has produced more than its fair share of influential and popular bands.

However, lost in the Union Jack were some guys from the Emerald Isle who weren’t too bad themselves.

England gave us the Stones, the Who, the Kinks, and the Beatles, and Ireland gave us Van Morrison. England gave us Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, the Yardbirds, and Cream and Ireland gave us Rory Gallagher and Thin Lizzy. England gave us the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and the Jam and Ireland gave us U2 and the Pogues.

They also gave us the Boomtown Rats, who may have been the best rock band to come out of Finn McCool’s homeland. Hell, the Rats even have an appearance on SCTV to their credit.

Of course, today most people probably only know of the Rats through their lead singer, Bob Geldof. It was Geldof, along with Midge Ure (from Thin Lizzy & Ultravox) that brought the famine in Africa to worldwide attention through their group Band Aid and their song Do They Know It’s Christmastime (well before the atrocity known as USA for Africa came about), and for whom Slade wrote the tribute song, Do You Believe in Miracles.

Oh, he also played Pink in the movie adaptation of The Wall. Not bad for a tosser from outside Dublin.

The Fine Art of Surfacing was the band’s third album, and contained the monster smash hit, I Don’t Like Mondays.

Side 1: Someone Looking At You Diamond Smiles Wind Chill Factor (Minus Zero) Having My Picture Taken Sleep (Fingers’ Lullabye)
Side 2: I Don’t Like Mondays Nothing Happened Today Keep It Up Nice ‘N’ Neat When The Night Comes

The best part of this little diversion of mine is getting a chance to listen to an album that’s been lost in the shuffle and to (in a sense) rediscover just how awesome it, and the band that made it, is. Surfacing is a perfect example, because even though I’ve heard some of the songs from the album off and on more or less consistently, I haven’t actually sat down and listened to the whole album for many years.

And man, let me tell you baby, it is great!

But even though I really do think this is one of the best albums I have, explaining why is quite difficult. Although all of the songs are good (with some are better than others), none of them (aside from Mondays or Diamond Smiles which are both just kickass songs) are really outstanding. And although all of the music is solid, none of it is really breathtaking. And although all of the lyrics are catchy and clever, none of them are really remarkable.

Yet somehow, the album is outstanding, breathtaking, and remarkable at the same time.

Perhaps it’s the fact that each song seems so different from the others in terms of style (one is quite new-wavey, one is sort of raga, one is a bit classical, one is sort of weird). Or, maybe it’s that the songs leap from paranoia to suicide to mass murder to lust. Hell, it may even be just because it seems that the Rats are having a good time poking fun at things that were being taken so seriously at the time. But whatever the reason, there is something about this album that just resonated with me on this listen, and made me feel really happy to get reacquainted with it.

And I suppose that’s part of the purpose of this blog – to allow myself to re-discover some old friends.

Up next: An aging 70’s rocker tries to stay relevant in the 80’s

easter (1978) – patti smith group: arista records, AB-4171

Back in the mid-50’s there was an underground artistic movement rejecting the conformity of a conservative society in favor of experimentalism and freedom of subversive expression. It was called “Beat” and was best exemplified by writers like Ginsburg, Kerouac, and Burroughs; painters like Pollock and Rothko; and musicians like Parker, Dylan, and Brubeck.

Beat challenged the status quo by directly reacting to and questioning the rules. The target for beat art was the strict parameters dictating what was acceptable, and therefore by extension, all of society. The result was a tectonic shift in popular culture.

If that sounds familiar it’s because it is. A similar reaction took place in music in the mid-70’s in the form of a reaction to and questioning of the parameters dictating what was acceptable for music. It was called “Punk”, and the result was a tectonic shift in popular music.

So it’s not really too surprising that one of the first and most influential voices in this Punk revolution belonged to a young woman performance artist and free-form poet named Patti Smith who blended the aesthetic of the beats with the angst of the punks.

Easter is her third studio album, and remains a touchstone marking the border between the “before” and “after”.

Side 1: Till Victory Space Monkey Because The Night Ghost Dance Babelogue Rock N Roll Nigger
Side 2: Privilege (Set Me Free) We Three 25th Floor High On Rebellion Easter

This is another of those albums with that can unstick me in time and, like the Trafalmadorians did to Billy Pilgrim, whip me through the fabric of space back to being a dorky 19 year old college kid sitting in a dorm listening to records. So, in that sense, this is quite timeless.

It’s also timeless in another sense, in that while some of the songs may have a bit of dust on them, for the most part the album is not dated at all. Plus, it retains that sense of being pioneer of a new way of doing music. While there’s nothing experimental or challenging or revolutionary in terms of any of the music (like one would get with Zappa or Beefheart or Sun Ra), the album features a wide enough range of styles as to place it on the edge.  There are rock song, folk songs, spoken word "beat" songs, dirges, and minimalist experimental songs.


There is also considerable biblical influence, starting with the album title, and continuing through some of the design and songs. Some of the lyrics for Privilege (Set Me Free) are adapted from the 23rd psalm, and many of the songs deal with the ideas of death and resurrection.

This album also contains two of Smith’s most well-known songs. Because The Night (written by Bruce Springsteen) and Rock N Roll Nigger are both still as fresh, potent, and catchy as ever.

The only thing that really seems to have aged with this album is the genuine connection to the beats and their quaint, if not enviable, dedication to and belief in the power of art (particularly poetry) to elevate us above our plastic-fantastic lives.

Can you dig it, daddy-o?

 Up next: The best band from Ireland not called U2