Georgia Satellites - Keep The Faith (1985)

C'mon now, be truthful…has your Uncle Keith ever turned ya the wrong way? Ever given ya a bum steer? Naw…so listen up boys and girls: run, don't walk, down to your local import bin and lay down yer hard earned coin on a copy of the Georgia Satellites' Keep The Faith EP. Why? 'Cause the Georgia Satellites are the hottest, hungriest, honest-to-god blooze singing, rock 'n' roll playing dedicated fools to come down the road in many a mile…and Keep The Faith is their one-and-only recording, containing half a hot dozen barn-burnin', leg-wettin' toons that would even knock yer dear ol' sainted Granny outta her rockin' chair and onto the dance floor!

It's a shame that some of America's finest bands such as the Satellites have to go to England to make a record, but it's lucky for us they did! Keep The Faith moves from zero to sixty miles per hour in the time it takes to drop the needle in these nasty little grooves. From the opening bars of "Tell My Fortune," a tasty AOR rocker, through the two-fisted, six-string madness of "Red Light," to the battle of the sexes on "Keep Your Hands To Yourself," to the mini-album's lone cover, George Jones' classic "The Race Is On," and all the songs in between, Keep The Faith is a swamp-licking, roots-inspired hellbroth of a rock 'n' roll album, a nuclear-tipped aural missile fired at your sensory circuits like sharks on a feeding frenzy. Closer akin to the early Stones, the Faces, and the art of Chuck Berry, the Georgia Satellites have drunk from the well from which rock 'n' roll sprang some 30 years ago…. (Making Waves Records)

Review originally published in The Metro magazine, August 1985

Georgia Satellites MP3s:

"Red Light"

"Tell My Fortune"

"The Race Is On"

The Beat Farmers - Viking Lullabies (1994)

Forget about all of these Stetson-clad poseurs roaming the streets of the Music City, claiming that they grew up listening to both George Jones and the Rolling Stones. For reckless country soul, few bands can top the frenzy whipped up by these boys, the Beat Farmers. Sure, it's been a few years, but the Farmers have returned with a new disc – Viking Lullabies – on Austin's Sector 2 label and let me tell ya, hoss, this sucker ROCKS!

The opening cut, "Southern Cross," offers up a guitar line reminiscent of D.L. Byron's long lost album, setting the stage for a baker's dozen that run the gamut from the sublime ("Garden") to the absurd ("Are You Drinkin' With Me Jesus?" and the hilarious closing cut, "Lakeside Trailer Park"). Vocals on the former two songs – honest-to-god, beer swilling, tears-in-the-eyes numbers that even Ernest Tubb would be proud of – are courtesy of the legendary Country Dick Montana, who has bounced back from throat cancer to deliver these near classic performances. Long ago, The Beat Farmers built a reputation for excellent showmanship and solid performances, blending hard-edged roots rock with country traditionalism. Along with Nashville's own Jason & The Scorchers, they transcended the unfortunate early '80s "cowpunk" label to create a true musical bridge between the two genres. With Viking Lullabies, possibly the band's best effort yet, you can say that the Beat Farmers have come roaring back. (Sector 2 Records)

(Click on the CD cover to buy Viking Lullabies from Amazon.com)

Shane MacGowan & the Popes - The Snake (1995)

When friends and fellow critics argue U2's dubious status as the greatest band to come out of Ireland, I not so politely disagree. The Pogues and the Undertones both are genuine Irish working class artists, and at their worst either band could nonetheless easily teach Bono and crew a thing or two about the true spirit of rock & roll. If my money was on the line, I'd lay it all down on the Pogues above U2 every time (with the 'tones being my second choice over the self-obsessed, pretentious wankers that U2 sadly became).

Shane MacGowan was the undeniable heart and soul of the Pogues, a hard-drinking rock anti-hero who consistently flirted with self-destruction even while the band tottered on the edge of stardom. MacGowan's departure leveled the band, and even if the Pogues' swan song, Waiting For Herb, was a vastly underrated jewel of an album, MacGowan's presence – or lack thereof – was sorely missed. MacGowan brought to the band a sort of reckless abandon and joyful lustiness far too often missing from rock these days.

Gladly, MacGowan has gotten his shit together enough to toss a band into the studio and crank out The Snake, the best album that the Pogues never made. Although there are some slight stylistic differences between the fifteen songs found on The Snake and those of MacGowan's former mates, his charismatic musical presence creates an uncanny similarity. Lyrically, The Snake shows MacGowan at his very best, with autobiographical songs like "The Church Of The Holy Spook" and "Nancy Whiskey" taking a good, hard look at the lifestyle that almost killed him. Others, like "A Mexican Funeral In Paris" or "I'll Be Your Handbag" are well-written vignettes, story-songs with a personal edge that are almost poetic in their retelling, reminiscent of artists like William Burroughs or Jack Kerouac.

Musically, The Snake is pretty much what one might expect, a brawling, muscular blend of punk rock, classic blue-eyed soul and traditional Celtic roots, with MacGowan's guttural, coarse, heavily-accented vocals a primal force that many find to be an acquired taste. The Snake is a marvelous comeback album from MacGowan, a lively and uncompromising effort from one of rock's unheralded geniuses. (ZZT Records/Warner Brothers)

(Click on the CD cover to buy The Snake from Amazon.com)

Sam Cooke - The Rhythm And The Blues (1995)

Sam Cooke is often forgotten during any discussion of the great R & B masters. Whether this is due to his late '50s break from the gospel tradition that nurtured him, and the resulting string of chart-topping pop hits that was to follow his entry into the secular music world, or due to the fact that Cooke worked outside of the soul factories of the era – R & B labels like Stax, Hi-Lo and Atlantic that have their own passionate defenders – who can say. Either way, Cooke's presence during the late '50s and early '60s was immense, his recorded output magnificent...and well deserving of another look.

The Rhythm And The Blues is that long-awaited second look at Cooke's vocal abilities. As pointed out in Cliff White's extensive and appreciated liner notes, Cooke was a prolific singles songwriter, creating some of the most enduring moments that pop music has to offer. On album, however, which the conventional wisdom of the time declared must be aimed towards an adult audience, Cooke often forsook his own songwriting skills in favor of jazz and blues classics. It is from this background that The Rhythm And The Blues has been created.

The Rhythm And The Blues is primarily drawn from three early '60s Cooke albums: My Kind Of Blues, the classic Mr. Soul and Night Beat. Many of the cuts culled from these three discs showcase the kind of big band arrangement given R & B material in that day and time, with lush strings and sensual horns backing Cooke's already formidable vocals. There's little of anything really new and surprising to be found here for the long-time Cooke fan, although The Rhythm And The Blues stands well on its own as an introduction to the singer's non-pop charting material. Cooke's wonderful vocal interpretation of classic gems like "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," "Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out" or "Cry Me A River" – his voice swollen with passion, silky with soul – easily stand with the masters of the genre, serving to firmly place Sam Cooke's name alongside the great performers of R & B, where it belongs. (RCA Records)

(Click on the CD cover to buy The Rhythm And The Blues from Amazon.com)

Klaus Schulze - Mirage (2005)

Twenty-eight years ago, they didn’t really even have a name for this stuff. “Space Music” wouldn’t enter into the shared consciousness of the music world until the mid-to-late-80s and although it has since branched out into various sub-genres of the electronic music tree, it remains a decidedly cult phenomenon. Although musician/producer Brian Eno is often mistakenly considered the father of space music due to his tonal experimentation in “ambient” music, the truth is that electronic music pioneers like Kraftwerk, Cluster, Edgar Froese and Tangerine Dream and Faust cleared the path for Eno years before.

Of the many musicians whose work would further the evolution of electronic music, perhaps none were as adventuresome or tireless as Germany’s Klaus Schulze. Schulze recorded with both the seminal Tangerine Dream and the psych-rock collective Ash Ra Tempel before abandoning the band format in favor of a solo career in 1971. To say that his subsequent output was prolific would be understating the truth – Schulze released an amazing fourteen albums in the first ten years of his solo career. Even more incredible is that Schulze has released over 80 albums in the thirty years since he broke from his previous bands, each one a significant work of composition and style.

Released in 1977, Mirage was Schulze’s eighth album and what many critics and fans consider to be his best. Schulze had mastered the possibilities provided by synthesizers and studio technology with a trio of early-70s albums – Cyborg, Picture Music and Blackdance – and would go on to experiment more with tone and emotion on future releases. With Mirage, Schulze attempted to create a “winter landscape,” recreating the bleak white and gray tones of the season with the instruments at hand. The resulting album is sparse, eerie, meditative and a masterpiece of form and performance in every aspect.

The original 1977 release of Mirage, restricted by the vinyl LP format, featured two extended cuts, one on either side of the album. Each composition consists of several passages, which often change the direction of the piece. The first, “Velvet Voyage,” is a hypnotic twenty-eight minute essay, subdued in nature and playing to the listener’s sub-conscious. It is minimalist and quite beautiful, if challenging. The second track, “Crystal Lake,” clocks in at slightly more than twenty-nine minutes. Embellishing the basic underlying track with chimes, synth washes and other electronic wizardry, Schulze creates a breathtaking musical soundscape that is both ambitious and thought provoking.

The Inside Out Music reissue of Mirage includes deluxe packaging, liner notes, photos and an additional bonus track, “In Cosa Crede Chi Non Crede?” The nineteen-minute coda extends the sonic soundtrack of the first two tracks, its subdued electronic instrumentation causing one to strain to take it all in. With a myriad of colors and sounds, however, it is well worth the effort. A journey, of sorts, inspired by Italian novelist and philosopher Umberto Eco, the song’s title translates, roughly, as “in what it believes who does not believe?” The composition is every bit as daunting as its title; Schulze composing music much the same way as Eco composes literature.

For music fans inquisitive enough to want to discover more about electronic music, the work of Klaus Schulze is essential. Although I personally would not recommend Mirage as a starting point – Picture Music may be less challenging an introduction – I would heartily recommend it as your second or third dalliance with Schulze, if only to experience what can be done by a master painting with notes instead of colors. (Inside Out Music)

(Click on the CD cover to buy Mirage from Amazon.com)