Found Or Forgotten; 60 Years Of Great Music
New Wave, Funk and Hard Rock were the order of the day on the year I was born. This was a fun year to cover.
Against my better judgment, I’m undertaking a project to determine my top 10 albums of every year since 1960. Instead of just picking my favorite stuff out of my collection, I intend to explore, re-visit and discover. While I can’t promise to leave no stone un-turned, I am going to go deeper than I ever have before. Why would I partake in a journey that will inevitably take many years and that I ultimately may never finish? Most importantly, to uncover great music that I’ve never heard before. Second, to boost my knowledge of music history and get a sense of what was happening at a macro scale in a snapshot of time. Finally, I want to share my passion for music with you and, fingers crossed, generate a dialogue down in the comments. So without further ado, here is #5 in the series. My random number generator tells me that our next year to explore is 1989!
The Greatest Albums of 1978
When I compare the musical landscape of 1978 to 1974, the other year I’ve explored from the seventies during this series, I’m amazed with how different it had become. Punk and new wave splintered off and became their own fully formed genres, both in reaction to the domination of stale album-oriented rock. I suspect that the truly transformational years of punk music occurred in ‘76 and ’77, but new wave made a massive statement in 1978. Devo, Talking Heads, Blondie, The Cars and Elvis Costello all contributed punchy, quirky rock music that had almost no relationship to the blues-based version of the form that had been popular for the previous couple of decades. Not that capital ‘R’ rock was going gently into that good night. In fact, bands like Van Halen, Judas Priest, Rainbow and AC/DC were ramping up the muscle and aggression of their music to make some hard rock classics.
Honestly, there wasn’t much that I didn’t like about the music of 1978. The big canon releases that I left off of my list are Costello’s This Year’s Model and Bruce Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town. I enjoyed both, just not enough to buy them. I’m sure that given time, they could become favorites, but I’ve got tons of music that I already love that I don’t have time to listen to, I don’t need to put in work to add to the pile. In a serendipitous turn of events, I would classify neatly half of my top 10 as “Summer albums”, so hopefully you find something new to make you happy this season.
One Nation Under a Groove – Funkadelic
1978 represented the end of the Parliament-Funkadelic heyday. The collective would go on to produce plenty of viable material in its various permutations for another few decades, but the days of knocking out multiple works of delirious genius every year were just about done. They would soon be replaced by the Talking Heads as the greatest band in the world, and friction among the most prominent members would strain their output. Before their incredible run came to an end, however, the funkateers would serve up one more epic high. One Nation Under a Groove, while perhaps not their greatest album, is the album that best combines the unique charms of Parliament and Funkadelic into a focused and satisfying statement. It’s a culmination, of sorts, and remains possibly their most popular and accessible album.
It’s fitting on an album whose primary theme is unity, that the opening track kicks off with some Sly & the Family Stone style vocal hopping. Of course, Clinton wants us to get along no matter what planet we’re from, much less our race or musical proclivities. There’s no time spent tearing down the opposition (previously exemplified by Sir Nose D’Voidoffunk, the selfish, conservative, non-dancing villain of the P-Funk universe) because there are too many bridges being built. “Who Says a Funk Band Can’t Play Rock” is the most obvious example, but all over the album Funkadelic’s superior musicians are bouncing from rock to funk to soul to reggae to metal (on the bonus EP’s “Lunchmeataphobia”) so smoothly that it might as well be one genre. Michael Hampton steps in for Funkadelic’s stalwart guitarist, Eddie Hazel, and adds a wonderful layer of warmth to the album, even contributing his own, smoother version of “Maggot Brain” (also on the aforementioned EP.) The lyrics are all about inclusion, just not homogenization. Even if you are a head banger or a classical music enthusiast, you can pledge groovallegience to the funk.
There is nary a weak spot on the 6-song album proper, and the bonus EP offers it’s own enjoyable, if less essential, tracks. Anyone looking for an entry point into the intimidatingly massive and uneven P-Funk discography could do a lot worse than starting here.
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Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo! – Devo
Unlike many of my peers, I was never swayed to Devo’s side by exposure to “Whip It”, showcased for my generation on MTV’s Beavis and Butthead. I wrote them off as a novelty, not bothering to learn about their trail-blazing or influence. Luckily, somewhere along the way I was exposed to …We Are Devo! and I was able to hop on board with their particular brand of crazy. Having experienced the album in the broader context of the burgeoning new wave movement only further deepens my appreciation for what they were doing at the time. More than any of the other albums of the genre that populated 1978, this is the one that most perfectly crystalizes the huge departure from established blues-rock tradition. It’s an almost alien album, with absurdist lyrics that abandon all of the themes that had been the bread-and-butter of traditional rock music for decades. The closest thing to a love song is “Gut Feeling (Slap Your Mammy)”, and that’s a pretty far stretch.
Of course they weren’t the first band with the bright idea to defy rock traditions, but you can have your Zappas and Captain Beefharts, because neither of them ever put together a collection of songs that was this catchy on one hand while eschewing obvious song structures on the other. A track like “Space Junk” is such a perfect little slice of genius, but so aggressively weird that you can’t imagine it landing on the work of any other band. In many ways …We Are Devo! is a perfectly realized statement, even if what the statement actually says remains eternally opaque.
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Motor Booty Affair – Parliament
Hey you guys, not sure if you knew this, but I’m a P-Funk fan. In what would serve as Parliament’s last great hurrah, Clinton & Co. came up with a loose concept album about funky goings-on in the underwater city of Atlantis. As a result, there is a concerted effort to create an aquatic sound, from extra-bubbly bass to gargling vocals to swirling horns and guitars, and of course, innumerable oceanic puns. The degree to which they succeed is more than admirable, but the fact that the band’s shared universe and mythology can support such a conceit is impressive all on its own.
Where One Nation Under a Groove perfectly combines the unique sensibilities of Parliament and Funkadelic, Motor Booty Affair is the quintessential Parliament album. We are immediately introduced to some new wacky characters (Mr. Wiggles the Worm and Rumpofsteelskin, to be specific) and everything is in service of shaking your booty. In the parlance of this album, “Swim” = “Dance” and “Dance” = “Free your mind, think for yourself, love others and do what feels good.” It’s a series of peaks, including the narcotic come-on, “(You’re a Fish & I’m a) Water Sign”, and the laser-ray funk assault of “Liquid Sunshine.” The band is in top form, particularly legendary bass player Bootsy Collins, who somehow tops himself with perhaps the most fluidly funky bass ever committed to record. The whole album is a remarkably silly good time, and the perfect blast of summer mischief for your 4th of July barbecue.
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The Cars – The Cars
You’d be forgiven for assuming the Cars’ debut album was actually a greatest hits compilation. That’s how strong and catchy each of the tracks are. The only signifier to the contrary, besides the absence of MTV-era classic “You Might Think,” is that it actually holds together as an fully conceived album. As pure pop music, it’s an unqualified success. As art, there are a lot of interesting things going on that elevate it beyond ephemeral radio fodder. The album kicks off like Buddy Holly on methamphetamines, but winds up in a slower, darker place. It’s ultimately less strange and more accessible than Devo, but it still features many of the same hallmarks that made new wave such a big departure from everything that came before. Tracks like “Good Times Roll”, “My Best Friend’s Girl” and “Just What I Needed” sound at home when they pop up on classic rock radio, but stacked up next to each other the way that they are presented here, they build towards a rich and unusual sonic experience. It’s one of the rare albums that should please casual listeners and music nerds in equal measure. A classic.
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More Songs About Buildings and Food – Talking Heads
When you spend an inordinate amount of time chronicling the music of the seventies, you’re bound to come away with the realization that Brian Eno is among the most important musical figures of the decade. If Eno and Bowie were a match made in heaven, then you would have to come up with an even more impressive superlative to describe the pairing of Eno and the Talking Heads. A match made in heaven’s version of San Luis Obispo, perhaps? So simpatico were the sensibilities of Eno and Talking Heads front man, David Byrne, that they formed a decades-long collaboration that included the two subsequent albums from the band. On More Songs… you can hear the duo exploring the ground that they would cover together: The twitchy paranoia of Fear of Music combined with the layered funk of Remain In Light. While there is nothing here that will knock your socks on your ass like the first time you heard “I Zimbra” or “Crosseyed and Painless”, the album is more delicate and balanced than the two collaborations that would follow. The rhythm section of Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth are nothing short of propulsive here, driving each song forward in an unrelenting tide of weirdo funk. Not until the final two tracks does the band slow down and stretch out a bit, delivering the chugging Al Green cover, “Take Me to the River”, and the elegiac “The Big Country”. Not the best of Eno’s production work or the best Talking Heads album, but damn good enough on both counts to be a can’t miss proposition.
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Stained Class – Judas Priest
I’ve always liked Judas Priest fine, but they never really captured my imagination the way many other hard rock and metal acts from the era did. Iron Maiden? Now there was a band I could get behind. I owned Hell Bent for Leather, Priest’s other 1978 release, and, again, I liked it. It was solid. So imagine my delight when I listened to Stained Class, almost as an afterthought, and discovered that it plays like a direct precursor to Maiden’s stellar self-titled debut. Finally, I can see how this seminal band fits into the puzzle. The music on the album is dark, melodic and relentless. It feels like the precursor to a lot of what heavy metal would become in the 80’s (NWOBHM, thrash), as opposed to some of their later work, which is more along the lines of an AC/DC or Whitesnake. There’s nothing wrong with that brand of heavy party rock, but Stained Class represents something a little deeper, a little more thoughtful and a lot more sinister. Highly recommended for metal enthusiasts of all stripes.
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Kaya – Bob Marley
As someone who considers Songs of Freedom the best box set in popular music history, I’ve never had much cause to explore Bob Marley’s individual albums. Through this series, I’m discovering a couple of things about that blind spot. First, there is a wealth of great Marley songs that didn’t make the cut on the seemingly comprehensive Songs of Freedom (examples from Kaya: “She’s Gone”, “Misty Morning”, the title track) Second, the songs that I’m familiar with are sometimes grouped together in their original releases in ways that reveal more about them than I had initially understood. The lyrics on Kaya are somewhat brighter and less political than many of Marley’s other works, yet there is an incongruous vein of melancholy that runs through the album which adds a rich layer of depth. I know several people (typically a generation older than me) who dismiss reggae as all sounding the same. Of course, that’s hyperbole at best, but it points to yet another eye-popping aspect of Marley’s genius. His versatility and ability to evoke so much complexity within the admittedly limited constrictions of the genre is a testament to his creativity. I can’t wait to delve further into his back catalogue and uncover what else I’ve been missing from one of my all-time favorite artists.
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Road to Ruin – The Ramones
If there is truly a debate about what’s more important, great songs or great technique, then the Ramones are the only argument you need. The band plays short, exceptionally simple songs, barely adequately, in a way that emphasizes their simplicity. And yet, they are great, because their songs are great. In many ways, the Ramones perform music that recalls nothing more so than early Beatles and Beach Boys. Fans of all three of those bands may balk at the comparison, but you can’t tell me that “Needles and Pins” or “Don’t Come Close” would sound out of place on Please, Please Me. That holds true for the rest of Road to Ruin as well, barring “I Wanna Be Sedated” which is actually better than anything the Beatles wrote prior to Rubber Soul. It’s that reverence for classic pop song structures that has always made me feel the band is miscast as punk music torch-bearers. I find that they are more obviously the forbears of the DIY Indie movement to take place in the following decade. No chops, no problem. No polish, no problem. All you really need is an earnest desire to play and, this is the trick, an inexhaustible bag of catchy songs to pull from.
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You Had to Be There – Jimmy Buffet
Recorded when the Coral Reefer band was more of a honky-tonk bar band with island influences than the overblown theatrical monstrosity that he toured with in subsequent decades. This is a great document of the aesthetic that captured the imaginations of so many fans. As much a party as a concert, Buffet and the band are a little more raucous and dangerous than you would suspect if you only knew him from the past several years, or even if you heard his subsequent (and also solid) live album, Feeding Frenzy. A more discerning editor would have been welcome, as he gets pretty talky on the second side and disrupts the flow of the album quite a bit. God knows what illicit cocktail of substances was fueling his lengthy monologues, but you’ll be skipping past them after the first or second time. Still, that’s a minor complaint for an album that has a lot of good tunes performed with a lot of energy and a healthy dose of humor. Alternate lyrics on such standbys as “Margaritaville” and “Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw?” help shield the tedium of hearing those songs again. And most of the lesser-known stuff is a blast.
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Here, My Dear – Marvin Gaye
Maybe you’ve heard the story already, but it is intractable from any discussion of the album. Marvin was ordered by the court to give half the proceeds of his next album to his ex-wife (and daughter of Motown producer, Barry Gordy) as partial settlement for their divorce. It sounds like the set-up for a high concept romantic comedy, where the protagonist sets out to record the worst-selling album of all time in order to spite his ex, but instead falls in love with a plucky sound technician who convinces him to stay true to his artistic integrity. In real life, it was the catalyst for one of the most brutally honest and painful soul albums ever recorded.
The album kicks off with the title track, in which Marvin dedicates the whole thing to his ex-wife, and then proceeds to lambast her for daring to use his son against him. It’s fascinatingly dark, though the music is no different than a typical radio-ready love song. Gaye goes on to explore the doomed relationship in great detail, draining every ounce of sadness, anger and regret out of the subject as possible. The vocals are bittersweet and smooth, and they lay overtop of sophisticated compositions of soul, jazz and funk. The only misstep is the plodding “A Funky Space Reincarnation”, which is a sharply incongruous and decidedly weak take at George Clinton-style funk. Setting that one aside, you’re left with a weird, but undeniable, masterpiece, and the unique album where you’ll hear a line like “Judge said ‘She’s got to keep on livin’ the way that she’s accustomed to!’” injected with so much pathos.
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Honorable Mentions
Rock: Van Halen – Van Halen; Infinity – Journey; Heaven Tonight – Cheap Trick; Powerage – AC/DC; Hell Bent for Leather – Judas Priest; Trouble – Whitesnake; Long Live Rock N’ Roll – Rainbow
Country/Folk: Quarter Moon in a Ten Cent Town – Emmylou Harris; Waylon and Willie, Waylon Jennings & Willie Nelson; Comes a Time – Neil Young
Funk/Soul: Money Talks – The Bar-Kays; Twer Nyame – Ebo Taylor; Come Get It! – Rick James; Shuffering and Smiling – Fela Kuti
Other: Lanquidity – Sun Ra; The Kick Inside – Kate Bush
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