Mine eyes have seen the glory

Squint - Steve Taylor (1993)

While Steve Taylor's reputation for challenging, even confrontational music has probably infuriated as many critics as it has won over fans, his songs generally seem to mitigate the inherent polemic with his in-your-face offbeat humour. Squint, however, is effective in its opposite impression. It gains an edge not found in much of his previous work by accentuating its very seriousness, allowing its quirky undercurrent to permeate more subtly.

For example, the title character in "The Lament Of Desmond R. G. Underwood-Frederick IV", (87), has just had that visit to the doctor that no one ever wants to have. "The news of my impending death," he says, "came at a really bad time for me." As Desmond examines his life, Taylor unsheathes his satiric blade against the self-absorption of new age psychology. Yet the shelves of bookstores to this day are lined with self-help theories that offer no tangible aid but to the author's bank account.

In "Bannerman", (73), Taylor is joined by former Chagall Guevara bandmate Dave Perkins on guitar. A tribute to the guys who hold up those John 3:16 signs at football games and such, Taylor has gone to great lengths in interviews to dispel any cynical slant to the song. "He ain't gonna change the world," Taylor sings of his hero, "but he knows who can." Perhaps a little dated in a post-"Stone Cold" Steve Austin world, but even Austin's catchphrase affirms that the direct boldness of "Bannerman"'s actions still resonate in the memories of many today. Accordingly, then, its composition is the most like cheeky 80s-Taylor of anything on Squint.

The complacency of those who should know better is an oft-shot target of Taylor throughout this album. Self-satisfaction is revved up to outright pomposity on the next song, though, called "Smug", (87). Comparing the posing and posturing of the church to the chest-beating and self-promotion of political pundits like Rush Limbaugh and the shallow beauty and pageantry of fashion models, Taylor has obviously heard enough sermons with all the sincerity of an awards show thank-you speech.

"Welcome to our church," he sings, "Strike the proud pose of our country club brethren, friendly as a tomb." It brings to mind Jesus' rant in Matthew 23:27: "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You look like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of dead men's bones and everything unclean." Phil Madeira's turn as an arrogant teacher as the song fades out is bone-chilling.

Rare indeed is it to come across someone who truly gets it as much as Taylor in the song "Jesus Is For Losers", (97), (http://www.mediafire.com/?s56cuhyvjr5zmzo). Christ himself told the self-righteous religious leaders of his day that his purpose was to bring physical and spiritual relief to the sick and to sinners. Where a self-satisfied piety fostered exclusivity and kept the religious adherents away from those they felt beneath them, Jesus ministered to prostitutes, cheats, the downtrodden and the ignored. As Taylor writes, "the self-made need not apply." That is good news even today for those shunned and cast aside as irrelevant by a world determined only to feed its own insatiable gut. There seems to be little difference today even in so many churches more interested in serving themselves than the obvious needs of others.

But this song deftly swerves from becoming a self-righteous condemnation itself. Riffing a bit on John Newton's "Amazing Grace" (1779) and Charlotte Elliot's "Just As I Am" (1835), Taylor knows the depravity of his own heart, exposing his own "stiff-necked" pride by calling himself an easily distracted, fame-hungry "fool" and "wretch." In somber reflection, he realizes, "we both know what we deserve." Sick of following himself around in fruitless circles, he finds redemption in a humble breakdown breakthrough "at the foot of the cross." Accepting the radical dichotomies of Christ, where the first is last and strength is manifest in weakness, Taylor presents a mature understanding that it is only through brokenness that he is made whole.

No less powerful a song is "The Finish Line", (96), (http://www.mediafire.com/?ncsa2cgyx6xy421). Bold and honest, it recounts the inevitable fall from grace that occurs from even the most inspired and determined intentions. Racing off with a promise to be true, the protagonist of this song discounts how utterly difficult the oncoming days of life really are ("as every little god buys its pound of flesh"), as the narrow path gets tighter and smaller and farther and farther away from where the majority of everyone else seems to be headed. It doesn't take long before the "vision blurs," as "the heart is weak, the will is gone and every strong conviction comes tumbling down."

With strength beyond himself, however, the protagonist's story echoes the words of Paul to Timothy: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith," (2 Timothy 4:7). Even through times of hiding, injury, hypocrisy and frustration, this "average" guy is never abandoned by a loving and faithful God. He learns, however eventually, from his knocks and proceeds "bloodied but wise as [he] squint[s] with the light of the truth in [his] eyes" to complete that which he has begun, keeping a "steady ... gaze" toward "the finish line."

"The Moshing Floor", (91), is certainly a child of 1993. Taking the malaise of the grunge movement, exemplified through perfectly disinterested backing vocals, "whatever, whatever", this song thrashes its way through the disillusionment of a generation adrift. Challenging the apathy, focusing the energy, still recognizing its creative force, Taylor's song offers encouragement to the hopeless as opposed to the rejection and abandonment they are more familiar with.

A similar idea is worked from a different angle on "Easy Listening", (91), as a grandfather in 2044 chastises his grandchildren for trying to rouse a fat, sacred cow. Over a wicked reggae-gone-weird drop, he pines for a return to the comfortable religion of his turn-of-the-century youth, our current times, marked by the churches we well know, devoted to thick wallets, big cars and housekeepers. "I didn't hear none of this 'sacrifice' bull," he informs his grandchildren whose fuss-raising is extremely inconvenient. Preferring the "sweet nothings" of a silver tongue to the gravel voice of hard truth is the spiritual equivalent to listening to Barry Manilow.

Psalm 37 provides the chorus to "Curses", (93), an expression of God's enduring protection and faithfulness. The verses of the song, austere but mobilized on an abundant bass line, contrast that with the all-too common modern horror of men, so full of self-interest, ditching their wives and families. As Jerry McPherson's guitar skillfully surges and wanes, Taylor pulls no punches, calling such men outright "deserter[s]."

Nailing Prince-like vocals along with The Revolution's signature soft funk as well as anyone up until the Flaming Lips' "Free Radicals (A Hallucination Of The Christmas Skeleton Pleading With A Suicide Bomber)" from At War With The Mystics (2006), "Sock Heaven", (83), fashions an effective washer/dryer analogy. Like the sock missing its match after being put through the wringer and tumbled around recklessly, this song questions the seeming careless nature of the universe.

While accepting his absolute inability to fathom God's actions, ("I was sure you were sovereignly watching us dangle"), Taylor trusts nevertheless, ("Don't get it now, but I'll get it ... in sock heaven"). Appealing to misfits everywhere, those who "didn't want more than to be understood," Taylor's empathy echoes the spirit of W.A. Fletcher's classic, (arranged by J.R. Baxter and W.B. Stevens), "Farther Along" (1911).

The first act of the album closer, "Cash Cow (A Rock Opera In Three Small Acts)", (88), is basically a cappella stage instructions, the tolling of bells bringing on act two and the meat of the song. Taylor recites a fable based loosely on Exodus 32, where the children of Israel "and most of the adults" erect their golden idol in the shape of a calf. Again, this song does not presume to stand in judgment of others, but is rather an amber light. It cautions just how easy it is for even ourselves to be swayed by the distant sound of a cash register going off in our hearts. "I too was hypnotized," Taylor writes, "the last time I uttered those three little words: 'I deserve better!" This is followed by a thirty-second intermission and act three, an instrumental guitar, strings and drum rock-out which wraps up the album with authority.

Taylor's label at the time was Warner Brothers, which allowed him to pop the image of Bugs Bunny on the promo "Lament ..." CD cover. This disc, released to radio stations, features rock single "The Lament Of Desmond R.G. Underwood-Frederick IV" along with Adult Contemporary single "Jesus Is For Losers". Also included are twenty so-called "Squintlets", Taylor's director's commentary, as it were. With the exceptions of "Jesus Is For Losers" and "Easy Listening", Taylor discusses his inspiration and ideas behind each Squint track.

Besides a live album two years later and a couple of compilation appearances, Squint remains Steve Taylor's final musical output. Working more in the medium of film since then, Taylor could hardly have chosen a more courageous album to go out on. Unloading unabashedly on an egomaniacal world where every selfish decision compounds the hurt and suffering of others, and in no way exempting his own culpability, this album points to our need for something bigger than ourselves for hope and redemption.

Squint (album): 88/100.

Early morning rain

These Were - The Earlies (2005)

The Earlies are a half-American and half-British band. They borrow freely and effectively from musical antecedents on both sides of the Atlantic while crafting this blissful and above-all reassuring debut album. These Were The Earlies is at times orchestral and electronic, psychedelic and poppy, remaining at all times absorbing.

"In The Beginning", (80/100), is a good place to start. This is just a short prologue, as it were. In its less than thirty seconds, though, the album's major motif, "Mother Mary and the morning wonder, take me home," is introduced, while the orchestra, in essence, warms up. A choir of chirping birds joins in, and to lend credibility to the ostentatious tone of the biblical title, 1 Thessalonians 4:18 is quoted.

And what words shall then comfort the tormented soul? The next song is titled, "One Of Us Is Dead", (86). The singer of this song reads those words on the t-shirt of a passerby, and then later in a newspaper, which understandably starts him ruminating. The reflective mood is carried very casually by a gentle synth and a subtle drum loop. The song is chill, not like a corpse, but as one so enraptured as to have possibly missed the occurrence of his own death. Of course, the death lottery is only a win to one who believes something good is coming after. The album goes quickly from beginning to end, sampling a sermon on Revelation 21:5 in a reverb-drunk bridge: "I am making everything new."

While "One Of Us" evokes the Beatles' "A Day In The Life" (1967), the next track, "Wayward Song", (88), is performed with a wink and a nod to Kansas. "Wayward son, you've lost your head again," the singer confides with encouragement: "you've got to carry on." The song describes the internal toil that guilt wreaks, especially when falling short of one's own standards. Like "Carry On Wayward Son" from Kansas' Leftoverture (1976), lyrics such as "take a load off your weary head" are offered as a source of invigoration to one in superego burnout. The Earlies song employs liberal use of strings, woodwinds, and a nice piano run.

The whimsical instrumental, "Slow Man's Dream", (83), is aptly titled for its dozy ambience. A sparse synth intro heralds flute and even jingle bell accompaniment. Halfway through, the song's pace and tone pick up a little as piano enters with cello. "25 Easy Pieces", (88), (http://www.mediafire.com/?kutkj1x91gg6qmg), sounds like a slow motion tribal chant, perhaps even processed backwards. The percussion flitters almost like insects about the mechanical "gears" and electronic guts of this song, while the bells brought in to wind this one down are absolutely luminous.

The album's magnum opus may well be "Morning Wonder", (97), (http://www.mediafire.com/?t85068d53m096dq). The first two minutes and twenty seconds develop a propulsive engine, ever ascending via narcotic guitar riff and hypnotic synthy swoops before the "Mother Mary" line makes its striking return. Not long on lyrics, the song is a call-and-answer of the soul, the "take me home" prayer served by the "It's alright, my baby" response. The music is vivid, each sound alive and absolutely enthralling, attaining another height at 3:30, reaching one more at 4:17.

"The Devil's Country", (92), is a counterpoint of "Morning Wonder". Equally vivid, the comforting calm of "Morning" is traded here for turbulent, yet intriguing danger. The other side of that coin is one ravaged by brash, heavy brass and sulphuric-squeaky saxophone. A queasy, discordant chorus feels like it's melting off the record's edge. Seeking shelter, the Earlies signal another British classic rock bastion with the first verse's "like the stones on parade, your marchin' time's just a shot away."

Perhaps there is even a third side to that coin. The winds recede to start "Song For #3", (80), fitting for what amounts to a lullaby. Invoking another call and answer, the soothing female replies in the second verse just might subdue a fevered listener into a fetal position. The bridge, with all the warmth and sound of a Charlie Brown special, lyrically intones the Fab Four, "When will they get back to where they once belonged?", while the chorus, "How long will we sing this song?", calls to mind U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" (1983).

Next, "Lows", (84), are, of course, the natural result of highs. This instrumental is as serene and composed as anything else on the album, though, perhaps suggesting the lows and highs of life are easier to handle with a mellow balance.

The tempo is raised slightly on "Bring It Back Again", (88), which forgoes the classic rock callouts, at least momentarily. This time Francis Scott Key gets the nod, with "Oh, can you see by the early light?" bestowing an anthemic weight upon the track. A nice pat on the Earlies' own back follows shortly, with "I am lost in a slow man's dream." There is some of the intrinsic momentum that "Morning Wonder" earlier exhibited, though muted here a little. Along with some bells and the rain, the singer of this song wants his heart back.

Finally, "Dead Birds", (86), allows "Mother Mary" her ultimate advent. Extrapolating the oft-repeated line's last "home" into an orchestral onslaught that feels like it should go on longer nearly plunges the album into chaotic unravelling. It gathers itself together, however, for one final verse and the album is afforded ending with the same line it opened with.

Surprisingly coherent for what essentially amounts to a collection of songs released on earlier singles and EPs, These Were provides plenty of neural stimulation, allowing one to ponder the great mysteries or simply veg on the sleek-cast tunes. With several references to eyes and sight, the Earlies conceive an album projecting its vision through a glass darkly and sincerely.

These Were (album): 86/100.

Flowing like a river to the sea

Time Takes Time - Ringo Starr (1992)

It was the first studio album in nine years from the much maligned Richard Starkey, otherwise known as the former drummer for some Liverpool moptop band. Dropped by Polydor/Atlantic after sharply declining sales in the late '70s, Starr managed only one album with RCA, 1981's Stop And Smell The Roses, before suffering the same fate. Little interest in its Joe Walsh-produced follow-up, Old Wave (1983), prevented that LP's release in both the US and the UK.

A follow-up to Old Wave was begun in 1987 with producer "Chips" Moman in Memphis. Fourteen tracks were allegedly laid down, with appearances from Eric Clapton, Carl Perkins, Dave Edmunds and Bob Dylan. Disillusioned with the results and fading into alcoholic haze, Starr pulled the plug on the project.

Time Takes Time, then, marks Ringo's musical and sober return to form. Breaking from the past affords Starr to start from scratch. Armed with a renewed sense of positivity, the songs presented here are imbued with a long-absent passion. Shedding the dregs of the past allows one to see more clearly the riches there. Thus, while celebrating a victorious present and anticipating a bright future, Time's tunes are still pleasantly tinged with a late-60s pop sensibility.

It would seem Starr himself was elated to finally get the monkey off his back. "Weight Of The World", (85/100), the album's upbeat opening track and lead single, suggests there is a ton of junk in everybody's rearview mirror. Some of it is there by one's own indiscretions, some of it by those of others. Keeping a tight grasp on old pain is an impossible task, carrying it around along the lines of Atlas or Sisyphus is no way to live. Looking firmly forward, Starr realizes, "You either kiss the future or the past goodbye."

"Start swinging," Ringo quips to begin the next track, "Don't Know A Thing About Love", (83). A loose tempo and tight background harmonies from Jellyfish's Roger Manning and Andy Sturmer and the Knack's Doug Fieger and Berton Averre undeniably make this an ideal tune for bopping and swaying. Juxtaposing the amazing technological advances and scientific accomplishments of humankind with the void of love that seems to be left in their wake, the song is co-written by original Heartbreakers drummer Stan Lynch along with Richard Feldman, who co-wrote "Promises" for Eric Clapton in 1978. These first two tracks are both produced by Don Was and feature keyboards from Heartbreaker Benmont Tench and artful guitar by super-sessionist Mark Goldenberg, all of whom Ringo dutifully thanks at the song's conclusion.

"Don't Go Where The Road Don't Go", (88), is one of three tracks Starr co-wrote for Time, each with art-rocker Johnny Warman, and this one also with former Rod Stewart-heyday writer/guitarist Gary Grainger. Electric Light Orchestra conductor/Traveling Wilbury Jeff Lynne steps into the production booth for this song, presumably in those rare moments he is not in the actual studio laying down guitar, bass, keys and background vocals for it. Wisely taking his "with a little help from ..." to extremes, Ringo also calls in George Harrison's favourite saxophonist Jim Horn and cellist extraordinaire, Suzie Katayama, with a slew of credits dating back to Earth, Wind & Fire's Powerlight (1983) and Prince And The Revolution's Purple Rain (1984), to contribute their respective talents to this rousing rocker. Ringo reiterates the need to leave disappointment behind, referencing his own "It Don't Come Easy" (1971).

Peter And Gordon singer/guitarist Peter Asher produces "Golden Blunders", (86), Ringo's faithful cover of the Posies single from Dear 23 (1990). If anything, perhaps this version is just slightly more restrained, but Ringo's drumming is excellent and his accent works wonderfully for the lyrics admonishing rushing into a loveless marriage. Asher also supplies tambourine and joins the background choir, as does Andrew Gold, of 1978's "Thank You For Being A Friend" fame, whose guitar solo at 1:38 confers a gentle energy to the song.

"All In The Name Of Love", (76), is a fairly standard glove-dove-love song but is notable for being Mark Hudson's first appearance on a Ringo album. Providing some percussion and background vocals here, Hudson would go on to be a major collaborator on Ringo's next four studio albums, writing, producing and playing most of the material from Vertical Man (1998) until a falling out during the Liverpool 8 (2008) sessions. Written by Jerry Lynn Williams, who played guitar with a young Jimi Hendrix for Little Richard as a youngster, and later wrote songs for blues legends like Clapton, B.B. King and Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan, "All" is the first of two Phil Ramone-produced tracks on Time.

Johnny Warman signed with Starr's Ring O' Records label in 1977, managing a European-only 7" and one album, Hour Glass, released only in Germany, before its bankruptcy the next year. Obviously staying in touch, the second Starkey/Warman effort on Time is "After All These Years", (85). Lynne delivers a '50s feel in producing this track, from his piano hammering to his spot-on Chuck Berry guitar impersonation. There is a sense, then, of pressing on in the face of lost innocence in this happy song, mostly concerned with "dancing ... on a Saturday night" and "rocking all over the world."

The Jellyfish return on "I Don't Believe You", (86). Written by Sturmer and Manning, appropriating glorious Beatlesque chord progressions, harmonies, handclaps and even a title full of personal pronouns, this might be the closest cousin to an early Fab Four track on the album. The song, despite evincing the frustration of a guy sick of being lied to, still preserves the celebratory feeling of the album under Don Was' production. Tench returns behind the piano and organ, while Storyville's David Grissom drops by on acoustic guitar. Though never officially released on a Jellyfish album, a demo of this track does appear on the Fan Club rarities boxset (2002).

Phil Ramone's second production credit is on the third Starkey/Warman composition, the socially conscious but respectfully complex "Runaways", (90), (http://www.mediafire.com/?up8vb6c61m8ldzv). This song is quite a departure from what might be considered the usual Ringo fare. There is no chummy goofiness, no aggrandized self-referentializing, no easy answers given. Invoking the dangerous air of solitude it describes, "Runaways" is indeed a sober moment on a rather cheerful CD, but still in no way oppressive. Super-sessionist Michael Thompson accompanies former Steely Dan member and Doobie Brother Jeff "Skunk" Baxter on guitar, while Harry Nilsson joins the chorus of back-up vocalists in one of his final recordings before his untimely death.

The incontrovertible goodvibes are back "In A Heartbeat", (88), (http://www.mediafire.com/?mnmffsxipm8xgmp). This can be mostly attributed to the awesome "doot-doot-doot" of none other than Beach Boy Brian Wilson, a guy who knows a thing or two about creative, euphoric background harmony. The Dianne Warren-penned song is a self-described cloud chaser, lavishing true love on a lucky recipient, a too-rare security by way of an equally touching and catchy "I'll be there" no matter what vow.

That could be a very strong ending for Time right there. Ringo, however, pulls out one more, slightly harder, a little more aggressive, which actually effectively brings the album to an even more satisfying finish. Producing both, Don Was brings strings to the album's energetic closer, "What Goes Around", (88), giving it a distinct but never less enchanting feel. Once again taking encouragement from an unusual source, literally digging it from the ashes of failure, Ringo and his crew, including Sturmer, Manning and Gold, recite the famous karmic maxim that everybody eventually gets what they deserve. Whether or not there is any evidence of that in the actual world, this song is confident in its determined zeal.

The Japanese edition of Time also features Ringo's straightforward take on the Otis Blackwell/Elvis Presley hit, "Don't Be Cruel". Produced by Lynne, it also ended up as a b-side on the "Weight Of The World" cd-single. The b-side of the German "Don't Go Where The Road Don't Go" single is "Everybody Wins", co-written by Ringo with Warman and produced by Asher. It was re-recorded in 2010 under its proper title, "Everyone Wins" for Y Not.

Despite the four-headed producer beast, Time Takes Time maintains a sense of cohesion. It sounds good, feels good and it's also good to have a Ringo album where he is the sole drummer. Saturating the market over the last dozen years with fluctuating solo records and an endless string of live albums with diminishing All-Starr bands has obscured the fact that there is life in Ringo Starr's catalogue. It is no waste to take time, yes, to smell the roses, and to hear Ringo at his best.

Time Takes Time (album): 85/100.

Gotta get a message to you

Transmission - The Tea Party (1997)

On their first three albums in the early 90s, Canada's The Tea Party earned an esteemed reputation by weaving the hard rock sensibilities of the west with the instruments, rhythms and textures of the far and middle east. Crafting songs of philosophically-bent lyrics and dense layers of exotic orchestration, no instrument was too difficult or obscure for the band to learn.

For their fourth album, Transmission, the trio add yet one more layer to the mosaic, a pervasive electronic motif. While the electronic embellishments are prominent, they are applied always precisely, in no way detracting from the vitality of the music presented.

The change is apparent right off the bat, though. The album opener, "Temptation", (82/100), is a good example of the merged musical styles. Opening with the artful ruminations of a tar, an Iranian lute thought to be an ancestor of the modern guitar, the first hint of an electronic loop enters around :20, vanishes and re-enters at :47. All manner of electronic swoops and swirls then follow a Zeppelin-esque beat as the song finds its stimulus. There is also a synthesized symphonic element in the bridge of this song about one who has sadly "lost all control" to the sly, illusory machinations of the world.

A buzzy riff animates "Army Ants", (87), arguably Transmission's hardest and purest track. Very little, if any, production ornamentation is evident here, allowing throat-scorched vocals to "still shine on" with pedal-gorged guitars and bash-and-bang drums. Apparently inspired by Russian novelist Yevgeny Zamyatin's We (1921), its "Kashmir"-like bridge at 2:43 also affords a John Paul Jones reference.

According to psychologist C. G. Jung, a "Psychopomp", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?qfqcoc0q185sb2o), is an intermediary between the conscious and the unconscious. Historically understood as a guide or conductor of souls between the realms of the living and the dead in the mythology of most cultures, the ancient Greek's Charon is perhaps the most renowned. He'd also seem to be a particular favourite of the band, what with the Styx being the "The River" in question on the opening cut of Splendor Solis (1993).

The Transmission track, developed by vocalist/guitarist Jeff Martin and drummer Jeff Burrows since they were teenagers, is an unqualified epic as presented here. The first verse is soft, an acoustic strum backed by an industrially flavoured sequence, and introduces the unforgettable piano riff that becomes the song's leitmotif. Synth-strings and drums are added to the second verse which are amplified for the chorus. By the song's second chorus at 3:24, the severity has further heightened with a killer electric guitar melody. The Tom Lord-Alge mix, offered on the Psychopomp promo single, is slightly shorter, minimizing the industrial sequence while emphasizing the fuzzy guitar.

"Gyroscope", (91), coils itself into being, its riff a dizzy whirlwind. The guitars blast powerful gusts of chords here, swelling under electronic treatments. Like the device for which it's named, this song maintains its orientation amidst the chaos of even "worlds ... collid(ing)". The song pushes forward with irrepressible momentum until it just as impressively winds down at the end. Among the best lines: "'Quiet now,' she said, 'you're waking up the dead.'"

The album traverses the terrain of nightmare in "Alarum", (90), negotiating "darkness", disturbance, "desperation" and "devastation". The rupture of vocals on the choruses indicate the cracks of extreme pressure on the dread face of fear that is becoming no more than the sum of one's animalistic impulses. The lyrics name-check Italian engraver Giovanni Battista Piranesi as the architect of the harsh landscape, much like one of his frightening and grotesque imaginary prisons, at once complex and cavernous.

The next track was released as a single to benefit the White Ribbon campaign, opposing violence against women. "Release", (94), driven by a rich, yet ominous keyboard flush and a steady bass-drum thump, is an earnest appeal for gender reconciliation. Martin has gone so far as to deem this song "an apology to women" for the abuse and discrimination they face around the world even today. The charity single features another Tom Lord-Alge remix (as well as Rhys Fulber's extended take on "Temptation", which showed up again in 2000 on the Special Tour Edition of Triptych). The album version is followed by the first of two hidden tracks Transmission harbours, an untitled fifteen-second failed phone call drowned in reverb.

This sets up the title track nicely. "Transmission", (93), itself begins with a call to arms. As if by some electronic ram's horn at the walls of Jericho or a conch in the hands of Triton on the Aegean shore, listeners are summoned to attention. A sample of a clearly agitated voice then enters. Its words, reputedly from a Lebanese funeral chant, remain unclear despite frequent repetition. Ushering in the chorus, another voice declares "I think I hear it, man," regarding the message being transmitted, which might acknowledge the seeming futility of communication, while striving still for understanding. The mesmeric rhythm reminds there are means of expression that transcend mere words.

The Tower of Babel comes to mind as the next track, "Babylon", (74), begins, although no overt mention of it occurs in the song's lyrics. Neither are the decadence and glory of the once mighty empire recounted here, but rather its inevitable collapse: "glimpses of grandeur now faced with defeat". The song itself is very repetitive, with no bridge to break up the monotony of verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, verse, chorus. Tinny drum programming in the first verse feels overdone and distracting. "Babylon", however, is followed by what may be the album's premier interlude, the second hidden track, entitled "Embryo", which fashions an outstanding synth-sequence and piano duet for two minutes.

"Pulse", (90), is another very good song, opening with a nice wah-capped lick. The verse melody is reminiscent of that of "Alarum", and like "Alarum", a dream is described at one point. The horror of this dream, though, is in disregarding one's own transience. As on most of Transmission, the necessary and beneficial end of existence is recognized with a stoic "nothing's forever". Even empires crumble, even songs fade. This one ends rather abruptly, though, as if being sucked through a vacuum.

The gentle strum of "Emerald", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?qme5l1dlu2mz541), then, paired with an ever-so-slight keyboard purr feels calming and reassuring to begin. A treated snare on the verses adds to the sense of reverie. The power of this compelling song is only augmented when the electric guitars literally burst through for each chorus. The double-tracked vocal harmony on "I'll be waiting for you" is an aggressively convincing call to come away from the "dark, lonely place" where people unsuccessfully try to hide from their pain.

Approaching complete mechanization for "Aftermath", (89), the album winds down in mellow contemplation. The wavy sounds of transistor radio tuning permeate the subdued track, with only vocals and drums to preserve a human element. The percussion is strong, whether rendering the impression of striking pipes, as on the verses, or the eightfold bap that brings the song its most elation leading into each chorus. Even in the darkest worlds, even when time is wasted and taken for granted, "glimpses of hope exist."

Although credited for conception or direction of art in nearly all Tea Party projects, Transmission surprisingly marks the sole instance of bassist Stuart Chatwood's own work gracing the cover of one. The painting here is entitled, "The Earth We Inherit"

Even for its often gothic and industrial feel, Transmission does relay a positive beginnings-from-ends type vibe. There would be even more changes to the Tea Party's style by the time their next album, Triptych, dropped in 1999. Espousing a more radio-friendly approach would garner their greatest commercial success, but it is on their earlier albums, like Transmission, where the band creates its legacy.

Transmission (album): 89/100.

The power and the glory

Kingdom Come - Sir Lord Baltimore (1970)

In the early days when rock was still hardening, the power trio Sir Lord Baltimore erupted with an album boosting the frenzy to a new level. Losing their keyboardist before the album sessions even began did not faze the group in the least. If anything, the remaining three members amped up their own contributions in creating a debut, Kingdom Come, for the ages.

The name Louis Dambra has not entered the lexicon alongside contemporaries like Tony Iommi and Ritchie Blackmore, but as soon as the riff-deranged "Master Heartache", (90/100), begins, one realizes one is listening to something equally explosive. The guitar squeals and burns no less than those of the aforementioned, even harkening at times to Alex Lifeson of a soon-to-be-formed power trio. John Garner busts out thundering vocals all over the scale while laying down a bombastic beat.

Everything is turned up even farther on "Hard Rain Fallin'", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?7c4698di3h67g21). How the strings don't melt on the guitar solos at :51 and 1:59 is as much a mystery as why this album languishes in obscurity. Gary Justin rounds out the heavy brew with flourish, acknowledging his murky bass inspiration by way of Jack Bruce, from a recently disbanded power trio of his own.

A Morrison-esque "Fi-yuhh!" begins the next track, appropriately enough, "Lady Of Fire", (87). With swagger befitting such a histrionic album, this song eschews conventional structures of the day, (establishing hard rock conventions of the future), with schizophrenic guitars all over the place, even bouncing back and forth on stereo channels. One particular riff brings to mind one that Deep Purple would later use on their 1973 hit, "Woman From Tokyo". The maniacal vocals here conjure a twisted cocktail of Lemmy Kilmister and Uli Jon Roth.

"Lake Isle Of Inersfree", (86), is the only song on the album for which co-producers Mike Appel and Jim Cretecos do not share co-writing credit with Dambra. Appel, who played in The Balloon Farm which charted "A Question Of Temperature" in 1967, also wrote songs for The Partridge Family, and the would go on to co-produce Bruce Springsteen's first three albums. Cretecos also co-wrote for the Partridges and was around to co-produce the first two Springsteen efforts in 1973.

"Inersfree", however, is a definite departure from everything else on Kingdom. The regal tones of harpsichord open the song and are soon complimented by twelve-string acoustic. As such, it takes a moment or two to reorient oneself, but the song delivers. Building from lost love lament to a powerful "What's become of my life?" denouement, the drastic turn in mood leaves a bold impression. No overt thematic connection is apparent to W.B. Yeats' similarly-titled poem "Lake Isle Of Innisfree" (1888), or to the Dick Farrelly song, "Isle Of Innisfree" (1950), aside from yearning, but for very different things.

The gusto returns in short order as side one ends with "Pumped Up", (90). The band plays as though feeling the need to make up for having committed the atrocity of an acoustic number. This insanity is full-scale, from the shriek of Garner's knife-edge howl to the delirious rhythm, but made especially and utterly manifest when Dambra's guitar literally solos at 2:15, leaving even the rest of the band behind (perhaps in Inersfree?).

Side two begins with the thick and fat riff of the title track, "Kingdom Come", (94). Like all good epics of the early 70s, this song's got tall ships in danger, sirens, wizards and a phoenix to keep those parts of one's mind occupied which are not completely liquefied by the unrelenting onslaught of double-tracked guitar. Alternately sludge-fuzzy and trumpet-sharp, this song, with its suitably bold title, is nothing less than a proclamation of rock arrival.

"I Got A Woman", (82), is a wild tribute to one who "make(s) love real" for the narrator. There is a nice instrumental passage beginning at 2:17 with just the rhythm section. The guitar soon falls in with a fevered riff to embody the passion being sung about. That passion is even more pronounced in "Hell Hound", (88). The "born to the midnight" woman celebrated in this emphatic song has triggered an emotional outburst of volcanic proportions. In spite of the by-now familiar bluster, an enigmatic shroud is generated.

The next track is more straightforward. Two instrumental passages open "Helium Head (I Got A Love)", (95), (http://www.mediafire.com/?edkc82w8k2yof5r). The first, an ascending riff embellished by squeaks of molten guitar and crazy drum rolls, is later in the song entrancingly augmented with moans like the chants of Benedictine monks. It gives way to a more hyper passage before insatiable vocals finally enter at 1:01. "Helium" repeats this structure into a blistering coda that rages unrestrained until basically burning itself out, everything fading away but the drums.

The album then concludes with its shortest song, "Ain't Got Hung On You", (92). In no way less vehement, the guitars, vocals and drums scratch, rasp and hammer one more time, giving a sonically big album a deservedly big finish. Stunned listeners to this day are looking for the number of whatever just hit them.

CD reissues of Kingdom begin with the title track and the rest of side two before going back to side one. Reason for the switch is unknown but not unprecedented. The Seventy Sevens also transposed the vinyl sides when their 1984 album All Fall Down was finally released on CD.

Sir Lord Baltimore never rocked as hard as on this album. They released a self-titled successor the next year, but even adding Dambra's brother Joey with another guitar to the mix could not possibly reach Kingdom levels. Work on a third album was aborted by the band breaking up, but was eventually reworked lyrically and released independently in 2006 as Sir Lord Baltimore III Raw. While certainly worth a listen, even at its most rollicking, it too cannot realistically be expected to match one of the most raucous albums ever recorded.

Kingdom Come (album): 90/100.

Sit and listen to 'em by myself

Songs For Singles - Torche (2010)

The band is tight, the music loud, but there is also an element of fun on Songs For Singles, beginning right with its double-edged title. While nothing here overtly suggests this collection of songs is better suited to the lonely or solitary, they are, however, short and radio friendly. Well, to a hard rock station, anyway. But the songs generally stick to less than the three-and-a-half minute radio breaking point. As a matter of fact, only the last two songs run any longer than 2:17.

The songs are bite-sized portions of massively heavy riffs, one flowing effortlessly into another. It has the illusory effect of casting an album full of little songs into one twenty-two minute epic.

Singles opens with "U.F.O.", (82/100), a rumbling behemoth which somehow incorporates all its raw energy and fury into one minute and fifty-three seconds. The song first appeared in demo form on Phoning It In: A Hydra Head Digital Sampler (2010), adopting the squeals, grunts and otherwise enthusiastic vocalizations of David Lee Roth from Van Halen's 1978 "Runnin' With The Devil". While having an odd charm and even an unexpected appropriateness to it, Steve Brooks' vocals on the album version transfer the song to the more disenchanted 2010s, with the music sounding even bigger.

"Lay Low", (78), is the album's shortest number, clocking in at fifty-one intense seconds. The guitar is sharp and lots of cymbal is employed. Similar to something by a band like The Sword, for example, this song magnifies big noise without ever losing control of its melody.

With all this rampant aggression, perhaps Torche's greatest accomplishment on the album is somehow mitigating the rough edges by their smooth playing. Make no mistake, these songs are fast and boisterous. Volume is not spared, nor passion sacrificed. The music gains power by precision but without overpowering and destroying its own listeners.

One example of this is a great guitar solo on "Hideaway", (82), the second part of which, around 1:09, manages to produce a nice screech that does not deteriorate into annoyance. The song's entirety lasts only two seconds more than two minutes, but again, packs a punch its size belies.

Another example is the blunt, imposing beat that beckons war as "Arrowhead", (85), begins. When the vocals and guitars enter with an ardour that could incite armies into final combat, the threat does not extend to listeners. Of course, any battle with this song as its cry would have to conclude within 2:17, anyway.

A recurring screech almost becomes a chorus in the first part of "Shine On My Old Ways", (87). Astonishingly, three distinct sections are evident in a song twelve seconds shy of two minutes. The screechy intro gives way to what must constitute a bridge around :50, before riding a drum-heavy feedback-fired instrumental from 1:20 to its finish. Again, the result is invigorating as opposed to irritating.

"Cast Into Unknown", (85), is the last of the particularly short numbers, accomplishing all its rocking in 2:11. The guitars are really charged here, featuring another outstanding long (relatively speaking) solo and extended power-chord fadeout.

Then, finally breaking the three-minute barrier is "Face The Wall", (90), a deliberate trudge pushed by a hefty double-beat spurred by ever-encroaching guitars. Taking its sweet time, this leisurely (again, relatively speaking) rocker easily executes its four-and-a-half minutes. It actually seems too soon when it collapses and closes in its own feedback frenzy.

After all this, with its six minutes and ten seconds, "Out Again", (92), (http://www.mediafire.com/?72u42rycqzo2t5s), is palpably epic. The song's two verses and choruses are finished by 1:30, which leaves the remainder of the song a colossal coda. Settling into a hypnotic groove which lasts longer than any other complete song on the album, the band showcases its prowess one final time, crafting an infectious riff and a storm of elation around it.

One never really gets a chance to get very comfortable or catch their breath on this fast and furious album, but that does not discredit Songs For Singles in any way. There is certainly nothing wrong with brevity and straight-to-the-point feels refreshing in a long-winded world. Probably not an album to doze into sleep with, but as a rock workout, it is hard to match.

Songs For Singles (album): 85/100.

Another somebody done somebody wrong song

Violator - Depeche Mode (1990)

Violator is a well-produced album. Depeche Mode, along with co-producer Flood (Mark Ellis), build songs upon thick layers of sound. Thus, the songs crafted here gain depth from always being sonically engaging and lyrically thought provoking. Being musically daring creates an atmosphere of danger where the production polish never detracts from the dark ambience.

"World In My Eyes", (86/100), begins the album with an ominous sense of foreboding, effected in part by a sinister synth line, doctored and distorted at times, a breathy, infectious beat and the trademark glum delivery of Dave Gahan. The menacing mood of the song would lend itself quite well to some noir spy film, establishing an atmosphere of intrigue curious listeners can't help but succumb to.

Songwriter Martin Gore takes the vocals on "Sweetest Perfection", (88), without disturbing the mood at all. If anything, the haunted string section and discordant tones here only take it up a notch. More and more sounds are added to the mix, each melting and rotting before your ears, as the song's intensification seems to bring it to the very brink of abandon. "Sweetest" compounds itself, a clever analogy of the decay that addiction multiplies, until it ends the only way it really can, abruptly.

Is there light at the end of this dark tunnel? "Personal Jesus", (92), is, of course, one of Depeche Mode's best known songs, covered by a long list that includes Swedish rock n' roller Jerry Williams and American Man In Black, Johnny Cash. Propelling along lines of faith and forgiveness, the real illumination of this song is in truly being there for someone when they need it. How much more tolerable a place the world would be if the proverbs, platitudes and principles so easily dropped from our mouths were actually acted upon.

"Halo", (88), shines a light of another sort. Exposing those who use guilt to manipulate others, this song affirms the beneficial beauty of forgiveness. Likening guilt to "chains" and "shackles," the inherent need to both wilfully allocate and humbly accept grace becomes evident. The strange chords and especially the harmonies of the chorus are remarkable, while a gust of strings takes the song through its fade out.

Next, "Waiting For The Night", (87), is a soft ode to the protective powers of twilight. If you can't hurt what you can't see, this song finds relief in a tranquil, escapist shell, shielded by a shroud of darkness granting a manner of self-assured invincibility through invisibility. "Waiting" seeks asylum by squinting its eyes and covering its ears, which subtly speaks to the kinds of horrors in a world that could drive someone to this.

The yearning for placid stillness continues in "Enjoy The Silence," (100), a song anyone with a penchant for words should heed. Gore's lyrics remind us that "words are trivial ... forgettable ... unnecessary." Politicians, speakers, writers, really anyone who is tempted to open their mouth at some point in time, would do well to consider that the action of the tongue, even well-intentioned, is too often destructive. What we believe will be naturally, and thus more authentically, borne out by actions. Of course, people in need, which is everyone in one way or another, are more likely to be helped by doing something, as opposed to running ragged tongues at them. There's probably more to say about all this, but I fear I've already drooled too many words here. The song with its iconic video can be viewed at: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp2mH9nrz60).

For those of the opinion there is no such thing as too much of a good thing, a fifteen-minute "Quad: Final Mix" is available on the Enjoy The Silence CD-single, along with no less than five other remixes. This song was also remixed in 2004 by Mike Shinoda as "Enjoy The Silence (Reinterpreted)" on Remixes 81-04, and released as a single with a Goldfrapp remix of "Halo" as the b-side.

On Violator, "Enjoy The Silence" is followed by the hidden interlude, "Crucified", a short instrumental, except for one unsettling machine-mangled cry of the title. Then, "Policy Of Truth", (90), examines the cost of honesty in a world of lies. Again, this song seems to prefer to stay in the dark, as it were, away from where truth hurts and no good deed goes unpunished. Even the hypocrisy of expecting honesty when we ourselves are seemingly incapable of giving it is cynically questioned. In a world where every word we hear is tainted with distrust from its very inception, greater significance is placed once again on the things we actually do.

It reminds me of the bridge of the song "Strange Days", from the Swirling Eddies' Outdoor Elvis, (1989), penned by Terry Scott Taylor alter ego, Camarillo Eddy: "And when we took the torch into the night/ We vowed to search the highways for an honest man/ But when we looked into each other's eyes/ We knew it would be best to make some other plan." Also coming to mind is Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein's seventh proposition: "What we cannot speak of, we must pass over in silence," (Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, 1921).

Whether one agrees or not with the song's conclusions, or even if its dire verdict is presented literally or ironically, is almost irrelevant. "Policy Of Truth" affords one the opportunity to contemplate their own values, if there is expediency in lying, if bliss can be truly found in ignorance, or if the ideal of truth is worth keeping completely uncompromised. Conversely, if one does not want to indulge this reflective flavour, "Policy" can be danced to just as well. Musically energetic, a cool recurring guitar twang and beefy brass section help carry these heavy ideas.

Gore grabs the mic for a second turn at vocal duty with "Blue Dress", (83). This song comes out of the shadows long enough to appreciate the kind of authentic happiness which springs from the seemingly smallest of things. Sounds reverberate frequently until the echoey bloops morph into another brilliantly bizarre hidden interlude, titled "Interlude No. 3".

This leads into Violator's final track, "Clean", (93), (http://www.mediafire.com/?gj5ya24fb036t7q). Perhaps as hopeful as Depeche Mode gets, the song leaves its dirty past behind for a better, brighter future. Even so, each change is acknowleged realistically with a chilling, robotic "Sometimes" tempering any unbound optimism. The candid attitude is refreshing, recognizing the future is not easily understood or predicted and that no breakthrough is itself unbreakable. Less sunny than sensible, "Clean" understands its slate is only that for one moment at a time and concludes an excellent album excellently.

The 2006 reissue includes the b-sides from Violator's various singles as bonus tracks. From Personal Jesus comes the catchy, masochistic "Dangerous", followed by the instrumentals "Memphisto" and "Sibeling" from Enjoy The Silence. Both conceive an austere vibe suitable for the closing credits of a sad film, with the former favoured for its intensity. Perhaps the best of all the b-sides, though, is "Kaleid" from Policy Of Truth. Also instrumental, there is a charged guitar base evocative of the Smiths' "How Soon Is Now?" supplying the exhilarating energy of this tune. Finally, the sadistic "Happiest Girl (Jack Mix)" and the impetuous "Sea Of Sin (Tonal Mix)" from the World In My Eyes single revisit some of the album proper's major themes.

What it does not include is the myriad of remixes also available on each respective single and elsewhere. A-sides, b-sides and Violator album cuts have all been reimagined time and again over the years, no doubt sending completists into fits.

Examples of highlights would include the "Personal Jesus (Kazan Cathedral Mix)" from the Sire Records sampler Just Say Da: Volume IV Of Just Say Yes, and the stripped down "bare" versions of "Waiting For The Night" and "Clean" from special releases of DM's 2005 album, Playing The Angel. ("Waiting" comes from iTunes preorders, while "Clean" from the album's limited DVD edition).

Be it even treading the dancefloor, one may come away from this album with a sense that action is truth. I believe my next actions will be to give Violator another listen before retiring to a time of silence, both of which will be enjoyed ...

Violator (album): 89/100.