Amongst those I hold close, 2016 has no fans and I’m inclined to concur without hesitation. It wasn’t a complete torrent of crummy news and political ominousness, however; some nifty boxsets were released this year. These are our picks.
10. Carl Stone, Electronic Music of the Seventies and Eighties (Unseen Worlds) A student of Morton Subotnick and James Tenney at CalArts, Stone’s had a long but subterranean musical existence. Active during New Music’s brief vogue, he gathered diverse fans including well-known food writer Jonathan Gold and veteran World Music critic Richard Gehr.
These three LPs plus download card with one 29-minute bonus track offer eight varied pieces utilizing the now common tactic of sampling and manipulation, though Stone’s manner of looping and distending is a bit like a cross between Steve Reich’s “Come Out” and the Plunderphonics of John Oswald; what he does to Motown in “Shibucho” is nothing short of amazing. His pieces from the ’70s, including two relatively short ones on Buchla synth from his CalArts days and even “Kuk Il Kwan” from ’81, are nearer to minimalism and drone. All but one track is unreleased.
9. Randy Newman, Songbook Vol. 1-3 (Nonesuch) When I read about the imminent release of this set’s first volume back in 2003, I was sure it would evince a mighty faltering of wisdom on the part of artist and label. How wrong I was. One of the USA’s finest songwriters acquits himself with nary a hiccup via just piano and that unmistakable voice, and in this writer’s estimation Vol. 1 holds the definitive versions of a few Randy standards. I especially feel that way about “God’s Song (That’s Why I Love Mankind).”
Vol. 2 didn’t come out until nearly eight years later; bluntly, it and the just released third installment aren’t as good, but collected here into a limited edition 4LP set they emphasize the side of Newman that often gets overlooked (by myself included) in favor of praising the unique nature of his gifts; in short, he’s been a working musician in a variety of contexts for over five decades. Here, the three volumes get shuffled up with bonus tracks for a 56-song total; there are lesser entries but not a single clunker, not even “You’ve Got a Friend in Me.”
8. The Scientists, A Place Called Bad (Numero Group) I’m old enough to remember when import copies of Scientists’ vinyl flew out of the bins like exotic pheasants, so this exhaustive documentation holds a pretty high ratio of unheard material; of course, the meat of the matter is here in all its glory; ’83’s Blood Red River, ’84’s “This Heart…” EP, and their only US release during their lifespan, ’85’s Weird Love.
By ’87’s Human Jukebox guitarist-vocalist Kim Salmon was the only founding member remaining in the scenario as the sound had traveled a long way from the hard guitar pop documented on disc one; beautifully damaged swamp-punk was the dish of the day, and this deluxe smorgasbord, the best of Numero Group’s recent spurt of u-ground rock sets, provides them with the annotation they deserve.
7. Washington Phillips, Washington Phillips and His Manzarene Dreams (Dust-to-Digital) It’s testament to Phillip’s artistry that as the mystery surrounding his life has dissipated, the music has retained its unique power. Once thought to have played a modified zither-like instrument called the dulceola, thanks to the research of Michael Corcoran under the auspices of Dust-to-Digital we now know it’s the homemade manzarene.
The 16 songs collected here have been reissued many times, but they’ve never sounded this good nor have they been accompanied with a 76-page hardcover book. And along with the newfound knowledge of Phillips’ background, there’s still nothing else like this around. Pretty and ardent all at once, I’ve witnessed even the most hardened anti-gospelites won over completely by the gentleness of the manzarene and the conviction in Phillips’ singing. It’s a glorious thing to hear.
6. Gas, Box (Kompakt) Carl Stone created in the margins of the ’70s-’80s and was frequently ahead of his time; under multiple monikers and most productively as Gas, musician-producer-label operator Wolfgang Voigt resided closer to the heart of the decade where electronic music’s progressions reached full flower. Gas may not be as well-known as contemporaries Aphex Twin or Boards of Canada, but neither did Voigt’s project languish on the fringe.
Box collects three of Gas’ four albums and the “Oktember” 12-inch; spread across ten LPs and four CDs, the package isn’t for the casual listener, but neither is it overkill. Offering previously unheard extended mixes of numerous tracks, this presents some of the ’90s finest electronica and gives it an exquisite physical manifestation.
5. V/A, Close to the Noise Floor: Formative UK Electronica 1975-1984 (Cherry Red) + V/A, The Microcosm: Visionary Music of Continental Europe, 1970-1986 (Light in the Attic) Roughly a decade ago the blogosphere was chockfull of sites dedicated to uncovering a tide of never reissued aural obscurities for the downloading and delight of avaricious music fans the globe over. The almost ludicrously expansive track-listing to Close to the Noise Floor reads like a flashback to that era as a handful of high-profile entries (Throbbing Gristle, Blancmange, OMD, John Foxx, The Human League) lend clarity.
Carl Stone came out of academe, but most of the territory covered across these four CDs relates to punk, left-field pop and DIY; even at over four hours of music it’s not a comprehensive overview (there’s no “Warm Leatherette” or any other Mute artists, just for starters) but serves instead as an uncommonly well-assembled plunge into post-punk, synth-pop, industrial, minimal wave, ambient, and even warped novelty numbers.
Due to the early adoption of electronics and a small percentage of overlapping intent, The Microcosm pairs well with Cherry Red’s collection while fulfilling Light in the Attic’s thematic objective as a European sequel of sorts to their prior US-focused box set I Am the Center: Private Issue New Age in America 1950-1990. The qualifier comes via much debate over the appropriateness of the New Age tag; it includes selections by early Vangelis, Popul Vuh, Ariel Kalma, Bernard Xolotl, Hans-Joachim Roedelius, and Deuter.
Visionary Music is an adequate substitute term as the descriptor “spiritually inclined drift” can also be fairly applied to a large percentage of the 3LP/ 2CD set’s two hour-plus running time. There’s enough Germanic goings-on that kosmische works as a subheading, as well; by extension, coverage of that celebrated national scene reduces I Am the Center’s sense of discovery and reassessment, but it simultaneously insures a high level of listenability. Worry not; there’s plenty to learn along the way.
4. V/A, Wake Up You! The Rise and Fall of Nigerian Rock Vols. 1 & 2 (Now-Again) + V/A, Music of Morocco from the Library of Congress Recorded by Paul Bowles 1959 (Dust-to-Digital) The Wake Up You! compilations are sold separately, but I find it hard to imagine a prospective buyer needing only one volume for their Afro-rock shelf.
Wielding ’60’s R&B-inflected jams like Formulars Dance Band’s “Never Never Let Me Down” and the Hygrades’ “Keep on Moving,” bolder funk action a la The Hykkers’ “Stone the Flower” and Aktion’s “Groove the Funk,” and the hard rock/ psych-tinged excursions of Waves’ “Wake Up You” and War Head Constriction’s “Shower of Stone,” the sum of these eight sides is unlikely to disappoint. Produced, compiled, and annotated by Uchenna Ikonne in two hardcover books, it’s also brimming with historical illumination and positive mercantile vibes.
This same is true for Music of Morocco, though a crucial difference relates to the commercial nature of Wake Up You!’s contents as Dust-to-Digital’s 4CD collection + 120-page book corrals field recordings made by Paul Bowles with contextualizing notes from the novelist-composer, extensive liners by Phillip Schuyler and an introduction by Lee Ranaldo.
The Sonic Youth guitarist’s involvement is indicative of a certain Beat Generation/ 20th century bohemian mystique, but there is nary a trace of dilettantism; Bowles spent a decade in Morocco before undertaking this project, and he approaches it with seriousness but not solemnity, and if his own preferences influenced the recordings that’s not a flaw. For global sound enthusiasts and lovers of trance music in general, this is simply essential.
3. NRBQ, High Noon: A 50-Year Retrospective + Big Star, Complete Third (Omnivore Recordings) Omnivore’s output in 2016 has been reliably of interest, but these two releases are the best of the bunch. There’s no doubt that NRBQ, bluntly one of American Music’s treasures, fully deserve this 5CD celebration, and they establish their current relevance by filling the first disc with 2005-2016 material; opening with a reading of Sun Ra’s “Love in Outer Space,” it’s a typical sweet ride.
NRBQ is the kind of band that basically couldn’t be invented (except by Thomas Pynchon maybe); outstanding interpreters of a range of material that a novice might read as being too damn wide (Ra to Eddie Cochran to Rogers & Hammerstein to Big Joe Turner to Johnny Cash to Thelonious Monk), the band’s real strengths are in consistently strong original material and even more dependable execution. Want to restore your faith in something or other? Listen to this set.
Complete Third joins 1970: The Complete Fun House Sessions as one of the few comprehensive documents of album construction that’s worth the trouble. Given the combination of mysteriousness and desperation surrounding Big Star’s Third (alternately known as Sister Lovers) this set (which is slated for release on three separate double vinyl editions) is really worth the trouble.
Rykodisc’s ’92 CD edition helped to considerably flesh-out the story, but the experience still felt a lot like eavesdropping on a gradual crack-up. What becomes apparent as these discs unwind is a heretofore imperceptible lingering professionalism as the scenario turned dark. That Third’s worth is bettered through lucidity is testament to the brilliance of Alex Chilton and Jody Stephens.
2. Roy Montgomery, R M H Q: Headquarters (Grapefruit) + Giant Sand The Sun Set: Vol. 1 (Fire) Roy Montgomery is an important figure in New Zealand’s rock history, playing in the too-often slighted early Flying Nun band Pin Group as well as the more experimental ’90s acts Dadamah and Dissolve. His infrequent solo releases are also highly regarded; these four albums, intended as a set but also available separately, are his latest and amongst the best he’s made.
R: Tropic of Anodyne is the only LP featuring Montgomery’s vocals. His warmly distinctive deep delivery is missed on the subsequent sides, but the lack is easily filled by guitar playing. Much of M: Darkmotif Dancehall should interest fans of shoegaze, post-rock, and even the instrumental qualities of Joy Division (a key influence on Pin Group). H: Bender and Q: Transient Global Amnesia are largely more atmospheric and cinematic (titles reference David Lynch and Monica Vitti) as they extend from his prior album Music from the Film Hey Badfinger. It all coheres into an unexpected but extremely satisfying listen.
Howe Gelb holds a higher profile than Montgomery, mainly because the guy’s been indefatigably deepening his discography both solo and as the leader of Giant Sand since the ’80s. But earlier this year Gelb elected to lay his band to rest (he’s continuing to fly solo); this first volume of The Sun Set helps to ease the sting of that decision.
Comprised of six albums ordered not chronologically but alphabetical by title, the unusual tactic intertwines stylistic consistency and growth strengthened by perseverance in the face of retail struggles, certainly in relation to the worthiness of the records. But with time an audience has accrued, and two more volumes of The Sun Set are in the pipeline. They’re going to fill out a superb shelf alongside the equally outstanding 2014 Gelb solo affair Little Sand Box.
1. Otis Redding, Live at the Whiskey A Go Go: The Complete Recordings (Stax) + Ramones 40th Anniversary Deluxe Edition (Rhino) My viewpoint on live records (of a non-jazz nature, anyway) used to be that historical importance was directly proportional to the lack of hoopla over their making. I still largely feel the same, but can’t deny getting a kick out of hearing Otis Redding repeatedly explain to the Whiskey crowd across these seven sets that the purpose of their three-night stand was a prospective performance LP.
Backed by the Otis Redding Revue, it didn’t see release until after the singer’s death, where it provided a grittier contrast to Redding’s more celebrated subsequent work with Booker T. & the M.G.’s (more gutbucket, less finesse). This edition, offering every note they sang and played, illuminates their attempt to transcend the Chittlin’ Circuit not by alteration of style but through strategic cover selections and an ever-heightening rapport between vocalist, band, and audience. For lovers of Redding and ’60s soul in general, it’s a gift of copious enlightenment.
Like live albums, I’m no great fan of most anniversary editions, but akin to the numerous Velvet Underground sets from recent years this one won me over right quick, which is surprising as the Ramones are a band I’ve occasionally taken for granted; too young to have been blown away by their emergence, their greatness was often absorbed by the musicians whose lives they more directly transformed; for many, it was the root of this deluxe edition that changed everything.
Being too young (or too old) is a familiar story, but I’ve long been a Ramones convert, frequently amid claims that they’re overrated; listening to the songs collected here, I’ve never been more inclined to disagree. The dedication to elevated simplicity, the stealth smarts in something seemingly so stupid, and the act of making it new from the rudiments of the tried-and-true; this isn’t my favorite punk record, but I’ll assert without hesitation that there’s never been a better one. It’s poised to alter lives all over again.
