Fastbacks, “The Question Is No” (SubPop, 1992; original releases 1980-92)
Pioneering Seattle punk combo’s classic years, in singles. The sound is a clattering melodic rush firmly rooted in the Buzzcocks. The sensibility is a kind of suburban bedroom lyricism that foreshadows Rose Melberg, Frankie Cosmos and many more.
Try 2, 7, 10, 12
4/17/16
Fall, “This Nation’s Saving Grace” (Beggar’s Banquet, 1985)
The “Brix era” begins in earnest here, and it’s as great as their earlier stuff, but different. Still the same sinuous, barreling urban ramble-billy with cubist power-chord propulsion, but the old gargoyle monochrome now splashed with odd color. It would be “pop” if the context wasn’t as looking-glass-landscape twisted as ever.
Try 6, 7, 11
4/17/16
Face To Face, “Face To Face” (Epic, 1983)
Featuring “10-9-8,” awesome slow, moody, suspenseful girl-at-night new-wave pop.
Fabian, “The Very Best Of” (United Artists, 1975; original recordings late 1950s/early 1960s)
Any time someone tries to give you that jive about “in the old days, teen idols could actually sing,” remind him/her about Fabian. Compared to him, Bieber, Styles, Jonas et all are Pavarotti and Placido Domingo. And that’s actually Fab’s charm – his flimsy, lurching-for-pitch vocal exertions ride the studio rockabilly here like a drunk hanging onto the end of a freight train. There’s something pathetically heroic about it, almost reminiscent of the Shaggs.
Try 1/ 1, 1/ 2
11/10/16
Francis Bebey, “African Electronic Music 1975-1982” (Born Bad, 2012)
The title is an accurate generic description, but only hints at the weirdness and wonder herein. Using an early synth, the Camerounian Bebey wove a stripped-down minimal-electronic funk with hints of polyrhythm, tossed-off voiceovers, and brain-scrambling sound effects. Picture a Franco-African cross between Zapp and Suicide and you’re getting warm, but you really just gotta hear it.
Try 4, 7, 9, 10.
Fabian, “The Very Best Of” (United Artists, 1975; original recordings late 1950s/early 1960s)
Any time someone tries to give you that jive about “in the old days, teen idols could actually sing,” remind him/her about Fabian. Compared to him, Bieber, Styles, Jonas et all are Pavarotti and Placido Domingo. And that’s actually Fab’s charm – his flimsy, lurching-for-pitch vocal exertions ride the studio rockabilly here like a drunk hanging onto the end of a freight train. There’s something pathetically heroic about it, almost reminiscent of the Shaggs.
Try 1/ 1, 1/ 2
11/10/16