obsolescent: monoliths worth memorializing

The Clash - Sandinista! (1980)

A 36-song triple-LP with a duration of 144 minutes is undoubtedly a daunting proposal, but recollect that this is The Clash we're talking about -- yes, the same Clash who just a year prior had unleashed arguably the most brilliant double-LP of all time while making it sound like it went down without a hitch to boot. So also yes, the very same Clash that don't just modestly churn out 36 good-to-great tunes like no one's business, but do it with barely a lull in those 144 as well. Punky heritage is seldom visited here, most often taking on some form of experimental-ish dub-centric sparkly disco-rock that forays into any genre-combo imagined+yet-to-be-imagined at the time and kids-n-women vox/radio bits/unadulterated 'what the's to keep things lively. A shortage of 'hits' is a fair-enough swap to behold that same ol' sharp-n-adamant Clash use their most excessive juncture to get weirder and funner than ever all-the-while allowing for much musical+textural exploration. 8.5/10

Dirty Projectors - Bitte Orca (2009)

Prog-guitar could be befitting for extreme metal if not played trebly-thin and fuzzed out and/or on what sounds like multiple miniature harps, slightly-androgynous weirdo frontman finds companionship in would-be choir girls who mostly harmonize in yelps and chirps, philosophical queries made during a makeshift-percussion strings-laden r&b smash: in a world they can call their own, these talented quirkoids can nail both fun+complex and sincere+serene with flying colors, often during the same song. With unmistakable character, too: when they extend the invite to live in "a space for you in the basement, yeah", I get the notion that upon accepting, no matter who it is, would end up helping them with handclaps or hitting a bell -- that kind of character. 9/10

Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes (2008)

With artwork that sports painted scenes from 1559 and songs frequently referring to the skyward wonders of the natural world, Fleet Foxes gave themselves some pretty lofty imagery to live up to. Not only does the music all-too-swimmingly hark back to those irretrievable+cherished days of old, it in itself BECOMES a wonder of the natural world. A touch of polite hokum is fair when organic magnificence is at hand -- and their timeless mix of near-spiritual jubilance and grave haunters is the kind of earthy escapism that requires a studio-banter tidbit to get snapped back into the deficiency of present-day reality. Listen to it during a wilderness excursion, or at least while chopping firewood -- not the outdoorsy type, you say? A drive at dawn should suffice. 8.5/10

The Housemartins - London 0 Hull 4 (1986)

Sunny-faced societal grudges and xtra-effortless singalong jangly pep give them a dorky+fervid edge against the ambiguous R.E.M.s and sad-sack-poetry Smiths of the world, expressions of rich vs. poor dilemmas and attempts at inciting upheavals are more articulate and venomous than most anarcho-punx can muster, as are the two impassioned-piano-balladry tracks (one of which is a "Lean On Me" cover of all things). And nearly 30 years later, the grouses still hold up, some have even seemed to gain significance -- take the man that just can't choose a side; who "strokes his twenty beards" and "only drinks real ale". 9/10

Michael Jackson - Thriller (1982)

Most of this should go without saying - #1 selling album of all-time by a large margin, culture-dominating smash, simultaneously hugely commercial and high-caliber, plays like a greatest hits collection, silky-smooth and deliciously detailed whether it be inescapable+dancy funk-lite benchmarks or non-schmaltz r&b soothers. But really now, what would it be without its wonderful-and-somehow-timeless novelty guest spots? Where else can you find the King of Pop in a back-n-forth with Paul McCartney over a girl while the latter matter-of-factly calls himself "her forever lover"? How about a horror-themed title-track dance-craze with a life of its own and creaks/howls/Vincent Price for effect? Or anti-machismo hard-rock flirtation with a fiery solo via Eddie Van Halen? 9.5/10

Lil Wayne - Da Drought 3 (2007)

Two full discs without much space wasted -- a fun, contemporary-beat stealing, generally ridiculous ride. It's seemingly endless lyrically, jam-packed with classic lines, prodigious references, numerous non-sequiturs -- yet one of my favorites simply goes: "Beef, yes / chest, feet / tag, bag / blood, sheets / yikes, yeeks / great scott!". He's just that good, and the fact is a lot of it sounds like just fuckin' around. His skill tends to get obscured by accusations of (lack of) subject matter, obnoxiousness, extreme use of "bitch", etc.: I see a wordsmith with an uninhibited personality who loves rhyming for the sake of rhyming, and again, is probably just fuckin' around. 9/10

Naked City - Naked City (1990)

Their collectively limitless virtuosity+versatility allows them to genre-weave with ease, often at times in the blink of an eye: in and out of jazz-rock both lavish and raunchy, refined-hardcore-grind-clamor, film-score re-workings -- bandleader John Zorn's trademark squawking-and-gurgling-like-a-flock-of-tortured-birds alto sax can just as easily be steadied into smooth+sweeping traditionalism. The mid-section turns the controlled-chaos up a notch with a salvo of sub-minute ditties featuring Tazmanian-devil vocals from the Boredoms' Yamatsuka Eye, while towards the end a rip-roaring James Bond theme (with fake gunshots and all) is sure to gratify -- particularly for those who took opener "Batman" as a red herring. 8.5/10

Prince - 1999 (1982)

Five albums deep, Prince finally found the throbbing arrangements that properly correlate with his sex drive in the form of indefatigable drum machine malleation -- rigid repetitions are gleefully prolonged and teased out and before-U-know-it exorbitant sagas are suddenly borne from mechanized mania-pop, squeak-toy/cheeky-synth melodies and corybantic funk keep the party alive and weird, an acronymic title is unveiled as a cardinal Prince motto while the non-acronymic title that follows gets hypnotically half-spelled out. And given the pairing of our character-at-hand with more-than-ever room to get down and let loose, it's inevitable that ambition and whimsicality reach new heights: car-n-horse-metaphor-laden night-cruise cock-rock, ad-libs only a chosen few could get away with ("I'm not saying this just to be nasty / I sincerely wanna fuck the taste out of your mouth"), girls weeping beneath wailing guitar solos, a goddamn freedom ballad, finale-promulgation of his very own come-hither aircraft ("The Seduction 747") with sly double-entendres aplenty slithering out the cockpit ("This plane is fully equipped with anything your body desires", "We are now making our final approach to satisfaction"). And really, what better way to vent political+personal frustrations than some aggressive mattress-squeaker fuck-thrusts? 8.5/10

The Rolling Stones - Exile on Main St. (1972)

This very well could be the Stones at their best: its loose, sprawling nature plays a definite contributing role there, but that is just a bonus to how well it covers all the bases while still throwing you some curveballs. Many tracks give the impression of cock-rock/punk predecessor anthems for ruckus, gambling and sex, only to have just as many be the most touching and effective songs of their career. Others find nice niches as being welcome little oddballs that are still a far throw from being throwaway -- and it's all done with so much raw, soulful, old-timey-drunken energy; it can only be recognized as pure, unadulterated rock n' roll. 10/10

Sun Kil Moon - Benji (2014)

This death-laden nostalgia-fest collection of possibly tall tales coming from a 47-year old folkie Ohioan is one of the most moving and haunting albums I've heard in some time. Comes complete with an everyday all-American cast of friends, relatives and neighbors falling under many a misfortune (all while Richard Ramirez anticlimactically dies of natural causes), the merging of a 70's rock fandom childhood with the all-too-current Newtown/Panera Bread/"drunk kids staring at their cells" world of today, disturbingly graphic confessions of early sexual ventures and nonchalantly forgiving ones of child abuse, plainly stated yet profound realizations of growing old ("The Sopranos guy died at 51 / That's the same age as the guy who's coming to play the drums"), and perhaps at its most hair-raising, the powerful reminder you that a mother's death is inevitable ("When the day comes for her to leave / I won't have the courage to sort through her things"). 10/10

2016 pt. 6

Amon Amarth - Jomsviking

Yep, it's got all dem viking-lyfe-metal platitudes: us vs. them outlook, summoning inner strength, brutal battles, harrowing weather, raising horns+pouring beers for fallen freebooters, fulfilling destinies on seas of blood, etc. Then halfway through they dare to break out "The Way of Vikings" as if that wasn't already their ingrained band motto to begin with. But they wear their vet-status for this disposition loud-n-proud -- performances, though perhaps a bit recycled, are reliable and heavy and galloping round-the-clock; impressively decipherable growls are on point and allow for a welcoming coherence+precise depictions of injurious actions and various weaponry, they don big choruses and love to exude triumph but don't plunge into Cornville or shy away from piano-plinking amid tributary balladry. Notable/novel moment comes during "A Dream That Cannot Be", a guy-gal back-n-forth of bad-assery between Johan Heg and Doro Pesch that works way better than it probably should. Not-so-long story short, haughty-n-macho rescue is attempted and met with rejection and independence, then he goes for the forceful grab, and, well: "I pull the knife I've concealed / I put the edge to his throat". You go, girl. 7/10

The Body - No One Deserves Happiness

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Call me a sucker for the juxtaposition of the beauty and the beast, call this the explosive execution of such a thing: the most apparent attribute being the guy+gal vox-ers; or rather, the perpetually incomprehensible tortured mutant screamer+halcyon-n-mighty possessed-at-church hardened women who can crank it up a notch-or-three if needed. Then there's the perdurable pummeling of impossibly mammoth sludge and deep-n-dense din-layers and industria-tronix threatening to engulf your entirety, spawning an aura of terror so towering and torrid that it enraptures and induces awe rather than sending ya runnin' for the hills. Dispositional sum-up steamily/plainly stated whilst comparing contrastable parents and the derived traits of their kid: "You wondered how, being so different, they could've formed a union", "a mixture of the violence of the one and the gentleness of the other". Personally, being a mere 90 miles away from these heathens is both edifying and alarming -- and as long as they keep dishing it out like my father, I'll gladly take it like my mother. 9/10

DJ Katapila - Trotro (re-issue of 2009 album)

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Ghanian DJ who employs Fruity Loops and a bell to create uber-incessant kiddie-toy goofball techno beats, lays down layers of assumably improv/mostly incomprehensible yelp-fests, and even gets his fledgling pitched-up daughter in on the vocalized fun. Stylistically, it can drive ya nuts; and yes, the instrumentals and alternate versions to boot may be excessive, and well, the only discernible words are likely to be the respective song's title or his pre-moth moniker. But it's so amusing+bemusing, so unreasonably upbeat and assertive to the nth degree, so inescapably just havin' a grand ol' time -- so much so that contagious captivation overrides the eventually obnox-as-fuck ingemination. Possessing an affinity for percussion-piles/meager melodies/hurtling lions with the dynamic delivery to match will certainly help when it comes to annihilating exasperation and facilitating tolerance. 7/10

Into It. Over It. - Standards

Intrigued/enervated maestro/multi-instrumentalist Evan Weiss is observant, articulate, tolerably sensitive, collectedly perturbed; hell, downright palsy-walsy. That, along with the charming lil off-kilter guitar hooks and partiality for lithesome drumming, gets 'em by fine without ever necessarily wowing or mesmerizing -- it certainly gets slumberous on the tail-end once the weeping-string "anesthetic" starts coursing its way through your veins, but the fluctuation of peppy punk tunes and levelheaded emo semi-sobbers throughout flows righteously and keeps things compelling. And the convincingly bleak canyon-isms of center-ish-piece "Your Lasting Image", never treading too far over the whine-line, a surprise double-bass incursion; well those are nice too. 6/10

Jealousy - Paid For It

Spry moments are driven by a basal garage-rock bass-line and/or eldritch psych-auras, stagnant moments are corroded by pococurante performances and wretched rambling, the majority of it is far too languid+way too reliant on reverberations+plain ol' lacking in derivable substance. Which is all by design, I'm sure. But to quote 'em: "I don't feel anything at all." ~*~meh~*~

Kerridge - Fatal Light Attraction

The difference between your ol' run-of-the-mill industrialized brazen-faced buzz-work and this is the buzz-work here is markedly high-par -- it still beats up the brain and punishes the psyche but the causticity is brimming with clarity and texture-centric rectitude, its ruthless poundin' and churnin' oft-concocting a techno-esque momentum and its static detonations+wanderings/dead air as extended halts/shrouded mutterings consistently catching the ear. It still gets redundant and whittles you down to nothingness, too, but does so pretty damn kindly and luxuriantly. 6.5/10

Lucius - Good Grief

Wafts of ho-hum melodrama and grandiosity and overdone pep do permeate throughout, but the ones most afflicted are over with rather quickly -- that is, the supposedly-special-someone who she can't describe so just kinda doesn't and all those lofty landscape-ridden fidelities. Personally, I enjoy 'em most when they clinch the preliminary possibility of being driven to madness and writhingly become the ones who are going insane over some clocky tick-tocks. Then comes the bubblegum parade-float of "Born Again Teen", the glitch-lite electro-flourishes+wacky instrument whackin', the yearned-for rain gently comin' 'round after culpability forms from feelin' good and a pause. So right, their traces of emotional realness and adept aspiration towards diversity are bolsters, and also prolly why the sad ballads are as winning as they are. Parting statement: "Everyone's around right now and I'm still alone." In other words, they're not plastic pop quite yet. 6/10

Parquet Courts - Human Performance

With anxiety slightly demoted and speed-punk frenzies progressively perishing, this set of scuzzy-yet-ripe divergencies shuffle forth; showcasing their versatility, upping the song-craft a bit, and standing firm in the face of some sorta semi-composure. I mean, they still oft-sing in the coalescent realm of deadpan/sarcastic/bewildered and stick 'round the garage and throw down "I Was Just Here" and envisage how much dust is actually all up in our grill at any given time, but this is for sure maturation. Which I'll take over the smoke-screen Monastic Living EP any day, but the freak in me does yearn for that ol' furor now and again. O and I'll take the bonus/untraditionally-meditative "Already Dead" as album ender over the standard/somnolent sufficiency of "It's Gonna Happen" any day too, thanx very much. 7/10

Weezer - Weezer (The White Album)

Solely eying titles like "California Kids", "Thank God For Girls", "Do You Wanna Get High?", "Jacked Up" -- hell, kinda all of 'em, really -- may lead to some rash conjectures involving the patented Weezer corn being carted on this here ivory-hued+self-proclaimed glory-dayz recrudescence. With their alt-rooted power-pop pioneer-isms in full and facile effect, a filler-free and to-the-point complexion, and let's face it; just an all 'round wondrous knack for writing songs that are sunny and catchy as fuck and quaint to boot, it don't really matter what they're goin' on about too much. But then again -- the whole contrived-seeming naivete and fantastical puerility and general outmodedness and lotsa questionable lines thing remains quite the polarizing quaint. It's a nice thought, but in 2016 am I to believe "the California Kids" are gonna solve all my woes and take care of lil ol' me? The 'woo's are great, though. Not wince at the "If I was king of the world, you'd be my girl" chorus? I mean, it's very well-meaning, sure. Same well-meaner that tells L.A. Girlz to act their age and sweeten up their lemonade yet frets over leaving his headphones in a car and "trying not to stare at her chest." "L.A. Girlz": hangs with the best of 'em. 6.5/10

Wussy - Forever Sounds

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

In the (admittedly dissipating) sea of shoegazin' guitar-rokk torchbearers, Wussy's flame flickers with remarkable finesse: the he-and-she vocal turn-taking/occasional collabing from axe-slingers Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker promptly prompts comparisons to Yo La Tengo/MBV/Sonic Youth/Pixies; but rather than clone it up via flaccid rehash, they seem set on aligning themselves with that almighty legacy -- especially given that this is their churn-out seven albums deep. The symmetry of dense hum+wail+sparkle feedback and fetching tunefulness is frequently superb -- not to propose that it's perfect through-n-through, but you positively get your pick of peaks: weeper-beauties ("Donny's Death Scene", "Better Days"), assertive anthemics ("Gone" "Hello, I'm a Ghost"), and perhaps my claimed fave, earth-stopping majesty that's aptly titled to boot ("Majestic-12"). 7.5/10

2016 pt. 5

18+ - Fore

///BRAV-FUCKING-O\\\

Guy-n-girl duo's homespun protean sprawler where their respective roles as frail whimperer and spurious seductress are reminiscent of a twisted and amateur xx-portrayal -- which leaves trap-banger renditions lying somewhere between hazy art-school caricature and self-aware dork-fest, exercises in understated glitch-tronix sluggish flounderers, and latecomers "Love Was Like"+"Glass" I-swear-it's-true beautiful. The biggest bummer being their too-cool passivity becoming a real bore -- cuz for what it's worth, in spite of some awkward bumblings, they've got something here that's vital and invigorating; from the trap-rap takeovers to the ambition and track-flow. Plus they make me laugh and wonder and roll my eyes and sympathize with their mental pickles all at once. See "Sour" for a particularly-classic hook-n-line from each of 'em: spurious seductress goes for stutter-'brrr's and asks how you'd like her "butterfly flapping on your face", frail whimperer spits out the gem "Katy Perry / dysentery" and pledges to "keep her squawkin' like a crow". Er, not Katy though, someone else I assume. 6.5/10

Betonkust & Palmbomen II - Center Parcs [EP]

Don't be daunted by the cumbersome appellation alliance or leery of the initiatory shlock-hoots, for this is an estimable little dollop of haze-crust house and other electro-etceteras -- you've got your summery alfresco romps and sunset jams, cogitative dream-land lingerers, a spooky slinking-in-space 6-minute ender, volume oscillations and queasy surroundings reminiscent of a faulty VHS tape. A fun+varied instrumental 27-minute EP that doesn't drastically alter your life either way, worse comes to worst. 6/10

Cavern of Anti-Matter - Void Beats / Invocation Trex

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

A lengthy and enthralling smorgasbord of amalgamated electronic+organic jammy groove-work; where despite half-the-album-title expectations and a sinister-sounding band-name, the beats avoid voidness at all costs and are oft-chummy if not downright coltish and/or pretty. It very much calls upon the persuasive repetition and cautious progression of krautrock (the Neu! worship is strong with this one) -- and with Stereolab representatives lending their renowned velvety precision and sweeping+subtlety-stuffed synths aplenty, even the multiple 9-to-13-minute trek-trax glide by with ease. Much like any proper kraut, though they're more-or-less permanently sailing through space, there's always a firm sense of tangibility and diligence that keeps 'em grounded. Rare vocalized guest-emergences include a rather hollow/might-as-well-be-Deerhunter Bradford Cox cut and Spacemen 3's Sonic Boom as highfalutin spoken worder-turned-robot. Titular clues towards them being total gear-heads/sound-doods include "Melody in High Feedback Tones" and "Hi-Hats Bring the Hiss". Titular clue towards them just havin' fun during all this: "Blowing My Nose Under Close Observation" -- which could also explain the whole spoken worder-turned-robot thing. 8/10

Charli XCX - Vroom Vroom [EP]

Sophie's production is as sleek as the whip on the cover but refuses to approach grandiose, instead opting for the minimalist battiness of percussive booms/bubble bursts/woozy synths/cattily clarion yips -- which serves as quite the felicitous vehicle for Charli's mix of can't-be-caught by bitches/can't-lose to bitches pugnacity and baby-voiced sky-ride sugar-rushin'. Percipient and proud when it comes to bubblegum brashness and innovative clubby obnox; and in the sensibly small space of 12 minutes at least, makes for a pretty scrumptious joyride. 7/10

Ray Lamontagne - Ouroboros

Atmospherically, tone-wise, flow-wise, it's attentive and winsome: fragile+pensive acoustic+piano sounds like a bliss-float dream-state, slinkin' strut cool-guy repeato guitar hooks are soaked in brittle-crunch distortion, forays into mountainous psych-rock and slowed-to-a-crawl holy om-choirs show initiative. The songs themselves, however; adequate but not exactly the epic riveters able to prop up all the sonic treatments, or justify Pink Floyd-esque melodrama and a sluggish pace -- something established once the second half ups the listlessness and generic-realm spout-outs. That is; starlings and their apparent murmurations, spending the day in his own nondescript lethargic way and having the sleepy tune to match, nature-scene rhapsodizing and correctly assessing that he doesn't have much to say on this other day, etc. And though instrumental focus certainly lies elsewhere, does the drummer really have to sound bored evermore? And though "hey, no pressure" doesn't make for the most absorbing mantra, it beats the pants off the conclusive "never gonna hear this song on the radio". Like, yeah, but do they want it tho? 6/10

Mary Lattimore - At the Dam

I mean hey, consider me down with improvised plain-ol-echoey-harp layerings that occasionally metamorphose into reverse-zip electro-manipulations and bleary conceptual works as much as the next guy -- but this is some of the most languorous music to ever un-grace my ears with its presence. Pretty and dreamlike collaging, sure, but also longwinded, ponderous, and hypnagogic to the point of frustration through-n-through. Always be wary of the impromptu visionary. ~*~meh~*~

Anna Meredith - Varmints

A dizzyingly incessant opening salvo that could be used as an exuberant-yet-terrifying rally-theme for medieval plunderers is followed by cordial-n-cute dual-vocal clicker-pop, midway shmup-plug "R-Type" allows formidable gee-tar wail fireworks to blossom from an elegant techno escalation only to succeed it with the plain-n-true brilliant-n-beautiful pop song "Dowager" in all of its weeping and semi-extended glory. So yeah; between the instrumentals and non-, the 'lectronic and organic, meandering and diligent classical propensities vs. complex and cunning candy-pop, it's a jumble and a bit exhausting to boot. But there is a melding of discipline, delicacy, and weirdo cartoonish pomp that consistently captivates throughout, plus space-soaring and seemingly always having something ticking or ringing the night away helps too. 7/10

French Montana - Wave Gods

Having seemingly seized an upsurge from his Max B-camaraderie/Kanye's recent wave-based wrangling and resultant consensual-call-as-intermission via the incarcerated B-man himself, French Montana's bailiwick remains quite rooted in the aesthetics and persons of yesteryear (i.e. ~a decade ago) -- chipmunk-beats run rampant, he wonders why street rap ain't sellin' like Kendrick, "old men" Puff+Jadakiss join forces for some wildin' while almost-as-old men Kanye+Nas dispense particularly-substantial hook-n-verse work. But due to the presumable desire for relevance and bodacious-for-a-mixtape budget, there's also your conventional Future+Travis Scott spots and grime-steeped auto-tune slathers and handful of beats-n-choruses to absolutely die for. So sure, French lets others do alot of the work, and um, listening to the Silver Surfer babble from a prison-phone is becoming painful, and yeah, there's an inordinate amount of track-skipping going on; but at the very least the highlights are well worth the jaunt: the angelic Kingdom Hearts 2-exploiting shelter-seeker with an amazing/awful hook, a rippin'-remix finale that boasts unswerving flows and fancy vehicular zooms, and French's trismic back-n-forth with young-buck Kodak Black; the latter of whom I hereby declare chief cake-taker. Not bad for being barely legal/conscious. 7/10

Prins Thomas - Principe Del Morte 

Sporting 9 compositions over nearly 90 minutes, the unhurried pace and conscientious composure of these lean-n-subtle electro-behemoths are concurrently hindrance and highlight: uber-gradual escalations+tear-downs compel without ever approaching overly overt and he consistently does alot with a little; whether it's continuing to command attention during extended sections of glaringly sparse rigidity or reluctantly slithering its way towards a fundamental funk-groove. Any likelihood of mucking up the mix outside of your ol' token spacey synth-play is renounced in favor for simple mucking about, bringing about an endearing aura of expertly vigilance turned lax and content to ramble. I endorse the ample space supplied here for such a thing, and acknowledge that it's just as (if not more) ignorable as it is mesmerizing. But at a dilatory and reiterative hour-and-a-half, ramble it can, and will. 6.5/10

Esperanza Spalding - Emily's D+Evolution

*******HIGHEST RECS*******

"Watch this pretty girl flow", her initiatory magma-coated declaration, comes off as both sassy standpoint and open challenge: Spalding's jazz-bass whiz-skillz fused with a consummate clan of choral harmonizers forge fluxes beauteous+knotty enough to melt your heart and dazzle the senses; and when fellow Berklee-affiliated gitaroo-man and decisive drummer-dudes are feelin' spunky, we get whiffs of wildness in the form of mathy-metal flourishes and lionhearted jerk-funk, the peaks of which leave your face chillin' in the same puddle as your ticker. Though some digging is required, lyrical acumen is also there for the taking -- the profoundest perhaps contained/cached in the sections of mile-a-minute spoken word and the plainest coming from the playful Willy Wonka-borrowed ender "I Want It Now", the latter's adamant demanding and conclusive guttural yelp presumably clues that she's seeking musical domination. Or normal ol world domination, either way. 8/10

RSD booty 2016

Husker Du - In a Free Land 7"

Honestly felt like this was kind of a rip-off at $10 with its plain-ass true-to-original packaging/black vinyl, not to mention it's a 3-track 5-minute EP, but like it's "In a Free Land" bruh, 4 real. And like it was apparently limited to 2000 copies omg. I knew and enjoyed these tracks originally from the bonus section on Everything Falls Apart and More, but having 'em here all secluded on this cute lil 7" is a treat and brings out the greatness just a wee bit more. The title track is just holy shit good, an earlier-era Husker classic indeed, and quite the shining example of them transitioning from str8-up-rip-roarin' speedy hardcore to like beautiful fucking loud melodics. Side B is more in the realm of str8-up-rip-roarin' speedy hardcore: "What Do I Want?" frantically expresses those desperate and imperative questions we all ask ourselves while beating our heads against the wall, M.I.C. brings a token singalong and then at the end he's all like "fuckin goin" or whatever. This single rules.

OutKast - Elevators (Me & You) 10"

"Elevators", obvious highlight from 1996's ATLiens, duh. Hella goofy cover art of an alien head+cheap font that looks like it was conceived by an 8th grader but that's okay. Back cover features Big Boi blunt-sesh with a presumably sXe 3K behind him on the phone all like ehhh, so that's cool. But yo, this glow in the dark alien green vinyl, like yeah, had to get it (bad pic/looks better in person I assure you). Cuz like glow in the dark, slime green stuff, "Elevators". It saves the original cut for last, throws a certainly-great trunk-rattlin' remix at you first, and tosses ya the "ONP 86" remix from ATLiens, an amusing novelty acappella version, and instrumentals of the aforementioned remixes. I think it was like $13? and certainly the best deal of this purchased trio. "Elevators" here is proven great and dare I say chill no matter the version or transformation, all too easy to throw this one on and be like yeahhh, OutKast, man. O and it helps that the remixes are like, equatable in likability to the original, that rules. The accapella one brings out those subtle voc-overdubs and the semi-ghastly qualities of the chorus-choir, thoze instrumentals bump and stand on their own. Well I will say the trunk-rattlin' instrumental kinda kills the ONP one but whatevz. I mean what more do you want out of a hip-hop single? The answer better be nothing. It's weird to not have the original first and foremost, but I kinda like that it's saved for last cuz you wind up craving it/forgetting how it truly differentiates from the mixes ya know? Then it comes on and you're like oh yeah, damn. Visions of them trying to write rhymes w/ paper-n-pencil underneath ceiling fans, trying to get bigger. And like when Dre runs into that dude from his past at the mall who thinks he's got bank cuz they had a single or whatever. And Dre's all like nah dude I'm kinda poor too and live by the beat like you live by a check, cmon man don't assume. So tight. This shit was definitely my #1 pickup. Out of like 6 semi-desired pickups, sure, but like "Elevators" and glow in the dark alien green vinyl and on a 10" no less? Like, yeah. Such a chill single, bro. Compared to the Husker Du one it feels like a mammoth trek.

Sex Pistols - Never Mind the Bullocks, Here's the Sex Pistols 12"

So yeah I totally should've owned this on vinyl for like 15 years now, but admittedly am glad to have neglected purchasing it for so long and ending up with this boss picture disc edition. At $22 I was like eh, but yeah this thing rules. Side A is a front cover replica, Side B is a back cover replica, pink and green and black, yeah I had to do it. This one came with a sleeve (fancy) and on the sleeve is omg an official silver Record Store Day Exclusive sticker (so fancy). Does anything need to be said about the music tho, really? Like omg. Listen that classic opening march and the invincible threesome of songs that kick it off, listen to "Bodies" again for godsake, sing along to the album's entirety in a terrible and unabashed British accent and roll the R's, remember when punk was still just kinda like crude classic rock with amped-up attitude and vigor and disgust, groan at but love "Anarchy in the U.K.", marvel at the continued greatness during a deep cut like "Pretty Vacant". Final track "EMI" is labeled here as an 'unlimited edition' (soooo fancy) but no difference was noted. Does this mean the original was somehow limited this whole time and nobody noticed? It sufficed anyway, gotta say. Stick-out and comparable slow-burner "Sub-Mission" sounds alot better to present me than less-patient 15-year old me for sure. People can talk shit bout the contrived/arranged-band aspect of the ol Pistols all they want. Album is essential and rules, str8 up. PRAW-BLEM. PRAW-BLEM. PRAW-BLEM. "God Save the Queen" remains the shit no matter how cliche. Johnny Rotten pre-PiL, Sid Vicious pre-dead. "Seventeen" as the underrated 2-minute gem stuffed in between the 2 overrated gems. It's one thing to be a lazy sod, a whole other to be a lazy Sid. GOOOOD-BYEEEEE AA&MMMM.