by Clutchy Hopkins (2006)

The neighborhood corner Aussie gem, Five Leaves has much to recommend it (a brilliant chicken sandwich, pavlova, muesli, gravlax, and excellent coffee to name a few) but aside from the food and an affable staff, there’s always good tunes playing. I am usually familiar with what their spinning, and sometimes pleasantly surprised (True Stories by Talking Heads is woefully forgotten and underplayed). This morning though, a music I was thoroughly enjoying was unknown to me. It ended up being a one Clutchy Hopkins, a man whose very identity in in question and the stuff of mystery and legend.

Considered a dj, his music is an amalgamation of styles and sounds and as far from the monotonous stuff that inspires squatting, hoola hooping in McCarren Park (anyone else privy to that display Saturday?) that I usually associate with the term “dj”.

The album is self produced and likely to become the soundtrack to the rest of my summer. Very lovely stuff.

by Bruce Springsteen (1984)

I was once told, when Dancing in the Dark popped up on my ipod play list at work, that I was considered cool until that moment. Born in the USA, due to it’s affirming pop sensibility, was basically a blockbuster of an album, making red blooded Americans the country over into hip swinging radio rock lovers. Sure, it doesn’t have the kind of quiet cred of the dark and brooding Nebraska and nowadays anything too popular is bound for a backlash, but to ignore and deny the albums enduring greatness is a mistake.

First, there’s all those hits. I mean, my god, there’s the title song, Dancing in the Dark, Cover Me, I’m on Fire, Glory Days and My Hometown – all solid rock anthems with his homegrown social commentary that go perfectly with fireworks, worn denim, a beer, and back yards. When these songs come on, I still feel happy to hear them, and maybe by now, when their days of constant radio play behind them, they can incite the same energy in you. At least give it a try on the 4th, and don’t skip the lesser known tracks that you probably haven’t heard too many times to count.

And, for the record, if loving this album is lame, I don’t want to be cool.

by The Smiths (1986)

The Smiths are the kind of band that elicits such tenacious adoration and devotion from it’s fans and that love is something you either get or you don’t. For those that like me get it, you only have to hear a refrain:

“I’ve got the twenty first century breathing down my neck”,

“Oh mother, I can feel the soil falling over my head…”,

“A dreaded sunny day..”,

“And now I know how Joan of Arc felt…”,

“Take me out tonight.”,

“From the ice age to the dole age there is but one concern…”

to be transported to an emotional state that’s frankly (Mr Shankly) hard to describe. There’s part longing, part sentiment, part defiance, part arrogance, part romance and part glorious despair in their music. All the songs quoted above, which are so ingrained in certain children of the 80s, and were personally such a part of my adolescence are found on The Queen is Dead. It’s an undeniably impressive track listing of catchy, unrepeated (because really, who since has the same sound and dynamics as the Smiths?) pop musical wonderment. It’s one of the few listening experiences that actually make the pain and complexity of adolescence sound appealing and dignified. It’s really hitting the spot lately.

If you missed out on the Smiths so far, and want to get on board, well you could really start with any album as they’re all phenomenal, but many find this to be their best total effort.

Click here to see the rest of The Queen is Dead

Bootsy Collins (1976)

The centerpiece of Stretchin’ Out in Bootsy’s Rubber Band is the fantastic “I’d Rather Be With You”. It’s an absolutely perfect example of the kind of slow groovy/sexual innuendo/hip swaying spectacle that is funk at its best. A live, jammy, white-caped version is also worth a looksee.

I’d Rather Be With You, despite being a huge hit, was (blissfully) left off the play-lists of the oldies stations we grew up with, so it’s been spared the obnoxious overplaying that’s crippled so many genre classics and feels as fresh and exciting as the day it was made – but, even though I’m devoting so digital ink to this one song, I don’t want you to think that the rest of the album is mere filler.

Love Vibes (featuring the lovely vocals of Leslyn Bailey), Vanish In Our Sleep, and Physical Love – they’re all so much fun! Which is exactly what this album is all about, as is pretty clear from the rainbow font and motorcycle photograph on the cover. It’s absolutely perfect listening for the beginning of spring.

by Joe Meek (1959)

Fascinated with the space program, producer Joe Meek made I Hear a New World as a pet project in the late 50’s. Comprised of various aural experiments, the result was ground breaking and would have been at home played on space stereos in the farthest reaches of the universe. I’ve been listening to it for days and it’s as beautiful as it is odd. One song in particular, Valley of No Return, has been teasing me with its familiar strangeness, calling to some other piece of music (I believe from a movie soundtrack) buried deep  in my mind – but the identity of the similar tune continues to elude me.

Mostly instrumental, a few songs include human voices but they’re creepy and Chipmunk-like which makes them feel like they come from a David Lynch meets Santa Conquers the Martians universe which, you may surprised to discover, is not such a terrible place to be transported to.

After a little bit of research, I was shocked and saddened to find out that this pioneering master musician (whose accomplishments are even more astounding once you learn that he was tone deaf) succumbed to a very tragic ending: after a decline in popularity and bouts of depression and paranoia, he killed his land-lady then turned the gun on himself. He was 37.
Click here to see the rest of I Hear A New World

by Matt Berry (2005)

It’s common knowledge that I suffer from periodic fits of Matt Berry obsession; fortunately, there’s always something new to discover and to fall in love with concerning the man with the golden baritone. This time it’s Opium, his semi-comedic album (available on iTunes!) that has lifted my spirits this week more times than I can mention.

If you thought the Snuff Box theme got in your head (due to the fact that it’s played at least twice per episode), you’ll be happy to hear that the same catchy melody resurfaces, and is set to new lyrics, on Opium. Another high point on an album replete with high points is a sexual escapade called ‘Taking Control of Your Body’ that’s bound to inflame the libido of fans of Barry White, Serge Gainsbourg and “Weird Al” Yankovich alike.

Opium is a difficult piece of music to attach a label to. It is, of course, not entirely serious – there are bizarre spoken word sections about visiting an old-timey prostitute in a tavern and lines like, “They want dancers, young gay dancers!” or, “I need some kind of black magic reggae to sort this one out,” and yet I’ve been listening to this record so, so much this past week that the irony has vanished and has been replaced with a sense of pure, familiar enjoyment.

It’s my dream to see the man in person, he plays out often in London (I even priced a trip out there for one of his shows, but it seemed a bit extravagant just to see One Track Lover – which is not included on Opium, FYI – though not quite as pricey as the trip Jim conceived around a rare Maddy Prior/Tim Hart appearance a while back) but there are no NYC dates listed on his site…

American audiences have yet to catch on, and the kind of specific and offbeat humor Berry deals in may not be immediately appealing to legions of Yanks, so my dream is likely to remain just that… Opium feels the void nicely though.

by Donovan (1969)

The grandpa of cutie-pie-gentle-folk-rock does good and tries mixing up his usual MO on Barabajagal with strange arrangements, blurred influences and inconsistent songs. I Love My Shirt is awful – apologies to anyone who is a fan – but its inclusion on this album doesn’t diminish the brilliance of all the other gems any less.

The title song is catchy and grand, Superlungs My Supergirl is that kind of groovy tune that you can envision short skirted free chicks jamming to shot at a low angle in some counterculture B movie, while Where is She is soft and lovely and spun from feelings of being in love and clouds, Happiness Runs is like the quirkiness of a Wes Anderson movie distilled into music,  The Love Song is very Belle and Sebastian but a bit too goofy for my tastes, Susan on the West Coast Waiting is just odd and perfect, and he goes all off the rails with the storytelling and epic sound wall of Atlantis, Trude has a the upbeat feel of the best and most approachable of the Dead, then Pamela Jo ventures into vaudevillian territory (for better or worse, depending on your mood).

An album reissue came out a few years back with several bonus tracks; I don’t have it but from what I’ve read it might be well worth the investment.

by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (1994)

Calling Let Love In a masterpiece is almost too little praise for such a brooding, effective, and wholly unique album. If you’ve heard Red Right Hand, probably the most popular track on the record, you know what you’re in for: a rumbling, jangling and creepy ride with murderous swagger and joyfully dark imagery. It embodies the fire and brimstone that Cave is known for without ignoring the heart aching ballads.

In an accomplished oeuvre that includes stints with The Birthday Party, Grinderman, and of course the Bad Seeds, Let Love In is among his very best which. Several of the songs (like the aforementioned Red Right Hand, Do You Love Me – so awesome it’s broken into two parts – and Loverman) qualify as epic, so this is not one you listen to idly in the back ground. Oh, and Metallica’s Loverman cover, with its slick production and lack of shadowy urgency, only highlights how far from Cave’s caliber of raw awesomeness they have fallen .

Click here to see the rest of Let Love In