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

by Holderlin (1972)

Take a base of traditional folk, add one part Jethro Tull, a generous drop of Nico, a splash of Amon Duul II, and a garnish with Peter and the Wolf, and you’ll end up with Holderlin’s Traum, a musical concoction perfect for a handcrafted clay goblet. It’s a beautiful and gentle first album by the German band that has recently made a sort of comeback with a new album.

This early seventies effort is as appealing and ethereal as the album art and title (Traum translates “dream”) and worth a listen for anyone with a soft spot for folk, krautrock, lilting female voices, and the flute. The songs will stay in your mind, even as you hum along to the unknown lyrics (well, unless you speak German of course). I am surprised this band has not been as rediscovered as others of the genre, but with recent accessibility (amost of their albums are now available on iTunes) I think that might change. Like several former Brix Picks, I might soon hear it playing over some brunch in Brooklyn.

Click here to see the rest of Holderlin’s Traum

I have a confession: I like Glee. I think it's smart and funny and every time Jane Lynch is on the screen I am completely happy with the world. However, I spend a large majority of the (hour long!) show either revolted and pushing fast forward or downright embarrassed and looking away (that would be every time Matthew Morrison starts to rap and hip hop dance) because of those damned musical numbers.

I'm sure this American Idolization was a vital component to getting the surprisingly edgy show on the air but the songs (of which there are far, far too many each episode) are a real obnoxious downer… and now they are available in one easy to torture your enemies with CD.

Ever wanted to hear a (more) emasculated version of REO Speedwagon's Can't Fight This Feeling? Glee's got it.

Even worse than the squeaky clean, over produced, Broadway-style trained vocalized cannibalization of songs I actually like (such as Dancing with Myself), the show and its cast are unforgivably responsible for introducing me to popular songs I could have otherwise easily avoided by willfully and purposely not turning on the FM radio. I never had to know about Celine Dion's Taking Chances or Jordin Sparks's No Air and I would have been happier for it.

Exorcist II: The Heretic has the reputation as “one of the most notorious disasters in movie history” but it boasts an impressive Ennio Morricone soundtrack. Lacking even the great Brad Dourif and the image of an old lady crawling across the ceiling that factors so heavily into the enjoyment of part three, most people agree that the haunting music is the film's only worthwhile element.

I've been informed that this is a rare find, my friend Shaun purchased his CD at the excellent treasure trove Amoeba Records, but you can also pay a higher price on an Amazon import. If you're a fan of creepy Morricone dissonance and haunting melodies, it's worth the investment and time to track it down. It bounces from soft, almost romantic sounds to frenzied intensity. Definitely makes the work day more dramatic.

Crazy Price is an oddball little album that's added a bit of fun to the work day like a refreshingly fizzy glass of soda pop. Hailing from Russia, Messer Chups sounds inspired by lounge music like Esquivel and B movies soundtracks and employ all sorts of quirky instruments to make their happy sounds.

It's kind of surfy, kind of spooky, kind of jazzy, kind of exotica, and totally kooky and lovable; my favorite song is “Sex Euro and Evil Pops“.

Thanks to Shaun for passing this one along.

While Billy Idol's self titled debut is peppered with undying, beloved radio hits like Dancin With Myself and White Wedding (still excellent despite their being overplayed), but the lesser known songs are a worthy listen that evokes images of teen 80s movies.

Hot in the City could role over the credits as a great spring break comes to an end with a beach side party, Dead on Arrival: played over a gang of suburban best friends in the big city for the day – most likely with a sun roof to pop their exuberant heads out of, Nobody's Business But My Own, again over credits – this time an outsider has triumphed over a douche bag and won the girl – they share a kiss someplace far from the prom she left the douche bag behind at, and So Cruel is a mid movie heartbreak montage – he is in a jean jacket, gazing into a body of water with perfect pompadour hair, she is throwing a stuffed animal aside that he had previously in the film won for her at an arcade.

You get the picture. It makes for fun daytime daydreaming listening.