Rare Earth
Best Of: The Millennium Collection
Motown/Universal
The funkiest, and not-coincidentally only, white band signed to Motown -- at least in the early '70s -- Detroit's Rare Earth released a surprisingly strong series of albums whose best tracks, seven of which are collected here, remain solid and enjoyable, if slightly dated listening, 30 years after their release. The band weren't known as great songwriters -- none of these tunes, including their signature song, "I Just Want to Celebrate," are originals -- but they stamped their distinctive brand on a mixed bad of soul, R&B, and Motown covers in a remarkably effective way. Transforming compact, snappy Motown singles like "Get Ready" and "(I Know) I'm Losing You" into marathon, 20 and 10 minute respectively jazz-rock excursions complete with extended improvisations (unfortunately including drum solos) gave them credibility with the hippie crowd of that era, where such things used to count.
Arguably ahead of their time through their rugged combination of hard funk, jazz and pop, the six-piece has a lot of anthologies that cover this material, but none that include the original long album versions of these songs. That's sometimes a mixed blessing, but this entry into the bargain priced Millennium Collection series is, at 70 minutes, not only a great buy, but the only way currently available to hear the full 21:20 of "Get Ready," 7:19 of Ray Charles' "What’d I Say" (almost unrecognizable from the original in a rocked up arrangement that oddly works) and 17:19 of "Ma." The latter tune was sort of an answer to "Papa Was a Rolling Stone," also written and produced by Norman Whitfield, and features a similar insistent, grinding groove, making it one of their best and most representative songs.
The band had far more worthwhile material than the meager seven tracks represented here (they released a whopping six albums in their four year, 1969-1973 Motown run), which is available on other collections. But for those who want the full, extended Rare Earth experience — and at a budget price — it's impossible to beat this collection. Go ahead and celebrate.
Hal Horowitz
Joi
We Are Three
Real World
Wrapped under the sleek thread of fine, crafted classical Indian music lies a hypnotizing dance groove capable of awakening the multi-armed deities of Hindu lore. This is Joi, the work of two brothers, one who unfortunately passed away after in-depth field recordings in the heart of Bangladesh. Well, Farook Shamsher has carried on the legacy of his brother Haroon and in turn, joined the ranks of revered fusion artists like Talvin Singh.
"Journey" is the ideal opener in this opus, with the rhythms of echoing tablas and mystical woodwinds inviting the listener into the fortified, majestic history of Joi's culture, and then Shamsher brings the beat back. Once the spine-tingling female vocals and strings join the party on "Prem," it becomes quite clear that it takes the experience and sixth sense of true world musicians like Joi to invoke these rapturous melodies for the dancefloor. We Are Three correctly combines heartfelt ethno-instrumentation with a club sensibility, a feat that artists like Delerium try, but ultimately fail to accomplish.
Real World Records, Box, Corsham, Wiltshire, SN13 8PL, UK, http://realworld.on.net/joi
Kiran Aditham
Sepultura
Nation
Roadrunner
It would seem former frontman Max Cavalera would leave some mighty, dirty shoes to fill with Sepultura, but current vocalist Derrick Green has been quite handy with the microphone since the split. Nation, the second outing with Green, sees the foursome bring a cavalcade of guests along for the shredding, including Jello Biafra and even Finnish String Quartet Apocalyptica. Quite more epic in scope than their previous effort, Against, the quartet has opted for a more melodic warpath to inflict their furious assault.
Tracks like "One Man Army" and "The Ways of Faith" showcase Green's crooning ability before launching into a distorted sludge-rock rampage. But the band hasn't abandoned their tribal roots, with "Uma Cura" dispensing a potent, programmed dosage of Brazilian nectar. Yes, the short thrash interludes are unnecessary at times, but Apocalyptica's symphonic dischord on "Valtio," which intertwines with plucked acoustic strings, draw this record to a near-perfect finale. Although more hardcore than ethnic, the shoes have been filled and the Sepultribe continues to keep their souls flying.
Roadrunner Records, 902 Broadway, New York, NY 10010, http://www.roadrunnerrecords.com
Kiran Aditham
The Ravenous
Assembled In Blasphemy
Hammerheart/Martyr
Exceedingly and understandably hyped for the duration of the year 2000, The Ravenous are a meeting of some sick, seasoned minds: vocalist Killjoy (Necrophagia/Viking Crown/Eibon), drummer/vocalist/guitarist Chris Reifert (Autopsy/Death/Abscess), and bassist Dan Lilker (Nuclear Assault/Brutal Truth/Anthrax/Hemlock/S.O.D.), with session assistance from guitarists Danny Coralles (Autopsy/Abscess) and Clint Bower (Abscess/Hexx), both of whom have since permanently joined the band. Anyhoo, Assembled In Blasphemy, the super-group's opening salvo, may show shades of Mental Funeral-era Autopsy (especially those absolutely ripped gutsfuck-doom parts), but such a cursory read would not only be immensely off-point, it'd sell The Ravenous' truly demented death metal criminally short. Approximating Hellhammer had Tom Warrior buried his loopy Into the Pandemonium ideas under five miles of black-as-night soot, The Ravenous go for the throat (and stay there) yet, albeit fucked out of their heads, seem more keen on mangling the mind with fumbling, so-wrong-they're-brilliant fills and time signatures and some of the most eerily unresolved riffs and leads ever known to metalkind – overtly, kinda like '80s death metal, but not really, basically because snuff of this sort's neither ahead nor behind anything else, just in some other (frightening) plane altogether. An obvious and endearing nod to early Carcass however far less polysyllabically, Reifert and company even name all their specific guitar solos ("gut fondling," "cervix severance," and, get this, "holy ass bead pulling"), so you can surely surmise that a sick n' twisted sense of humor runs rampant throughout Assembled In Blasphemy. And sick n' twisted is precisely what this record is: Severely ugly, severely burly, and often quite disturbingly odd in the severest of manners, Assembled In Blasphemy is a must-have mess for the discerning death-metaller – "Hallucinations of a Deranged Mind" indeed.
Hammerheart, PO Box 277, 6300 AG Valkenburg, The Netherlands, http://www.hammerheart.com
Nathan T. Birk
Kreator
1985-1992 Past Life Trauma
Noise
Some would boldly claim that, to the global metal underground, Kreator were perhaps more influential than Slayer, seeing how classic thrash's sonic accoutrements have been generously integrated into the modern death- and black-metal scenes from the mid '90s on. I would like to say yes to that statement because, at their violent best, Kreator were a thrashaholic's wet dream, the krazy krauts working up a greasy trainwreck of a sound that was often grimier and more gonzo than Slayer's in the '80s. Thing is, most kids today hear a lot of talk from the likes of Immortal and their ilk about Kreator's importance, yet they know next to nothing about Noise's flagship band when the label actually mattered. That's where 1985-1992 Past Life Trauma comes in. An 18-track retrospective sampling the band’s crucial '85-'92 work and featuring a handful of rare/unreleased tracks, Past Life Trauma stands as ground zero for Kreator neophytes, and a justifiable purchase for those well accustomed to the band. From the deliciously visceral overkill of Endless Pain's "Tormentor" (the band's original moniker) to the haunting (re)strains of Renewal's title track, all of Kreator's essential bases are covered, and well; plus, fans had a hand in voting on the track listing, so you know you're gonna get the crowd faves here. Best of all, Kreator kommander Mille Petrozza offers a sometimes-insightful track-by-track synopsis in the liner notes, which are handsomely packed with photos, some even from their Tormentor days. Buy or rightfully die a poser.
Noise, 12358 Ventura Blvd., Suite 386, Studio City, CA 91604, http://www.noiserecords.com
Nathan T. Birk
Hypnosia
Extreme Hatred
Hammerheart
What's old is new, what's out is in, what's gone is back. In the scrappiest, most "loud fast rules" of ways, such is the case with Hypnosia's Extreme Hatred. Less a smirkingly ironic posture than it is a face-ripping, alcohol-fueled homage to thrash metal's heyday of the mid- to late-'80s, Hypnosia's debut platter makes no concessions about being a virtuostic showboating of tech-head chops or a prog-leaning display of labyrinthine songwriting, the gas-huffing trio instead whipping up such a cackling, careening frenzy, it's no small wonder their train doesn't derail into an abyss full of the genre's latter-day casualties (too many to mention). For as much of a thrashback as the record is, however, Hypnosia are enviably tight and more-than-adequately produced, so you know Extreme Hatred's not some cheap Sodom hack-job (see 1/3 of the current Osmose stable). Still, Hypnosia know what they're doing isn't remotely revelatory or "new" and damn well want you to know that, too, and done so enthusiastically and lovingly (or is that hatefully?), that’s where the record's charm lies. So don the bullet-belt and sleeveless jean-jacket, quaff a 12-pack or two, and salute with the goat horns – double fist this with Kreator's Extreme Aggression for a cranked-out/-up night of rivetheaded bliss.
Hammerheart, PO Box 277, 6300 AG Valkenburg, The Netherlands, http://www.hammerheart.com
Nathan T. Birk
Raging Slab
The Dealer
Tee Pee
Going on nigh 15 years now, Raging Slab predate the whole "stoner rock" trend that's all the rage with CMJ and others with their fingers on the pulse of what's "hip." Thing is, drop The Dealer into said tools' drinks and it's likely to go straight over their heads, namely because what Raging Slab do – or, more accurately, have always done – isn't hot-topic belabored or cloying pastiche, the quartet dependably and barnstormingly getting down to business, that of which being balls-out rockin'. Marketing trends be damned, The Dealer is the Slab's best-sounding, most-engaging slab in many years (at least four since the largely misunderstood Monster Magnetisms of 1996's Sing Monkey Sing), guaranteed to incite rapture in those intrepid souls who still have an ear for quality and time-honored decibels in the grandest of r n' r traditions, the record really mixing it up in terms of tempo, mood, hooks, dynamics, versatility… basically, anything and everything Slab's enviably capable of within the course of an album, and more so, a career. Southern-fried boogie rubbing greasy, scaly elbows with stoned-cold doom, Stooges shock therapy with spiraling space-rock, MC5 rabble-rousing with barren barroom balladry, The Dealer could well be a veritable "best of" covering one mere year in many, many fruitful ones. And if someone doesn't soon stand up and declare slide guitarist Elyse Steinman a god (witness "Chasin' The Dragon" and fly away a happy customer), then there's truly no justice in this crap world.
Tee Pee, PO Box 20307, New York, NY 10009-9991, http://www.teepeerecords.com
Nathan T. Birk
Charlie Rich
Behind Closed Doors
Epic/Legacy
Behind Closed Doors is the signature song and album for the late Charlie Rich, who almost single-handedly took the twang out of country music. The Sliver Fox, with his piano and silky smooth vocals, shook up Nashville in the early seventies, and forever changed the sound of country music. He brought country into the cities and paved the way for non-country country singers from Kenny Rogers to Faith Hill. Behind Closed Doors is another in the American Milestones series of classic country albums that are being remastered and release with bonus songs and new liner notes. I personally was rather surprised at how well Charlie Rich's songs like "You Never Really Wanted Me" and "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" have stood up over the decades, and these new discs make him sound smoother than twenty-year-old scotch.
http://www.legacyrecordings.com, http://www.americanmilestones.com
Phil Bailey
O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Soundtrack
Mercury
The term "roots music" has been bandied about so much as to be made meaningless. Basically anyone but Moby, Bjork, and Gus Gus could be lumped into the roots camp. The soundtrack to the Coen Brothers' film O Brother, Where Art Thou? is the real deal. The film takes place in Depression-era Mississippi, and the music reflects that time. Films like Bonnie And Clyde and Paper Moon have traveled this same road, but haven't delved as deep into the music of the place as this disc, with nearly twenty songs touching on gospel, bluegrass, Negro spirituals, and lullabies. The artists are mostly modern, with songs from The Soggy Bottom Boys, Emmylou Harris, Alison Krauss, and Gillian Welch. There are some vintage recordings, as well, including Harry McClintock singing "Big Rock Candy Mountain." The whole thing was produced by T-Bone Burnett, and is easily one of the most enjoyable records I've gotten ahold of in quite some time.
http://www.obrotherwhereartthou.movies.com
Phil Bailey
