I don’t think there’s much need for a preamble. This is the second half of my ten-best LPs, the completion of a list I started in my For the Record column in October. As you may have surmised, there’s no ranking here. I’ve refrained from numbering my choices. Rush’s A Farewell to Kings went last simply because I know Rush is polarizing, not because it’s the best or the worst record in this list.
This was a fun assignment. It was an enjoyable write, and as you can tell, it sent me spiralling off into memory fugues, which are becoming more frequent as I enter the last third of my life.
Let’s continue, shall we?
Tom Waits: Real Gone
You either love him or hate him. My daughter, Toni, hates Tom Waits with the heat of a thousand suns. Same with my friend Rich, although Rich loves Everything but the Girl, so I think I can safely disregard his musical criticism.
That said, I’m not alone in thinking that Waits is one of the most important musicians of our time. The man could shit in a bucket, and it would have artistic merit.
This is dirty, grimy music, I’ll give Rich and Toni that. There’s no way to listen to all of Real Gone without coming away feeling a bit disgusted with yourself—like you’ve just successfully masturbated to photos of Margaret Thatcher. Still, Real Gone is a journey, one you’re taking with Waits as he shows you around the Civil War–era United States. There’s lots to see and do as Waits growls and cajoles, leading you into abandoned barns and through circus sideshows.
Real Gone isn’t the go-to album most people choose when trying to pick an important Waits record. They’ll usually point you toward an earlier, jangly album such as Swordfishtrombones. But I came to Waits’s music later in life, around the time of Mule Variations, which could easily have taken Real Gone’s place in this list. The production is better here than in those earlier efforts, and there’s more variety, along with a story that Waits seems finally able to tell with cohesion and wit.
This album is full of moments of wry humor, with Waits growling at you, pleading with you, and tormenting you in equal measures. It’s folk music played on the edge of a cliff, while drunk. The backing musicians are superb; Marc Ribot’s biting guitar is a standout. And this is performance art too. Waits isn’t just singing; he’s acting. He’s adopting a persona and telling folk stories. Real Gone is a challenging listen, but once you realize it’s not just music, it all comes together.
If you want to test out a couple of tracks before committing to a purchase, start with “Make It Rain,” and then, if you’ve managed to keep your lunch down, move on to “Don’t Go into That Barn.”
The only version of Real Gone that’s available on vinyl is the 2017 remixed and remastered LP. I’m torn on this one. The sound quality is maybe a bit better than the original, but I don’t approve of some of the remixed parts. I recently had a short chat with Mark Howard, who recorded and mixed Real Gone, and he mentioned that, after the fact, Waits prefers the original version by far. So if you want to own the artist-approved LP, you will likely have to hit up Discogs.
Brian Eno: Ambient 1: Music for Airports
I’d be remiss if I didn’t include Music for Airports on this list, if only because it’s the album we listen to most in the Thorpe household. For years, Marcia would get up before me, come downstairs, make herself a coffee, and ignite the gas fireplace. Then, she would select Music for Airports from the server, open her laptop, and start writing in her journal. This would be the pastoral, tranquil Renaissance scene I’d encounter when I walked down the stairs.
These days, I’m up first in the mornings, and I’m more businesslike. I spin up two cappuccinos right fast, and then head back upstairs. But still, I play Music for Airports at least once every other day, and Marcia often plays it when she has writing to do.
This is a record that transcends music. It’s not something designed to be actively listened to, although it does reward that activity. Instead, it’s sound as furniture. You can safely play this record and ignore it, just as you’d overlook a coffee table or a Persian rug. The opening track, simply labelled “1/1,” is a minimalist sequence of piano notes played at a languid pace, while calm synthesizer washes intertwine and phase in and out of the background.
It’s so stunningly brilliant in its simplicity. The next three tracks are clever synth washes circling around the odd piano note, with looped female voices harmonizing wordlessly, and the mood stays consistent—peaceful, calm, introspective. I know this record so well that I find I don’t actually listen to it. Instead, I feel its presence as part of my environment—it’s a piece of art that hangs on my wall; it’s a sculpture draped in light as the sun reflects off the snow outside. Music for Airports completes my room.
This record sounds magnificent. The piano notes hold a solid position in space, with wonderful depth and weight. The synthesizers spread themselves from one edge of the room to the other, and there’s a feeling of quiet, latent power to its enormous presentation of sound.
And holy hell, is this an important album. Its full title, Ambient 1: Music for Airports, says it all. Eno coined the term “ambient music,” was its originator, and can easily be considered the father of the genre.
There are two versions of this album in print right now—both remastered and pressed on 180g vinyl, and both reasonably priced. One has all four tracks on a single LP, and the other is a half-speed-mastered version split up into two discs. I suggest getting the single LP, as the original track listing, with two tracks per side, allows you to sit through the record as intended. Music for Airports is about process, not result.
Talking Heads: Remain in Light
Remain in Light was released in 1980; once I discovered it three years later, I played that tape until it disintegrated. A memory dropping down out of the sky—driving down to Myrtle Beach with my buddy Neil in a dune buggy with no roof. Neil could drive for days without a break, and he controlled the stereo. His choice was Alice Cooper’s Welcome to My Nightmare on repeat, flipping that tape endlessly on the Pioneer deck. “Cold Ethyl” became seared into my mind. When my turn came to drive, I slammed in Remain in Light, and Neil looked at me like I’d gone insane.
This is driving music that’s actually driving music. Spin that whichever way you want. Remain in Light is a fascinating, brilliant, endlessly entertaining album, and its genesis is too involved for me to do justice to it here. I suggest you head over to the Wikipedia page and read about how Brian Eno worked with Talking Heads in Barbados, how they integrated the influence of Fela Kuti and African polyrhythms, and how they made extensive use of tape loops before the concept of samples even existed.
The end result is complex, dense music, full of deep, infectious grooves that layer in upon themselves. It’s afrobeat, punk, funk, new wave, and rock combined, all overseen by the nerdiest front man who’s ever existed. “I’m a government man,” shouts David Byrne in “Born Under Punches (The Heat Goes On).” He’s so incredibly uncool that he goes all the way around the backside until he’s the coolest singer who’s ever laid down a record.
If you’re taking me even remotely seriously, nip on over to YouTube and check out the live version of “Once in a Lifetime” from the concert movie Stop Making Sense.
There are several versions of this record still in print, and used copies are easy to find.
Olivia Rodrigo: GUTS
It’s time for me to eat my words. Last year I spilled some ink raving about Van Halen’s debut album, specifically the MoFi 45-rpm reissue. My take back then was that this was one of the greatest-ever debut albums, and that its position at number 40 in Rolling Stone’s list of the top 100 debut records of all time was a travesty, especially considering some of the no-talent clinkers that rated higher.
Number 39 was Olivia Rodrigo’s SOUR. I was outraged that this bubble-gum-pop phenomenon rated above Van Halen. I’d listened to some of this album by dint of driving my daughter back and forth to basketball practices, and I wasn’t impressed by her fascination with slagging her exes. It all seemed a bit snivelly to me. And I said as much in my Van Halen review.
But then one night on our way to practice Toni cued up “bad idea right?” from Rodrigo’s newest studio album, GUTS. What a banger. Clever, witty, and active, with a snappy jump beat—about an ex, sure, but positive and self-assured. “Play some more from that album,” I said.
GUTS is a brilliant record. There, I said it: a new top-selling pop album from a teenage sensation, and I can get behind it. Rodrigo rides on the coattails of Liz Phair’s intelligent girl-rock, but she’s in no way derivative—she’s got her own feel, her own style, and she focuses on a more internal sense of doubt. The flow from song to song is perfect, alternating between quick, clever rockers and quiet, introspective ballads. And the lyrics are incredibly poetic and insightful, as Rodrigo works through teenage angst with a self-awareness far beyond her years. I especially like her sense of self-deprecating humor. In “all-american bitch,” she ends the song whispering,
I’m grateful all the fucking time
I’m sexy and I’m kind
I’m pretty when I cry
It’s her ability to say this with a straight face, realizing that this is what’s expected of her: to create and uphold an image that’s not representative of her actual feelings.
Rodrigo’s got a cracking band backing her up. Tight and snappy, with just the right amount of sizzle on the guitars and jump on the drums, the band rides that perfect line, supporting Rodrigo without either overpowering her or fading so far back that there’s no point in bothering.
I will admit that I only just purchased the LP of GUTS this week, after I realized that all of my listening up to that point had been in the car, whenever Toni took a break from mumble rap (which I cannot abide). So a few days ago at lunch, I walked round the corner to my local record store and picked up a vinyl copy of the album, and I threw it on the VPI.
If there’s a catch here, it’s that—at first, anyway—the listening experience in the car didn’t quite translate to the big rig. It’s still great music, and the pressing quality of the LP is good. Mine was a touch wavy but silent regardless. There are actually some decent dynamics here—it’s not compressed all to hell and back. But maybe it’s the hearing-it-first effect messing with me. Is it car music, daughter music? At any rate, it’s fun music and the LP is decent, so I have no complaints.
In retrospect, the sad, self-indulgent hit songs that Toni played for me back when Rodrigo’s first album, SOUR, was released were far from the best ones on there. We’ve since gone back and listened to some of the other tracks on SOUR, and yeah, I guess I’m now okay with that album ranking just above Van Halen.
Rush: A Farewell to Kings
Since I started thinking about this little project, even before writing the first instalment with the first five records, I’ve debated whether to include a Rush album. What’s my purpose here? Simply to recommend great albums? Start a dialogue? Show how smart I am? Am I allowed to pick records that I love, even though many people would get the ick? I guess it’s a yes to all.
In my defense of the significance of this Canadian group, I present this quote from Wikipedia:
According to the RIAA, Rush’s sales statistics place them third behind the Beatles and the Rolling Stones for the most consecutive gold or platinum albums by a rock band.
It’s not just me who appreciates these guys.
So the hell with it. I’m including a Rush album. I’m doing this at the end of the list, so feel free to stop reading if you’re so inclined. But I tell you, there are pearls here. Wonderful music, I swear.
At first, I was going to recommend Moving Pictures, as it’s probably the most accessible album in Rush’s discography. But that’s no fun. To me, A Farewell to Kings is the band’s most significant record, as it’s the turning point, the pivot, the beginning of Rush’s golden age. AFtK was followed by Hemispheres, then Permanent Waves, Moving Pictures, and finally Signals. These five albums are the most coherent, lyrical, and unique records out of the band’s 19 studio releases. The period before AFtK, while superb, was rawer, more rock-oriented. And the subsequent releases found the band reaching out and evolving, but without the same level of coherence.
There are some monster songs on this album. The title track isn’t really an anthem for the band, but it’s up there. Fantastic guitar work from Alex Lifeson, bass that’s stepping into high gear from Geddy Lee, and then there’s the drum work of Neil Peart—ove sholem—along with his lyrics. How’s this for a killer line from the title track that very much resonates today:
Scheming demons
Dressed in kingly guise
Beating down the multitude
And scoffing at the wise
And that’s followed by “Xanadu,” which is Peart’s attempt to complete Coleridge’s unfinished poem “Kubla Khan.” You don’t often get that kind of ambition or reach in popular music. But wait! There’s more. The song “Cygnus X-1 Book I: The Voyage” is a sci-fi tale that’s based on a real, actual black hole, an X-ray source in the constellation of Cygnus. The rocket nerds at NASA were totally chuffed when they heard this track, so much so that they invited the band down to Florida to attend a space-shuttle launch.
I played a bunch of Rush tracks, including “Xanadu,” for my neighbor, Ron, who’s a guitar player. Ron never really got Rush, but I walked him through some of the reasons why I find the band so impressive. After he’d listened for a while and then borrowed a couple of records, he came back to me and said, “How do they do it? The beat changes so much . . . where’s the one-beat? I can’t find the one-beat.” While I’m not sure Rush has a new fan, Ron certainly gained a fresh appreciation for the band.
This is complicated music, and—I know—Geddy Lee’s voice is polarizing, so it’s not for everyone. That said, it’s worth giving it a try if you haven’t already done so. The recent remasters are superb, and, once again, there are plenty of used copies available.
. . . Jason Thorpe
jasont@soundstagenetwork.com
