Earlier this week, Peter Stampfel and the Ether Frolic Mob—who play Jalopy Theatre tonight—offered up a wonderful TONY video performance of “Shombolar,” a wild song by the obscure Brooklyn doo-wop group Sheriff and the Ravels. Below is the original song, recorded in the late ’50s and available on the box set Vee-Jay: The Definitive Collection, a survey of the seminal blues and rock & roll label. “Shombolar” is an overlooked classic—music at its most unhinged. It was written by lead singer Elmore Sheriff and Aki Aleong, an actor who discovered the Ravels and, with no prior experience, produced the single. According to the box set’s liner notes, the track “stands as one of the great ‘nonsense’ records, in the tradition of ‘Louie Louie’ and ‘Papa-Oom-Mow-Wow.’” That is to say, the lyrics make about as much sense as the gentlemen gathered behind Port Authority. “Of all the animals in the world, I’d rather be a bear,” the Ravels sing at one point. “Eeeewwwhhh!”

Shombalor - Sheriff and the Ravels

True confession: I did not care for R.E.M.’s Murmur when it appeared—which is the same as saying that if I’d attempted to realize my nascent rock-crit aspirations a year or so sooner than I did, I’d have been dead at the starting gate. At the time, the rock-crit rulebook looked something like this:

1: Murmur is the greatest American rock record issued in 1983.

2. See No. 1.

Years later, Murmur’s kudzu mumble would finally take hold. (The recent deluxe reissue is an easy recommendation.) Where I came in was Reckoning, R.E.M.’s second full-length album. Issued in 1984, the album showed no sign of the much-cited sophomore-slump phenomenon. What it did show was a band capable of playing lean, wiry jangle rock with muscle and heart, stripped clean of the preciousness that delayed my appreciation of Murmur.

Heard again now, the ten songs that make up Reckoning still hold up. “Harborcoat,” with its near-ska guitar shuffle, is as brash an opener as you could want; “So. Central Rain (I’m Sorry)” and “Pretty Persuasion” remain among the band’s strongest cuts, and “Camera” retains its mystery. Still, it’s “(Don’t Go Back to) Rockville,” the most straightforward song—and the only one with lyrics not penned by Michael Stipe; Mike Mills wrote the tune back in 1980—that sticks in my mind most, not least because of a couplet that still resonates with all the power it had for a then-recently dumped collegiate:

At night I drink myself to sleep and pretend I don’t care that you’re not here with me
’Cause it’s so much easier to handle all my problems if I’m too far out to see

The album sounds crisp, clear and fresh in Universal’s new deluxe repackaging, part of a series that will presumably see the band’s entire I.R.S. catalog spit-shined one last time for the twilight of the CD era. The bonus disc seals the deal, offering a terrific live show taped on July 7, 1984, at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago. Hearing the young band play, you get no glimmering of a later grandiosity that would inflate into pomp and border on parody. Listen to “Driver 8,” an as-yet-unrecorded track that would turn up on 1985’s challenging Fables of the Reconstruction, and what you hear in Stipe’s insistent twang, Mills’s nimble basslines, Peter Buck’s melancholy jangle and ominous gnarl, and Bill Berry’s affirmative thump is a combination of hunger and confidence that proved R.E.M. had the stuff of greatness.

Any time an old album or catalog gets remastered and reissued, the first question that comes to mind is, do I really have to buy this again? Getting a jump on Capitol’s revamp of the entire Beatles oeuvre (due in September), Universal Music Group kicked off its resurrection of the post-1971 Rolling Stones catalog this month with a batch that includes one absolute classic (Sticky Fingers), two discs that warrant serious consideration or at least cherry-picking for singles (Goats Head Soup and It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll) and one uneven set generally relegated to devotees-only status, though it might deserve better (Black and Blue).

And yes, before you ask—as our Sophie Harris did, most indignantly—Exile on Main Street is in fact missing from this clutch of the band’s immediate post-ABKCO discography…but only because that iconic set is being treated to a superdeluxe reissue in early 2010. The remaining titles are packaged with no frills and no bonuses. The question remains: Do you need this latest batch of discs (or downloads)? The answer comes after the break. Read more »

Neil Young’s recent output, including what we’ve heard of the new Fork in the Road, has a certain by-seat-of-the-pants charm, but we can’t help but get a little nostalgic for the iconic songwriter’s more lived-in work. And we’re not just talking about his ’70s classics. Strolling around a flea market the other day, we stumbled upon a $3 copy of 1995’s Mirror Ball, on which Young is joined by the entirety of Pearl Jam. We’d heard plenty of live N.Y./P.J. team-ups, but they didn’t prepare us for the warmth and depth of this particular collaboration—frankly, there’s not a weak track on the record. “Throw Your Hatred Down” gives a sense of what a gritty, haunting set Mirror Ball is. While everyone else is in a tizzy over Young’s forthcoming mega box set, Archives Vol. 1, we highly suggest tracking down a cheap copy or a download of this overlooked gem.

It seems preposterous now, but in 1994 Beck was considered by many to be an eccentric anomaly with a freak hit. The magnificence of his album Mellow Gold went oft ignored, overshadowed by its monstrous single, “Loser.” His live show of the time was still rough around the edges, and he seemed uncomfortable with his newfound audience. Those who caught the young singer through only select media appearances would be excused for assuming that he was an imbecile—I vaguely recall him throwing a shoe at Thurston Moore on MTV. Read more »

Covering another artist’s song has been considered fair game for so long that no one thinks twice about it anymore. But should we extend that same goodwill to the practice of pilfering another band’s logo? We have to admit, we’ve felt just a bit indignant watching indie blogostar Nathan Williams (he of Wavves fame) plaster his version of The Wipers‘ spiky-peace-sign graphic all over the place. Sure, Williams hasn’t been shy about citing the vintage Portland, Oregon, punk outfit as a musical influence, and his raw, hauntingly melodic songs definitely preserve certain important elements of the Wipers’ legacy. But we’d hate to think that someone stumbling upon his latest disc, Wavvves, might not be privy to the history behind it.

At any rate, we’re happy to use Williams’s recent success as an excuse to plug one of our favorite box sets of all time, namely the beyond-classic reissue of the Wipers’ first three LPs, Is This Real?, Youth of America and Over the Edge—available here, direct from the band’s mastermind, Greg Sage. Click ahead for some commentary and streaming tracks.

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Last week, Stereolab announced that it was going on indefinite hiatus after a 19-year run. The indie stalwarts abruptly canceled their remaining shows but promise to release a new album, Chemical Chords 2—a sequel to 2008’s Chemical Chords—through their label, Duophonic. Read more »

Can it be true? Is it really 20 whole years since De La Soul released its 3 Feet High and Rising debut? In a word, yes—and that’s why the genre-redefining hip-hop trio announced a special show at the Manchester International Festival in July (as per yesterday’s post), in celebration of the disc.

So let’s slide the vinyl out of the sleeve, click-wheel down to D or (personally speaking) take that scratchy old cassette out of its plastic case and behold the distilled joy that is 3 Feet High and Rising.

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Yesterday, Sub Pop reissued a deluxe edition of Bunny Gets Paid, a singular 1995 album by the unheralded Chicago band Red Red Meat. News of the reissue came as a pleasant surprise: When first unveiled, the album was greeted with little fanfare, a strange and fantastically gloomy work by a group that, just a year prior, had been hyped as “grunge” hopefuls. When, later in the ’90s, Red Red Meat broke up—or, more accurately, morphed into Califone—the album seemed to have slipped permanently into the shadows. The warm reception of this two-disc set is one of several examples that, after some initial misdirection, the reigning rock cognoscenti are getting a handle on the beast that was the 1990s. (The band recently played shows in Chicago and at SXSW.) Read more »

It’s useless to grouse about favored bands that go unheralded. Such is life, such is pop music; part of a musician’s job is finding his or her audience. Yet there are some bands whose inability to conquer the world—while the insipid prosper!—is truly irksome. One such band is Noonday Underground. The British duo features music collages by producer Simon Dine and the brassy singing of Daisy Martey, whose booming voice recalls that of Shirley Bassey. The pair’s albums, most recently 2006’s On the Freedom Flotilla, are uniformly sly, smart and accessible. This is the sound of swinging London, tweaked and revisited. For the most part, Noonday Underground has lived up to its moniker, a cult band with some very high-profile admirers. These fans include Mark Ronson (whose own work borrows significantly from the group), Paul Weller (whose recent album, 22 Dreams, was partially produced by Dine), and Morcheeba (whose disastrous fling with Martey is chronicled here). The below song, “London,” comes from Noonday Underground’s debut album, Self-Assembly, which was released in the States in 2001, on Bar-None. In a just world, it would play in the party scene of every  movie released in the next seven or eight years.

“London” – Noonday Underground

In a world of neurotic hygiene—of self-cleaning chopping boards, plastic-sealed furniture and such—it’s little wonder Louisiana’s “Swamp Fox” Tony Joe White never made it big. There’s something just too funky (in the old-fashioned sense of the word), too rough and ready about his brand of blue-eyed soul for him to have been a household name. (Check the pic below if you need further convincing.)

White’s ruggedness hasn’t stopped the songs themselves from becoming massive though. Elvis’s hit “Polk Salad Annie”? That’s a TJW track. “Rainy Night in Georgia,” as sung by Ray Charles and Randy Crawford? TJW again. Hell, even Tina Turner’s “Steamy Windows” is a TJW song (he produced her entire Foreign Affair album). And you can find the best of White’s songwriting on his musky, 1969 sophomore album, …Continued.

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Today we start a regular post devoted to checking out older records, be they obscure or not. Consider it a non–new release recommendation machine.

It’s Morrissey madness! Whenever the Moz releases a new album, people go bonkers. Say what you will, his fans are a devoted lot. Our review of Years of Refusal ended thus: “Overall, the album isn’t as consistent as Moz’s other ’00s discs, You Are the Quarry and Ringleader of the Tormentors, both of which had catchier melodies and wittier lyrics. Still, it’s Morrissey, man—if you know what you’re in for, you won’t be disappointed.” I agree with the fact that it’s not as strong as the other ’00 records…at all. This one is just not really doing it for me.

That’s why I decided to dust me off some old Smiths. I didn’t go for my personal favorite, The Queen Is Dead, or the pop delight Meat Is Murder (or the band’s final record, for that matter). Rather, I reached for the first disc by the Manchester crew…

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