Before I kick off, you may have noticed that the 'major' punk records did not appear. I talk a bit about those in this post, but just to summarise: there are some great records there, but they just don't do as much as others for me. As I say in the 1977 post, the most interesting thing about punk is what came next. 1978 and 1979 have some much more interesting 'punk' records, I think. I still hold, however, that The Damned's debut is the best of that crop.
All the same, I'm going to start by mentioning three albums I deliberately excluded from that post because I'd made the (somewhat dodgy) decision to stick to English bands - I did this because I felt that to do otherwise might have risked an unwieldy and over-long list. All three could have been included, and all three had merits missing from the albums included.
(Wire's Pink Flag ought to be added to these three, but I'm pretty confident that either '78s Chairs Missing or '79s 154 will hit the top ten for one of those years. I'll leave Wire until then.)
Richard Hell and the Voidoids - Blank Generation
Within seconds of Blank Generation kicking off, you know that this is different. Love Comes in Spurts tears away, and while it has that abrasiveness that you might associate with punk, the energy is less angry, more psychotic. It makes the English bands look a little pedestrian in it's sheer kinetic boundlessness. This continues into the ultra-fidgety Liars Beware and only let's up a little on the third track. When we get to the fourth track, we begin to properly perceive the changes afoot. It's slower and almost bluesy - it pre-figures The Gun Club a little, I think. But it's here that we begin to see the expansiveness of palette that is absent from the English - even the more musical Jam and Stranglers. This album is frayed at the edges and there are times that it threatens to fall apart completely - but it's willingness to pull at the seams of rock and roll is thrilling. It didn't make my top ten, but it was close - of the 'new' crop of so-called punk bands, only his ex-bandmate Tom Verlaine and Television (as well as Blondie, depending on whether you want to include them here) impressed me more.
Suicide - Suicide
Still in New York and perhaps even more out there - certainly an even greater distance from the English bands of the time. What's more, is this the first synth duo? (We have Sparks as a duo in '79 and Soft Cell by '80 - but is there anyone earlier?)
Anyway, there a primitive streak here. Martin Rev's synthesizers are not the shiny, sequenced synths of Giorgio or latterly of the Pet Shop Boys; they sound like they have been unearthed from somewhere deep underground. The drums sound even older - vague, dark pulses. They are repetitive to the point of being oppressive, nasty, unsettling. The ten minutes of Frankie Teardrop grind the listener down - two notes, with only Alan Vega and some otherworldly sounds to break the monotony. It reminds me of the Eraserhead soundtrack. But then: Alan Vega. He mumbles and shouts and shrieks like Elvis possessed. It bears the marks of Jerry Lee and Gene Vincent but fed back from a distant point in space. It's not always a fun listen or a pleasant one, but dammit if it's not thrilling.
The Saints - (I'm) Stranded
From New York to Brisbane, to The Saints. At first pass, with the great single (I'm) Stranded, this sounds of a piece with the British bands. It bristles with power chords, energy and attitude. It's closest in spirit with The Ramone's debut - or even The Damned. There appears to be a deliberate lack of sophistication here - three chords played over and over. Erotic Neurotic holds to this, but channels (and rips off) the Stones' cover of I Wanna Be Your Man. They have the audacity to cover Elvis' Kissin Cousins. But the album isn't afraid to stretch out. Messin' With the Kid sounds like a heavier Neil Young track - it bears similarity, I think, with Knockin' on Heaven's Door. It's still sneering, it still has that attitude, but it's no longer bound to those three chords. Similarly, Story of Love swings for Springsteen territory and does a solid job.
Of these three albums, this is the weakest, but it still stands head and shoulders alongside The Damned, Jam and Clash - by which I mean it's still a cool album. Their next album is even better and is a potential for '78. (I have a massive soft spot for Know Your Product).
Original Soundtrack - Saturday Night Fever
This was number 11. It's problem was simple. While roughly half the record is spectacular, the other half is, to be honest, meh. There are seventeen tracks on the album (a double in old money). Six come from the Bee Gees and are incredible. We have a tracks from Yvonne Elliman, The Trammps and the KC and Sunshine Band - they are all solid. After that, it's a hefty decline; even the mighty Kool and the Gang submit one of their weaker efforts, and when we get to David Shire's Night on Disco Mountain... well, let's not.
But at it's best, it's amazing. The Bee Gees tracks (include Elliman's, which was written by them) are sublime. All seven of them will burrow a path to your brain and stay there forever. Once there, hips and legs will soon respond and feet will tap - they are irresistible.
Blondie - Plastic Letters
This might not be the best Blondie album, but it might well be my favourite. I bought it around the same time that I got Parallel Lines and Eat to the Beat - some point very late 70s, when I was still very much a child. I had a poster of Debbie Harry on my wall (the Andy Warhol's Bad one). When, later on, people would allude to me about her being a sex icon, I always felt slightly out of sync. I think because I had latched onto her at such a pre-pubescent time, she never transitioned into sex object in the way that, say, Madonna did.
As much as the two later albums had more of the hits, I just connected with this one more. It might be the sudden abruptness of both sides A & B - both Fan Mail and I Didn't Have the Nerve bolt out of the gates like it was their last chance. Perhaps it was the production - by Richard Gottehrer rather than Mike Chapman - that has more urgency. Maybe it's because I have a thing for transitional albums - bands struggling to find their feet. That is certainly the case here. The line-up was still in the process of coalescing; losing Gary Valentine, Frank Infante and Nigel Harrison listed only in the 'thanks section'. The two singles (Denis and (I'm Always Touched By Your)Presence Dear) already have that pop sheen, but the rest of the songs still have a roughness. The sixties garage and girl group influences are still plainly visible. Nonetheless, some of the songs are very strong, including the punkiest of all their singles, Detroit 442 and possibly my favourite Blondie song of all (don't ask me why) Cautious Lip.
I saw (what was left of) Blondie live in about '89 or '90 at Liverpool Royal Court. They finished with Cautious Lip. In honesty, it was the only thing I remember from the gig itself, but it made me very happy. (I also remember hooking up with a girl after the gig, but that's a different story).
Anyway, this isn't the best Blondie album - not really. There are a few songs that just don't quite cut it. Parallel Lines is coming in '78, and that is nothing, if not, pop perfection. But Plastic Letters has a place in my heart.
Cerrone - Supernature
I'll admit I only caught on to Cerrone recently. I've been making listening to disco an intention rather than as a by-product of seventies soul and that has led me to some incredible records that are, in all honesty, really growing on me. So far I have only listened to two of Marc Cerrone's albums; this one and his first Love in C Minor. The former is more of the classic disco sound - the lusher, strings-based style associated with Salsoul or MFSB. It's awesome, but this one delves more into the futuristic, synth-based disco we connect with Giorgio Moroder.
This is a concept album - scientists have done messed around with humanity again, it's all gone weird - but let's face it, I'm not really paying attention to that. The album is mixed, a couple of the tracks return to the sound of his earlier records - Give Me Love is old-school disco - as catchy as anything Salsoul put out. I'd love to hear a Tom Moulton mix of it. But the title track is where it's at. It's cold and distant, but as propulsive as anything Moroder did. If you're on the dancefloor and this fails to move you, call an ambulance - you might be dead.
Abba - The Album
Pity poor ABBA. A truly incredible band, but they never mustered a truly killer album. If you listen to their compilation Gold, it is genuine killer pop hit after hit. It's a rare Greatest Hits that manages that. Add to that More Gold, another 20 tracks, and almost as good. There are very few artists/bands that are so consistently awesome - and over a relatively short eight years.
I'd argue that the albums - especially the four from '75-'79 (ABBA, Arrival, The Album and Voulez Vous) - are also very good and contain several hidden gems. But in each case, there are one or two bum notes; tracks that dilute the overall quality from killer to just good, or in this case even, very good. In this album, the bad reaches its pinnacle with One Man, One Woman - a maudlin picture of a mundane marriage in difficulty. It's a move that Abba did much better on countless other occasions. The chorus - a song element that Abba are normally so sure-footed with - lumbers on wearily, much like the couple in the song, I guess. Similarly, Move On, is just a little too European; folksy pipe music, worthy, thoughtful voice-over. Still despite that, at least, it's catchy in a sort of Moomins go Pop! kind of way.
But when it's good, it's incredible. Let's note the singles quickly: Thank You For The Music is a mid-tempo, well-meaning piece of schmaltz, but it does the business. The Name of the Game is similar but has a gentle, soft rock propulsiveness that's killer. The Eagle is Abba at their Yacht Rockiest. They create a huge sound and never sounded more transcendent. Take a Chance On Me is disco gold.
But please, if you're reading this, pop I'm a Marionette on - preferably loud. I don't think that there's anything in Abba's discography that compares to it. It switches briskly from disco to slightly terrifying symphonic pop and back again. Agnetha and Frida never sounded so imperious. They always had a sort of coldness as singers, a sort of detachment. I've often felt that much of Abba's best music sounded like it was created by a future super-computer. The song is theatrical in the chorus and disco on the verse - flipping expectations. It makes no sense, but works brilliantly. If only they could have kept it together for a whole album.
Throbbing Gristle - Second Annual Report
This album ranked bottom for 1977 for me, but it might be one of the most interesting and was certainly more influential than most on the list. It's that thing where I'll admit it's place in the history of music, but I just didn't enjoy it at all. It doesn't help that it was recorded in the worst possible way and the music sounds like sludge. I'm pretty sure it was supposed to. The general unpleasantness of the audio samples that are overlaid are pretty grim too.
Interestingly, their next album 20 Jazz Funk Greats is much more listenable. Throbbing Gristle were an important and influential point on the way to industrial music. What's more, the personnel here went on to other much better things, including one of my favourite bands (Coil).
But no, this is horrible.
Grace Jones - Portfolio
I love Grace Jones very very much. I saw her live a bunch of years ago, and I'll not have a bad word said about her. But dammit, her first few albums just aren't that good. They are examples of the style of disco that veers a little too closely to tacky show music. This album has covers of Send in the Clowns and Tomorrow all gussied up. I just don't enjoy them.
BUT! There is one of my very favourite songs on this one. La Vie en Rose, the Edith Piaf song. Grace's version is stripped down; a bossa nova rhythm of percussion, bass and acoustic guitar with piano on top. Grace sings it like her life depended on it, letting the song build and flow. It is amazing and utterly wasted on this otherwise disappointing album.
Steve Martin - Let's Get Small
I don't really consider comedy or spoken word albums very much in these lists, but this is my favourite. It is a clear reminder of Steve Martin at his funniest. Before the banjo and before the various movies where he was just alright; before all of that, he was a comedy giant. After a decade or so in clubs, he did two proper albums, and then pretty much retired as a stand-up. This was his first and proof, if it were needed, of his genius.
His comedy is not caustic or counter-cultural or directly profane, like George Carlin, or Richard Pryor, but it was, in its own way just as subversive. By co-opting the persona of a schmaltzy Vegas lounge act, he is able to send up the conventions and expectations of show-biz and the people that love it, i.e. everybody else. His whole approach is ridiculous and surreal and childish and stupid, but there's a mixing of concepts that is intellectually satisfying as well. He does an incredible double bluff - leading towards one sort of punchline and delivering another. Like all comedy albums, you need to listen to it...
You know when a comedy album is good, though, when you have listened to it a dozen or more times and you still laugh out loud. I'm laughing out loud right now...
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