10 'Best' Albums from 1975

I imagine that it's no surprise for me to say that I am really enjoying this project even though it takes me ages. For those that don't know, or have forgotten, I am selecting the best (for me - and for me alone!) albums of each year since I was born. I was born in in 1970, but since 1973, I upped the ante a little and so for each year I listen to every album that I own for the year, along with a small number streamed or bought especially for the project at least once. For 1975, I have listened to 99 albums.

Of course that is not all the albums that were released that year - but you have to cut it off somewhere!

Anyway, one of the reasons that I enjoy this project is that it forces me to listen to albums that I had forgotten about or neglected or sometimes never got around to listening to in the first place. For instance, I always held Physical Graffiti by Led Zeppelin as a solid album, but I can't remember the last time I listened to it in its entirety. Popping it on again now, I was blown away. There is so much more to it than I thought. It was a revelation.

Also, it's incredible to spend a sustained period listening to a single year. Last month I noted that Paul Weller had suggested that the mid-70s were a 'wasteland'. This exercise shows how wrong he is. The late 70s were undoubtedly rich in so many ways, but I never realised how much 1975 had to offer. Along with the soft rock, art rock and r'n'b that have been dominating my lists so far, '75 sees Jamaica literally exploding with talent, some astonishing music coming out of Nashville, not to mention Dusseldorf.

I know that sometimes folk get a little frustrated by things being missed out. In preparation for this year a few people had noted the inevitability of this or that album. I have listened to all of the albums that they mentioned (in a couple of cases three or four times), and only one of them have made my list. That is not to play down these records - without exception these 'inevitable' albums are great. But I have to underline the subjective nature of these lists. They're my best, not the best.

Since 1973 I have also written a second post for each year, noting ten other records that I think interesting. Some because they were awesome and I wanted to draw attention to them; some because they were awful in some ways that amuse me. One friend has suggested that this second post risks overkill. I take his point without reservation but I'm going to keep them going. Partially, this is because I enjoy them but it's also because my 11th best album of the year deserves a comment!

Finally, each year I skip writing about some albums to avoid the risk of writing about the same people again and again. I'm skipping Bowie's Young Americans and holding him off until next year and Fleetwood Mac until '77.. I'm also skipping Neil Young's Tonight's the Night, Richard and Linda Thompson's Pour Down Like Silver, Eno's Another Green World were skipped because I wrote about those guys last year.

If anyone wants to see the full list - here it is. Are you sure you want to, though? There's a Spotify playlist at the end.

And 1975's 10 'best' albums start with...

Larry Jon Wilson - New Beginnings

This is one of those dudes that almost no-one has heard of. I heard his name a few years back when he died. Will Oldham knocked out a tribute 7", covering one of his songs. I then found him popping up on a few Country Funk comps*. His albums are really difficult to pick up on CD, so it took me a long while until I managed to hear his first two albums - both of which are incredible. I still haven't heard his later albums.

Wilson is a country singer-songwriter who sits rights on that nexus between outlaw country and southern soul (like Bobbie Gentry or Tony Joe White). If you like either of those two genres, I promise you that you'll dig this album. Wilson didn't learn to play the guitar until he was 30 and it was a few years after that that he begun writing songs. So he has a maturity and a legitimate sense of observation in his pictures of southern life. He writes about what he knows and loves and when he's funky, you'll want to move, but when he cools down, you'll want to listen. The songs are so warm and world affirming, his voice such a deep, rich baritone - it's country funk via Santa.

It contains one of the most beautiful songs about parenthood I've ever heard. Bertrand My Son is about his son, who is paralysed. Wilson's hopes regarding Bertrand are so uplifting and heart-warming, as a relatively new parent again, it makes my eyes moist. And that's going some for me...

* If you can get your hands on the Country Got Soul comps on Casual Records, I cannot recommend them enough


Sam Dees - The Show Must Go On

Perhaps another name unfamiliar to most. Dees was mostly known as a songwriter and he wrote a load of late 60s/early 70s soul classics, especially out of Atlanta. He only produced one proper album and this is it. The formula is really straightforward: a great soul singer, great songs, dignified production, placing him somewhere between Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield and Teddy Pendergrass. When he sings about social issues, you know he's seen the ghetto. When he sings about love, as in Worn Out Broken Heart, it feels like he's had hard times in the romance department. Great choruses throughout - not a duff track to be found. Classic 70s southern soul.


Harmonia - Deluxe

I've always been slightly more an admirer than a fan of the so-called Krautrock scene. Looking at my lists so far, while German albums (Can, Popol Vuh, for example) have done consistently well, none have risen to the top. They're great records but they often manage, at least in part, to leave me a little cold in places. This album brings together the very best elements to bear all in one place and it's no surprise given the personnel. Harmonia is made up of Hans-Joachim Roedelius, Dieter Moebius and Michael Rother (and joined here by Guru Guru's Mani Neumeier), all of whom had impeccable CVs in the German music and arts scenes both before and after Harmonia (particularly being involved in the formative works of Kraftwerk, Cluster, Neu! and more). And it's no surprise that these guys were so influential over folk like Eno, Bowie, etc.

What this record achieves for me is an incredible marriage between warmth and coolness. It has that classic Germanic motoric beat and the synthesizers feel like they have been programmed by machines. Even Rother's guitars sound distant. Where there are vocals, they are repetitive and impersonal. And yet, the overall result is weirdly organic - like the machines are becoming aware of themselves in the music. It remains welcoming in its austerity - a benign aloofness. If I might extend my attempt to describe this music just a little further - it feels like a warm summer's evening on a planet far from home - but like, that's okay, you know...

I find it very hard to find the words to describe music sometimes. They are two utterly untranslatable languages. Despite this, I really enjoy trying.


Allen  Toussaint - Southern Nights

Another unsung genius, I'm afraid, although in recent years, up to and following his death in 2015, he has begun to achieve more widespread recognition. Toussaint was a writer and producer from New Orleans who was instrumental in defining the sound of that city as well as that which we now know as funk. He worked with all of the greats of that city from the 1950s onwards, and was viewed as a primary source of inspiration for dozens of artists far better known than himself - Dr. John, The Meters, The Neville Brothers, Irma Franklin, Lee Dorsey, Betty Harris to name a few.

But his own albums didn't sell very well. Toussaint hypothesised that they were 'too white to be black and too black to be white'. In other words, they were pitched too perfectly in between these distinct markets. I know what he he is getting at - Southern Nights does straddle both markets and you could imagine Robert Palmer or Elton John at his funkiest recording some of the songs. However, I am not sure that I buy this explanation. They do lack the deep groove of Memphis, or the slick rhythms of Philadelphia, but they sound every inch a New Orleans R'n'B record. Country John, the lone single from the album, has Professor Longhair all over it. The distinctive feel of New Orleans music is the second line drumming that gives it a marching quality, by which I mean that you could imagine it accompanying a march through the city streets.

At bottom, however, this is simply a record of top rate quality. Toussaint is an incredible songwriter and producer (he is accompanied in the producer's chair by another New Orleans master, Marshall Sehorn.) Every detail here is spot on. There is not a single song - not even a single note - that feels unnecessary. Every decision bears fruit. Hardly a month passes by without my popping it on and it never fails to do the trick.


The Tubes - The Tubes

Often lumped in with proto-punk, which it sort of is, but perhaps more so isn't, The Tubes debut album is one of the most bizarro records that ever attempted to hit the mainstream. Spoiler alert, while everyone hoped it was going to be huge, and it certainly could have been, a bunch of laudable, if weird, decisions, rendered it a cult artefact at the time of its release. Amongst these laudable, if weird, decisions, was to: a) have a genuinely wild stage show that meant it was really difficult if not impossible to make a profit; and b) refuse to do television spots unless they could perform a few songs in sequence, pretty much guaranteeing that publicity would be low.

Anyway, the record: At bottom, The Tubes are a power pop band with slightly proggy sensibilities. I sort of see them on the same spectrum as Supertramp, although that comparison fails to do justice to either band. Where The Tubes turn away is their willingness to extend wherever their narrative tells them, most obviously into Mariachi in Malaguena Salerosa. There is a wild hyperactivity about the songs that is exhilarating and thrilling, and sticks just the right side of manic - they might veer off the beaten track at any moment, or at least they feel like they might. That would all be fun, but what brings me back again and again is the musicianship and production are consistently incredible.

I forgot to mention: they can also be hilarious.


Led Zeppelin - Physical Graffiti

In my introduction I noted being surprised by this one. Every other record on this list gets played regularly. I doubt that six months go by without them getting a listen - certainly not a year. I honestly cannot remember the last time I listened to this in its entirety - not only which year, but perhaps which decade. Of course, I have listened to the odd song, Kashmir most likely, and I have always held it as a solid contribution to the Zeppelin discography as well as a rightly classic rock album. But listen to it as it was meant to be heard... perhaps 20 years?

So I'd forgotten a lot of it. The first thing that hits me about the mature Zeppelin sound is the super-immense drumming. It's been said before, but it really does feel like John Bonham is beating those drums with tree trunks - it's fucking HUGE. Jimmy Page's guitars are no less incendiary than ever they were. In In My Time of Dying (where I struggled to discern much of a 'song', by the way), Page slides his way through best part of twelve minutes chopping and changing riffs seemingly at will. Now that could have been tedious beyond words, but the energy and sheer relentless of it keep me hooked. Thankfully, while Trampled Under Foot sounds suspiciously like Stevie Wonder's Superstition, they manage to avoid the mistakes of The Crunge, and obviously Kashmir is massive, although amidst the general massiveness of the record, it felt a shade diminished.

And all that is just the first album. In the Light opens with a magnificent serpentine groove, Bron-yr-Aur allows Jimmy to show off for a moment with the finger picking he stole from Bert Jansch, and Down by the Seaside sounds like Led Zep's take on a Rolling Stones song (and is surprisingly good, as it happens). And on it goes. That a double album holds my interest so consistently is measure of how good these guys were. All I can add is that I will not be waiting 20 years before I pop it on again... No sir!


Burning Spear - Marcus Garvey

Jamaica had been producing great records since at least the 1960s. Ska had morphed into rocksteady and that had become reggae and it doesn't take much effort to uncover a bunch of great records. However, I'd argue that it took a few years until we started to see great reggae albums (in a similar fashion to our not seen many great Motown albums until the early 70s) - the marketplace in Jamaica being driven by singles, and it was only when reggae started being picked up by the markets in Britain and the US, that the economical value of the album as something distinct to a collection of singles took hold. Of course, Marcus Garvey was not the first reggae album - not by a long way. We've already seen The Wailer's' Burnin' on these lists. But the number of great reggae albums is increasing rapidly. There were several that figured highly in '75 and I'm already looking at '76, and there are comfortably more to come.

Burning Spear stands in contrast to Bob Marley's records. Island Records pushed Marley towards a production quality that would sell better in Britain and the USA, and, to be fair, they did a great job. Marley's records are fantastic. Peel away the slicker production and you get another picture of the heart of reggae, though. It is earthier, rougher, more stripped down. Marcus Garvey by Burning Spear is an exemplary example of roots reggae, steeped in the traditions of Rastafarianism. Led by Winston Rodney, whose chanted vocals are supported by Delroy Hinds and Rupert Willington, the whole album is loose in the best sense, in that the rougher edges all serve to make the record what it is - if we sought to smooth them off, it would lose their distinctiveness. All ten tracks, with support coming from the cream of Jamaica's musicians, create a gorgeous, haunting atmosphere, that lifts the spirit. It's notable that Rodney's chant-singing has the air of a seer or prophet, his pronouncements feel purposeful and portentous. All that would be great but uninteresting if the whole damned thing wasn't instantly appealing every single listen.

In researching this record I discovered that the mix of the album that was released by Island in '75 was not approved by Rodney. Apparently, they'd found it 'threatening' or something and so muted those elements. So far as I understand, the original mix is lost - I would love to hear it.




Paul Simon - Still Crazy After All These Years
(with a special nod to Art Garfunkel's Breakaway)

I love soft rock. The soft warm glow of an electric piano. Gentle songs sung slowly. Songs about love and loss, small moments of life. Songs that appeal to growing older - there's no need any more for being radical or making a statement. Songs that are unabashedly pretty. The early 70s produced many such records and one of my side projects is to gradually discover these great records; records that are so uncool, they have become cool again. 

It feels unfair to lump Paul Simon into the arena of soft rock, but the truth is, no matter how insanely good he is at writing songs, this record is rock (it ain't jazz, blues or boogaloo) and this record is soft (the only edge you'll find here is in some of Simon's most devastating lyrics). 

Every song here is gorgeous. There are the famous ones: the spectacular, cynical, 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover with its minor marching drums and hilarious lyrics; the warm, summery, Have a Good Time; the ruminative title track. These tracks alone would justify calling the record a classic, but we find a clutch of amazing songs too easily forgotten. There's the McCartney-esque I Do It For Your Love, the light blues of Some Folks Lives Roll Easy, the mournful Night Game.

Without a doubt the song I always enjoy the most is My Little Town, which functioned as a reunion of sorts with Art Garfunkel. It's such a lovely song, at once wistful and damning. Simon's songwriting craft is at it's very highest here - there are Paul Simon songs as good elsewhere in his discography but none better, and the arrangement is as rich as you could hope for.

Speaking of Art Garfunkel, he also released a record in '75. In all honesty it's not as good as the other records on this list, but it also possesses My Little Town as well as a series of smart and utterly beautiful cover versions. His version of The Flamingo's old I Only Have Eyes For You is almost as perfect as the original! We might not be so lucky to have a proper Simon and Garfunkel reunion, but this pair of albums is almost as good.

Queen - A Day at the Races

One of the questions that have been raised about both my '73 and '74 lists is where is Queen? The truth is, and I feel like I need to say this quietly, I am not sure I care too much for Queen's first three albums. I wonder if they are, in the most part, a singles rather than an album band. That is a controversial view, and I would not be surprised if there were a few folk that might disagree strenuously with me. Either way, the singles, especially on Sheer Heart Attack are phenomenal, but the albums leave me a little cool. I also wonder, and this might just be me seeing what I want to see, whether, it took a while for Queen to fully develop the vision or the confidence to produce a truly great album. Anyway, while I might be lukewarm about Queen's first three long players (and a few of their later ones), they definitely produced one bona fide monster.

A Night at the Opera sees Queen firing on all cylinders. All four members provide exceptional songs covering a wide reach of space. Of course, there are a clutch of hard rockers, but there are nods to folk rock, vaudeville and music hall, and then, of course, the elephant in the room that is Bohemian Rhapsody. Right from the off the album is committed to taking no prisoners. Death on Two Legs demands your attention with an array of production tricks that forbid you from letting you mind wander. As a song, both in terms of lyric and production it is intent on making a clear statement. It is relentless and vivid and it suddenly twists into the '20s pastiche Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon,  struggle to keep up. When we, mere moments later, slip into Roger Taylor's euphemistic I'm in Love With My Car, I hardly know what to think. All clever enough, except that each song is a killer. You'd think that Queen had just been given an ultimatum - compared to the previous albums, I wonder if they just been given a kicking and had to pull out ALL the stops.

Anyway, the album continues in this vein with no drop in quality. At the opening of side two, we hit The Prophet's Song, which, with the benefit from hindsight sounds like a warm-up for Rhapsody, with its expansive palette and operatic interludes. But I try to imagine hearing it before Rhapsody - listening to it with virgin ears in sequence. It would have blown me away. It's less dynamic but rockier, but again it feels like nothing heard before. But then a mere two songs later, Queen's most famous moment occurs....

I am not sure I can say anything about Bohemian Rhapsody that hasn't been said before. All I can say is that 44 years after release and having heard it a staggering number of times, it still sounds amazing. It's an incredible album.

Bob Dylan - Blood on the Tracks

Have you heard this record? Then you probably know why this is my favourite record of 1975.

OK... I'll write a little more.

Lyrics. I've written before about my relationship with lyrics. Dylan is one a relatively small number of artists whose lyrics I care about. But that said, even here, they rarely stick. I was thinking about this just before I popped the CD in; could I remember, in advance, any of the words? The answer, I'm embarrassed to admit, is no.

What happens is this: when I listen to a record, any record, I hear the words, but they quickly slip back into obscurity as if into quicksand. So I receive an impression of the lyrics, but if you were ask me once the record had finished, I'd struggle to remember more than fragments. Even songs I've heard a million times, if I try to sing along, I'll nearly always get it wrong - and quite a lot so. Bella will attest. But here's something interesting, when I put the record back on, my memory of the words reoccur split seconds before they are sung, like the words on a karaoke screen. I put it down to brains, how they're different.

So what to say about this album which has been rightly lauded as amongst the most incredible examples of lyricism ever committed to wax? I enjoy Dylan's turn of phrase and the imagery that he conjures. I enjoy the bitterness of the record, the ruefulness, the weariness of it all. I have a suspiciously unpleasant sense of joy every time I listen to Idiot Wind and Dylan sings that it's a wonder that the subject knows how to breathe. Such a devastating line!

But what I love, insanely, is the musicality of the record. People obsess so much about Dylan's poetry, I fear that often the gorgeous, beautiful melodies that are produced. Again, as my friend Steve is keen to point out, Dylan's voice is often under-rated, regarded as a poor singer. I'll concede he is an irregular vocalist, but this album is a towering testament to the beauty and range that he can produce. Listening to You're a Big Girl Now, Dylan's voice soars. Of course, he also picks jaw-dropping musicians with an incredible sense of dynamics. Every song rolls and builds with the demands of the verbal needs - rising up in anger or sinking down in despair.

If I lost all sense of words, I'd still choose this as my number one album of 1975.