Ace of Spades.
There is more to this Motörhead album than the now legendary title track, included on every rock compilation CD your dad used to get and then played countless times in the car as you drive to a distant relative’s wedding. By Lemmy’s own admission “it’s just fucking another song” and was “no better than all the others”, indeed the entire Ace of Spades album is built upon the same formula of hectic hard rock energy as that of the gambling ode: glorious guitar solos; heavy, powerful riffs and frantic, pulsating drums. To be fully appreciated the record, it ought to be played multiple times with each instrument in isolation, which is entirely possible due to the superb production on the album, a sharp, clean sound is afforded to each instrument without sacrificing any of their raw power. The adage “write what you know” clearly resonated with Lemmy with regard his lyricism, as his rock ‘n’ roll philosophy flows throughout the album. References to gambling, living life to the fullest and having sex with anything that moves, paint the picture of a rock band in the heyday of the genre. The sound of the the fast, loud metal on Motörhead’s Ace of Spades during these Covid restricted times conjures feelings of nostalgia for the days of drinking several pints in a sticky sweaty club, heading to the mosh pit and getting some genuine human contact, even if it was an elbow to the face or a knee in the bollocks.
Tangram.
Tangerine Dream are another band I’ve wanted to explore for some time but have just never been able to. Finally their time has come in the form of Tangram, their thirteenth major release in a discography of over one hundred. The electronic trio, as they were for this record, alternate between ethereal, atmospheric sounds and rhythmical melodies. The melodies themselves never stagnate, at times upbeat and optimistic, at others unsettling, dark and intrusive. The atmospheric movements are sonically representative of new age mysticism and spirituality, creating a wholly subjective experience for the listener. The album, for me, resembles a Phillip K Dick steampunk vision of the distant future, circa 2000. Mankind has colonised Mars and perfected anti-gravity vehicular travel, but has not progressed further than tape decks and chunky vid-screen monitors for communication. The richest 1% of the human race inhabit the Red Planet, while the rest live in poverty on a dank, grim, high-rise-strewn Earth; the approaching revolution, however, may upset this order. Meditate, spark a zoot, do what you need to to get in the right frame of mind for a transcendent electronic experience.
Dirty Mind.
Hinted to in the title of the record, Dirty Mind contains the fantasies of an experimental Prince, shaking off his earlier image in favour of that of a ground-breaking artist unafraid of exploring the topics of sexuality, liberation and taboo eroticism that he will return to throughout his career. Prince’s controversially lewd lyricism on Dirty Mind is accompanied by a fusion of multiple genres, something I also noted on his 1987 masterpiece Sign o’ the Times, this time combining elements of disco, funk, R&B and new wave as he crafts banger after banger, each one built on insanely catchy motifs. In my last Prince review I near enough made reference to every track, and I could do the same here, but I’ll only mention a select few: “Uptown” is an infectious disco-funk tune that preaches open-mindedness and tolerance of others’ sexuality and race; “Head” is a boogie-inducing synth-funk ode to oral sex; “Gotta Broken Heart Again” is a proper Enchantment Under the Sea ballad special about having your best friend stealing your girl; and the new-wave pop of “When You Were Mine” is a personal highlight. Prince establishes himself as an R&B-disco-funk grandmaster with a seemingly endless libido in superb controversial style.
Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps).
David Bowie’s contribution to 1980 represents something of a transition in his career. Having just completed his seminal Berlin trilogy of Low, “Heroes” and Lodger, Bowie parts company with collaborator Brian Eno, while co-producer Tony Visconti intended to create a more mainstream sound than that of Bowie’s late 70’s records. The apprehension Bowie feels as he enters a new decade and a new stage of his career is characterised in his lyricism throughout Scary Monsters. Bowie frequently describes figures of isolation, such as the reclusive female protagonist of the title track, as well as dystopian fascist imagery, featured on “Scream Like a Baby”, further symbolising the fear he has of what the future may hold. In this time of change Bowie naturally reflects on his past, most notably of his drug abuse on “Ashes to Ashes”, while also commenting on society, the music and fashion of 1980, New Romanticism in particular baring the brunt of his criticism. Scary Monsters features complex, multi-layered tracks that have the dancability of pop, the riffs and solos of rock, the synths and electronic effects of the prominent new wave scene, while utilising a drum and rhythm pattern akin to post-punk. Bowie’s last great album? Possibly. Is great though.
Peter Gabriel.
An album from yet another artist who’s career I have barely tapped upon is included this week, that of Peter Gabriel. His third self-titled release is an ambitious record that establishes Gabriel as one of the most innovative and visionary rock musicians of the time. Gabriel expands the scope of conventional rock music with tracks such as “Intruder”, an eerie, invasive song about a lonely trespasser that gleans satisfaction from knowing the woman who’s house he has broken into is aware of his intrusion, while also appealing to more mainstream audiences with quasi-traditional songs such as the what-will-become-quintessential 80s rock sound of “And Through The Wire”. Gabriel’s lyricism throughout the album is worthy of appreciation; whether it is the imagery of mentally unstable characters such as on the aforementioned “Intruder” and the deranged assassin of “Family Snapshot”, or when his lyrics become more politically charged: the depiction of world leaders as children to symbolise the absurdity of nationalism on “Games Without Frontiers”, the condemnation of racism on “Not One of Us”, or on “Biko” in which he reflects on the death (and life) of anti-apartheid activist Steve Biko and the actions of oppressive governments such as that of 1980 South Africa to silence human rights activism. Toni was right, how dare Valerie criticise Peter Gabriel.
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