Songs in the Key of Life.
After flirting with the idea of quitting the music industry, in 1975 Stevie Wonder, in a BoJo-esque u-turn, signed (sealed, delivered) a seven-album deal worth $37 million in which he was to be given full artistic control of the music produced. Stevie wasn’t messing around either. A double LP with a bonus four-track EP, Songs in the Key of Life was the first record released under this new Motown contract, and it could well be his magnum opus. Though some tracks are forgettable and others overstay their welcome, there are plenty of moments during the 105 minute runtime to keep you coming back again and again. While Songs in the Key of Life features some of Wonder’s most popular and recognisable tracks, such as the euphoric ode to his daughter, “Isn’t She Lovely”, and the jaunty celebration of music, “Sir Duke”, there are times when Wonder exercises his new found artistic control by experimenting with odd sounds and effects, as in the call to prayer track “Have A Talk With God” which easily could have been produced by Aphex Twin, as well as the largely instrumental, scattered funk of “Contusion”. An album that influenced musicians for decades, and not just the sampling of “I Wish” by Will Smith and, I felt foolish for not realising it was a sample before, “Pastime Paradise” by Coolio. Be here bangers.
Oxygène.
An eeriness builds. Discontent and uncertainty is rife throughout the galaxy. Something sinister lies beneath the surface, waiting for the opportune moment. Eeriness is replaced by tension. Our heroes, engaged in a Flash Gordon style battle, fire lasers at winged men attacking from above who lay waste to everything below. The introduction of an evil villain forewarns of peril on the horizon. The heroes celebrate their victory, but only momentarily. Optimism soon turns to trepidation; trepidation to fear; and fear, finally, to sorrow and grief. A darkness hangs over the galaxy; a grim future of death and destruction awaits. Before Équinoxe came Oxygène: Jean-Michel Jarre’s bold electronica masterpiece resonates with its infectious synthesisers and allegorical depiction of humanity’s poisoning of Earth. An historic album in the development of the electronic genre. Shouldn’t be missed.
2112.
A world governed by totalitarian priests residing in the Temples of Syrinx take orders from giant computers. Individuality is outlawed and conformity is enforced. A man discovers music in the form of an ancient guitar, though the instrument is dismissed as foolish, along with anyone who plays it, when it is presented to the priests. Banished, the man dreams of an oracle who shows him a planet where music and creativity lives. Awakening in a depression, the man kills himself knowing that he can never be a part of such a wondrous civilisation. The opening track of 2112 represents a blueprint for the “real” Rush of later albums, a 20-minute epic prog, hard rock and ethereal medley of fantastical themes and lyricism with solos galore. The rest of 2112 is a more fun, hard rock sound; exemplified by the marijuana odyssey “A Passage to Bangkok”, as Lee, Lifeson and Peart take us across the world to some sample some sweet cush. Rush really coming into their stride in 1976.
Spirit.
After the death of long time collaborator Charles Stepney partway through the album’s production, Earth, Wind & Fire’s founder, leader and primary songwriter, Maurice White, took on production duties too, naming the record Spirit in Stepney’s honour. “Getaway” opens the album in infectious, disco style before the soul-pop of “On Your Face” takes over; the title-track sees a transition into gospel, though this is short-lived as soon after the feel-good funk of “Saturday Nite” permeates every fibre of your being. The most unique track on Spirit however, is the sci-fi, prog, funk instrumental, “Biyo”, as EWF tap into new-age mythology in contrast to their typical Christian religious beliefs. A must listen for funky disco grooveheads.
Station to Station.
How best to describe this record? Station to Station is six altogether different tracks, written and produced during a time when Bowie’s cocaine use was… hmm… excessive. His apathetic alter ego, The Thin White Duke, accompanies the record as Bowie experiments with instruments and genres; the opening title-track begins as dark, eerie noise before shifting to prog before shifting again to danceable rock pop; “Golden Years” is a disco banger of layered funky guitars, while “Word on a Wing” is heavenly piano pop. Bowie’s lyricism is where the drug use becomes, if possible, even more noticeable. Paranoia, sleep deprivation and obsessions with the occult, combine to create ramblings of mythology, symbolism, religion and plastic love. Station to Station sets Bowie, musically, on the path to the Berlin trilogy, and is rightly regarded as one of his best.
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