Various Artists - Trouser Press Presents the Best of America Underground (Roir, 1983)

In case anybody's unfortunate enough not to know, Trouser Press was perhaps the best US rock mag of the '70s and '80s. They started out in the mid-'70s covering mostly fringe British bands (Be-Bop Deluxe and Horslips were a couple of editorial faves, so that should give you an idea). Staunchly left-of-center, they were perfectly positioned when punk and new wave happened, and that's indeed when they blossomed, giving equal time to the bigger new wave bands and the small-time obscuros. Accordingly, around 1976 they initiated a column called America Underground specifically to review indie 45's from, well, the American underground.

This cassette-only compilation (that was ROIR's gimmick at the time, though they eventually gave in and started making CDs) cherry-picks some of the best singles reviewed in the column up to that point. Listening to it provides not only a snapshot of what the magazine was all about, but more importantly what the US indie post-punk/new wave scene in those bygone days was like; brash, audacious, wildly eclectic, adventurous, sometimes silly, seldom less than entertaining.

A few artists featured here became relatively well-known cult heroes (the weird-as-they-wanna-be San Francisco experimentalists the Residents, Illinois power pop legends the Shoes, Athens post-punk noir minimalists Pylon). Most are known only to hardcore collectors, but are no less worthy. It's hard to imagine why NJ power poppers Chris Moffa & the Competition never became at least as well known as, say, the dB's. San Francisco's Norman Salant (who, in the interest of full disclosure, I've gotten to know since he moved to New York) utilized saxophone overdubs to blur the lines between no wave and New Music. Bunnydrums were the creepy-crawly, mostly instrumental Philadelphia answer to A Certain Ratio and PiL. One-man band Wrinklemuzik made instrumental minimal synth art pieces. The Tweeds, former Blondie bassist Gary Valentine, and the Nerves all represented the kind of new-wave-meets-powerpop sound that's filled endless volumes of bootleg compilations in recent years. I'm not fuddy-duddy old fart enough to think that there's not a comparable underground indie scene going on today (I hear great stuff coming from it all the time), but would I be completely remiss in wondering whether this stuff seems fresher? I don't know, maybe not to somebody young enough to experience the contemporary underground as a first-time-around phenomenon. Nevertheless, no generation is immune to the charms of this stuff.

Mountain Bus - Sundance (Good, 1971)

The liner notes say "many people say they sounded a lot like the Grateful Dead, but I disagree." Now, take a guess as to what that actually means. Yep, you've got it...they in fact sounded EXACTLY like the contemporaneous phase of the Grateful Dead. Not as good of course, but pretty good nonetheless; they certainly had their moments. The bass playing is a close cousin to Phil Lesh's expansive runs, the lead guitar is extremely similar in tone to that of Mr. Garcia (so is the voice for that matter), they were practitioners of the same blend of long psychedelic jams and American roots styles, hell they even had two drummers who had just as much trouble staying in sync as the Dead's own skinbeaters. However--they were from Chicago. Presumably, even in 1971 you probably didn't get too much of this kind of thing around there. "But what about the Illinois Speed Press?" I hear you cry. Well, they had to go to L.A. to get a record deal, wiseguy, and anyway I've already blogged about them, so pipe down.

By the way, just because these guys seemingly didn't have an original bone in their body doesn't mean this isn't enjoyable; when they get going on one of their many extended improvs they're actually very impressive. Trivia hounds will be intrigued by the fact that the band and the homegrown Chicago indie label that released their record were hounded into oblivion by music biz representatives of the famous power trio Mountain, despite the fact that Mountain Bus had been around longer. Hey, I'd rather listen to these guys umpteen times than hear "Mississippi Queen" once more.

Jeff Wayne - War of the Worlds (Columbia, 1978)

My oh my! I'd seen this thing around for years, but not until recently was my curiosity sufficiently piqued to get it and check it out. This was a big-budget, double-LP concept album with all the trimmings, the sort of over-the-top, ridiculously misguided, endearingly off-the-wall item that's become a rare beast these days. I imagine the brainstorming sessions went something like this: "Let's do a musical version of H.G. Wells's War of the Worlds, we'll mix songs with narrative backed by "rock" accompaniment. Money's no object, so we'll have a gatefold sleeve and a big booklet with lyrics and color illustrations." "Sounds great, who can we get to do it?" "Well, Richard Burton owes my cousin a favor, so we can get him to do the narrative." "And how about the songs?" "Hmm, I've made a list. Let's see here...Phil Lynott from Thin Lizzy...Justin Hayward from the Moody Blues...David Essex, you know, the guy who did 'Rock On'...it'll be great!" "Wow, what about the music?" "Not to worry, I've got it all planned out. It'll be sort of a combination of latter-day prog rock, the occasional inference of a disco beat--you know the kids go for that sort of thing these days--and the kind of instrumental tracks they use as the background music for TV news and sporting events. I just bought some new synthesizers, and I'll call up a few respected session musician pals, and we'll be all set!" "Cool, do you think people will like it?" "Well, maybe not for a few years, you know this idea's a bit ahead of it's time. But I can tell you that in the year 2000, a bunch of electronica artists will do remixes of the whole thing on a new CD!" "Wow! What's a CD?"