Big Star—Radio City

Big Star—Radio City

Radio City—When people speak of Big Star's legacy, they generally have #1 Record (1972) in mind. They like Radio City, of course, but Radio City didn't have "The Ballad of El Goodo," "Thirteen," or "In the Street." The biggest difference between the two is Radio City's lack of Chris Bell, who was the band's founder, ironically, and the main reason for #1 Record's overall sound. Despite this, Radio City surpassed it; Bell's harmonies and arrangements glossed Alex Chilton's jaggedness with a bright, optimistic sheen, but the shared credits on the songs of #1 Record obscured an important detail: "The Ballad of El Goodo," "Thirteen," and "In the Street" were all written by Chilton.

After #1 Record's absolute failure commercially, tensions ran high, and Bell left the group, which effectively disbanded it. Drummer Jody Stephens recalled (Perfect Sound, December 1996) that some time after, "We got back together at the request ... rock writers ... It was a low pressure sort of thing because we were all doing it for the fun of it. We weren't promoting anything. So we got to get back together and play for the critics who were basically our only audience. We had a great time so the band got back together and immediately started working on Radio City." Bassist Andy Hummel explained (Perfect Sound, July 2001), "We started Radio City when we were still a foursome. We had four songs, a couple that we all three [Chilton, Hummel, Stephens] co-wrote at Alex's house one night ... We were looking for new, different things to do so we decided to record in mono ... It was the tightest, hottest music we'd ever done. Unfortunately those tapes were subsequently lost or stolen so we had to rerecord the ones we used later as a threesome. And of course we didn't use much of Chris's stuff because he subsequently left the group."

Soon after, Bell left the band for good, leaving Chilton in complete control of the group. The result was an indurated affair: guitars were the new spokesmen for the band, the characteristic irresolution of Chilton's lyrics serving only to give focus to the music as they had done before, but now without the pretense of optimism. The chord changes of "O My Soul" are protracted, allowing for Chilton's miniature yet rife hard-blues solos to take the forefront. On "Life Is White," he slows to a crawl, letting the screeching harmonica give chroma to the broken sentiments of the words. Andy Hummel's "Way Out West," unlike "The India Song" from the previous LP, fits seamlessly, with Hummel's melodic bass lines riding coolly beneath it all. "What's Going Ahn," a masterpiece, features multiple guitar tracks from Chilton—some acoustic and some electric—that somehow form a coherent whole and perfectly harmonize his vocal. The cautionary dirge "You Get What You Deserve" is hauntingly beautiful, while the heavy "Mod Lang" tributes white R&B.

"Back of a Car" is one of the few remaining stylistic ties to #1 Record: an imagined dialogue set to a harbinger's tune. The bipolar "Daisy Glaze" details the paranoia stemming from cheating, devolving from "I'm drivin' alone/Sad about you," to  "Who is this whore? ... You're gonna die/Yes, you're gonna die." The Todd Rundgren-cum-Mick Taylor "She's a Mover" details "Marsha the name" who "look like a dove" and "smile like crocodile." "September Gurls," a heavenly, elastic pop masterwork, works off an irresistibly sunny chord progression to deliver an immortal Chilton lyric: "I loved you, well, never mind." "Morpha Too," featuring Chilton solo with piano and a single overdubbed vocal of himself, is wonderful and hazy; it is not clear what or who "morpha" is. "I'm in Love with a Girl" amazes with its simplicity that at the same time sounds like nothing that came before.

Though Big Star's final 1974 recordings were compiled for 3rd (1978) and Chilton and Stephens reunited with members of the Posies for In Space (2005), Radio City was effectively the final Big Star album. The paltry amount of original material has given Big Star a certain mystique, which is something that often unfairly elevates the legacy of a work. In the case of Radio City, it is no hyperbole. The songs are singular, the sound is tight, and Chilton is on a whole other planet with his guitar playing.

Big Star—#1 Record

Big Star—#1 Record

#1 Record—Big Star was a band that was simultaneously behind and ahead of the times. Modeled largely after bands from the British Invasion, they arrived a year after the breakup of the Beatles and well after the Rolling Stones had abandoned any pretense of being a pop band. Big Star came to be formed when Alex Chilton, formerly of the Box Tops, joined Chris Bell's band Icewater. Chilton could be seen as analogous to John Lennon, bringing a dissonant edge to the music of the more McCartney-esque Bell. As with many good songwriting partnerships, however, each brought something to the other's music that improved it.

#1 Record captures on tape something rare as it pertains to human experience: the moment just before the point of collapse. Big Star, despite rave reviews, was destined to crash and burn. The debut album was released on John Fry's Ardent label, based in Memphis, Tennessee (the hometown of every band member aside from bass player Andy Hummel) and was to be distributed by Stax, but Stax hit a wall trying to sell it. The reason why is unclear—perhaps emerging soul, funk, and hard rock trends rendered #1 Record outmoded, and drummer Jody Stephens quipped, "it's not a good idea to release a new act in the Christmas season" (interview with Perfect Sound, December 1996)—but its commercial failure led to the effective demise of the band not long afterward.

It's easy to say now that #1 Record is a great album, which mixed pop sensibilities with the kind of angst uncommon to that which it embodies. "Feel" mixes brittle, anxious guitar with horns to create a sound that was unique for the time. What really captures the listener, though, is Chris Bell's profoundly affected vocal; Bell, who would be killed in a single-car accident in 1978, had a truly singular voice. He would only record a handful of other songs in his time, most of which were compiled for I Am the Cosmos. He sings, "Feel like I'm dyin'/Never gonna live again," over a tumultuous relationship. Chilton answers with the existential "The Ballad of El Goodo," treated to harmonic backing by Bell, and the simplistic "In the Street." Sung by Bell, the ode to youth would become the theme song to That '70s Show, and could be seen as a spiritual precursor to the Smashing Pumpkins' "1979."

"I don't know if the general population even knows that Big Star had anything to do with it. As a matter of fact, it's funny, [Wilco and I] played "In the Street" together ... my wife was in the audience and she said, when we started playing "In the Street," somebody sitting in back of her said, 'Why are they playing That '70s Show song?'" —Jody Stephens for Songfacts, "What Made Big Star Shine" (June 17, 2013)

"Thirteen" looks back on childhood romance, referencing the Rolling Stones' 1966 single "Paint It Black"; the song suggests a relationship between two people of different ages, which has been the subject of discussion; its arrangement is slight as to suggest innocence, and includes the line, "Would you be an outlaw for my love," but otherwise does not harbor ill intent, and seems to imply a somewhat minor age gap. Bell's cathartic "Don't Lie to Me" is augmented by Chilton's blues licks, and Hummel's middling "The India Song" sounds like it belongs on a lesser Nick Drake album. "When My Baby's Beside Me" rollicks with great pleasure, unwittingly showing up all of Chilton's predecessors in both performance and craft. "My Life Is Right" is one of the few Bell compositions that remained relatively free from Chilton's crookedness, but this also renders it unremarkable. "Give Me Another Chance" at first appears unremarkable until the fourth or fifth listen, when the unique instrumental backing and Bell's vocal overdubs catch the ear. "Try Again" pleases with its country-inflected solo, giving the album's flow the effect of sunset; ironically, this leads to the resplendent "Watch the Sunrise" and its bright strumming, the ringing chords and arpeggios no doubt the precursor to many an indie rock song. The esoterically titled closer "ST 100/6" is an attractive, minor song that serves a role similar to the Beatles' "Her Majesty" from Abbey Road.

#1 Record is often lumped in with Big Star's second record, Radio City (mainly because they have generally been reissued together), but it's important to keep the two separate in discussion, as they are wildly different. In the case of the former, its naivety is the only thing that detracts from its legend; some of its songs are sad in how vulnerably they depict the young group, and conceptually some of them are thin, mainly on the second side. Of course, it makes sense that the album would be frontloaded: Big Star expected to live up to the name, and the foundation began to crumble immediately the following year. But the flaws are minor, and #1 Record deserved what its titled attempted to prophesy.

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band—Trout Mask Replica

Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band—Trout Mask Replica

Trout Mask Replica—If there is an album that can truly be called idiosyncratic, it's Trout Mask Replica. Nothing could have prepared anyone for it in 1969, and its existence continues to baffle listeners in 2015. Its reputation precedes it, of course; it has been constantly cited as a turning point in rock and, for that matter, popular music. Its purported influence can be hard to hear outside of Tom Waits (namely Swordfishtrombones), but its role as a game-changer is hard to deny, especially considering the volume of acclaim and supporters in both music and general pop culture.

Its famous weirdness was not entirely unprecedented. Captain Beefheart (Don Van Vliet) and the Magic Band were already one of the more curious psychedelic blues groups of the '60s, and compositions like "Safe as Milk" and "Beatle Bones 'n' Smokin' Stones" from Strictly Personal (1968) were as lyrically strange as anything yet to come. What didn't exactly mesh with the standard on Trout Mask were the wild new arrangements—namely Beefheart's newfound fascination with a wide array of brass instruments—and just the peculiarities of the melodies and rhythms. This experimentation was made possible by Beefheart's collusion with childhood friend Frank Zappa, who had recently founded the record labels Bizarre and Straight. Zappa, an avant-garde artist in his own right, both allowed the band room to create music free from expectations and produced the record himself.

The details of the album's preparation, creation, and credits as well as the circumstances surrounding its recording are subject to some confusion. The original double LP's liner notes state that all 28 songs were written by Captain Beefheart, though in a 2005 interview with the blog vanity project, Magic Band drummer Drumbo (John French) disputed this and other points:

"Don was the initial creative force in the band, there’s no denying that. Lyrically, he is unsurpassed ... However, he was not very organized, nor did he at all understand the extreme learning curve it took to actually bring his vision to life. As a result, the band members—some more than others—contributed a great deal more to the actual completion and arranging of the music than Don ever realized."

Drumbo referred to Beefheart and the Magic Band's living situation as a "cult atmosphere ... manufactured by Van Vliet ... as one of the methods he used to control us." This is corroborated by Zappa, who recalled in The Real Frank Zappa Book, "The whole band was living in a small house in the San Fernando Valley (we could use the word cult in here)," where Drumbo reported the conditions were such that Zoot Horn Rollo (Bill Harkleroad) "while writing his book ... once had to run outside and collapse on his lawn—vomiting—from reliving the trauma." He elucidated:

"I'm sure he viewed our comradeship as a threat to his leadership, and so [he] felt he had to keep us compartmentalized by nurturing hostility. He did this by betraying confidence, mostly. Something said privately about a third party would be injected into a group 'talk,' which would usually be quite embarrassing and sometimes humiliating. These talks would go on for days until the targeted person 'in the barrel' finally broke down, usually either in tears or just in complete submission to Don. It was very much like brainwashing combined with a very bad form of group therapy."

Beefheart admitted at least once in his lifetime to being a "dictator," saying in an interview for the December 10th, 1977 edition of Sounds, "I can't think of myself as doing something wrong, because I asked them every day, 'Are you sure you want to do this?'" which paints the Trout Mask Replica recording as something of a sadomasochist venture. Rollo claimed in a 1997 interview for Hi-Fi Mundo, "80% of it was done by him kinda beating the shit out of a piano in a rhythmic sense ... John French, the drummer, transcribed it, notated it all, and would dole out the parts to the players. So he had a concept of being away from tonality, but using rhythm as the main input, because that's what he had to offer ... he didn't know what he played after he played it." He referred to Beefheart as "a non-musician" who "[had] no idea what any of those black and white things were on the piano." Assuming this is true, Trout Mask Replica actually falls under an uncommon heading, genre-wise: aleatoric music. The album has been often cited as an example of jazz music, but this is not entirely apt; jazz is largely based around improvisation, and while Beefheart's original sketches were improvised, they only were as such insofar that the geneses of all songs are inherently improvisational. Beefheart and the Magic Band famously rehearsed most of the album's finished songs "to death," as Zappa explained (International Times, March 1977), recalling that "they did all the tracks in 5 hours, and that's doing some of them several times. I couldn't tell the difference between the takes."

While Rollo's assessment is likely colored by his unpleasant memories, Trout Mask Replica does have an air of musical primordia. It has been argued over the many years since its release whether the music is carefully planned and forward-thinking or simply rehearsed nonsense. The real answer is almost certainly somewhere in the middle: there is no doubt that Beefheart's lyrical prowess was, as Drumbo put it, unsurpassed. His improvisational ability and imagination were keen and pure in that regard, as evidenced by next-level bouts of inspiration like the opening fragment of Trout Mask, "Frownland": "My smile is stuck/I cannot go back t'yer Frownland ... I cannot go back to yer land of gloom/Where black jagged shadows/Remind me of the comin' of yer doom."

The unaccompanied "The Dust Blows Forward 'n the Dust Blows Back" is excellent, evoking a sort of nostalgia. "Dachau Blues" is a curious story about World Wars I and especially II (Dachau having been a concentration camp) that borders on insensitive, though this feeling cannot be inferred with specificity. "Ella Guru" is one of the more traditional-sounding songs, but it is quickly run over by the flagellating horns of "Hair Pie: Bake 1," which is wordless aside from a conversation between Beefheart and some neighbors at the end. "Moonlight on Vermont," the closer of the side one and an overall highlight, quotes "Old-Time Religion" and Steve Reich's "Come Out."

"Pachuco Cadaver" is a mad blues that breaks down into a long bout of stream-of-consciousness. It naturally flows into the similar "Bills Corpse" and the somewhat-pretty-by-comparison "Sweet Sweet Bulbs." "Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish" [sic] sounds fittingly as though the vocals were recorded underwater. "China Pig" is great, and notably also seems to support Zoot Horn Rollo's claim that Beefheart was something of a novice; in the beginning of the song he asks Doug Moon to play "one of those [imitates slow blues number]" with no additional instruction. "My Human Gets Me Blues" seems to be a Beefheart statement on transgenderism. "Dali's Car" closes out the first LP with a bout of diminished chords and minor improvisation.

After the instrumental "Hair Pie: Bake 2," the "fast 'n bulbous" dialogue with The Mascara Snake (Victor Hayden) continues (from the beginning of "Pachuco Cadaver") before the crazed rant of "Pena," vocalized not by Beefheart but guitarist Antennae Jimmy Semens (Jeff Cotton). Another spoken-word monologue from Beefheart, "Well," precedes the album's centerpiece and longest song, "When Big Joan Sets Up." "Fallin' Ditch" exhibits just how rehearsed Trout Mask Replica actually was ("What do you run on, Rockette Morton? Say 'beans.'"). The jaunty "Sugar 'n Spikes" and soulful "Ant Man Bee" are a pair of high points.

The album's most lyrically dense song and final a cappella performance, "Orange Claw Hammer," opens side four. On "Wild Life," Beefheart's brass actually corresponds somewhat to his vocals. "She's Too Much for My Mirror" is possibly the least essential song in the set; "Hobo Chang Ba" is one of the few songs where Beefheart alters his delivery, and it even features jingle bells. On "The Blimp (mousetrapreplica)," Semens cries out about "the blimp" over the telephone while the Mothers of Invention accompany him with a generic roll, which is a refreshing change of pace. "Steal Softly thru Snow" actually sounds like traditional poetry. The album ends with a pair of musings on the old, the flat "Old Fart at Play" and the more simply psychedelic "Veteran's Day Poppy."

The legacy of Trout Mask Replica is rarely disputed, but the question of whether or not the music is good has always been a sticking point. Almost every song seems charming after enough listening, having each its own distinct personality. On the other hand, many are superfluous musically. This can probably be attributed to Captain Beefheart rather than the band, since he insisted on being credited as the sole writer, and there's only so much the band could have done with his rough drafts anyway. As it is, it's a fascinating record with a rich history, and it's a unique experience that shouldn't be passed up. It's just not a pretty one, and the complexity of the compositions should not be overstated as they often are.

Robyn Hitchcock—I Often Dream of Trains

Robyn Hitchcock—I Often Dream of Trains

I Often Dream of Trains—Although Black Snake Dîamond Röle (1981) and Groovy Decay (1982) were respectable beginning entries to his solo career, Robyn Hitchcock lacked a model record the caliber of Underwater Moonlight. It wasn't for lack of talent, of course, as Hitchcock was the principal songwriter of the Soft Boys, but having a band around him seemed to focus his music. The songs on Röle and Decay were sometimes labored or stiff, if principally strong, though the latter was perceived poorly and Hitchcock would fall into recession over the next couple years.

He reemerged in 1984 with I Often Dream of Trains, which was his first largely solo-performed and acoustic or piano-led album. He took the opportunity to explore new moods in his music. Whereas his prior work was a tense, warped new wave, Trains was subdued and moribund; he opens the album with a simple, pensive nocturne, simply titled "Nocturne (Prelude)." Hitchcock does retain his characteristic eccentricity, however, as evidenced by the creeping "Sometimes I Wish I Was a Pretty Girl," where he confides, "Sometimes I wish I was a pretty girl/So I could [inaudible] myself in the shower." On the conflicted "Cathedral," he struggles to understand another being with a hint of derision: "Like a toilet from outside/A cathedral from inside/There, behind your open face/Lies an awful lot of space."

"Uncorrected Personality Traits" runs through a litany of intriguing psychological pitfalls in under two minutes, commenting on how, as the first lines of the song put succinctly, "uncorrected personality traits that seem whimsical in a child may prove to be ugly in a fully grown adult." He also serves up the curious thought, "Even Marilyn Monroe was a man/But this tends to get overlooked/By our mother-fixated, overweight, sexist media," which is not as ludicrous as it initially sounds. "Sounds Great When You're Dead" is a somewhat lesser song where Hitchcock experiments with a particular arrangement, while the surrealist "Flavour of Night" echoes David Bowie's Diamond Dogs. "Ye Sleeping Nights of Jesus" highlights the futility of waiting for miracles; "This Could Be the Day" pays tribute to the Velvet Underground.

"Trams of Old London," an effectively immersive folk song, sees Hitchcock take his partner around London. "Furry Green Atom Bowl" is something like an alchemist's rendition of "Sixteen Tons." "Heart Full of Leaves," an instrumental, and "Autumn Is Your Last Chance," a haunting song with a lonely lyric, could have fit on an early Cure album. Title cut and high point "I Often Dream of Trains" wraps up the themes of autumn and longing as well as the romanticizing of trains before the album ends nearly the same way it began, with a slightly livelier "Nocturne (Demise)."

I Often Dream of Trains marked an artistic rebirth for Robyn Hitchcock, which is strange considering its status as something of an anomaly in his oeuvre. He recorded nothing quite like it across the rest of the decade, instead choosing to effectively reform the Soft Boys (minus Kimberley Rew as the Egyptians) and record more electric material. It is characteristic of Hitchcock as the folk singer he always wanted to be, and despite its radically different style from the rest of his '80s work, it is rightfully considered a career highlight: melodic, wryly humorous, and ardently performed.

Miley Cyrus—Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz

Miley Cyrus—Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz

Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz—Is there redemption for teen idols? History has shown that corporate singers can go on to lead distinguished careers, like Scott Walker, though the very definition of a teen idol has changed dramatically since Walker's '60s. Miley Cyrus followed in a long line of Disney starlets-turned-pop singers from Britney Spears to Demi Lovato, though Cyrus was distinguished from the rest by coming from a family with actual musical heritage, however dubious: father Billy Ray Cyrus scored a #4 hit in 1992 with the reviled "Achy Breaky Heart" and followed it with a string of other country hits. Unlike Miley and her ilk, Billy Ray was a musician first and an actor second, whereas the Disney stars were bred to be general performers: act until you're not cute anymore, then pick up a microphone and start wearing less clothing.

It's a formula that's worked for a long line of starlets, and Miley Cyrus is no exception. After her Disney series Hannah Montana ended in 2011, her image began to change when the media took hold of non-events like Cyrus' remarking on her mild drug use or her twerking of Robin Thicke at the 2013 MTV Video Music Awards. The latter event helped generate notoriety for Bangerz, her first album for RCA, which was met with halfhearted reviews and platinum sales. As Cyrus embarked on the album's supporting tour, she seemed destined for years of pop banality when early in 2014, a strange thing happened:

happy birthday to one of my favorite artists OF alllllll time @waynecoyne 🔥👄🎉🎈🌀🌈

— Miley Ray Cyrus (@MileyCyrus) January 13, 2014

A mainstream pop artist expressing admiration for an established rock act is nothing extraordinary in and of itself, but fans of the Flaming Lips would begin to look on in amazement as Cyrus and Wayne Coyne developed an actual friendship in the ensuing months. Coyne joined Cyrus on stage in Februrary for a performance of the Lips' "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1" and in March began to post photos of his band and Cyrus in the recording studio together.

The prospect of Cyrus and the Flaming Lips recording together was hard to swallow for most onlookers. Fans of Cyrus were generally unfamiliar with the Lips, and fans of the Lips did not care about or were skeptical of what Cyrus could bring to the mix. The collaborative sessions appeared to be unfocused and under no specific timetable, so for most of 2014 the only things that came of it were Cyrus' and Coyne's matching tattoos and a bizarre music video titled "Blonde SuperFreak Steals the Magic Brain." The Flaming Lips released With a Little Help from My Fwends in October, a song-for-song remake of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band which featured Cyrus on the acid-washed renditions of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and "A Day in the Life," among many other artists.

The 22-year-old Cyrus and 54-year-old Coyne continued their platonic cavorting for nearly a year with no new material between the two and only some Instagram snippets to show for their work together. The prospective album seemed like a pipe dream until the 2015 MTV Video Music Awards, almost two years to the day after her twerking occurrence, when the two performed a new song, "Dooo It!" before Cyrus announced the independent release of Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz, free to stream on her website through the music service SoundCloud effective immediately. Cyrus and her cohorts sing, "Yeah I smoke pot/Yeah I love peace/But I don't give a fuck/I ain't no hippie." The vapid nature of the opening song is a clear attempt by Cyrus to alienate her existing audience, concluding with the puzzling lines, "Why they put the dick in the pussy/Fuck you." Wayne Coyne, his nephew Dennis of Stardeath and White Dwarfs, and Steven Drozd all share writing credits on it and variously on most other songs on the 92-minute album.

The pretty "Karen Don't Be Sad" is a resurrected Flaming Lips outtake from Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, which explains the overarching similarities to that album's title piece, especially lines like "You know you're only letting 'em win," mirroring the battle between Yoshimi and the evil robots, but spun like an anti-bullying message. "The Floyd Song (Sunrise)" is a tribute to Cyrus' dog, whose death was the impetus for Coyne and Cyrus to get the aforementioned With a Little Help from My Fwends tattoos. The acoustic "Something about Space Dude" and its Oren Yoel-produced counterpart "Space Boots" as a pair blur the line between her experimental songs and her radio-ready material. Therein lies the genius of the album: by sequencing it like a jukebox from the nether, the group has made a grotesque pastiche of all the parts of Cyrus' personality, as it devolves into the cacophonous "Fuckin Fucked Up," back up into the spoken-word shuffle of "BB Talk," and into the Mike Will Made It-produced ballad "Fweaky" and wanton "Bang Me Box."

"Milky Milky Milk" opens up a new Lips suite, building around a sample of "Try to Explain" from The Terror with lines like "Your lips get me so wet/While I'm singing all the verses from the Tibetan Book of Dead." On "Slab of Butter (Scorpion)," it's amusing to see that after branding each of the songs he worked on in narcissistic fashion, Mike Will Made It is now associated with a song whose chorus is, "I feel like a slab of butter that is melting in the sun." "I Forgive Yiew" is pure pop, while the lovely "I Get So Scared" touches on indie guitar pop, "Lighter" a sort of mellower new wave. "Tangerine" mixes Lips spaceship imagery with a disaffected post-party passage by Big Sean; "Tiger Dreams," featuring Ariel Pink, is a despondent number about the futility of the world.

"Evil Is a Shadow" is a highlight, sounding as if it could slot perfectly anywhere on At War with the Mystics or Embryonic. "Cyrus Skies" apotheosizes the broadening of the mind: "Yeah I've been alive/But I've been a liar/There's some kind of love/That's so much higher." "1 Sun" is performed and mixed in the vein of Lady Gaga with Cyrus referencing artistic predecessor (to both) Grace Jones. "Miley Tibetan Bowlzzz" sees Cyrus' chants echoing over Drozd's new age synthesizer, while the tragicomical "Pablow the Blowfish" continues the theme of Cyrus' unfortunate run of titular pets. The album then ends with the personal triumph of "Twinkle Song," where Cyrus sings, "I had a dream/David Bowie ... was shaped like Gumby."

Speaking of Miley Cyrus' musical merit, Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz would likely not be as good as it is without the involvement of the Flaming Lips. It's tempting to say that her input is secondary to what was accomplished around her, but it's pleasing to see that she's willing to go in a more challenging musical direction, even if there are some failed experiments like "BB Talk" and forgettable drek like "Bang Me Box." That is to be expected, however, especially on a 23-track album, and there are certainly more hits than misses. The unlikely friendship finally bearing fruit, Petz bodes well for Cyrus as an artist and is simultaneously a pleasant entry in the eclectic career of the Flaming Lips.

Ramones—Ramones

Ramones—Ramones

Ramones—Few albums so effectively distill rock and roll down to its primal essence. The well-established-by-then group Fleetwood Mac recorded the double LP Tusk in 1978 for a cost exceeding $1 million, which by 2015 standards could be closer to $10 million. Ramones, which came out of nowhere two years earlier to take New York City by storm, reportedly cost only $6,400.

That's not to say Ramones was a hit on the order of Rumours, because it wasn't, and it only became gold-certified in 2014, less than three months before the death of the only remaining original member Tommy Erdelyi. Tommy, the band's drummer, is pictured second from the left on the cover, though it can be tough to distinguish the four from one another with their near-identical attire—jeans, leather jackets, and sneakers—the Beatles as outsiders, with guitarist Johnny and bassist Dee Dee even sporting bowl cuts. This persona may not seem novel today, but when the Ramones formed in 1974, no one was doing what they were doing. That goes double for the music, which was suggested by the likes of the Stooges and Death, but never perfectly condensed into what became punk rock until the Ramones bashed out their 29-minute debut.

"Blitzkrieg Bop" today is something of an archetype. It has been used in everything from sports games to commercials, which is amusing considering the fact that "blitzkrieg" refers to Nazi war tactics, though the Tommy-penned song was more of a simple punk dance tune until Dee Dee altered the lyrics ("Cretin Hop" from Rocket to Russia [1977] would be closer to Tommy's original idea). "Beat on the Brat," written by lead singer Joey about a desire to batter unruly children, is a great example of rock minimalism with its straying beat and two-chord verses, perhaps inspired by the Modern Lovers' "Roadrunner." Beloved by fans, "Judy Is a Punk" references the knowingly-insipid "I'm Henry the VIII, I Am" by Herman's Hermits ("Second verse: same as the first") as Joey muses of impressionable young people Jackie and Judy, "Perhaps they'll die." "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" seems out of place until it is noted that the band and the album itself were influenced by Phil Spector, who would produce their fifth album, End of the Century (1980). Its facade is quickly ripped apart by the blistering "Chain Saw," about contemporary film The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, with Joey recounting the grim plot of the movie before reacting, "I don't care."

"Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue" is a brainy lyric that must be studied to be understood, featuring a rare but excellent Johnny guitar solo. "I Don't Wanna Go down to the Basement" is something like the album's epic at 2:35. "Loudmouth," which musically is something like the inverse of "Blitzkrieg Bop," has a simple or ironic message: "You're a loudmouth, baby/You better shut it up/I'm gonna beat you up." "Havana Affair" trivializes the United States' ongoing conflict with Cuba and "Listen to My Heart" condenses breakup lessons into two minutes of song. "53rd and 3rd" details the legend of Dee Dee's male prostitution stint on the corner of 53rd Street and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan, though he was not a Green Beret and it is questionable whether or not he "took out [his] razor blade/and ... did what God forbade." Keyboard or organ can actually be heard buried deep under the distortion on the cover of Chris Montez' "Let's Dance." Johnny's guitar roars to great satisfaction on the sparse "I Don't Wanna Walk around with You," while on "Today Your Love, Tomorrow the World" Joey rises above it to yell, "I'm a shock trooper in stupor ... I'm a Nazi schazte/You know I fight for Fatherland."

Plenty of artists have recorded music simpler or more minimal than Ramones, but never before it were the prime aspects of a pure rock and roll band so directly put to an LP. Their music was not as visceral as the Velvet Underground, and that comparison highlights the one flaw of Ramones' debut: it wasn't particularly eclectic, and coupled with their simple lyrics it made for the occasional forgettable song. Of course, complexity wasn't the reason to listen to Ramones; as a record of unbridled energy, not to mention underrated humor, it has few peers.

Scott Walker—Scott 3

Scott Walker—Scott 3

Scott 3—Though it was and continues to be a divisive record among fans, Scott 3 is in many ways the quintessential Scott Walker album. It exhibits the point in Walker's career when he decided he must turn to more serious music; as he put it, Scott 2 was "the work of a lazy, self-indulgent man," featuring only four original cuts to go with the three from Scott and a handful of originals that surfaced as single A- or B-sides and Walker Brothers material. Scott 3, to be pointlessly accurate, is 76.9% original, and tellingly pushes the three Jacques Brel covers to the bottom of the running order rather than the alternating format of the previous LPs. Luckily, Walker turned out to have the songwriting chops necessary to make this move, unlike any number of contemporary idols-turned-legitimate. Songs like "Montague Terrace (in Blue)," "The Plague," and "The Amorous Humphrey Plugg" ranged from good to great and displayed eclectic sensibilities and richness of flavor.

Unlike its similarly experimental successor, Scott 4 (not counting the minor record Scott Walker Sings Songs from His T.V. Series), Scott 3 enjoyed a similar degree of success to Walker's first two albums, though its songs were less congenial and even the Brel covers were moodier. The disenchanted "It's Raining Today" is an excellent but unsettlingly dissonant piece of art that characterizes the album, "Copenhagen" a tribute to Denmark's scenic capital. "Rosemary" deceives by appearing fairly minor, perhaps deliberately; its lyrics realistically portray a depressed youth who Walker either compares to himself or the storyteller: "That's what I want/A new shot at life/But my coat's too thin/My feet won't fly." The cavernous "Big Louise" is its contrapositive, being less nuanced lyrically but having a fuller sound while exploring nearly the same story. "We Came Through" is the odd man out, charging out of the gate to break the stillness. It can be a breath of fresh air when the LP is played in order, but its lyrics are somewhat overly broad. "Butterfly" is a pleasant yet prosaic vignette.

"Two Ragged Soldiers" is Walker's masterpiece this time around, depicting two tramps who may be homosexuals, though this is not explicitly confirmed; Walker borrows a turn of phrase from Virginia Woolf (either in regard to A Room of One's Own or more likely The Lady in the Looking-Glass) to say, "They spoke transparent phrases to looking-glass women," indicating that the soldiers—which is not to say they are actually soldiers, as Walker presents those words as a simile—are superficial in their interaction with the opposite sex; "Sometimes passions in winter turned to cold soundless moments" and the continual theme of turning to fantasy (which in this context would mean that their lives together can only be fantasy in an age when homosexuality was not wholly accepted) combine with the sorry line, "Good mornings to faces who just turned away," to paint a somber portrait of outcasts.

The slight yet affable "30 Century Man," which has become one of Walker's most enduring songs, sees the singer waxing folk as he sings outside linear time: "Shame you won't be there to see me/Shakin' hands with Charles de Gaulle." It is also one of his few unaccompanied songs from the period. "Winter Night" is possibly the only truly pointless song on the record, basically existing only to heavy-handedly point out that Scott 3 is a winter album. "Two Weeks Since You've Gone" is a middling iteration of a common Walker thread seeing the end of a friendship or relationship soon after the point of separation. The three Jacques Brel covers, "Sons Of" ("Fils de..."), "Funeral Tango" ("Le tango funèbre") and "If You Go Away" ("Ne me quitte pas") are agreeable, faithful renditions.

Scott 3 was the black sheep of Scott Walker's four numbered LPs. Five of Walker's ten originals clock in at under 2:30, which gives it a fragmented feeling similar to Low by devotee David Bowie eight years later. That does not detract from their quality, but it makes for a jarring listen sometimes, especially considering the many layers of melancholy. It's transitional, relying on a few covers to fill space while Walker found his muse, and his vision would be better realized on Scott 4 to follow, but Scott 3 is nonetheless a rewarding work with flashes of brilliance.

The Flaming Lips—Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots

The Flaming Lips—Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots—The 1990s were a transformative decade for the Flaming Lips. It began with their fourth album, In a Priest Driven Ambulance (1990)—feedback-laden yet radiant alt-rock in the vein of the Soft Boys—and ended with the idiosyncratic, career-defining, career-redefining The Soft Bulletin (1999). Clouds Taste Metallic (1995) was sci-fi lite; its weird-science lyrics came off like comic book storylines, simultaneously more grounded than the acid trips of their first six albums and yet still more difficult for its implications of more complex emotion. The quadruple-disc Zaireeka (1997) was largely ignored by the general populace for its difficult concept, but it was certainly the beginning of the Flaming Lips part two. The Soft Bulletin focused that experimentation into more conventional recordings to universal acclaim. The band entered the new millennium with a sound all their own.

Never an album-per-year band, the Flaming Lips spent the next two years crafting their follow-up. The Soft Bulletin was an all-encompassing record sonically, so expanding their sound was a tall task. The band further developed their metaphysical concepts and came up with Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, the titular character being named for Wayne Coyne's inspiration Yoshimi P-We, who performs the Japanese-language segments on the album. The wistfully impellent "Fight Test" quickly became infamous for its similarities to "Father and Son" by Cat Stevens (Yusuf Islam), both in melodic progression and general sentiment. While it is fatally derivative, "Fight Test" has enough in its favor to allow individual appreciation, from the summery ambiance reminiscent of XTC to the gentle weaving of the verses at its consummation. The catalyst for the potential conflict is only made clear by the line, "If I could, I would, but you're with him now it'd do no good." The song leads into the cold "One More Robot/Sympathy 3000‒21," an affecting play at emotional numbness.

The winning run continues with the saccharine innocence of "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 1," which highlights the only thing that was missing from The Soft Bulletin: a true standout, which they deliver here, the chords pure pop, the story genuine in its foibles. Coyne went so far as to record a Japanese version sung by himself for the single release, which is reported to be sung with less-than-perfect inflection. "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Pt. 2" introduces another item to the mix to less favorable effect: noise, which isn't pointless per se—it can be seen both as a representation of the battle between Yoshimi and the robots and a tribute to OOIOO—but it does lack nuance just as a piece of music. "In the Morning of the Magicians" is more or less pleasing, though unvaried across more than six minutes.

The abyssal, pathetic "Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell" continues the theme of bare, unrequited longing. "Are You a Hypnotist??" comes off like a chant from a desert planet. The cuckoo chords that open "It's Summertime" belie one of the Lips' simplest songs before they launch into the soaring, jangling "Do You Realize??" which became one of their most enduring songs, despite disarming the listener with the self-evident musing, "Do you realize/That everyone you know someday will die?" The final vocal piece, "All We Have Is Now," is an underrated, apocalyptic story of meeting one's self from the future only to hear that there is no future. The closing instrumental "Approaching Pavonis Mons by Balloon (Utopia Planitia)" is a successful (and in fact Grammy-winning) trip to the smallest volcano of Mars' Tharsis Montes (note that while the Flaming Lips are known for their fantastic ideas, aerobots actually are sent into outer space by balloon).

Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots is not every bit the equal of The Soft Bulletin. It shouldn't be held to that standard, though it's a respectable sequel in any case, but its songs are often too lethargic: a quality that has admittedly worked well for the band at times, but not when the songs are as slight as "It's Summertime." On the other hand, its best songs, which are tellingly assembled mostly at the front, arguably surpass the high points of Bulletin, proving the Lips masters of their own craft. Sometimes that makes all the difference in the world.