Four albums nobody really talks about (it was going to be five, but I got tired)
Pretty simple stuff: I take four random albums from my collection that I happen to enjoy a lot, but aren’t exactly multi-platinum record-breaking chart-toppers, and explain how I discovered them and why I like them. Every artist represented here has achieved commercial success at one point in their careers, and there’s at least one bonafide legendary superstar here (okay, maybe just one), but overall, these albums aren’t often listed in many Greatest Albums of All Time lists. Nor do they deserve to be; I just like them a lot. Let’s rock.
For me, the summer of 1984 was the Summer of Bob. In May of that year, I read an intriguing and revealing (for him, anyway) interview with Bob Dylan in Rolling Stone magazine – when I actually subscribed, an unthinkable concept nowadays. My curiosity piqued, I picked up a cassette(!) copy of Bob’s latest, Infidels, later that summer while visiting my mother in New Hampshire. I even remember that I bought it at Headlines, a quaint head shop in Nashua.
Infidels was good, and despite some dated production techniques, still holds up a quarter-century later. But I felt like I needed to dig back further. While visiting Julie and Peg in Boston later that summer, Peg suggested I give Desire a listen. The album, even after all these years and all these listens, still reminds me of their cramped basement apartment in Cleveland Circle.
Desire wasn’t a commercial disaster, and continues to garner positive reviews, but it doesn’t get the credit that other Dylan albums like Blood on the Tracks, Highway 61 Revisited or Blonde on Blonde get. For many, it’s a minor gem, but to me, it’s definitely in Bob’s top ten. The story of Rubin “Hurricane” Carter’s arrest and conviction is nothing short of a legal and racist tragedy, and in the album’s opening track, “Hurricane,” Bob shows his disgust for law enforcement and the legal system with some of his most venomous lyrics. The song gallops along urgently, and the band struggles to keep up. Oddly, Bob enlisted the aid of violinist Scarlet Rivera, and the sound of that instrument sounds out-of-place initially, but soon becomes an inevitable and comforting part of the album’s fabric. Emmylou Harris is recruited for backing vocals, but she often trails behind Bob, as if she can’t seem to remember the words. It’s kind of a sloppy mess, but that’s part of the song’s charm. It’s as if the injustice documented in the song was so great that Bob needed to rush out the song as soon as possible with as little preparation as possible. It’s not only one of his best protest songs, it’s also one of his most urgent.
The album continues in this sonic vein, although Bob tends to relax a bit after the opening track. There’s the propulsive, piano-driven “Isis,” the leisurely, deliberate “Romance in Durango,” the epic “Joey” (a really, really long song about about gangster Joey Gallo) and several other songs that actually sound like there’s too many musicians in the studio. But again, the sloppiness (and the exotic flavor of some of the arrangements) is part of the album’s charm. Dylan always seems to be one step ahead of his audience, and Desire is no exception. He could have followed up Blood on the Tracks with a sound-alike sequel, but instead chose this unique path.
Todd Rundgren, A Cappella
I don’t know if there’s a lot of people who can say that they discovered an obscure Todd Rundgren album while stationed in the navy in the middle of the Indian Ocean, so I’ll claim that one. While working at the Armed Forces Radio and Television outlets in both Diego Garcia (1988-1990) and Keflavik, Iceland (1990-1994), I spent a lot of time not just shooting, editing and reporting for the television outlets, but doing quite a bit of radio disc-jockeying as well. During down time on the radio shifts, I did an awful lot of perusing of the AFRTS record libraries. In Diego Garcia, a fellow DJ played Rundgren’s “Something To Fall Back On” during one of his shows, and it sounded interesting, so I listened to some other cuts off the same album.
The concept is rather gimmicky, but Todd pulls it off. A Cappella is exactly what its title suggests: an album employing nothing but the human voice. In a way, he’s cheating; while every sound you hear is in fact Todd’s voice, a lot of it is run through an Emulator sampler. Whatever. The point is, it’s all his voice, and while lesser artists would lose steam with this kind of project after a while, Todd employed his superior songwriting prowess and actually made an a cappella album of really good songs. Sure, there’s some experimental fun with songs like “Lockjaw” and the genuinely frightening “Miracle in the Bazaar,” but there are also true pop gems like “Something to Fall Back On,” “Lost Horizon” and a joyous cover of the Spinners’ “Mighty Love.” There’s also a puzzling mystical bent to some of the lyrics (on deceptively catchy songs like “Blue Orpheus” and “Hodja”).
Keep in mind that this is, after all, 1985, so the album – in some places – is the inevitable victim of a “dated” sound. This is the era of big hair and big drums, and Todd doesn’t escape unscathed, but overall, it’s quite an impressive project that I’m still not sick of.
It should be noted that Bjork made an excellent a cappella album in 2004 (Medulla, which enlisted the aid of other vocalists) which is decidedly more experimental and is definitely worth your time.
Thomas Dolby, Aliens Ate My Buick
My introduction to Thomas Dolby was the same as most: I saw the video for “She Blinded Me With Science” about five-thousand times on MTV in 1982 and 1983. I also saw “Europa and the Pirate Twins” (a far better song, in my opinion) a few times, so to me, Dolby was more than a one-hit wonder. Fast-forward to 1988. I’m in the navy, stationed at an army base in Indianapolis (attending broadcast journalism school) and I pick up a cassette copy of Aliens Ate My Buick (give me a break, I still hadn’t completely dived into CDs at this point). The album, I noticed after just one listen, basically employs two general themes: fun and funk. Now, one look at Dolby (or even a perusal of his back catalog) will tell you that he’s hardly the funkiest musician on the planet, but I think that’s part of the plan. It’s goofy, white-boy funk. The mismatch of this British computer geek singing an obscure George Clinton song (“Hot Sauce”) and even collaborating with Clinton (the slightly annoying “May the Cube Be With You”) is crystal clear, and Dolby’s reveling in it.
“The Key to Her Ferrari” is an over-the-top swing ode to car lust (complete with Robin Leach cameo), which contains a priceless spoken-word middle section, complete with lots of awkward sexual symbolism (“As we hit the magic 100, my love exploded all over her bright pink leather interior!”). More funk is employed with the single “Airhead,” the aforementioned Clinton collaborations, and the slower-tempo “Pulp Culture.” It’s not all dance-floor goofiness, though; there’s the beautiful, eloquent “My Brain is Like a Sieve,” which deftly incorporates a lovely yet trombone solo. “The Ability to Swing” is one of the album’s missteps. While trying to dial down the comedy, Dolby creates a self-consciously jazzy number that sounds too much like Sting trying to do jazz. Dolby makes up for it with the following track, the epic, almost operatic “Budapest by Blimp.” As in the case of the Rundgren album, the “80’s clause” is in effect. There are definitely some dated sounds here. But again, part of the charm.
Despite the presence of “Airhead” (which could have easily become a freak hit, a la “Science”) Aliens tanked, but Dolby continues to tour and record occasionally. And I think this album is still in print, believe it or not.
Terence Trent D’Arby, Neither Fish Nor Flesh
This is one of music history’s most glaring examples of the sophomore slump, although strictly on a commercial level. Artistically, it’s brilliant, which may be part of the reason for its downfall. This is another album I picked up in Diego Garcia. We didn’t get much in the way of CDs at the base store, so I took what I could get (many of the discs I purchased during my two years on DG eventually made their way to used stores all over the east coast, although this isn’t one of them). When Neither Fish Nor Flesh came out in 1989, the music-buying public was still stinging from the off-putting braggadocio D’Arby fed the press after the release of his highly successful debut album. Most people were content to inform D’Arby that his first album was good, but not that good. After a brief hiatus, Neither Fish Nor Flesh was greeted unevenly by critics (some loved it, many felt it was overindulgent, unfocused and messy), and was ignored by confused consumers.
This album has many problems. Yes, it’s unfocused. Yes, it’s overindulgent (the album’s full title is Neither Fish Nor Flesh: a Soundtrack of Love, Faith, Hope & Destruction, and if that doesn’t scream “get over yourself,” I don’t know what does). There’s a few tracks I can certainly do without. Judging by both the lyrics and the liner notes, Terence is still incredibly impressed with himself. But like a lot of great albums that throw everything at the wall and see what sticks, there’s quite a few great moments here. The single, “To Know Someone Deeply is to Know Someone Softly” is a wonderful mid-tempo love song. “Billy Don’t Fall” is an eloquent, catchy tribute to a victim of homophobia. “I Don’t Want to Bring Your Gods Down” is a spirited number that uses a messy horn section which eventually breaks down and dissolves into sloppy dissonance. And the album’s best track is probably “I’ll Be Alright,” gospel soul stomper that is easily one of the best things D’Arby ever recorded. And the whole album is covered in D’Arby’s flawless voice, which can only be described as a grittier version of Sam Cooke.
While the great songs can’t really save the overindulgent navel-gazing, the album is worth checking out for its sheer guts. In 1987, D’Arby made an excellent, highly successful pop album. Instead of following the same formula, he made his second album completely on his own terms. Not a lot of people do that anymore.



























