A couple of months back, a colleague of mine who edits content for our company’s intranet had the idea of putting together departmental playlists of music all we employees were listening to. When it came to our department — Corporate Communications & Marketing — I was asked to submit two songs I was currently digging, one new banger and one old favorite. For whatever reason, for the “old favorite” I went with “Into the Valley” by the Skids (invariably because I was shortly to depart to Scotland to drop my daughter off at college). For the new song, I wanted to pick a track off my favorite album of 2022, that being the debut studio LP by The Art Gray Noizz Quintet. At the time, however, the only track by that band to be found on Spotify (the go-to platform for this exercise) was their cover of an old Lubricated Goat song (which makes sense, being that Art Gray is yet another name for Lubricated Goat’s Stu Spasm, i.e. Stuart Gray). I mentioned this, and another colleague scoffed openly at the notion that there was music out there that wasn’t on Spotify. “Oh come on,” she laughed incredulously, “Spotify has all the music.”
Yeah, no they don’t. Not even close.
My misgivings with Spotify are multiple and visceral. I don’t respect the platform. I think it’s evil and that it’s further cementing the notion that music is just this banal commodity that can be blithely plucked from the ether. It has contributed to the ongoing devaluation of music and continues to fleece artists and songwriters at every opportunity. Fuck Spotify.
To this day, I still insist on buying the tactile manifestations of the music I’m interested in whenever possible. I deeply resent Spotify’s avaricious stranglehold on the industry. But, as I mentioned in this post, I’ve recently started it using it with reluctant frequency, but primarily as a means of evangelizing music to my kids. Again, my daughter Charlotte doesn’t really give that much of a rat’s ass about what tunes I think she should check out (I mean, if you were an 18-year-old college freshman, would you?), but my 16-year-old son Oliver has been pretty receptive. I know it’s only a matter of time before he divines his own path, so I’m enjoying this part of it while it fleetingly lasts.
But, in much the same way Spotify failed me, at the time, when searching for that eponymous debut by The Art Gray Noizz Quintet (which, incidentally, now can be found on Spotify in its entirety), there are several records that still cannot and will not be heard, found, experienced or enjoyed via the streaming service. Here are some of those records that you’re missing out on…
Heaven Born and Ever Bright by Cardiacs (1992)
I remember first hearing the track “Day is Gone” by this frankly confusing British indie band by way of a compilation cassette attached to one of the weekly music papers during to trip to London in 1993 and being genuinely blown away. Paring the ambitiously intricate musicianship of the most impenetrable prog rock with the bug-eyed, adrenalized sprint of early-`80s punk, Cardiacs truly sounded like no one else, and I instantly went out searching for the whole album, finding a lone copy of the imported compact disc at Rebel Rebel on Bleecker Street (RIP). While lured in by the comparatively accessible “Day is Gone,” I don’t know that I was fully prepared for the album’s other ten tracks, which largely eschewed all semblance of conventional song structure in favor of maniacal detours in tempo, time-signature and tone, veering wildly from expansively anthemic sing-alongs, whimsically ecstatic pop forays, intensely complicated thrash and all frantic points in between. I dutifully snapped up the next few albums by the maddeningly prolific Cardiacs, each less comprehensible and even more bonkers than its predecessor. Cardiacs sadly came to a close when their primary singer/songwriter Tim Smith suffered a heart attack — cruel irony — in 2008, only to pass away in 2020.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Day Is Gone,” “Goodbye Grace,” “The Alphabet Business Concern (Home of Fadeless Splendor)."
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
You can find Heaven Born and Ever Bright on Bandcamp, as well as several other of their releases. You can also order music and merch directly from the band’s website.
Invisible People by False Prophets (1990)
While originally a hardcore band, New York City’s False Prophets never strictly adhered to the parameters of that sub-genre, inflecting their music with huge chunks of folky agitprop and conceptual drama beyond the splenetic fury of what became NYHC. Never was this more the case than on their 1990 album, Invisible People. While it still has its punky moments, the high point of this mini LP is easily the title track, a stirring acoustic depiction of the homeless existence in New York City. Hardcore with a heart, and New York City to the bone.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Invisible People,” “Never Again, Again”
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
Good luck. I’d suggest eBay, maybe? False Prophets are not on Bandcamp and have no website. The full album, though can be experienced on YouTube, for whatever that’s worth. Beyond that, check the used bins and eBay.
Retrovirus by Lydia Lunch (2015)
A live album recorded at the Brooklyn iteration of the Knitting Factory (RIP), Retrovirus finds No Wave matriarch Lydia Lunch flanked by incendiary guitarist Weasel Walter of the Flying Luttenbachers, drummer Bob Bert (ex-Sonic Youth/Pussy Galore/Bewitched/Chrome Chranks) and former SWANS bassist Algis Kizys delivering a taut, paired-down sprint through the best moments of Lunch’s extensive back catalog. While Lydia is as endearingly caustic as ever throughout proceedings, the sheer musical fire-power at her beck and call, captured here, delivers a performance that is nothing short of explosive. To my ears, it’s the best thing she’s ever recorded.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Love Split with Blood,” “The Gospel Singer.”
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY, WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
You can find this album and several other choice selections via Bandcamp.
Fantastic Spikes Through Balloon by Skeleton Key (1997)
The brainchild of former Lounge Lizards bassist Erik Sanko, Skeleton Key garnered a big, clangy buzz on the NYC scene in the mid-to-late `90s, playing a skronky blend of disjointed, punky rock that frequently sounded like a broken machine about to explode. With guitarist Chris Maxwell, powerhouse drummer Steve Calhoon and odd-&-ends percussionist Rick Lee (Lee would pound the living crap out of various hapless metal implements — including a child’s red wagon — in a manner not unlike what Bob Bert did for Pussy Galore, Phil Puleo did for Cop Shoot Cop and what Einsturzende Neubauten spent their noisy career doing), their debut LP, Fantastic Spikes Through Balloon was expansively produced by Dave Sardy of Barkmarket (who later became a very big-time knob-twiddler). The end results are endearingly weird, but always melodic and periodically very satisfyingly heavy. Sadly, it was not to last — Chris Maxwell jumped ship and went solo. Rick and Chris also left, leaving Sanko to rebuild the band from scratch and later make a couple of more similarly inclined records. Despite being on major label Capitol records, you can’t find Fantastic Spikes… on Spotify.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“The World’s Most Famous Undertaker,” “Wide Open,” “Vomit Ascot.”
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
Well, you can read all about it on the band’s official website, and you can hear the whole album on YouTube, but otherwise, you’re better off searching for a used copy of the CD. Good luck with that.
Headkick Facsimile by Cop Shoot Cop (1989)
Recorded when the band was still just the trio of Tod [A] on bass/vocals, Phil Puleo on drums and metal percussion and Dave Ouimet on sampler, Headkick Facsimile — released on Japan’s short-lived Supernatural Organization label — was the first official release by notorious New York City guerilla-noise ensemble (and Flaming Pablum favorites), Cop Shoot Cop. Later re-released on cassette by the band’s Subvert Entertainment “label” with “Robert Tilton Handjob" from the 1990 follow-up seven-inch Piece, Man, neither the original six-track album nor the seven-track cassette were ever released on compact disc (despite comparatively recent rumors that Reptilian Records were going to issue a CD version, nothing ever came to fruition). As an opening salvo, the mini-album firmly established Cop Shoot Cop as an outfit to watch out for. I have both the pricey imported vinyl 12" (gifted to me ages ago by a friend) and two copies of the cassette ... one still shrinkwrapped, `cos I’m that type of insufferable nerd.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Shine On, Elizabeth,” “Triumphal Theme,” "Lie"
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
Once again — good luck with that. While most of the C$C discography can be had on Spotify (including the post-breakup Red Expendables album), neither Headkick Facsimile nor the Piece, Man tracks can be found there. They’re not on Bandcamp, either. Certain blogs have uploaded MP3s over the years, but ya can’t count on those staying up. Certain tracks are available on YouTube (see above), but you owe it to yourself to hunt down the original, out-of-print editions. And that’ll probably cost ya. Earn it.
Look At My Bum by The Hot Corn Girls (1994)
The Hot Corn Girls were an endearingly amateurish quartet of Lower East Siders who date back to the mid-90's. Being friends with Joanne their bass player and Dean Rispler their drummer (a punk rock renaissance man who'd later go onto play for bands like The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black, Murphy's Law, Tiger Mountain, the Brought Low and a latter-era iteration of The Dictators, as well as becoming a sought-after producer in his own right), I was fortunate enough to catch the band performing live a couple of times (notably at the Pyramid on Avenue A and again at Under Acme on Great Jones Street). Rounded out by one Bob Limp on vocals and the enigmatic Squeaky on guitar (an erstwhile member of the similarly inclined Japanese band, The Chimpanzees, despite not being Japanese himself), the Hot Corn Girls were both hilarious and surprisingly catchy, as this album handily demonstrates.
Through the beneficent affiliation with the Chimpanzees (whose lead singer, Naoko Nozawa a.k.a Diarreah Naoko, was -- evidently -- a hugely popular television comedienne in her native Japan and Bob Limp's girlfriend), the HCG were fleetingly financially solvent enough to be able to go into the studio and cut an album. Look at My Bum came out in 1994 on Stingy Banana records, graced with a suitably pervy cover photograph by transgressive shutterbug extraordinaire, Richard Kern, and fifteen luridly surreal tracks with largely improvised, unintelligible lyrics. Despite their willfully challenged aesthetic, the sound (produced, once again, by budding knob-twiddler Dean Rispler) absolutely crackles with depth and definition (not things normally associated with humble East Village bands).
I believe the song titles were assigned to their respective tracks with Burroughsian arbitrariness, so don't bother listening for the song's title in the already indecipherable and quite-possibly-not-sung-in-any-language-known-to-man chorus. Incidentally, the name "Hot Corn Girls" itself does not refer to any deviant sexual practice but rather to a book by Solon Rovinson called "Hot Corn - Life Scenes in New York" from 1854. The Hot Corn Girls themselves were Irish-American immigrants who peddled hot corn in the streets. There's also the arguable theory that the Hot Corn Girls doubled as murderous prostitutes who slew their johns. I'll defer to the historians over that one. The Hot Corn Girls went onto record another 7" single before splitting. Dean Rispler went onto work with dozens of other great bands. Joanne got married and left NYC. Bob went off to Japan with Nozawa where they perform as the tastefully named Ass Baboons of Venus. For more of what Squeaky got up to, click here.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE: “My Pile of Leaves”
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
Not on Spotify and not on Bandcamp, but the whole album is on YouTube. For a physical copy, hit eBay and/or your nearest used CD shops … but don’t hold your breath.
The Niagaras by The Niagaras (1990)
These days, info online about the band is pretty damn scarce, but the ensemble centered around two brothers -- Robert and Frank Whaley -– and a guitarist name Tony Grimaldi. If any of those names jump out at you, it’s probably Frank. Along with being the erstwhile drummer of the Niagaras, Frank is an actor, having been in notable films like OIiver Stone’s “The Doors” (playing guitarist Robbie Krieger), “Career Opportunities” (wherein he is locked in a department store overnight with lovely Jennifer Connelly), “Swimming with Sharks” (wherein he kidnaps and tortures his toxic boss, played by Kevin Spacey) and, of course, “Pulp Fiction,” where he portrayed big-brained Brett, the Big Kahuna Burger-enthusiast who gets shot at point blank range by Samuel L. Jackson. He was in other stuff, too, but those are probably the biggies. His brother Robert, meanwhile, was the dynamic lead singer of The Niagaras. Whether guitarist Tony Grimaldi is in any way related to the Grimaldi’s pizza dynasty, I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.
In any case, the Niagaras played a sort of theatrical blend of jangly, hook-laden rock, which often included a trumpet for extra flourish. While not exactly punky, the nattily dressed band frequently played with a high-energy garage fervor that made for an excellent live show, largely punctuated by Robert’s improvisational stage patter, mannered vocals and frenzied, good-naturedly confrontational performance style.
Hotly touted as a “next big thing” band, the Niagaras accrued a buzzy reputation following residencies at venues like The Continental, Mondo Cane and some gigs at Wetland’s Preserve in TriBeCa. They started getting tv spots and things started happening and then ... nothing.
I can’t say I know the particulars, but for whatever reason, their big break never came. I have this eponymous indie debut disc from 1990, but I gather there was at least a second album in 1997, recorded for a different indie label and produced by Tamir Muskat (of Firewater and Balkan Beatbox). I’ve yet to track down a copy of that one.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Reborn,” “Overdrawn on Your Account"
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I GET THIS?
Apart from a few selections on YouTube (see above), I doubt you’ll have much luck finding this anywhere on the internet. Sorry.
1933 Your House is Mine by Missing Foundation (1988)
Anyone who spent any amount of time whatsoever in the East Village and/or Lower East Side of Manhattan during the `80s and `90s will doubtlessly recognize the cryptic insignia of Missing Foundation (an upside down cocktail glass over three slashed tines), which was ominously scrawled, sprayed and jaggedly carved all over many a downtown edifice in those days. I’ve written about them countless times here on this blog. Ostensibly an “industrial” band, Missing Foundation was more of an elusive collective masterminded by one Peter Missing, a firebrand who used his particularly confrontational brand of cacophonous music as a means of disseminating vehemently anti-authoritarian/pro-squatter/anti-gentrification agitprop. Initially, MF records were hard to track down until about 1990, when an indie label named Restless Records re-released their first five albums, this one from 1988 being my very favorite. While arguably Missing Foundation at their most cohesive, 1933 is still a long fucking way from accessible, finding Peter Missing exhorting angrily through a bullhorn over ponderous, slave-ship percussion and brutalized guitar riffs.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Burn Trees,” “Jameel’s Turmoil”
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I FIND THIS?
While Spotify does surprisingly have some Missing Foundation on its platform, this record is absent from the offerings. Peter Missing, however, has taken huge advantage of the Bandcamp platform and pretty much uploaded his entire musical oeuvre there, including demos, rarities and live albums, as well as the album of his first band, Drunk Driving. I wish every band would follow his lead.
Amerikanski by The Lee Harvey Keitel Band (1997)
Despite their lazily stupid name (dumb on purpose?), Baltimore’s Lee Harvey Keitel Band were actually quite cerebral, … possibly too much so for their own good. A debut album rife with esoteric literary allusions and arcane academia, Amerikanski comes across like a quirky collection of jittery punk songs played by a quartet of cynically verbose, jaded intellectuals with a flair for the absurd, kind of like a beefier version of the Minutemen, but with obscure references to Samuel Beckett, the Marquis de Sade and French cinema instead of corndog lingo. But as pretentious as all that might sound, the album really fucking rocks from top to bottom. Comprised of ex-members of Buttsteak and Liquor Bike (if that means anything to you), the LHKBND kicked up a clangily catchy racket, and the album is a complete blast (produced, once again, by Dean Rispler of the Hot Corn Girls and countless other outfits). They were great fun live, too.
GIVE ME A QUICK TASTE:
“Capitalism vs. Schizophrenia,” “Divine Ashasia (from 'Waiting For Godot')"
OKAY, FUCK SPOTIFY! WHERE CAN I FIND THIS?
You pretty much can’t. The LHKBND do have tracks available on various platforms like YouTube, Bandcamp and even Spotify, but not this album, for whatever reason. Beyond combing the used racks, I could not even begin to tell you how to get ahold of this album, apart from maybe reaching out to the band itself (who broke up eons ago) via Bandcamp. Also maybe eBay? Maybe? Good friggin’ luck.
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