Generally, when it comes to compilations, it's an ugly affair. A hit or miss hodgepodge of artists of all genres that fit together like flat-head screwdrivers and Phillips head screws. If I was completely honest, this compilation probably falls precisely into my generalization. However, this label from El Segundo under the guise of Enigma, Restless, Pink Dust, Fever... provided an avenue for some of the earliest indie bands, and offered an array of such talent that they solidified a place in musical history (unfortunately, many have forgotten or chosen to ignore it). They were fearless in providing contracts to everyone from Stryper to GG Allin. It was precisely the focus on talent over image that made "Enigma Variations" such a tremendous collection. I was introduced to Redd Kross, Leaving Trains, Green On Red, Naked Prey, T.S.O.L., 45 Grave, cowpunk... on and on. It's at times hilarious (John Trubee), at times dark (T.S.O.L.), at times, mesmerizing (Redd Kross). This collection of music single-handedly started an expensive and tiring search for so much that was happening below the mainstream. This was my first glimpse at the undercurrent of music, and it was love at first sight. And any label responsible for the original release of "Daydream Nation", or The Dead Milkmen catalog, or bringing Poison into the world (scratch that) is worthy of my love and affection... I was so sad to see you go. And yes, the irony doesn't escape me - being the compiler of music that I am.
Eric Snyder was a local music journalist writing in the Tampa Bay Metro Area, and it was his review of this album that sent me seeking it out. Little did I know, how difficult a quest that would be. I wound up having to order it through a local chain, and when it arrived (a month later) - that moment was my "import prices deflowering". I took this home and listened to it 3 times without pause. My brain struggled to define it, though it's effect on me was quite palpable. Sparse and haunting, and emotion punctuated by the Scottish wail of Gordon Sharp. It was a number of years before I pieced together his participation in This Mortal Coil, even more years before I discovered he was invited to be the vocalist in Duran Duran. "In This World" presented a suggestion that poetry, abstract, and art can be textures within music; transforming the expression from just listening to also feeling, seeing, and hearing. Though, by no means "post rock", without Cindytalk, that exploratory journey into Mono, Sigur Ros, Godspeed You Black Emperor many years later may not have happened. Of all the items on my list, this truly has, is, and will likely always remain utterly and painfully unique. It's not beautiful journey; it's equal parts desolation, abandonment, and fear; but "In This World" is breathtaking in it's prolonged approach to illicit expression. Perhaps it's why it took 30 listens to piece it all together, but only 1 listen to know I didn't want it to end.
It was, oddly enough, my Dad that brought this home. It was likely a mistake or an auto ship from a music subscription club, but regardless, it was captivating to me. I was familiar with Billie Holiday, but not on an intimate level, and this recording brought me front and center to her live performances. Our relationship from that moment on tread a delicately woven line of fragile and fail. Understanding the tragedy of her life did not unravel a tapestry of admiration or respect, it did however serve as a muse to the bleakest aspects of my personality. A life-coach for self-loathing and self-destruction, and a love affair with absolution from heart. The disc transgresses, and initially, Billie Holiday's voice snuffs the clamor of the audience and ushers them deep beneath her wave. She is a siren that victimizes the heartless, and slays the wicked. As the recordings draw to a close, Holiday is a collapsing sun; a piercing light stretching across a blanket of darkness. Her voice impassioned by alcohol, sickness, and heroin; she steps away a much fiercer beast; beaten by the wounds but much less forgiving. It was, incidentally, a very difficult choice here. MILES DAVIS': KIND OF BLUE perhaps had a greater impact upon me musically; but weighing that in comparison to how I physically wore Billie Holiday, and impressed her upon my veins made my decision.
This was another difficult choice. Torn between this release, and DAISY CHAINSAW'S: ELEVENTEEN, I chose "Taxidermy" for a handful of reasons. Both albums had a psychological effect on me, but it was Katie Jane Garside's acceptance of her sickness (whatever that may be); her seething swathe of ferocity; and utterly wrecked fragility that coaxed me to find this album iconic. I believe it was an utterance of Chris Graves, "check out Queenadreena" that pry loose the nails of this coffin. My first glance at, whatever video it was, wove a rather pernicious spell. The noisy, post-punk, glam Daisy Chainsaw had resurrected into a socially-conscious, lush, beautiful, noisy, post-punk Queenadreena. "What-the-fuck just happened?" was my only utterance. I really had no way to relate to what the band was doing - but I knew it was a musical amalgamation of many bands I adored (Daisy Chainsaw included), beyond that - I really had no where to go. Garside's anger was on par with Zach De La Rocha, but at times her vocals presented a serenity and calmness that could lull a child to sleep. They've been called riotgrrrl - which of course is a label I get. Perhaps Garside's stage persona does fringe upon the genre, but from an album standpoint, it can't be dumbed down to one easy answer. The lyrics are strikingly personal (or are they?) - presented with such passion and intensity, you simply can't believe it can be faked. That's part of the enigma: interviews that are few and are trainwrecks; a stage presence so self-deprecating it's resulted in being molested by the crowd; an artist that recalls innocence and the sort of renderings a child might do for a police investigation; and a vocalist whose other projects are borderline folk music. It refuses an understanding, and if you venture here, you accept the abuse, the beauty, the anger, and the fragility as a whole.
The most recent addition to this list. It's an album I've always loved despite the heavy rotation of singles on the radio and MTV, but it was always an album that would have traveled with me to the deserted island, not a selection that would be emotionally impactful. That transition came about on a Friday night, 2 years ago, sitting in I-Bar rather hurt, rather depressed, and mentally, a hundred miles away from the people I had journeyed with. "(I Am) The Resurrection" blared, quite unexpectedly into the crowded club - immediately, my already dour mood sunk to the point of tears. I knew quite certainly, that what I'd been forcing myself to not accept as real, was indeed my heart letting me know that I was in love; and quite unfortunately, not with that love. There hadn't been hours of bonding over The Stone Roses, but it was "our album", an offering upon which our paths merged. Lyrically, it's a poignant selection, the title's of each track alone could outline our time together. In that respect, it will always be a milestone upon which a new chapter was formed and continues to write itself.
I feel it's probably necessary to do a Part Three....
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