Beat Master Records / Vision Records (1989)

There's a lot to like about this label, starting right off with the baby blue (I've read that the labels on the first pressings were light green) and the slightly off-kilter print job. The true beaut though is the logo for the Beat Master Records label itself, which looks like it only released this jam and one other Clay D 12-incher, "Give Me Head." I like how the logo uses three different fonts: 1) the pseudo hand written style for "BEAT," 2) the big blocks of "MASTER," and 3) the straight-ahead sans serif for "RECORDS." The line drawings of what look to be a variation on dueling Akai MPCs go for the win every time. It's a bit curious to me that the label went with MPC samplers given that Florida bass music is often associated with the Roland TR-808 drum machine, which looks quite a bit different.

I'm always on the hunt for Miami Bass-related records, which probably has a lot to do with the fact that the first music video I ever saw was for 2 Live Crew's "Pop That Coochie." After a typical middle school day of getting yelled at by 8th-graders for wearing a bicycle helmet (a couple of enlightened dipshits liked to serenade me with the "Wong Fong the Helmet Mon" moniker), avoiding a "troubled" white dude who always tried to slam kids' fingers in gym lockers, and aimlessly daydreaming through Miss Bliss's science class about maybe sorta kinda trying to "go out" with a girl who played the saxophone and wore combat boots with short shorts, I'd kick back and relax at home by microwaving up some of that awful Velveeta cheese for nachos and plopping down to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. One fateful afternoon I decided to manually flip through the channels and my life was never the same after I stumbled on The Box. It probably didn't help that immediately after pulling my eyeballs off the ceiling from observing the antics of Luke, Mr. Mixx and Fresh Kid Ice, I was then treated to the trip that is the Geto Boys doing "Mind Playing Tricks on Me." Up until that moment, hip-hop in my mind had really only consisted of Herbie Hancock's "Rockit" and this one girl back in Oklahoma that had a Public Enemy t-shirt. But aw man homey, seeing Bushwick punching his hands bloody on the concrete and ladies shaking it all over in Miami was a real instance of education as to what else was out there.

Various Artists - A Christmas Record (Ze Records, 1982)

Merry Christmas from Suicide and James Chance!

Sonic Youth - Confusion is Sex (SST, 1987)

The Fall - Grotesque (Rough Trade, 1980)

Public Image LTD - Album (Elektra 1980)

An aspect of record design I intend to explore here over the next week(s) is the relationship between cover art and label design. It's odd that "Raw Power," "Bitches Brew", and "Blood on the Tracks" all look the same - but it makes more sense that Talking Heads and Ramones share the same Sire label.

On one hand, there's a sense of continuity - despite the changes in styles over time, each work is part of a modernist continuum, an addition to the catalog of human achievement. And there's also a legitimacy conferred - "this is like that", so it's going to be similarly good. But then fundamentally, they sound different and look different on the outside; why don't they look different on the inside?




"Album" (or "Cassette" or "Compact Disc" [unfortunately it's listed as "Album" on iTunes, and not "Download") exemplifies a close relationship between the cover and the label. There's no mistaking which sleeve this goes in. I love its literalism. I also particularly appreciate how the songs are subjugated to the album - on the the sleeve, the tracklisting is a small row of single words separated by commas. This object is not "Collection of Songs" or "The One with Rise" - it's "Album."

Frank Zappa - Shut Up'n Play Yer Guitar (1981)

When my good friend Jack Sloss moved back to Philadelphia, I inherited a massive box of Zappa vinyl. Actually, I still consider it to be his if he ever wants to retrieve it. In the meantime, I've been playing the crap out of them for the last six years or so. My favorite is this crazy three-record set that splices together in the most beautifully meandering and sprawling way many of Zappa's most exhaustive and legendary live guitar solos. Its really wonderful and out-of-control, feels like the bottom is going to fall out of everything at any moment, but still manages to be relentless and pointed. I think Barking Pumpkin Records was Zappa's own brand and I've always loved the logo.

Paul Nudd

Iron Maiden - Run to the Hills b/w Total Eclipse (1982)

This is a family heirloom. It used to belong to my older brother, then my next oldest brother and so on. Also, my favorite picture of Eddie. Eerily evocative, mysterious, elusive. Almost artsy.

Paul Nudd

Lubricated Goat - Plays the Devils Music (1989)

All hail the Goat! So proud to own this jar of death-encrusted scum. Stu Spasm was curiously absent (along with the Cows) from the Amphetamine Reptile 25th Anniversary bash this summer, but like I said, I'm so honored and privileged to have this slice of gutter trash in my attic that I know, deep down, I'll never need anything more. I wish someone would sack up and reissue the Goat's lost catalog, but again... I'll never need anything more.

Sometime in the early 2000's I snatched up as much Amphetamine Reptile vinyl as I could find. Most of it was really cheap and golden. I love the AmRep logo. I duct-taped my old baseball cap together for the big party in Minnesota this summer and I was reminded that pretty much any picture of me that was taken in high school somehow incorporates this menacing logo. Ah yes, I miss the 90's...

Anyway, it's also powerfully wrong that most of the lyrics are printed inside this AmRep reissue, but the greatest bit of additional strangeness is the band photos: each member photographed with his head strung up and bound with a trillion rubber bands.

Paul Nudd

L-1057 (c.1977) / L-1070 (c.1984)

Pioneers of the Jazz Guitar (Yazoo)
Yazoo’s History of Jazz (Yazoo)

Another two-fer. I couldn’t decide between the elegant line-drawn peacock or the more colorful one, so I didn’t. Either way, a fantastic reissue label of early blues and jazz.

Wrestler Records (1984)

Ooh, dirty Texas swamp punk. From Austin, but still. A ghostly silver luchador for Wrestler Records- ¡fantástico!

my biggest mistake
my biggest mistake
was when I left you
my biggest mistake
was when I left you in a shallow grave

SST (1989)

Warner Bros. (1981)

A label somehow worthy of Kraftwerk's entire discography. Just as our last three posts reflect the particular humanity of the artists at work, (Smog/self-portrait; Kramer/wildman; Spires/creep-out), this label probably reflects Kraftwerk's own brand of humanity rather perfectly.

Animal Records (1982)

Animal Records, a sub-label of Chrysalis, was founded by Blondie's Chris Stein in 1982. This indulgence was probably granted on the basis of "Call Me"'s massive success, and credit is due to Stein for keeping the label firmly grounded in the changing Downtown scene. Along with James White (née James Siegfried, aka James Chance), the label also hosted Walter Steding, a Basquait pal and solo violinist, Iggy Pop, for his "Zombie Birdhouse" album, and Los Angeles expats Gun Club. Most awesomely, the label has a ton of cred in the hip-hop community for having released the groundbreaking soundtrack to Wild Style, a reminder of hip-hop's New York roots and early reception in the only half-gentrifying LES art scene.

Alas, the run of Animal Records was short lived--in 1984, Stein's illness forced him to shut down the label after only two years. It must have been a rough time for the guy--descriptions of his illness seem kind of weird, and it was around this time that he and Deb Harry ended a relationship that had started before Blondie had even formed. It probably didn't help that Blondie followed up "Call Me" with 1982's "The Hunter," took a nose dive critically and commercially, and subsequently split.

As far as James White and the Blacks are concerned, it was reported that "Sax Maniac" was very nearly a breakthrough album for what was ultimately a very weird, very cool band. But a proposed "Saturday Night Live" appearance never materialized and James White/Chance moved off to Paris and split the core group. The early 80s were probably even worse to White/Chance than to Chris Stein--"Sax Maniac" is dedicated to the memory of his long-time manager/girlfriend Anya Philips, a legendary scene-maker in the No Wave era, who succumbed to cancer in 1981. When White/Chance last appeared in Chicago, backed by Watchers and billed as James White and The New Contortions, his brother served as his hype-man and his parents stood in the front row. He didn't punch anyone in the face this time around, let alone any girls, but it was nice to see him back in the game.

Sin (1986)

Thanks to Alexander for the opportunity to contribute here! In gratitude, our first posting is a tribute to this blog's own inaugural entry, highlighting the beautiful Sun Records label via Johnny Cash.

Sin Records of Brixton, London, home only to the Mekons and only for a few years, was born in 1985 with these words: "I was out late the other night/Fear and whiskey kept me going/I swore somebody held me tight, but now there's just no way of knowing." Supposedly, Sam Phillips chose the name Sun Records as a symbol for a new beginning, new opportunity--you know, a new day.* Fitting, then, that the half-joke of Sin Records marked the Mekons' rebirth as a hybrid "country" act, replete with ten-gallon hats and cowboy boots.

In terms of their career arc, the Mekons don't get a good rap or a bad rap, but mostly just a weird rap. It seems hard at first to connect the dots from the Leeds post-punk scene (Gang of Four, Delta 5, Mekons) to Bloodshot records and quiet nights at Chicago's Hideout, but there's an underlying continuity threaded into the band's post-hiatus transition to "country" music.

In contrast to the Gang of Four, the Mekons were always already folk music, in a way. The narrative was remarkably consistent: some poor, disillusioned person trying to keep his or her shit together in the midst of some completely fucked and confusing situation. War, labor strikes, unfriendly strangers, unreliable friends and lovers--these environmental hazards are just as common in the Mekons discography as in the Anthology of American Folk Music. And somehow, there's nothing nostalgic or retro-fit about the Mekons, at all.

"The Edge of the World," Sin's second LP, is the first Mekons LP to feature Sally Timms and Jon Langford together, then in Leeds and now in Chicago, and always, surprisingly, the very same Mekons.


*Supposedly, meaning based on several unsourced websites, of course. It's worth pointing out that one of the four sites we referenced suggested the name was chosen due to the sun's "universal power." Sam Phillips was a weird enough dude where that certainly seems just as plausible. Who knows? Anyways...

Cat Collectors' (1983)

The aforementioned Elodie Lauten record. Awesome label name, even better logo, and what might be a fish and a butt (but probably aren't) thrown in for good measure.

99 Records (1981)

99 Records didn't last long (1980-84), but the had a pretty damn good four years: Bush Tetras, Y-Pants, ESG, and Liquid Liquid were all on the roster at one time or another. One of the label's last releases was Glenn Branca's debut long-player, The Ascension. The cleanliness of the label's design belies the dissonance and clamor of the album, a rock-ish hybrid that hints at the massive guitar symphonies Branca would soon endeavor to compose. Side B's 99 logo is pretty nice, but we can't confirm or deny if it's present on all of the label's releases. The A side seems a little drab, if uncluttered and attractive, until one notices the old A/B switcheroo, a little bit of graphic trickery that we can't recall ever seeing on any other labels, surprisingly enough. Also worth checking out is the design on the 7" singles released by Branca's rock bands, The Static and The Theoretical girls. The Ascension is adorned with some really nice Robert Longo cover art, but that will have to be exhibited in some other blog.

Rockin' Horse (1981)

Elodie Lauten is an under-appreciated composer and keyboardist who has done all sorts of exciting things over the years, but this album might be the most unique. An album of new wave songs, Orchestre Modern features not only some great song titles, but a really nice label design, with Rockin' Horse's mascot floating above a warped grid (or maybe it's a net?) in stark black and white. Other early releases of piano work (recently reissued!) were put out on a label with the charming name of Cat Collectors (we think Elodie's own) which feature a handsome little feline who might just grace this blog over the next few days...

Balkanton (1981)

We don't know much about this record, but Dobra Savova seems like a nice lady, and her folk songs from Dobrudzha sounds good to our ears. The label (we went for the anglicized version, rather than messing with the Cyrillic characters) was a state-owned enterprise, and, according to Wikipedia, their releases can still be bought in former Soviet countries. Balkanton also released John Lennon, Kate Bush and Yngwie Malmsteen records, but a perusal of their catalog has introduced us to some interesting Bulgarian record covers that may require further research. If the labels consistently look this nice, we'd be happy to add to our Balkanton collection.

Shanachie (1985)

A bit of dissonance here, in terms of the stylistic matrimony of music and label design. The Shanachie label design reeks of Americana, with echoes of Currier and Ives in the idyllic little homestead and a cartoonish font that someone's grandfather would probably call “snappy.” That Shanachie featured early releases from Clannad and the Chieftans that may have borne this design seems odd enough, but that the American release of The Indestructible Beat of Soweto bore this label just feels downright weird. Shanachie mixed it up before and after (a platter by Robert Crumb and his Cheap Suit Serenaders sure didn't look like this) but kept things conservative here, emblazoning one of the first domestically available documents of modern South African music with a label that'd be more appropriate on a tin of Christmas cookies.

RRR (1998)

Technically, this was released in 1985 on Fun World, but since only one copy was made, this reissue, put out more than a decade later, was the first time the hoi polloi could get their mitts on this 7”. Miller's label design is charmingly unassuming, and the artifacts of its handmade construction were luckily reproduced here on the RRR reissue. Since the playable content of the record is a collage of surface noise from various other platters, the decidedly lo-tech approach taken on the label seems appropriate. This release seems like a bit of a lark for Miller, who was, at this point, not long removed from the break-up of Mission of Burma. Side B features the same exact label ("This SIDE" included), and, a few bars of Bach carved directly into the vinyl. The evolving aspect of this record is that its existant noise is to be augmented by new imperfections, a la Christian Marclay's Record Without a Cover, as it is (mis)handled and played. We've not the heart to subject this to any undue punishment, however, so our copy has had little chance to evolve.