Big Black - "Racer X" (Homestead Records, 1985)

Big Black is so big their name won't fit on both sides of the record... (and shit)

Brunswick (1969)

This reminds me of the really classy Decca label from the early 70's.

Young & Holt played on some classic Ramsey Lewis albums before forming their own group.

Big Block Records (1988)

When critics look back on the Chicago music scene in the 1990's, almost all the coolness is geographically consigned to Wicker Park, but it's also useful to look back on the origin stories. Whereas the Chicago punk scene in the early-1980's was largely made up of city kids, the 90's generation was seriously suburban. Liz Phair's roots were in the North Shore suburbs, clearly evidenced in her post-Matador output. Urge Overkill came together not in the city-proper, but at Northwestern University in Evanston. Even the loner mentality of Billy Corgan's early Smashing Pumpkins was more rooted in his West-Suburban upbringing than his city adulthood--evidenced in the number of 1990's suburban kids with worn copies of "Siamese Dream." Jim Ellison was fully of Addison, Illinois. His sensibility was tied to the suburbs, a place where one feels more in high school than ever again, and longing power pop tracks like "Valerie Loves Me," "Diane," and "The Very First Lie" reflected that high school moment musically and lyrically.

Jim Ellison wanted to be a rock star, and Material Issue was his vehicle to success. He started Big Block records out of his bedroom, and through tireless promotion steered Material Issue to a major label contract in the early 1990's.

For awhile they were one of Chicago's great sucess stories: signed to Mercury Records, getting airplay on MTV's "120 Minutes," and making the CMJ and Billboard Modern Rock Charts. In the midst of all this, Ellison still made office hours for aspiring high school bands in need of guidance. For a guy who loved rock and roll, music, and cars, he had a surprisingly non-existent douchebag quotient.

VH1's "Behind the Music" has oft-told the story of some hair metal group or other casually, carelessly thrown from the spotlight by the grunge movement, but hair metal was not the only casualty. Power pop was jettisoned from success, as well, and Material Issue was one clear victim of this trend. They left Mercury Records after 1994's "Freak City Soundtrack," feeling that the label had turned its back to the band. By the time their final album, 1997's "Telecommando Americano," was completed, Ellison had been dead for a year.

Ellison's suicide in 1996 was a sad confirmation of his own deep romanticism. The contents of his suicide note are still private, but Ish-drummer Mike Zelenko has implied in interviews that his death was the result of an ended love affair, rather than frustrated career ambitions. There are so many elements in this early death that carry a poetic resonance, but the perfect story hardly makes up for the loss.

This label is from the pre-Mercury days, probably pieced together in Jim Ellison's bedroom. The music is still fun but it does feel, at times, like there is a ghost in the room.

Nihilist (2005)

Spires That in the Sunset Rise/Panicsville (Josephine Foster) split 7" on Nihilist, with layout by Andy Ortmann. Totally creepy, totally fitting.

Disaster (1990)

Smog's LP debut, "Sewn to the Sky," was the sole vinyl issue on Bill Callahan's Disaster Records, based out of Maryland. In his even-adolescent coolness, Callahan had been involved in the zine scene, publishing a Replacements fan mag, "Willpower," and a generalist music mag called "Disaster." When he began releasing cassettes as Smog in 1988, he appropriated the Disaster name for his home-run label. The label didn't last for too long; Callahan shut it down when he was signed to the nascent Drag City in 1991. In the next few years, Drag City would re-issue "Sewn to the Sky" and "Forgotten Foundation," a compilation of tracks from Smog's early Disaster cassettes.

The label art here, like many of Smog's later labels, is by Callahan himself, and though the side A drawing is a little hard to decipher at first, it appears to be a self-portrait. Callahan rarely drew himself in his later sketchbooks and cover art, but it seems fitting that the introspective Callahan's debut LP would offer up this shadowy, stage-setting image.

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...

Howard Home Recording Disc (1941)

I found this particular 8" home recorded acetate disc about 15 years ago in central Virginia. I have always been drawn to the great Deco typeface of the Howard label. Buttressed by 4 horizontal lines like the signage of a hotel marquee; the underwriter's laboratories inc. seal hangs overhead like a moon, a helium balloon, whatever ; Howard unphased by the the italic tension circling the periphery.

I can imagine a pitchman rattling off these four points in rapid, punctuated succession like some sales mantra: "Type 8C! Metal Base! Slow Burning! Home Recording Disc!".

I've seldom played this record - it's a train wreck to play back - but I have thought about it often and think of it still. It's a structural anthropologist's wet dream - private, taboo laden leisure life documented on one side and the industrious public life of commerce on the other.

Side "Dirty" (12/25/41) - a keyhole into the barely audible ribald songs, good time cussing, inebriated laughter of some Tom, Dick and Harry -in this case Jim, Wau (Wall? Hank? Hak? You tell me) and Fred. Side "Commercial" (12/26/41) - same guys doing ads for their plumbing and vacuum cleaner outfits. It's easy to take this stuff for granted in an age when this dichotomy is getting leveled day in and day out and amateur hour on the youtube stands as much of a chance of going viral and getting picked up in meta news cycles as anything else but time was...

Over the years, I've amassed a small but enjoyable collection of home recorded acetates almost always dating from the 30s and 40s- often featuring letters to loved ones, birthday wishes, mom and pop advertisements, sacred hymns of devotion, cantorial services, pop piano ditties. Powerfully ordinary.

Although my collection and appetite for these orphaned audio dispatches of the everyday has never gotten as obsessive as the visual analog featured in the great doc Other People's Pictures , I never pass up a Presto, an Audio-Disc, a Wilcox-Gay, a Lyon & Healy, a Coronet, a Duodisc, a Selmer, a Philco, a Zephyr, a Howard or any of the other myriad manufacturers who issued these recording blanks more than half a century ago. I suspect my motive comes in some measure from the desire to hear unofficial history unfold and in its unfolding, the anxious, clumsy and uncertain history of the recording process itself.

Cadet (1968)

When I'm looking for a one way ticket to my happy place, I pull out this record. And just before I put the needle to it, I admire its label's tricolor font, blue gradient background and amazing radial stallion/sun logo.

(Note: I just found Alexander's post of an almost identical label. I almost took my post down, but I decided that the subtle differences between the two labels are worth noting--I much prefer the more muted colors of the Cadet font here, and I think the logo pops a little more as a filled-in shape rather than an outline. Still, I absolutely agree with Alexander that an ideal Cadet records label would be nothing more than "that logo, printed large and crisp, spinning around.")

Kranky (2000)

A shout out to Chicago!

Paula / Jewel Records (1973)

Chess (1972)

This later Chess label makes me think of Lion-O from Thundercats.

Cadet (1968)

Chess/Checker/Cadet is one of my favorite labels, but I think that the design of this label could be a lot cooler than it is. The horse head logo is so classic, but it seems under-appreciated here. Basically, I want a label that has the horse logo printed to fill the entire thing, white on navy blue. And if I REALLY had my way, there wouldn't even be any text on one side, like the Vertigo label. Just that logo, printed large and crisp, spinning around. Now you're talkin!

This Ramsey Lewis album is one of my most favorite records. There's few albums I pull out to listen to as often as this one. All Beatles covers, but Ramsey OWNS each track. Instrumental versions of tunes you know, via Ramsey's soulful piano and an orchestra, plus spaced-out Moog effects and tight funk drums.

Actually, I think I'm going to put this on right now...

GRT (1970)

GRT (General Recorded Tape) bought Cadet in 1969, which meant they got to put out all of the Chicago talent on this classic soul album - Minnie Riperton, Ramsey Lewis, Charles Stepney, Phil Upchurch, Maurice White. As much as the classic Cadet logo and design has my heart, I have to admit that I also really dig the businesslike GRT logo.

Charles Stepney is one of my favorites. This album carries forward a noticeable soft-psych pop vibe from the Riperton's previous band, The Rotary Connection, but with a strong soul flavor. Overall it's a really satisfying listen, but it veers into moments of saccharine indulgence that I suspect inadvertently capture what was going on culturally at the time. Take for example the opening track Les Fleurs. The opening bars are understated, groovy and downright sublime. The first time I heard those opening 10 seconds of this album, I thought it might be the best piece of music I ever heard. Minnie's famous voice is impressive, but by the time it hits the first crescendo at about 1:30, I'm reaching for the volume knob. Whoa! Let's cool out a minute. The track pulls itself together with a catchy "la-la-la" ending that always sticks in my head. I think this track pretty well sums up what's going on with the big picture of the album. Killer talent, amazing moments of arranging and musicianship, but a nagging feeling that ambition is getting the best of the whole exercise. This is 1970, the 60's are over.

"The 80's will trash the 70's for garbaging the 60's." - Ed Sanders, Fame and Love in New York