FAITH NO MORE – “Chinese Arithmetic” (1987)

I’ve been listening to Faith No More for a long time, though not long as their history.

Back in 1979 there were Sharp Young Man and soon Faith. No Man. Only a handful of people remained from the whirlwind of activities between 1979 and their single debut.

Billy Gould was the bass player between all those bands & Mike “Puff” Bordin, the drummer.

Roddy Bottum (keyboards) replaced Wade Warrington in Faith. No Man in 1984.

Then the three walked away from singer/guitarist Mike “The Man” Morris. Him no more.

They released their debut record by fledging label Mordam Records in 1985.

“We Care a Lot” featured singer/rapper Chuck Mosley and guitarist “Big” Jim Martin.

Only by the time of sophomore record they managed to get a single released (Faith. No Man had theirs by 1983).

Now in Slash Records, extracted from a record labelled “Introduce Yourself” and with a re-recording of “We Care a Lot“‘s title track (plus a surreal MTV video)

And the single track they did not care a lot about. Slash Records chose an album track and commissioned a remix.

Reportedly, a friend with the band had a cock “as hard as Chinese Arithmetic“. And from this foundation Faith No More got their first single (dis)rele(ase).

Buzz-thin keyboards introduce the rhythmic assault of University of California Bordin. Careening yet careful, they raise courtains for a moody guitar motif, segued by abstract keys. Then a blurred awakening of all those sound collisions slide into Mosley’s beer talk.

It could have been a failed art project, on paper too many rejects. Oddly moving, sublime and intriguing, it stands still.  

Goth tale in street smart, dysfunctional relations of youth fantasies, amuse and boredom.

We got the same ideas, we got the same old fears
They’re different colors sometimes, but, hey, who cares?

This band rollercoasts through the moods on the tips of hats, master mood setters we see.

The first single almost a decade in the making went many directions but hey, who cares.

 

 

Some of them were into Dub at the time and it shows. The B-Side “Kick and Scream Mix” (also by producer Matt Wallace) skip some layers (Bottum’s), hyperventilated others (Mosley’s stood panache, Gould’s throbbs) and threw (Bordin) in the mix. Buzzing from bad radio static, the performance still great and more unhinged, roots in (Post-)Punk.

Faith No More was a feat of recombination of falling pieces. Puzzles don’t miss marks.

Try to control bad behaviour…

 

Tracklist:

9.0    Chinese Arithmetic (Radio Mix)

8.5       Chinese Arithmetic (Kick and Scream Mix)

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

 

THIN LIZZY – “The Farmer” (1970)

Phil Lynott was a gifted poet by the time his second formation (past the Orphanage) reached vinyl in 1970.

His imagination blended many lines across the Atlantic, from Irish pastures to Tennessee – where an young vocal Black male could still be held in high regard as a troublemaker.

However, he was far from agressive steps by the post of a new decade.

 

 

His emulations of Cream and Hendrix still some time away, Thin Lizzie (sic) debuted with slices of Country Rock closer to the Byrds or Buffalo Springfield.

Nowhere to be found were dual guitar duties. A solitary Eric Bell ringed prudence. His tentative gestures provided sketches for Lynott‘s credible storytelling.

Brian Downey was reliable as and old porch and Phil never let his bass down. So, 3.

Production values on the cheap meant “The Farmer” was rugged out of Dublin as a latecomer to “Nuggets“.

The country melange got casually moving as Lynott reaches morose Celtic fringes:

Won’t y’all come again
Won’t y’all come?
Your faces keep us warm
Won’t y’all come? 

The pathos of a band unafraid of frailty, removed from pubescence. Eric Wrixon touched a spare piano with disregard. For a while, Lizzie could be subject of a Bob Dylan travelogue.

 

 

The single went nowhere.

B-Side “I Need You” by producer John D’Ardis presented a slightly dynamic setting. Yet, Lizzie remained in the backwoods with Lynott a young Solomon Burke thrown in an Otis Redding rave-up. Wieldly guitar brings some fire – but the brass section steals the show the way they would unlikely do in a J.J. Cale recording (production comparable).

Thin Lizzy was other entity, a few years before Lynott got his dreams under wraps.

 

Tracklist:

 

8.0     The Farmer

8.5     I Need You

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

DEEP PURPLE – “Hush” (1968)

Deep Purple debuted in single format with the first and the last songs they have hastily recorded for full-length “Shades of Deep Purple”. Recordings took two days. They left studio with a string of cover versions plus a handful of originals – both reflective of the circumstances of the band at the time.

Chris Curtis (The Searchers) called studio wiz Ritchie Blackmore (Screaming Lord Sutch, The Outlaws) and Jon Lord (The Artwoods, piano in the Kinks’ “You Really Got Me”) for an attempted supergroup. As he left the picture, Blackmore and Lord gelled in as rock improvisers with classical appreciation. The Roundabout took further shape with Johnny Kidd & the Pirates’ bassist Nick Simper and two The Maze alumni – charmer Rod Evans plus a quiet drummer by the name of Ian Paice. Ritchie’s grandma provided the name they would be immortalized under (and eponymous to an LSD brand).

Deep Purple arrived with a mix of psychedelic infusions and age-old cutesiness. Both sides disguised their capacities. With Blackmore and Lord onboard, the Hammond organ and the Stratocaster guitar melted with a broad edge – a duelling more akin to Bebop Jazz than the usual fodder of Pop charts. A steamroller with a relentless drive that Paice never failed to provide – and then there were three.

Purple would rely on those foundations for covering shifting ground after 1968 – “Chasing Shadows” (1969), “Speed King” (1970), “Strange Kind of Woman” (1971), “Space Trucking” (1972), “Woman from Tokyo” (1973), “Might Just Take Your Life” (1974), “Knocking at Your Backdoor” (1984) or “Any Fule Kno That” (1999 – that one with Steve Morse replacing Blackmore).

A distant grunt, unnamed beasts played four times before a thick beat unleashes “Hush”. Acrobatic keyboards and chugging guitars follow suit in a rumble finesse careening. All in just twenty seconds.

“Hush” was a Joe South composition that reached the lower rungs of Billboard in late 1967 with Billy Joe Royal. His version was straight out of Otis Redding’s book of stirred Soul. South re-recorded the song in 1968. Smouldering female backing vocals were downcast by pensive delivery. Afterwards, guitar improvisations let loose in the background, so this small song have been drastically reworked.

By contrast, Purple reintegrated backing vocals (male-only) into a Pop setting but Evans remained within confines of South’s setting. As he reached chorus, it was rendered with a breeze of fresh air – a brief escape from the busy instrumental mayhem, the major key transformation they brought to the mix.

 

Hush, hush

I thought I heard her calling my name now

 

Apart from flowery arpeggios, Blackmore kept a low profile during soloing, so the assemblage fumed around Evans, who kept an earnest pulse until the end.

It went nowhere in England but landed in Top 5 territory stateside – including Playboy’s Mansion (which maybe helps explain the official video).  Later on, as memorably featured in key scenes in “Bad Times at the El Royale” (2018) and “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” (2019), the cinematic qualities of the single stood the test of time.

 

 

The B-Side bore an original Evans-Lord composition, “One More Rainy Day”. Colourful Hammond in mildly psychedelic mode at the service of poppified sides in early Cream mode, the well-rounded composition evoked a cautious young band beyond their years. After “Hush”, Purple seemed unsure where to go, Evans distracted by “changes, visible changes”, Simper ruminating their way ahead – as Paice rudely spills out of the picture.

Eventually, neither side proved their fortunes. After 3 LPs in 2 years & recording with orchestras, a lineup change – eerily mirroring Curtis’ revolving aspirations for the Roundabout. With Ian Gillan & Roger Glover Purple would go on to harder and faster pastures (even revisiting “Hush” in 1988).

 

Tracklist:

 

9.5          Hush

8.0              One More Rainy Day

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

AC/DC – “Can I Sit Next to You, Girl” (1974)

With Bon Scott AC/DC was a Devil-may-care proposition. His wildly entertaining tales of debauchery fell into the Brothers Young‘s safety net fearlessly as razor-thin vocals sent them ringing down the jugulars.

With Dave Evans the same song came across in bubblegum confection glowing carelessly along the way. It seemed more an artifact of the era than something unique – Glam Rock.

This band was already for the common man though subdued by shots at the Pop market. Dump ammunition fell short of megabust.

Evans was a fine singer on his own and older brother George an Aussie superstar with the Easybeats, as well as a decent producer and good enough bass player. Colin Burgess from the Masters Apprendices did not lack drumming accolades by 1974. So what?

They needed a number of steps back before rollin’ & tumblin’ ahead of precedence. Riffs with no hurry, an Earth-shaking capacity. A sloppy singer with a creative wicked mind. Drums n’bass in lockdown. Save it for later.

‘Can I Sit Next to You, Girl‘ downstreams as the Bay City Rollers would with Jagger aspirations. An undeliably melodic little ditty – Malcolm & Angus predating Iron Maiden with menacing cavalcades – propelled by Evans‘ flexible drive to fluffy aeons. His guitar men dared to follow, so they arrive in T-Rex turf in a hurricane (as young Judas Priest). Not to be missed, this is a Young–Young composition.

The detailed production highlighted a fascinating duality, underestimated by audiences and did not comfort an hesitating band.

Frantic enthusiasm weird by outcomes so far removed from current AC/DC imagery. They were seedy from the start but in other legs. Androginy, glitter, blurred genders (maybe gay sex) sit comfortably next to their 1974 aspirations.

So the song become a false start, even though it landed into Australian Top 50.

 

So, they opted out.

B-Side ‘Rockin’ in the Parlour‘ sets the record straight. It does not pretend to shake things up but it does by default – closer to AC/DC as we know it. A light rocker, either KISS or ABBA. The singer feels no need to leave the comfort zone of a moderate beat. No riff stravaganzas, traditional Rock storytelling . Suddenly Evans sounded too careful, almost lame in commonplaces. Two guitars in unisom left no room for novelties. This band wanted something larger than dire straits, though they were quite cool within.

AC/DC re-recorded the A-Side with Scott (minus the comma) and the B-Side inspired a few initial numbers collected in their Aussie debut record ‘High Voltage‘, sophomore ‘TNT‘ and international debut ‘High Voltage‘ (a collection of their highlights).

 

Tracklist:

 

8.5      Can I Sit Next to You, Girl

8.0         Rockin’ in the Parlour

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

BEATLES – “Love Me Do” (1962)

A major port of the British Empire, Liverpool was a point of entry for ancient Blues and early Rock N’ Roll records. During the late 1950s, the Skiffle craze coincided with imperial twilight. The end of the first age of Rock brought former stars to the British Isles – and sent a few daring locals to play Europe, such as the big port hub of Hamburg, in an Western Germany still under Allied influence.

This cross-pollination provided the background for the rise of the Quarrymen – from Skiffle school outfit to cult fixtures in the Hamburg scene, then renamed the Beatles (after Buddy Holly’s Crickets).

The Fab Four had already backed Tony Sheridan in early 1962 (“My Bonnie”) before entering EMI studios for debuting on their own in October. Under the guidance of producer George Martin, they were encouraged to try their own material. Therefore, their first run comprised a pair of originals.

There must have been a little bit of caution, though. Rock was considered an anachronism by 1962. Major Pop stars usually did not wrote songs, much less the lyrics they sung. And, though the band had just replaced Pete Best with Liverpool’s finest drummer, Martin still relied on studio musicians.

“Love Me Do” arrived amidst a flurry of anxiety.

Three different versions were put on acetate (with Best, Ringo Starr & studio wiz Andy White). None featured what would become the “Merseybeat sound”. Some baby steps away from Skiffle, the Beatles tossed rhythm (bass, guitar) ahead of melodies. Rudimentary lyrics by Lennon & McCartney were interspersed with the former’s reflective harmonica, which introduces the song. George Harrison was left with the broadest strokes and Starr just punctuated the proceedings (when he makes the cut).

This harshly drowned confection somewhere between Liverpool docks and Hamburg alleys put on a formidable challenge to the ornate productions of the star system. Nevertheless, John and Paul merge their voices seamlessly. This laconic emission remains a love song in which audiences could hang on to their dreams convincingly. New minimalism was duly rewarded with a #17 placing on British charts.

B-Side “P.S. I Love You” was the second best thing – an original song by McCartney named after an old standard. Always the romantic, often operating out of Rock bounds, Paul flexes eclectic muscles. Effortlessly sung with imperturbable rhythm, it establishes early on a sharp contrast with the A-Side. As the eponymous Fox Trot, it bears a grudging melody – but vocals take the forefront and guitars play second fiddle. The unsung leader of the Quarrymen chose resolute way for his charms. As White played drums, Ringo did maracas. Country-Western vocals send the message convincingly. It bore a Latin swing that other songs from the period avoided (they tried “Besame Mucho” in auditions). The Early Who mined similar territory in their 1964 debut (“The Kids are Alright”).

It sounds very little as a thing of the past, even after 58 years.

Belatedly released stateside at the apex of Beatlemania, “Love Me Do” reached #1 a whole 19 months after.

 

Tracklist:

 

8.0          Love Me Do

8.5       P.S. I Love You

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

RUSH – “Not Fade Away” (1973)

Rush was one of the bands I held most respect for even though they were often off my wavelenght. However, when we connected, it was something unique. The Canadian band accomplished this across dozens of registers, recordings, technologies, techniques.

“My love is bigger than a Cadillac“. What an unlikely rhyme for their single debut. Oddly so, they started with Buddy Holly‘s ‘Not Fade Away‘, also the Rolling Stones‘ 3rd single. That adds to the mystique of the Texan figure, one of the most reliable early rockers.

If Keith Richards spiked Holly’s guitar syncopation, Alex Lifeson had no need for this. He chugs alongside the beat as Geddy Lee provides a noticeable bass lead coming across as early Creedence Clearwater Revival. Holly whimsy leads confer credibility to razor-thin vocals that made Rush critics scratch their ears for years (plus, an a capella section). In drums they found a counterpart, John Rutsey a reliable timekeeper. A brief Jimmy Page interpolation for soloing, “Canadian Led Zeppelin” tag was born for some time.

Singular enough, their ‘Not Fade Away‘ debut single was released in Moon Records, of their own. #88 at home, it faded from sight elsewhere (only 3000 copies pressed).

 

 

A Lee–Rutsey composition – ‘You Can’t Fight It‘ – was the B-Side. A first Rush-penned song to the world should be, in proper form, different from Buddy Holly. In this case, not so much. A descending Rockabilly riff, drumming rolls and Robert Plant inflections bring this close to Zeppelin territory. If they needed more drive to compete in Hard Rock, this nimble sound is off their own vine.

Bass and guitar show unsung heroes of Rush to be the pivotal elements, plus Humble Pie and Cream helpful hints. A ‘Whole Lotta Love‘ brief shuffle, you would not place then as Progressive rockers for some time.

After Rutsey got sick and unable to jam, Neil Peart was brought in. And the story goes…

 

Tracklist:

 

8.0     Not Fade Away

8.5   You Can’t Fight It

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

VAN HALEN – “You Really Got Me” (1978)

In 1978, Generation X slapped back at The Who with “Your Generation”. Punk upstarts scorned the rebels of 1965 with typical insolence.

Across the Atlantic, Van Halen re-recorded the Kinks’ immortal garage ode “You Really Got Me”. Less an update than a slap at the face of older mores. A changing of the guard.

Halfway between the Netherlands and California, VH was an odd mix – the Dutch brothers with down-to-Earth introspection plus affable Mike Anthony and flamboyant narcisist Dave Lee Roth.

Scales in personalities reflected shades of their sound – at times called “brown sound”, other times just “Big Rock”. As The Who, they collided with craving sparks. As The Kinks, they had an ease for lingering melodies.

As nobody before or since, they upstaged Rock N`Roll scales.

It was down, dirty and fun in 1955. Bludgeoning, wicked, funnier after their eponymous release. Add superhuman doses of showmanship, plus 10 million copies….

Like Led Zeppelin 10 years after, they unassumingly re-wrote the rules of the Hard Rock book. If Zep borrowed a lot from American Bluesman, VH ransacked the British Invasion.

So, generational reprisals apart, they provided retribution of sorts. And then, some more.

Both Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones played in the Kinks’s version. Their debut single was a nearly direct comparison with the biggest Hard Rock band in the world circa 1978.

Amidst all the fury unleashed by Edward Van Halen and cohorts there was a clarity of sound and purpose, a laserbeam resolve to trend what came before out of the water. They sounded high and dry with sonic trickery unknown to almost everyone at the time. Out of the blue Van Halen was playing familiar tunes in uncomfortable, exciting ways.

Their “You Really Got Me” lacked the Honky Tonk piano (of Deep Purple`s Jon Lord). However, they had a solid rhythm in dumbfounding Anthony (better backing vocals to boot). Therefore, no need to challenge vocal lines, that Roth borrowed unceremoniously from Ray Davies until near the end when double-entendres rear their heads. Alexander Van Halen tops Mick Avory with dunderhead repeats. As for Edward, his solo drives cavities out of the original Country & Western brevity. The buzzsaw main riff – Rock’s cheapest dirty glory – he turns into a blast of delayed post-nuclear feedback decay.

All said and done, VH’s interpretation comes across as mid-pace Power Pop, not primal Hard Rock. Morose yet menacing, a space oddity for Star Wars age. Dave Davies hated it.

Released in January 28 1978, it reached #36 in Billboard (the Kinks’ Top 10 hit in 1964).

 

 

In the meantime, VH also provided a rousing sendup to contemporaries with B-side “Atomic Punk”. Upping the ante for frantic activity, VH oozed like ragged Aerosmith preaching, poking on street life. This time taking no prisoners with continuous motions after the initial scratch fest, slabs of guitar feedback funneled into beats, bass barely distinguishable from the incessant guitar dripping, Roth rocking lungs out to exhaustion.

This band, after shrugging past and present, rode the wastelands as a rodent Colossus.

 

Tracklist:

 

8.5     You Really Got Me

9.0   Atomic Punk

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

 

IRON MAIDEN – ‘Running Free’ (1980)

By February 2nd 1980 Iron Maiden had already had 3 different singers, the same number of guitar players and 4 drummers. The outfit that would embody the New Wave of the British Heavy Metal kept in place only his not-that-secret weapon – the percolating bass of West Ham pundit Steve Harris.

A Harris-penned composition would provide the band its first single release, ‘Running Free‘. Co-authored by Punk rocker and antisocial loudmouth singer #3 Paul Di’Anno, its barely contained energy would also provide a sharp contrast with subsequente Maiden.

Tribal drums closer to Siouxsie & The Banshees than Black Sabbath or Judas Priest courtesy of Clive Burr open proceedings accordingly – followed by Harris‘ inimitable lead and Di’Anno‘s noticeable “okay”. Those powderkeg vocals proved adequate to this track – then supremely melodic twin-guitar licks (Dave Murray + Dennis Stratton) establish what would make Maiden’s fame and fortune. Between present and future, Maiden nurtured a peculiar brand of Heavy Metal – too melodic and too abrasive for forefathers and Punks alike. The contrast between the melodies, collective choruses, outlaw imagery, recording in a tin can and Harris‘ Jethro Tull aspirations confuse proceedings even further. Many things going on at the same time, we lacked a name for it at the 1970s tailend.

‘Spend the night in an L.A. jail, listen to the siren’s wail‘

 

 

Amazingly the single reached UK’s Top 40 almost immediately and peaked at #34. The veritable Sabbath and the mighty Priest did not do this kind of thing.

The song stayed in the band’s live repertoire with the arrival of siren wail Bruce Dickinson – who did a fine version at Long Beach for 1985’s ‘Live After Death‘.

A contrarian, Harris selected a retro melodic 1970s rocker for B-Side. ‘Burning Ambition‘ could be a Led Zeppelin throwaway. I can see Greta Van Fleet recording a similar number. It is that good, Murray and Stratton in cascades sounding as Nazareth in a sunny day and whisky-soaked singer trying to catch up with careening melodies – a resort he would employ frantically on Maiden’s sophomore album ‘Killers’ (1981).

Ambitions on the rise, the boys were not after him, that way things gonna be.

 

Tracklist:

 

8.0 Running Free

8.5 Burning Ambition

 

Check out Iron Maiden’s debut here: ‘Running Free‘ / ‘Burning Ambition‘

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

PRINCE – “Soft and Wet” (1978)

“Soft and Wet” contains the polar coordinates that oriented Prince’s multiverse across 4 decades. Virtuous minimalism far beyond playing multiple instruments or endless cameos sounding (at least) arresting – a flood of expertise. Against a backdrop of saturation, daring production brought relief. As if one size fits all, Prince arrived as an agent provocateur and rose to spotlights on its own terms.

In June 7 1978 a world reckoned what amazed onlookers (as Sheila Escovedo, aka Sheila E) already got. The Purple One brought new lessons on maximum R&B, delirious Funk, spatial Rock – and roll.

A bouncy synth melody kickstarts the proceedings. That unforgettably dry synth melody – a touch of minimalism that would never be left aside. With Prince in a vocal rapture, rubbery bass slides back to start the sprinkling of third person came-ons. Soon, the bridge brings in a premature closure next to Jimi Hendrix and Funkadelic. The racy rhythm with sly twists would provide a template to late-1980s drifting paranoia. Strangely (for a song that dwells in the moving of Pop notions) Prince stands still in joy, infatuated with sweating through gender borders. A brief synth soloing conveys a glimpse of futurism – a man-machine interpolation (like the groundbreaking Kraftwerk album of the same year).

A triumph with few respites. “Soft and Wet” almost reached the Top #10 in Soul Singles (#12) and found a place among Billboard Hot 100 (#92) five months after release.

 

 

On the flipside, “So Blue” was a retreat to conventional songwriting – though no less powerful. With acoustic guitar and lodging synths, Prince delivers torchy platitudes with convincing chutzpah. The immaculate voice gets softer and the humming rhythm bedrock predates the Style Council. No hurry in this delivery a little bit too whimsical for its own good. Some would believe it belonged in a yuppie recreational center. Still, Prince is largely “talking to himself” as he went into rambling sweetness.

 

Tracklist:

 

8,5          Soft and Wet

8,5          So Blue

 

Check out Prince‘s impressive debut here: “Soft and Wet” / “So Blue”

 

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama

 

CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL – “Porterville” (1968)

Debut single “Porterville” provides an unease compromise for Creedence Clearwater Revival. The defiant chorus “I Don’t Care” barely disguises they are from the Bay Area, but shimmer riffing out of backwoods makes one think otherwise. Formerly the Gollywogs, the boys have stranded the lower rugs of recording industry far before their February 1968 debut at small Scorpio label.

“Porterville” conveys the twin powers of lead singer/songwriter John Fogerty. A passionate harbinger and a net summarizer, across two odd minutes his collective ranges from sad resignation to non-conformism. The tight rhythm section of Stu Cook (bass) and Doug “Cosmo” Clifford (drums) on the spot, no love lost. Brother Tom Fogerty provides subliminal support with mucky guitar rambling. No solos at horizon, boys harmonize with bittersweet abandon, and that is. It could pass for bare bones Cream, but left no trace on charts.

“Porterville” made it to their eponymous debut recording as song #6.

 

 

B-Side “Call It Pretending” drives from Stax Soul miniatures (a dry run for future song “Chameleon”). For a while Fogerty sounds Eric Burdon in dubious days, prescient lyrics to boot: “Shouldn’t be with you”. The Gollywogs were unheard of out of Cisco. CCR had such memories before moving on to other pastures.

 

“It’s not the first time that you had me turn away
I don’t know it won’t be the last time
But you got to say you got to
Should we make a brand new start
Or are you gonna break my heart“

 

Tracklist:

 

8.5          Porterville

8.0              Call It Pretending

 

Check out CCR‘s remarkable debut here: “Porterville / Call It Pretending“.

 

 

Carlos Frederico Pereira da Silva Gama