1977, The Year in Review, P2

1977 was a pivotal year for music, with many key album releases in the development of punk rock and new wave. Here are six more terrific albums, essential listens all.

The Next 6 Albums,
for My Top 12 Albums of 1977

As always, you can jump to the playlist at the bottom of each post to listen while you read.

Within each tier (Top 6, Next 6, etc.), all albums are listed roughly chronologically (all release dates from Wikipedia, unless otherwise noted).

Note: Several entries for this post were written alongside the recently published Artist Spotlight posts for the respective artists and therefore contain some similar material.

Kraftwerk
Trans Europa Express/Trans-Europe Express

Released 1977/05

Sometime in the ‘90s, the reputation of Kraftwerk was boosted considerably. I distinctly remember hearing about them mid-‘80s, asking around about them and doing some research, and hearing very little good about them. I seem to remember a slew of three-star reviews (out of five) in some music guide I found (probably from Rolling Stone).

The skepticism was understandable, for a couple reasons. First, the pop music of the ‘80s was already being criticized as over-produced, and there was plenty of anti-synth sentiment among rock listeners and critics alike. It wasn’t until later that more artists began using electronics to add some edge and innovative sounds into their music, rather than to blandly smooth it out. Second, even now, it’s hard to get really fired up by a Kraftwerk piece. I mean, no matter how interesting the synth-work may be, their affectless singing can sometimes undercut the music’s effect. They aren’t exactly known for their vocal charisma.

But with the right subject-matter, their brand of vocals-and-synths combo works exceedingly well. In Trans-Europe Express’s “Showroom Dummies,” for example, it fits the content perfectly. The electronic sounds, alternately robotic or haunting, mesh to brilliant effect with the deadpan vocals, which compare the band members to mannequins. (The song is a jab at critiques of the band’s stiff comportment at live performances.) The cascading electronics of “The Hall of Mirrors”—sounding as if the music is being endlessly reflected back upon itself—combine with the leaden vocal delivery to evoke the compulsive yet unfulfilling narcissism described by the song’s lyrics. These two pieces are easily among the best songs Kraftwerk had made to date.

Beyond those two songs, Trans-Europe Express contains some of Kraftwerk’s most fascinating electronic music. The hypnotic pulse of “Europe Endless” provides some top-notch early electronica, as do the locomotive churn and sustained chords of the “Trans-Europe Express / Metal on Metal / Abzug” suite—even when the lyrics aren’t particularly inspiring. And the beautiful, gently ululating instrumental “Franz Shubert,” another clear highlight, promises to bring the album to a tranquil, affecting close. (The mood isn’t disrupted much by the unnecessary, minute-long vocal-synth coda of “Endless Endless.”)

It’s hard to pick one Kraftwerk album as their absolute best, but Trans-Europe Express is for many their finest moment. (Most days, I’d tend to rank it their second-best—my favorite will be revealed at a later date.)

Listen to more Kraftwerk.

Notable Critical Mentions:

• Acclaimed Music top albums of the ’70s, No. 37
• Pitchfork: The 100 Best Albums of the 1970s, No. 6
• Rolling Stone: 500 Greatest Albums of All Time (2003), No. 253
• Rolling Stone 200: The Essential Rock Collection
• NME Writers All-Time 100 Albums (1985), No. 38
• MOJO: The 100 Greatest Albums Ever Made (1995), No. 48
• Paste: The 70 Best Albums of the 1970s, No. 47
• Uncut: 200 Greatest Albums of All Time (2016), No. 20

Talking Heads
Talking Heads: 77

Released 1977/09/16

New York’s punk and new wave scene of the ‘70s seems to have had a little something for everyone—it must have been more of a random assortment of charismatic figures than a coherent movement. There were the rock-poet priestess, the dumb wastoid punks, the glossy punk-poppers with a gorgeous face,… and then there were the Talking Heads, socially awkward art school nerds, middle-class rejects out of place in the rough-and-tumble scruff of all those rock and rollers.

Strange, then, to discover than in the end, those nerds just might have been the greatest of them all. The Talking Heads would end their career together with eight studio albums under their belt, six of which are excellent, and at least two of which (the paranoic Fear of Music and the flat-out masterpiece Remain in Light) are among the greatest ever. Oh, and they had one of the most famous concert films of all time. And Talking Heads: 77 is where their legacy begins.

It’s an auspicious debut.

The early Heads’ classic single “Psycho Killer” is about exactly what it says—it’s a joke, sure, but lead singer David Bryne inhabits the part convincingly. And Byrne’s themes in general set him apart from the rest of the songwriting crowd—he sings of a disconnect between himself and the basics of contemporary society. He seems inherently out of place, subtly troubled by everyday life.

“First Week/Last Week…Carefree” contains refences to corporate office lingo—incomplete reports, moved appointments, and notions of progress—and the narrator seems to express a general befuddlement at the situation he finds himself in.  In “Don’t Worry About the Government” the narrator describes the security he finds in his building, oddly describing the building’s relationship to nature as well as its modern conveniences. He seems to both live and work there, and its placement near a highway makes it feel like a corporate office building, or perhaps a government building. The more he describes his contentment—“Don’t you worry ‘bout me,” he says at the song’s close—the more he seems disassociated from his mundane existence.

“No Compassion” describes a weariness in relating to others and their problems. I have seen seemingly conflicting claims that Byrne was diagnosed—or perhaps self-diagnosed—as having Asperger’s syndrome, or perhaps was diagnosed as a child, or that others close to him have observed and classified him as such. I don’t know what to believe, to be honest, but it would certainly make sense—he seems at odds with himself and detached from others in so many subtle, different ways. Yet there’s an existential crisis of sorts in his observations that feels utterly universal, as demonstrated by the way his lyrics and performances have connected with so many people.

And there are two main things that make the Talking Heads such a vital phenomenon. First, of course, there’s Byrne’s peculiar, oddly charming sense of melody and his fragile sense of place and belonging—at any point it seems his voice could break with social anxiety and existential panic.  And then there’s the band’s refreshing take on rock and roll–from the unforgettable pulsing bass line that opens “Psycho Killer” to the seasick slide guitar in “No Compassion” and the groovy washboard percussion of “First Week/Last Week… Carefree.”

Songs seem stripped down to the essentials and then rebuilt in new ways;  “Tentative Decisions,” for example, opens with some blunted herky-jerky funk that shifts into the band singing in unison to a military drumbeat. There are unexpected choices in every song, and the end result is music that still feels fresh today, which is thought-provoking yet makes you want to move your body.

After an album of social awkwardness, album closer “Pulled Up” provides a rousing positive finale, regardless of whether one sees it as a tribute to Byrne’s loving parents or to the uplifting inspiration of cocaine.  To David Byrne, who seems like he would feel out of place just about anywhere, the chaos of New York City must have felt almost like home—a place where he didn’t belong, but a sort of home nonetheless.

Listen to more Talking Heads.

Note: In alt-rock circles, Kim Gordon and Kim Deal get all the credit for pioneering the rock-chick-as-bassist phenomenon, but Tina Weymouth was an absolute crack bassist long before they hit the scene.  Her bass line for “Psycho Killer,” one of the Talking Heads’ earliest songs, is killer, and she was just getting started.  By the time the band peaked, she could rip out funky bass licks with the best of them.  Pick any Talking Heads song—you probably won’t notice the bass at first, as you shouldn’t—and listen for the bass lines. What she’s doing works wonders.

Notable Critical Mentions:

• Acclaimed Music top albums of the ’70s, No. 103
• Rolling Stone: 500 Greatest Albums of All Time (2003), No. 290
• Rolling Stone: 100 Best Albums of the Past 20 Years (1987), No. 80
• NME Writers All-Time 100 Albums (1985), No. 81

Ian Dury
New Boots and Panties!!

Released 1977/09/30

Ian Dury got his start in the UK pub rock act Kilburn and the High Roads, which disbanded after a single album release. After their demise, Dury set off to form a new band, writing songs alongside guitarist and pianist Chaz Jankel. Dury and his new band hit upon a winning schtick: a foundation of rock and roll drizzled with punk attitude, a heavy pour of disco, and a shot of music hall-style theatricality, all bound together by Dury’s ironic sense of humor and delivered in a slurred Cockney accent.

And nowhere is Dury better heard than on his excellent debut, New Boots and Panties. Even the album title feels a juxtaposition of punk toughness and a risque sense of humor. Opener “Wake Up and Make Love with Me” displays Dury at his most deliciously crude, and must be one of the most hilariously perverse album openings in rock history: “I come awake with a gift for womankind / You’re still asleep but the gift don’t seem to mind.” Right away, we know we’re in for a genuine off-color treat. Likewise, “I’m Partial to Your Abracadabra” seems to be a playful, innuendo-filled chronicle of one man’s boots-and-panties fetish (hence the album title).

Elsewhere, Dury excels at assuming the voices of an assortment of down-and-out local characters. The narrator of “Billericay Dickie” boasts of his sexual conquests; I’m quite sure I’ve missed most of the local Cockney slang and UK cultural references, but the song’s filth remains clear as day despite my ignorance. It doesn’t take a genius to notice that “Clevor Trever” doesn’t quite live up to his nickname; Dury adds a spelling mix-up to hit the point home. “Plaistow Patricia” describes the bitter, gradual decline of a local girl who “turned the corner before she turned fifteen” and eventually loses herself in heroin. And a song describing some typically unappealing local ruffians inspired the band to adopt the name Blockheads.

But Dury can be sincere, too—witness the heartfelt words for his bus-driving dad in “My Old Man” and his tribute to the singer “Sweet Gene Vincent” (of “Be-Bop-a-Lula” fame).

The work of Ian Dury and the Blockheads must be heard to be believed, and once heard it cannot be forgotten. It’s some of the most amusing music in rock history, not to be missed.

Listen to more Ian Dury.

Notable Critical Mentions:

• Acclaimed Music top albums of the ’70s, No. 145

Ramones
Rocket to Russia

Released 1977/11/04

The Ramones’ eponymous debut blazed the trail for punks around the world. As such, it is justifiably considered their most essential album. But it might not be their best album overall. That achievement probably lies with Rocket to Russia.

Whenever I listen to album opener “Cretin Hop,” I feel it must be the most hilarious song I’ve ever heard. I assume by cretins they mean their fellow punks, reclaiming a pejorative label that sums up how they feel society regards them. And I can’t help but picture a gleeful club full of hopping punks thrashing together in some idealized, heavenly mosh pit where no one gets hurt and everyone jumps and hurls their arms in the air in happy, rebellious unison. And I love the way Joey Ramone half-fancifies his pronunciation of cretin, giving the –in ending (but not the cree- beginning) a French pronunciation for the chorus. Although it clocks in at less than two minutes, I get more joy out of that song than out of most 43-minute albums.

It’s amazing how filled with pop hooks this music is—take away some of the fuzz and “Sheena is a Punk Rocker” sounds almost like the Beach Boys. Ditto for “Rockaway Beach,” which treats a notoriously unpleasant shoreline in Queens as if it’s a paradise. And side two opener “Teenage Lobotomy” is another absolute laugh riot: “Guess I’ll have to break the news / That I got no mind to lose / All the girls are in love with me / I’m a teenage lobotomy!” Classic.

Listen to more Ramones.

Notable Critical Mentions:

• Acclaimed Music top albums of the ’70s, No. 110
• SPIN: The Top 100 Alternative Albums (SPIN Alternative Record Guide, 1995), No. 48
• Pitchfork: The 100 Best Albums of the 1970s, No. 59
• Rolling Stone: 500 Greatest Albums of All Time (2003), No. 105
• NME Writers All-Time 100 Albums (1985), No. 48

Wire
Pink Flag

Released 1977/12

Even from the start, Wire doesn’t seem like a typical punk band.

There are no catchy melodies with simple chorus-verse-chorus structures, like you might find in a typical Ramones song, for example. Nor are there obviously political lyrics or anti-societal rants, as in the work of the Clash or Sex Pistols—no, Wire’s lyrics feel abstract, even obtuse: “Think of a number, divide it by two / Something is nothing, nothing is nothing.” Huh?

It’s clear from Pink Flag that Wire has a different agenda—something more sophisticated and cerebral, something harder to fathom first time around.

That’s not to say that Pink Flag is impenetrable. Far from it. Many punk albums suffer from too much of the same thing. Not Pink Flag. Songs seem to ricochet off each other, refracting from one to the other with different tempos, lengths, volumes, rhythms, or styles, giving the album a sense of variety and complexity unlike that of most other punk acts.

Yet a sense of continuity prevails; the album has more than once been described as a punk suite (Robert Christgau, Trouser Press), and the description fits. The total here is more than just the sum of the parts, as the cliché goes. The way the songs interact with each other matters almost as much as the songs themselves.

And the songs themselves are consistently memorable. “Three Girl Rhumba,” with its arresting, rhythmic riff (later to be pilfered by Elastica), is a clear highlight; it engrosses you completely, despite its obscure lyrics (above). “Champs” is propelled by handclaps and a heavenly alt-guitar churn. Guitars clang and chime to open “Mannequin,” whereas “Fragile” opens with a simple drum beat. “Field Day for the Sundays” barrels past unapologetically in under 30 seconds; “Strange” (later covered by R.E.M.) slows down the guitar grind to a snail’s pace.

And even the song titles can be abstruse. “Ex-Lion Tamer” is named after the scrapped lyrics to an earlier version of the song, when it was about a lion tamer. I’m not sure exactly what it’s about now—there are critiques of mass-produced food (fish fingers) amid a lack of nutrition (represented by empty milk bottles), and an ironic plea to “Stay tuned to your TV set,” to passively wait for an outside force to solve your problems. But regardless of the exact meaning, an anti-consumerist, non-conformist attitude is clear. And the music itself is just killer. The song opens with a terrific wash of guitar fanfare, which shifts abruptly into a crisp, rhythmic riff; the wall-of-guitar sound returns for the chorus to carry the song home.

It’s a technique Wire uses often, with the interplay between wall-of-sound guitar rush and a contrasting percussive sparsity playing a key role in their sound. Vocally their songs develop with engaging principal melodic lines and strategic use of background vocals. The cumulative result is punk that is thoughtful and consistently engaging.

Is this art-punk? Probably. And Wire would only get artier.

I hear echoes of Pink Flag in the music of bands as diverse as Fugazi, Guided by Voices, and Deerhunter. It’s an essential listen.

Listen to more Wire.

Notable Critical Mentions:

• Acclaimed Music top albums of the ’70s, No. 89
• SPIN: The Top 100 Alternative Albums (SPIN Alternative Record Guide, 1995), No. 12
• Pitchfork: The 100 Best Albums of the 1970s, No. 22
• Rolling Stone: 500 Greatest Albums of All Time (2003), No. 410
• The NME Greatest Albums of the 70’s, No. 31
• NME Writers Top 100 Albums (1993), No. 77

Suicide
Suicide

Released 1977/12

Suicide may have been the first act to bill themselves as punk music, and they developed alongside New York City’s growing punk and new wave scene. But they were hardly what anyone nowadays would call punk rock.

The duo of keyboard player Martin Rev and vocalist Alan Vega put out some seriously weird shit, creating a unique sound—Rev’s throbbing electronic beats and Vega’s bizarre, Elvis Presley-on-a-bad-trip vocals—which they mined for all it was worth, across two oddly compelling albums.

Suicide’s eponymous debut album is the consensus choice for the best place to start (although I sometimes prefer their second album, Alan Vega / Martin Rev: Suicide). Throughout the album, Vega’s crooning, moaned and muttered vocals, punctuated by the occasional yelp or shriek, are all kinds of wrong in all the right ways. Rev’s grinding, pulsing, and hissing synths amplify the mood to bewitching effect.

Side one of Suicide is an electro-punk masterpiece, from the automated churn of “Ghost Rider” and the sinister hiss of “Rocket USA” to the malicious calliope warble of “Johnny.” Tinkling bells add a light touch to “Cheree” that fails to mask the uncomfortable desperation of Vega’s slurred vocals. Sustained organ chords buoy Vega’s depraved crooning in “Girl.”

Side two is, in my estimation, a less-essential listen. Apparently, the lengthy “Frankie Teardrop” is their most famous track. I can see why—it’s an ominous epic of murder and lost sanity that should be heard at least once by anyone interested in these types of things, myself included. But it’s not actually that good; it’s more awkwardly discomforting than genuinely shocking or believable. (I suspect some of the appreciation for the song is ironic—apparently there’s some TV show that dares people to film themselves listening to the entire track all the way through.) A darkly religious hush permeates “Che,” bringing the album to a fitting close.

Listen to more Suicide.

Notable Critical Mentions:

• Acclaimed Music top albums of the ’70s, No. 69
• Pitchfork: The 100 Best Albums of the 1970s, No. 39
• Rolling Stone: 500 Greatest Albums of All Time (2003), No. 446
• NME Writers All-Time 100 Albums (1985), No. 98
• Paste: The 70 Best Albums of the 1970s, No. 38
• Uncut: 200 Greatest Albums of All Time (2016), No. 118

Here’s the 1977: The Year in Review playlist for you—three tracks per album.

I’ll be building the playlist as I go, adding to it as I complete different tiers of commentary.  By the time I finish all Year in Review posts for 1977, the playlist will be complete!

Enjoy!

More 1977, The Year in Review

More Years in Review of the 1970s…

Art Citations:

• Trans Europa Express (German cover): By The cover art can be obtained from Kling Klang., Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34178151
• Talking Heads: 77: By Sire Records – Album Art Excahnge, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=142780364
• New Boots and Panties!!: Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15252224
• Rocket to Russia: By The cover art can be obtained from Sire Records., Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=194560
• Pink Flag: Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=13857471
• Suicide: By The cover art can be obtained from Bronze., Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=4119573