You could probably write a doctoral dissertation on British pop music in the first half of the 1980s — in fact, I’m sure many people have. There were so many groups forming, breaking up, fracturing, starting new groups, innovating, influencing, ripping off and inspiring each other, it practically requires an advanced degree to even begin to sort it out.

Take the case of Tracie (given name: Tracie Young). I’d never heard of her until I pulled her LP from the stacks and saw her face smiling winsomely at me over the little white review labels. I had heard of Paul Weller (The Jam, Style Council) of course, and Paul Weller is who brought Tracie briefly into the world’s consciousness in 1983. The story goes that Mr. Weller posted an ad in Smash Hits magazine (for our younger readers, this is what people did before the Internet: had ads published in magazines printed on paper, which would then be responded to via physical mail — it’s amazing anything ever got done, really) looking for female singers between the ages of 18 and 24 for his label, Respond Records. The then-17-year-old Tracie Young replied, and Weller saw potential and signed her.

A brief career followed, peaking with this album, which featured songwriting and production from Weller, and, judging by the KCMU response, inspired the derision of college DJs across the nation. Respond folded in 1986 and Tracie was picked up by Polydor for a second album, but was dropped before it was ever released. And thus another 1980s pop might-have-been bites the dust.

Felt were a band from Birmingham, England. They existed for 10 years (more or less the 1980s), and put out 10 albums and 10 singles (that has to have been on purpose, right?). The singer of the band went by the name Lawrence (a much humbler-sounding mononym than, say, Prince or Madonna or Cher, don’t you think?). According to the Internet, they were named after the way Tom Verlaine sings the word “Felt” in the song “Venus,” by Television. Even if that’s not true, it’s a great band name origin story. Listening to Lawrence’s vocals, though, I can believe it.

Ignite the Seven Cannons was Felt’s fourth album. It was produced by Robin Guthrie of Cocteau Twins, and contained guest vocals by his bandmate Liz Fraser, which must have been a bit of a mixed blessing. I mean, her voice is gorgeous and immediately grabs you, but at the same time, it’s going to become the focus of any song she’s on, and of course the songs on the album that don’t feature her are going to suffer (see the comments below, if you don’t believe me). “Primitive Painters,” which features Ms. Fraser’s wonderful vocal stylings prominently, went on to become the band’s most successful single. Here’s hoping their every live show after this album wasn”t filled with people hollering “Primitive Painters! Primitive Painters!” — and then, once the song was played, being disappointed because of course Liz Fraser wasn’t there to sing it, and without here it just wasn’t the song they remembered.

But! Felt are a very well regarded band in their own right, with or without Guthrie and Fraser. We would all do well to dig into their catalog and see what we’ve been missing.

Sometimes the stuff DJs write on record covers is very informative, and can really tell us a lot about the band or album in question, or at least give an insightful glimpse into those bygone days.  Sometimes, however, they latch onto a misunderstood word in the title of an album and turn it into a long inside joke that makes sense to pretty much no one.

The Minutemen’s Project: Mersh was following the long tradition of pretending to cash in and/or sell out, and/or making fun of cashing in and/or selling out  (See: The Who Sell Out, Bongwater’s The Big Sell-Out).  The albums on this song are not exactly pop by most standards, but they’re certainly more accessible than their classic Double Nickels on the Dime… hence the title Project Mersh — “Mersh,” as one of our more helpful commenters below explained, being slang for “Commercial.”  I have no idea who Marsh is, though, so I can’t really help with that.

Man, who would have thought a band called Butthole Surfers — with an album titled Locust Abortion Technician – would generate such a heated discussion amongst the KCMU staffers?

Of course, the Butthole Surfers (or, as I recall them being referred to in print in some of the more delicate newspapers, the “B.H. Surfers” — apparently their name was an issue on the radio, too) have always thrived on pushing the envelope of taste, and pushing listeners’ buttons, since their beginnings in the early ’80s. Their shocking live antics, combined with their intense, thrilling music, pretty much guaranteed them nationwide attention. I think it’s safe to say that the American musical landscape — from Nirvana to the Flaming Lips — would be very different if it weren’t for the Surfers and their deviant ways.

Locust Abortion Technician is the band’s third full-length album, and many deem it their finest. It also has been referred to by some as a precursor to grunge music, which makes me really curious what Seattle folks thought of it at the time.

Our more sensitive readers should be cautioned that the following commentaries contain adult language and anti-establishment politics, and do not necessarily represent the views of this author or the current KEXP staff.

Yes indeed, we all have off days. The KCMU consensus seems to have been that Condition Blue was one such day for The Jazz Butcher. Me, I’m having a very on day and unfortunately don’t have much time to come up with the delightful introductory prose I usually do, so please just look at the nice picture and read the sad, thoughtful words. Catch you next week!

You know who doesn’t get a lot of respect these days? The prog rockers. Yeah, that’s right: the noodlers, the wankers, the incessant time-signature-changer-uppers, the guys with boards full of effects for their guitars and lyrics about larks’ tongues and moonchildren and crimson kings. And I totally get it. But have you ever sat and listened to a King Crimson album? And if so, which one, and who played on it? (Here’s a handy chart of their personnel and albums over the years, if that help. Note that Robert Fripp’s line is the only one that goes all the way across.)

Because if you didn’t like the dark, demented psychedelia of their genre-launching debut, maybe you would be drawn in by the cool, technical intensity of their early-80s albums (such as Three of a Perfect Pair). I mean, say what you will about wankery and the fetishization of chops over taste, but can you really argue with the quartet of Fripp, Adrian Belew, Bill Bruford and Tony Levin? No, you cannot. So don’t even try. And KCMU heads are here to back me up, armed with a raft of f-words:

Well, damn, how about that? Not a single dissenting opinion! Obviously, King Crimson is objectively awesome, and you should be listening to them.

This has been your Progressive Rock Service Announcement for the day.

And Tom didn’t resurrect the label just to rest on his laurels, either: he recently released two solo albums: Songs from Academia Vol. 1 and Songs from Academia Vol. 2, which is currently streaming on the GMR site. Looking at the GMR blog, looks like we’ve got some new (or new-old) stuff from Al Bloch, Green Pajamas, and the Icons to look forward to in the coming months.

So, in honor of one of Seattle’s unsung (or less-sung) heroes of rock and/or roll, I thought I would dig up a couple of Green Monkey’s original releases to share with you, the Review Revue-reading masses. Let’s travel back in time and take a gander at what folks were saying about GMR in ‘86 and ‘87, shall we?

Green Monkey Records 1986 Compilation
	“A couple o’ decent tunes here, but most of it’s barfy enough to turn a monkey green.” “Local.” “Why not the Green Pajamas if ‘Seeing Eye Gods’? So they think so.” [I have no idea what that means.] “So do I.” “Most of this is 8 tons better than the shit on Deep Six.” “Worth it for DangerBunny and Melting Fish anyway.” “‘Peppermint Stick’ rules!”

The Green Pajamas - Book of Hours

“One of the boys in this band has had some girl trouble in his life. Decent, respectable effort from these local folks.” “2-1 + 26 are standouts for me. Consistent package.” “It just sounds so much like ‘Revolver’…” “Excuse me. It’s supposed to sound like ‘Revolver.’” “Boring, I think.” “I don’t much like it, persay! [sic]” “I think this is a very commendable effort.” “While there is nothing wrong with this record, I can do without it.” “The Dukes of Seattlesphear.” “A great disc by a great band. Gentle & romantic, rockin’ & psychedelic. It’s all here!” “‘Stand in the light’ sounds like… Waterboys meets Midnight Oil. Hmm! Gut!” [I'm assuming that 'gut' is meant as the German word for 'good'?]

So there you have it: The KCMU jury was fairly split on the Green Monkey oeuvre at this juncture. Why don’t you go check it out yourself and see what you think?

Maybe it was the mental scarring I received from watching The Wall in the movie theater at the age of 6 or 7 (”It has animation!” my older brother said. “It’s like a cartoon!”), but Syd Barrett was always my favorite member of Pink Floyd. In my teenaged years, I spent many an hour with their first album, Piper at the Gates of Dawn, when Barrett was the creative leader of the band, and it still holds a very important place in my heart.

Despite his brilliance as a songwriter and instrumentalist, his decaying mental state only a few years into the band’s existence made it impossible for the band to keep working with him, but that doesn’t stop me (and at least one KCMU reviewer) from imagining an alternate reality where he kept his act somewhat together and kept making music into the 80s, 90s, and beyond. Instead, after a couple of solo albums he pretty much stopped making music completely, retreated to his late mother’s home in Cambridge, England and busied himself with painting and gardening until his passing in 2006. His influence is still felt today, and resonates through the thriving psychedelic and otherwise ‘freaky’ music of the 21st century.

Opel was released by EMI in 1988, and contains unreleased studio material from his brief post-Floyd solo career, during which he recorded the “proper” albums The Madcap Laughs and Barrett.

This week’s installment of Review Revue is another bit of nostalgic indulgence for this Boston boy; I hope you don’t mind.

O Positive is one of the many, many late 80’s college-rock bands to make the leap to a major in the alt-crush of the early 90s, only to find nationwide recognition elusive, at best. I became a fan around when this EP came out — I’m guessing after seeing them at one of those big rock shows our local rock station (WBCN, RIP) put on every once in a while, though I can’t be sure. Maybe I heard them on one or another of our local college stations? Anyway, their pleasing brand of slightly left-of-center pop was pleasing to my young ears, and I do remember owning this particular record (one Trouser Press calls “a horrible sophomore effort,” ah well). This album doesn’t seem to exist online in any of the usual venues, but you can hear one tune over on YouTube.

I do still get a thrill seeing some of the albums I enjoyed as a young man in Boston sitting in the KEXP stacks, 3000 miles away, and being able to read what the DJs then thought about them — even if it’s not particularly flattering.

Sure, most of us first heard the song “Sliver” when it was released on Incesticide in 1992, but it was actually quite a successful single in its own right in 1990. (It even has its own Wikipedia page! And a video! Not bad for a song recorded in one hour while another band was taking a break from the studio.) Hey, that was 20 years ago now… now that Bleach has gotten the 20th anniversary reissue treatment, will we be seeing a 20th anniversary “Sliver” 7″ reissue this year? Get on it, Sub Pop!

And now, confession time: I’m going to be quite honest here and admit that, as much as I know and love this song (and have for 17 or so years), I had no idea — or at least had forgotten — it was called ‘Sliver.” (I guess I figured it was called “Gramma Take Me Home” or something?) If I had been cool and gotten the 7″ in 1990, I probably would have been on top of that information, but I’m just not very good at remembering song titles. So sue me.