After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

– Aldous Huxley –

Dragging myself through these days of forced isolation and redirected focus, music is one of the few things that keep me sane enough to function, so I decided to keep record of what I am spinning on the outskirts of the pandemic maelstrom. I grew up listening to whole albums from the first tune to the last, just as they were intended to be heard. The playlists are presented in this pre-mp3/streaming format.

Monday, March 16

PSYCHIC TV – SNAKES

You can stumble upon many hidden gems by following the trails of Genesis P-Orridge exploring the West African roots of voodoo. The legendary challenger of morality is in top form, preaching like a psychedelic Vodun priest-ess, burning the amulets of their old home and wrapping everything up in an uncharacteristically coherent package.

After decades of teaching how to be ex-dream, Genesis showed us how to res-erect. After You’re Dead, She Said, the first song I put on after finding out about Gen’s death, is the best example of coming to terms with your own immortality.

BIG BLACK – SONGS ABOUT FUCKING

Big Black’s sophomore outing spits Steve Albini’s trademark freedom of expression all over, expanding his offering of a safe haven for difficult people and providing a brutal swansong for his first musical project. An intrepid blend of noisy punk-meets-industrial guitars and rudimentary drum machines, it was one of my favourites in my teenage I’m-so-over-Nirvana phase.

Don’t be fooled by the nihilistic proto-hipster potpourri: the songs aren’t really about sexual intercourse and the title merely reflects Albini’s stance that the male-female relationship as a subject for song is thoroughly bankrupt.

THE JESUS LIZARD – GOAT

The Albini-adopted orphans of articulated noise released their second album on the verge of alternative music’s invasion of the mainstream. Handling the heavy biomass of gargantuan rhythm with industrial precision, augmented by the famed producer’s vintage microphones and the vocals buried low in the mix, The Jesus Lizard invented a style of their own, imitated by countless bands that formed the shape of the 90’s rock revolution.

And before you ask, yes, Kurt Cobain and Dave Grohl were huge fans and many tunes from In Utero come straight from The Jesus Lizard songbook.

MICHAEL GIRA – DRAINLAND

Do you love me at all, Michael?

The Swans leader’s first solo effort is a brooding affair, an endless ocean of noises scattered over an echoing guitar strum. I always referred to it as an optimistic album about demise. Yes, there are shadows that loom over a doomed relationship, and yes, there’s the downward spiral of substance abuse. But if anything, Drainland is a painstakingly honest portrayal of one’s personal flaws and vulnerabilities.

I actually played this one twice.

Tuesday, March 17

PETER MURPHY – DEEP

Flying high on budding mainstream popularity of his previous two records, the Godfather of Goth crafted a perfect dark pop album, with a flawless radio-friendly sound and a bona fide MTV hit in Cuts You Up. It was his first solo album that I heard, and it’s always a pleasure returning to it and shooting nostalgia in the back.

SUICIDE – SUICIDE

The pioneers of synth punk set it off in style, outramonesing the Ramones in minimalistic approach and their love of 50’s rock’n’roll, while adding unbridled sexual undertones and a menacing sense of danger. The end result introduced an everlasting blueprint for all electronics enthusiasts who wanted to create rock music with their beloved machines that go ping. Another standout is Alan Vega’s heavily delayed vocal delivery that achieved the impossible by being haunting and straightforward at the same time, cementing Alan’s status as one of the best frontmen of American underground.

On a personal level, Suicide’s debut connected like few other records and opened me up to krautrock, primitive electronica and EBM.

SMASHING PUMPKINS – SIAMESE DREAM

I could rave on about this one for days, so let’s keep it short: it’s a masterpiece and it influenced my own musical endeavours more than any other record. While the seemingly infinite stream of guitar tracks laid on top of each other is an art form in itself, what I was trying to emulate the most in my songwriting days was the ingenuity of using weird tunings and chord voicings to create unique sounds of my own.

The album always conjures up one of my fondest memories: learning how to play Mayonaise on guitar and feeling that I’ve truly bonded with the instrument for the first time.

FRANK BLACK – FRANK BLACK

Oh, the joyful sounds of Black Francis transitioning into Frank Black! While not the first artist trying to reinvent himself, good old Charles did it with effortless panache, remaining quirky and genuine in the process. And yes, being equipped with an undeniably intricate ear for a pop tune always helps to smooth things out.

All you need to do is sit back and allow yourself to be pulled into a kaleidoscopic world where Places Named After Numbers, a love song for a black hole, might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard.

Wednesday, March 18

PET SHOP BOYS – BEHAVIOUR

The synthpop powerduo’s deviation from dancefloor spotlight was as much a statement of maturity as it was a sign of changing of the musical tides. Bored with stock digital samples and sounds, Neil and Chris sought old school analogue equipment and produced some of the most polished and sophisticated recordings of their illustrious career. From the poignancy of Being Boring and the pop genius of So Hard, to slower numbers like Only the Wind and Jealousy, the boys put together a monumental bouquet of songs, with a little help from the likes of Johnny Marr and Angelo Badalamenti.

Even though I preferred guitar-based music from an early age, I could always find solace in the soothing melodies of the Pet Shop Boys. I had their first four albums on tape in my teens and I played them so much they literally disintegrated.

CLAN OF XYMOX – MEDUSA

A darkwave staple, it somehow never got the recognition it deserves. While the band’s other material was a bit of a mix-and-match affair and plagued by inconsistency, Medusa stands out as being flawless from beginning to the end, and I promoted many of its tunes to permanent fixtures in my DJ sets back in the day.

I once asked Ronny Moorings if the song Back Door was about anal sex, and he laughed for a good five minutes, though he never gave me a definite answer.

THE CHAMELEONS – STRANGE TIMES

This Mancunian cult ensemble is one of the most underrated bands of the 80’s, and easily one of the best. Championed as the early heralds of alienation, they seem like a perfect companion when the walls crumble and the flood reaches the attic. Though the epic Soul in Isolation might be better suited for these times of trouble, it was Swamp Thing that struck the biggest chord, connecting the dots of a detached existence.

WOJCIECH KILAR – BRAM STOKER’S DRACULA OST

The famed Polish composer’s amazing soundtrack to Coppola’s take on a classic of horror literature just might be my favourite piece of orchestral music: the build-ups, the lyrical cellos, the grinding basses, the angelic choirs… everything is incredibly atmospheric and always on point, including the closing credits theme, Annie Lennox’s insanely beautiful ballad Love Song for a Vampire.

Thursday, March 19

THE NATIONAL – ALLIGATOR

The National is that rare band I discovered in the last 10 years I can fully identify with, and even though I must admit they lost me a bit with their recent output, they had a string of four outstanding albums in a row, starting with this one. Drenched in melancholy galore, the tight arrangements delightfully complement the lyrical content, while the trademark baritone of Matt Berninger gently flies you to the moon and back, usually within the same meandering song. On Alligator, the band seems to always know how to cater to different moods of my complicated existence: sometimes I am Secret Meeting and sometimes I am All the Wine. And just like every fan born in November, I believe that Mr. November was written about me.

R.E.M. – FABLES OF THE RECONSTRUCTION

In early 1985, R.E.M. decided to step out of their comfort zone and move to London to record their third album. What was intended as a much needed change to break their cosy recording habits turned out to be an exercise in misery and the band later admitted that they were never as close to breaking up as in those two months being huddled in the cold and damp London studio, directionless and deprived of confidence in their own creativity. Their homesickness is on full display in the folksy Southern Gothic tales and outlandish characters that comprise most of the album, augmented by surreal sonic twists and turns, which only add to a sense of extreme longing and estrangement.

I’d like it here if I could leave, and see you from a long way away.

ALICE IN CHAINS – JAR OF FLIES

If Dirt was a monolith, then Jar of Flies is a gemstone. Predominantly acoustic, but with enough punching power to blow away every false pretention in its path, with undeniable excellence in the slow-rolling avalanche of Nutshell or the repressed pain of I Stay Away, the perfect harmonies between Layne and Jerry and the carefully crafted noises of Whale & Wasp, which actually sounds like a conversation between a whale and a wasp if you allow yourself some imagination. After this laid-back instrumental break, the brilliance fades a notch and the record loses its momentum during the last two songs, but I like to listen to them anyway.

MOTHER LOVE BONE – APPLE

Few things had as strong of an impact on the nascent Seattle musical community as the death of Andrew Wood. His band members Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament went on to form Pearl Jam, his roommate Chris Cornell put together the transcendent tribute project Temple of the Dog and his friend Jerry Cantrell penned one of the most recognisable anthems of the era in his memory. The self-professed man of golden words lived for the stage, his Shangrila, where stargazing muses danced on tables in the French Quarter. A few days before the scheduled release of Apple, Andy tested his own myth that the fast ones always ride for free, and embarked on a train bound for Olympus. He died of a heroin overdose exactly 30 years ago.

Listening to Mother Love Bone’s debut after all this time, I can’t avoid the wretched and ultimately futile what if. The album is just that good.

Friday, March 20

SKINNY PUPPY – BITES

The self-produced debut album from Canadian pioneers of industrial dance music gets you going from the start, as you’re immediately propelled into an electronic Grand Guignol of synthesizer wastelands and nightmarish samples, injected in club favourites like Assimilate and Dead Lines. Listening to this after a while, I still find it outlandishly grim and you can almost feel the filth oozing from the headphones. Quarantine Friday at its finest!

THE NEON JUDGEMENT – 1981-1984

Early works straight from the crypt of Belgian premiere faux-new wave duo. A collection of cold rhythms and minimalist arrangements with prominent bass synths, it significantly differentiates from their later work, which I also like a lot (Mafu Cage, anyone?). This one, however, seemed more suitable for the bleak work-from-home setting.

EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN – HALBER MENSCH

From the a cappella rendition of the title track to the cascading finale of Letztes Biest and all the chaos in between, Neubauten’s third album is a triumphant achievement. Blixa Bargeld and his cohorts expanded further into the bordering realm of cacophony and grinded their teeth against the uprising of EBM, all while keeping their precious industrial purity. Forever etched in my heart for Blixa’s standout vocal improvisation, ranging from deathly whispers to ungodly shrieks, this record is as feral as it is calculated, and represents an important cornerstone of my musical upbringing.

WEEKEND INTERLUDE

I mostly listened to new releases. Nothing worth mentioning, really.

Monday, March 23

COIL – THE APE OF NAPLES

Released after the sudden death of John Balance, it’s hard not to view Coil’s final album as an epitaph of sorts, celebrating the life of the intrepid frontman and releasing an ethereal mixture of everything we’d grown to love and associate with the band, culminating in the morose closer Going Up, with John’s sampled chants seemingly preceding his own memorial.

I listened to this one to death when it came out and you could often find me sitting on my bed and strumming the two chords of Fire of the Mind on autopilot, absently murmuring the words while contemplating my next move.

THE VELVET UNDERGROUND – WHITE LIGHT/WHITE HEAT

Although most prefer the banana-cover debut, it is the band’s sophomore release that, at least for me, captured the true essence of The Velvet Underground. Recorded after Lou Reed’s falling-out with Andy Warhol, the album is uncompromisingly primordial and rough, lacking the structure and poetic beauty of its predecessor.

This album holds one of my favourite moments ever put on a record: the instance when Lou takes over the John Cale-sung Lady Godiva’s Operation with a loud and utterly out of tune intervention in the second half of the song.

SYD BARRETT – THE MADCAP LAUGHS

With his mind racing at the speed of light and soaked in hallucinogens, the former Pink Floyd singer kissed away the devil-may-care 60’s with one of the most original personal statements of the turn of the decade. While not really being my cup of tea, the album contains unmistakable flashes of brilliance and Syd’s reckless yowls on Dark Globe send shivers down my spine every time.

ROXY MUSIC – ROXY MUSIC

Extremely influential, this eclectic introduction to one of the best bands ever should be the pinnacle of delight for every music fan. With nods to freeform postmodernism and vintage dandyism, and fuelled by skilled musicianship constantly bordering on reinvention and experimentation, the album floats on a higher plane, unmatched in its unlikely combination of contemplated weirdness and universal appeal.

Tuesday, March 24

LOU REED & METALLICA – LULU

Originally conceived as a theatrical production inspired by German expressionist writer Frank Wedekind’s set of two plays depicting the rise and fall of a sexually-enticing young dancer at the turn of the century, Lou teamed up with the guys from Metallica to form an unlikely partnership of theatrical poetry and shredding metal. Doom-laden and ultra-distorted, Lulu is still well within the reach of the artist who brought us compositions as diverse as audio feedback symphonies and meditational music. Lou’s trademark spoken word singing is even more prominent than usual and the melody is practically nonexistent. The lyrics, addressing nothing less than the rejection of morality and the subsequent deconstruction of life, coldly resonate through the half-shouted, half-spoken vocals, making the record sound painfully stagnant and unapologetically grim.

For Metallica, Lulu is a different kind of monster altogether. Demoted to a backing band to Lou’s vision of epic theatre, it sounds as if the heavy metal legends freed themselves of heavy duty headbang-til-you-drop attitude and provided a menacing and almost stoner-like soundtrack, resulting in a slow death march that perfectly fits the atmosphere of the album. If I remember correctly, no one liked this one when it came out, but I keep returning to it frequently.

DEAD MOON – HARD WIRED IN LJUBLJANA

Mostly taped at their gig in the student campus cafeteria of my hometown almost 25 years ago, this live juggernaut is soaked with blood of a pure rock and roll heart. Dead Moon might stand for many things, but for me, it always comes down to freedom, with their unadulterated garage rock, so perfect in its imperfection, trickling down the speakers and inking the memoirs of my youth. The warmth I get from listening to this band is hard to describe, and this album is the testament of my first Dead Moon experience.

RIP Fred Cole

RIP Andrew Loomis

Wednesday, March 25

BAUHAUS – THE SKY’S GONE OUT

It felt like Goth Wednesday so it was only appropriate to blast off the day with this supergroup of four distinctive styles with at least two giant egos, which imploded only a few years after its ambitious inception. The Sky’s Gone Out was probably the last time the band worked as a coherent and somewhat amicable unit, and it shows both in the tightness of the performance and the surreal songwriting approach, infusing their dark post punk with dub and cabaret.

In your face, pretentious and as far away from being modest as possible, Bauhaus encompassed the true essence of art rock while remaining mysteriously likeable. Add the superb musicianship and you get one of the most important bands of my early musical exploration.

SIOUXSIE AND THE BANSHEES – NOCTURNE

From the appropriately alluring Stravinsky intro to the captivating ramshackle of Voodoo Dolly, this live recording from the Royal Albert Hall is a triumph from start to finish, celebrating the coming of age of one of the greats of the gothic subculture pantheon, while also throwing in two Lennon/McCartney compositions for good measure. While it can serve as a reminder of Robert Smith’s short but excellent stint with the band, the album is primarily showcasing the poise and star-appeal of Siouxsie Sioux, which is even clearer if you watch the video version.

A very special band that, much like Bauhaus, expanded my appreciation of all things nocturnal, this time from a female perspective.

THE CURE – BLOODFLOWERS

How do you know when a couple are huge The Cure fans? They named their first-born Untitled and their sex only lasts seventeen seconds.

Stupid jokes aside, Bloodflowers was their last album that I really enjoyed, and that was 20 years ago. They are still amazing live.

Thursday, March 26

THE JOY FORMIDABLE – WOLF’S LAW

With their second album, The Joy Formidable hit me like a heavily amplified swarm of bumblebees, challenging their own hype further with passionate nods to shoegaze manifesto and bedlam-buried hooks, and awarding the listener with chunky oil smudges on the stormy sea full of caterwauling killer whales.

»Let’s take this walk, it’s long overdue«, the opening line of This Ladder is Ours, fittingly serves as a self-assuring starting point for a band ready to make the next step with a newly acquired brew of performance mileage and studio experience that was somewhat missing from their debut. Cholla, with its Zeppelin-esque riff ripping into massive bass lines that redefine the thickness of sound, follows similar rifts in the noise vs. melody divide, boiling up to a breakout chorus of eternal questioning that is soothing as much as it is menacing. As is the case with the cactus that lent the song its name, the barbed spikes of sound stay with you long after the brush of music touched your ears, sunk deeply into the flesh of awareness to prepare you for the lengthy excursions into the uncharted territories of noiseville.

But the real surprise is lodged in the second half of the album. Slower and gentler, soaked in spiritual introspection, the songs creep up on you from the very shadows that the most intense dreams are made of, sailing on the established contrast between the seemingly fragile vocals of singer Ritzy Bryan and the actual weight of the compositions. Between cascading turnarounds and the urges for less talking and more reason, the notes float in unison as a single entity, straight to the fall of the curtain in the form of a hidden title track, with its downstroke drama slowly cartwheeling to an epic climax, wrapped in a sonic waterfall that is both painfully honest and blissfully gut-wrenching.

As far from easy listening as possible, but still wildly accessible to satisfy a broader audience, The Joy Formidable remind me of no one in particular, yet sound so familiar.

MEAT PUPPETS – MEAT PUPPETS II

Versatile and influential, the album number two from the precursors of the Seattle sound is a fine example of blending the right ingredients to produce a unique sounding mix of psychedelic punk rock with strong folk references.

Needless to say, the popularity of my cassette tape of this album skyrocketed after MTV’s first broadcasting of Nirvana’s unplugged concert, where the kings of grunge performed a triptych of Meat Puppets songs, accompanied by the Kirkwood brothers.

Friday, March 27

EELS – ELECTRO-SHOCK BLUES

Life is funny, but not ha ha funny.

Eels leader Mark Oliver Everett, also known as E, is a very peculiar character and this was his first descent into darker music territories. The majority of songs are dealing with his sister’s mental illness and her subsequent institutionalization and suicide (Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor, Going to Your Funeral, Climbing to the Moon) or his mother’s terminal cancer (Hospital Food, Cancer for the Cure, Dead of Winter). The sounds and melodies are fittingly bleak and gloomy, with very little room for E’s trademark quirkiness.

A staggering record of questioning your own life and the time you’ve got left before the final departure. Every time I listen to this, I’m amazed how E can make everything so simple. And perfect. Simply perfect.

SUEDE – DOG MAN STAR

Preceded by a successful non-album single, this one was supposed to launch Suede to the upper echelon of UK rock stardom, which was quite an expectation for a band that never felt completely at home with the whole britpop gimmick. But as is often in the land of inflated egos, the creative process was marred by personal issues and general disarray. Bernard Butler fell out with the flamboyant and acid-gobbling frontman Brett Anderson before the album was completed and Dog Man Star was the eccentric guitarist’s final work with Suede.

Despite its troubled birth, the album sounds fresh even after more than two decades, boasting with a rarely seen balance between vintage rock’n’roll excess and experimental mastery.

INTERLUDE

Three weeks flew by since my last update and in this time, I had no inclination or willpower to publish a write-up on what I was listening to during the quarantine. There was, however, lots of introspection, and the music was always a big part of everything I did. Guess we all deal with seclusion in our own way. The lack of visible Vat of Acid engagement doesn’t mean that I just stood idly by. I wrote a long-form article on the 40th anniversary of R.E.M.’s first concert for the alternative music website Louder Than War and made a couple of alternative rock playlists for a local independent internet radio. I also began work on a few new texts for this site and wrapped up some projects from my day-job.

Discussing and writing about music makes me feel good, so the Quarantine Playlists continue as the annus horribilis of 2020 marches on.

Monday, April 20

PLACEBO – WITHOUT YOU I’M NOTHING

It’s difficult to find an artist expressing himself about sexuality and addiction with such poignancy and grace as Brian Molko did on the early Placebo albums. On Without You I’m Nothing, one of the best songwriters in the game displays his full arsenal of talents, demystifying the obscure and knocking down taboos to the sounds of a band at the top of its game. The outlandish interchange of bombastic rockers and introspective slower tracks makes for a colourful off-the-grid carousel I keep returning to over and over again.

MAD SEASON – ABOVE

Born out of a rehab, Mad Season was primarily a side project catering to the fans of darker aspects of 90’s alternative music. The haunting tone is set right from the slow burning opener Wake Up, with a meandering guitar melody and droplets of pain dripping from the echoes of Layne’s voice. The record opens up right after that with a couple of bluesy licks, but never crosses the borders to naïve or banal territory. A little underrated to this day, this somewhat unpolished gem contains some of the best tunes of the era. Sadly, with the deaths of John Baker Saunders and Layne Staley, Above was the grunge supergroup’s only release.

Tuesday, 21 April

SONIC YOUTH – DIRTY

While probably not the best Sonic Youth record in objective terms, Dirty is definitely my favourite, introducing a more melodic twin guitar attack of Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo and some of the finest riot grrrl vocals from Kim Gordon. Who would have thought at the time that the kingpins of noise are capable of delivering such hooks as the intro riff of Sugar Kane or the slowed-down middle part of Purr? Still, when the band goes on a full cacophonic rampage, I can’t think of anyone who can do it better.

THERAPY? – SUICIDE PACT-YOU FIRST

With a profound disgust of the music industry and a ferocious thirst for vengeance, Therapy? opted for lo-fi production and raw atmosphere, and the band’s intentional return to obscurity resulted in one of the more potent records of their 30-year career. Suicide Pact is an impressive back-to-the-roots soundtrack to disenfranchised DIY ethos gone awry and the trampled integrity of alternative acts when they make it big. Be it the heavy stomp of Little Tongues First or the return to the times of childhood overtaken by the Northern Ireland conflict in Six Mile Water, Therapy? always manage to find an angle that is distinctively theirs. It was the record they had to make instead of becoming another cautionary tale from the bowels of the big machine.