No. 1: Sly & the Family Stone - Stand! (Epic, 1969)
Stand! is protest music, born of restlessness and inciting spirit everywhere it is heard. Stone's wake up call to arms is funky, it rocks; it flies through space, and it rolls around in the dirt. This is truly undefinable, untouchable American noise.
Stand.
No. 2: MC5 - Kick Out the Jams (Elektra, 1968)
This is my favorite document of recorded music, and the best example of rock-and-roll I've experience thus far in my life.
The 5 set so many precedents in rock music that it would be unreasonable to mention them all. They were loud, they were fast and best of all they were goddamn good. And as founders of the short-lived (albeit convoluted) White Panther party, their conscious was never lost in their volume. They raised the stars and stripes like demolitionists raise a building; but is was never with malice. Revolution can be the most pronounced act of love a citizen can commit, and the MC5 loved their country with all their THC-soaked hearts.
"It's time to move, it time to get down with it; it's time to testify...are you ready to testify?!" opens the album, courtesy of the band's 'spiritual adviser' Brother J.C. Crawford. The crowd seems to be down, so he offers an answer of his own: "I give you a testimonial - THE MC5!"
Kick out the jams, motherfuckers.
No. 3: Dead Kennedys - Frankenchrist (Alternative Tentacles, 1985)
Yes, all the hits are on the first two records. Yes, Jello was getting didactic (don't...just, don't). But Frankenchrist was the most logical final phase for the Dead Kennedys before personal politics would turn them into a neutered mess of nostalgia.
The stories Biafra had been telling were short bursts of terror, headlines slapped across faces at breakneck speeds. Frankenchrist was a novel made of taut, elaborate chapters of context, pomp and circumstance. With the exception of "MTV Get Off the Air" (though the message still resonates today) the topical nature of the material usually avoids growing tired (unfortunately).
The real secret weapon the Dead Kennedys possessed was their familiarity. East Bay Ray's canvas of Morricone guitar provides ample space for Jello's brutal broad strokes. He lures in listeners, naming streets and locations, maybe someone's cousin. Then the fangs and claws come out of seemingly nowhere. But it's not a monster by moonlight that's ripping your head off, it's the police. There is no haunted castle, just a contemptuous society suffocating any who raise their head above the sedentary shit cloud. The G-Men hide in the shadows, not the Boogey Man.
The darkness is there, and the threat is very real; but so is the light. Until that bulb hanging over our heads flickers to life, the Dead Kennedys will have to keep their strobe set on stun.
(Writer's Note: Please ignore the deliberate product placement at the start of every song/video. Thank you.)
No. 4: System Of A Down - Toxicity (American, 2001)
If Voivod and Frank Zappa had a love-child that eventualy majored in poli-sci at some liberal university, that public defender would be named System of A Down. After rethinking Rage Against the Machine's place on this list, I remembered Rick Rubin's American Records put this gem out on September 11, 2001 along with Slayer's God Hates Us All.
Toxicity hits hard again and again, like a crystal ball rendering the next ten years crashing into the listener's skull. Political gestation, terrorism, suicide, police brutality - it's all here. And it doesn't sound half bad, either. The spastic row of System of A Down was refined and honed to stick-and-move precision. Which is too bad, really. The band may have eventually been swallowed in the contentious '90s metal' backlash, but System of A Down were a vital voice in American metal for a spell.
If nothing else, Tankian, Malakian and company have never recorded music with Chris Cornell, which may or may not be another terrible disrespect to Rage Against the Machine. But, hey, they brought it on themselves.
No. 5: Fugazi - Repeater (Dischord, 1990)
If you own a Fugazi shirt you did not buy it from them.
But grandstanding aside, Repeater is a great, great protest album. Consumerism, abuse (both of and by the self), xenophobia, and everything else that made America the biggest dick in the world were at the front of the line and Fugazi wanted them all recognized.
"Merchandise", "Shut the Door", and the fancy dancing title track beat more than just brows. Hell, even the instrumentation has a chip on its shoulder. MacKaye and Picciotto put their pedal-jumping contemporaries to shame with just two Marshall half-stacks, and Joe Lally and Brendan Canty fill the pocket like James Brown's loose change.
"We owe you nothing" is a mantra throughout Repeater, but Fugazi certainly are generous in their delivery in many ways.
No. 6: Talking Heads - Talking Heads 77 (Sire, 1977)
A lot changed for America in 1977. The Clash had a few thoughts, but for my money the real musical document of the time is the Talking Heads' first long player. Cynicism & neurosis began to become the temperament of the land, replaced by idealism after years and years of horseshit. We couldn't trust the government, we couldn't trust our neighbors, and would couldn't trust ourselves.
The sea change of punk provided room for the nervous melting pot approach Talking Heads applied to their songs, as well. Calypso, bubblegum, Bowery beat - Talking Heads were just about the Velvets of the 1970s in as much as they even sounded like New York City. The Big Apple has been the head of the United States for a long time, and when the head sweats the rest of the body feels it.
This may be a peculiar way to end an album review, but America's head was pretty sweaty in 1977, and the Talking Heads were there with a handkerchief for dabbing.
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