1. Suicide Squad: The Album
Look, this ain't no *Superfly* or *Shaft* soundtrack, let alone *Blade Runner*. This is pure product placement, a cynical grab-bag of whatever was charting at the moment, slapped together to sell a movie. No unified vision, no artistic statement, just a corporate mixtape designed to move units. It’s the antithesis of a sonic journey, more like a forced march through a mall food court. The squares probably dig it, thinking it’s edgy. Bless their hearts.
2. The Faust Tapes
Now *this* is a journey. 1973. Faust just threw everything at the wall, and somehow, it coalesced into this glorious, chaotic mess. Industrial clang, musique concrète, warped rock, tape experiments – it’s a collage, a cut-up, a sonic maelstrom that defies easy categorization. They stripped music down, then rebuilt it with broken parts. The squares, they’d hear noise. We hear revelation, the blueprint for a thousand industrial bands to come. Essential listening for anyone tired of melody.
3. They Say I'm Different
Betty Davis, 1974. She wasn't just different, she was a supernova. This album is a raw, unvarnished funk-rock declaration, bursting with an unbridled sexuality and a take-no-prisoners attitude that still scorches. Her vocals are a guttural snarl, her band a relentless groove machine. This wasn't polite soul; this was the sound of a woman owning her power, challenging expectations with every primal scream and grinding guitar riff. The squares couldn't handle her then, and they still can't.
4. Blank Generation (40th Anniversary Deluxe Edition)
1977. Richard Hell and The Voidoids. This is the primal scream of New York punk, stripped down, dirty, and utterly essential. The 40th anniversary re-issue just gives us more of that raw, jagged energy – demos, live cuts, proving the legend. It’s not about polish, it’s about attitude, about tearing down everything that came before. "I belong to the blank generation," a declaration that still resonates, a sneer against complacency. The squares just heard noise; we heard the future.
5. Inspiration Information/ Wings Of Love
Shuggie Otis, 1974's *Inspiration Information* coupled with the unearthed *Wings of Love*. This cat was a visionary. Blues, soul, funk, psychedelic rock – all filtered through a singular, often melancholic, lens. He played nearly everything himself, crafting these intricate, spaced-out grooves that felt decades ahead of their time. It’s smooth, yes, but with a deep current of experimentalism running through it. The squares probably just heard "Strawberry Letter 23," but this goes so much deeper. A true outlier.
6. Red Mecca
Cabaret Voltaire, 1981. This is the cold, brutalist architecture of industrial music. *Red Mecca* isn’t just an album; it’s a full-on sonic assault, a dystopian soundscape built from tape loops, distorted rhythms, and found sounds. It's the sound of urban decay, political paranoia, and technology gone wrong. No pretty melodies here, just a relentless, grinding pulse that drills into your skull. This is the soundtrack to society’s unraveling, stark and uncompromising. The squares? They’d run screaming.
7. Out to Lunch
Eric Dolphy, 1964. *Out to Lunch!* This ain't your daddy's bebop, even if it emerged from that fertile ground. This is pure, unadulterated avant-garde jazz, challenging every convention with its angular melodies, fractured rhythms, and Dolphy's utterly unique horn work. He was pushing boundaries, stretching harmony, practically dismantling the familiar. It’s exhilarating, unsettling, and undeniably brilliant. The squares couldn't follow his logic, but for those with ears to hear, it was a glimpse into jazz's outer limits.
8. Alien Soundtracks
Chrome, 1978. Forget what you thought punk could be. *Alien Soundtracks* is a distorted, lo-fi, sci-fi fever dream. It’s like The Stooges got abducted by aliens, then forced to record in a derelict garage on another planet. Jagged guitars, processed vocals, industrial clatter – it’s a raw, psychedelic assault that still sounds utterly alien today. They were pushing the limits of what a "rock" band could be, creating a sound both primitive and futuristic. The squares just heard static.
9. A Rainbow In Curved Air
Terry Riley, 1969. Before synths were everywhere, Riley was building worlds with them. *A Rainbow in Curved Air* is a shimmering, hypnotic masterpiece of early electronic minimalism. It's a continuous, evolving tapestry of layered organ, electric harpsichord, and delay effects that just washes over you, shifting and morphing. This isn't about hooks; it’s about sustained atmosphere and subtle, unfolding patterns. It opened doors for ambient, krautrock, and a whole lot more. The squares just heard repetition; we heard infinity.
10. Kingdom Come: Deliverance II (Original Soundtrack Essentials)
Another one for the digital age, eh? "Original Soundtrack Essentials" usually means they stripped out the good stuff for a quick buck, leaving you with corporate-approved background noise. This ain't no Bernard Herrmann, nor a Goblin. It’s functional, sure, probably good for gaming, but a *sonic journey*? Nah. It's a calculated product, designed to fit a mood, not to challenge or inspire. The squares consume it, thinking it's art. We know better.
