1. Gospel Train
Before rock 'n' roll was a glint in anyone's eye, there was the primal scream of the "Gospel Train." This isn't polished Sunday morning fare; it's the raw, visceral howl from the soul's deepest trenches. You hear the call-and-response, the foot-stomping rhythm that predates any backbeat, a communal catharsis that laid the groundwork for blues and R&B. It's the sound of salvation, yes, but also a primal, undeniable groove that still shakes the bones. This is where the funk began.
2. Link, Vernon and Doug
Digging into "Link, Vernon and Doug" means sifting through the dusty grooves of early American vernacular music. This isn't the slick studio sound; it’s the raw, unadulterated thrum of porch-front blues or early string band grit. You catch the interplay of rudimentary instruments, a simple melodic line, and voices that carry the weight of hard times. It's foundational, a glimpse into the unfiltered soundscapes that would eventually electrify into rockabilly and early rock. Essential for understanding the roots.
3. You Got My Mind Messed Up
James Carr's "You Got My Mind Messed Up" from '67 is a masterclass in deep Southern soul. His voice, man, it’s a pure, unvarnished cry, drenched in gospel fervor and blues lament. The arrangements are tight, economical, letting that incredible vocal delivery carry the weight. It's not the slick Motown sound; this is Memphis grit, a heavy dose of pain and passion delivered with a devastating emotional punch. This album will grab you by the gut and not let go.
4. Monster Movie (Remastered Version)
Can's "Monster Movie," even in its remastered glory, retains that raw, hypnotic pulse that defined early Krautrock. This 1969 debut is a primal roar, a minimalist rhythmic engine driven by Jaki Liebezeit's metronomic precision and Holger Czukay's basslines. It's experimental, yes, but with a fierce, almost industrial drive. You hear the blueprint for post-punk's rhythmic obsession and the droning atmosphere that would influence generations. A true head-trip, an essential piece of the avant-garde.
5. Suicide Squad: The Album
This "album," tied to a modern cinematic endeavor, presents a different kind of beast. It’s a patchwork, a collection of contemporary sounds rather than a cohesive statement. You might find echoes of trap’s stark beats or pop’s manufactured sheen, but it lacks the organic grit of early rock or the rebellious snarl of authentic punk. It’s a product, rather than a primal scream, missing the deep blues undercurrents or the industrial clang of true experimentation. A sign of the times, perhaps.
6. cute like aspen
Now, "cute like aspen," that’s a curious one. It drifts in with a sort of digital whisper, far removed from the raw power of early blues or the visceral punch of garage rock. You hear programmed beats and a saccharine melody, a kind of ethereal pop sheen. It lacks the earthy thump of a proper rhythm section or the defiant snarl of true rebellion. It’s a fleeting, almost weightless thing, a modern artifact that speaks more to synthetic textures than to the foundational grooves that shake the soul.
7. 20 Jazz Funk Greats (Remastered)
Throbbing Gristle’s "20 Jazz Funk Greats," even remastered, remains a confrontational masterpiece from '79. It’s industrial music at its most unsettling, a corrosive blend of electronic noise, harsh rhythms, and unsettling vocals. Forget 'jazz funk'; this is a deliberate provocation, a sonic assault that tears down expectations. You hear the mechanical throb, the bleak minimalism, and the utterly ruthless deconstruction of sound that birthed an entire genre. This is the sound of rebellion made manifest, an utterly Cursed groove.
8. you broke my heart (Hoodtrap / Mylancore Remix)
And then there's "you broke my heart (Hoodtrap / Mylancore Remix)." This is a contemporary re-framing, a digital collage that pulls from modern street beats and hyper-processed sounds. It's a far cry from the live grit of early rock or the raw energy of punk. You get a fractured rhythm, heavily manipulated vocals, and synthetic textures, a sound built more on algorithms than on sweat and amplifier hum. It’s an interesting mutation, sure, but it lacks the visceral, human pulse that truly makes a groove unholy.
9. Alles Ist Gut
D.A.F.'s "Alles Ist Gut" from '81 is a stark, relentless slab of electronic minimalism and industrial dance. It’s just Gabi Delgado’s sneering vocals and Robert Görl’s machine-gun percussion and sequencers, stripped down to the bone. You feel the cold, mechanical throb, the hypnotic pulse that pre-empted techno and EBM. This is pure, unadulterated body music, a rigid, almost militaristic groove that commands movement. It’s primitive, potent, and utterly devoid of frills, a true sound of the German rebellion.
10. Album - Generic Flipper
Flipper's "Album – Generic Flipper" from '82 is a gloriously ugly, defiant middle finger to everything. It’s slow, it’s sludgy, it’s the antithesis of punk's speed, yet it’s more punk than most. You get that heavy, droning bassline, the feedback-drenched guitars, and Bruce Loose’s guttural, half-spoken vocals. It’s not about precision; it’s about mood, about a suffocating sense of dread and nihilistic abandon. This is the sound of post-punk collapsing in on itself, forging a new kind of heavy, distorted groove.
11. Come Away with ESG
ESG’s "Come Away with ESG," from 1983, is a masterclass in minimalist funk-punk. It’s all about the rhythm section: tight, economic, and impossibly funky. You hear the raw, stripped-down drums, the insistent basslines, and the sparse, almost percussive guitars. There’s a directness, a hypnotic repetition that feels primal, yet utterly modern. It laid the groundwork for countless indie bands and house producers, a true testament to the power of a simple, undeniable groove. It’s pure, unadulterated cool.
