1. Odyssey
That initial Odyssey record from '77, it was more than just another disco outfit. Their approach to arrangement, particularly the string and horn charts, carried a sophistication that hinted at broader R&B and even jazz undercurrents, far beyond the typical four-on-the-floor fare. The vocal harmonies were lush, expertly layered, creating a deep, resonant pocket for the grooves. It’s a testament to pre-digital mixing, where every element found its space without relying on post-production wizardry. Pure, unadulterated boogie craftsmanship.
2. Unorthodox Behaviour
Brand X, *Unorthodox Behaviour* – now that was a statement. Goodsall's guitar work was fluid, yet angular, cutting through the dense, intricate rhythms laid down by Jones and Collins. It wasn't just fusion; it was a conversation between instruments, often leaning into these peculiar, almost psychedelic territories. The sheer analog warmth of those bass tones and the organic drum sound, captured live in the studio, provided a visceral, immediate quality. A masterclass in rhythmic complexity and instrumental dialogue.
3. From The Lion's Mouth
The Sound's *From The Lion's Mouth* carved out a particularly stark niche. Adrian Borland's vocals, often strained and earnest, were perfectly framed by the icy, reverb-drenched guitars and a rhythm section that knew when to be propulsive and when to recede into a melancholic thrum. It possessed an art-rock sensibility that elevated it beyond mere post-punk. The production, raw yet expansive, truly amplified its darkwave tendencies, a palpable tension captured on tape.
4. A Different Kind Of Human (Step II)
"A Different Kind Of Human (Step II)"... This title doesn't immediately register within the established discographies I meticulously catalogued from the pre-digital era, stretching through the early '90s. Perhaps an obscure, privately pressed demo, or a track that slipped through the cracks of the larger labels? Its evocative phrasing, however, suggests a certain progressive bent, perhaps an early ambient exploration or a synth-pop venture that simply never found its wider audience in my time. An intriguing phantom.
5. Always Now
Josef K’s *Always Now* – a truly brittle, angular thing. It felt like the Glasgow scene's answer to New York's art-punk, but with a distinctly colder, more detached atmosphere. Paul Haig's delivery was almost a monotone, perfectly complementing the sharp, jangling guitars and the taut, minimalist rhythm section. The production, notably sparse, foregrounded the inherent tension in their compositions. It was coldwave before the term was even truly codified, a stark, uncompromising vision.
6. Enter (Deluxe Edition)
"Enter (Deluxe Edition)" is another curiosity. The "Deluxe Edition" suffix itself speaks to a later re-packaging, a practice that gained traction beyond the strict analog recording and release cycles I'm familiar with. As for the core work, "Enter" doesn't surface in my recollection of early metal, industrial, or even the burgeoning darkwave scenes of the '80s and nascent '90s. One might speculate on a proto-industrial sound or an experimental ambient piece, but it remains an unplaced entry in my sonic archive.
7. Streetcleaner
Godflesh's *Streetcleaner* was a brutal, monolithic force. Broadrick’s guitar tone, a churning, metallic roar, paired with that relentless drum machine – it felt like the future of heavy music, forged in an industrial nightmare. The sheer weight of the sound, saturated and distorted directly to tape, was overwhelming. It wasn't just metal; it was the sonic equivalent of urban decay, a relentless, punishing rhythm that redefined what "heavy" could mean in the waning days of analog dominance.
