1. Harlem Street Singer
Reverend Gary Davis. Man, this record is the dirt under your fingernails, the righteous fire in your gut. His guitar work? It's a whole orchestra, intricate and raw, weaving gospel hymns with the deepest blues laments. This ain't just music; it's a sermon from the street corner, a testament to endurance, delivered with a divine, ragged elegance that still shames most of today's virtuosos. Pure, unadulterated spirit.
2. Genius Of Modern Music (Vol.1, Expanded Edition)
Thelonious Monk. This expanded edition just deepens the legend. Monk’s piano wasn't just playing notes; he was re-sculpting silence, challenging the very geometry of bebop. Each off-kilter chord, every rhythmic stumble, was a deliberate act of subversion, twisting the familiar into something both alien and utterly profound. It still sounds like the future, a jagged, brilliant masterpiece of modern jazz architecture.
3. More of The Monkees (Deluxe Edition)
Yeah, the Monkees. Go ahead and scoff. But this deluxe version pulls back the curtain on some serious studio craft. Beneath the manufactured sheen, you find prime pop-rock, sometimes even veering into proto-garage snarl. The hooks are undeniable, and the sheer audacity of their machine-made success, backed by top-shelf songwriters, was a different kind of rebellion against rock's self-seriousness. It's more complex than the purists admit.
4. Suicide (2019 - Remaster)
Suicide. Alan Vega and Martin Rev. This '77 debut, in its 2019 remaster, still feels like a transmission from a different planet, or maybe just a particularly grim corner of downtown NYC. Primitive electronics, an almost ritualistic beat, and Vega's sneering, hypnotic vocals. It’s the sound of the future arriving with a shiver, a stark, industrial minimalism that pre-dated punk's frenzy and laid down a blueprint for half of what came next.
5. They Say I'm Different
Betty Davis. Forget polite soul. Betty wasn't asking; she was demanding. This record is pure, unvarnished funk, dripping with a raw, sexual energy that burned too bright for the mainstream. Her voice, her lyrics, her whole damn attitude — it was a kick to the gut of convention, a primal scream from the heart of the 70s, still electrifying and unapologetic. She wrote the rulebook for bold.
6. The Modern Dance
Pere Ubu. From Cleveland, a city that understood industrial grime and post-punk alienation. This album is a glorious, unsettling mess. David Thomas's vocals are a twisted narrative, backed by jagged guitars, an insistent, almost krautrock pulse, and bizarre electronic textures. It's art-rock stripped of its pretensions, a genuinely experimental, abrasive masterpiece that still challenges you to listen differently. A beautiful, noisy racket.
