Robert A.A. Lowe, Fazo IV (side A)

Fazo IV, Lowe's odd, introspective synth record from 2010, gives little hint of context or reference. It doesn't reveal Rob's background in rock bands, nor even his big city, art-world life. It has little to do with avant-composition or any academic structures, which makes sense since Rob has never worked in that world. Instead, it's a curious collection of pulses and tones that take shape into an evolving concept. It's mastered quietly, and it sounds a bit less murky than comparable 70s or 80s private press synth rumblings. The color insert is particularly nice.

The Shadow Ring, Lindus (side A)

When Lindus came out in 2001, it followed the "classic" era of the Shadow Ring, and it was far less musical or accessible than any of those. I dismissed it quickly as a strange conceptual experiment—in retrospect, I was half-right. 2003's I'm Some Songs really is a strange conceptual experiment that clearly marks the group's end. Lindus, in retrospect, was something of a transitional album. It is at times sparse and impenetrable, but at times the old Shadow Ring sound peaks out in bits and pieces. In retrospect, it's not as mind-blowing as the group's earlier works (and probably would not make sense without having heard them for reference), but it's still a weird and fascinating record that remains somehow worth a listen.

Joseph Jarman, Song for (side A)

Joseph Jarman's 1967 debut predates his time in the Art Ensemble—Song for features AACM notables Fred Anderson, Billy Brimfield, Steve McCall, and Thurman Barker. It's a very diverse record, from the dense, full-bore "Little Fox Run" to the sparse narrative of "Non-Cognitive Aspects of the City". Despite the slightly murky sound in the loudest parts, the dynamic range of the group is well-preserved. The loud parts aren't as dense as the energy jazz in New York at the time—they present a different notion of how to bring density and power to a jazz idiom. The quiet parts are a classic document of unique AACM pointillist minimalism. The retro cover is striking and beautiful—minimal and aggressive at the same time, just like the music.

Charalambides, Market Square (side C)

1995's Market Square doesn't resemble much else. Charalambides' trio line-up with Jason Bill was dark and sometimes dense. The most recognizable quality is the blues element of Tom Carter's overt lead guitar playing. There's some repetitive lines under his freak-outs, and Christina Carter's vocals float somewhere in the mix, often in more than one overdubbed layer. The dark, impenetrable quality sets it off from a folk idea, while it's far too grounded in guitars and blues riffs to fit any electronic/noise concept. Market Square sounds as distinctive in 2010 as it did on its release, when the group's memorable tour with Harry Pussy and the Shadow Ring helped to draw attention to them.

Jesus and Mary Chain, Psychocandy (side A)

Psychocandy has such ardent devotees that sometimes it feels heretical to point out its weaknesses. The bass playing obviously doesn't keep up with the rest of the band, and at least my American pressing is imbalanced without adequate low end. The canonical, amazing part of this record is (of course) the guitar sounds, which resemble nothing else before or after its 1985 release. My stereo speakers literally sound like they're being torn by distortion as the record plays. Somehow the vocals are subtly processed to blend into this wall instead of standing out as detached, and the tambourine almost appears on top of the guitars. It's a strange, remarkable sound that no one has exactly matched since.

Meat Puppets, Meat Puppets (side A)

Even as I remember the diversity and oddity of Meat Puppets' self-titled 1982 debut, it still manages to amaze me. At times, it sounds a bit like hardcore, with its sheer energy and persistence. Other times, the blues and country riffs come to the foreground and the songs slow down a bit. The vocals, though, never quite fit, as any of those genres have vocals more in the foreground—on Meat Puppets, the vocals fit right into the smear and cacophony. Spot's recording, while sounding a bit odd, definitely captures the band's immediacy and energy. The front cover collage is iconic, but the weird line drawing on the back is far more terrifying.

Jack Bruce, Songs for a Tailor (side A)

In 1969, when Songs for a Tailor came out, Jack Bruce had parted ways with Cream, but had not yet joined Tony Williams' Lifetime. Songs for a Tailor reflects the transitional era from which it came. There are obvious jazzy elements here in the complex structures, rhythms, and chord progressions. In other ways, the lyrics, vocal melodies, and instrumentation draw from Cream. While the horn charts are harmonically complex, their use in the songs resembles rock or soul far more than jazz (it's certainly an atypical place to find Harry Beckett's trumpet). Songs for a Tailor is a curious record that sounds both of and out-of-place for its time.