Tom Waits, Blood Money (side A)

Blood Money came out alongside Alice in 2002. Both albums capture Waits's old theater scores, with some of the same musicians (including members of Splatter Trio) and engineers (including Oz Fritz). The musicianship and recording on both is fantastic, and makes the records special. Where Alice is a bit more understated and sparse, Blood Money features more up-front vocals that tie to earlier Waits records like Bone Machine and The Black Rider. It would be easy to assume that Blood Money is the earlier of the two compositions. The packaging is nice too, with a thick outer cover and printed inner sleeve.

The United States of America, The United States of America (side A)

The United States of America are well-documented at this point—academic type Joseph Byrd started a rock band at the height of the psychedelic/experimental era of rock music, and this 1968 LP documents the results. It's got a bit of everything, from overtly catchy songs to through-composed pieces. Through all of the studio experimentation, the sound of a rock record does come through, thanks in part perhaps to producer David Rubinson, who also worked with Moby Grape. On my 90s vinyl reissue (which could be a bootleg?) the loudest treble notes are overly emphasized, which I'm sure is not what the original LP sounded like.

Asmus Tietchens, Litia (side A)

Asmus Tietchens has made countless fascinating and distinctive records of strange and impenetrable noise palettes. Before these crazy explorations, his early records were far more conventional electronic music. 1984's Litia features a 6 piece group playing drum machines and synthesizers. Patterns repeat, melodies emerge, and for a moment it even sounds a bit like Young Marble Giants. The record sounds great (with a big "DMM" logo right on the cover) and the austere two-color cover is perfect.

Art Ensemble of Chicago with Fontella Bass (side A)

Although the marriage between Lester Bowie and Fontella Bass explains how this collaboration happened, there's still a lot to be confused by here. Fontella Bass is, of course, best known for her Aretha-like vocal performance on the hit "Rescue Me". In 1970, she teamed up with the Art Ensemble of Chicago for this impenetrable album. There aren't really songs, or even neat compositions, so much as long, slowly evolving blurs. Bass vocalizes a narrative similar to those on other Art Ensemble albums, but with far more vocal dexterity. Sounds pass by around her, occasionally in isolation but often in clusters. Some sections use pitched instruments like horns, where others are percussive. My domestic vinyl copy looks better than the CD reissue but not as striking as the French original, and it doesn't sound bad for a repress of a budget recording.

Gene Clark, No Other (side A)

1974's No Other is certainly a confusing and contradictory record. In some ways, it seems like a slick 70s rock record, with famous session musicians (Leland Sklar, Timothy B. Schmidt) and punchy production. In other ways, it's confused and almost aimless. Though he's remembered for writing hits like "Eight Miles High" and "Echoes", Clark did not contribute such recognizable and overt melodies. The songs subtly drift along without the obvious memorable impact of his hits. No Other is fascinating in its juxtapositions, and it's a cool, interesting listen.

Fuhler—Bennink—de Joode, Tinderbox (CD)

This Dutch trio plays a bit of everything on 2002's Tinderbox. It ranges from their idiosyncratic take on piano jazz to some quite abstract workouts with Fuhler on melodica or keyolin. The coupling of Bennink's spirited energy on drums with Fuhler's more chaotic approach to melody is always odd and fascinating. The album is sometimes a bit too diverse to follow, but it's often a fun or distinctive listen, and at its best moments both qualities come through.

American Music Club, Mercury (CD)

Mercury was a strange record for a major label to release in 1993, starting with Tom Recchion's excellent cover art. It's low on flash, glamour, and style—it's even mastered quietly and subtly (by Bob Ludwig). The musicianship is particularly amazing, and it sounds great. Mark Eitzel's songwriting is obviously self-effacing with a hint of melodrama. When it works, the album is remarkably powerful, but it times it falls into a dangerously mopey territory. Mercury is inconsistent with its long running time (49 minutes) but the highlights have aged nicely.