PUBLIC IMAGE LTD - MEMORIES (SINGLE) @ 45

 

Released 45 years ago today, on October 10, 1979, it's Public Image Ltd's third single, Memories. The A-side song is wailing denunciation of misplaced sentimentality. Wobble's thunderously insistent bass line drives the track against a furious disco beat, courtesy of former 101'R, Richard Dudanski, who filled the kit briefly during the Metal Box sessions. Keith Levene layers in Spanish Flamenco influenced guitar chords with what sounds like organ flourishes (no, it's all guitar), while Lydon's vocals swoop in, warbling and whooping through the song. "It should be clear by now" that this is one of PiL's all time best songs. The single mix is different from the Metal Box version, which inter-cuts two different mixes together in an alternating back & forth oscillation. The single version, however, sticks to the mix with the heavy bass, driving it home all the way through.

The B-Side features the track, Another, which would only be included on Metal Box in a radically different instrumental mix called, Graveyard. Wobble would also "steal" the backing track and remix it again for the instrumental, Not Another, on his first solo album, The Legend Lives On... Jah Wobble in "Betrayal". The vocal mix on the single is a perfect match-up for the A-side, reinforcing the overall "haunted house" vibe of the record.

The front cover features a series of black & white photos of a moustache wearing Lydon in a wedding scene to someone who looks like Jeanette Lee (she looks too short to be Nora), with the scratches and saturation making it look all worn and forgotten. The back cover is a shot of a spiderweb covered oval mirror, reflecting the PiL logo, that was at John's Gunter Grove house in London. It can also be seen on the front cover of the Flowers of Romance single from 1981.

The single would peak at #60 on the UK charts, but along with the previous single, Death Disco, it would provide a tantalizing sneak peak at the behemoth Metal Box album that was right around the corner.

PUBLIC IMAGE LTD - COMMERCIAL ZONE @ 40

 

Released on January 30th, 1984, what was supposed to be Public Image Ltd's fourth studio album, Commercial Zone, turns 40 years old today. I use that qualifier as a way to indicate that, while this album was released, it has never been considered an official entry in the PiL canon of albums, at least not by John Lydon. Its existence is purely the result of the actions of former guitarist, Keith Levene, trying to salvage the wreckage of a project he was exiled from before it could be completed.

After the release of Flowers of Romance in April of 1981 and following the disastrous Ritz NYC multimedia performance-turned-riot in May of that year, PiL were fed up with their situation in the UK. London didn't feel like home anymore and John Lydon was exasperated with the constant harassment of the police, who regularly executed unjustified raids on his Gunter Grove townhouse, usually in the middle of the night while acting on spurious reports of illegal activities. It was a campaign of persecution being pursued by officials to try to silence someone who'd made too much of the wrong kind of noises. Fortuitously, while in NYC to do the Ritz show, they had established some contacts in the city, so John, Keith & Jeanette Lee packed up and headed to the Big Apple shortly after the Ritz debacle.

Not long after moving, John and Jeanette headed off to Italy so Lydon could shoot his parts for the film, Cop Killer (aka, Corrupt, Order of Death, etc). For some unpublished reasons, when John returned from the shoot, Jeanette was no longer in tow, having returned to the UK, with Lydon announcing she'd left the band, a situation that ultimately inspired the song, Where Are You? (Lou Reed pt2). While Lydon and Lee were abroad, Keith had started sketching ideas for the next PiL album. As John was shooting, he'd supposedly negotiated a deal for PiL to provide soundtrack music for the film, with he and Keith working out ideas by humming them over the phone on long distance calls, but the soundtrack never materialized, though the song, The Slab/Order of Death did result from their long distance brainstorming.

Once they'd set up a loft to live in and contracted Park South Studios for recording, John and Keith set about trying to reconstitute the band. Rumours of their splitting had circulated in the press early in 1982, likely partially triggered by Jeanette Lee mysteriously bailing from the PiL camp. Their contract with Warner Bros in the US had also expired, so they no longer had any US label support, though Virgin were still onboard in the UK. Getting a band together to play gigs became a necessity as a way to generate some income and finance recording.

Initially, Ken Lockie from Cowboys International was working with Lydon and Levene, contributing to a number of early recordings, but he quickly left the project and none of his contributions were ultimately used. Former PiL drummer, Martin Atkins, who had worked on Metal Box and Flowers of Romance, as well as touring with the band throughout 1980, was in NYC at the time, performing with his own band, Brian Brain. John and Keith went down to one of his gigs and proposed he rejoin the group. To fill in on bass, Martin brought in Pete Jones, also from Brian Brain, thus completing a functional lineup. Throughout the latter half of 1982, they alternated between playing a series of gigs across the US and returning to NYC to record at Park South. The engineer for the studio, Bob Miller, became heavily involved in the production of the recordings to the point of becoming a de facto fifth member, and the makings of a new LP began coming together, with announcements of releases being made to the press.

On stage, the band had redeemed themselves from the chaotic fiasco of the Ritz riot, offering up a rejuvenated, tight, aggressive and potent version of PiL, sprinkling their sets with some of the new songs that were coming together during their studio time. I got to see them in Seattle, and it was one of the most memorable live gigs I've ever been privileged to attend. There was a palpable tension in the atmosphere that gave the show a distinct edge, like everything could fly apart at any second, but somehow they managed to keep a lid on it all. They even kicked off some of their shows with a recording of a new song, Blue Water, which was initially planned to be the first single released before the end of the year.

With the location of the studio in a heavily industrialized section of the city, there was a sign nearby that read, "YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A COMMERCIAL ZONE". The group felt this was a perfect title for the band's planned new album. The irony of it made sense given how Flowers of Romance was so decidedly NONE commercial, and the new material was striving towards a level of accessibility that was relatively new territory for the band. Having painted themselves into a corner with their avant-garde leanings, the only thing left to do was make some unapologetic pop music, of course with PiL's own idiosyncratic twists.

Along with the touring and recording, a couple of new corporate entities were created to help manage various aspects of the band's activities, ostensibly to finally bring to fruition the promise that PiL were not just a "band", but a "corporation". Public Enterprise Productions (PEP) and Multi Image Corporation (MIC) were two of the entities that were announced at press conferences during 1982, and a deal was struck with Stiff Records in the US to licence their recordings released under the "PEP" umbrella. Things were going along so well that the group had managed to secure a contract to tour in Japan, which would be the first market where the new recordings would be released. A 12" single, This Is Not a Love Song, was planned for release in June of 1983. But just as things seemed to be coming together, simmering tensions between John Lydon and Keith Levene erupted into full blown conflict.

The breakdown came to pass in March of 1983 when a disagreement about mixes for the single set the spark. Keith recounted the events as follows:

“I went to the studio to remix 'Love Song', I told them 'I've got to remix it, it's embarrassing.' Martin called John in L.A. and told him I was in the studio. John called up screaming that I should get out of the studio immediately, right? I said 'John, I can't put out a tune that sounds like that!' Martin was just pacing the studio all night until he could call John in L.A. John just said 'Get out of my studio!' I said 'Your studio? Fuck off and die!' When these Japanese guys came that morning to pick up the tapes, I said to Martin 'Fuck it – I'll give them both mixes and I'll let them decide. When the Japanese guys arrived John got on the phone from L.A. at 5 am yelling 'Get out of my fucking studio!' And me replying 'It's not your fucking studio!' and so on. A load of shit went wrong literally in the space of 18 hours that made it that I just said 'Fuck it!'”

After returning from LA, Lydon regrouped with Martin Atkins after Pete Jones decided the situation was untenable and also quit the band. Lydon and Atkins recruited a trio of musicians from a local lounge band to play guitar, bass and keyboards, and took them to Japan to fulfill their touring obligations. The result of those shows eventually ended up as the Live In Tokyo album, which was one of the first digitally recorded live albums ever released.

While they were touring Japan, Keith managed to sneak into Park South and clandestinely mixed a bunch of songs, absconding with the resulting masters with no one the wiser from the PiL camp. Keith then took his rough mix of the Commercial Zone LP to London and attempted to present it as a finished PiL album to Virgin's Richard Branson. Virgin rejected the recordings with Lydon insisting that this was NOT his album. Virgin instead releasing the This Is Not A Love Song single in the UK in September. The record proceeded to become the biggest selling PiL single to date, reaching number 5 in the UK charts. Despite that success, Lydon and Atkins abandoned the remainder of the Commercial Zone recordings and headed to a London studio with some session musicians to start the project from scratch, rerecording five of the Commercial Zone tracks and filling out the rest of the album with a few new compositions and a remix of a leftover from Flowers of Romance (1981).

Returning to NYC, Levene decided to release his mix of the Commercial Zone album himself on his own label and, on January 30th, 1983, registered PIL Records Inc. For the first run of the album, he had 10,000 copies pressed at a cost of $8,500, packaged in a plain white slip cover with a modified PiL logo on one label of the record and the track listings and publishing credits on the reverse. Levene distributed the album himself, literally loading up boxes of records on his skateboard and humping them around the city to various record shops. Copies were then sent from these retailers to importers in the UK and Europe. A few copies managed to find their way to Vancouver, which is how I was able to acquire mine, with it appearing unceremoniously in the record bin, taking me entirely by surprise. A second run, with a slightly different track order, a few modified song titles and a black slip cover, was pressed in a run of 30,000 copies in August of 1984, timed to coincide with the release of Lydon's version of the album, This Is What You Want, This Is What You Get.

Put side by side, the comparison is a fascinating exercise in fragmentation. I have always felt it apt to think of the old episode of the original Star Trek series, where Captain Kirk is split into two people, with mutually exclusive personality traits, by a transporter malfunction. If there was a way to combine these two records into one, you'd have a brilliant album. Taken individually, there are similarly mutually exclusive positives and negatives to each. In the case of the Commercial Zone album, the raw energy and passion of the recordings is far more apparent, while the album suffers from lacklustre production values that make it sound like incomplete demos, lacking the spit and polish of proper mastering, as is obvious when comparing it to the Love Song single. In the case of the Lydon album, while it has all the lustre of professional production values, many of its songs, especially those that overlap with the Levene album, feel hollow and perfunctory, missing a sense of authenticity. The Live In Tokyo album didn't help the situation either as it presented a version of PiL that sounded like a cheap cover band attempting to pretend to be the real thing, a situation further exacerbated by the crystal clear digital recording quality. It was like a K-Tel copy, missing all sense of menace or immediacy.

After those two runs, Commercial Zone would never be reissued again by Levene or anyone else, nor was it ever acknowledge by Lydon, though original versions of This Is Not a Love Song, Blue Water and Bad Night would appear on a number of official PiL anthology releases. But in 2014, Levene crowd-funded a project to do a revamped version of the album from scratch. However, rather than re-record the original songs, Levene went to Prague and recorded a jumble of brand new songs, flirting with innumerable musical styles, and initially releasing it to subscribers as raw audio files with no track order or graphics. As much of a hodgepodge as it was, it was a wonderful burst of creativity after a long period of inactivity from Levene, and it was rather fun putting together the album like a puzzle. Eventually, a sequenced and packaged edition was released, but this project would ultimately turn out to be the capstone of Levene's solo career before his death in 2022. After the Prague sessions, he fell out with his principal backer and the resulting legal embattlement ensnared him in a creative limbo, effectively making it impossible for him to release anything under his own name while court cases dragged on.

For many hardcore PiL fans, myself included, Commercial Zone represents the last true PiL album, with Lydon's post Levene version of the band never again reaching the creative heights it had achieved with Keith present, not to mention the loss of the likes of Jah Wobble. Though PiL continues to this day under Lydon's leadership, that sense of adventure, experimentation, risk taking and trouble making would never return to make the band feel like it presented a challenge the way it had been for the first five years of its existence. Keith may have been an agent of chaos in some regards, but that edginess was what made the band such a vital force in the first place.

PUBLIC IMAGE LTD - PUBLIC IMAGE b/w THE COWBOY SONG @ 45

 

Released on October 13th, 1978, Public Image Ltd's debut single, Public Image b/w The Cowboy Song, turns 45 years old today.  It's a single which could arguably be positioned as the cornerstone of post-punk.

After the chaotically spectacular implosion of the Sex Pistols on their first US tour in January of 1978, the music world was eagerly awaiting to see what frontman Johnny Rotten would conceive of as an encore.  Few could have foreseen that he had far more in mind than merely "business as usual".  The seed for that next step had actually been planted nearly two years earlier during a gig where the Pistols were playing with The Clash, when they were still a five piece with Keith Levene on guitar.  During that gig, Levene and Lydon struck up a chat and vowed that, should they find themselves without their respective bands at some point in the future, they'd hook up for their own musical adventure.  Sure enough, they were true to their word and, after John went on a sojourn down to Jamaica for Richard Branson to scout for reggae bands, the two started to put their new band together before the summer began to bloom.  Finding the next piece of the puzzle was easy, with close friend John Wardle, renamed "Jah Wobble" by a slurring and drunk Sid Vicious, eagerly stepping up to play bass.  The only thing left was to get a drummer, which they did via a music press advert where they eventually unearthed young Canadian jazz drummer, Jim Walker, to round out the quartet.  

All four of these disparate souls were on the same page about one thing at least, and that was the kind of music they wanted to make wouldn't be a continuation of standard punk three chord thrashing.  Keith had very different ideas about what a guitar could do and Wobble was very much looking to bring the depth of dub into the mix.  Combined with the flexibility of Walker's drumming, it didn't take long for the fission of their talents to spark and the first flame they ignited was the song, Public Image.  Lyrically, it was a snarling backlash aimed at his former band and manager, decrying their inability to appreciate what he was offering and only being concerned with his superficial presence.  "You never listen to a word that I said, you only seen me for the clothes that I wear.  Or did the interest go so much deeper, it must've been the colour of my hair."  

The song is propelled by the subsonic throbbing of Wobble's insistent bass, bouncing off the gunshot impacts of Jim's powerhouse drumming.  Filling out the space between the rhythm section and the searing vocals was a wall of harmonic chiming, shimmering and glistening guitar, as Keith shredded out myriads of harmonics from his Veleno aluminum special.  It's a sound that was light years away from the "chug-chug" of punk bar chords, inspiring the later sounds of dozens of guitarists in bands like U2 and The Banshees.  It was a clarion call, a siren, a great bell ringing and declaring a new approach to the instrument.

While the A-side of the single was laying foundation stones for musical futures, the B-side was content to be a prickly prank, demonstrating that PiL were not shy about spending Virgin Records money on a bit of nonsense.  The Cowboy Song takes a galloping western drum & bass rhythm and then slathers it with incomprehensible caterwauling and the irritating noise of a record skipping and scratching, ending it all on a locked groove that repeats that noise indefinitely until the needle is ripped off the record.  It's a juvenile joke which shows how young the band were, but I've always found it rather a good laugh, in the grand scheme of things.  It showed that PiL didn't take themselves too seriously and could have a sense of humour about themselves and the music business.

That sense of humour was also reflected in the packaging, which featured the 7' single being wrapped like a piece of fish in a custom printed sheet of newspaper.  The paper was a parody of the salacious gutter press, which had been stalking Lydon's career from the get-go.  It feature lurid made up stories of the band members, with sensational photos and suitably garish typesetting.  The whole package worked together brilliantly with the band's name, creating a meta-commentary on the music press while ripping its guts out in the song's lyrics.  

The single was a significant hit in the UK, peaking at number 9 in November of that year.  A promotional video was created for the song as well, recreating the PiL live set of the time with its green lighting and draped backdrop.

PUBLIC IMAGE LTD - THIS IS NOT A LOVE SONG @ 40

Released in June of 1983, Public Image Ltd’s most commercially successful single, This Is Not a Love Song, turns 40 years old this month. This may have been THE most anticipated record to ever keep me hounding my local record shop in my entire life.

I originally became obsessed with PiL in March of 1980, when Second Edition (Warner Bros NA version of Metal Box) showed up in Records on Wheels, an Ontario based chain that just opened up in a little strip mall next door to the Burger King I was working in at the time. I’d read a review for PiL’s debut LP, First Issue, in CREEM sometime in 1979, but never got to hear it at the time because it was not domestically released in the US or Canada. Their sophomore album got repackaged as Second Edition after the Metal Box edition sold out, and it became my musical muse for at least six months after I got it. I played it in its entirety at least once a day, minimum. As soon as I heard Wobble’s booming bass and Keith’s discordant guitar and synths, I was hooked and I collected every little nugget I could from them, including solo releases from Wobble and Martin’s Brian Brain project.  

By 1982 however, PiL were in an uncertain state, with Wobble gone and John & Keith relocated to NYC. There wasn’t a lot in the press at the time, at least since the Ritz riot in NYC in 1981, so I had no idea what was happening with them. It wasn’t until I moved from Thunder Bay, ON, to Vancouver, BC, in October of 1982 that I heard PiL was going to play in Seattle the following month. After their bizarre "multi-media" show at NYC's Ritz nightclub, with its "hired hand" old man jazz drummer, which instantly became legendary for its sheer madness, I had no idea what to expect, nor who was in the band. But I dutifully got myself a ticket and a bus down to the show. Once there, I discover that PiL had reconstituted into a surprisingly tight, potent quartet again. Martin Atkins was back on drums and Pete Jones, from Brian Brain & Cowboys International, was on bass, with John and Keith fronted the band.  

At the show, before the gig started, they played a recording of a brand new song, Blue Water, which sounded amazing and was a clear proclamation that they were working on a new album and SOMETHING was in the pipes for immanent release. During the gig, they debuted a couple of other new songs. I definitely remember Bad Life being one of them, and I think Where Are You was the other. After the gig, I managed to find a mailing address for them and wrote off a gushing fan letter about how much I loved the show and inquired as to when the new LP would be available. I was thrilled to get a response back from Martin, informing me that the album was going to be called "Welcome to the Commercial Zone" and that it would be "coming soon”, though there was no release date stated.  

This was early in 1983, so for the next few months, I was in my local record shop, Odyssey Imports, at least once every week, especially on the days I knew they got their shipments of new records. I’d be lurking around the back counter where they unpacked the boxes, waiting like a dog for a treat, to see if the new PiL record was in. I must’ve driven them nuts with my constant inquiries, and after a while it, seemed like it would NEVER materialize. Word eventually reached the press that Keith had been ousted from the band due to some falling out with John over a mix of the new single, so I was starting to wonder if anything would EVER be release.  

Finally, sometime near my birthday in June, the day actually came when I stepped into the shop and there was this inconspicuous white 12” single, a Japanese import, with a large PiL logo subtly embossed on the front and a tiny text in black with the title, THIS IS NOT A LOVE SONG. Flipping it over, I was thrilled that the B-side had Blue Water, which I had committed to memory from the gig and was desperate to hear again. Rushing home with the record, I slapped it on and was immediately struck by how stripped down and minimal it was, but with a solid groove and bare-essential embellishments by Keith on guitar and synth. Martin and Pete laid down an insistent beat while John whined about “going over to the other side” and being “happy to have, not to have-not”. It was a statement of capitalistic intent which I really didn’t quite know whether to interpret as ironic or not. Blue Water sounded as wonderful as I remembered at the show, and was a much stranger animal than the A-side, showing that PiL were still able to straddle both commercial accessibility and their experimental tendencies.  

The single became a hit in the clubs and the video found frequent rotation on MTV, which was just staring to make a mark on the landscape of pop music. The single became PiL’s most successful to date and remains so to this day. But it was ultimately a capstone of sorts in the end, at least in terms of the PiL I fell in love with. A couple of months after its release, the dreadful Live In Tokyo album came out, showcasing what would become disparagingly referred to as the “Holiday Inn” incarnation of the band. John was still working with Martin, but they’d hired a trio of lounge band hacks to fill in for Keith and Pete, who abandoned ship shortly after Keith’s dismissal, and it was a completely different ballgame. While the album technically sounded great, being one of the first ever digitally recorded live gigs, the performance was mechanical, lifeless and entirely too pedestrian, by PiL’s standards. It was like a lame cover band imitating PiL.  

The fate of the Commercial Zone album was up in the air at the time that Love Song was released. The following year, Lydon and Atkins re-recorded most of the album with some session musicians finishing it off with some leftovers from Flowers of Romance and a couple of new tracks, producing This Is What You Want, This Is What You Get, It's a somewhat middling, though occasionally satisfying last gasp of the original PiL remnants. Keith, on the other hand, spirited away his rough mixes of the Commercial Zone album, which he subsequently released on his own independent label in a limited white sleeved edition just prior to Lydon’s LP in 1984. The two records ended up going head to head, attempting to make their own arguments as to who made the better album. Personally, I favoured Keith’s release, but it was like they were both incomplete and wanted to be put back together again to create a proper whole. What Commercial Zone lacked in professional polish, it made up for in soul, while the latter had all the spit & polish, but felt like a bit of put-on. Ultimately, those were the final shots fired by the band that merited much interest from me.  

After that, PiL pretty much became a solo venture for Lydon, though he’d get proper musicians after his collaboration with Bill Laswell, producing "Album". It had its moments, while it underscored the fact that Keith and Wobble brought something to the table which couldn’t be replicated by any other musician, no matter how capable. After Love Song, I don’t think I ever got as excited about a new record ever again.  

BRIAN BRAIN @ 40

 

March 28th marks the 40th anniversary of the release of the debut single from Brian Brain, They've Got Me In A Bottle, released on this day in 1981.

Brian Brain was the creation of PiL drummer, Martin Atkins. Given his on-again / off-again relationship with that band, Atkins took up Brian Brain as essentially a solo outlet he could pursue when not working on PiL. Brian Brain's lineup also included bassist Pete Jones, who'd actually end up joining him in PiL during their Commercial Zone days in the US (1982/1983). Atkins was originally recruited by PiL during the tail end of the Metal Box sessions, with his performance on Bad Baby being his audition, and played live with them during the first half of 1980. He was dismissed after they got back from their US tour and then hired as a session player for Flowers of Romance. He was than pulled back into the band full-time in 1982 after they'd relocated to NYC and hung on through the "Las Vegas show band" days until @ 1985. His last LP with the group was 1984's This is What You Want, This Is What You Get. He also plays on the 1984 Commercial Zone unofficial LP Keith Levene put out after his exit.

Brian Brain tended towards comedic post punk and mutant funk styles which were taking root during the post-disco days of the early 1980s. After leaving PiL, Atkins would set aside the Brian Brain moniker and move into more heavy Industrial-dub influenced alternative rock with bands like Pigface, Killing Joke and The Damage Manual. He also founded his own record label and production company, fundamentally fulfilling the "we're a company, not a band" ambitions PiL purported, but never quite achieved. Today he's an acknowledged expert on indie band touring and has authored books on the subject and engaged in speaking tours, all the while maintaining his prolific musical output through his numerous guises and pseudonyms.

THE PAPER AGE - MUSIC BEFORE THE INTERNET

I’ve been contemplating life before the internet lately, specifically how I acquired information about music when I first started collecting it.  Long before there was a Google or Discogs or YouTube, one had to do a bit of reading the old fashioned way, in printed media, in order to learn about things that were happening in certain corners of the world.  Of course, there was radio and TV available to expose some of what was going on, but by and large, those media outlets focused on the mainstream  in a fairly superficial way and you had to go to other sources if you wanted to discover anything off the beaten track or more in-depth.  You might see the odd new wave act on Midnight Special or Saturday Night Live, but the music press was where you got to know these artists in detail and discover what they were doing and when.

I first started to collect records when I was 13, back in 1976.  Soon after that started to develop into a serious interest, I also discovered there was a variety of magazines on the shelves of my neighborhood corner shops with all sorts of fascinating stories of my favorite performers and their adventures, interviews with the them and reviews of their work.  It didn’t take long for me to get just as hooked on these as I was on the records.  So much so, in fact, that I got to the point where I’d use my lunch money to buy magazines instead of eating.  I’m thinking now that this may have been part of the reason I got so svelte in my last year of high school.  Oh well, food is over rated! 

The first publications I came across were rags like Hit Parader, Circus and, occasionally, Rolling Stone.  I never got into RS much because there were a lot of non-music articles and that stuff just didn’t interest me.  I only wanted to read about rock stars.  The other two were pretty light weight, however, and I found them to be a bit sycophantic, even at my young, naive age.  But then I came across CREEM and that one really caught my fancy.  It was not so concerned with stroking rock star egos or cheap gossip.  I didn’t understand it at the time, but it was more akin to magazines like National Lampoon and harbored a kind of “gonzo” style which often took great delight in ridiculing some of the subjects covered in its pages.  The captions to the pictures were a clear case in point.  Every one of them was a joke, often at the artist’s expense.  You never got a serious comment in the photo captions.  And they had writers like  Robert Christgau and the notorious Lester Bangs, who made an art of taking the piss out of the folks they covered.  Bangs’ LP reviews were some of my favorites.  I recall one he did for Queen’s Day at the Races that read like a bad trip and I’d never even done drugs yet.  

Eventually I discovered a used book shop downtown and it’s shelf full of old magazine back-issues.  This became a regular haunt for me and I was able to find many of the older issues of CREEM going back to the early 1970s.  This became a priceless resource to me and gave me a lot of background on my favorite bands and their history.  On the other end of this spectrum, the new issues of CREEM that were coming out at the time were starting to clue me in to a lot of new music that was coming out of places like New York and London.  They began to feature bands like the Sex Pistols, Ramones, Devo and Elvis Costello.  I remember seeing an issue with Johnny Rotten on the cover and, at the time, I thought he just looked stupid and weird and found it all rather annoying.  It wasn’t until I began to get dissatisfied with the tedium of top 40 rock music that I started to wonder what all the fuss was with these new groups and why they were getting so much press.  

Like a damn bursting, my curiosity soon got the better of me and I went out and started buying records by these people.  I can actually remember a day, flipping through the pages of a magazine in my bedroom, where I made a conscious decision to go out and buy some of these records.  It started small, with The Cars, then The Clash, Ramones, Costello, Devo and, finally, the most naughty band of all, The Sex Pistols.  I remember putting on the first Clash album and feeling like someone had blown the dust off my mind to reveal it's bright, shining surface.  I remember pulling out the lyric sheet for the Ramones' Road to Ruin and being gobsmacked that there were so many songs with just four or five lines of lyrics.  And they were fucking hilarious!   It was a few days of complete revelation that would trigger a lifetime of exploration and it all came from some ratty little music magazines.

Soon, I was on the hunt for even more magazines that featured these bands.  This is when I came across rags like Rock Scene and Punk magazine.  They were both very New York centric and featured all the CBGBs bands.  Rock Scene had a LOT of press for Patti Smith, thanks to her hubby, Lenny Kaye, being the editor.  I must admit I kinda got turned off a bit to Patti for a bit because her features in the magazine became so gratuitous and obviously so.  But still it was a valuable reference, though pretty light weight in terms of coverage of these bands.  It was mostly a scenester, “who’s with who”, kinda vibe.  Punk Magazine seemed to be the most underground and hardcore at the time.  I’m actually pretty surprised, looking back, that it ever landed in a middle of nowhere town like Thunder Bay, ON.  But it somehow managed to find its way into my hands and gave me another perspective into the alternative music scene.   

In 1979, the ultimate underground magazine started hitting the local stands, Trouser Press.  This was the most out there publication I’d managed to come across and it was in its pages that I first read of names like Throbbing Gristle, Cabaret Voltaire, The Residents and others who were truly foraging on the fringes of experimental music.  I became obsessed with snapping this one up as soon as it hit the stands.  It was coolness in print.  And it wasn’t easy to find as only a couple of places carried it, so I’d be on the lookout for each new issue with hawk-eyed determination.  It wasn’t a fancy looking magazine either.  It was plainly designed in terms of the graphics.  But it had the best written articles and most thoughtful reviews I’d come across.  Though the irreverence of CREEM was entertaining, it was nice to have something that really dug into the new music with a more serious tone. 

Sometime in 1980, the next phenomenon to hit my collecting obsession arrived in the form of the “import”.  The little record shop I favored, Records on Wheels, introduced a small bin of LPs labeled “Imports”.  The concept was utterly new to me, but I soon realized there was a whole world of music being released in other parts of the world than never got released in Canada.  Now, most of these ended up being imported from the UK, but that was enough as all the strangest stuff seemed to get released there.  Along side these import records, the shop also started getting UK music papers.  Things like NME and Sounds started showing up and these were a whole new world of music journalism. 

I even discovered I could purchase records directly from these papers.  They had classified ads in the back pages.  This is where I found I could actually get a copy of the holy grail of albums for me at that time, Public Image Ltd’s Metal Box.  I’d read about it in some publications and it had a sort of mythical allure about it because it was so exotic sounding.  The standard double LP version had been released in Canada and I'd fallen in love with it, so there was no question that I needed it in its original format.  Finding out it was just a matter of calculating the currency exchange and sending off a money order was thrilling to me, but also nerve-wracking.  This was, of course, long before internet or cheap international phone calling, so putting money in the post and having to wait three months in the blind hope that something would come back was a bit daunting.  But it worked and, after duly and patiently waiting, I had my hands on my treasure, greedily drooling over it like Gollum with his “precious” ring!  

When I moved to Vancouver in 1982, I continued to buy the UK papers as much as I could afford to, though I would often just read them in the import record shop that got them in.  In Vancouver, it wasn’t just a bin in the shop that sold imports, it was an entire store dedicated to them.  I swear, the first time I walked into Odyssey Imports, I was like Dorothy prancing through the gates of the Emerald City.

As I got settled in a new city, I found I was buying fewer and fewer magazines.  Trouser Press ceased publication in 1984 and CREEM in 1989 (though it kinda lost its edge a few years before that and I stopped collecting it).  The UK papers still had some attraction, but by the early 90s, I wasn’t buying records much anymore because I was so poor.  There was also the transition to CD going on and CDs, particularly imports, were going for stupid prices like $40 a pop!  It’s funny now that’s the average price for a domestic piece of new vinyl these days, but you practically can't give a CD away. 

It wasn’t until the dawn of the new millennium that I was set up with a proper computer, a high speed internet connection and a functioning credit card so that my collecting bug could lurch back to life and i dove head first into the world of online shopping.  I was working a decent job with a reasonable bit of disposable income at hand, so no limited edition collectible was out of reach for me and I had the tools to track who was releasing what and also follow recommendations for new artists.  I had automated “sniper” tools for buying on Ebay so I could snap up rarities at the last second.  I went a bit nuts, I must confess.

These days, I’m poor again, but the internet and YouTube have offered me a new way to indulge my music mania and I’m swimming in an ocean of music, both old and new.  While I love the convenience, I do still have fond memories of those bygone days of picking up a magazine and reading about some strange new artist.  I was thinking the other day about the old ads from Ralph Records for The Residents and that got me inspired to write this piece.  I recall the strangeness and mysterious infatuation with their mystique that drove my imagination.  That sense of wonder is so much harder to find or create these days. 

These days, I don't read much about music, particularly reviews of albums.  I find I don't rely on them to discover new music anymore.  I use my own judgment as to whether I want to investigate something because I can always preview it, usually on YouTube.  I use Discogs "Explore" feature to play with search filters to find interesting combinations of genres and styles.  I still read the occasional interview or analytical article, perhaps on an old release being re-appraised or celebrating an anniversary.  But I look at magazine racks in the stores and there's nothing there anymore for me to pick up.  All the music magazines have pretty much vanished or you have to go to some out of the way specialty store to find them and I can't be bothered. 

I used to have a huge box of all my old rags I'd kept for many years.  I think I may have held onto them until the end of the 1990s before I finally dumped it all.  I wish I still had them now.  Some are available online, but it's not quite the same as holding it in your hands.  Kids don’t understand it now, but I remember it and I’m glad I got to bridge both worlds.

METAL BOX AT 40

METAL 1

Forty years ago, on November 23rd, 1979, Public Image Ltd unleashed their second "album".  Its initial release was in the UK, coming a year after their debut LP.

That "First Issue" had come at the tail end of 1978, a year which had begun with the infamous Sex Pistols disintegrating while wrapping up their one and only US tour.  In the wake of that chaos and all the recriminations surrounding their demise, Johnny Rotten, now back to being John Lydon, went on vacation to Jamaica where he scouted reggae acts for Richard Branson before returning to the UK to get back to the business of making music himself.  Once home, he recruited a couple of friends for his new venture; a bass player who didn't know how to play bass plus an ex-Clash guitarist.  A quartet was completed with a Canadian drummer found via a music press classified ad.  Together they knocked up an album which was greeted with a mixture of suspicion, contempt and occasional praise.  It was an uneven affair, offering glimpses of genius when they'd been able to pay for proper studios and production, but it lagged in spots once the money ran out and they had to tack on rushed pieces recorded in budget studios.  In at least one self declared case, they "only wanted to finish the album with a minimum amount of effort".  It was a contentiously auspicious debut that demanded an unequivocal follow up for this entity to be taken seriously.  So during the beginning months of 1979, PiL set about assembling new tracks while churning through drummers like toilet tissue. 

Prior to it's release, Metal Box was buffered by two singles, Death Disco (issued in June) and Memories (in October).    Both of these set the stage for what was to come, but no one was really prepared for the full force of the post-punk monolith which was about to descend.  Recorded in fragmented sessions at various studios throughout the year, Metal Box rolled out of the gate while smashing it to pieces along the way.  It was unlike anything anyone had seen or heard before, both in structure and content.  Housed in a logo embossed circular metal canister, it contained three 12" 45rpm "singles" with a dozen tracks spread across them and a  running time of about an hour.  It posed questions on every level, from how to get the records out (they were so tightly housed, you'd have to shake the container and try not to scratch or drop them as they tumbled out), to what order to play them (play order was meant to be flexible) to what kind of stereo system was capable of reproducing the sound in the grooves (I personally know people who bought whole new audio systems in order to handle the extremes of bass and treble contained on those records).  

Where their first LP had indicated movement into new musical directions, such as the nine minute dirge of Theme, it still retained remnants of what could legitimately be called "rock & roll" on songs like its title track and Annalisa.  This new product, however, left those conventions behind on all fronts.  There were elements of disco, dub, German "motorik", martial music, funk and some unidentified strains in the mix.  That "mix", itself, was another thing all together.  The bass was front and center, pushing the capacity of the medium to reproduce it.  Guitars & synths buzzed, scraped and squalled in thin ribbons across the top.  Drums were generally utilitarian, minimal and repetitive, providing support for the bass, but never offering too much flash.  Kick drums were EQ'd with enough thud to pop needles out of the grooves and hi-hats sizzled with enough top end to fry bacon. Occasionally, a drum track was no more than a tape loop of a simple beat.  Lydon's voice moaned and squeaked or screamed in vacant hallways, always sounding lost or distant.  Even the editing of the tracks was fair game for mischief.  Some tracks would abruptly cut off and bump into the next.  Sometimes it sounded like the tape player was shut off or switched on as the music did a sharp pitch drop into a halt or lurched to a start.  A song might trail off into the locked groove at the end of the record and either loop there indefinitely or be roughly snatched away by the auto-return kicking in on the tone arm.  It all felt inside-out, like a building with the plumbing and wiring deliberately showing on the outside.

SECOND EDITION

It wouldn't be until early in 1980 that the album would find its way into my 16 year old hands in Canada.  By then, it had been reissued in a more conventional double LP format, in a standard gate-fold cardboard sleeve, as "Second Edition".  I remember going into Records on Wheels, which had opened up recently in a little strip mall next door to the Burger King where I worked, after my shift on a cold April day in Thunder Bay, ON.  I spotted it instantly as I entered the shop and saw it on the wall in the new releases section by the entrance.  I'd heard of PiL by then, but never heard them.  The first LP was never released in Canada, so I had no idea what they sounded like.  I didn't even know if this was a different album from the one I'd read a review of in CREEM magazine the year before.  I knew I had to check it out, so I plunked my hard earned burger flipping money down and then had to wait until later that evening to hear it.  The whole family went out that night to visit friends, so I spent most of the evening staring at the cover graphics while the adults talked and drank.  

I was fascinated by the photos on the front and inside the gate-fold.  I didn't know who was who yet.  I knew what John Lydon used to look like, but not the rest of the band and the distortion of the warped image effect used made it nearly impossible to tell which one was him.  The cover also had all the lyrics printed on the back.  They weren't originally included with the Metal Box edition due to cost, so PiL had run an ad in one of the UK music papers with the lyrics printed in it so people could take that and fold it up to stick inside the tin.  They were in the same hand written style in both cases, I'm assuming in Lydon's writing.  They weren't in the same order as the songs on the LPs, so when I did finally get to hear the records, it took a bit of sorting to figure out which song was which.
 

When I finally did get home that evening, I went to the big old wooden console stereo system in the living room, grabbed the headphones, set myself up in a comfy chair and dropped the needle on the first track.  It wasn't a great system, so I didn't have the best first listening experience, but it was good enough for me to be able to appreciate how different this all was.  Looking at the labels on the records, I noticed the run times for the track listings.  Side one started with Albatross, which clocked in at an intimidating 10 minutes!  I wasn't used to songs being much longer than 3 or 4 minutes.  Maybe 6 was long when you're talking about something like Bohemian Rhapsody or a Zeppelin track and, in those cases, they were intricately orchestrated with major changes in structure and arrangements as the track progressed.
 

YOU ARE UNBEARABLE

Albatross kicked in and I was immediately anxious and anticipating when it was going to start changing.  After a few minutes in, it became apparent it wouldn't.  Jah Wobble's bass line comes in first and it sounds lazy, like it can barely stand to differentiate the three notes it keeps repeating.  It doesn't even want to try to do anything but lumber along.  And it's so deep!  It's just this rumble under the floorboards.  It sounds scary and maybe a little pissed off about something. Brooding?  Yeah, that's the feel.  Then the drums start plodding along and this scraping, screeching noise from Keith Levene's guitar comes in like a carrion bird way up in the sky, circling and waiting for something to die so it can swoop down and gorge itself.  The ghost of Johnny Rotten then looms up from his grave and starts moaning about something he can't get rid of.  His thoughts are fragments, piecemeal musings you might extract from a cadaver's brain.  "Frying rear blinds"?  What does that even mean?  It's bits and pieces of ideas and images, but there's a sense of exasperation  and boredom.  What's he on about?  Is it his career and fame?  Is it the carcass of rock & roll being flogged like that dead horse?   "Slow motion... slow motion..."  The whole thing fucks with your sense of time.  It goes on so long and is so ruthlessly repetitive, that you lose any sense of time passing.  Everything stands still.  Then it's over and the last thing you hear is that squalling vulture flying off into the distance.

IT SHOULD BE CLEAR BY NOW

Next up, Memories kicks off with some pep as the tempo picks up.  Now, the bass is hollow sounding and bouncy while a disco beat pops along, encouraging some toe tapping.  A curtain of vibrato guitars starts shimmering in the background.  There's something vaguely Latin about it, like flamenco or something, but it's not even certain what instrument you're listening to.  It sounds a bit like an organ too.  There's a flurry of notes that dance around, but they never quite create a melody.  It's merely a suggestion of conventional structure.  Lydon's voice comes in with a sneer and declares he's "had enough of useless memories" and proceeds to tear into the concepts of sentimentality and nostalgia.  Then, just when you think you've got a handle on things, the entire mix suddenly cuts to something completely different.  The bass is back to booming again.  The drums are heavier now too, with the kick threatening to bounce the stylus right out of the grooves.  It's all compressed so that the loudness of the track hits the maximum and you can imagine any VU meter pinned to the top when the mix cuts over.  That curtain of Spanish moss is now a wall made of steel and it's pushing that voice as it bellows and snarls about being "used" and "dragging on and on and on and on and on AND ON AND ON!"  Back and forth, the song snaps between the two mixes until it goes careening out of sight.  As previously mentioned, this song was released as a single, but that version only used the bottom heavy mix throughout and did not have the abrupt edits between mixes.  Personally, I can never really decide which is more effective, though I tend to favor the single most of the time, but the juxtaposition of the two mixes on the LP was a fresh, jarring concept and executed flawlessly. 

FLOWERS ROTTING DEAD

By the time I'd finished the first side, I was feeling like I'd been punched in the head in the best way possible.  My initial apprehension was replaced by an exuberance as I could feel the sense that something new was taking hold in my brain.  Flipping the record over, the next track up was Swan Lake.  This had been released in a more stripped down, rough mix as Death Disco in the summer of that year.  This finished mix would take the rawness of the single and refine it into a truly heartbreaking exploration of loss and death.  The song was written by Lydon about watching his dear mother pass due to the ravages of cancer.  His delivery during the song is nothing short of agonizing.  There's no measuring or muting his suffering and he lets it out with every excruciating wail of "words cannot express!!!".   Again, a disco beat provides the bedrock while Wobble's bass thunders with the tension and anxiety of an anxiously racing heartbeat.  Levene's repeating guitar and synth motif, borrowed from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, creates the sense of mourning and lamenting the loss of a loved one.  The emotion in the song is so raw and uninhibited, it's very strange to see the promo video made for it as the band seem to be mugging it up during their miming of the track for the camera. On Second Edition, the track spins into a frenzy before before being abruptly cut off by the next track while, on Metal Box, it bleeds into the run-out locked groove to find its terminus.

THE SMELL OF RUBBER ON COUNTRY TAR

Things abruptly switch to the next track, Poptones.  The song tells the tale of kidnapping and murder, snatched straight out of the headlines of the tabloids.  It's almost beautiful, musically.  Keith spins a delicate spiderweb of guitar notes, cascading down upon each other and churning like a glittering Ferris wheel.  I say "almost" because it's all a bit like a bouquet of flowers that has died on the dressing table.  The tale being told is past tense, so there's no sense of urgency or threat.  There's only the aftermath as the deceased in question relates its own demise, the sound of music playing on a cassette in the car communicating the dispassionate telling of this sordid true crime story.   A walking bass loops around along with the guitar, meandering through a cycle of notes while the drums tumble along for the ride.  It's a dizzying swirl of sound as we feel the chill of a car boot in the country air and the "wet" of the dirt while we lose our "body heat".  Lydon intones the vocals in a cracked, reedy tone that reinforces the detachment from any direct experience.  Faintly in the background, his voice echoes down into the vortex, barely audible amid the distortion. 

MANGLED MACHINERY

Cut to the battle field for the completion of the trifecta on side two of the 2nd-E track listing.  The tape machine kicks into gear with a sweep of the pitch and we're marching.  The drums pat out a militant trundle while the bass, deep as usual, pushes underneath,  an insistent drill sergeant, counting out steps as the troops move forward.  All around, synthesizers swirl, discordant and droning, swooping through as teargas lingers on the horizon.  We're going to war, but it's corpses for cash in this modern military industrial complex.  The big money is meticulous and well organized as it poisons the landscape.  Lydon's voice searches for "meaning behind the moaning", but all he finds is dollar signs.  This is not conflict over ideals or beliefs or even traditional material concerns such as land rights.  This is military for money, as a mechanism for generating financial profit.  PiL were predicting the future here and, 40 years on, it's horrifying how precisely accurate their prediction was.  Synthetic gunshots ring out in jarring bursts.  When they hit rapid-fire, it makes you jump in your seat.  It's frightening and relentless and it all ends in a crescendo barrage.

IT IS YOUR NATURE

The next set of tracks gives the listener a bit of a breather.  I'm going by the double LP track listing here for this article as this is the ordering I was ingrained to follow until I finally got a proper copy of Metal Box a good year after first getting Second Edition.  First up are a couple of instrumentals.  Socialist comes staggering out of the speakers like some sort of short-circuiting robot.  The drums are weirdly syncopated with the bass and the whole thing is sprinkled with nothing more than some random synth bleeps and bloops.  This is followed by Graveyard, a track which previously appeared in a different mix with vocals on the B-Side of the Memories single as Another.  It was also recycled by Wobble for the track Not Another, reverting back to an instrumental, on his first solo LP.  It's a rhythmic, atmospheric piece with a decidedly morbid mood, most suitable for some midnight forays to the land of tombstones.  It would make a good soundtrack for waiting for The Great Pumpkin in the pumpkin patch.  This moody, brief trio is rounded off with The Suit, also recycled by Wobble for his solo album as Blueberry Hill.  Here, it's little more than a lonely bass line playing against a tape looped kick & snare with Lydon doing some of his infamous piano tinkling in the background (he often did this in the studio simply to annoy everyone).  Keith is nowhere to be found here.  Lydon's lyrics sneer and snigger at those who live off the ideas of others, never originating anything themselves.  Their look, their attitude, their manners, all borrowed from others and sold cheap to anyone stupid enough to buy into their fake personas.  It eventually  disappears down an echoing corridor to end this set.

ONE MORE SOB STORY

The final quartet of tracks brings us to some of the most harrowing moments of the album.  First up is another story torn from the morning papers, Bad Baby.  This was the audition piece for drummer Martin Atkins, who knocked it out in a single take, thus clinching his hiring by the band.  Here, he drops a minimalist funky beat while Wobble saunters along on bass.  Keith ads no more than the occasional car horn inspired atonal synth stab, but that's enough.  The track doesn't need any more.  Lydon fills in the rest with his recounting of a story of an infant being left alone in a parked car.  It's a story you hear every year, at least a dozen times, still to this day.  Lydon relates it rather offhand and almost distracted, like he's busy looking for gum in his pockets or something.  It's a song about thoughtlessness and that's the feeling that comes across in the delivery.

DON'T KNOW WHY I BOTHER, THERE'S NOTHING IN IT FOR ME

Things start to get harrier with No Birds, the post-punk equivalent to The Monkees' Pleasant Valley Sunday.  In this case, it's suburban malaise taken into discordant abandon.  The drums ripple with tribal toms while the bass pushes them along.  Once more, Lydon's piano is plinking in the background while Keith shaves off sheets of searing guitar.  Lydon's vocals paint a picture of disaffection, "a layered mass of subtle props."  He keeps insisting "this could be Heaven", but you know it's a long way from that.  The song trots along until it's suddenly struck down by the most manic piece on the album, Chant.  The drums are primal and thudding, like a mob stomping in rage.  The bass grumbles underneath and, like Albatross, there's barely any distinction between the notes, only an uneasy minor variation.  Keith's guitar thrashes and spits in all directions.  There doesn't seem to be any pattern to it, it's chaotic flailing imitating the mob mentality being evoked.  There's a "chant" building in the background.  "Love, war, fear, hate"!  At lease, that's what it sounds like.  It's not really possible to say for sure.  The chanting is so incessant, the words lose their meaning from repetition.  Then the lead vocals charge in, scouring the air with condemnation.  "Voice moaning in a speaker, never really get too close".  Riots, protests, demonstrations, a futility of empty gestures accomplishing nothing.  Meaningless slogans, unfulfilled promises, empty threats.  It's the anger of the world stewing away with no target, no hope of success and no objective to accomplish.  The song riots along until the channel gets abruptly changed because it's too miserable to take any more. 

It's all been a pretty bleak affair up to this point with the music and lyrics and even the packaging painting a grey, metallic picture of death, despair and hopelessness.  So how come I felt so good listening to it?  The final track in this assault, Radio 4, finally lifts us out of the bleakness for a brief glimpse of beauty.  It's the third instrumental and it's pretty much all Keith (though I've heard rumors that Ken Lockie, of Cowboys International, had a hand in it).  It's essentially no more than a wandering bass line and washes of synth chords moving in like waves crashing on the shore while a lonely lead line drifts over top.  Occasional cymbal splashes are the only accents.  It's peaceful, serine, contemplative and brings you back down to earth after the rest of the album's jarring, hypnotic melee.  It's waking up from the nightmare and realizing you're still okay... for now. 

WE'RE NOT A BAND, WE'RE A CORPORATION

After my first listen, I was stunned.  I went to high school the next day and tried to explain that I'd heard something beyond anything I'd heard before, but I didn't have the words and no one took note of me.  For the next 6 months or more, Second Edition was played at least once, start to finish, every single day.  I obsessed over it. I played it for anyone who would listen. It made most of the other records in my meager collection irrelevant.  Verses and choruses?  How quaint and old fashioned.  Melody and harmonies?  Passé.  It had thrown itself so far ahead of the pack, listening to most other music seemed pointless.  It also inspired.

Before hearing PiL, I'd had ideas of wanting to make my own music and had even taken guitar and bass lessons.  As a result, I had instruments sitting in my room and a cheap amp, which were mostly ignored for the prior two years.  I never seriously felt like I could do music myself.  I never thought I had the ability to make anything anyone would want to listen to.  I didn't think I was good enough and I didn't know where to start.  But Second Edition was like an instruction manual and it was a tool kit and a pile of building blocks, all in one.  It wasn't something to merely listen to.  It was something to study and learn from.  Its structures were primary and easy to comprehend.  Throw down a simple beat, add a few notes on bass, jam some guitar on top or just make weird noises and blather on about whatever you wanted to finish it off.  That was it.  That was all you needed to make your own music.  Within a year, I'd managed to buy a synth and a drum machine and a cheap cassette recorder.  I'd met a few friends who were also interested in fucking around with music, so we'd hang out in someone's basement or bedroom and crank out some noise.  I wouldn't have felt like I could do it if it weren't for PiL and this album, in particular.

PiL made you question every structure around music and understand that the rules were not fixed and that every aspect could be played with.  The way you play an instrument, the way to make a record, the way you package it, the way you structure your band.  You could have an accountant and a publicist be part of the band.  They did.   It was all up for grabs and you only needed to have the nerve to throw caution to the wind to try to make shit happen.  That was an important lesson and one I will always be grateful for learning. 

Eventually, as I mentioned, I got my hands on a sanctified original pressing of an actual Metal Box.  Back in 1980, living in Canada, that wasn't easy to do.  The Records on Wheels shop was getting in copies of NME and Sounds music papers on import, so I was buying them and checking out the classified ads at the back.  I found one selling copies of Metal Box plus the 12" of Memories and Death Disco.  I got my calculator out, went to the bank and managed to figure out the exchange between British Pounds and Canadian Dollars, bought a money order and sent it off in the mail.  With no internet or cheap overseas phones, it was a huge risk to send so much off like that.  It cost about $60 all total, which was a lot back then.  I had to wait about 3 months and often wondered if it would ever arrive, but one day, it finally did and at last, I had my hands on an actual copy of Metal Box.  I still have all those records today, prominently displayed on my CD shelf.

Over the years, I've purchased this album more times than any other.  There was my original Second Edition Canadian release in 1980, the above noted original Metal Box edition in 1981, a UK pressing of Second Edition in 1983  (still have that one),  my first CD copy of Second Edition circa 1989,  a CD replica of Metal Box sometime around 2002, the 2006 4 Men With Beards vinyl Metal Box reissue and, finally, the 2009 Virgin 30th anniversary 3 CD Metal Box replica (which I also still have).  That makes 7 different versions.  I couldn't get the expanded edition from 2016, sadly, because I'm poor now and can't afford such things.  At least I was able to hear the bonus material thanks to YouTube.  Anyway, the point is that no other piece of music in my life has demanded my attention and collecting obsessiveness like Metal Box.

Since its release, it has gone on to secure its position in popular music history as one of the most significant and influential albums of all time.  It rehabilitated dance music, allowing it to move into more experimental realms in the 1980s, after "disco" had made the 4x4 beat a cocaine dusted disgrace.  It can credibly be sited as the seed that grew into the bass music culture that spread throughout the 1990s and 2000s via downtempo, drum & bass and dubstep.  It may not have had the sales figures of a Sgt. Pepper, but it was no less revolutionary in terms of the effect it had on people who make music and art.

Where the Sex Pistols had been an attempt, at least for Mr. Rotten, to blast apart the ramparts of "rock 'n' roll", Metal Box showed you what could be built in its place, once you'd cleared away the rubble.  It was the next step beyond the nihilism of punk and actually a positive statement about the nature of creativity, which is why it had the odd effect of making me feel good even when the themes of the songs were so bleak and unsettling.  It made you feel like something was possible, in spite of all the horror.  And it also told you the truth about how fucked up things were.  You felt like it was honest about the world.  There was no fake optimism or plaster over the horrors "feel good" bullshit.  And it concealed a wickedly dark sense of humor, if you knew where to find it (just ask Dick Clark or Tom Snyder). 

In the end, it has proven itself more than capable of "sowing the seed of discontent".