The History of Music according to the Compact Disc
1. One's Own Library – The New Year's Sound
Buying twentysome C. D.s while in Japan, November, 2024, prompted a slight reorganization of my collection, by which I mean the items themselves, arranged on shelves and in boxes. And it also led to a refurbishing, if you will, of my catalog documenting all of these Compact Discs, 3050 items, which amount to—there being a goodly number of two-disc deluxe editions and a few massive box sets—5010 individual discs. Yes, I bothered to use our automated "artificial" extensions to add them up. This act surely shows the extent to which I unwisely-but-efficiently used the free time made available by the Christmas-New Year's-Martin Luther King holidays (plus two rare winter storms hitting the Southeast, causing further "snow day" breaks) in order to correct, edit, and expand what has become a beloved documnt, my C. D. collection catalog.
Owning such a large number of items, I also—I should—feel embarrassed about how little I have listened to some of them. Forget cataloging... when merely shelf-reading my collection, I come across albums that, I say to myself, I had forgotten about. Albums that I would not have thought to listen to if requested to pick something from memory; I had to see them. I might remember when and where I bought a particular item and yet realize I had not listened to it in a long time, or only listened to it rarely, or in a small number of cases forgot to listen to it at all. In other words, I had focused for so long on collecting and documenting Compact Discs (and, on rare occasions, vinyl records and tapes), especially reissues, swimmming in discographical minutiae, that I had failed to get to know many of them, to listen to them thoroughly. I had appreciated them, of course, and I had certainly lived with them, glancing at them constantly when at home, re-organizing and cataloging, but I had not immersed myself in the sounds contained in them.
The solution to this failure to appreciate my own collection is surprisingly easy: pick a few items, pretend they are new, devote the attention to them that I should have already; the kind of attention that I would have bestowed upon them when I was younger and had fewer possessions. When middle-school classmates were amazed that I owned 30 C. D.s and a larger number of tapes. Those were... days. Before C. D.-R.s, and "sharity" blogs, and streaming—before the deluge. But I make this renewed commitment to my collection while I still have all those burned discs and downloads and subscriptions tempting me away.
My resolution of sorts, then, for 2025 is to dive in, pick out C. D.s, read their liner notes, make sure to listen to them closely; study the music and the history behind it. Most importantly, a day or two later, instead of picking another C. D. to listen to, go back to the same album, listen to it again, and yet again, at least over the course of a month if not longer.
To start this review of what I have listened to, here my albums of the month, January 2025:
The albums of the month, February 2025:
This list does not include every album; there may be a few C. D.s here and there that I put on briefly for varied reasons. Here now are notes on some of these titles...
The Underappreciated Criss
Sonny Criss first caught my attention because I bought an Original Jazz Classics version of his album This Is Criss! Little about the album, on the surface, draws the listener in: the line-up does not guarantee any revelations, nor was it a regular grouping that Criss led; it is a mix of standards and originals; and, being recorded in 1966, it seems quite removed from the changes wrenching their way through the Jazz world at the time (the avant-garde) or that were soon to come (Fusion). Another O. J. C. reissue, Sonny's Dream (Birth of the New Cool) does have ostensible reasons to seek it out: consisting entirely of compositions by Horace Tapscott, a leading figure in the Los Angeles Free/post-Free Jazz scene, featuring a large, diverse line-up, and sporting a provocative title referencing the Miles Davis recordings collected on Birth of the Cool. Either way, both albums are uniformly excellent.
Accordingly, The Complete Imperial Sessions, a collection of three earlier Criss albums, had been on my radar for a while. Having finally procured a copy, what stands out most of all is that these three albums, recorded earlier and released by a label oriented toward the pop market, feature shorter tracks: the first album (Jazz - U. S. A.) and second (Go Man!) each have 12 tracks, the third, Sonny Criss Plays Cole Porter, has 10. At times, Criss is the only soloist. Already, in 1956, when these albums were recorded, the brevity of some of the tracks distinguishes the albums, as many Jazz labels and artist had moved toward the template of three tracks per L. P. side. The experience of listening to them struck me as peculiar: the sound quality is definitely of its time, with magnetic tape producing records that sound as good as anything made now, 70 years later, but the short tracks make me feel like I'm listening to, say, the classic early Charlie Parker or Thelonious Monk sides, those too-short, low-fidelity dear commodities originally released on 78s or 10-inch albums. While those tracks were made into 12-inch albums from the mid-Fifties onward, arguably they are best heard as single entities, compact gems that the listener must smash to bits to analyze, to guess at what full performances would sound like. As such, these Criss pieces strongly reinforce the notion of him as heir to Charlie Parker; his alto playing here is piercing, demanding your attention; his backing musicians, notably guitarist Barney Kessel and pianist Kenny Drew on Jazz - U. S. A. (the best of the three albums) perform brilliantly as well. In short, the Imperial set is an essential reissue for those moving beyond the most obvious of Jazz classics from these abundant years.
The Unabridged Monk
The reissue of Monk's Underground is, as noted, an alternate, unabridged version of the album. Of the original seven tracks, only two (‘Thelonious’ and ‘Boo Boo's Birthday’) were not edited down for the original vinyl release. Earlier C. D. reissues had presented the original album, so have recent L. P. reissues. Underground's predecessor, Straight, No Chaser, was also expanded as part of this Sony Legacy reissue series; in its case, three of six tracks on the original album had been shortened and were now restored to the length of the original performances by Monk's quartet. The changes on the Legacy reissues of Monk's other studio albums on Columbia were not as significant. The reissue of Monk had only one track now unabridged. Criss-Cross, reissued earlier by Legacy, had already had one shortened track restored plus a bonus track; when Legacy reissued the album, the bonus track was oddly no longer considered bonus but, no worries, there were three more bonus tracks. Finally, Monk's Dream also had one track shortened on its original release. While, as a completist-archivist, I would like to have both the abridged and unabridged versions available, all on the same disc to let the listener sequence the tracks as heard on the original album, I still cannot be impressed, as I tend to be, by Sony Legacy's reissues. Of course, I'm talking about Sony Legacy circa 1997 or 2003, when these reissues were coming fast.
Monk's studio albums for Columbia have perennially been placed lower on the totem pole than his earlier albums for Riverside. There is some justification for this, but not much. The Riverside albums saw Monk finally getting the respect he deserved from both the music business and listeners. Brilliant Corners will always be part of any core Jazz collection. On the other hand, the Columbia albums are definitely under-rated; the sound quality of the albums, both originally and in the Legacy reissues, is superior; and they allow the listener to hear Monk in the same quartet format across several albums, all of them featuring saxophonist Charlie Rouse. Underground has often gotten attention because, first, it sported silly cover art (Monk sitting at an upright piano in a sort of basement bunker, dressed as a anti-Nazi partisan) and, second, it featured new compositions, in contrast to the previous Columbia albums mostly including new performances of old Monk tunes or standards. Indeed, in including three compositions unique to it (‘Ugly Beauty’, ‘Raise Four’, ‘Boo Boo's Birthday’) and another (‘Green Chimneys’) that had been recorded during the Straight, No Chaser sessions but left off and in being expanded so significantly for this C. D. reissue, Underground clearly stands out. It offers a bounty of Monk's signature dissonant-but-beautiful style, and Rouse sounds great, unlike at times on Straight, No Chaser, on which his tone seems "off" in a way that I, not being a saxophonist, have difficult describing.
Old Favorites
My new commitment to exploring my C. D. collection also led me to albums that are among my favorites; some of these have been favorites going back to teenage days: Aphex Twin - Selected Ambient Works Volume II, I listened to because of its 2024 reissue; David Bowie - Low; John Cale - Paris 1919 (again, a 2024 reissue); The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society; the first Roxy Music album; Talking Heads - 77 (yet another reissue, in this case a "super deluxe" set); and U2 - Achtung Baby. Others, I have come to love more recently: Caravan - For Girls Who Grow Plump in the Night and the Beat's Special Beat Service. Wire's 154, I consider the best by that group; however, as much as I have enjoyed their work, it has not exactly endeared itself to me, probably most of all because of the limitations as Colin Newman's voice and, often, the words they sing: too clever by half, very reliant on a sudden, aggressive shout, traits reflected in the other aspects of the music. Faust IV, meanwhile, after getting short shrift from me for many years, I am confident in saying is that band's best; moreover, the double-disc reissue is exemplary, featuring an excellent Peel session and alternate studio versions of most of the album tracks.
Having revisited so many reliable favorites, I can safely recommend some of these C. D. editions as worthy additions to any collection. Besides the Faust IV, the triple-disc Village Green Preservation Society, despite having been supplanted by a larger box set, is ideal, having both stereo and mono versions of the album and singles released around the same time, plus the expected out-takes and other rarities; the Aphex Twin, because it finally makes available in the C. D. format the full album (previously, one or two tracks from the triple L. P. had been excluded); and the Bowie box New Career in a New Town, covering such a creative period in his work (1977-1982), including rare treats like Bertolt Brecht's Baal [1982], an E. P. recorded to accompany Bowie's performance in the television version of the play; and Bowie's collaborations with Queen and Bing Crosby. With the Bowie box, though, one should note that controversy ensued over the remaster of one of his legendary songs, ‘"Heroes"’, because of a sudden shift in volume that takes place and had not been present on previous releases. While some involved in the project insisted that the listeners were now hearing what was on the (damaged?) original tape, needless to say that explanation does not placate listeners who want to hear the track as it was originally released. Corrected discs were sent out to those who requested one.
And Online... Where All Are Made Penniless
I do not just listen to music on C. D. of course. There are streams and vinyl and such. But, wanting to limit the number of albums to which I listen, and to listen to them deeply, I have limited my online listening to a few artists. In January, I sampled the solo discographies of David Byrne and Damon Albarn. And, inspired by the Japan trip, I listened repeatedly to a selection of artists from the Seventies and Eighties bridging the gaps between Japanese Rock and the City Pop that drove that nation's music in a different "J-Pop" direction: namely, Taeko Ohnuki, Eikichi Yazawa, Eiichi Ohtaki, the Sadistic Mika Band, and Yosui Inoue, all of whom were "new to me," plus a great deal of Ryuichi Sakamoto, in his case releases that I had granted only minimal attention or had not heard at all. In February, more Japanese artists: Yumi Arai, Minako Yoshida, Mariya Takeuchi, Hitomi Tohyama, and Mika Matsubara; and a smattering of other things: the Ganelin Trio, Eddie Palmieri, Gary Wilson, the Toshiko Akiyoshi-Lew Tabackin Big Band, Camper Van Beethoven, and Little Feat.
The new year brought quite the Talking Heads-David Byrne listening binge because, as seen above, I purchased the dual reissues of the Talking Heads concert album and film, Stop Making Sense, released last year after the film was restored and returned to cinemas, as well as the aforementioned "super deluxe" 77, released last year too, and presumably the first of such reissues for most (all?) of the great New York band's studio albums. The C. B. G. B concert included with the 77 set is surprisingly high-fi; as far as the rest of the material, at this point in my life I have listened to the major Talking Heads albums so much that I cannot find much enthusiasm for them: they are brilliant, especially the first album and side A of Remain in Light, but I have nothing to say about them. Byrne solo, on the other hand, I have given only the slightest iota of attention. So online I focused on a few of his main studio albums, namely Uh-Oh [1992], Grown Backwards [2004], and American Utopia [2018], as well as the collaborative album with Brian Eno, Everything That Happens Will Happen [2008].
For reasons I cannot remember, I sought out the recent film about Blur, To the End, documenting the band as they finished their latest album, The Ballad of Darren [2023], and played several concerts leading up to a gig at the massive Wembley Stadium. Upon watching the film, of course I returned to the Darren album, having giving it only a few cursory listens when it first came out (such is our privilege in this era of abundant options/ scarce attention), but I also explored Damon Albarn's albums in the Twenty-First Century, of which I am less familiar than the Nineties Blur albums. A total of 22 albums, mostly collaborative, in 23 years. But this does not include albums by Africa Express, a collective for which Albarn played a foundational role; or roughly an album's worth of material on the Gorillaz compilations G-Sides and D-Sides. All of these albums in one list helps clarify how active Albarn has been.
Gorillaz [2001]
Afel Bocoum, Damon Albarn, Toumani Diabaté, and Friends - Mali Music [2002]
Blur - Think Tank [2003]
Damon Albarn - Democrazy [2003]
Gorillaz - Demon Days [2005]
The Good, the Bad and the Queen [2007]
Monkey - Journey to the West [2008]
Gorillaz - Plastic Beach [2010]
Gorillaz - The Fall [2010]
D. R. C. Music - Kinshasa One Two [2012]
Damon Albarn - Dr Dee [2012]
Rocket Juice & the Moon [2012]
Damon Albarn - Everday Robots [2014]
Blur - The Magic Whip [2015]
Damon Albarn, Moira Buffini & Rufus Norris - Songs from wonder.land [2016]
Gorillaz - Humanz [2017]
Gorillaz - The Now Now [2018]
The Good, the Bad and the Queen - Merrie Land [2018]
Gorillaz - Song Machine, Season One: Strange Timez [2020]
Damon Albarn - The Nearer the Fountain, More Pure the Stream Flows [2021]
Gorillaz - Cracker Island [2023]
Blur - The Ballad of Darren [2023]
Already familiar with the debut album by the Good, the Bad, and the Queen, Gorillaz' Demon Days, Blur's Think Tank, and the Mali Music project, and not wanting to delve more into Gorillaz for the time being, I focused on the new Blur album, the second Good, the Bad, and the Queen, and The Nearer the Fountain, More Pure the Stream Flows. While the Blur album is about as good as I expected (that is to say, good but inessential, lacking the spontaneity and noisy bits that helped The Magic Whip), the other two were better than expected.
Back to Excess
By the end of February, my plans had, at least to a small extent, gone awry. As the number of albums listened-to has increased, so has the number of albums that I want to re-listen to. I failed to resist the temptation to add to the growing list. Perhaps, in March, I could add only albums with which I am very familiar and thus do not want to hear as many times. Or, I could focus on reviewing January and February's albums. Then, in April, I'll be traveling for three weeks, significantly limiting the amount of music that I will listen to. Will this all suffice to keep me committed to my collection?
–Justin J. Kaw, March 2025