VIA PRESS RELEASE | Rhino will unveil a very special David Lee Roth boxed set, The Warner Recordings 1985–1994, on February 21, 2025. It includes the first five solo releases recorded by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame® Inductee and original Van Halen lead vocalist in one comprehensive collection for the very first time.

Spanning one of the greatest runs in rock ‘n’ roll history, the set offers lifelong fans and newcomers alike the chance to experience “Crazy from the Heat” [1985], Eat ‘Em and Smile [1986], Skyscraper [1988], A Little Ain’t Enough [1991], and Your Filthy Little Mouth [1994] in succession. The Warner Recordings 1985–1994 arrives in multiple configurations, including 5CD.

40 years ago this month, on January 28, 1985, Roth officially debuted as a solo artist with the “Crazy from the Heat” EP. It crashed the Top 15 of the Billboard 200 and reached RIAA Platinum status. Plus, he logged a pair of Billboard Hot 100 hits—the medley of “Just a Gigolo/I Ain’t Got Nobody” vaulted to #12, while his take on “California Girls” by The Beach Boys soared to #3, replicating the 1965 chart success of the original. Meanwhile, “Crazy from the Heat” would later serve as the title of his New York Times best-selling autobiography in 1997.

The EP paved the way for his first full-length solo LP, Eat ‘Em and Smile. Released on July 7, 1986, it bowed in the Top 5 of the Billboard 200 and eventually went RIAA Platinum. Roth hyper-charged his sound, accompanied by an all-star band consisting of Billy Sheehan [bass], Gregg Bissonette [drums], and Steve Vai [guitar]. Together, they served up anthems such as “Yankee Rose,” “Tobacco Road,” “That’s Life,” and more. KERRANG! notably christened it ”Album of the Year,” and he launched the seminal Eat ‘Em and Smile Tour in its wake.

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Celebrating Wayne Coyne on his 64th birthday. —Ed.

Yeah, yeah, I know. The Flaming Lips’ 1999 LP The Soft Bulletin is brilliant. A masterpiece released just as the sun was going down on the Twentieth Century. But for my money—which unfortunately happens to be in worthless depression era German Reichsmarks—the Oklahoma band released its finest work between 1986 and 1995, before they went and got themselves domesticated.

The Soft Bulletin is a warm and fuzzy album for warm and fuzzy people looking for an uplifting musical experience. Earlier Flaming Lips albums featured songs like “Talkin’ ‘Bout the Smiling Deathporn Immortality Blues (Everyone Wants to Live Forever),” Unconsciously Screamin,'” Jesus Shootin’ Heroin,” and “Evil Will Prevail.”

If The Soft Bulletin is a hug-your-neighbor ecstasy trip, LPs like 1989’s Telepathic Surgery and 1992’s Hit to Death in the Future Head are LSD trips—you might find instant enlightenment or, conversely, locked in a Porta-John at your local music festival, because demons are pursuing you and you need somewhere to hide.

I attended a few Soft Bulletin-era shows, and they were joyous affairs—Grateful Dead concerts minus the home tapers. The concertgoers around me had the glassy-eyed look of true converts. The only song that’s ever left me glassy-eyed is Sammy Johns’ “Chevy Van,” which ought to qualify as a world religion. Your Flaming Lips idolater is a fanatic, and fanatics can be very dangerous people.

Which is why I prefer albums like 1989’s Telepathic Surgery. It doesn’t hurt that the LP’s title sounds like the name of a Blue Öyster Cult song. But what really wins me over are song titles like “Hare-Krishna Stomp Wagon,” “Hell’s Angel’ Cracker Factory,” and “Redneck School of Technology.” And the songs are as strange as the titles. A fair number of Flaming Lips fans would hide in a Porta-John to escape them.

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | High Moon Records is heralding the upcoming arrival of enigmatic 1960s San Francisco singer Jeannie Piersol’s eagerly awaited anthology, The Nest, with today’s premiere of the psychedelic soul standout, “Gladys,” available everywhere now.

Originally released in 1968 as Piersol’s debut single, the track—which features backing vocals by iconic soul singer Minnie Riperton, drums by Earth, Wind & Fire founder Maurice White, and orchestral arrangements by Charles Stepney (Rotary Connection, Ramsey Lewis)—is joined by an official music video streaming now at the official High Moon Records YouTube channel. The clip is a new transfer of an original 1968 16mm film, directed and produced by Ray Andersen, to promote the single. Andersen, along with his wife Joan, were founders of the legendary “Holy See” light show in San Francisco that ran light shows at the Fillmore in the late ’60s, and he employed some of Holy See’s hypnotic visuals as backgrounds in the promotional film.

“Gladys” was written by Piersol and she sent a demo of it to Jefferson Airplane for potential inclusion on After Bathing At Baxter’s. When the band decided not to record it, she re-recorded it for herself and released the new version as her first single. Both the demo and recorded versions are available on The Nest anthology.

The first-ever full-length compendium of Piersol’s distinctive, rarely heard body of work, The Nest, arrives Friday, January 24 on CD, vinyl LP, and digital download, accompanied by an extensively illustrated booklet that includes liner notes from 5x GRAMMY® Award-nominated compilation producer Alec Palao (featuring exclusive interviews with Piersol and many of her musical collaborators), plus lavish artwork, never-before-seen photos, memorabilia, and more. Pre-orders are available now.

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Who put out the first yacht rock album? It’s not just an academic question—it’s a lethal one. Since 2005 thirty-six music critics have died in pitched fights over the question, six alone at a yacht rock symposium in San Diego, California in 2019. One was killed by a harpoon, another by a great white shark. Great whites take their yacht rock very seriously.

Most yacht rock scholars place the birth of yacht rock at 1975 or later, but that time frame has always struck me as both arbitrary and wrong-headed. But not as wrong-headed as some of the songs I’ve seen listed as yacht rockers. The Eagles’ “Life in the Fast Lane”? Seriously? Boston’s “More Than a Feeling”? Great Poseidon’s beard! Blues Image’s “Ride, Captain, Ride”? A hearty yar and a fuck you! No wonder people die in these debates. I would gladly force the moron that came up with “Life in the Fast Lane” to walk the plank.

Look, I’ve been yachting (musically speaking) since I was a teen, and I know of what I speak. And I am here to tell you without the slightest smidgeon of doubt that yacht rock first set sail in October 1973, when Loggins & Messina released their sophomore album Full Sail. There are those pina colada-addled landlubbers who will tell you different—who will try to write off Full Sail as “proto-yacht rock,” but these are the same dunderheads who will try to convince you that Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” is yacht rock.

Defining yacht rock isn’t as difficult as some would have you think. It’s smooth, mellow even when up-tempo, slickly produced, and most importantly soothing to the mind and spirit. To listen to yacht rock, true yacht rock, is to find yourself on calm seas on a sunny day on a yacht or expensive sailboat, surrounded by frolicking dolphins, the sea breeze in your hair, and the smell of salt in the air. There can be no city in the yacht rock sound, for the simple reason that there are no cities in the middle of the goddamn ocean.

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | One of the most influential figures of the 1960s folk revival, Mississippi John Hurt (1893–1966) offered his own brand of the blues, thanks to his gentle vocals and unique syncopated fingerpicking style.

Yet, he didn’t find success until the final years of his life. Born to sharecroppers in rural Mississippi, Hurt was a self-taught guitarist and farmhand, who honed his craft during his downtime. In the early 1920s, he began to gig regularly with fiddle player Willie Narmour, who, in turn, recommended his friend to OKeh Records.

Hurt recorded a handful of tracks for the label in 1928, including “Frankie,” “Candy Man Blues,” and “Stack O’ Lee Blues.” While his quiet, laid-back nature set Hurt apart from other bluesmen of the era, it didn’t connect with audiences at the time, who were accustomed to the tougher, more assertive styles of artists like Son House and Charlie Patton. Hurt, who never considered himself to be a professional musician, was just as content to return to his life on the farm.

More than 30 years later, however, Hurt would find a new audience that embraced his music. Amid the folk revival, scholars “rediscovered” his recordings and, in 1963, encouraged the 70-year-old bluesman to return to the stage. Relocating to Washington DC, Hurt spent the final three years of his life recording for the Library of Congress, performing at festivals, coffeehouses and colleges, appearing on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson and making several albums for Vanguard Records.

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Celebrating Rod Stewart on his 80th birthday. —Ed.

Rod Stewart remains my greatest lost hero, who went from a likable rogue with a knack for writing great and frequently self-deprecating songs to the cheesy lothario of “Hot Legs” and “Tonight’s the Night.”

And while pinning down when he jumped the shark from jovial rascal to queasy-making lecher (my pick: the lines from “Tonight’s the Night” that go, “You’d be a fool to stop this time/Spread your wings and let me come inside”) can be difficult, in my humble opinion his final great moment was 1972’s Never a Dull Moment, which was not nearly as great as 1971’s Every Picture Tells a Story, but still highlighted Stewart as an irrepressible rake rather than a sleazy ladies’ man.

Sure, both 1974’s Smiler and 1975’s Atlantic Crossing have their moments, and even 1976’s A Night on the Town includes the great “The First Cut Is the Deepest.” But Never a Dull Moment is the last Stewart LP to include more good tracks than mediocre ones, and features some undeniable classics in “Lost Paraguayos,” “Mama You Been on My Mind,” and the wonderful “You Wear It Well.”

Indeed, Never a Dull Moment lives up to its title, although I have to admit I’ve never been a huge fan of the blues standard “I’d Rather Go Blind,” which Etta James turned into a hit in 1968. On the other hand, his cover of Sam Cooke’s “Twistin’ the Night Away” rocks and rolls thanks to the cranked-up guitar of Ron Wood (the Faces featured on Rod’s first four “solo” records; odd how their ultimate disappearance coincided with his downfall) and the powerful drum thump of Micky Waller, who’d played with Stewart back in the days of The Steampacket.

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | Singer, songwriter and musician Lonnie Johnson (1899–1970) was among the most versatile musicians of his era.

He not only found success in jazz, blues and R&B but also pioneered one of the most recognizable guitar techniques in modern music. In the early 1920s, the New Orleans–born artist settled in St. Louis, where he was discovered in a blues talent contest. Before long, Johnson was releasing a steady output of solo material, while also playing alongside the biggest names in blues and jazz, including Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith and Duke Ellington.

Johnson’s unique stylings on the guitar also caught the attention of his peers, as he employed a pick to play single-note, string-bending solos. Soon emulated by the likes of Charlie Christian, Django Reinhardt, and, later, B.B. King, the technique would inform modern jazz, blues and eventually rock guitarists over the century. As a songwriter, Johnson also set himself apart with his expressive lyricism as well as his commentary on racial politics.

These talents helped Johnson score a string of blues hits in the ’20s and ’30s, but his post-war career found him transitioning with equal success into R&B with hits like “Pleasing You,” “Confused,” and the chart-topping “Tomorrow Night.” The ’60s folk revival, meanwhile, introduced Johnson to a younger audience, allowing him new opportunities to tour the world and score a contract with the Prestige Records imprint, Bluesville.

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Before Elvis Costello became the dullest Renaissance Man of the Western World, gadflying about with the likes of Burt Bacharach, the Brodsky Quartet, some Swedish mezzo-soprano whose name escapes me at the moment, the Netherlands’ Metropole Orkest, jazz pianist Marian McPartland, T-Bone Barnett, the London Symphony Orchestra and others, including for all I know the Men’s Choir of Barracks 22 of the Toksong Political Prison Camp in North Korea, he was a punk fellow-traveler and one of the angriest young men in England this side of Johnny Lydon.

Everybody grows up, but do you have to grow up to be a sophisticated dabbler and bore? In Costello’s case it was the Paul Weller Komplex times ten, and when it came to wanton genre-hopping, Elvis made Neil Young look like a piker. Even the early Costello was a hybrid of sorts—a singer-songwriter in spirit, a punk in attitude. The Village Voice’s Robert Christgau summed this up by comparing him to Jackson Browne in his review of Costello’s 1977 debut My Aim Is True, then turning around and complimenting him on his snarl come the following year’s This Year’s Model.

Costello famously recorded My Aim Is True with, yes it’s true, a California-based country rock act (Clover, whose members would later go on to play, variously, with Huey Lewis and the News, the Doobie Brothers, and Lucinda Williams) as his backing band. A very singer-songwriter thing to do, that, but by the time he got around to recording This Year’s Model (again with Nick Lowe as producer) he recruited a band of his own that could produce music to mirror his adamantine misanthropy (and some would say misogyny).

Costello would never be a true-blue punk—too much clever wordplay and a musical vocabulary that pre-dated the Sex Pistols—but he was a punk in spirit, much like the 1966 Dylan. Indeed, “Like a Rolling Stone” is a template of sorts for Costello, with its catchy wordsmithing, laser focus on the personal and themes of (to use words Costello would himself employ and would stick to him like glue throughout his career) “revenge and guilt.” Unlike the post-protest Dylan, Costello was not apolitical—his disgust extended to goings-on in Great Britain, but rarely went in for punk sloganeering. No anarchy in the UK for the former computer operator from Bootle.

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | Craft Latino proudly ushers in the centennial of the larger-than-life Celia Cruz, with a year-long celebration. Throughout 2025, “The Queen of Salsa” will be honored with a series of vinyl and digital reissues, playlists, video content and more. To kick off the celebration, Son con guaguancó will return to vinyl for the first time since its 1966 release and debut on hi-res digital platforms. Recorded shortly before the singer found global fame, the album showcases Cruz’s versatility as an artist, while speaking to her experience as an immigrant in the U.S.

Arriving March 7th and available for pre-order today, the album features “Bemba colorá,” plus favorites like “Oye mi consejo,” “Se me perdió la cartera,” and the title track, “Son con guaguancó.” Delivering the highest-quality listening experience, the LP was mastered from its original analog tapes by Clint Holley at Well Made Music, pressed on 180-gram vinyl and housed in a replica of its classic jacket. Music collectors can also find a “Bemba Colorá Red” 180-gram color vinyl variant (limited to 300 copies), with a bundle option that includes a Tico Records T-shirt, at Fania.com. Additionally, Son con guaguancó will make its debut across digital platforms in 192/24 hi-res audio.

An internationally beloved singer, whose ever-evolving, five-decade-long career spanned a multitude of styles and eras, Celia Cruz (1925–2003) lives on as one of Latin music’s most revered icons. Born in Havana with a passion for music, Cruz sang, studied her craft and performed at every opportunity throughout her youth. Her big break arrived in 1950 when she joined the long-running, hugely popular group La Sonora Matancera. With the band, Cruz found stardom across Latin America, thanks to high-profile tours, hit records and several cameos in films. But in 1960, amid the Cuban Revolution, everything changed.

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VIA PRESS RELEASE | “Showbiz never looked so violent yet cheery, chaotic yet level-headed. Justin Pearson is a lovely lunatic who writes with kindness even if he’s describing being in the middle of an on-stage brawl. He may pick the wrong girl and never be able to escape the mayhem in his personal life but he still seems kind of perfect . . . in a twisted way.” —John Waters

Justin Pearson has announced the release of his fourth book, GG Alien and the Mystery Meat, available on January 31st via Three One G & Bread and Roses Press. Pre-order available here.

Pearson’s latest memoir dives into a slew of intertwining subjects surrounding art, class, and sexuality, to name a few. Here, Justin steps right up to the line of a social faux pas steeped in current social politics as he reflects on navigating working a minimum wage job at a gay club while maintaining a non-paying job as a “musician” throughout his thirties.

Addressing an ever-present overwhelming capitalistic economy as well as his potential cultural appropriation, he lays out (or maybe coughs and spreads out) his absurd and questionable time spent as an employee at San Diego’s most popular gay nightclub.

His latest follows the acclaimed memoirs From the Graveyard of the Arousal Industry (2010), How to Lose Friends and Irritate People (2011), and The Race to Zero (2018). GG Alien and the Mystery Meat was edited by Adam Gnade, with art and layout by Bran Black Moon and cover image by Paul Rentler.

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Remembering Scott Walker, born ob this date in 1943. —Ed.

The first five key albums by Scott Walker have just been compiled into a CD/LP box set, and in corralling this very important and vastly enjoyable work from a true existential dreamboat, the executives at Universal Music Group have done music lovers the world over a massive service. Scott Walker: The Collection 1967-1970 includes Scott, Scott 2, Scott 3, Scott 4, and maybe most enticingly ‘Til the Band Comes In, and if not flawless, the collection does paint a truly captivating portrait of this singular artist as a young, ambitious and enduringly relevant man.

Had Scott Walker’s recording career been somehow curtailed before the release of his 1967 solo-debut Scott, he’d still be remembered as one-third of the sneakily non-sibling trio The Walker Brothers, an American group that flipped the script to become a UK teen-pop sensation right in the midst of the British Invasion. They even scored a pair of US hits in the process.

The Walker Brothers’ enshrinement in the Pop Hall of Fame sorta rests upon the enduring pleasures of the Bacharach & David-penned “Make it Easy on Yourself” and “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore,” both songs climbing to the apex of the British singles charts. They also landed securely in the US Top Twenty to stand as their biggest homeland success, though the reaction of American girls to the trio’s suave image (and young Scott’s, in particular) fell quite a bit short of the mouth-agape and eyes-agog manner of those Swingin’ lasses across the pond.

During their fairly brief initial run (they did reunite in ’75 to produce three further LPs, essentially setting the stage for the second phase of Scott’s career) The Walker Brothers possessed a considerable diversity, with their discography holding a fair amount of uptempo material, including covers of Motown (“Dancing in the Street”), Chris Kenner’s R&B warhorse “Land of a Thousand Dances,” and even Dylan (“Love Minus Zero”). It’s this stuff that gets them mentioned as partial conspirators in the whole UK Beat scene, and while quite likeable in doses, it also lends an air of unevenness to their output.

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Celebrating Jimmy Page on his 81st birthday. —Ed.

So if this Hobbit Trilogy of a ditty ain’t the greatest epic in the history of rock’n’roll, what is? It contains multitudes! Encompasses whole mythopoeic civilizations of stargazing shrub worshippers! And oh, it’s got three sections each of which is a wheel, which means it ain’t a stairway, it’s a tricycle! And if you hop aboard said tricycle it’ll ride you straight to heaven, which will save you from having to take the stairs!

“Stairway to Heaven” is both an architectural folly and the fullest and most baroque realization of the rock’n’roll dream–if Chuck Berry’s songs are street-ready hot rods, “Stairway”’s the fucking Sistine Chapel set down on the chassis of an Oldsmobile 442.

Written in part at the band’s Welsh hideaway Bron-Yr-Aur in 1970 following Led Zeppelin’s fifth American tour and in part at recording sessions at Headley Grange, Hampshire, “Stairway to Heaven” is–to employ yet another metaphor–a majestic and ever-widening river, one fed in turns by the tributaries of Renaissance music, English folk, heavy metal, and progressive rock.

“Stairway to Heaven” was famously never released as a single, but two U.S. promotional discs were issued in very small numbers, so collectors start your engines. Of course FM radio played the shit out of it anyway–I’m talking to the tune of an estimated 2,874,000 times by 1991, which if you were to listen to all 2,874,000 radio plays back to back would take you 44 YEARS! So start listening!

No wonder so many people hate the fucking song. If familiarity breeds contempt, for some folks “Stairway to Heaven” breeds homicidal ideation. You never hear drunks shouting “Play ‘Stairway to Heaven’!” at live shows, probably cuz they’re afraid the band will take ‘em up on it.

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