Celebrating Barry Manilow in advance of his 83rd birthday tomorrow. —Ed.

Back in the mid- to late seventies, when America was flying high thanks to the exalted stewardship of such Churchillian figures as Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter, one all-around entertainer bestrode the Pop World like a colossus. Men wanted him. Women wanted to be him. He floated like a god in a bubble of fame so high above the rest of us it would have taken Ted Nugent with a surface-to-air missile to bring him down to earth, and he was known to one and all as: Barry!

Seriously, friends and neighbors, who better personified the soft-rock seventies–that epoch of saccharine supremacy–than Barry Alan Pincus, aka Barry Manilow? He was stardust, he was golden. To listen to his songs was to drink from life’s enchanted cup. To see him live was the musical equivalent of pissing on an electric fence. His voice was glorious treacle. It was said that the mere sight of his perfect feathered hair could cure cancer. His sleepy bedroom eyes were known to enchant your larger farm animals, giving them the ability to speak in the voices of men–a skill he liked to show off in his live performances.

Barry WROTE the songs that defined an epoch. Okay, so he wrote hardly none of them, including “I Write the Songs,” which was penned by the Beach Boys’ Bruce Johnston. But so what? Jesus’s best material was penned by other people, including Brewer & Shipley, ZZ Top, The Byrds and Ministry, and He never catches any shit for it. Fact is Barry MADE those songs his own by sheer force of his iron will; he was the divine conduit through which flowed such immortal tunes as “Mandy,” “Can’t Smile Without You,” and “Copacabana (At the Copa).”

Manilow began his career as a folk singer, entertaining beatniks in such flea-ridden New York City coffeehouses as Gerde’s Folk City, the Cafe Wha? and the Greenwich Village Starbucks at the corner of Waverly Street and 5th Avenue. Said fellow folk musician Arnie Van Gleb, “They didn’t actually allow music in Starbucks, so he would sneak into the bathroom and play there. At least until they broke down the door and threw him out.”

Read More »

Psych-rock heaviness has long been one of Japan’s prime exports. Much of this outpouring came via the P.S.F. label starting in the mid-1980s, but there were other pockets of expansionist scorch, including Up-Tight, a Hamamatsu-based band formed in the early ’90s. More recently, Up-Tight’s vocalist-guitarist Tomoyuki Aoki has persevered with his own trio, now three albums deep. Their latest full-length offers five doses of raw brain-melt burning bright near the very apex of the psychedelic style. High Oxygen Blood by the Tomoyuki Trio is out now on vinyl through Feeding Tube Records.

Psychedelia is amongst rock music’s finest pleasures, but there have surely been recurring stumbles and flat-out faceplants of qualitative consistency within the style over the decades, particularly regarding matters of strained ambitiousness, along with attempts at outward exploration that meander. There are also numerous examples of bands that value reverence for earlier eras (mistakes and all) through replication rather than embracing true progression.

That’s part of why the heavy Japanese stuff referenced above has accrued such a sterling reputation. The bands aren’t universally perfect, but there is a remarkably high standard leading into the 21st century, spurred in no small part by Up-Tight, which featured Tomoyuki Aoki in the scheme from 1992 to 2024. The Tomoyuki Trio falters not a bit in carrying the heavy psych torch; the records are right up there with the best of P.S.F., which includes White Heaven, High Rise, and more.

“Echoes of the Last Word” opens High Oxygen Blood with stinging, stabbing guitar, gnawing bass distortion, and echoey, submerged vocals. As has been observed, the Tomoyuki Trio can conjure up thoughts of the Stooges, particularly in how the sound gets gloriously bent as the heaviness is in no hurry.

Read More »

VIA PRESS RELEASE | While the roots reggae of Bob Marley, Burning Spear, Peter Tosh and others made the biggest impact internationally for reggae, in 1978 a new sound began to emerge in Jamaica. Hard-hitting but sparser, fueled by the dynamic rhythms of the new group of studio musicians dubbed Roots Radics, by the early Eighties, dancehall reggae was hitting around the world

This ultimate collection has some of the biggest hits of the pre-digital dancehall era by such stars as Yellowman, Eek-A-Mouse, Sugar Minott and Barrington Levy—all of whom began touring around the world—as well as the all-time classic “Bam Bam” by Sister Nancy. Also included are some rare gems such as the original version of “Dem A Lick Shot” by Michael Palmer, “Gunshot” by Anthony Johnson, and “Saturday Night Jamboree” by Wayne Jarrett.

It’s the definitive collection of the classic era of reggae dancehall. Crucial Listening!

Remembering Harry Nilsson, born on this day in 1941. —Ed.

Harry Nilsson is one of the rock’n’roll’s stranger paradoxes; a songwriter of real genius, and one of rock’s great interpreters of other people’s songs, his gradual descent into round-the-clock consumption of Brandy Alexanders transformed him into the bawdy lush responsible for such dubious tunes as “You’re Breakin’ My Heart” (“You’re breakin’ my heart/You’re tearing it apart/So fuck you”) and “I’d Rather Be Dead” (“I’d rather be dead/I’d rather be dead/I’d rather be dead/Than wet my bed.”)

Nilsson established his critical reputation with such early classics of pop baroque as 1967’s Pandemonium Shadow Show and 1968’s Aerial Ballet, and his groundbreaking interpretative showcase, 1970’s Nilsson Sings Newman. He achieved his popular breakthrough with 1971’s Nilsson Schmilsson, an amazing collection of originals and covers, and won critical praise for that same year’s soundtrack to the ABC animated film, The Point, which spawned the hit “Me and My Arrow.”

However, by 1972’s Son of Schmilsson and 1973’s A Little Touch of Schmilsson in the Night (a selection of pop standards), Nilsson’s magic touch was fading in direct proportion to his consumption of alcohol. His definitive fall from pop grace came during his notorious connection with John Lennon during the latter’s 1975 LA Lost Weekend, with its tragicomic episode at the Troubadour, Lennon’s destruction of Lou Adler’s bedroom, and Nilsson’s hurling a bottle through a hotel window.

Their non-stop boozing and carousing culminated in the wasted, Lennon-produced fiasco that was 1974’s Pussy Cats, which included such mediocrities as the Lennon-flavored take on Jimmy Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross,” a truly insipid cover of Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” and a sub-par “Save the Last Dance for Me” (Nilsson ruptured a vocal chord during the sessions, and hid the fact from Lennon; as a result, his normally lovely vocals were very rough). Indeed, the only song I find listenable is the truly raucous cover of “Rock Around the Clock,” which features (remarkably enough) Ringo Starr, Keith Moon, and Jim Keltner on drums, as well as Jesse Ed Davis on guitar and Bobby Keys on sax.

Read More »

VIA PRESS RELEASE | Craft Latino marks the 50th anniversary of Lucky 7 with a special reissue of the landmark salsa album from pioneering bandleader Roberto Roena y Su Apollo Sound. Featuring the mega-hit “Mi desengaño,” plus such cross-generational favorites as “Fea,” “Mala maña,” and “Que me castigue Dios,” the long-out-of-print album returns to vinyl for the first time since its 1976 release.

Arriving August 14th with pre-orders live today, this special anniversary edition of Lucky 7 features all-analog (AAA) mastering cut from the original tapes by Dave Polster and Clint Holley at Well Made Music and is pressed on 180-gram vinyl. A classic tip-on jacket, replicating Lucky 7’s vibrant design, completes the package.

Fans can also find a limited-edition pressing (only 300 copies) on Candela Roja y Azul (Red & Blue Fire) color vinyl, as a standalone or bundled with a collectible Roberto Roena y Su Apollo Sound T-shirt, exclusively on Fania.com, while the remastered album will also be available on standard and Hi-Res digital audio. In addition, a Fat Beats limited-edition (only 300 copies) Azul Trópico (Tropic Blue) color vinyl variant will be available.

One of the most important names in salsa music, Roberto Roena (1940–2021) was a multi-talented artist, whose work as a bandleader, percussionist, and dancer helped to pioneer the genre. A native of Puerto Rico, Roena was just a teenager when he caught the attention of legendary bandleader Rafael Cortijo, who not only taught Roena to play the bongos and cowbell but also made him a member of his world-renowned orchestra, Cortijo y su Combo. When the group dissolved in the early 1960s, Roena reunited with former bandmates to assemble El Gran Combo. The salsa orchestra would soon become one of Puerto Rico’s most famous acts.

Read More »

Where to begin a review of William DeVaughn’s 1974 ghetto yacht classic “Be Thankful for What You Got (Pt. 1& Pt. 2),” which isn’t just the coolest song ever written about an inner-city ride of choice (cooler even than War’s “Low Rider”) but could be the best song ever written about a car, period?

The DC sewer system? The Miracle at Sigma Sound Studio? DeVaughn’s melt-in-your-mouth Curtis Mayfield-school vocal stylings? The smooth groove that never, ever, lets up? The fact that DeVaughn’s state-of-the-art Cadillac ride has a goddamn TV in it?

When I say DeVaughn’s ghetto yacht rocker is the best song about a car ever recorded, I mean it’s slicker and smoother and in general more groovalicious than Jackie Brenston and his Delta Cats’ “Rocket 88,” Wilson Pickett’s “Mustang Sally,” Outkast’s “Two Dope Boyz (in a Cadillac),” Charlie Ryan’s “Hot Rod Lincoln,” Gary Numan’s “Cars,” the Beastie Boys’ “High Plains Drifter,” Chuck Berry’s “Jaguar and Thunderbird” and “No Particular Place to Go,” Golden Earring’s “Radar Love,” Meridian Dan Feat. Big H and JME’s “German Whip,” Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Crown Victoria Custom ’51,” Dwight Yoakam’s “Long White Cadillac,” the Mountain Goats’ “See America Right,” and any song you want to add to the list.

It’s better even than Neil Young’s “Long May You Run”! Better even than Sammy Johns’ “Chevy Van”! Better even than the other white Sammy (Hagar that is) and his “I Can’t Drive 55″!

Read More »

VIA PRESS RELEASE | “Mitchell Cohen connects the dots from the perspective of a true believer in rock and roll … Wake Me, Shake Me is music history told with much insight and detail.” —Dion DiMucci

New York City in the 1960s was a musical melting pot, in which folk, R&B, rock and roll, blues, girl groups, and Brill Building pop produced a wealth of great artists and records. This book tells their story.

Using new interviews with artists and music business professionals as well as extensive archival research, Wake Me, Shake Me: New York City, the ’60s & the Pop-Rock Youthquake by Mitchell Cohen, publishing September 1, 2026, charts the course from doo wop to girl groups to folk music to R&B to folk-rock to baroque rock to goodtime music with some of the city’s leading stars: The Lovin’ Spoonful, The Rascals, the Blues Project, Vanilla Fudge, the Shangri-Las, Simon & Garfunkel, Laura Nyro, Bob Dylan, Bobby Darin, and Dion. All of them make appearances in this fascinating history.

In the book, Cohen fleshes out the story with details about the songwriters, producers, record labels, TV shows, and radio stars who all played roles in creating and popularizing the music. So, Carole King, Phil Spector, Morris Levy, Alan Freed, Clive Davis, Leiber and Stoller. Mitch Miller, Murray the K, and many other colorful characters figure into it. The book also includes lists of 100 recommended albums and 100 great 45s from the ’60s.

Read More »

Celebrating Jim Lea in advance of his 77th birthday on Sunday. —Ed.

So there I was, listening to Eric Dolphy’s Out to Lunch and being all jazzbo pretentious and shit, when really deep down inside I was miserable when it hit me—what I needed at that moment was not the chill vibraphonic rebop of Bobby Hutcherson, but the atrocious spelling, abominable haircuts, and abysmal glitter gear of those inimitable Black Country lads, Slade.

It may be easy to make fun of ‘em, but the quartet ruled the UK charts in the early ’70s, with artists like Roxy Music and David Bowie eating their dust. And vocalist Noddy Holder and the boys have been cited as an influence by everybody from Twisted Sister and Nirvana. Not bad for a couple of skinheads-turned-glamsters from Wolverhampton, whose misspellings, I kid you not, led to protests by an entire nation’s worth of outraged school marms.

The band’s classic line-up (Holder on vocals, guitar, and bass; Dave Hill on guitar, vocals and bass; Jim Lea on bass, vocals, keyboards, violin, and guitar; and Don Powell on drums and percussion) was formed in 1969 as Ambrose Slade. Their first album tanked, and they abandoned their skinhead look due to its negative association with football hooliganism. The “Ambrose” went too, and following the release of some poorly spelled hits and a well-received live album the band blew out the pipes with LP #3, Slayed?

Filled with anthemic sing-alongs, Slayed? remains one of glitter rock’s seminal albums, despite the fact that the toughs in Slade looked about as absurd in their Glam clobber as Mott the Hoople looked in theirs. Holder wore a mirror top hat, tartan pants with suspenders, and striped socks, while Hill sported an ungodly Prince Valiant haircut and silver outfits that made him look like an alien with a retarded Venusian hair stylist. But who cares? The kids ate it up.

Read More »

I recently spoke with Martin Glover, AKA Youth—founding member and bassist of the legendary post-punk band Killing Joke, a pioneering producer, and one of the most influential sonic architects of the last four decades.

Beyond his work with the band, he’s shaped the sound of artists across genres—from The Orb, The Verve, and Paul McCartney to Kate Bush, Crowded House, Gina Birch, and Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour—blending experimental, dub, and atmospheric elements into a signature production style. His career bridges punk, mysticism, and radical creativity, making him one of the most singular figures in modern music.

We spoke about dimension-crossing experiences with Killing Joke, writing and production techniques, current work, and worldviews. Tune in.

Radar features discussions with artists and industry leaders who are creators and devotees of music and is produced by Dylan Hundley and The Vinyl District. Dylan Hundley is an artist and performer, and the co-creator and lead singer of Lulu Lewis and all things at Darling Black. She co-curates and hosts Salon Lulu which is a New York based multidisciplinary performance series. She is also a cast member of the iconic New York film Metropolitan.

Remembering Reg Presley, born on this day in 1941. —Ed.

You’ve heard of rock music? Well, these English trogolodytes played real rocks. Legend has it the members of The Troggs were discovered as feral children living in the vicinity of Cheddar Gorge in the mid-1950s, where they romped about naked and walked on all fours. Five years of English lessons, some rudimentary musical training, and learning how not to hoot and waggle their genitalia at the sight of females of the species later, they were ready to bring their ludicrously crude garage rock to the listening public.

Here in the US The Troggs are primarily (if not exclusively) known for the cave man stomp “Wild Thing,” but in England’s green and pleasant land they scored a fair number of hits, which is where 1967’s Best of the Troggs comes in. You may not have wanted to let these guys anywhere near a live chicken (the results were invariably bloodcurdling), but their early work holds up as a prime example of the sonic possibilities of inspired primitivism.

To the extent that the Troggs are labeled a proto-punk band, it has less to do with attitude (Reg Presley and the boys didn’t have a rebellious or mean-spirited bone in their bodies) than with their determination to prove that any rough beast could slouch its way towards the Top of the Pops. What the Troggs offer the listener are a bunch of likable songs banged out with an equally likable amateur spirit; it bears remembering that it took years to teach these lads how to use knife and fork, and their learning curve more or less ended there.

That said, they’re not exactly the neanderthals you might think, and if you’re expecting every track to be a barbaric yawp along the lines of “Wild Thing” you’re in for a disappointment. A few songs do the crunge: “From Home” features some nasty fuzz guitar and is heavy as a club, while “Gonna Make You” is all cock-sure assertion set to a badass Bo Diddley beat.

Read More »