They illustrate, in bullet points, not only what made the label special, but what made them influential to artists like the Chromatics, LCD Soundsystem, even M.I.A. The selections here do support Ze's reputation. Selections for some of the label's biggest artists- including Cristina, Was (Not Was), and Kid Creole- feel like second choices, and while the songs are great, their inclusion feels problematic if the compilation really is being marketed as "the one Ze Records album you need to own."īut with access to a catalog as deep and frequently innovative as Ze's, "failure" is an accident of the mouth, a word with no meaning. Casino Music's cover of "The Beat Goes On" makes me very uncomfortable, which is more a statement of fact than a complaint. I'm glad for James Chance's "Roving Eye"- "Contort Yourself" is, in the realm of 80s art-rock compilations, overrated and overexposed, which is funny considering that most people would probably find it unlistenable. Material and Nona Hendyx's "Bustin' Out" definitely belongs here, but the extended version is a waste of space. Naturally, they hit the woods.Ĭomplaints: I don't need to hear Alan Vega of Suicide performing rockabilly. After several listens, my guess is two-fold: Long-time fans and first time listeners. About half the cuts are obvious and half are obscure, raising the question of just who Strut and Ze were aiming at with this thing. It certainly isn't the fault of the misfits who recorded all this fearless, cockeyed music, but Ze 30 is a confused baby. Listening to Ze 30, compiled by Ze's Michel Esteban and Strut Records' Quinton Scott, you might think that Ze was a pretty good label instead of a great one. When it came time for the label to issue a compilation in 1981, they called it Mutant Disco. But together? Unpalatable to everyone- too glamorous and dance-oriented for the punks to buy, too freakish to ever work consistently at mainstream clubs or at Puerto Rican block parties on the Lower East Side. Others, like Was (Not Was)'s "Wheel Me Out," were songs only familiar when broken into discrete parts- a disembodied string melody, the purr of a woman's voice, hippie poetry, UFO sound effects making casual visits, Latin percussion. Some of the label's singles were fairly straight disco with a flair for theater- "Deputy of Love", for example, by Darnell's friends Don Armando's Second Avenue Rhumba Band. James Chance and the Contortions made violent, anti-musical rock that people were calling "no wave," but Ze invited him to record disco- a chance he jumped at, presumably because it would enable him to piss off the fans he had accidentally earned trying to piss people off. Buzzard's Original Savannah Band, but wanted more freedom- freedom he got as Ze's in-house producer and with his new project, Kid Creole and the Coconuts. August Darnell, the almost-teacher (he earned a Master's in English with the intention of joining the vocation, but music intervened), had some success with Dr. The records released on Ze at the dawn of the 80s wouldn't have had a comfortable home elsewhere. This all happens in the span of about four years, during which Michael Zilkha and Michel Esteban of Ze Records- and August Darnell, Cristina, James Chance and Was (Not Was)- change the shape of music around them. Along the way, they're joined by a saxophonist who punches his audience members in the face, and a couple of friends from suburban Detroit who record abstract funk with beat poetry over it. She calls him an "ice-cream soda," which is supposed to be an insult. Later, the dropout's record is produced by the almost-teacher, who has taken to wearing zoot suits.
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