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12 stoner albums
BY MIKE MILIARD
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The Beatles, Rubber Soul (1965) and Revolver (1966) The sound of an awakening. On the former, the erstwhile moptops take a page from Dylan, a toke or two for good measure, and a big leap forward musically (sitar, fuzz bass) and lyrically. On the latter, the studio trickery is ratcheted up and the drug songs — "Dr. Robert," "Tomorrow Never Knows" — begin in earnest. De La Soul, Three Feet High and Rising (1989) and Beastie Boys, Paul’s Boutique (1989) Another twofer, but they’re of a piece. They name-check The Brady Bunch and Magilla Gorilla, game show contestants and talking crocodiles. They sample Steely Dan and French instruction records, Curtis Mayfield and Burger King straws (and one explosive bong hit). Almost impenetrably dense both lyrically and musically, they’re like aural cartoons — ones you never get sick of watching.
Bob Dylan and the Band, The Basement Tapes (1975) Strange, beautiful, silly, profound. It’s what happens when Dylan heads up country to lay low among the trees and the weeds. Drawing on the folk traditions of "that old, weird America," it’s a bucolic songbook whose words make as much or little sense as you read into them: Bessie Smith and Quinn the Eskimo, flash floods and fiery wheels. Lo and behold! Grateful Dead, Live/Dead (1969) If you’re not into tape trading (and who can blame you if you’re not?) this is as good a snapshot as exists of the band at their best. "Turn on Your Love Light" explodes the already-fervent boogie of the original. "The Eleven" revels in sparkling, polyrhythmic euphoria. And "Dark Star" is the quintessence of psychedelia, probing deep into the cosmos and not coming back for a long, long time. The Flaming Lips, Zaireeka (1997) Wait to smoke until after you’ve set up your four stereos; those wires can get confusing. Four separate CDs, meant to be played individually, all at once, or in any combinations thereof. What a concept! Pass the bong to your buddies as they man their corners. High and low frequencies. Order and chaos. The possibilities are endless.
Fu Manchu, In Search Of (1996) Fuzzed-out, sun-bleached, hell-on-wheels (skateboard, beach buggy, or hot rod). The apotheosis of So-Cal stoner metal: all lumbering low-end riffage and psychedevilish wah-wah wailing. Grease-monkey missing links shoot for the stratosphere — and get there with time to spare. The Pharcyde, Bizarre Ride II (1995) "Why does your mother smoke pipe with crack on the inside?" Don’t be a basehead. Butts are bad, too. ("If I wanted to smoke tobacco, I’d get a skinny white bitch.") Nope, indo’s it. "It’s the bud, not the beer, ‘cos the bud makes me wiser." A big ol’ blunt, lampin’ on the front porch, about to put a torch to it ... and Quentin’s on his way with another jay. Radiohead, OK Computer (1997) However many times you listen, you’ll always find some new sound buried in the inner-space crevices of this technological marvel. It may just be a blip, or a quivering sine wave. Perhaps a heretofore unheard cascading guitar starshower. Alternately cerebral and muscular, engaged and detached, it’s a lot to take in — in its totality and detail, it’s always transporting. Sufjan Stevens, Illinois (2005) Little symphonies for the Land of Lincoln. In these percolating soul-folk opuses, earnest but elliptical, dense with allusion and illusion, Frank Lloyd Wright, Carl Sandburg, John Wayne Gacy, and Superman live amongst the intricately layered banjos, pianos, horns, and strings. Think about that for 74 minutes, 3 seconds. Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention, Uncle Meat (1969) Frank was vehemently anti-drug. The band? Not so much. Still, they flawlessly execute this mind-melting mishmash of avant-classical/jazz/blues/rock/doo-wop. Cruisin’ for burgers at the golden arches with King Kong and Aunt Jemima, "Louie Louie" blaring the transistor. A bizarre relationship indeed. "Suzy Creamcheese, what’s got into you?"What are your favorites? Are you mad because Loveless didn't make the cut? Drop us a line at get_stoned[a]phx.com!
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