A recent reckless pickup.
Post-bop with one foot in Harlem, the other in W1—Blue Note right in the heart of the ’60s.

Is it a Captain Caveman reference?

It has now expanded to 1000 albums plus. It will take months to finalise. In the meantime I have been experimenting with individual artworks for each album/ranking.

Fontella Bass in the UK 1965

Easter Monday.

I’m a Discogs man exclusively.

And of course while spinning this I want to piece together my 300 albums of the year 1970. This would sit very high.

I am a bit late but RIP Chip.

Don’t sleep on Scottish soul.

This record holds its own with anything coming out of the US at the time—same depth, same feeling, maybe even more gri

Cosmic wanderings with moments of real gravity.
Göttsching anchors the drift.
Hypnotic, if occasionally wayward.

Haunting and unconventional, blending classical structure with modern tension.
The orchestration shifts between delicate passages and overwhelming crescendos.
Cinematic fusion.

Van’s most anti-career move:. Half Celtic reverie, half private liturgy. He made a mystical field recording of his own headspace.

Glasgow pop passing briefly through Atlantic’s late-60s orbit.

But “Knick Knack Man” contains the line that never quite leaves you:“Here is a small boy looking for laces, black if you have them… or something in navy blue till he wins the war.”

Black or navy. Suddenly it matters.

That North Mississippi pull — Burnside’s guitar working the rhythm in tight circles while the songs unfold at their own pace.

Hill’s writing moves in those slightly tilted lines he made his own — lyrical one moment, knotty the next — with Bobby Hutcherson and Elvin Jones right inside the architecture

US Stereo 1st.

Woodland folk with a touch of late-’60s studio imagination — nimble acoustic guitar, elegant string charts, and songs that move with an easy, thoughtful grace. Exactly the sort of thing RCA were briefly very good at.

Three Canadian musicians using flute, early synths and studio manipulation to build something.

There’s pastoral folk in the melodies, experimental tape-era curiosity in the textures, and a kind of gentle futurism running underneath it all.

Been chasing The Willisau Concert for years.

McPhee’s tone is pure ache and urgency — and that synthesiser takes it somewhere else entirely. A subtle electric glow beneath the improvisation, widening the frame, bending the air around the horns.

First spin of this gem.
Anarchy in the UK 1977 style.

A first spin of this.
Church, street procession, cosmic sermon. George Adams growls, Kenny Barron burns slow, and the Harlem Boys Choir lift it somewhere higher.

Pure Electric Soul. So low, so low.

A dramatic reinvention that dives deep into baroque-pop elegance.
Lush orchestration and melancholic melodies give it a cinematic sweep.
It stands as Shannon’s most ambitious sustained artistic statement.

An oddly haunted slice of Laurel Canyon soft rock.
The production feels sun-faded, but there’s something deeply unsettled underneath.
His take on “These Days” (with mum Doris Day on backing vocals) is devastating, heartbreak rendered in slow motion.
It elevates the whole record.

A late-night set that balances virtuosity with genuine connection.
Playful, intimate, and technically fearless without ever tipping into showboating.
Not a discovery piece, but a near-definitive snapshot of an artist at ease with her powers.

Sun-bleached and conflicted, caught between radical past and mellow future.
The fire dims, replaced by pastoral drift and reflective songwriting.
Not so much an uneven comeback—more a document of comedown and recalibration.

Can dissolve their own motorik attack into vapor, tide and heat-haze.
What’s left is hypnotic, weightless, and oddly sit down physical.
One of their quietest statements, and one of their most confident.

I do know it, but don’t own it on vinyl.
He softens the edges just a tad too much for my tastes on this one.

Side point: it’s amazing how much Bill Hicks looks like him on this cover.

I picked it up 10/15 years ago as I was a fan of his 60’s Bossanova albums. It left me a bit cold on my first few listens, but I reach for it regularly now.

A quietly radical record that slips from post-bossa ease into something deeper and stranger.
Lôbo blends folk intimacy with jazz ambition and liturgical weight.
Subtle and spiritual, but by the final bar you realise just how much it’s been doing.

A double album that feels like a sketchbook and a manifesto at once.
Pastoral melodies mask sharp observations and wiry rhythmic invention.
Too much of everything—yet somehow that’s exactly the point.

40 years of schoolin' - Episode 4 Forty tracks. One per year. 1950–1989. No edits. No commentary. Just the run. This mix moves through Cajun laments, Western swing, early avant-jazz fractures, hi-fi optimism, garage noise caught on c...

Mix - www.mixcloud.com/ben-cornish3...