This year, and for the first time since the mid 1980s, vinyl is slated to outsell compact discs. That news broke a couple of weeks ago, and comes in the wake of an explosion of popularity and nostalgic enthusiasm for the return of album collecting. Some of this recent trend has much to do with the unreplicable sound that a vinyl record produces. The distinct crackle and stereophonic modulation is a refreshing reinstatement in the place of the metallic clink of a CD. Sure, streaming and mp3 downloads are a way more popular and convenient manner of enjoying your music on the fly or in transit, and all without having to be forced to endure the tedium of the mediocre tracks that lay in between the mega hits. But purists seem to be more and more willing to tolerate the less known songs on a complete album in order to enhance the climactic experience of the classics. Much like one would sit through the recitatives of an opera in anticipation of the epic aria. And that’s exactly what many albums are meant to be, an opera. The 10 to 15 songs work together to form a story or reflect the frame of mind that the musician was in at the time, and in some cases are not even separated, acting as a single soundtrack.
Does all of this come off as super pretentious? Most definitely, but you show me a purist of any kind who is not. Recently, I had a chance to spend some time at a cottage belonging to my friend Bilal Butt of CHOM fame, where he stores a wonderful vinyl collection that we played though out the weekend. It was then and there it occurred to me that it wasn’t totally about the sound or the historical context of the record that stood as the only essence of its appeal. It was their tactility as well. To be able to stare at the album cover art whilst absorbing the music is a lost sensation that many don’t seem to appreciate or are even aware of anymore. The 10 x 10 canvas is four times the size of a CD cover, and a virtually non-existent entity on Spotify or iTunes. So, as part of the second edition of “The Farrar Five”, I present to you my five aesthetic album covers. Because of the sheer volume of records I had to look through, I narrowed it down to art only, not photographs. I also didn’t make a distinction between the music either. Some of these albums are ones I would never bother listening to, but their cover art struck more of a chord with me than many of the albums that I love, and have been listening to all of my life.
V
“Spanish Train and Other Stories”
To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure if this is actually a good painting or not. Probably not. All I know is that my father once owned this album, and as a child I was completely obsessed with staring at it as I rummaged through his record collection. This is the alternate cover by the way, the original was simply the title of the album in a plain white, old west type font with a black background. I don’t know who smoked what in order to spice things up a little, but this version is incredibly different. The train is so minutely represented in the massive landscape, that it gives off an air of dazzling mystery. It always fascinated me on how eerily the smoke flowed from the engine, and how the tiny lights coming from its windows made me wonder in great unease, if God and the Devil were really having a card game in there. The evil, burgundy red skyline that fades into the upper black void of space is only slightly pervaded by a white, heavenly haze that represents benediction. In a way we often feel about the world around us, most of it is clouded in more darkness and only slightly touched by virtue, hence the card game that the Lord loses to Satan over the railway man’s soul. I know I know, it’s fucking Chris De Burgh, but at 7 years old, that shit was deep.
IV
“The Velvet Underground & Nico”
I’m going to be honest, I can’t stand the artwork of Andy Warhol. I find it childish, dated and aureate. A true reflection of the elitist, hippy abstraction of the time. But something about The Velvet Underground and Nico’s self-titled debut album having an Andy Warhol original on the cover is pretty lit. The fact that the image has absolutely nothing to do with the content of the record is also interesting and its simplicity coupled with its absurdity makes it hard to turn away from. The original release featured a peel away section on the banana, with a small note directing you to do so. Underneath was, well, the inside of the banana coloured in a fleshy tone. Later copies no longer featured the gimmick as it became too expensive for the record company. I was disappointed however, but not surprised to find out that the cover featured Warhol’s art for the obvious reason that the album was produced by Warhol himself. In 2012, John Cale and Lou Reed sued the Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts for licensing the art to Apple to use as covers for iPhone and iPad cases. Good for them.
III
“An Evening With Billie Holiday”
It’s no secret that the greatest jazz voice of all time lived a ghastly life. Beaten, raped and abandoned as a young child, Billie Holiday never had it easy. In her teenage years, she turned to prostitution and hard drugs, all the while managing to find singing gigs in dingy clubs and speakeasies. Her tender and cottony vocalizations were in stark contrast to her stormy, violent personal life. Hooked on heroin, constantly abused by pimps and boyfriends and yet still possessing the tenacity to never back down from anyone, and even willing to fistfight men twice her size in bars, often winning. However she was a genius musician, virtually inventing the art of vocal improvisation and delay, purposefully barely hitting her mark on the two. She completely reinvented jazz standards to suit her own style, and gave birth to many more at the dawn of the bebop era. She was beauty and she was rage, she was delicate and she was hardened. And all of these traits are depicted in the album art featured on her 1953 release, “An Evening with Billie Holiday”. The graphic art was sketched by David Stone Martin. It’s bright violet background and white flowers in her hair are unable to mask the tempestuous edge and coarseness in her visage that would eventually cost her her life.
II
“The Low End Theory”
During the late 80s and early 90s there was a resurgence of black pride in the wake of the horrific shootings and police brutality of black men by the New York and Los Angeles Police Departments. The Central Park Five, Operation Hammer and the Rodney King beating incited a second wave of black empowerment, a sort of sequel to the Black Panther movement of the late 60s and early 70s. This time around however, much of the revolution took place and was mirrored in the mainstream by black artists of the era. Movies like “Do The Right Thing”,”Boyz N The Hood” and “Malcolm X’ were an outlet for the frustration and rage felt by the African American community, but it was most effectively expressed in the music. While Public Enemy and N.W.A. took more of a hard line approach to countering bigotry, there were also more placatory groups who chose a more jazzy, poetic approach to the upheaval. One of those bands was A Tribe Called Quest. And although as a 15 year old at the time I was more attracted to the more edgy acts, I eventually came around to appreciate their form of resistance later on. 1991’s classic “The Low End Theory” is about the struggles of black men, yet features the shape of a woman, painted in vertical strokes of Afrocentric colours. Colours that dominated the imagery of the day.
I
“Buddy Holly”
Not much information can be found about this image of Buddy Holly. In fact I’m not even sure of how much of a painting it really is, although all indications point to it being a painting most likely based on a real photograph. The most striking thing about it is that Holly is not wearing his trademark glasses, having ditched them for contact lenses in and around the time that this album was released in February of 1958. The image is basically colourless, with only an antique orange and brown impression embedded in it. Without his glasses, Holly looks quite different, with his exposed eyes revealing an expression of sadness, or is it determination? Or confidence? Or anxiety? Or of an optimism of things to come from a 21 year old who had just reached the pinnacle of his short career, coming off of hits like “Peggy Sue”, “Rave On” and “That’ll Be The Day” only one year before. And therein lies the beauty of it. A Mona Lisa ambiance of abstruseness where only the subject and artist had any inkling of what the nuance was. The likeness resembles more of a Victorian era Londoner in the 19th century rather than one of a Texan rockabilly hiccuper during the early days of Rock & Roll. Either way it’s a haunting representation, and not because of what was behind him, but because of the tragedy that lay ahead.
