NIGHTBIRDS by

LaBelle

Astralweeks

by Van Morrison

“I FIRST ENCOUNTERED NIGHTBIRDS, not through the sound of it, but through the look of LaBelle. When was a kid, I saw a photo of LaBelle in their spacesuits on the wall of a friend’s house. Patti is leaning with her face in her palm. I thought, Who are these Black women from outer space?

I knew who Patti LaBelle was because my mother loved her. Nightbirds, for my money—and think according to critical response, too—is the only good LaBelle album. The other ones are pretty rough, but they’re rough for a reason. LaBelle’s sonic impulses were all over the place. I adore Nightbirds because they found a sound that worked for them. The arrangements were deep in funk and had nice horns, but it’s also an album of sad songs. It’s an album about loneliness. Even ‘Lady Marmalade’ is kind of about loneliness.

Of all the albums on this list, Nightbirds is the one listen to the most. There are certain albums that am desperate to show people. One of my greatest pleasures is flipping to side two of Nightbirds —one of the greatest side-twos in music history. It opens with ‘What Can Do for You?’ It then goes straight into the title track. Then you get ‘Space Children.’

I was talking to a friend, another critic, about a Drake album—I think it was Scorpion —a few years ago. I was like, ‘There are 25 songs here, and like maybe 10. That doesn’t feel like an album to me.’ He said, ‘So you can just make a playlist of the 10 songs you like, and that’s your Drake album.’

I thought, My job isn’t to make the Drake album. Drake’s job is to make the Drake album. I guess I’m old school—I always love the physicality of a record. Now, I’m fine to let that go, I can acknowledge that the era of the album as physical object has waned. But that doesn’t mean artists should lose their responsibility for narrative-building, for crafting a sequenced arc of songs, not just a compilation with the occasional hit thrown in.”

“I REMEMBER WHEN A NEW BRANCH of the Columbus Metropolitan Library was built at the end of my street. That meant could go to the library, sit in a little booth, and listen to CDs all day. was at the mercy of the library workers who preloaded the CD changers, and I would sit there with a pair of headphones on. One day, when I was 16, I went and Astral Weeks was on.

I had no idea who Van Morrison was, no idea what I was getting into. Astral Weeks opens, and you’re drifting. It’s that space I really like where you’re almost asleep, but not quite. The phase where you’re awake enough to realize that you’ll soon be in a dream state. You’re still tethered enough to the waking world to relish the anticipation. That’s what the beginning of Astral Weeks feels like to me.

The listening pods were set up along the back of the library, which looked out into deep forest and overgrown grass. I remember listening to the album and staring out at what seemed like endless green. ‘Sweet Thing’ is such an atrociously, offensively beautiful love song. I can’t believe that a person wrote that about another person. And Van Morrison was like 21 when he recorded it! There’s one line that love: ‘And shall drive my chariot down your streets and cry / Hey, it’s me, I’m dynamite and don’t know why.’ What a beautiful lyric. There’s a certain ridiculousness to it—a love song that lays bare the absurdity of being in love. was at a hardcore show like five years ago in Cincinnati. It was one of the old-school hardcore shows used to go to, where 30 or so very enthusiastic people thrash into each other. There was a point where the guitarist was tuning his guitar, and he started playing the opening notes of ‘Sweet Thing.’ It wasn’t a hardcore version, just a very tender, soft cover. I remember thinking, What an incredible, unlikely place for this song to pop up, what an amazing place for it to live.”