Daniel Amos: ¡Alarma! (1981)

Tracks:

1. Central Theme
2. ¡Alarma!
3. Big Time/Big Deal
4. Props
5. My Room
6. Faces to the Window
7. Cloak and Dagger
8. Colored By
9. C & D Reprise
10. Thru the Speakers
11. Hit Them
12. Baby Game
13. Shedding the Mortal Coil
14. Endless Summer
15. Walls of Doubt
16. Ghost of the Heart

Just a few months after the belated Horrendous Disc hit the streets, DA released their "new" record, ¡Alarma!  Yes, it's Spanish for "alarm," but no, it's not the band's foray into the untapped Latino Christian Music Market.  Instead, it builds on Terry Taylor's growing disquiet from the previous record over what he believes is the self-absorbed delirium of the modern American Christian church.  So intense and prophetic is his conviction that he would write four albums' worth of music and an equally-sprawling allegorical novella that would all be bound together as The ¡Alarma! Chronicles.

Volume One of the series presents the message in the latest stage of the band's never-ending stylistic evolution: That of a lean, edgy, hyperactive New Wave machine.  While the music is still guitar-driven, the beats and tempos are now tight, fast, and angular, and the group is reduced to a quartet: Mark Cook is gone, although there are some rudimentary synths played by an uncredited member.  And Alex MacDougal makes a cameo appearance on the title track, but the bulk of the playing is the Terry, Jerry, Marty, and Ed line-up.  It's hard to believe this was the same group that just five years prior recorded "Shotgun Angel," but there's not a hint of twang to be heard on this here roundup...er, rave.

The album kicks off with "Central Theme," a song that sets the stage for all that follows with its worshipful insistence on "Jesus in the center," but whose creepy melodies and manic riffs also let us know that this is not going to be a rousing gospel sing or even a contemporary pop chestnut, but a jagged and bracing series of songs that may or may not leave a pleasant taste in our mouth.  The title track, a classic merging of the melodic power of Horrendous with the new modern sound, is the "prophetic theme" of the album, taking on religious leaders and entities who occupy the dying cities and ignore those who are "turning away."  The alarm of God's grief for the church's insularity rings throughout this and the next three records, as DA calls her out on her consumerism, complacency, and religiosity, to name a few or her maladies.  Not something you want to play for Sunday Morning, for sure.

Track by track, Taylor & Co. takes on all of the American church's failures to follow Jesus' two greatest commands: "Love the Lord with all your heart," and "Love your neighbor as yourself."  The former is taken on in songs like "Baby Game," that confronts spiritual immaturity, and another classic, "Walls of Doubt," one of the few truly upbeat songs, that encourages the listener that "It's alright/You can let go now/Love is the master's plow/Crash down the walls of doubt."  The church's mandate of loving "the least of these" is addressed in "Faces to the Window," a song that takes the opposite approach to "Central Theme" in that it presents the heavy message of "little bitty beggars with great big eyes" crying for help to a bright and happy melody.  "Hit Them" also speaks with killing the skeptical doubter with kindness instead of "The Big Book."  Then there's a few shots at commercialism: "Big Time/Big Deal" talks about the seemingly never-ending quest of the performer to "make it big"--be they "secular" or "sacred."  And "Through the Speakers" takes on the old DA burden of spiritual manipulation through false teaching, with an appropriately spooky melody.  Yeah, they never really stopped preaching, but now they're smarter and more relevant with their polemics, and the loopy stylistics of the music make a much more nuanced connection with the listener.


This first installment of the ¡Alarma! cycle is successful in showing the band's chameleon-like ability to adapt to modern sounds and still proclaim the same urgent message of following Jesus not just inside the sanctuary, but also in the streets.  It inaugurated what was the most artistically active and epic period of the band's history, and also heralded of even more changes to come for the band. 

Phil Keaggy: Ph'lip Side (1980)

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Tracks:

1. A Child (In Everyone's Heart)
2. Little Ones
3. Spend My Life With You
4. I Belong to You
5. In Your Keep
6. Just a Moment Away
7. A Royal Commandment
8. Sunday School
9. Pulling Down
10. Send Out Your Light

After recording the deep and expansive The Master and The Musician, Phil took a couple of years off from the studio, relocated to Kansas City, and entered into what he himself referred to as his "middle period," an apt if humble description of his work during the greater part of the 1980's.  There was some great work during these years, and a good portion of it has stood the test of time and stands as some of his best work.  But more often than not it was just decent, well-played, tame gospel pop, nothing really impressive or mind-blowing.  And really, it makes sense when you consider the man was settling down, starting a family, and generally putting his music, if not on the back burner, at least on medium heat.  

The first product of this epoch was Ph'lip Side, something of a spin on Neil Young's Rust Never Sleeps in structure, in that the record featured both sides of the Keaggy style: This Side featured gentle, melodic acoustic ballads and mellow soft rock, and That Side contained heavier rock and light funk tunes.  It's an interesting approach, and like the corny title, shows Phil's strength for deft fretwork, fast and soaring solos, and bright, singable melodies--and also his tendency toward folksy cuteness.  Hey, nobody's perfect!

The album starts off with the pretty but precious "A Child," which is basically is the theme song for everybody's inner youth.  Sure, it's got a huge melodic hook, but it's also cloying and a little silly, and features nothing special on the six-string.  The next song is even gentler, but a hundred times more resonant--Phil's pro-life statement song, "Little Ones."  With just a vocal and beautifully recorded and played acoustic guitar, he takes a stand for the voiceless victims of abortion.  He manages to sing an emotionally-charged song  without being preachy or heavy-handed.  Whatever one's view may be on the issue, if any man had a platform to "speak up," it was Phil, given the struggles he and Bernadette had with carrying a child to full term.

The other major highlight from the acoustic side is "Spend My Life With You," built around a repeating but melodic arpeggio, with some great longing lyrics about Phil being on the road away from his love.  The soloing on the extended coda is some of the best on the record, and the piece is fluent and emotionally-resonant.  Phil would re-visit the song in an adapted form on his 1996 instrumental album Acoustic Sketches.  

When Phil "flips over" to electric, things get a little deeper and more challenging.  "Just a Moment Away" is decent whitefunk with back-talking vocals ("What You Say"), a strong chorus, and a sinewy solo.  "A Royal Commandment" is complex, anchored by the heaviest riff on a PK song yet, but it's counterbalanced by some mellow synths, quiet verses and a jazzy break.  "Pulling Down" a fast-moving rocker about spiritual warfare with a bluesy feel.  

The most memorable track on That Side is the slow-moving but bluesy "Sunday School."  This is not a kiddie singalong by a long shot; he's telling a sad story of rebellion against God's deliverance by people that need it the most.  Starting with a very twangy, angular pattern on what sounds to be a Telecaster, the song unwinds and slithers along until it comes to an abrupt and unhappy ending.  Quite a distance from the lost and "found, found, found."

Ph'lip Side has some great moments of brilliance in the midst of some light pop sparkles, and succeeds in its mission of showing the artist's range and depth.  It would set the tone for the next several albums by setting a few gems in the midst of several average pieces and the occasional sappy duffer.  Still, this album at least has a thematic structure that makes finding those gems worth the effort of digging through the rest.  

Relient K: Five Score And Seven Years Ago (2007)

Tracks:

1. Pleading The Fifth (A Cappella)
2. Come Right Out and Say It
3. I Need You
4. The Best Thing
5. Forgiven
6. Must Have Done Something Right
7. Give Until There's Nothing Left
8. Devastation and Reform
9. I'm Taking You With Me
10. Faking My Own Suicide
11. Crayons Can Melt On Us For All I Care
12. Bite My Tongue
13. Up and Up
14. Deathbed

 After a three-year hiatus--broken only by the Apathetic EP from '05--Relient K released their next full-length album, the retrospectively-entitled Five Score and Seven Years Ago.  The band had went through some changes in the interim, reflected in the cleverly-staged cover image of five guys casting four shadows: Brian Pittman has departed and John Warne has replaced him on bass, joined by second guitarist Jon Schneck.  The addition of a second axman beefed up the band's already heavier sound, and freed Matt Thiessen to play even more piano on stage and in the studio.  

But there's more: The band is definitely growing up.  If MMHMM was the sound of the sophomores getting some upper class maturity, then Five Score is their senior prom.  The songs are definitely leaving behind the teenage melodrama and sardonic wordplay, and dealing with the big questions: Life, death, and crayons.  Okay, there's still a little of the cutesy wordplay here and there, but now the lyrics are more streamlined, desperate, and straightforward; Thiessen's got three years of growth to sing about, and he doesn't have time for Willie Aames to chime in or Panthro to warm up the ThunderTank.  After the obligatory a cappella intro, the album dives in with "Come Right Out and Say It," which picks up where "Let It All Out" left off: "Why don't you come right out and say it?  Even if the words are probably gonna hurt
I'd rather have the truth than something insincere."  The next track, "I Need You" is even more blunt: "I need you like you would not believe/You're the only thing I want cause you're everything I need."  There's less of the cleverness of yore and more immediacy and desperation, as Thiessen wants God (and his loved ones) to save him from the bad place he's found himself in.

The big hit is "Forgiven," which sets a new standard for contrition mixed with confrontation.  Beginning with a catchy keyboard riff, Thiessen dives into a two-way inquisition of sorts, acknowledging the rift between the first and second party: "And you can't see past the blood on my hands to see that you've been aptly damned to fail and fail again."  He then confesses that all of us are guilty of "thinking the thoughts whether or not we see them through," and that we've all been forgiven by the Final Judge, so we might as well lay our sins on the line and let them go.  

What really sets Five Score apart from its predecessors is the band's new preoccupation with death.  "Faking My Own Suicide," a country knockoff complete with pedal steel and banjo, presents the confession of a hurting romantic using self-harm--at least figuratively--as a manipulation tactic to earn sympathy from an estranged other.  The real "grateful dead" is the epic 11-minute closer, the morbidly appropriate "Deathbed."  A long first-person account of a wayward elder dying of lung cancer, Thiessen paints a sweeping but sad portrait of a life wasted in drinking, smoking, loveless matrimony, and bowling.  Finally, the singer sees a window of redemption open up--apparently accompanied by a chamber orchestra--and exhales his final rasp in a cry of deliverance to Jesus, portrayed by none other than Jon Forman of Switchfoot, who sings our hero into the Promised Land.  (Good casting, by the way, since Switchfoot are kind of like a musical older brother to the Canton boys.)

It's not all gloom, doom, and ka-boom: Thiessen sings the praises of his significant other in "Must Have Done Something Right," obviously taking a page out of the Bob Carlisle Playbook of Happy Accidents.  It's a nice flash of light in a largely gun metal gray block of emotional turmoil and morbid reflection.  Well, maybe that's a bit much.  The point is, the K are becoming a full-grown punk artist, and now have the actual gravitas to (gulp) be taken seriously.  

Third Day: Come Together (2001)

Tracks:

1. Come Together
2. 40 Days
3. Show Me Your Glory
4. Get On
5. My Heart
6. It's Alright
7. Still Listening
8. I Got You
9. I Don't Know
10. When the Rain Comes
11. Sing Praises
12. Nothing Compares

After reinventing themselves as a rock and roll worship band (which is kind of the reverse to the "worship band>rock and roll band" way groups like Delirious? and Sonicflood did it), Third Day take the next step and try to start a worldwide ecumenical revival.  Or at least an American version of one.  With Come Together, Mac & the boys are determined to bring Christians together in the common bond of Christ-centered worship, brotherly love, and serving the gospel.  It's a noble concept, and in reality, it would be Third Day themselves that would serve as the common ground for a lot of brothers and sisters coming together.  

The band have purged the last vestiges of their grungy period and are now acting like grown-up, 21st century rockers with a strong 70s retro vibe.  Mac's longer hair, the band's love of t-shirts and denim, and the groovy branding and graphics ring out like a distorted power chord.   But they're also mixing the new with the old:  For every fuzzy tone and thumping groove, they have plenty of pulsating synth parts and electronic flourishes.  Still, the production doesn't get in the way of the songs, which go in different directions and show a mature diversity and, more importantly, a personal angle that is novel for the band.

The title track is the call for God's people to gather in the marketplace, and it's a nice blend of the aforementioned styles, with probably the most remarkable thing a strange "ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-wee-ooh" vocal part courtesy of Brad Avery that harmonizes with a processed guitar part, so that it sounds like neither.  Avery also pitches in with his first song credit ever, the power poppy "My Heart," in which Powell sings in an unusual style, mimicking Avery's bouncy delivery.  It's a nice little diversion from the rest of the album, and gives the lead guitarist a chance to stretch himself a bit.

Another direction the band goes into is a kind of mystical, grandiose kind of sound that evokes broad landscapes and wide open skies.  The two songs that exemplify this the most are the worshipful "Show Me Your Glory" (a quote of Moses from the thirty-third chapter of Exodus) and the closer "Nothing Compares."  The former is a prayer from a believer looking out at a night sky and communing with his heavenly Father.  The latter is an emotional song in which Mac confesses he's "seen all the glory/tasted all that's fine," but no earthly pleasure or treasure can equal the love of Jesus.  These follow in the footsteps of "King of Glory" with their emphasis on the deeper side of the spiritual life.  

Other songs, like "It's Alright" and "I Don't Know" take on a personal level that could apply to human relationships just as easily as the heavenly.  "When the Rain Comes" is a sweet song by Mark Lee about comforting his wife through bad times and sorrow, and flashes a vulnerability that hadn't been seen before.   And "Sing Praises" is a carryover from Offerings that uses Caribbean styles to lead listeners to do what the title says.

Probably the most interesting song on the album could be its most derivative: "Still Listening" is a song about listening to God even when He is silent and trusting His lead.  The song is an homage to Exile on Main Street-era Rolling Stones and, more closely, the aforementioned Black Crowes, with Mac slurring his phrases in classic Chris Robinson style.  Still, it's a fun and tasty tribute to the band's roots, and shows the band at their best, preaching the gospel using Southern Rock as the medium for the message.
   
On Come Together, TD manages to balance old styles with new finishes, praise and worship with ethereal splendor, and "church music" with sounds that connect with the world at large.  For me, this was their peak, when they synergized the finger-lickin' good sound with the Hallelujah spirit and the romantic underpinnings of their material.  In other words, it did indeed come together at the right time and at the right place.

Audio Adrenaline: Some Kind Of Zombie (1997)

Tracks:

1. Chevette
2. New Body
3. Some Kind of Zombie
4. Original Species
5. People Like Me
6. Blitz
7. Lighthouse
8. Flicker
9. God-Shaped Hole
10. Superfriend
11. Some Kind of Zombie (Criscoteque Remix) 

After the success of the Bloom album and tour, things finally seemed to be clicking for Audio Adrenaline as they began to put together material for the follow-up.  It would have been easy to make A Second Bloom, I suppose, and it would have probably been well-received, with the organic "Modern Southern Rock" vibe they had crafted.  But personnel changes would facilitate a shift in style and approach.  The first was a closing of the revolving door that had been spinning behind the drum chair in the form of Ben Cissel, Audio A's first "official" drummer.   Bringing a versatile rock style to the band, Cissel immediately solidified the rhythm section.   The second and more significant changing of the guard was the departure of Barry Blair.  He would contribute to the song "Some Kind of Zombie," the title track of the next disc, but then left the band to focus on his family.  Somewhere in the interim, the band shot photos for the album cover sans Blair, avec Cissel.   Then they picked up a 17-year-old dishwasher from Minneapolis named Tyler Burkum, and the line-up was in place that would produce Some Kind of Zombie.

Three things are apparent with the new changes.  First, the band is rediscovering their love of synths and samples, bringing a trippy techno sound to many of the tracks.  Second, with Burkum, they develop a much harder, noisier guitar sound, with loads of fuzz, feedback, and crunch.  Third, and somewhat paradoxically, the band writes and records most of the basic tracks on acoustic guitars, then piles on the overdubs to fill out the songs.  The result is a decidedly "modern/post-grunge" feel that works for the most part.   

The album kicks of with "Chevette," probably the only song ever dedicated to Chevy's subcompact answer to the Ford Pinto.  Stuart tells an autobiographical story of his preacher dad's brand new but bare-bones '77 hatchback, with "No AC, No FM, and no regrets."  With warped synth licks and screechy guitars, it announces that Bloom has left the building, and Audio A have entered their next phase.  

The title track plays on the timeworn "Resurrection-as-Zombie-Apocalypse" metaphor, which actually works here as the horror trope hadn't saturated pop culture with its rotted ubiquity yet.  And they play up the "mindless slave" rather than "animated corpse" angle, actually drawing from the more historically accurate Haitian Voodoo tradition--with which Stuart, as a missionary kid, had firsthand experience.  The zombie servitude is actually a picture of faithful obedience to the Real Master.  

 "Blitz" was a big single and features the O.C. Supertones bringing a then-hip injection of ska punk energy into the mix.  The story of "fourteen kids in an old church van" and their madcap mission trip to Mexico is fun, including a break in which McGinniss tries to get roadside service for the broken-down heap.  "People Like Me" is probably the closest thing in spirit to Bloom with its happy melody and driving guitars, but the swoopy synth leads take it into another direction.  

The band also shows a softer, deeper side with "Original Species," a rebuttal of Charles Darwin with Stuart proclaiming he's "more enlightened than Nietzsche."  They also draw on the classic image of man's need for God in "God-Shaped Hole."  The album closes with "Superfriend," their fast version of punk rock and by far the hardest thing they'd ever recorded--so hard it made even the band themselves uncomfortable.  I remember seeing them on this tour and when the song came up in the set, Mark was overly cautious about moshers getting too rowdy during its three minutes of mayhem.   

With all the changes, Zombie gathered enough new fans that the band was energized to move forward on their mission: to mobilize techno-rocker zombies into an army of missionary mercenaries bringing the gospel to a brain-dead world.  Or at least, get their sequencers and samplers out of storage and the talented young Mr. Burkum out of that rubber apron. 

Rich Mullins: The World As Best As I Remember It, Vol. 1 (1991)

Tracks:

1. Step by Step
2. Boy Like Me/Man Like You
3. Where You Are
4. Jacob and 2 Women (The World as Best as I Remember It)
5. The Howling
6. Calling Out Your Name
7. Who God is Gonna Use
8. The River
9. I See You
10. Step by Step (Reprise) 

Back in the late 80s and early 90s, Rich Mullins collaborated and travelled with a musician called Beeker (Christian name: David Strasser), who was something of a Barnabas to Rich's Paul (if Paul were a traveling singer-songwriter instead of Christianity's first missionary and author of half the New Testament).  He was a companion, co-conspirator, and partner-in-crime in Mullins' ministry, and wrote many songs on his own.  His most famous composition, "Step By Step," was a simple chorus that would be the theme for the two-volume The World As Best As I Remember It.  It would bookend both albums and stylistically marks a turning point for Mullins: The singer was now turning against the tide of the popular trends and going back to an "older" sound: Synths and big arrangements were being phased out in favor of acoustic instruments, world music elements, and smaller, plainer background vocals.  More importantly, Mullins was starting to develop a mystical bent to his music, taking on deep personal issues as well as delving into ancient traditions and ideas.  It was almost as if he was already starting to leave the world behind, and thumbing his way down the road for that last chariot ride.

"Beeker's Song," as "Step" was referred to by friends and fans in its earliest incarnation, sets the tone by opening the album with bagpipes (the first of Mullins' nods to his Celtic roots) and a charming boy soprano intoning the chorus.  Along with the children's choir on Winds and the a capella group sing on Never, this forms the third album in a row that Rich has opened with a non-contemporary vocal track.  It's clear that the liturgy at least symbolically informed his approach to his albums, as they were as much worship services (or at least calls to worship) as they were collections of popular songs. Hence these traditional "entroits" into the musical house of prayer.

Next comes another Beeker collab, "Boy Like Me/Man Like You."  Like "First Family" it taps into his Indiana childhood, comparing his experience with that of a young Jesus of Nazareth.  While the line about licking a dog's nose kind of grossed me out, it's another nice portrait of a boy's rural Christian upbringing and how it resonates in the life of the adult: The Father is the father to the child and the man.

"Where You Are" is something of a surprising hit single, as it's an acoustic Caribbean-influenced tumble through Sunday School stories, complete with African-style backup chants and various native percussion instruments.   True to his songwriter's instinct, the "Talkin' Jonah in the belly of a whale" hook propelled the song to the top of the charts, but it's a fun little reminder that the passionate worshiper and singer still had a lighter side.  "Jacob and 2 Women" sports a chorus that provides the album title, but I've always had trouble connecting the biblical story of the patriarchal love triangle with the concept of "remembering" the way of the world.  I suppose on its face, the idea is that as Christians, we don't have to scheme and manipulate our way to find favor, like "the Heel Grabber" and his disparately-loved spouses.  Or maybe it just made for a great tagline, although it always kind of reminded me of Don Henley's "End of the Innocence."  Now that's an odd combination...

"Calling Out Your Name" and "The Howling" both reference the Great Plains that Mullins was calling home at the time, and also his growing fascination with Native American sounds and traditions.  "Calling" is especially powerful, the first song to feature hammer dulcimer as the lead instrument.  He name-checks Nebraska, Kansas, the Dakotas, and pheasants in a tribute to the prairie, using its wildlife as a metaphor for worship--there's the Franciscan influence.  He also uses tribal modes (Whoa-oa-oa-oaaaa...) in the bridge to great effect.   

There's even a lap dulcimer on the earthy "Who God is Gonna Use," one of the best examples of his "testifyin' blues style" compositions.  The penultimate track, "I See You," became one of his anthems, built for concert and worship settings with each line echoed by the backup singers.  It became a live favorite for obvious reasons, and still resonates as a simple worship song about seeing God's glory in all Creation.

World Vol. 1 is where Mullins truly starts heading back to his roots, taking modern music and fusing it with old ideas and traditions and making a new statement.  While he wouldn't have many more hit singles, his songs begin to take on a timelessness that defies ideas like charts and sales.  Like a homespun, well-centered version of Brian Wilson, he was writing child-like, faith-filled symphonies to God. 

 

The Seventy Sevens: Sticks and Stones (1990)

 

Tracks:

1. MT
2. Nowhere Else
3. This is the Way Love Is
4. Perfect Blues
5. Don't, This Way
6. You Walked in the Room
7. The Days to Come
8. The Loop
9. God Sends Quails
10. Love Without Dreams
11. Do It For Love
12. The Lust, the Flesh, the Eyes, and the Pride of Life
13. Pearls Before Swine
14. Bottom Line 

After their one shot at major-label stardom passed by largely unnoticed by the World At Large, the 7s went into a period of semi-hibernation (kind of like the "Sleep" state on a PC).  Tootle and Volz left, and Smith did session work.  In the meantime, Roe went into the studio and surfed through the deep stack of unreleased demos, alternate takes, and almost-finished versions of the band's songs over the previous years, and put together the best of these into what was supposed to be an archival hodge-podge entitled Sticks and Stones.  The funny thing was, it ended up being a strong, cohesive collection in its own right, and for some fans, surpassed The Seventy Sevens (myself included) on a song-for-song level.  

While it's true that the Island album had a more diverse scope and was more of a piece than Sticks, the quality of the material on the latter record makes one wonder why some of these tracks couldn't have made their way onto the "official" release.  The opener "MT" (as in "More Than") is an angular piece of 80s power pop, produced by "Bongo Bob" Smith, which explains the percussion-heavy, razor-sharp riffs and beats that drive the song.  It's a flashy enough version of a quasi-techno sound, but like a red leather jacket is very much of its time and place.  Still, the band looks pretty good in red leather.

More revelatory and representative of their strengths is what should have been the album's single, "Nowhere Else."  With backup singers chanting, "Hey Nah Nah" and a hook that comes right out of a 60s girl group song, Mike paints a picture of an evening communing with God in a valley under an expansive star-lit canopy.   Driven by acoustic guitars and Aaron's usual sharp but unobtrusive percussion, the song fills the mind like a heavenly ether and echoes long after the last chorus fades out.  Mike sings the line, "Nowhere else I'd rather be than in your heart/eyes/arms" so smoothly that they all sound like "aaahh," and for a long time I thought he said "arms" three times.  It's a beautiful picture of man connecting with his Father on a personal and intimate level, and right up there with "The Lust..." as one of his best creations.

Speaking of that song, the demo version which was recorded before the Island release is featured as part of a group of songs subtitled "Lost Island Treasures."  These are demos of Seventy Sevens tracks that sound just as good as the final versions and in the case of "The Lust..." actually surpasses it.  Chris Hillman helps out with a brilliant background vocal (resulting in a fuller sound) as well as mandolin on the last chorus.  It also has a more rollicking rhythm, the main sliding riff adding an extra wobble to its already tipsy feel.  

Going back to the undiscovered artifacts, "Perfect Blues" is a standard piece of 50s blues that has some gruff guitar riffs that make it edgy, as well as an overdubbed Jerry Lee Lewis-style piano solo that is four tracks mixed down to one.  "Don't, This Way" is described by the author as "the saddest song I ever wrote," and its melancholy singing as well as chunky but weepy guitar parts capture that feeling well.  "God Sends Quails" is a long jam in the tradition of "Pearls Before Swine" (a studio version of which is also featured) with a long intro featuring an ominous Volz bass riff and some scathing solo playing by Roe.  The message is one of receiving God's blessings even if they're in the guise of failure and defeat: "You failed...spit out your manna, God sends quails."

For a few years, Sticks and Stones was the only Seventy Sevens product available on the market, unless one wanted to go digging around in old record bins or pawn shops for the odd cassette.  And if one could have only one of their albums, this would be a good one to have around, at least of the 80s version of the band.  Still, changes were in the air, and the Mark Three version of the band would bring a whole new set of flatware to the table.