John Cale - Helen of Troy (1975)

The supporting crew on Cale's final Island album makes for a lineup that could never have happened again -- at least, in terms of future results, imagining, among others, Cale, Chris Spedding, Brian Eno, and Phil Collins once more in the same room together seems totally unlikely. Regardless of the oddity, Cale once again led a great ensemble band (Spedding now having fully taken over from Manzanera on guitar) through another set of great, inspiring songs. Whoever is putting in the guitar solos, Spedding or Cale, sometimes misfires, sometimes succeeds brilliantly -- consider opening song "My Maria," where the earlier efforts are intrusive but the concluding parts a perfect addition to the building smack of the song. Cale's songs generally tend towards the uneasy throughout, his sometimes strained but never forced singing, high volume at points, making the most of the material. The atmosphere of the album as a whole is perhaps the most band-oriented of the three Island records, with further arrangements sounding like additions more than intrinsic parts of the songs. It's not a criticism, though, more an interesting experiment with often strong results, like the strident horns and heavily treated noise on the title track. "I Keep a Close Watch" is the secret emotional sucker punch on Helen of Troy -- Cale long harbored a sadly unfulfilled dream that Frank Sinatra might cover it, and there's little doubt why. Taking the opening line from Johnny Cash's "I Walk the Line" as inspiration, with a much different thematic intent, it's an unabashedly romantic number with a great string and horn arrangement. There are, again, gentler moments that call to mind earlier tributes to the Beach Boys here and there, such as "China Sea," along with a great rendition of Jonathan Richman's "Pablo Picasso." Overall, Helen of Troy finds Cale at his edgiest, with fascinating results.

Peter Hammill - Incoherence (2004)

Unlike anything else Peter Hammill has done before, Incoherence seems to counterbalance the relative simplicity of his previous studio outing, Clutch. A multi-tracked keyboard extravaganza, Incoherence consists of a single 42-minute suite in 14 movements. There are separate songs, but they are segued in ways that make the transitions unnoticeable, especially on first listen. That alone is enough to set the album apart from its neighbors in Hammill's discography, but there is more: a renewed urge to experiment with forms and textures within the song format; a rare level of richness and complexity in the arrangements; and the overarching concept of incoherence, language, and miscommunication that ties all 14 songs into a single, highly convincing whole. Several listeners will have a harder time getting into this album, as it demands some focused listening and requires assessment as a complete work, instead of being absorbed song by song. Some of the keyboard sounds are rather trite, but Hammill's multi-keyboard arrangements are a step or two ahead of his usual self, with some sections sounding surprisingly close to some of Peter Gabriel's work. Hammill also plays acoustic and electric guitars, although keyboards remain the main focus. Stuart Gordon adds violin in several sections, and Van der Graaf Generator alumnus David Jackson contributes saxes and flutes. Highlights include "Babel," the electronic-sounding "Cretans Always Lie," and the poignant ballad "Gone Ahead," which has become a live favorite (see Veracious). Even though Incoherence is a suite, not an epic track, it still feels like Hammill's most ambitious undertaking since "Flight." It also represents a high mark in the man's artistic creativity.

Laurie Anderson - Big Science (1982)

There was a backlash against Laurie Anderson in "serious" musical and artistic circles after the completely unexpected mainstream commercial success of her debut album, Big Science. (The eight-plus-minute single "O Superman" was a chart hit in England, unbelievably enough.) A fair listen to Big Science leaves the impression that jealousy must have been at the root of the reception because Big Science is in no way a commercial sellout. A thoughtful and often hilariously funny collection of songs from Anderson's work in progress, United States I-IV, Big Science works both as a preview of the larger work and on its own merits. Opening with the hypnotic art rock of "From the Air," in which an airline pilot casually mentions that he's a caveman to a cyclical melody played in unison by a three-part reeds section, and the strangely beautiful title track, which must feature the most deadpan yodeling ever, the album dispenses witty one-liners, perceptive social commentary (the subtext of the album concerns Anderson's own suburban upbringing, which she views with more of a bemused fondness than the tiresome irony that many brought to the subject), and a surprisingly impressive sense of melody for someone who was until recently a strictly visual artist. For example, the marimba and handclap-led closer, "It Tango," is downright pretty in the way the minimalistic tune interacts with Anderson's voice, which is softer and more intimate (almost sexy, in a downtown-cool sort of way) than on the rest of the album. Not everything works -- "Walking and Falling" is negligible, and the way Rufus Harley's bagpipes intentionally clash with Anderson's harsh, nasal singing and mannered phrasing in "Sweaters" will annoy those listeners who can't take either Yoko Ono or Meredith Monk -- but Big Science is a landmark release in the New York art scene of the '80s, and quite possibly the best art rock album of the decade.