When the studio is used as an instrument, that magic cannot always be reproduced in a live setting, on the fly, with variable acoustics and limited equipment. That's the downside of reissues like 20 Jazz Funk Greats: the album is faithfully presented, gloriously remastered, and has never sounded better, but it has also been watered down with bonus material that, in this particular case, is inessential.
The first disc comprises the original album, 20 Jazz Funk Greats, in all its glory: this is Throbbing Gristle's most accomplished work, and one of the most essential artifacts of the early industrial era. After the grab-bag of Second Annual Report, and the confrontational sprawl of DoA, this is the most accessible TG would ever sound. Jazz and Funk it ain't—Great, yes, absolutely. It's all right here—glimpses of pop-song structure, quirky noise and industrial sound collage, subverted dance and techno hits, the blueprint for minimal wave, unsettling ambience—everything you could ever want. Hell, even if you don't care for the music, has there ever been a more frame-worthy album cover than this one?
Granted, there have been books written about 20 Jazz that explain its appeal better than I could, but I'll continue: "Persuasion," with its slow, sinister bass line while Genesis P-Orridge deadpans about how you "gotta get some" (with a woman's harsh, muffled shrieks in the background) is a distillation of TG's shock antics and dark humor into seven minutes of all tension, no release. Cosey Tutti's vocal turn on the bouncy, airy "Hot on the Heels of Love" is perhaps the perfect contrast: slick, feminine, and less tongue-in-cheek (and misogynistic), and a fine foreshadowing of her future in Chris & Cosey. Ambient sounds and field samples (seagulls!) spearhead tracks like "Beachy Head" and "Exotica," suggesting a new direction TG could have steered, had they not disbanded soon afterward. "Walkabout" does Eno better than Eno himself. "Six Six Sixties" is nothing more than a trebly drum machine, a disjointed guitar line, a bit of tambourine, and P-Orridge's nihilistic musings: "Pain is the stimulus of pain / but then, of course, nothing is cured." Sure, it's not exactly noise terrorism like the early stuff—but it is sexually charged, darkly humorous, and you can dance to it.
It's worth noting that Chris Carter's remastering job is superb. Everything on 20 Jazz sounds as crystal-clear and pristine as Throbbing Gristle were ever intended to be heard (maybe more so), from P-Orridge's discordant vocals, to the pulsing grooves that anchor the lion's share of these songs, to the strange tape manipulations and unsourced sounds. I'm not a big fan of most albums that are being touched up ("remastered") in the Spotify era; often, the mastering job is simply cranked louder to accommodate today's listening vehicles—cheap laptop speakers, iPods, tablets, and narrow-minded convenience tools. But Carter has given 20 Jazz the full Extreme Makeover treatment, complete with new wardrobe, professional haircut, and make-up, not just a $20 trip to the barbershop. This album has always been an ideal place to set foot into TG's difficult-to-grasp world; the ace remastering job only enhances that feeling.
The bonus disc unearths a nine-song live set from the 1979, weaving a few of the album's key moments ("Convincing People," "What a Day") in between selections from DoA ("Five Knuckle Shuffle") and various non-album cuts. The reading of "Convincing People" is among the better tunes—slightly extended, laden with sharp feedback and occasional bursts of white noise, P-Orridge's odd ramblings coming off wholly unscripted and manic, like a mechanized wind-up version of Mark E. Smith. Others are far from essential, like "Five Knuckle Shuffle" with its vocals mixed high, and the punchy low-end and grotesque tape manipulations of the DoA studio version missing in action. "What a Day" also falls flat compared to the studio version on disc one, its throbbing pulse flattened by any lack of the studio version's gut-wrenching bass presence. The two versions of "Discipline" that closed the Grey Area and Elektra CD issues in the '90s are also tacked onto this package—essential listening, yes, but nothing new for those with an earlier pressing.
By most accounts, Throbbing Gristle were a polarizing live act—provocative and confrontational, as expected from any band that performed blood and milk enemas on stage. (Your move, Gibby Haynes.) What was heretofore less documented, but is now heavily supported by the evidence in this reissue, is that TG were sonically hit-or-miss in a live setting, given their reliance on studio trickery, tape manipulations, and cut-and-paste composition. This isn't anything new for fans who own the four-disc TG live box released on Mute in 1993. Throbbing Gristle's most powerful work has already been released on their studio albums, odds-and-ends compiled on Greatest Hits and various (and plentiful) collections over the years. Perhaps 20 Jazz Funk Greats would have been better served by a stand-alone remastering job, with no fluff, and a lower price tag for its cult fanbase. All of which is to say that, hey, even if I'm not very convincing, people... I think an album this good deserves just a bit better.
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