Auralee Likes [2]

Auralee Likes is co-owner of Hymie's Records [3], one of the few places in town where you can still unload a box or two of records, or stumble upon some amazing finds.

While processing records in the store we get exposed to zillions of records in every genre imaginable, but this list is the stuff I crank up time after time, mostly when I'm alone. I'm a shoegazing-country-folky-punk-funk-disco freak. My first 45 was Blondie's Heart of Glass, in second grade.

The Fall [4], Extricate [5], 1988
I love everything they've ever put out, but lately I keep going back to this album, especially the song "Littlest Rebel." I never tire of their dynamic, angsty dance music, or Mark E. Smith's snotty accent.

Dog Faced Hermans [6], Mental Blocks For All Ages [7], 1991
I saw this agressive group from Amsterdam playing in the basement of Motor Oil Cafe/Speedboat Gallery (R.I.P.), in Minneapolis back in the early '90s. Apparently, one fan could not contain his enthusiasm and so treated the crowd to what would be my first, only, and hopefully last witnessing of full-on public masturbation, front and center on the floor at singer/trumpette Marion's feet. The band didn't miss a beat as he was hauled away. After the show I found him up in the gallery, to my horror, sitting next to my mom as she was reading a book. He asked, "Is that your mom?" I nodded, and he slurred, "I think your mom and me are a lot alike." Great first experience of a punk show for a Wisconsin mom.

Big Black [10], Atomizer [11], 1985
Sonic terror, menacing and abrasive. I have a tape of this, with Cop Shoot Cop [12] on the other side, in my truck, but I can't even listen to it since the speakers suck; you can't listen to this stuff quietly. And for some reason, if I play it at home it seems to make my dog nervous.

Beangirl, Boner For a Beer
The heyday for witnessing this local, kooky, hippy, bar rock spectacle is long gone, as singer Steph Dickson morphed into the slightly more sophisticated Tulip Sweet and Her Trail of Tears [13] and moved her kazoo to NYC. A few band members still lurk around these parts, so maybe you can score a copy of this nonstop teenage river party tape. Or call the radio stations and request that they play "Donut Trailer."

[14]Meat Puppets [15], Up On The Sun [16], 1985
This was the first alternative band I latched onto back in my high school daze. Wait, I don't think alternative was coined as a genre yet. Well, it was alternative to listening to classic rock radio for me. Kurt Kirkwood's monotonish vocals and the rambling shimmering guitars still have a timeless appeal. Favorite song: "2 Rivers."

Slits [17], Cut [18], 1979
Naked muddy fun dub punk gal heroes. Completely underrated.

Charles Manson [19], Lie: the Love and the Terror Cult [20], Awareness Records
This record contains acoustic alienation recordings prior to the murder splurge. I'm afraid, had I met him back then, I would have fell under his spell, shaved my head, and baked him muffins every day — as opposed to carving up people. He's a unique voice and talented song rambler. Whenever I play this it seems like folks really dig it until they ask who it is and get all weirded out. His stuff recorded in Vacaville Penitentiary is great, too.

David Candy [21], Play Power [22]
For all of spastic-gospel-punk-screecher Ian Svenonius' incarnations (Nation of Ulysses [23], The Make-Up [24], Weird War [25]), this is his switcheroo to sophisticated, eerie, dream soundtrack easy listening. His recitation of an entire exotic pudding recipe provides a great introduction to his recent pocketbook offering The Psychic Soviet [26] (Drag City).

Lungfish [27]
This is my favorite Dischord [28] band. See local band Thieves for an instrumental approximation. Last time I saw Thieves, at Medusa, I couldn't escape Lungfish vocalist Daniel Higgs' conscious vocals seething in my head while they were playing, and if I had any guts I would have quickly grown an Abe Lincoln beard, channeled him, jumped on stage, and grabbed the mic.

My Dad Is Dead [29], Chopping Down The Family Tree [30]
I found myself drawn to this mysterious cardboard-covered CD at Inner Sleeve Records, in Wisconsin, around 1991. I liked the name and abstract art, so I took a chance. I fell for Mark Edwards' direct, forlorn, hopeful lyrics and was impressed by the big sound coming from what is mainly a one-man band. If you dig Interpol [31] you might enjoy this. The 33-rpm EPs on Scat Records are special re-recordings, different from the LP versions.