Tsunami's tough indie-pop was bracing and ingenious. Led by the loud, purposeful guitar banging of Jenny Toomey and Kristin Thomson, they made more than a dozen 45s (as well as a couple of LPs), most of them on their own Simple Machines Records. The label itself was one of the most inspirng developments of the early 90s; it was well-known for its concern for the community, its commitment to fair play, and its utter lack of rock-world bullshit. Oh yeah, all their records looked great, too, even the ones I didn't care for. Their booklet on how to release an independent record doubtless contributed to the deluge of crappy indie-rock 45s that flooded every indie distributor in the world by the mid-90s, but we don't hold that against them.

Chris Sievey is a lovable failure to rival John Otway. The Beatle-obsessed singer/guitarist/songwriter and his mates made perhaps a dozen singles on a variety of labels without ever getting to make an LP. Almost every one of them is a gem, humorous without being "wacky," and generally sporting very sticky choruses. We could argue all day about which one is the best; It might be "I'm In Love With the Girl On the Manchester Virgin Megastore Checkout Desk," or it might be "If You Really Love Me (Buy Me A Shirt)" or any of several other contenders with shorter names, but this B-side is the one we felt like hearing the most right now. You really should check out the compilation on Cherry Red and make up your own mind. After the Freshies ended, Sievey created a substantial discography under the psuedonym Frank Sidebottom, which is a whole 'nother story.

The Higson’s single took me over 23 years of searching to find. Last summer I hit pay dirt at Mystery Train, a marvelous used record shop in Gloucester, MA. First heard in the Philly dorm room of my pal who went by the apt name of Map. Indeed, he certainly showed me the way with these two records. The Higsons track embodied our irreverent gonzo side, I guess. It was so great to put it on the turntable after all these years and have it be as fantastic as I remembered it. It has many of the hallmarks of 1981 post-punk experimentation: the dissonant slashing guitar chords, the chorused white-boy funk bass, the ska references, the crazed chanting. Map also introduced me to the Monochrome Set, specifically their spaghetti western-tinged single “Cast a Long Shadow”, which I eventually tracked down on the excellent Cherry Red Records compilation “The Eyes of Barbara Steele” (pictured below). Whereas the Higsons seemed like the kind of guys you would have a few pints and jokes with after the football match, the Monochrome Set came off like eccentric Dada-ist nobility. I’m sure I speak for Little Hits in saying that the first four Monochrome Set albums are indespensible. I started out with their fantastic comp “Volume, Contrast, Brilliance” (one of my desert island records) and moved on to Love Zombies and then Eligible Bachelors. Yow. Anyway, Map was kind of daffy goofy gangly faux-spastic nerdy in all the right ways back then, and these two songs really are the musical equivalent of my memories of him from that time. Plus the tunes are a laugh riot and yet somehow remain elevated above all-out jokey novelty record status, perhaps because they are really more sophisticated and witty than say, oh, the Pop-O-Pies. Quite a feat to sing “Hoo ha a-debba debba debbay, hoo ha a-dep dep doo” and “bah bup bup bah bah bah bup bah bah bup bah” and keep your ascot pin in place.

Andrew Chalfen

By the time their first EP came out in 1990, the Angels of Epistemology were long since broken up -- its six songs were recorded in 1987 and '88 -- and bizarrely, it wasn't until 1992 that a CD was released that gathered most of the band's recordings. Even more bizarrely, that CD, Fruit, lacks the under-two-minute leadoff track from the untitled EP, "Response," which just might be the best thing the group ever did. Much of the band's repertoire consisted of faux-ethnic instrumentals along the lines of what Camper Van Beethoven was doing at the time, but "Response" has the ramshackle sound of a great New Zealand indie single. Like something by the Tall Dwarfs, Look Blue Go Purple or the Great Unwashed, "Response" is simultaneously inscrutably insular and bizarrely catchy, with an odd structure that switches back and forth between a propulsive, strummy A section and a weird, semi-rapped B section in lieu of the usual verse and chorus thing. This song might be why Merge Records agreed to release the band's tapes long after they'd broken up: "Response" sounded very much of a piece with what Superchunk and Pavement were doing a few years later. Points for swiping the cover art from Abba's Greatest Hits, too.

-Stewart Mason

To the extent that Ellen Foley is remembered at all these days, it's for two odd little footnotes: she spent a season as the public defender on the '80s sitcom Night Court before she was replaced by Markie Post, and she was the centerpiece of the weirdest Clash offshoot ever, the over the top, artsy Spirit of St. Louis, produced by Mick Jones (listed in the credits as "my boyfriend") and written by Jones, Joe Strummer and Clash entourage member Tymon Dogg. A respectably weird bit of art-rocky new wave, Spirit of St. Louis really needs to be heard in full to be appreciated. So here's an earlier Ellen Foley single, from her 1979 debut Nightout. Produced by Mick Ronson and Ian Hunter, "Sad Song" is part of that whole neo-Spector movement that was so big in the New Wave around this period. (see also: Blondie's "In the Flesh," or Little Hits' song of the day for November 10, 2005, "Girls' Night Out" by Karen Lawrence and the Pinz) Foley was a commanding, if slightly overdramatic, singer with some obvious talent and a rather appealing New York Bad Girl look vaguely reminiscent of the Shangri-Las, but she was forever overshadowed by the company she kept.

-Stewart Mason

Information about Atlanta's Lovely Lads is hard to find, which isn't surprising, considering that they were proffering this kind of collegiate sweater rock as late as 1996, almost a full decade after its heyday. "Daytime All Around" features a terrific melancholy chorus which sounds remarkably to my ears like Big Dipper. This likeable disc occasionally gets a bit cranky (as on "Fucking, Fighting, Crying Upstairs"), but is always smart and engaging. I believe they had at least one other album. I think this one stumbled into the store as part of a college radio station spring cleaning; I grabbed it despite it's ugly packaging because I assumed the band's name was a Spinal Tap joke.