I figure every city had a group like the Slickee Boys in the early '80s. You can tell just by looking at 'em that they're no spring chickens -- receding hairlines, old-guy ponytails and all -- but they were inspired by the new wave to drop all the Grateful Dead covers and get a little modern. Most of these bands, it must be said, are incredibly lame. But then there's the Slickee Boys, who managed a killer single in 1983's "When I Go To The Beach." Surfy power pop that's just a hairsbreadth away from being corny, this is a great jumpy new wave gem. (P.S. Another good one by a buncha old-dude bandwagon-jumpers: the Monroes' "What Do All the People Know.")

-Stewart Mason

The Shins are currently one of the biggest indie bands in the world, which is kinda weird for me, because I still think of them as one of the biggest bands on the teensy, insular pop scene of my former adopted hometown of Albuquerque. This single, produced by Jon Little of the Ant Farmers (Burque's other big band of the mid-'90s), doesn't quite capture the My Bloody Valentine-like sweep of this powerful song, the highlight of Flake's live sets. Yet on its own merits, it's still a compelling early glimpse of James Mercer's idiosyncratic but appealing pop craft. Although a remake of "Deluca" is on Flake Music's sole CD, When You Land Here It's Time To Return, it lacks the rough-hewn charm of the original; although it's likely that Flake's several vinyl-only releases will someday be gathered, it hasn't happened yet. The other side of this single is an equally great little bit of noise by Henry's Dress, another Albuquerque band, led by Amy Linton of Go Sailor and the Aislers Set.

-Stewart Mason

In going overboard compiling around 60 plus possible songs to review for Little Hits, I discovered that ten of my selections dated from 1981, and the number increases to over 20 if one includes 1980 and 1982. Most of these tunes I discovered post-’82, usually on college radio. It might be a stretch, but I think there is a unifying aesthetic to a bunch of these tracks. Most of them are from the UK, or are influenced by various trends in the UK around that time. What appeals to me most about that period was the sense that bands were reaching beyond punk and embracing all sorts of ideas and combinations of sound, with a kind of pioneering full-steam ahead into the unknown spirit. Sort of like if somehow the promise of side one of Television’s Marquee Moon had finally come to fruition across the spectrum of underground music. Even the retro garage stuff seemed fresh, I guess because it was the first wave of recycling and the very idea of recycling seemed fresh, almost punk. Maybe it’s nostalgia getting the better of me, but it’s hard to get excited about the retro-post-punk acts of the past few years because they seem so studied, so self-aware of their musical antecedents, so unable to operate without an ironic tinge, so concerned with mimicking the attitude and sound in just the right way rather than tearing off into their own thing.

One record I actually heard and purchased in 1981 was this track by a duo called the Holidays. I’ve yet to find any biographical info about the group, other than they seem to be from Scotland. Which kind of makes sense in a low budget Roxy Music, proto-Aztec Camera/Orange Juice way. I heard it one warm July night in a taxi in a suburb of London, at the height of my Anglophilia. This was the summer of the wedding hype of Charles and Diana, Brixton riots, National Front. It was a dumpy and grumpy museum of a country. The excitement of punk had morphed into self-parody, leaving a gray rainy vacuum in its place. The Specials “Ghost Town” was the number one song on the radio. I had my first sighting of Motorhead fans.

Anyway, I made the cabbie turn the radio up and wrote down the Holidays, buying the single the next day in town. Neat sounds, clever rhythmic stuff going on with the drums, chirpy keyboards, and a decent, appropriate, and not-over the top usage of the saxophone, one of the hallmarks of many records from the 1981-era. Maybe I heard the song on John Peel’s show. Radio was mostly awful, so I think it must’ve been Peel’s doing. Peel would premier U2’s “Fire” and the Jam’s “Funeral Pyre” as I lay in my too-small bed watching the sun set into twilight at 10 pm – dark, foreboding, urgent music, perfect for the times, and for my dramatic moody late teen head (I worshipped both bands back then). But the Holiday’s tune was romantic and ambling, kind of lyrically interesting and just sort of different. It still make me gently happy. On that July night it made me want to meet a nice lass with a hot English accent and make out with her on a hazily-backlit bridge to the strains of “Waterloo Sunset”.

Andrew Chalfen

This is an early stab at pop glory by Canadian Moe Berg, later of The Pursuit Of Happiness. This record makes Berg's arrival at gems like "She's So Young" with THOP seem inevitable; one of the B-side tunes, "It's Gone" is another good 'un, with less buzz, and more lilt. The Minds must have been on the bill at some pretty good shows; the oversized picture sleeve thanks the Pointed Sticks and The Rock 'n' Roll Bitches.