By Derek Beres

This first in my Essentials: Music Series was the hardest to decide. Later posts will be broken down into genre. Like those, this is not a complete “Greatest Hits” of albums, but more a compendium of albums that have such strong emotional pull in my life that I could, possibly, live without them. I just would never want to.

A Tribe Called Quest: Midnight Marauders
Very few weekend nights went by at Rutgers without this record bumping in my, um, 1986 Chrysler Laser. When I dropped that car off to charity in ’99, I was auto-less for 12 years. Miraculously, when my wife and I bought our first together in 2011 (not a Laser), this album came right into steady rotation. Tribe was always ahead of its time by being very much embedded in its time. Timelessness is rare in music, especially so in hip-hop. Sure, there are plenty of cultural references that will define the early ‘90s, but the beats, rhymes and life they were living continues to be relevant. The total joy of “We Can Get Down” (the song Erica and I chose to walk up the aisle to after being wed), Q-Tip’s unmatched swagger on “Electric Relaxation,” the head and hip nods of “Award Tour”—they captured an energy that will never be harnessed again (not romanticizing a ‘better time,’ just saying they nailed it).

Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan: Body and Soul
My introduction to the great Pakistani Qawwal was after he cut his record with Canadian producer Michael Brook, Night Song. An amazin intro, I soon fell in love with traditional qawwali (though Brook’s stellar guitar playing and usage of old Peter Gabriel electronic loops did add a new dimension to this art form). Nonetheless, I was hooked the moment that “Mayey Nee Main Dhak Farid Dey Jana” blazed out of my speakers. To know Nusrat is to love the legacy he left behind: hundreds of bootlegged concerts you can find at any Indian and Pakistani grocer for $5 a burned disc. While I also have a love affair with the two-disc Rick Rubin sessions for their incredible production dexterity, Body and Soul is my favorite complete album, with each of the four songs reminding me why a simple configuration of voice, harmonium, tabla and handclaps offers the most transporting listening experience imaginable.

Jeff Buckley: Grace
There’s a thirteen-minute live version of “Mojo Pin” on a bootleg in which the unfortunately deceased Buckley moans and shudders for six before exploding on this incredible, delicate song, a tribute to a close friend who couldn’t kick heroin. Hearing Buckley compare chocolate and god in the same line is only to begin to understand the lyrical wizardry of one of last century’s greatest voices. To this day it’s challenging for me to hear “Lover, You Should Have Come Over” without a tear. While his version of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” might be played at every wedding and yoga class, you have to give the man credit. He heard music differently than the rest of us, and returned it in a way that none of us could match. Instead we just enjoy the luxurious, at times relaxed and at times irate voice of a genius.

John Coltrane: Africa/Brass
Pick one Coltrane album. Really? My gut goes with whatever “Out of This World” is on. Problem is, this post is devoted to records, and none has been played as often as Africa/Brass.  Three songs clock in at just under 34 minutes, every second absolutely brilliant. With My Favorite Things and Giant Steps behind him, Coltrane upped his own ante by inviting twenty others into the studio for his first Impulse recording. This was a few years before free jazz, Trane leaving his more reserved self behind while staying within the context of structure and harmony that made him famous. The lead track, “Africa,” remains one of his best, while the version of “Greensleeves” presented on the LP will influence generations of jazz players to come.

Gil Scott Heron: Winter in America
In the late years of last century and early years of this, I had the opportunity to see Gil Scott-Heron perform live at SOB’s on three occasions. Each time he came out between two and four hours after he was supposed to hit the stage (a stretch even in SOB’s time). Each time it was only him and his piano. And each time I impatiently waited for the next time. Few men can sit in front of 700 people and keep you interested the way he could. And few albums are as beautiful, melodic and thoughtful as Winter in America. His tragic drug abuse was certainly self-caused; it’s a true shame. Few poets of this depth remain, and this warrior’s passing felt like something great had left the planet.

Kayhan Kalhor: The Wind
With his groundbreaking work in the North Indian/Persian project Ghazal alongside sitar great Shujaat Khan, as well as his performances with the Masters of Persian Music with Mohammad Reza Shajarian and Hossein Alizadeh, the Iranian kamancheh (spiked fiddle) maestro evolved his genre once again on this collaboration with two Turkish baglama greats. The baglama, an oud-like lute resembling a saz in tone and texture, plays gorgeously off Kalhor’s seemingly effortless bowed playing. Considering this fantastic recording is predominantly improvisational only lends power to the notion that all three players are masters of their instruments. There is but one way to listen to The Wind, and that is in its entirety.

Portishead: Dummy
It saddens me that trip-hop had such a limited shelf life. Sure, you’ll find a throwback once in a while. The entire Portishead/Massive Attack/Tricky contingent has gotten musically depressed and complicated. Gone are the days of a simple beat, solid bass line and a punchy kick drum. And gone is the day when Beth Gibbons sat back over that simple beat and bled her heart dry for us all to bare witness. Again, I’m in no way against changing a sound. Plenty of projects have been very good at it. Portishead has not been one of them. But we have Dummy. We’ll always have Dummy.