The Art of the Album: 10 Album Covers that Made Me Say, "Whoa," Part Two

Albums 2, 3, and 4.

Continuing on yesterday’s post. The intro and first album took up the 500-word limit. Here are the next few.

Muse By Clio has a regular feature I always click on: Art of the Album - 10 Great Album Covers. Each weekly column has a guest writer, usually someone directly or indirectly in the ad business. Welcome to Part Two.

Little Feat - Sailin’ Shoes

(1972)

When I first started poking around record stores, Little Feat covers always grabbed my attention. This one in particular, with artwork by Neon Park (aka Martin Muller), blew my little mind. Just way different than anything else. I mean, where does the idea of a sultry anthropomorphic cake on a swing with a shoe flying off come from? You don’t even notice the guy in the background or the tree-root snail until about the tenth look at it.

At age ten, I probably would have bought this if I had heard them on the radio. But Little Feat wasn’t exactly hit fodder for ‘70s AM radio. I’d have better luck hearing them on FM, where “serious” rock stations played groups like LF. And it was too risky spending hard-earned money on an album by a group I had never heard of, even though the cover tantalizes to do just that. I’m not sure how much I would have enjoyed the record at that stage in my life anyway because I was just discovering the primal joys of rock. Little Feat was more sophisticated than that.

Truth is, I came around to Little Feat late. Like… only in the last couple years, long after Lowell George’s death.

Miles Davis - Birth of the Cool

(1957)

“A good photographer records; a great photographer reveals.” - Skyler Reid

This album, a compilation, released seven years after the tracks were recorded, ushers in the cool jazz age. The grainy, black and white photo looks up, studio ceiling lights in the frame, with Davis himself almost a silhouette. The sans serif font with the word “cool” in red hints at the contrarian approach Davis took to his music. 

This cover conveys Davis’ career at this point. He had left the Charlie Parker Quintet looking for some new players and a new sound. The angle of Davis’ horn suggests confidence. Confidence amidst taking a new path. That’s what I love about Miles Davis and what this cover exudes - the sureness of himself. 

New Order - Power, Corruption & Lies

(1983)

I came across New Order in college, as synth-pop rose from the underground. The remaining members of Joy Division pressed on under the name New Order after the death of their singer Ian Curtis. Released amidst the Thatcher-led England of the early 80s, the album cover slyly hints at its un-Thatcher-esque outlook. The title is coded in the subtle blocks of color on the inner sleeve. Similar coding on the front cover reads FACT 75, the label’s serial number for the release. This ingenious coding reminds one to always look deeper beyond the surface. 

500 words. Including these.