One thing that never can be said (but we can always be grateful for) is that corporate mega labels have a distinctive sound. Universal MCA is never going to engender the same flurry of fervid expectations that Factory Records' or Some Bizarre's release schedules ever could. While some indie labels do have a broad range of bands on them-- e.g. the range from Guitar Wolf to Pizzicato Five, from Fuck to Jega, all on Matador-- such indies manage to maintain an edge of high quality. It may not necessarily follow that Solex and Mount Florida share the same aesthetic, but we trust the Matador staff to maintain the Matador seal of quality.

Of the list of other labels I could create here (since 'tis listing season once again), Ninja Tune, Warp, and Thrill Jockey would each be there, representing stylistic differences with an equally paramount commitment to excellence. But on the evidence of Channel One, I'd like to make a case for Trevor Jackson's Output label being the apogee of excellence in both quality and diversity.

Though he's no household name, Jackson's own musical abilities (before we even get to his A&R; skills) are to be reckoned with. Recording as Skull, he's produced a woefully small amount of awesome gear. His Snapz EP, limited to just 1,000 sold-out copies, takes the entire Mo'Wax roster and crams paranoia-dread-I-herb down their sneaker-shuffling white boy throats and gives them the most evil of body-horror movies to gaze upon before turning them loose in a studio. Jackson lets the ill skunk prowl and we all shit ourselves in unquestioning response. Imagine Laswell's and Zorn's Massacre act as dancehall reggae. Sick fuck!

Of course, we buy armfuls of music by sick fucks because we equate such twisted minds with genius, and because 90% of the time, we're on the money. I love sick fucks. I want my first-born to be the sickest fuck your first-born would never wish to bump into. My first-born, to be innocuously named Monty, will be birthed to Skull's "Spaztic." Monty will, unequivocally, rule.

But back the compilation. Jackson hasn't compiled any of his own Skull material here (the sick fuck!), but what you get is 70+ minutes of truly gorgeous material. Anyone with $30 bucks and good taste will have already secured a copy of Fridge's "Anglepoised," the 15-minute Tortoise/Yabby U/My Bloody Valentine hybrid that made the Sevens and Twelves album an essential purchase. But sequencing "Anglepoised" first, Jackson is in serious peril; since it's one of my most treasured tracks, I'm in serious danger of never making it to the next song.

Which would be sick of me, since the second track comes from Kieren Hebden's Four Tet project. We call know our Kieren is a Fridge person and remixer for the higher brow acts on Ninja Tune. But he's also behind "Calamine," which is like a vocal-less Pale Saints/Spoonfed Hybrid mutation that goes tripping on shimmy-shimmy dance drugs. Bloody marvelous. Just go buy this album now.

You want more reasons, huh? How about Uwe Schmidt (as LB) doing an acid-soaked glitchwerks cover of James Brown's "Superbad?" How about ESG and the Slits reborn as Gramme getting all dusty about "No Wave?" Kraftwerk and Cabaret Voltaire get taken to cleaners during 7 Hurtz's "Stokers Motor" and Sonovac's "High on Tech" show Chicks on Speed that real attitude need not be emblazoned on $400 silk-screened garments. Icarus sees drum-n-bass has gotten sick, makes a Dr. Benway house call and titles this splendidly septic roller "U16." Circle Square complete the compilation with a drone spangled with mumbles, a tear-dampened bassline that crept from a lost Massive Attack session, and electronic squiggles that would make fellow Canadian David Kristian run agitated into his soundlab. You've reason enough now. Go buy the damn record.

Oh, one more thing. The quick-witted amongst you will have spotted the hidden meaning in the title of this compilation. Just as every toaster, DJ, and sweet lovers' rock vocalist dreamt of having their work released on Channel One, or even recording at the versions-galore Studio One in Jamaica (often with King Tubby or some other rootical dread at the controls), now every rough-cut pogo act with a sampler and a punk-fuck attitude wants Output to release their 12-inches in limited quantities on 180gram vinyl with embossed images on the sleeve. Many come knocking. Few are let in. Channel One amply demonstrates just how sickly cool you have to be to come inside.

-Paul Cooper