This thing is a whole lot easier
when there are a couple of 15-minute epics included. Not this month. Nineteen
songs. Nineteen. Count 'em.
"Death Wish (Main Title)", by
Herbie Hancock. "Dino De Laurentiis presents Charles Bronson In a Michael
Winner Film 'Death Wish' Music Composed, Conducted and Performed by Herbie
Hancock". What are you waiting for?
"Can't Hardly Stand It", by
Charlie Feathers. The Cramps did a cover of this song. But whereas Lux and Ivy
were essentially a cartoon version of a gothic horror couple, who probably were
just as happy sitting down for a cup of tea with the neighbours as hunting for
thrift-shop gewgaws to add to their collection, there is something truly
frightening about the way Charlie Feathers delivers his lines here. If I was
the subject of this song, I would be keeping my doors and windows locked at all
times.
"D'Ya Like Scratchin' (With The Red
River Valley Girls)", by Malcolm McLaren Featuring World's Famous Supreme
Team Show. This is the version on the b-side of the "Soweto" 12-inch.
It rambles around, without ever sticking in one spot for any length of time (a
bit like Malcolm himself?), but over its five and a half minutes it covers
everything that made Trevor Horn and Anne Dudley shoulda-been household names.
"Sometimes I Wish", by Pink and
Black. Synth pop! From 1985! Biographical details for Pink and Black are
largely non-existent. It seems that Pink and Black released only this one
record, in England and Spain, on small labels. How do people find this stuff? How
you respond to the thundering drum-machine intro will determine whether or not
you can be my friend.
"Casse-Tête Jungle", by Les Espions. The French have a reputation for
not really "getting" pop music. Either that reputation is misguided
or this song, which really does pick up the essential elements of the more
melodic, keyboard-and-sax-oriented arm of post-punk, is one out of the box.
(It, like the previous song, appears to be the only record this group ever
made; one extra level of obscurity here, though: this song appeared as the b-side. Not so obscure
that it isn't on YouTube, though.)
"Le Centre du Monde", by Ici
Paris. As above, only this time it's French! Punk! Rock! And it sounds like
they mean it, maaan. They sound a bit like a more feminine Buzzcocks. (What
would such a band be called? I shudder to think.) Whatever you think of the
song, you can't fault the intro, which comes barrelling straight out of the
garage and Into! Your! Face!
"Oh Oui J'Aime", by X-Ray Pop.
This, the third in our French punk/post-punk trilogy, claims to be from 1987
but sounds older. Loosely synth-pop, although it is the guitars that give the
song its kinetic energy.
"Happy", by Pharrell Williams.
Sometimes the good guys do actually win.
"Do It Again (Radio Edit)", by Röyksopp and Robyn. If this really is the end of Röyksopp, it is a
perfect way to sign off. Play loud.
"Hey Joe", by Charlotte
Gainsbourg. There are probably eleventy thousand versions of "Hey
Joe" out there in the universe. But this is the only one in which, if you
listen closely, you can hear Beck on backing vocals. In its creepily malevolent
tone, it isn't too far removed from the version by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds from all those years ago, while musically
it sounds like a lost "Morning Phase" outtake with guest vocals.
"… Even Though You're With Another
Girl", by Trentemoller. You might have placed Trentemoller in a box marked
Minimal Techno. You now have to take him out of that box and put him in a box
marked Trentemoller. This is classic dream pop but with a dark edge. That it
has taken me five years to discover it is shameful. Don't make the same
mistake. (If you can figure out what is going on in the video you are a better
man than I.)
"Twelve Miles High", by
Burger/Ink. AKA Jörg Burger and Wolfgang
Voigt, both mainstays of the Kompakt label. Originally released in 1996, when
it really must have sounded like a transmission from the future. Re-released by
Kompakt (which itself, at least as a record label, didn't exist in 1996) in
2010, it still sounds like the future.
"Promises (Nils Frahm Version)", by
The Presets. Well, isn't this a lovely thing? It's like Steve Reich pulses
carried aloft on an electronic cloud-bed. Or something. The Presets are from
Sydney: who knew?
"Midnight Train", by Tommy James.
One year after "Crimson and Clover", Tommy James went solo and came
up with songs like this: a little less overtly hippy trippy, perhaps, but no
less psychedelic.
"The Way Love Used To Be", by
Pain Teens. Pain Teens were a bunch of experimental Texan mischief makers. It
is probably no surprise they found themselves on King Coffey's record label.
Here, they take on a Kinks klassik and, unexpectedly, win.
"Sulle, Leyna", by Jaak Joala.
Details are scarce, but if you imagine an Estonian version of Pilot you won't
be too far off the mark. If anybody had brought a copy of this record to
Australia, Molly would have played it on "Countdown" for sure. Punters, I urge you to watch this clip. It is very
special.
(Bonus: album cover of the month; at least,
I am led to believe this is the same record, although the song title differs.
Anyone?)
"I've Got Your Number (Demo)", by
Ned Doheny. Ned Doheny was a musician working in California in the seventies.
That's about all I can tell you, and all you probably need to know. This song
is from a compilation album released by the ever dependable Numero Group. It's
nice. A download link would still appear to be available here.
"Calling Me Home (Demo)", by
Donald Thomas. This, too, is from a Numero Group compilation. It's a little bit WTF and a whole lot of perfect.
"Blue Shadow", by Alan Parker. We
take you out tonight with a moody instrumental piece by Alan Parker. The album
on which it appears contains one side written by Parker and the other side
written by Alan Hawkshaw, another one of the bastions of the British library
music "scene". Enjoy.
