Tuesday, January 02, 2018

Hypothetical Mixtape 2.04

To start this one off, we are jumping back in time to the second half of the 1990s, when Grumpy Warren's Record Paradise was the shopping destination of choice, a place where you might just, if Bruce Milne didn't get there before you, pick up some lovely vinyl specimens from the lounge and library music era. (You also learned that not every Martin Denny record was what you were expecting. So be it.) Those were good times.

"Alcoholic", by The Black Fire. "Cream" was one of a number of Italian library music albums released on, I believe, Flirt Records. The covers of these records (see below) contained some of the best font design this side of a Stereolab record. (It was also released by another Italian label at around the same time with a different cover, striking in its own way but with much more dodgy lettering. See the embedded Bandcamp player.) Whichever cover you prefer, I can't see anybody not fully embracing the sounds within. "Alcoholic", apparently, was used as the opening music for the kung fu film "Operation Cobra". Sounds about right.



"Time", by Ju-Par Universal Orchestra. "Time", as in, "Now is the time for love". How seventies is that? If you were wanting to soundtrack your next fondue party, you need go no further. No extra charge for the tastiest electric piano.



"Melting Pot", by Booker T And The MGs. Not as obscure as the previous two songs, and not exactly coming from the same place, but (a) it's not "Green Onions" and (b) you can surely dig it. "Melting Pot" also existed as a single, but I can't see why anyone wouldn't take the full eight minutes, seeing as how it's on offer. It has quality oozing out of every orifice. Sorry.



"Fly Away", by Hashish. And, to prove that the whole lounge/library flame is still burning to this day -- at least in Sweden -- we have this. 



"Play With Fire", by Takkhalha. What else we like is cover versions of Rolling Stones songs from unlikely locations. Such as Iran. Taken, in this case, from a 2010 Spanish compilation. We are very grateful for their efforts, although you should be aware, as Discogs points out, that "All releases are unofficial".



"Blind Man Can See It (Extended Version)", by James Brown. This is taken from the 2003 reissue of "In The Jungle Groove", itself a compilation of earlier James Brown tracks, put together in 1986 to capitalise, it says here, on JB's status amongst the students of the hip-hop groove. The original "Blind Man" appeared on the "Black Caesar" soundtrack, in 1973. However, at 2 minutes and a bit, it was never going to be enough. Now it is. Also note: the cover of "In The Jungle Groove" was, uh, borrowed for a compilation called "In The Christmas Groove". And with beats this thick it might be Christmas all year round.



"They Came For Us", by Zig Zags. Being a repetitive groove of a very different kind. If you have never found yourself thinking, I wish it was still 1974, then you can probably move to the next track. As for the rest of you: sweet dreams!



"I Only Bought It For The Bottle", by The Orielles. Hey, kids! Punk rock! It looks like a seven-inch single but it is actually a digital file. That's progress, I guess. But wouldn't you want to hold it in your hand, and watch it spinning around on your turntable? A word of warning, though: the chorus is so big it could actually kill you. And don't even get me started on the sound of the guitar. Song of the year? Whoops, too late.



"Desert Raven", by Jonathan Wilson. I guess it must have been around this point that the drugs kicked in. It won't surprise you to learn that Wilson is based in Laurel Canyon. I feel like we've been here before.



"アイレ可愛や", by Mari Hamada. From 1997. With musical accompaniment by Autechre. Yes, I'm as surprised as you are.



"Relax Your Body (Ricardo Villalobos Remix)", by DFX. To my ears, the original of "Relax Your Body", from 1989, sounds largely like something that The KLF did much better. Twenty-seven years later, it fell into the hands of Ricardo Villalobos, who worked his usual dark magic on it, so that, voice-over aside, it bears little or no resemblance to the original track (or to anything else, for that matter). What maintains one's (or, at least, my) interest across its 19 and a half minutes is the recurring, deathly slow sequence of piano notes, which threaten, but never quite manage, to coalesce into an actual melody. If the kind of creepy interior scenes done so well by Urasawa had a soundtrack, it could be that piano.