Hypothetical mixtape: September 2015

Honestly, these playlists are a lot easier when you have a couple of 15-minute epics to help get you over the line. Not this month.

"Kick Out The Chairs", by Munk. We open this month with a very insistent bass line. The involvement of James Murphy in this track is largely self-evident; the interesting thing about Murphy's (anti)career in music is how he has managed to be an entirely distinctive individual without at any point (my opinion) becoming a parody of himself. The other selling point about this song is how winningly Nancy Whang sings the word "motherfucker".

"Shadow", by Chromatics. Come for the "It's raining outside, it's nice here beside the fire but it would be nicer if there was somebody here with me" vibe, stay for the blast of Joy Division / early New Order synths. The "Dear Tommy" album will be with us one day (unless it isn't); until then, this is an excellent, if frustrating, teaser.

"Black Night", by Frank Sinatra Jr. A couple of It's Nots: it's not the Deep Purple song, and its not old Frank (although Frank Jr. certainly sounds like he's been hewn from the same materials). There's a lot of Lee Hazlewood in this song (perhaps not surprising, given that he was Nancy Sinatra's brother), if Lee Hazlewood had an actual singing voice. Arranged and conducted by Nelson Riddle, don't you know.

"Mister Dobolina", by Del Tha Funkee Homosapien. If I'm being honest, which of course I always am, I am only here for the titular vocal sample. But I have been attracted to songs for less than that. I think.

"Back To Life", by Soul II Soul. I spent a bit of time in London in 1996. In my own mind, this was the soundtrack to that time; I must be wrong, because this would have been more than five years old by then. But as imaginary soundtracks go, it could be plenty worse.

"Turn Into Earth", by Al Stewart. If you think you know this song, you probably do: it's a cover of a Yardbirds tune. But in terms of atmosphere, this version (curiously, featuring one Jimmy Page on guitar) goes places that the Yardbirds only hint at.

"Dallas", by Steely Dan. An early non-LP single by The Dan. Not a bad place for me to start my Steely Dan obsession (which I am going to embark upon just as soon as I have gotten The Grateful Dead out of my system).

"Ballerina", by Vallerenga Blues and Disko Combo. You may know Vallerenga Blues and Disko Combo by another name. Lindstrom and Prins Thomas. Circa 2008. There, that got you interested. The bass on this track has been known to destroy reinforced-concrete flooring. The piano is another story entirely.

"I Want You", by Christine Perfect. It's 1969. Christine Perfect records this blues-rock number, written by Tony Joe White. It appears as the last song on an album on which, for one track, she is joined by Danny Kirwan and a certain Mr John McVie. You can see where this story is going. Christine Perfect becomes Christine McVie, joins Fleetwood Mac, and by 1977 they have released "Rumours" and essentially taken over the world. "I Want You" is a long way from "Rumours". But so is Peter Green-era Fleetwood Mac (and Danny Kirwan-era Fleetwood Mac, for that matter).

"I Dig Everything", by David Bowie. This is an early single by the late Mr Bowie, the same guy who brought you "The Laughing Gnome". It's a pretty cool song. (I won't hear a bad word spoken against "The Laughing Gnome", either, so watch it.) You can read more about the song here, on the very fine "Pushing Ahead of the Dame" blog.

"Hungry, So Angry", by Medium Medium. Kick-start the eighties with this blast of righteous noise. It's all there: saxophone; funky-ass bass; spiky guitar; a superabundance of male angst. There is even the hint of a mullet or two. You might have called Medium Medium a one-hit wonder if only "Hungry, So Angry" had been the hit that it ought to have been.

"A Forest", by James Leg. The reader of this blog will know that I hold "A Forest", by The Cure, to be an unassailable classic. Accordingly, I would not normally entertain anyone attempting to tread on its sacred turf. But this? You got me where I am most vulnerable, James Leg: throw a distorted Fender Rhodes into the mix and I'm anybody's. (Bonus: record cover of the month. James Leg would appear to be Barry Morgan's evil twin.)

  

 "Koi (Jessy and Jeremy Chemistry Mix)", by Le1f. If your opinion of Jessy Lanza and Junior Boys is anywhere near as high as mine, you need this in your life. Simple as that. And I don't even know who Le1f is.

"Release The Beast", by Breakwater. Breakwater are bringing the funk, big time. I'll bet that's a keytar. (Bonus: alternate record cover of the month. Moon boots. Yellow moon boots.)

  

"If You Think Your God Is Dead, Try Mine", by The Swan Silvertones. The world is a better place for there being a musical genre called "funk gospel".

"Mystic Mood", by Billy Cole Orchestra. Not a million miles away from "Soulful Strut", nor from the thousands of records put out under the label "Phase 4 Stereo", but who's counting?

"Cassava Piece", by Augustus Pablo. I must have a dozen tracks that rely on this riddim (first heard by me, I think, as "Baby I Love You So", by Colourbox, or maybe as "King Tubby Meets Rockers Uptown"). But this one gets a prize for its absolute focus on the Melodica King himself.

"Powers", by Jennifer Castle. Canadian folk music to the world, 2011 edition. Warning: contains flute.

"August Rain", by Hirotaka Shirotsubaki. This is a very attractive piece of sonic ambience. It turns out Hirotaka Shirotsubaki has been self-releasing records for a few years. This is the first time I have come across him. I hope it is not the last. It also turns out you can download the entire album from here. For free. That's great and all, you know, but in a way it's also kind of criminal.

Song of the day

"Terrapin Station (Live at Red Rocks Amphitheatre, Morrison, CO, 7/8/78)", by The Grateful Dead.

So, then. If into the hallowed halls of the Grateful Dead we must wander, then wander into them we must, trying to keep our eyes open and our wits about us. The Grateful Dead: owners of one of the most intimidating back catalogues known to man. Bearers of a fan base the level of whose obsessiveness can only be dreamed of by pretty much any artist you might care to mention (perhaps only Dylanologists take obsessive fandom further).

Me? I have spent the first 52-and-some years of my life steering well clear. Two reasons. One: I was brought up under the heavy influence of the scriptures of the Church of Post-Punk, wherein everything you would find in The Grateful Dead was anathema: long songs; facial hair; musicianship; erm, "chops" of any kind. (It seems funny to think about it now. What with all the bad buggery bollocks going on in the world in 2016, at least one thing seems to have gotten better since 1978: openness to musical genres other than "our own" has never been greater; the rule book seems to have been thrown out (which is a somewhat ironic thing to say in this context, seeing as how "punk" held itself out as doing exactly that, whereas what it actually did was impose an even stricter set of rules that the one it thought it was setting fire to).)

Two: I know what I am like with rabbit burrows. I chase every rabbit I can find down every rabbit burrow it may run into, until I have caught them all. (I think it's what makes me good at my job.) And The Grateful Dead is one huge, complex, multifaceted, possibly bottomless motherfucker of a rabbit burrow. So I have steered well clear.

Until now. (Curse you, Apple Music.)

I suppose ultimately something was going to lure me in. What did it was the five-disc "covers" record that the dudes from The National put out earlier in the year. I like a lot of the musicians involved, I liked what I heard, and, let's face it, the ten-year-old in me has always had a weakness for long, drawn-out jams, as to which The Grateful Dead are ground zero. Where to start: the studio albums? (I suspect not.) Dick's Picks? Dave's Picks? Band-released live collections covering years, tours, venues, you name it? So the easiest thing appeared to be: what has come out recently?

Which turns out to have been "Red Rocks 7/8/78", a three-cd-length live release from earlier this year (but, as with all things Dead, a recording that has circulated amongst the faithful since, in this case, probably 7/9/78). The first thing to say is that it confirmed my suspicions: the Grateful Dead veer wildly from the appallingly naff to the insanely great. (As to the former: what could have possessed them to try their arm at "Werewolves of London"?)

"Terrapin Station", the first song of the encore, is an outstanding piece of music. It's as simple as that. You would travel a long way to hear a bunch of dudes so in tune with what each other is doing. (I suppose that is what turned one into a Deadhead.) But, for me, the remarkable thing about it is: during all the years I have been a fan of Wilco, I had never once suspected a connection with The Grateful Dead. But here it is, front and centre. The minute whomever is doing the vocals on this song (see how little I know?) starts up, it may as well be Jeff Tweedy. That's maybe a superficial observation (hey, you've come to the right place), but how about this: set this version of this song side-by-side with "One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)" and join the dots. (Also: Wilco have been releasing something called the "Roadcase" series of recordings of live shows, possibly not complete but certainly in large numbers; how Dead is that?) It's a curious thing. Both Wilco and The Grateful Dead have (deservedly) solid reputations as bands that sound like nothing other than themselves, and yet here they are sending vibes in each other's direction across the decades. Maybe they should have been called The Grateful Undead.

Song of the day

"Operator (DJ Koze's Extended Disco Version)", by Lapsley.

In the radio station of my dreams, this song would be on very high rotation. DJ Koze has the knack for working a particular kind of magic, where he conjures the essence of a particular type of music from days of yore, without coming across as either pastiche or imitation. In this instance, as the title kinda gives away, disco is the order of the day. Right out of the box, the strings transport you to the world as it was in, say, 1975, and there are other nice period touches, but the four-note synth line comes from a place outside of time, as, I think, do the piano and the subtle almost-gospel tinges that appear tentatively around the corner in the middle of the song. Lapsley's Amy-Winehouse-by-way-of-Sade voice sits very nicely on top of it all. Please can you make this a hit?

Consumer advisory

Adrienne and the 18-year-old are off on a European holiday that we can't really afford, so the 16-year-old and I thought we would spend a few nights in Sydney. A pretty stupid idea, really, given how much the European trip has set back the household budget, but what are you going to do?

We figured on taking the train, because a few people had told us that it is quite a nice trip (it is). We had some activities on the list. But where to stay? I had played around a bit on Airbnb but didn't really have a feel for it. A work colleague hopped on to Booking.com (which Adrienne has used before, with good results) and noticed a room with two single beds at the Sheraton on the Park for a price that was not too much higher than it seemed like we would be paying for any old hotel room. Describing it, as I recall, as something like the "deal of the century", he more or less insisted, and so we deferred to his better knowledge of the city. We probably couldn't really justify the expense, but, as I said, what are you going to do? Adrienne did the booking, as I am relatively (actually, scrap that "relatively") useless in that regard.

We only had to walk in the front door of the Sheraton on the Park to know that it wasn't our kind of place, and that the people staying there were not our kind of people. The 16-year-old observed that it seemed pretty fancy. (I could see him doing the maths behind his eyelids.) I bluffed my way up to the front desk and (unlikely as it must have sounded) said that I had a room booked. The girl behind the desk (who was very nice) did us the courtesy of checking the list instead of peremptorily calling for security, and, lo and behold (she did her best to hide the surprise), my name was on there.

Sir, she said, You will be in a room with a queen size bed. Well, this was not a good start. But, I said, We had booked two single beds. The girl enquired if we had booked direct, and I said it was through Booking.com. She then told me that bedding is not guaranteed through third-party booking sites.

I was at a disadvantage here, because I hadn't done the booking myself, but I was pretty confident that we had quite clearly and unequivocally booked two single beds. The short answer was that they didn't have any at that price, but there was one room available with two single beds overlooking Hyde Park (the room we booked had "city views") which she could give me for the "discounted" rate of an additional $60 per night.

I mentally weighed up the options: (a) trying to find somewhere else to stay; (b) sharing a bed with the 18-year-old for three nights; (c) making a public scene at the lobby of the Sheraton on the Park; and (d) finding an extra $180, which, the point being, we were over-extending ourselves anyway. The first three were easy to cross off, which left me reluctantly opting to postpone my retirement for a bit longer than I had been hoping.

Up in the room, where we did have, I must admit, a pretty nice view (you could see the harbour if you stood on tiptoes), and a black marble bathroom (what the heck am I going to do with a black marble bathroom?), I jumped on the phone and checked over what our booking confirmation actually said. There, in black and white, were the words "two single beds". I went back downstairs: reluctantly, obviously, but my inherent distaste for injustice is slightly more active when the injustice is directed towards myself. The same girl at the desk had a look at the confirmation on my phone and spoke to somebody else. Ah, you see, was the sense of what I was then told, the word there is "Requests". As in, the customer "requests" two single beds. It doesn't mean you are going to get them. They go to our own paying guests first. I was also told that if I had read the Booking.com page from which the hotel was booked, I would have seen that it says "The hotel doesn't guarantee customer requests". But we can give you free wi-fi, which usually costs $20 per day.

What the heck. I took the free wi-fi. (Which I didn't need.) I enjoyed the view. (Which I hadn't felt the need to pay for in the first place, and I can't say my enjoyment of it was entirely free of resentment.) The black marble bathroom? Whatever. The beds were comfortable, I will give them that, but then I would assume that they were no different from the beds in the room we thought we had booked. Other than that, it was just a hotel room. (Plenty of unwanted noise came through from the room next door, for example. Plus, they would appear to have charged us $5 for a small packet of UHT milk. In my experience of regular hotels, the milk is complimentary, like the tea bags.) Everything else is just marketing.

It's a bit futile to say we certainly won't be staying here again, because we wouldn't be anyway. But the point I want to make is: people, please don't make the same mistake I did. If the people behind the desk are right in saying that a disclaimer exists on the booking page, I still find it hard to accept that it is, in any way, reasonable for travellers to not find out that their "request" has not been granted until they are at the desk of the hotel, and therefore, for all intents and purposes, at the mercy of the hotel. And furthermore, I would be interested to see what would happen were somebody to test whether the choice of bedding arrangements, which is actually one of the things you enter in order to search for, and therefore book, a room, can be construed to be a mere "request" (as opposed to, let's say, whether the room has a black marble bathroom, or free wi-fi, or views of the harbour if you crane your neck), and particularly whether it is reasonable for the unsuspecting customer to have understood it as such. It wouldn't be that hard to imagine a scenario where, unlike with the two of us, there would actually be no choice to be made by the two guests, and where it would be highly inappropriate for them to share a bed. What then?

So, the moral of this story. Well, there are two, actually. One: if a hotel seems more tony than your station in life would usually suggest that you might stay in, it is probably best to stay away. Two: if you are booking a room at the Sheraton on the Park via Booking.com, and you have any "request" as to the bedding arrangements, you are doing so at your own risk.

Song of the day

"Dream Baby Dream", by Suicide.

This blog, this year, is starting to look like a rolling obituaries column.

This week, sadly, we lost Alan Vega.

Close reader(s) will already know that Suicide's "Dream Baby Dream" sits very high up on the Farmer In The City Greatest Songs Of All Time list. I am presently reading Garth Risk Hallberg's gargantuan novel of mid-seventies New York, "City On Fire", and so I am immersed in that era of that city to the extent that, when I first heard the news, I momentarily thought it was still 1977 and he had been cut down in his prime. But in fact he was 78 years old -- or, strictly speaking, young -- and, until quite recently, was still pushing the envelope. We all should be so lucky.

Vega was responsible for much more than just that one song, of course, both with Suicide (you shouldn't pass up either of their first two albums, even if you will only want to listen to "Frankie Teardrop" once) and alone (he had something of a nearly hit with "Jukebox Babe"). But, for this listener, all roads lead back to "Dream Baby Dream".

Song of the day

"Love X2", by Nite-Funk.

2016 being such a great year for music, it should be no surprise that yet another record has come across my (virtual) desk which has stopped me in my tracks. Specifically, a four-track EP by Nite-Funk; Nite-Funk being a certain Mr Dam-Funk, about whom, presumably on account of my advancing years and receding hipness, I know somewhat less than zip; and a certain Ms Nite Jewel, who engaged my attention some years back with her high-budget-on-a-low-budget electro pop nuggets. She lost me after a while as she crept into an actual high-budget set-up (or "higher" anyway; or maybe she just got more proficient), where I thought she had fallen just a little flat. Anyway, she's back, with an album of her own, and this EP, and in particular this exquisite slice of skeletal funk/soul, bearing as I think it does the gentlest of nods to the late-eighties / early-nineties London (and Bristol) of Soul II Soul and early Massive Attack (a place and time, musically speaking, that I never expected to be thrown back to). Plus, Nite Jewel herself has clearly been spending some of the intervening years working on her singing voice. Here, she soars.

Song of the day

"Widening The Vision", by Bentcousin.

Truth is, I would never have become aware of Bentcousin were it not for Marcello Carlin writing some paragraphs about them in the course of what must surely be the highest number of words ever written about (well, ostensibly about) a run-of-the-mill 1990 Fleetwood Mac album. Just another in a long list of things for which he has my eternal gratitude.

Bentcousin are obviously children of the 1978-1982 generation, but unlike with many other likeminded youth, listening to them doesn't make me wish I was listening to their oh-so-obvious influences instead. Bentcousin, and this song in particular, demand to be listened to Right Now.

"Widening The Vision", the last song on the album (there is nowhere else it could have gone), is a monster. A juggernaut. It is welded together by an unrelentingly solid bass line. The drumming, counterintuitively but perhaps necessarily, is feather-light, calling to mind those magical days when Lindy Morrison held the Go-Betweens together. The guitars; well, here's a surprise, because who is on guitar? None other than Sir Keith Levene, that's who (not a real "Sir"), bringing a kind of Rowland S Howard-on-a-holiday texture and -- yes -- melody. There are lyrics about weeing in the sink. There are gorgeous twee-pop (not a pejorative) backing vocals. There is a melodica. After four minutes, the song, and the album, fade out. They have to fade it out, because there is no way that you could actually stop a song like this; there are no brakes powerful enough. You can turn the volume down, but the song, somewhere, keeps going.

I want you to promise me you will listen to this at some volume.



Edit. Newly discovered bonus beats: you can listen to their rather tasty version of Dinosaur Jr's "Freak Scene" below. The actual Soundcloud page includes a download button. With your ears pinned back.

Song of the day

"Bad Politics", by The Dead C.

(Who, by the way, would appear to be recording and touring again.)

First, we have the longest-ever Australian federal election campaign, which comes to an end next Saturday. It has been about as enlightening and inspiring as I expected (i.e. not even). The prime minister has demonstrated that whatever he might bring to the office he presently holds (which either is not a lot, or has been kept from view until now, for reasons best known to himself), he is not much chop as an oppositionist. (Which perhaps makes him the reverse of the person he replaced, except that we all know what he was like as prime minister.) Given that this country has not been effectively governed since 2007 (with the exception of Julia Gillard's prime ministership, which, against all odds, managed to push some important and/or worthwhile things through a minority parliament, some of which have even survived), and given the turbulent international waters that we find ourselves in, it is dispiriting (to say the least) how uninspiring our leaders and aspirants have continued to be. We are not those others over there / we are better than those others over there would appear to be an end in itself. (At least the Labor Party has made some attempt at policy development, but from where I sit (on my side of the bed, the cat curled up in the sun at my feet) it isn't getting much traction, and anyway the slogan "100 Positive Policies" is about as likely to engage the electorate as John Hewson's "Incentivation" (remember that?).)

Secondly, Brexit, in which it would appear, from this distance, that what may have happened is that enough people registered a perhaps well-meaning protest vote (although against what they were all protesting against may have been neither clear nor uniform) to bring about a result that either nobody wanted or, at least, nobody had really thought through the consequences of. Am I the only person who is beginning to think that there might be such a thing as too much democracy?

Thirdly, the bizarre (and increasingly alarming) prospect of a President Trump. See previous sentence.

Bad politics, baby.

Hypothetical mixtape: August 2015

There are things I really ought to be getting on with. This is not one of them.

"White Clouds (Day's Rhodes More Travelled Edit)", by Hiroshi Fukumura.  So good.

"Dreams", by Beck. A one-off single by the Beckster. It sounds like a reaction against "Morning Phase". A lot of Beck's records sound like a reaction against the record before. (See also: The Go-Betweens.)

"Spiral", by XTC. If you were seeking evidence to back up the seemingly outlandish claim that XTC had pop songs literally dripping off the ends of their fingers, consider this song. Most bands would commit criminal acts to be able to write a song as poptastic as this. XTC couldn't find a way to fit it onto either of their "Apple Venus" albums, for which it seems to have been recorded.

"Is It Her?", by Smashing Time. This song sits somewhere on the straight line that connects The Zombies' "She's Not There" with "Nice Day", by Persephone's Bees. Which, if you are chasing pop perfection, is not a bad place to sit. Warning: contains a flute player running rampant. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) This would appear not to have been released at all, other than on the compilation whose cover adorns the YT clip.

"Mississippi Mud", by Smithstonian. The song title, combined with the neat pun in the band's name, tells you where you are going with this. Nowhere. Slowly. Deliciously. (Also released under the name of Black Blood and the Chocolate Pickles, with added vocals and with the piano replaced by a Rhodes. Now that's quality.)

"Mar de la Tranquilidad", by Azul y Negro. I have died a thousand times listening to the ache on the guitar. Why oh why did the eighties have to end? (Bonus: album cover of the month.)

 

"Hopeless", by Against All Logic. It's always worth keeping an ear out for what Nicolas Jaar is releasing on his Other People label. This is why. It has that same ever-so-slightly woozy loping gait that Jaar's own work tends towards. Plus, the recurring motif that starts off the record wouldn't sound out of place on a Four Tet record.

"Digital Arpeggios", by Percussion. Did somebody mention Four Tet? This be he, under a sneaky pseudonym. This track is rather gorgeous; it has the clean lines you expect from the best Kraftwerk tunes. If it's a homage, it's a mighty impressive homage. When the beat kicks in, at the five-minute mark, it momentarily feels like it's in the way; but only momentarily.

"Back2TheStart", by KH. "KH" being, as you have probably already guessed, Kieran Hebden. Does that man exist purely to make records?

"Ability To Gain Access (Pye Corner Audio Remix)", by Not Waving. Martin Jenkins is not a recently deceased cricket commentator. He is a musician who often goes by the name Pye Corner Audio. He tends to work in his own darkened corners, although in more recent times he has been brought out, blinking, into the sunlight under the tutelage of the estimable Ghost Box label. Here, he remixes a song.

"Loud Places (John Talabot's Loud Synths Reconstruction)", by Jamie xx. The first half of this remix / "reconstruction" is all about those three piano chords, which the other components exist merely to frame. Then, in the last two minutes, things get dank, via some very tasty high- and low-end arpeggiation. Now might be an opportunity for me to plug John Talabot's very excellent "fIN" album, from a couple of years back. Well, 2012. Time flies.

"Here In Iowa", by Korallreven. This month's Swedish pop goodness is brought to you by the (now defunct, it seems) Korallreven. I suppose this would go in the box marked "Balearic", but there is actually quite a lot of pan-globalism going on here. (Some parts of it remind me of Junior Boys. Shout out to the Canadians.) Possibly the best thing about this song, though, is that it is only physically available via a single-sided flexi-disc. Kids these days. (Also: nice video.) (STOP PRESS: listen to Peaking Lights take the original and turn it inside out.)

"Jump Out Of The Train (Road Chief Remix by Mark McGuire)", by CFCF. CFCF has been in the periphery of my vision for some years now. My Apple Music subscription has allowed me to rest my gaze more directly upon his works. I'm not sure I'm convinced yet, but I suspect there is something there I'm not getting. Mark McGuire, on the other hand, I have been absorbing like a sponge in the desert. (Does that even work?) When he puts on his "Road Chief" hat, that usually sends you in the direction of a yacht rock / high eighties sound. Such is the case here. Is nice.

"Hot Music (Jazz Mix)", by Soho. Imagine what a "jazz mix" of a song called "Hot Music" might sound like. Yep. I dare you to sit still. What was I listening to in 1990 when I should have been listening to this?

"Sundowner", by Zachary Cale. This has something of the feeling of enervated drift that you get from the best of Beach House (which I would classify as their first album, in case you were going to ask), though it is coming from a very different place. Cale has existed below the (or at least "my") radar for several years, but this album was released on No Quarter, a detail which, these days, makes me sit up and take notice.

Song of the day

"No Comprende", by Low.

It's curious how a song can come at you from different angles at different times. Six months ago I wrote about this very same song, at which point the opening bars were sending me off on a riff about inversions of the dub reggae template.

Today, what I am hearing when the song starts is something that sounds like a Spoon song. Okay, a slightly slower than usual Spoon song, but a Spoon song nonetheless. You can try it at home. Just pretend you don't know what you are about to hear. Then press play and wait. The starkness of the guitars and drums. The suggestion that something is about to happen. Of course, when that something does happen you know it's not Spoon. But that doesn't amount to disappointment. Far from it.

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Low's "Ones and Sixes" is how a band that has been around, like, forever can conjure up something fresh and, yes, exciting, while at the same time sounding like nothing outside of themselves. But wait there just a second. You can say exactly the same thing about Spoon. What's that you say about the death of indie rock?

2016 isn't 1966 -- or is it?

It might be just me, but this Volkswagen advertisement, from a 1966 issue of the New Yorker, says one thing, and one thing only:

Wes Anderson.

Given that he wasn't even born until three years later, it couldn't be his actual handiwork ...

Or could it?

[cue spooky music]

YouTube of the day

"Doledrums", by The Chills, at Primavera, 2016.

Sure, it's audience footage; sure, the sound quality is some distance beneath high fidelity. But hey, it's The Chills, playing "Doledrums", in 2016.

That has to be worth watching, doesn't it?

Martin tosses out a couple of very nimble guitar curlicues as only he can, of course. But check that whippersnapper on the drums. Isn't he keen! He has the air of someone living out a childhood dream. Maybe he is! (Actually, if that's Todd Knudson, he has been The Chills' drummer since at least 2004. But it's been a very long road back onto the world stage for The Chills. Take a bow, son. You've earned it.)

Song of the day

"Brighter Than The Sun", by ABC.

We may not even have realised it, but we have spent the last 34 years waiting for this.

The return of poptimism.

At precisely the right moment.

A few words about "Flaga: The Book of Angels, Volume 27", an album by John Zorn

Some years ago, I had the crazy stupid idea of writing about every album John Zorn released, kinda sorta as they appeared. So, I got to the end of 2011 and there things stalled. Given that he has released something in the vicinity of 50 albums under his own name since then, I think it is fair to say that that idea has well and truly flown the coop. (I suspect that, had I actually attempted to get back into it, the main stumbling block would have been the recordings of his ongoing tour of the world's church organs: four albums (and counting) of solo organ recitals a la John Zorn is quite possibly four more than I could handle.)

Nevertheless, I have, you will not be surprised to learn, been keeping a close eye on the continually evolving (and multiplying) "Book of Angels" series of recordings, the sequel to the magnificent klezmer-jazz fandango that went under the name of "Masada". Having, or so it would seem, retired the classic Masada jazz quartet, which has been responsible for some of the most exciting, adrenaline-rush playing ever to have appeared under Zorn's name (others may differ in this estimation; but "Live at Tonic" is the rare example of a live recording where you can actually feel the audience pushing the band to greater things and the band responding in kind: it's a hoot), with the Book of Angels he has taken a different approach, hand-picking from a wide variety of players and ensembles to conjure many and varied interpretations of some of the three hundred-plus pieces that make up the Book.

Old fuddy-duddy that I am, my own excitement levels have tended to increase with the appearance of Masada favourites like Marc Ribot, the Masada String Trio and the Dreamers ensemble, but there has been much to like amongst the many other releases (even if the big drawcard, Volume 20, with Pat Metheny at the helm, was (says me) rather disappointing).

I want to draw particular attention, right now, to Volume 27, a piano-trio setting that came out a couple of months ago. Not being especially into the contemporary jazz scene, I can't really comment on how this record fits into the output of the players involved, or even if they have worked together before, but, in a word, "Wow". The playing has a certain propulsion to it, like, well, I don't know like what. Maybe like hurtling down a very steep and long hill on a pair of roller skates without a sense that you will be stopping any time soon, or how you might even do that, picking up speed all the while. You just have to close your eyes and hope for the best. The pianist, Craig Taborn, can be as lyrical as all get-out but is also prone to flights of abstract expressionism. The drummer, Tyshawn Sorey, might be the Keith Moon of jazz, playing everywhere but on the beat (and at ten thousand miles per hour). All of which frequently leaves Christian McBride (whom you have probably heard of), on the upright bass, as the glue that holds everything else together. I discovered that it is possible to lock onto what McBride is doing and let everything else kind of flow around that. It's not the only way of listening, but it is a way. However you do it, it's a rewarding listen.

I was going to conclude by noting the possibility that this would be a good place to end the Book of Angels, given that the very first entry, eleven years ago now, was also a piano trio (featuring Jamie Saft). But, of course, in the five minutes since this record came out there has been another volume (with John Medeski on board). And so we beat on, boats against the current etc etc.

Zorn doesn't abide the streaming thing, which means you are going to have to buy his records. Consider this a recommendation.

A taste:

YouTube of the day

"Alfonso Muskedunder", played live by Todd Terje & the Olsens.

Some weeks ago I said words to the effect that it is difficult to make something in 7/4 time sound funky. Difficult it may be, but not impossible, and another example was right there under my nose: "Alfonso Muskedunder", a song so frenetically funky that I had never even twigged to it being in an obscure time signature.

So witness how Todd Terje and his band of merry Swedes-with-beards tear the roof off the place at the P4K music festival. Be careful trying to dance to it, though; you will do yourself an injury. Take it from one who has tried.

(Also, once again we say: Give the drummer some.)

Song of the day

"New Speedway Boogie", by Courtney Barnett.

I was speculating, the other day, how Courtney Barnett would handle the transition from painting on a small canvas to playing on a big stage. Seamlessly, as it turns out. This song, one of the 59 (count 'em) Grateful Dead covers on "Day of the Dead", is perfectly suited to her droll delivery style, while musically it carries its considerable weight effortlessly. There are some big-name players on this massive project, and Courtney, happily, sounds right at home.

Record cover of the day

I hope I don't end up deciding that the cover art for James Blake's "The Colour In Anything" is better than the music. But ... IT'S QUENTIN BLAKE!!

Hypothetical mixtape: July 2015

Another day, another mixtape ...

"Medicine Map", by Chuck Johnson. You may say that latter-day finger pickers who have drunk at the well of John Fahey are a dime a dozen. Maybe so, but I won't be getting sick of listening to their magical and mesmerising tones any time soon.

"Just Seventeen", by Raiders. The lyrical content may be on the nose (and of its time) but this track by Raiders (wither Paul Revere?) kicks hard and bounces high in a 1973 kind of way, although it is actually the product of 1970 and therefore, perhaps, ahead of its time. Nice use of brass, too.

"Can't Find My Way Home", by Blind Faith. This proto-Led Zeppelin IV number is from the only album by Blind Faith, aka Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, Steve Winwood and, uh, the other guy. It features a record cover that, if you came up with it today, you would be in jail, my friend.

"She Said, She Said", by Lone Star. One of the reasons I persist with this meaningless trawl through the endless morass of other people's musical recommendations is to find the occasional moment (there is usually one just around the corner, or the corner after that, or ...) of WTF-ness. Here comes one now: The Beatles torn to shreds by way of the kind of overblown overstatement that could only have come from 1976. Enjoy.

(Editor's note: the following is a BBC session, rather than the album version. It is 30 seconds shy of the album version, and perhaps lacks a bit of the latter's variation in dynamics, but heck, on the one hand it's entirely off the planet, on the other hand it's yet another example of "why punk had to happen": bloody (Welsh) hippies.)

"Soul Coaxing", by Orchestral Academy of Los Angeles. It may not even have any words, but this is such an emotional rollercoaster of a song that I cry every time I hear it. Seriously. You can come to my house some time and watch me. I might charge admission.

"Pictures (Quiet Village Remix)", by Grandadbob. I really miss Quiet Village. This helps.

"High", by Ellen Allien. It's been a couple of years since we had anything from Ellen Allien. You know how you sometimes feel like there's an absence in your life but you can't quite place what it is? Now I remember. There's only one word for this track: perky.

"Lucia (John Talabot's Sunset Edit)", by Ishinohana. What this is is a tweak of some 1980s mellow guitar noodling. Although it actually sounds way better than you would imagine. Trust me.

"Breezin'", by Masayoshi Takanaka and Kazumi Watanabe. Did somebody just mention 1980s mellow guitar noodling? I think I've got some more around here somewhere. Ah, yes, here it is. Featuring Yukihiro Takahashi on the drums. (Bonus: album cover of the month. Not just for the "historical" World Trade Centre photo, but for the majesty of the font in which the album title is styled. But look closely: "Fantasic"?)

(Note: this seems not to be readily findable on ye olde internet, so for the time being you can hit the dropbox.)

"Hold On To It (Jonny Nash Remix)", by B.J. Smith. "Jonny Nash". "B.J. Smith". You expect to be in country-twang territory, or perhaps in the presence of a master of the pedal steel. But no. (Guitar shimmer does appear throughout, albeit through what sounds like an opiate haze.) B.J. Smith was fifty percent of Smith & Mudd, whom you might remember. Another track, as it turns out, for those pining for Quiet Village.

"The Rhythm Divine", by Yello. Ah, those crazy Swiss. Enlist Shirley Bassey to sing her not insubstantial heart out. Drop in some backing vocals by the one and only Billy Mackenzie. (One: why would you pull one of the sainted voices of modern music into your orbit and then bury it in the mix? Two: why would he have agreed to it? (Presumably that's easy to answer: it's Shirley Bassey. (Also: he co-wrote the song.)) Three: do you notice how, when she sings "in my heaaaaaaaart", she does sound like Mackenzie? It's actually kind of a neat trick. The word "meta" comes to mind, although there is clearly nothing meta about the result. It kills.)

"No Justice", by Astronauts, etc. The first 12 seconds will determine whether you need this song in your life or not. I bit.

"Chant For You", by Prequel. Here things get a bit murky. It sounds like bits of old records stuck together in such a way as to create a brand new song, one that is both "exotic", and funky as heck. Which is exactly what it is. If you remember the WTF moment you (read: "I") had when you first heard DJ Shadow, or Four Tet's "Rounds", you will go for this. (Also: Australian content. Well done, son.)

And finally, Mr Sakamoto tinkles the ivories. You remember this. But when you first (and probably last) heard it you hadn't yet immersed yourself in the world of Studio Ghibli. So now you wonder if this piece of music, long buried in the far recesses of your brain, is one of the reasons those movies have always felt so strangely familiar, so comforting. Or maybe that's just the genius of Hayao Miyazaki.