"Castello Cavalcanti".
Directed by Wes Anderson. (He has a new film out next year. I am very happy to be typing those words.)
The best Christmas present I could have received this year was to find out that this existed. Who knew?
Go with the full screen option. It's almost as good as being there.
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Addendum of the year
"Rival Dealer", by Burial.
It has become necessary for us to tack an additional record onto our recent list of "albums of the year". A couple of days ago a new Burial record appeared out of nowhere (as has also occurred this year with Bowie and Beyonce -- hey, it's the "B" List), the lastest in an astounding sequence of annual thirty-minute "EPs" and if not the best of them (not saying it's not, only that it's too early to tell) certainly the most surprising. The final of its three songs, "Come Down To Us", the title of which may or may not allude to a Christmas story (Jesus or Santa, take your pick), does things that no Burial song has ever done before, while still managing to sound like nobody else.
"Come Down To Us": all thirteen minutes of it; stick it out.
It has become necessary for us to tack an additional record onto our recent list of "albums of the year". A couple of days ago a new Burial record appeared out of nowhere (as has also occurred this year with Bowie and Beyonce -- hey, it's the "B" List), the lastest in an astounding sequence of annual thirty-minute "EPs" and if not the best of them (not saying it's not, only that it's too early to tell) certainly the most surprising. The final of its three songs, "Come Down To Us", the title of which may or may not allude to a Christmas story (Jesus or Santa, take your pick), does things that no Burial song has ever done before, while still managing to sound like nobody else.
"Come Down To Us": all thirteen minutes of it; stick it out.
Addams Family Christmas
Charles Addams gets into the spirit of the season. From the New Yorker, December 21, 1946.
(Quality here was limited by the original scan, from the "Complete New Yorker" DVDs. But I hope you can see what is going on. Click to open an enlargeable version. (I think.))
(Quality here was limited by the original scan, from the "Complete New Yorker" DVDs. But I hope you can see what is going on. Click to open an enlargeable version. (I think.))
YouTube(s) of the day
"With You There To Help Me", by Jethro Tull.
Having a bit of a Tull obsession at the moment, which, well, is kind of difficult to explain, and not something most people would choose to talk about in public. This may be the difference between you and me.
Notable for its use, in a popular song lyric, of the construction "with whom": clearly, Ian Anderson went to a good school.
Two clips here, both pushing the song out beyond nine minutes, both from 1970. The provenance of one is uncredited but it looks like it's from the telly. (It's the better quality one). One allows you to hear the song; the other captures the insanity. And the hair. You choose.
Having a bit of a Tull obsession at the moment, which, well, is kind of difficult to explain, and not something most people would choose to talk about in public. This may be the difference between you and me.
Notable for its use, in a popular song lyric, of the construction "with whom": clearly, Ian Anderson went to a good school.
Two clips here, both pushing the song out beyond nine minutes, both from 1970. The provenance of one is uncredited but it looks like it's from the telly. (It's the better quality one). One allows you to hear the song; the other captures the insanity. And the hair. You choose.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Song of the day
"I Got A Boy", by Girls' Generation.
OMG it's the K-Pop "Bohemian Rhapsody".
(Thanks to Douglas Wolk for the tip.)
OMG it's the K-Pop "Bohemian Rhapsody".
(Thanks to Douglas Wolk for the tip.)
Saturday, December 14, 2013
1962 New Yorker advertisement of the day
That "switchboard operator" is straight out of Central Casting.
Saturday, December 07, 2013
Obligatory "records of the year" post because the world absolutely needs one more of those
It would appear to be
that time of the year.
There were two
important albums released in 2013. (There may have been three, but I don't
feel qualified to comment on the Bowie album, on account of having largely
ignored his output since the early 1980s.) Obviously the Daft Punk is my
favourite album of the year. I just love it so much (apologies to the many who
don't). But why is it important? I think because it serves as a timely reminder
of how a record can be made, and what a record can sound like, and stand
for. It's all about the music. (And yet the music is frequently insane, some of
it may not even, as Sasha Frere-Jones pointed out when it came out, be any good,
but nevertheless the entirety of it is magnificent.)
The other important
album this year is the 10th entry in Dylan's "Bootleg Series":
important because the armchair Dylanologists (those of us with -- ahem -- some
semblance of a life outside of the pursuit of Bob) had long sensed that the
"Self Portrait" era could not possibly have been as awful as it
seemed to be. And here, 40-some years later, is the proof that in fact Dylan
was making music as alive and meaningful as any he had made up to then, and any
he would make after. You could listen to this music forever, and dream
about what might still be lurking in the archives.
Even in the absence of
those two signifiers, though, this has been a bloody good year for recorded
music. There is a long list, if only I could remember them all, of albums that
have advanced, even if ever so slightly, what music can be. In no particular
order:
"Psychic",
by Darkside.
"News From
Nowhere", by Darkstar.
"Lux", by
Brian Eno. (Technically late 2012, but took time to absorb.)
"Immunity",
by Jon Hopkins.
"Beautiful
Rewind", by Four Tet.
"World Psychedelic
Classics 5: Who Is William Onyeabor?", by William Onyeabor.
"Push The Sky
Away", by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. (I know I haven't written
anything about this record; I'm not sure I have the words to do it justice,
also my take on it is even more than usually personal. In short, it's a big
one.)
"Four: Acts Of
Love", by Mick Harvey. (That colon is important.)
"Chance Of
Rain", by Laurel Halo.
"R Plus
Seven", by Oneohtrix Point Never.
"Cupid's
Head", by The Field.
"m b v", by
My Bloody Valentine.
"Seasons Of Your
Day", by Mazzy Star.
"Dysnomia",
by Dawn Of Midi.
"Pull My Hair
Back", by Jessy Lanza.
"Empty
Avenues", by John Foxx And The Belbury Circle.
"Engravings",
by Forest Swords.
"Nepenthe",
by Julianna Barwick.
"The Weighing Of
The Heart", by Colleen.
"Roaring
Lion", by Lee Perry & His Upsetters.
"Joy One
Mile", by Stellar Om Source.
"Open", by
The Necks.
"Tomorrow's
Harvest", by Boards Of Canada.
"She Beats",
by Beaches.
"Box Set, Volume
2", by Cleaners From Venus.
"The Next
Day", by David Bowie. (Because, "important" or not, it is still
one of the year's best.)
"The Elektrik
Karousel", by Focus Group.
"Overgrown",
by James Blake.
"Evidence",
by John Foxx & The Maths.
"Change The Beat:
The Celluloid Records Story 1979-1987".
"Afrobeat Airways,
Vol 2: Return Flight To Ghana 1974-1983".
"Sweet
Sensation", by Embassy.
"Fade", by
Yo La Tengo.
"Berberian Sound
Studio", by Broadcast.
"Across Six Leap
Years", by Tindersticks. (Old songs done in new ways; wonderful stuff
whichever way you cut it.)
"The Skeletal Essences
Of Afro Funk, Vol 3 (1969-1980)", by Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou.
Not to mention the
countless other I have no doubt forgotten.
That is rather a long list, isn't it? (In almost any other year "Engravings" would loom very large. Actually, it still does.)
And the song of the
year? Well, if it wasn't for "Get Lucky", that would be "Love Is
Lost (Hello Steve Reich Mix by James Murphy for the DFA)", by David Bowie.
Monday, December 02, 2013
Hypothetical mixtape: December 2012
1. "Cafe
Rock", by Mikis Theodorakis. We begin this month's trudge through the
detritus of my hard drive with a slice of fuzz-laden sixties psychedelic
soundtrack music. This one is from "Z", a film that was a pretty big thing
back when it was a pretty big thing.
2. "Garsore Waa
Ilaah", by Dur-Dur Band. Students at Foster High School circa 1978 would
have found the name "Dur-Dur Band" the cause of much childish amusement.
But the plight of African musicians in that decade was frequently no laughing
matter. And while I am not sure of the provenance of Dur-Dur Band (I believe they are from slightly later), I am very
confident about the sound they made, even if it is filtered through the lo-fi,
uh, "stylings" of what sounds like several generations of cassette
dubbing. If you wanted to rob me of all my possessions, I suspect you would
just have to sit me in front of African rhythms like these and you would be
able to go about your evil business unhindered, as I sat there mesmerised by
the sounds going on around me. (The curious thing about this song is how closely the vocals hew to the kind of singing you hear in the kind of pop music played in Chinese restaurants.)
3. "The Ego",
by Nicolas Jaar and Theatre Roosevelt. Ah, I see, "Theatre": for a
minute there I thought the old fellow had overcome death in the pursuit of one
more moment in the spotlight. But, no. It's some other dude. Fans/devotees/worshippers
of Nicolas Jaar continue to wait for the follow-up album to "Space Is Only
Noise". 2013 has nevertheless been a busy year for him, with the Darkside
project coming up not only with one of the albums of the year, but also with
one of the maddest projects imaginable, a full-scale deconstruction of "Random
Access Memories". Plus a remix of Brian Eno, which must be one of the
bravest things a musician working in the (rather large) field of
"electronic music" could take on. (I think he got away with it, too.)
But this time last year, the pickings were slim -- in terms of quantity, not in
terms of quality. This is good.
4. "Please Don't
Turn On Me (Disclosure Remix)", by Artful Dodger. These are just names to
me, although I believe Disclosure made something of a name for themselves over
the course of this year. (I could be confused.) This slips down the throat like warm
honey on a summer evening.
5. "Tusk",
by The Crystal Ark. Gavin Russom is something of a regular in these lists. Yes,
this is the Fleetwood Mac song. No, nothing will ever better the original. But
well done Gavin for having a go. In the absence of new material from Black
Leotard Front (I know, I know) this will do for now.
6. "I Love
It", by Icona Pop. Ah, pop music circa 2012. It was a very good year.
7. "110%",
by Jessie Ware. Like, ditto, man.
8. "P.Y.T.
(Pretty Young Thing)", by Nite Jewel. I used to be able to say I never met
a Nite Jewel song I didn't love. That is no longer the case, but her
understated, homespun (but in no ways disrespectful or irreverent) take on this
Michael Jackson song is certainly easy to like.
9. "When I See
You", by Magic Touch and Sapphire Slows. Likewise, I used to be able to
say I never met a 100% Silk release I didn't love. That love affair went sour
some time ago (hey, it wasn't you, it was me) but I can't say the pilot light
doesn't flicker into life whenever I hear this. That piano line must have been
used a thousand times, but it never grows old.
10. "The Same
Love That Made You Laugh", by Margie Joseph. On the other hand, I never
met a Bill Withers song I didn't like, and this is one that has just recently
made my aquaintance.
11. "Bad To
Me", by Billy J Kramer and the Dakotas. Rolling with a dubious piece of
repetition for a bit longer, I never met a Lennon/McCartney song I didn't like.
(Well, I'm not so sure about "Good Day Sunshine".) Once upon a time
the Dynamic Duo gave away their songs to other people, and this is one of them.
It's not hard to imagine it being on "With The Beatles". (Historical
note: "Dakotas" turns out to have been an unfortunate name for
something concerning John Lennon.)
12. "Pretend You
Love Me", by Sonny and the Sunsets. Let’s see now: I never met a Sonny and
the Sunsets song I didn’t like -- even if that’s only because I have only ever
met this one. Gently rolling proto-West Coast pop with a slight "Astral
Weeks" tinge. A winner.
13.
"Headsore", by Gramme. Herky-jerky proto-New Wave, of the type that
might have been found on an early DFA side. Could perhaps be compared to
Factory Floor -- although Gramme's modus operandi seems to be of a much simpler
nature than that of those dudes, who frequently do my head in. This doesn't.
14. "That's
Siberia", by Blanche Blanche Blanche. Oh, this is clever. I instantly picked
it as being the well (or part of the water in the well) from which the previous
song drew. But no, it isn't from 1983, it's from 2012. Could have fooled me
(read: did).
15. "Corn",
by Seiichi Yamamoto. Could soothing-but-not-ambient noodling from Japan be your
thing? If so, go here. There is something of a "Tago Mago" vibe going,
maybe, and they make it work.
16. "Blue
Drive", by Oneohtrix Point Never. Drift off into the sunset with this
nine-minute bliss-out (although, this being Daniel Lopatin at work, the bliss
is less than pure: these synths have been given the slightest of sharp edges,
to catch the unwary). Having bought the original version of "Rifts",
I am grateful to Mr Lopatin for throwing this additional track, from the 2012
reissue, in my (and your) direction, gratis. You see, Virginia? There is a
Santa Claus.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Song of the day
"Open", by The Necks.
I am not even going to try to give you a YouTube clip or Soundcloud link for this. First, nobody in their right mind is going to sit in front of a computer or on a phone for 68 minutes listening to a piece of music. Secondly, "Open" is such a lovely package that it deserves to be absorbed as intended: take the disc out of the cardboard sleeve, load it into your high-end audiophile compact disc player, draw the curtains, settle into your comfy chair, close your eyes, and let it wash over you.
For one thing, it's one of the nicest CD covers I have ever seen. The grey and yellow combination is a winner, the simplicity of the design is typical of the Necks' design crew, and as you open the gatefold sleeve you realise that you are revealing, letter by letter, the name of the record. As in: "open" starts to appear as you "open" the disc. (And the "N" on the back cover, as well as being the last letter of "open", is also the first letter of "Necks". See what they did there?)
As for the music, it is notable in a couple of respects: at 68 minutes, it is the longest single piece of music they have released. In addition, in taking a step away from the wall-of-sound elements of their more recent recordings and shows (at least those of my experience), they have in a sense gone back to the basics of their very first record as The Necks, "Sex" (still one of my favourite Necks pieces, and one of the few "non-mainstream" records in my collection that impresses all who listen to it) (which probably negates the idea of it being "non-mainstream"). But rather than just retread that idea (as if they would ever do that), they have infused it with elements of everything they have learnt throughout their long and winding musical adventure together.
The best thing about it for me, though, is how, around the 45-minute mark, it puts me in mind of "1/1", from Brian Eno's "Ambient 1: Music For Airports", one of my all-time favourite pieces of music. The odd thing about this, though, is that I only get that sense if I listen to it all the way through: I tried to recreate it just by playing that passage and, in a nutshell, I got nothin'. I couldn't even tell I was listening to the right section of the track. What's with that? I suppose after 45 minutes of close listening you get in a kind of zone. "Open" is my kind of zone.
It would make an ideal Christmas present.
I am not even going to try to give you a YouTube clip or Soundcloud link for this. First, nobody in their right mind is going to sit in front of a computer or on a phone for 68 minutes listening to a piece of music. Secondly, "Open" is such a lovely package that it deserves to be absorbed as intended: take the disc out of the cardboard sleeve, load it into your high-end audiophile compact disc player, draw the curtains, settle into your comfy chair, close your eyes, and let it wash over you.
For one thing, it's one of the nicest CD covers I have ever seen. The grey and yellow combination is a winner, the simplicity of the design is typical of the Necks' design crew, and as you open the gatefold sleeve you realise that you are revealing, letter by letter, the name of the record. As in: "open" starts to appear as you "open" the disc. (And the "N" on the back cover, as well as being the last letter of "open", is also the first letter of "Necks". See what they did there?)
As for the music, it is notable in a couple of respects: at 68 minutes, it is the longest single piece of music they have released. In addition, in taking a step away from the wall-of-sound elements of their more recent recordings and shows (at least those of my experience), they have in a sense gone back to the basics of their very first record as The Necks, "Sex" (still one of my favourite Necks pieces, and one of the few "non-mainstream" records in my collection that impresses all who listen to it) (which probably negates the idea of it being "non-mainstream"). But rather than just retread that idea (as if they would ever do that), they have infused it with elements of everything they have learnt throughout their long and winding musical adventure together.
The best thing about it for me, though, is how, around the 45-minute mark, it puts me in mind of "1/1", from Brian Eno's "Ambient 1: Music For Airports", one of my all-time favourite pieces of music. The odd thing about this, though, is that I only get that sense if I listen to it all the way through: I tried to recreate it just by playing that passage and, in a nutshell, I got nothin'. I couldn't even tell I was listening to the right section of the track. What's with that? I suppose after 45 minutes of close listening you get in a kind of zone. "Open" is my kind of zone.
It would make an ideal Christmas present.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Jackie oh!
It was time to introduce our children to the world of Jackie Chan. (It was probably past time, actually. But one earlier attempt foundered on the rocks of intimate human relations a few minutes in.)
Limited by both our lack of knowledge and the truncated range available at the local Video Ezy, we have thus far run through an unrepresentative, possibly entirely misguided selection. But at least he is now known in our house as more than just one of the voices in the "Kung Fu Panda" films. And that is an important component of a boy's education.
What have we seen so far?
"Drunkenmaster II". This is comedy martial arts genius. The pure Hong Kong films seem to be more insane than those involving Hollywood: presumably because the "Jackie Chan does his own stunts" ethos doesn't get strapped into an OH&S straightjacket.
"Shanghai Noon". At the opposite end of the spectrum from "Drunkenmaster II": this film is an utter, utter crock, and highly unworthy of Jackie Chan's talent. Also, it pales in comparison Gore Verbinski's "The Lone Ranger" (or even "Rango"). Avoid. What? There's a sequel?? I would rather eat my shoe.
"Rumble In The Bronx". From memory, this was Jackie's first East Meets West venture. It struggles to find its feet for a while, and is heavy on the violence (and reeks of the 1980s: the whole thing could almost be an extended cut of Michael Jackson's "Beat It" video, which is kind of weird seeing it was made in 1995), but is worth sitting through for the unbroken madness of the final 20 minutes. Italian Sports Car vs Hovercraft: what's not to like?
"Rush Hour". In its own way a sequel to "Shanghai Noon" (even referencing the "John Wayne / Chon Wang" gag from that movie) but this time they got the balance right between the comedy and the martial arts.
"Rush Hour 2". More of the same only slightly less so. But the team-up of Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker is a good one. I don't think I would want to sit through the third one, though.
There are two or three more actual Hong Kong Jackie Chan movies (including "First Strike") that we can borrow, but if anyone has some recommendations the email address is over there on the right.
Limited by both our lack of knowledge and the truncated range available at the local Video Ezy, we have thus far run through an unrepresentative, possibly entirely misguided selection. But at least he is now known in our house as more than just one of the voices in the "Kung Fu Panda" films. And that is an important component of a boy's education.
What have we seen so far?
"Drunkenmaster II". This is comedy martial arts genius. The pure Hong Kong films seem to be more insane than those involving Hollywood: presumably because the "Jackie Chan does his own stunts" ethos doesn't get strapped into an OH&S straightjacket.
"Shanghai Noon". At the opposite end of the spectrum from "Drunkenmaster II": this film is an utter, utter crock, and highly unworthy of Jackie Chan's talent. Also, it pales in comparison Gore Verbinski's "The Lone Ranger" (or even "Rango"). Avoid. What? There's a sequel?? I would rather eat my shoe.
"Rumble In The Bronx". From memory, this was Jackie's first East Meets West venture. It struggles to find its feet for a while, and is heavy on the violence (and reeks of the 1980s: the whole thing could almost be an extended cut of Michael Jackson's "Beat It" video, which is kind of weird seeing it was made in 1995), but is worth sitting through for the unbroken madness of the final 20 minutes. Italian Sports Car vs Hovercraft: what's not to like?
"Rush Hour". In its own way a sequel to "Shanghai Noon" (even referencing the "John Wayne / Chon Wang" gag from that movie) but this time they got the balance right between the comedy and the martial arts.
"Rush Hour 2". More of the same only slightly less so. But the team-up of Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker is a good one. I don't think I would want to sit through the third one, though.
There are two or three more actual Hong Kong Jackie Chan movies (including "First Strike") that we can borrow, but if anyone has some recommendations the email address is over there on the right.
Essay of the day
"Swinging Modern Sounds #44: And Another Day", by Rick Moody.
You read a lot of writing about music. A lot of what you read is hack work; much of it is very good, very readable, very informative, but hack work still. Somebody doing a job (not necessarily a paid job). You think you to yourself, I could do that. You give it a try. You hone your craft on your own little island for ten years. You think you might be getting somewhere. You're not going to get yourself quoted, or talked about, but maybe you have come up with one or two minor insights about the music you listen to. Maybe you have encouraged one or two people to check out something they wouldn't otherwise have investigated. Maybe they even liked what they heard. If nothing else, it has helped you collect your thoughts and impressions in a way that at least forces you to think about what you are listening to.
And then you read something like Jonathan Lethem's book on Talking Heads' "Fear of Music".
Or this stunning essay by Rick Moody on Bowie's "The Next Day".
And you wonder why you bother.
*sob*
You read a lot of writing about music. A lot of what you read is hack work; much of it is very good, very readable, very informative, but hack work still. Somebody doing a job (not necessarily a paid job). You think you to yourself, I could do that. You give it a try. You hone your craft on your own little island for ten years. You think you might be getting somewhere. You're not going to get yourself quoted, or talked about, but maybe you have come up with one or two minor insights about the music you listen to. Maybe you have encouraged one or two people to check out something they wouldn't otherwise have investigated. Maybe they even liked what they heard. If nothing else, it has helped you collect your thoughts and impressions in a way that at least forces you to think about what you are listening to.
And then you read something like Jonathan Lethem's book on Talking Heads' "Fear of Music".
Or this stunning essay by Rick Moody on Bowie's "The Next Day".
And you wonder why you bother.
*sob*
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Song of the day
"Marathon", by The Cleaners From Venus.
In the years 1979 to 1981, by which time I was seriously absorbing music from outside the mainstream, it was compulsory for every album coming out of England to contain at least one song that referenced the bourgeoisie. Of course, I had no idea who or what the bourgeoisie was, but attentive reading of the NME gave me an understanding that they, along with Margaret Thatcher, were the hated enemy.
We didn't have much exposure to the Class Struggle at Fish Creek, but watching the Ken Loach documentary "The Spirit of '45" a couple of weeks ago gave me a real sense of why it was a struggle worth fighting for, how it was won, by the Attlee/Bevin Labour government, after the Second World War, and how that victory was stripped away 35 years later under Thatcher. (And yes, I am aware that Loach's film was telling one side of the story, and that an equally cogent, well-constructed narrative could be told from the other side of the barricades; and I am also aware that Britain in the 1970s couldn't be said to have been any sort of Workers' Paradise; but I know where my own sympathies lie.)
"Marathon", by The Cleaners From Venus, was one bourgeoisie-referencing song that got away. Mainly because The Cleaners were one band that got away. Not just from me, I suspect. The Cleaners were the archetypal bedroom band. They put out hand-painted limited-run cassette releases. (This was surely an influence on the likes of Calvin Johnson and The Cannanes, and so in a real sense my world would not have existed without them.) In the beginning, whence this song springs, they were Martin Newell and Lol Elliott. Newell, with and without Elliott, released album after album (he is still doing it) of perfectly crafted English pop songs, psychedelia-tinged but laced with the acrid aftertaste of punk.
Last year Captured Tracks embarked on a Cleaners From Venus reissue campaign, and you can now access facsimiles of the first six albums plus a collection of "outtakes" (hard to know what that even means in this context, as their tapes were never really "available", at least in any quantity, in the first place). It is some of the best music you have never heard. If you could imagine a band with the songwriting genius of XTC combined with the aural aesthetic of Swell Maps you are not far off the mark.
They never sought success, but perhaps, at this late date, success may have found them. Here's hoping.
In the years 1979 to 1981, by which time I was seriously absorbing music from outside the mainstream, it was compulsory for every album coming out of England to contain at least one song that referenced the bourgeoisie. Of course, I had no idea who or what the bourgeoisie was, but attentive reading of the NME gave me an understanding that they, along with Margaret Thatcher, were the hated enemy.
We didn't have much exposure to the Class Struggle at Fish Creek, but watching the Ken Loach documentary "The Spirit of '45" a couple of weeks ago gave me a real sense of why it was a struggle worth fighting for, how it was won, by the Attlee/Bevin Labour government, after the Second World War, and how that victory was stripped away 35 years later under Thatcher. (And yes, I am aware that Loach's film was telling one side of the story, and that an equally cogent, well-constructed narrative could be told from the other side of the barricades; and I am also aware that Britain in the 1970s couldn't be said to have been any sort of Workers' Paradise; but I know where my own sympathies lie.)
"Marathon", by The Cleaners From Venus, was one bourgeoisie-referencing song that got away. Mainly because The Cleaners were one band that got away. Not just from me, I suspect. The Cleaners were the archetypal bedroom band. They put out hand-painted limited-run cassette releases. (This was surely an influence on the likes of Calvin Johnson and The Cannanes, and so in a real sense my world would not have existed without them.) In the beginning, whence this song springs, they were Martin Newell and Lol Elliott. Newell, with and without Elliott, released album after album (he is still doing it) of perfectly crafted English pop songs, psychedelia-tinged but laced with the acrid aftertaste of punk.
Last year Captured Tracks embarked on a Cleaners From Venus reissue campaign, and you can now access facsimiles of the first six albums plus a collection of "outtakes" (hard to know what that even means in this context, as their tapes were never really "available", at least in any quantity, in the first place). It is some of the best music you have never heard. If you could imagine a band with the songwriting genius of XTC combined with the aural aesthetic of Swell Maps you are not far off the mark.
They never sought success, but perhaps, at this late date, success may have found them. Here's hoping.
Saturday, November 09, 2013
Song of the day
"Molten Gold", by The Chills.
While we were all looking the other way, Martin Phillipps uploaded a new Chills song onto iTunes. Some of us had, reluctantly, stopped holding our breath for the long- and often-promised "new Chills material" to appear. The Chills have long been a big part of my life, and I have frequently, silently (as well as, I seem to recall, on these pages) wished Phillipps well (even if only for the very selfish reason that I wanted him to keep making music). But nobody can wait forever.
Which makes the appearance of this new song not so much a surprise as the trigger for a sensation like that of having one of your long-dead parents suddenly walk around the corner and stare you in the face. I think the expression may be "cognitive dissonance": this can't be happening, and yet here it is.
Its mere existence, then, is a cause for celebration, and has fanned a long-dormant flame. It would be tempting to hail the song itself, of course, as a masterpiece, a stunning return to form, a song worth waiting nine years for. Whereas in fact (well, in my opinion) what it is is just another Chills song. But before you switch off, think about what that means: in a world where there are too few songs by one of his generation's most gifted songwriters, the addition of even one new song is no small thing. Martin Phillipps, whatever else has been going on in his life, has still got his own particular "it".
"Molten Gold" sounds tentative: there are no real risks being taken (the electric fiddle carrying the main melody line is new -- although it is really doing the same work as the expensive keyboards that were all over the group's records during their major-label phase), he is not pushing any envelopes or making any Major Statements. If you wanted to place it within the Chills' songbook, it is more "Look For The Good In Others" than "Great Escape". It doesn't precisely sound like a demo but there is something underworked, something homespun about it. (It might also be suggestive of someone who has come to terms with the idea that a song that sounds like it came out of Dunedin is a song worth doing; but that might just be me drifting into the field of amateur psychoanalysis.)
And here is where it gets speculative, taking us to a place that all Chills fans will recognise: that place called "What Next?". If "Molten Gold" is the sound of Martin Phillipps figuring out if he can still do this, well, Martin, the resounding answer must be "Yes You Can". If Phillipps, who appears to be surrounded now by a solid group of sympathetic musicians, can draw some momentum from this one song, who knows, we might be on the verge of an unexpected, thoroughly well deserved, and (for me, but I'm sure not only for me) very exciting second act.
On the other hand, if it does turn out to be a one-off, and we are held in suspense for another however many years, well, Martin, whenever that might be, I will still be here waiting for you. And in the meantime we have this song to listen to. So, y'know, uh, thanks.
While we were all looking the other way, Martin Phillipps uploaded a new Chills song onto iTunes. Some of us had, reluctantly, stopped holding our breath for the long- and often-promised "new Chills material" to appear. The Chills have long been a big part of my life, and I have frequently, silently (as well as, I seem to recall, on these pages) wished Phillipps well (even if only for the very selfish reason that I wanted him to keep making music). But nobody can wait forever.
Which makes the appearance of this new song not so much a surprise as the trigger for a sensation like that of having one of your long-dead parents suddenly walk around the corner and stare you in the face. I think the expression may be "cognitive dissonance": this can't be happening, and yet here it is.
Its mere existence, then, is a cause for celebration, and has fanned a long-dormant flame. It would be tempting to hail the song itself, of course, as a masterpiece, a stunning return to form, a song worth waiting nine years for. Whereas in fact (well, in my opinion) what it is is just another Chills song. But before you switch off, think about what that means: in a world where there are too few songs by one of his generation's most gifted songwriters, the addition of even one new song is no small thing. Martin Phillipps, whatever else has been going on in his life, has still got his own particular "it".
"Molten Gold" sounds tentative: there are no real risks being taken (the electric fiddle carrying the main melody line is new -- although it is really doing the same work as the expensive keyboards that were all over the group's records during their major-label phase), he is not pushing any envelopes or making any Major Statements. If you wanted to place it within the Chills' songbook, it is more "Look For The Good In Others" than "Great Escape". It doesn't precisely sound like a demo but there is something underworked, something homespun about it. (It might also be suggestive of someone who has come to terms with the idea that a song that sounds like it came out of Dunedin is a song worth doing; but that might just be me drifting into the field of amateur psychoanalysis.)
And here is where it gets speculative, taking us to a place that all Chills fans will recognise: that place called "What Next?". If "Molten Gold" is the sound of Martin Phillipps figuring out if he can still do this, well, Martin, the resounding answer must be "Yes You Can". If Phillipps, who appears to be surrounded now by a solid group of sympathetic musicians, can draw some momentum from this one song, who knows, we might be on the verge of an unexpected, thoroughly well deserved, and (for me, but I'm sure not only for me) very exciting second act.
On the other hand, if it does turn out to be a one-off, and we are held in suspense for another however many years, well, Martin, whenever that might be, I will still be here waiting for you. And in the meantime we have this song to listen to. So, y'know, uh, thanks.
Saturday, November 02, 2013
Hypothetical mixtape: November 2012
It is now November
2013. This list relates to November 2012.
I should probably give
up.
And yet ...
Here we go yet again.
A month dedicated, as it turns out, to dance.
1. "Hippo
Mancy", by Tom Janusch. The entire 1970s disco scene displayed in miniature.
Like a snow dome. Groovy.
2. "Contours
Sway", by Larry Gus. DFA signing (now with an album out) with the
ingenious approach of taking an actual (or fake: who can tell these days?)
disco number and chopping and screwing it until it sounds like a song trapped
in a blender. (A compliment.)
3. "I'm A Man
(full length version)", by Macho. Italo disco. Imagine a mid-point,
perhaps, between Earth Wind and Fire and "I Feel Love". Or, y'know,
don't. Listen to this instead. You weren't really planning on doing anything
else for the next 18 minutes.
4. "I Love
America", by Patrick Juvet. One thing about disco is, if you only knew it
from the songs they played on the radio, you really did have a skewed and
unflattering view of it. They say that size doesn't matter. They are wrong.
Twelve inches is disco's true measure. Reducing something like "I Love
America" to three or four minutes really negates the point of the song and
leaves the young and impressionable listener (viz., me) having strongly
negative views of what is, in its 12-inch iteration, as fine a song as the
disco era came up with. (Well, almost.) It's like going down a rabbit hole from
which you can never escape. For 13 minutes, anyway.
5. "I Wanna Give
You Tomorrow (disco version)", by Benny Troy. I don't care who you are,
there will always be disco songs that you haven't heard before. Benny Troy
comes on as a slightly restless/anxious Barry White. Oh those blessed strings. From
1975, when things were more fresh, new, exciting and (maybe) innocent.
6. "Dreaming A
Dream (Goes Dancin)", by Crown Heights Affair. I think you can probably guess what is going on here.
7.
"Stardance", by John Forde. Many of the finest exponents of disco did
not hail from England. (I'm not sure where you would place the Bee Gees vis a
vis that last statement.) John Forde hailed from England. The word
"cosmic" can't help but come to mind: this song seems to have its
head in the stratosphere and its feet on the dancefloor. Or: did John Forde
invent prog-disco?
8. "Ain't No Time
For Tears (Sacred Rhythm Version)", by Ashra. Not disco per se, but this
does share the idea of strength through repetition. And rhythm. What we have
here is Joe Claussell taking some well schmick Manuel Gottsching guitar triangulations
and superimposing them onto a salsa beat. And the result is insane. Hola!
9. "Keep It
Together (Factory Floor Remix)", by How To Destroy Angels. As with
"Are 'Friends' Electric?", say, this remix, if you put it out on the
dance floor, might clear half the patrons, but those who remain will be pogoing
their little hearts out. There is something very end-of-the-seventies Sheffield
about Factory Floor which I find very appealing. They are, on the face of
things, cold and industrial, but it is done with a deft hand that draws you in.
As we sit here now, they have an album out. On DFA.
10. "We Came To (house mix)", by
The Crystal Ark. Did somebody mention DFA? It is disappointing that last year's
Crystal Ark album didn't get more traction than it did. Gavin Russom's homemade
synths and Viva Ruiz's vocals are a good pairing, and the album is a lot more
interesting, and varied, than most people seem to have assumed it would be.
This is a different mix of a song from the album. It may not be the
long-awaited return of Black Leotard Front, but it's all good.
Mistah Lou, he dead.
I don't really know what to say about the death of Lou Reed, but it might seem a bit weird if I don't say anything at all, so here goes.
As you know, Lou and I didn't always see eye to eye. I don't know what it was about him that rubbed me up the wrong way, but something did, and I am certain that that is exactly how he would have wanted it. That was his particular, uh, charm.
That said, there is a hole in the world as I sit here typing this. The last time I was conscious of feeling like that was when Burroughs died. Both of them were figures that towered, much larger than life, across the (or "a") cultural landscape. Their shadows, already long, continue to lengthen.
In short: if Lou Reed had never been born, I would be living in a world much different from this one, and I can't imagine it would be a world that I would prefer to live in.
No Lou Reed = no Velvet Underground. No Velvet Underground = no Television. No Ramones. No British punk. No Feelies. No Forced Exposure. (Probably no Creem.) No Chills. No Bats. No Clean. No Belle and Sebastian. No Beat Happening. No Black Flag. No Birthday Party. No Spacemen 3. No Jonathan Richman. Not exactly no David Bowie, but a different David Bowie, one who would not have made the Berlin trilogy. No Neu!. (Is it too much of a stretch to say no Kraftwerk?) And if you take all of them out of the picture, it is curious to wonder what today's music might sound like. No Moon Duo. No Real Estate. No Woods. No ...
As you know, Lou and I didn't always see eye to eye. I don't know what it was about him that rubbed me up the wrong way, but something did, and I am certain that that is exactly how he would have wanted it. That was his particular, uh, charm.
That said, there is a hole in the world as I sit here typing this. The last time I was conscious of feeling like that was when Burroughs died. Both of them were figures that towered, much larger than life, across the (or "a") cultural landscape. Their shadows, already long, continue to lengthen.
In short: if Lou Reed had never been born, I would be living in a world much different from this one, and I can't imagine it would be a world that I would prefer to live in.
No Lou Reed = no Velvet Underground. No Velvet Underground = no Television. No Ramones. No British punk. No Feelies. No Forced Exposure. (Probably no Creem.) No Chills. No Bats. No Clean. No Belle and Sebastian. No Beat Happening. No Black Flag. No Birthday Party. No Spacemen 3. No Jonathan Richman. Not exactly no David Bowie, but a different David Bowie, one who would not have made the Berlin trilogy. No Neu!. (Is it too much of a stretch to say no Kraftwerk?) And if you take all of them out of the picture, it is curious to wonder what today's music might sound like. No Moon Duo. No Real Estate. No Woods. No ...
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Request For Information
So, here's the thing: as a general rule, somewhere between 10 and 20 people read what I have written. Not going to break any bestseller records, but, y'know, I'm pretty comfortable sitting here in my own microclimate.
Then I discover that the number of "hits" (not that kind; no, not that kind, either) on my October 2012 hypothetical mixtape post (scroll down, probably) has passed 400. (Not a typo.)
Statistical anomalies make me nervous.
My self-sleuthing skills are, admittedly, not up to much, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what is going on here. My assumption, of course, is that I must have written something so patently wrong and/or ridiculous that half the internet (well, half of a very small fraction) is getting their LOLs (I believe it's called) at my expense and everybody knows about it except me. (Remember: just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you. Or to make fun of you behind your back.)
Uh, help?
Then I discover that the number of "hits" (not that kind; no, not that kind, either) on my October 2012 hypothetical mixtape post (scroll down, probably) has passed 400. (Not a typo.)
Statistical anomalies make me nervous.
My self-sleuthing skills are, admittedly, not up to much, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what is going on here. My assumption, of course, is that I must have written something so patently wrong and/or ridiculous that half the internet (well, half of a very small fraction) is getting their LOLs (I believe it's called) at my expense and everybody knows about it except me. (Remember: just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you. Or to make fun of you behind your back.)
Uh, help?
YouTube of the day
"Float On", by The Floaters.
Like Everest: because it's there.
(When I was a boy, a "floater" was something else entirely.)
Like Everest: because it's there.
(When I was a boy, a "floater" was something else entirely.)
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Song of the day
"Out In The Middle", by The Duckworth Lewis Method.
Junior cricket has commenced for the 2013-14 season, and what better time to acknowledge the most recent contribution by The Duckworth Lewis Method to the gentleman's game. Cricket, as these fellows well know, works as a metaphor for many aspects of life; many of their songs can be read as such, but they are also capable of being played with a straight bat.
This song cruises along gently and charmingly on a soft cushion of FM radio, with essences of, variously, George Harrison, Steely Dan, The Doobie Brothers and, crucially, 10CC. (Who, when they were no longer any good, had a hit with their own song about cricket.) But it is not just a blatant parade of influences; it can (and should) also be enjoyed as a song.
Well played, chaps.
Junior cricket has commenced for the 2013-14 season, and what better time to acknowledge the most recent contribution by The Duckworth Lewis Method to the gentleman's game. Cricket, as these fellows well know, works as a metaphor for many aspects of life; many of their songs can be read as such, but they are also capable of being played with a straight bat.
This song cruises along gently and charmingly on a soft cushion of FM radio, with essences of, variously, George Harrison, Steely Dan, The Doobie Brothers and, crucially, 10CC. (Who, when they were no longer any good, had a hit with their own song about cricket.) But it is not just a blatant parade of influences; it can (and should) also be enjoyed as a song.
Well played, chaps.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Song of the day
"Livin' Is Easy", by The Embassy.
Bands like The Tough Alliance and JJ may have received more notice around the internet, but as far as Swedish indie-pop bands go, The Embassy got there first, and after a relatively subterranean decade-plus-long career they released their fourth album, "Sweet Sensation", earlier this year. And it is certainly one of the more listenable albums of the year, if seductive pop pleasures are your thing.
The template for a lot of their songs is clearly New Order, which is a difficult thing to pull off given how close to perfect the original was. But with this song, chosen almost at random, they make it look easy. The melody is straight out of the New Order playbook, as is the vocal delivery and even the synth that appears periodically throughout the song, which could almost have been dredged up from the "Movement" sessions. Perhaps what sets it apart, though, is the Postcard (and also the Postcard-on-an-Ibiza-tip) jangle that kicks the song along.
Nice video, too.
Bands like The Tough Alliance and JJ may have received more notice around the internet, but as far as Swedish indie-pop bands go, The Embassy got there first, and after a relatively subterranean decade-plus-long career they released their fourth album, "Sweet Sensation", earlier this year. And it is certainly one of the more listenable albums of the year, if seductive pop pleasures are your thing.
The template for a lot of their songs is clearly New Order, which is a difficult thing to pull off given how close to perfect the original was. But with this song, chosen almost at random, they make it look easy. The melody is straight out of the New Order playbook, as is the vocal delivery and even the synth that appears periodically throughout the song, which could almost have been dredged up from the "Movement" sessions. Perhaps what sets it apart, though, is the Postcard (and also the Postcard-on-an-Ibiza-tip) jangle that kicks the song along.
Nice video, too.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Song of the day
"Love Is Lost (Hello Steve Reich Mix by James Murphy)", by David Bowie.
As someone who hasn't listened to a new David Bowie album from start to finish since "Let's Dance", in 1983, I didn't view the unexpected appearance of "The Next Day" earlier this year as a return to past glories so much as just business as usual. I don't think we know how James Murphy viewed it, but we do know, if only from the references that are dotted throughout his own records and influences (they being largely the same thing in Murphy's case), that he has been a deep listener to Bowie's seventies work.
This remix, then, can and should be viewed with some excitement. Not only does it marry together two musical visionaries (yes, I hate that word, but in this case it seems to fit better than anything else I could come up with) with a lot to offer each other, but it also marks the first significant appearance by Murphy on record since he bravely scuttled LCD Soundsystem. Its ten-minute span is typical of Murphy, gradually shifting and tweaking the sound, and the dynamic, so that what you have is not so much a song as a musical journey; meanwhile, Bowie's voice lends it the emotional weight that Murphy himself was, unexpectedly, able to impart in the middle section of "Sound of Silver". In short: this sounds like an LCD Soundsystem track fronted by David Bowie. And if that dampens your trousers, well, I'm not surprised.
There is a nice Kraftwerk reference early on (Bowie and Kraftwerk, of course, had a mutual-appreciation thing going: Kraftwerk name-checked Bowie on "Trans-Europe Express", while Bowie was undoubtedly influenced by their music (see "Low", "'Heroes'" and "Lodger")). Several minutes in, Murphy manages, somehow, to replicate the wonky piano sound from "Ashes to Ashes". (Show-off.) The Steve Reich sample/reference (from "Clapping Music", I think) is something of an inspired musical non-sequitur to start off the show, as you think that what you are listening to is scattered applause, until it coalesces into a rhythmic pattern. I'm sure there are other references that I am not twigging to, but that's why he's James Murphy and I'm Joe Schmoe.
I just can't stop listening to this.
As someone who hasn't listened to a new David Bowie album from start to finish since "Let's Dance", in 1983, I didn't view the unexpected appearance of "The Next Day" earlier this year as a return to past glories so much as just business as usual. I don't think we know how James Murphy viewed it, but we do know, if only from the references that are dotted throughout his own records and influences (they being largely the same thing in Murphy's case), that he has been a deep listener to Bowie's seventies work.
This remix, then, can and should be viewed with some excitement. Not only does it marry together two musical visionaries (yes, I hate that word, but in this case it seems to fit better than anything else I could come up with) with a lot to offer each other, but it also marks the first significant appearance by Murphy on record since he bravely scuttled LCD Soundsystem. Its ten-minute span is typical of Murphy, gradually shifting and tweaking the sound, and the dynamic, so that what you have is not so much a song as a musical journey; meanwhile, Bowie's voice lends it the emotional weight that Murphy himself was, unexpectedly, able to impart in the middle section of "Sound of Silver". In short: this sounds like an LCD Soundsystem track fronted by David Bowie. And if that dampens your trousers, well, I'm not surprised.
There is a nice Kraftwerk reference early on (Bowie and Kraftwerk, of course, had a mutual-appreciation thing going: Kraftwerk name-checked Bowie on "Trans-Europe Express", while Bowie was undoubtedly influenced by their music (see "Low", "'Heroes'" and "Lodger")). Several minutes in, Murphy manages, somehow, to replicate the wonky piano sound from "Ashes to Ashes". (Show-off.) The Steve Reich sample/reference (from "Clapping Music", I think) is something of an inspired musical non-sequitur to start off the show, as you think that what you are listening to is scattered applause, until it coalesces into a rhythmic pattern. I'm sure there are other references that I am not twigging to, but that's why he's James Murphy and I'm Joe Schmoe.
I just can't stop listening to this.
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