Tracyanne & Danny ‎– Tracyanne & Danny (2018)

Style: Indie Rock
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Merge Records

Tracklist:
01.   Home & Dry
02.   It Can't Be Love Unless It Hurts
03.   Deep In The Night
04.   Alabama
05.   Jacqueline
06.   2006
07.   The Honeymooners
08.   Anybody Else
09.   Cellophane Girl
10.   O'Keefe

Credits:
Producer – Edwyn Collins
Producer, Engineer – Sean Read
Songwriter, Performer – Daniel Coughlin, Tracyanne Campbell

When the sumptuous, soul-warming sound of Tracyanne & Danny’s debut track Home and Dry dropped unexpectedly in February, fans experienced a twofold reaction: both joy and relief. 

In October 2015, a rare form of bone cancer called osteosarcoma robbed the life of Glasgow indie pop band Camera Obscura’s keyboardist Carey Lander. That is the exact word Lander’s bandmate and best friend, singer-songwriter Tracyanne Campbell, uses three years on: robbed. “We were all robbed of Carey,” she laments sternly, angrily. “And the band was robbed of our job.” 

A crowdfunding campaign launched by Lander in her final days went on to raise more than £102,000 for Sarcoma UK, bringing some tiny semblance of light to the tragedy. But after that there was only lingering sadness and silence, the group’s future left uncertain. Lander’s illness claimed the life of a much-loved and talented musician at just 33, but it also silenced a popular band in their prime. 

So it is a relief to learn that Campbell was silenced only temporarily. Home and Dry was the first taste of a full album recorded in rural seclusion at Edwyn Collins’s cliff-top Clashnarrow studio, near Helmsdale on the north-east coast of Scotland. A tender and crisply realised collection of panoramic pop vignettes and yearning love songs, it’s a collaboration with Danny Coughlan, the Bristol-based singer-songwriter known as Crybaby. A close friend who shares Campbell’s love for ornate 60s guitar pop, Coughlan was the creative foil she needed to swap song ideas with by email in a delicate process of confidence and career rebuilding. 

He once favoured more retro communication than email, though. “He sent me a song on a cassette tape and a handwritten letter, and I was like: ‘Who’s this weirdo?’” jokes Campbell, reflecting on how she first connected with Coughlan back in 2013, after a chance meeting between her publisher and his manager led to Crybaby twice touring as support for Camera Obscura. 

“They like all that analogue stuff up there in Scotland, don’t they?” Coughlan recalls thinking, when he found out where Campbell was from. It seems a fair cop, actually, when he later describes delightedly raking through Collins’s crofter’s cottage full of classic guitars and equipment. Prized discoveries included the original fuzz effects pedal used on Collins’s huge hit A Girl Like You. “I don’t think it had been in action for a few years,” he admits, before mimicking playing the song’s mighty riff with a series of disappointed raspberry noises. 

Private, peaceful and nourishing, the studio and its surrounds were the perfect place to reflect and start afresh, and observe a daily ritual of strength and determination in face of adversity, courtesy of Collins, who has overcome two brain haemorrhages. “Edwyn’s in the cottage at the bottom of the hill,” Coughlan explains, admiringly. “He walks up the steps to the studio every morning with his walking stick: it’s 100 steps.” 

Campbell says that Camera Obscura are “in slumberland”: the four remaining members all still talk or see one another frequently, but never to discuss the future. The prospect of so much as entering a rehearsal room again without their friend is still too daunting. 

Was there ever a temptation to walk away from music altogether after Lander’s passing? “I wasn’t really thinking too much about music,” Campbell admits. “I was heartbroken; I was trying to deal with my grief, which was massive. That’s the thing about grief: it doesn’t end. It goes on, it just changes. We’re all still grieving for Carey. I know also that it’s important to not dwell on that. [With] my personality, I could have easily dwelled on that for too long. I think it was really important for me to keep Carey in mind and to find a strength to get past it. And I did that, I worked on it. It sounds weird to say, but I put a lot of work into it.” 

The Tracyanne & Danny album could easily have been filled with 10 songs about their lost friend. In the end, one proved enough: the lovely Alabama, a breezy country-pop ode with strings, swooping pedal steel guitar and a vocal cameo from Collins. Campbell sings a bittersweet smile of a chorus: “When I’m an old lady, I’ll still miss you like crazy.” 

“Carey and I were looking forward to being mad old ladies together,” Campbell says, when I ask what she thinks Lander would have made of that lyric. “We already were like a couple of mad grannies.” At that thought, something that she admits hardly ever happens anymore happens, and tears well up in her eyes. Coughlan puts a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She would have liked it,” Campbell asserts, quickly recomposing herself. “She’s part of it.”

Malcolm Jack / The Guardian

Nils Frahm ‎– All Melody (2018)

Style: Modern Classical, Abstract
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Erased Tapes Records

Tracklist:
01.   The Whole Universe Wants To Be Touched
02.   Sunson
03.   A Place
04.   My Friend The Forest
05.   Human Range
06.   Forever Changeless
07.   All Melody
08.   #2
09.   Momentum
10.   Fundamental Values
11.   Kaleidoscope
12.   Harm Hymn

Credits:
Alto Vocals [Shards] – Kate Huggett, Rose Martin (4), Sarah Latto
Bass Vocals [Shards] – Augustus Perkins Ray, Dan D'Souza, John Laichena
Cello – Anne Müller (tracks: 3 to 5, 10)
Choir – Shards (5) (tracks: 1, 3, 5, 9, 11)
Conductor [Shards], Arranged By [Shards, Co-Arranged By] – Kieran Brunt
Drums – Tatu Rönkkö (tracks: 2, 5)
Guitar [Processed Guitar], Sounds [Unheard Sounds] – Erik Skodvin
Instruments, Written-By, Producer, Piano [Pianos], Harmonium, Celesta, Percussion, Mellotron, Organ [Pipe Organ], Drum Machine, Effects, Recorded By, Mixed By, Synthesizer [Juno, SH2, Taurus, PS3100, 4Voice, Modular] – Nils Frahm
Marimba [Bass Marimba] – Sven Kacirek (tracks: 2, 4 to 8, 10)
Percussion – Tatu Rönkkö (tracks: 2, 3, 5)
Soprano Vocals [Shards] – Bethany Horak-Hallett, Héloïse Werner, Lucy Cronin
Technician [Piano Technician] – Carsten Schulz (2)
Tenor Vocals [Shards] – Kieran Brunt, Oliver Martin-Smith, Sam Oladeinde
Timpani, Gong [Gongs], Bass Drum, Percussion [Melodic Percussion] – Sytze Pruiksma (tracks: 5, 9)
Trumpet – Richard Koch (tracks: 5, 10)
Viola – Viktor Orri Árnason (tracks: 2, 3, 5)
Mastered By – Zino Mikorey

It’s hard for Nils Frahm to resist the pull of a good concept. For 2011’s Felt, the German pianist draped a heavy cloth over the strings of his instrument—a gesture of respect for his neighbors that yielded an alluringly tactile sound. The following year’s Screws, written and recorded with a broken thumb, comprised nine songs for nine fingers. And the year after that, to capture the grandeur of his live shows—neoclassical, post-techno, maximally minimalist affairs performed on multiple acoustic and electronic keyboard instruments, in the spread-eagled style of the progressive-rock keyboardists of yore—he collaged Spaces out of two years’ worth of thrumming, rippling concert recordings. But a recent collaboration with the German musician F.S. Blumm proved that he’s just as good, if not better, without a big conceptual framework to prop him up. Their album Tag Eins Tag Zwei is a wonderfully low-key set of improvisations. 

All Melody is Frahm’s first major work since 2015’s Solo, and it feels like his biggest statement yet. He has fleshed out his usual arsenal of keyboard instruments—piano, synthesizer, pipe organ, etc.—with strings, trumpet, tympani, gongs, even bass marimba. The whole thing was recorded in the Funkhaus, a 1950s-era recording complex in the former East Berlin where he spent two years painstakingly building his dream room, right down to a custom-built mixing desk. The album’s rich dynamics are a direct extension of that building’s pristine acoustics. He availed himself of the Funkhaus’ natural reverb chambers—concrete rooms into which sound is projected and re-recorded—and he fashioned his own jury-rigged version out of a dry well at a friend’s house on the Spanish island of Mallorca. There’s even a choir, London’s Shards, whose wordless voices open the album on “The Whole Universe Wants to Be Touched,” a bold scene-setter whose melody moves like wind through reeds. The title alone suggests that Frahm is swinging for the fences. 

But All Melody never feels imposing or overwrought. Despite its ambitious scope and somber mood, it is infused with the same exploratory spirit that made Tag Eins Tag Zwei such a delight. True, it’s not a wildly varied record: The tempos are generally slow, the moods contemplative, the melancholy almost all-pervasive. But within that framework, he explores as much ground as he can, from grand, sweeping choral passages reminiscent of Arvo Pärt to understated piano études. “Human Range,” where a silvery trumpet melody tangles with a mossy ambient backing, is reminiscent of Bill Laswell’s extended remix of the Miles Davis catalog; the more electronic, rhythmically oriented cuts, particularly the twin centerpieces “All Melody” and “#2,” find common cause with the British producer Floating Points’ way of balancing programmed and improvised music. 

If there’s a theme here, it’s that holistic idea hinted at in the title: the ur-sound, the pedal tone of spiritual unity. In the liner notes, Frahm rhapsodizes about the morphological orchestra of his dreams: “My pipe organ would turn into a drum machine, while my drum machine would sound like an orchestra of breathy flutes. I would turn my piano into my very voice, and any voice into a ringing string.” That sense of fluidity gives the record its shape-shifting identity. It’s often unclear what you’re listening to at any given moment; even songs that sound like solo piano turn out to have cello and bass marimba lurking somewhere within their folds. Turn it up loud enough, and you can get lost in details like the creaking of the hammers on Frahm’s piano, or the sound of birdsong, presumably recorded outside his riverside studio, along the banks of the Spree. 

The Funkhaus is a mazelike complex, and the way the record is structured often feels like a scale model of its sprawl. Across 12 songs and 74 minutes, All Melody functions as a single, cohesive piece of music, with recurring themes interwoven throughout. It’s easy to get lost in the album and then, hearing a familiar motif, come up short, as if turning a corner in a long hallway and wondering if you hadn’t passed the same spot just a moment ago. It’s a pleasantly disorienting sensation. And after traversing long, repetitive tracks like “Sunson,” “All Melody,” and “#2,” encountering a highlight like “Forever Changeless,” a short, melodic sketch for piano, feels like stumbling upon a hidden chamber illuminated by a stained-glass window. 

Yes, he can be tasteful to a fault, and some of his melodic instincts occasionally tip slightly too far toward drawing-room prettiness. But the gorgeous closing track, “Harm Hymn”—a kind of coda for the whole album, just a handful of chords played on a whisper-soft harmonium—shows that his strength as a musician isn’t in the complexity of his composition, but in the nuances he gets out of his instruments and onto the tape; it’s in the echo and in the air, and in the way that he plays the room itself. For once in his career, there is no grand concept—just the space of the Funkhaus itself, which proves to be more than enough.

Philip Sherburne / Pitchfork

Jon Hassell ‎– Listening To Pictures (Pentimento Volume One) (2018)

Style: Ambient, Contemporary Jazz
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Ndeya

Tracklist:
1.   Dreaming
2.   Picnic
3.   Slipstream
4.   Al-Kongo Udu
5.   Pastorale Vassant
6.   Manga Scene
7.   Her First Rain
8.   Ndeya

Credits:
Trumpet, Keyboards, Orchestrated By [Orchestration], Composed By [All Compositions] – Jon Hassell
Violin [Electric Violin], Electronics – Hugh Marsh
Violin, Sampler – Kheir-Eddine M'Kachiche (tracks: 8)
Bass [(Lightwave) Bass] – Christian Jacob (tracks: 3), Christoph Harbonnier (tracks: 3)
Bass, Drums, Electronics – John von Seggern
Bass, Electronics – Peter Freeman (2) (tracks: 2, 3, 7)
Drum Programming ["Kongo" Drum programming] – Ralph Cumbers (tracks: 2)
Electric Guitar, Sampler – Eivind Aarset (tracks: 8)
Electronics – Michel Redolfi (tracks: 3)
Guitar, Synth [OP-1 Synth], Electronics – Rick Cox
Management [Publishing] – Petra Gehrmann
Mastered By [Additional Mastering] – Arnaud Mercier, Valgeir Sigurðsson
Mastered By [Mastering] – Al Carlson
Research [Album Art Sources And Inspiration] – Mati Klarwein
Co-producer [Co-produced By] – Rick Cox
Coordinator [Production Coordinator] – Britton Powell
Executive-Producer – Matthew Jones (6)

In the late 70s, long before terms such as “world music” or “cultural appropriation” were in common usage, the trumpeter and composer Jon Hassell devised the term “Fourth World” to describe his music. It explored what he called “primitive futurism”, where shantytown squalor coexisted with hi-tech western studio technology, fusing Hassell’s early minimalist work with Terry Riley and La Monte Young with his studies of Indian, African and Indonesian music. 

Brian Eno was an early adopter of Hassell’s aesthetic and, before long, other champions of pan-cultural fusion – David Byrne, Peter Gabriel, David Sylvian, Ry Cooder – were collaborating with Hassell and employing his methodology. As dozens more musicians started plundering exotic global sounds and placing them through electronic filters, Hassell was off exploring other worlds – adding his distinctive trumpet sound for artists as diverse as Björk, Tears for Fears, kd lang and 808 State; flirting with hip-hop and electro; creating “coffee-coloured” classical music with the Senegalese drummer Abdou Mboup; exploring ambient jazz with the likes of Naná Vasconcelos, Jacky Terrasson and Anouar Brahem. 

Astonishingly, Hassell is now 81 and making the most forward-looking and experimental music of his career. His new album, Listening to Pictures (out on 9 June), is his first in nine years. Instead of using a live band, like his last album for the ECM label, this is a much more studio-bound project, using mutilated samples and distorted layers of voicings, reminiscent of his 1980 Possible Musics LP, with Eno. 

Hassell’s trumpet still plays a key role, even if it is often buried deep in the mix. On Manga Scene, he sounds like Miles Davis playing over a clanking, sonically mutilated smooth jazz session. On Al Kongo Udu, it resembles a bamboo flute, blowing gently as manipulated samples of African drums ricochet around the mix. On Dreaming, Hassell plays through a harmoniser to create an eerie choir of horns over a riot of quivering percussion and throbbing synths. It seems just one spoon-fed breakbeat from turning into a rave anthem, and is one of the many moments here where Hassell’s electronic soundscapes recall the work of Oneohtrix Point Never, Boards of Canada or Aphex Twin. 

This is, apparently, Volume I in Hassell’s Pentimento series, an analogy with the artistic term for the layers of discarded drawings that exist underneath a finished painting. Hassell is into exploring the multiple layers that exist in his sound, what he calls “vertical listening” – and this is certainly dense, endlessly mutating music that rewards multiple listenings.

John Lewis / The Guardian

Mercedes Peón ‎– Ajrú (2003)

Style: Celtic, Folk, Tribal
Format: CD
Label: Discmedi ‎– DM 838-02

Tracklist:
01.   Neniñué
02.   É Xera
03.   Maria 2
04.   Ese Es Ti
05.   Ajrú (Primeira Parte)
06.   Ajrú (Segunda Parte)
07.   Nanareggae
08.   Maria 1
09.   Ó Meu Amigo
10.   Étnica
11.   Momentos
12.   Marmuladora

The second release from Galician vocalist/piper Mercedes Peón may at first startle and disorient you. Its instrumental sparseness is in tension with lush, high-tech production, the traditional forms melded with a modern aural attack. Peón's voice, powerfully driven and intense, yet capable of seductive gentleness, contends for primacy on Ajrú with dynamic but nuanced and varied percussion, her gaita playing icing on the cake. Once you have regained your balance, you'll appreciate a carefully crafted and sequenced recording, tracks positioned just where you need them for dramatic effect and narrative coherence. 

"Neniñué," the beginning track, fades in with polyrhythmic bongos and occasional synth whines; Peón's powerful voice keens and penetrates in a marginally dissonant introduction. Primary percussion kicks in along with a stuttering, percussive piano, Peón's multi-tracked vocals interspersed with gaita, both wonderfully shrill over insistent galloping drums and bass. Based on a traditional xota, "É Xera" is a lively rolling waltz featuring accordion, piano, and low clarinet, Peón's vocal nasal, lilting, and delicate. "Maria 2" is an appropriately frenzied evocation of lust at first sight in the club, Peón delivering an impassioned solo introduction in a reverberative distance before high-speed drums and heavy breathing get the obsession into high gear. The vocal approaches and recedes, a device used to good effect on other tracks. You may feel the need for a rest after this track, which is fortunately followed by "Ese Es Ti," a calm, dreamy waltz washed with cosmic synth waves, flute, and violin, the vocal equally languid and sweet, the lyrics satisfied, perhaps a depiction of later that night back at home. 

The title track, produced in two parts, begins with a stiff waltz, saturated with varied percussion, gaita, and marimbas, Peón's voice at its ululating best. The second part features much denser instrumentation, including roaring samples and electric guitar, cryptic lyrics and Peón's declamatory delivery suggesting a magic spell. "Nanareggae" offers another dramatic respite, a sleepy reggae beat, 'conscious' lullaby lyrics, constant castanets in the background, and accordion circling around the vocal line. "Maria 1," the single most exciting track, begins with playful laughter and moderately brutal beat with two gaitas in tight harmony, the vocal echoing deep in the background, gradually approaching amidst a grinding din of percussion, the beat doubling as the gaita melody morphs and elaborates. "Ó Meu Amigo/Étnica" begins with water sounds and calm narration, a rolling beat. A background vocal fugue is soon added, the main vocal line dramatically emerging from reverb at the end of a figure, the production receding again to sparse water sounds before the sudden entry of thundering, bounding percussion. 

Peón's is a voice you don't want to miss, and Ajrú makes the most of it. 

Jim Foley / RoostWorld

VA ‎– Antologia De Música Atípica Portuguesa Vol.1: O Trabalho (2017)

Style: Avantgarde, Experimental
Formtat: Vinyl
Label: Discrepant ‎– CREP 35

Tracklist:
01.   Live Low - Antiplot
02.   Negra Branca - O Espatelar Do Linho
03.   EITR - Cicuta
04.   Luar Domatrix - Bocadinho De Alentjo
05.   Gonzo - Agora Baixou O Sol = Now The Sun Is Down
06.   Tiago Morais Morgado - Laurindinha
07.   Filipe Felizardo - Sede E Morte
08.   Gonzo & Luar Domatrix - Já Lá Gritam No Calvário
09.   Calhau! - Pecunibal
10.   Peter Forest - A Maria Cavaca (Trad. Working Song)

Credits:
Mastered By – Rashad Becker
Artwork [Photo Collages] – Ruca Bourbon
Layout – Gonçalo F. Cardoso

Gathered together on this new compilation series are Portuguese artists that stretch back into the past with the same inquisition as they press into the future, allured both by the original significance of tradition and the opportunity to reframe it. The theme of the first volume is “o Trabalho” (which translates as “work”), with the sounds here predominantly driven by steam and muscle and persistence: trains horns toot as they trundle through the countryside with cargo in tow, drums mimic the metronomic impact of axes and hammers, work songs liberate minds from the drudge of repetitious labour. These physical gestures are then smeared, serrated and bled into the apparatus of the modern day, with choral winds blistered by distortion (Filipe Felizardo), chants arcing over gentle synthesiser tides (Gonzo) and guttural throat-song set inside bitcrusher crystals (Calhau!). 

Despite the strong spirit of manipulation and collage, the general shape of those recorded historical artefacts are kept largely intact, which means that even the compilation’s most abstract flights maintain a connection with the earth below. On Negra Branca’s “O Espatelar Do Linho”, the present is a comet trail pouring out of antiquity: synthesisers follow the ascent of mass song as it breaks through the ceiling, buoyed by chimes and the patter of mallet percussion, imbuing the jovial rise of voice with the shimmer of the cosmic. Meanwhile, the intertwining vocoder chants of Tiago Morais Morgado – whose low notes blur into gigantic rumbles of synthetic voice, grinding against eachother tectonic plates – maintain a visceral, thoroughly human depth through their fizz of electronic filtering. In retaining the essence of their source material, all of these artists exhibit a fascination with not just the sonic qualities of these sounds, but also the historical narratives that have carried their significance into the present.

ATTN:MAGAZINE

David Byrne ‎– Music For The Knee Plays (1985)

Style: Contemporary Jazz
Format: CD, Vinyl, Cass..
Label ECM Records

Tracklist:
01.   Tree (Today Is An Important Occasion)
02.   In The Upper Room
03.   The Sound Of Business
04.   Social Studies
05.   (The Gift Of Sound) Where The Sun Never Goes Down
06.   Theadora Is Dozing
07.   Admiral Perry
08.   I Bid You Goodnight
09.   Things To Do (I've Tried)
10.   Winter
11.   Jungle Book
12.   In The Future

Credits:
Baritone Saxophone – Ernie Fields, Bill Green
Drums – Paul Humphrey
Percussion – Bobbye Hall
Saxophone – Don Myrick, Ernie Watts, Jackie Kelso, Pete Christlieb
Trombone – Dana Hughes, David Stout, Fred Wesley, Garnett Brown, Phil Teil
Trumpet – Chuck Findley, Harry Kim, Nolan Smith, Ray Brown , Rich Cooper
Voice – David Byrne
Composed By – David Byrne
Conductor – David Blumberg
Producer – David Byrne
Arranged By – David Blumberg, David Byrne
Engineer – Joel Moss, Mark Wolfson
Mastered By – Greg Calbi
Mixed By – David Byrne, Dominick Maita
Mixed By [Assistant] – Mike Krowiak
Photography By [Backsleeve Bottom] – Glenn Halvorson
Photography By [Backsleeve Top] – JoAnn Verburg
Design – David Byrne
Design [With] – Michael Hodgson
Illustration [Cover Drawing] – Robert Wilson

The CIVIL warS: A Tree Is Best Measured When It Is Down was set to be experimental theatre director Robert Wilson's most massive achievement to date. Best known at the time for his 1976 five-hour operatic collaboration with Philip Glass, Einstein on the Beach, Wilson was leading troupes from six countries in the production of CIVIL warS, a 12-hour avant-garde opera that would premiere at the 1984 Olympic Games in Los Angeles. Although Wilson lost funding before staging the full production, several smaller versions of the play were individually performed around the world. "The Knee Plays", the American contribution scored by David Byrne, premiered in Minneapolis in April 1984, and had its vinyl release on avant-jazz label ECM the next year. 

"Knee Plays" is Wilson's own term, contrived to describe the connective vignettes that link the larger sections of a production, allowing for set and costume changes. Byrne signed on to produce the interstitials for CIVIL warS, and his subsequent performances have been comprised solely of the adjoining sections, which hold together rather well-- as well as one of Wilson's non-narratives can, at least. Nonesuch's current release of Knee Plays-- for the first time on CD-- adds eight previously unreleased tracks and a dense recollection of the pair's mind-meld by Byrne himself. 

In many ways, a collaboration between Byrne and Wilson was perfect. Most obviously, Byrne's work with Twyla Tharp and Jonathan Demme on The Catherine Wheel and Stop Making Sense, respectively, indicated a keen interest in similar sorts of theatre, as well as the ability to pull off a collaboration with often wonderful results. The pair's stylistic and procedural similarities run deep as well: Both Byrne and Wilson had gained reknown by mastering the use of patient, tourettically clipped and repetitive phrases and gestures; they also shared a fascination with antisociality (at times, mental illness) and the mundane realities of everyday life. They even looked similar, in a tall, geekily dashing sort of way.

Originally envisioning a Japanese drum ensemble, Byrne instead opted for music more in the vein of New Orleans' Dirty Dozen Brass Band-- a perfect fit for a play inspired by the Civil War and scored by Byrne, at this point seemingly fascinated by all art with strong cultural resonances. From the opening track, "Tree (Today Is an Important Occasion)" to the quintessentially Byrnian spoken-word closer "In the Future", the music is variously light, dramatic, authoritative, and empathetic. Byrne's ethnomusicological streak in full force, several sections of his score were adapted from traditional music: "In the Upper Room", "Social Studies (The Gift of Sound)", and "Things to Do (I've Tried)" are faithful gospel adaptations, and "Theadora Is Dozing" comes from the Bulgarian folk tradition. 

Byrne, like Wilson, treats simple behaviors with the utmost delicacy and curiosity. In the essay included with the Nonesuch re-release, Byrne discusses his decision to accompany the music with narration (by himself, of course) as part of the Dadaist and Surrealist traditions: "None of these (text pieces) was directly related to Bob's 'story' and they were certainly unrelated to the stage action...to 'illustrate' things that are happening on stage with music or text is redundant." Anyone familiar with the liner notes to Stop Making Sense will recognize the narration over "Upper Room", for instance: "Being in the theater is more important than knowing what is going on in the movie." Similarly, "Things to Do" is a numbered to-do list ("Number 25. Putting houses next to bumpy things/ Number 26. Shaking things next to other things"), and both "Tree" and "Social Studies" approach everyday activities from the perspective of a stranger to Western culture. The most successful of these is the original closer "In the Future", on which Byrne shows off his knack at predicting technological and social trends, ending with "In the future there will be so much going on that no one will be able to keep track of it." That statement seems applicable to most any historical era, but who's quibbling? He's right. 

The most striking characteristic of The Knee Plays reflects the most overlooked quality shared by Byrne and Wilson. Both artists are deeply invested in appeals to their audiences' most basic human sympathies, yet their approaches are often misunderstood as cold by those who can't meet the work on its own terms. Extracted from its theatrical roots, Byrne's score holds up remarkably well, a testament to his unique vision at the time of its composition-- coming at the end of one of pop music's most fascinating creative streaks. 

Eric Harvey / Pitchfork

Rain Tree Crow ‎– Rain Tree Crow (1991)

Style: Pop Rock, Experimental, Ambient
Format: CD, Vinyl, Cass.
Label: Virgin

Tracklist:
01.   Big Wheels In Shanty Town
02.   Every Colour You Are
03.   Rain Tree Crow
04.   Red Earth (As Summertime Ends)
05.   Pocket Full Of Change
06.   Boat's For Burning
07.   New Moon At Red Deer Wallow
08.   Blackwater
09.   A Reassuringly Dull Sunday
10.   Blackcrow Hits Shoe Shine City
11.   Scratchings On The Bible Belt
12.   Cries And Whispers
13.   I Drink To Forget

Credits:
Producer – R.T.C.
Engineer [Additional Engineering] – Tim Martin
Words By – David Sylvian
Written-By – R.T.C.
Mixed By – David Sylvian, Pat McCarthy (tracks: 2 & 3, 6 & 7, 11), Steve Nye (tracks: 1, 4 & 5, 8 to 10, 12)
Mixed By [Assisted By] – Al Stone (tracks: 1, 4 & 5, 8 to 10, 12)
Art Direction – D. Sylvian, Y. Fujii
Design – Russell Mills
Photography By – Shinya Fujiwara

"Oh boy, another Japan-related project. Wow, Tox, you're so unpredictable." I know, I guess I'm just a sucker for those guys. Fortunately, this means I can be brief when it comes to the history of the group: they were an early example of "new romantic" (a form of synthpop that used the electronic equipment of the time not only for rhythm, but also to create a lush sound), and a relatively famous example of a band that would include elements of ambient in their music, most notably in their minimalistic hit single "Ghosts". Due to personal conflicts, they disbanded at the peak of their popularity; the live album Oil on Canvas ended up their highest-charting album in the UK and in Japan. The members went on to other projects afterwards. 

The group and the solo records aside, however, there exists one particularly fascinating part of the Japan canon. In 1989, the four members of the group -- songwriter/vocalist David Sylvian, the late bassist Mick Karn, drummer Steve Jansen and keyboardist Richard Barbieri -- came back together so as to work on a new album, under the name Rain Tree Crow. The story of this is a bit mysterious, the most important elements of which appear in a fascinating 1996 interview with Mick Karn, along with a 1991 interview with Rain Tree Crow themselves: originally, this was meant to be a new long term pop-oriented project (six albums!), but it took 2 years to record the album, and they had run out of money, at which point their label Virgin offered more funds if the record was released under the name Japan. This was only resolved by David Sylvian chipping in his own finances. Not only was the resulting album not very poppy altogether, but Sylvian had ended up a dominant part of its creation, having reworked much of the material before it was released, which made the album more a solo project than a group effort. Rain Tree Crow came out in April 1991, hit #24 on the UK Charts, and is the last project to include those four musicians, as Mick Karn sadly died of cancer in early 2011. 

Without that context, Rain Tree Crow was an album that eluded me to incomprehensible levels, and in so many ways. Even now, where do I start? Oh, I know: take a good look at the album cover. Here's an alternate version. It sure feels lonely, but on the other hand, it's more than just a desert landscape; what is that blue-ish strip on the right, and why is it missing on some versions of the album? What are those sort of lights piercing through the clouds? What are those rocks arranged into a path on the ground, and what is up with those utility poles? There is a feeling of mystery to all this, and with that comes the idea that there is a logical reason for it, a desire to find out more... but this is all that came out under the name Rain Tree Crow. There were no live RTC shows, no B-sides aside from "I Drink to Forget". Rain Tree Crow is an album with very little history to it. 

Fortunately, the 1991 interview further expands on the record proper. The first important thing is that many of the songs on it came about as a result of improvisations: the group would jam, and after a while, it would gel into a song. Coming into Rain Tree Crow with that in mind, everything makes sense: aside from a few songs that obviously have a structure to them, the material has a very "improv" feel. Tracks such as "Red Earth" carefully introduce new instruments and cautiously explore melodies that are very sparse, either being a short succession of notes or a long tone. "New Moon at Red Deer Wallow" is a good example of this: opened by a one-minute passage led by a comforting/chilling synthesizer line accompanied by a bass clarinet, the song has the latter instrument make slow and steady improvisations over a rhythm that, at the same time, evolves also. As a result of this approach to playing, that song isn't a masterpiece in terms of melody, but it is amazing beyond compare thanks to its atmosphere. 

Speaking of atmosphere: ever since I've first listened to Rain Tree Crow, I've been wondering what was the exact "theme" of the album was. Well, the 1991 interview mentions that the tracks bring up imagery of an Arizona desert, and they definitely sound like that. David Sylvian also stated this desert atmosphere plays a role in the album's continuity and lyrical themes, how this location relates to the idea of death and desolation; a condition that reflects on both the relationships of the four musicians, and those outside of the group. This is entirely correct: there is a feeling of emptiness that permeates the album, sometimes in the songs that are more uplifting (those would be "Big Wheels", "Red Earth", "Blackwater" and "Blackcrow"), and that is helped by the fact that the music is either slow and atmospheric, or fast-paced and minimal. This is also demonstrated by the keyboards and the percussion: the former is often a big part of the backdrop of some songs, adding to the style of the record, while the latter varies greatly from one track to another due to the diversity in percussion instruments. 

Now that I got the basics of the album down, I can talk about the songs, and as would be expected of something I'd consider a masterpiece, they all go far beyond these basics. The opener "Big Wheels in Shanty Town" is the most powerful track on Rain Tree Crow, and it's loads of fun: backed by a fast-paced percussion rhythm, the song evolves over its 7-minute course with some excellent interaction between the instruments, namely the keyboards, the brass instrumentation, and the guitar. At times, there is also a short vocal bridge that seems to be in an African language, which further aids the desert atmosphere without making it sound reminiscent of a specific country, if that makes any sense. "Big Wheels" serves as a perfect entry into Rain Tree Crow's soundscape, as it sounds the less desolate in tone, but it's still really mysterious: nothing is more intriguing than that opening noise, followed by a voice sample that says something along the lines of "dreams do come true". 

It's immediately followed by "Every Colour You Are": in contrast to "Big Wheels", it's a very somber tune, and one of the few non-jam tracks in Rain Tree Crow. It's definitely a simple song (in fact, it could have easily been a single), but what makes it great is the effectiveness of the hooks, coupled with the atmosphere and the thick instrumentation. The title track is a lot more minimalistic, consisting mainly of a few percussion instruments, pipes, and a synthesizer, all of which play while David Sylvian sings: it's a very chilling, mystical song, led by the vocals that almost sound like an incantation. The lyrics are a delight too: sparse, metaphorical, not pretentious or blunt, something I'd actually want to interpret. "Red Earth" lightens up the mood, as it's the most joyful song of the album: it starts off by focusing on the percussion, with occasional keyboard tones, but an awesome guitar line pops up in the middle, adding a bit of Spanish flavor. 

"Pocket Full of Change" is another big favorite of mine. It has very little progression, -- even less than "Every Colour You Are", in fact -- but it hardly feels too long (it's got a length of 6 minutes). I couldn't pinpoint a key part of the track, because everything is essential: the chilling keyboard backing, the steady instrumentation, David Sylvian's vocals, the slow pace, everything works. It's also surprising to hear a clear pop structure in here... well, more or less. There doesn't seem to be a real solo or bridge: instead, the verses alternate with short instrumental passages. Along with that, there's a false ending about three minutes in, but it doesn't last long. "Boat's for Burning" is barely a minute long, and it's more of a transition into "New Moon", but it's still a nice interlude. 

I imagine that "Blackwater", the lead single, is a particular highlight for a lot of people who've listened to Rain Tree Crow, and I can easily see why: this time around, the aesthetic of the record is used to create an optimistic, uplifting atmosphere, and instead of a desert, it brings up imagery of water and its regenerative properties, just like what David Sylvian says in the 1991 interview. Indeed, "Blackwater" has a gentle, healing feel to it, and it's just a great song to relax to, what with the soft drumming, the focus on calm synthesizer/guitar tones, and David's remarkable vocal performance. It's got a great chorus too. "A Reassuringly Dull Sunday" is a short little instrumental, definitely something that feels improvised, but whereas someone would consider it little more than an interlude, I wouldn't consider it less than an essential part of the experience. I suppose that would be more a testament to how much I listened to it, really, since I easily remember how it goes. 

"Blackcrow Hits Shoe Shine City" brings back most of the energy that "Big Wheels" had: this is another jam of sorts, and the most rocking song on the album. My only issue is that it takes 2 minutes for this improvisation to REALLY kick in, and the final minute has the song slowly come out of this jam and end, but what the hell, I still love this song, and the two minutes at the middle are nothing short of great, with lots of power... just not as many hooks as the other long songs. Really, I can say the same thing about "New Moon". "Scratchings on the Bible Belt" is another instrumental: as with "A Reassuringly Dull Sunday", it doesn't seem like the melodies gel that much, but I don't mind that. It lets off the energy of "Blackcrow", but doesn't set in a particular mood, and there's a lot of charm to the way that the instruments wander around somewhat aimlessly. 

Finally, "Cries and Whispers" is both a calming and dread-inducing closer: it has its large share of relaxing melodies and hooks, and it ends the album on a quiet note, but there is a sadness to it, mainly in the vocals and lyrics, and when it ends, it's sort of like seeing the sun fall from the sky and make way for the night, or rather have the moon and the stars disappear from sight, leaving you in complete darkness. If you have a recent CD re-issue, there is also "I Drink to Forget": it sounds even more like an improvisation than "Reassuringly Dull Sunday" or "Scratchings", but I've grown to consider it an important part of the experience itself. It really fits for such a minimalistic song to be put at the end. 

Now, before I tell you to buy Rain Tree Crow, I'll repeat myself and admit there are weak points that some will find much more of an issue than I do: from a structure standpoint, the songs continually change, and this inconsistency can be a bit frustrating if you only like the full-fledged songs or the improv tracks. Along with that, some of these tracks are not that great melodically, such as "New Moon", "Blackcrow", "Scratchings" and the other short tracks. This is an album that I love for its atmosphere, and it sure helps a hell of a lot that multiple of the songs are amazing in their own right, but I can't speak on behalf of everyone in that regard. Still, if you are interested in a record with not only great songs, but a unique atmosphere, you HAVE to pick up Rain Tree Crow, because it's got just that, and much more. 

Martintox / the escapist 

Duet Emmo ‎– Or So It Seems (1983)

Style: Industrial, Synth-pop, Experimental
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Mute

Tracklist:
1.   Hill Of Men
2.   Or So It Seems
3.   Friano
4.   The First Person
5.   A.N.C.
6.   Long Sledge
7.   Gatemmo
8.   Last's Card
9.   Heart Of Hearts

Credits:
Engineer – Eric Radcliffe, John Fryer
Performer – B C Gilbert, Daniel Miller, Lewis

Duet Emmo finds Mute boss Daniel Miller and Lewis and Gilbert of Dome in cahoots and, as you might expect, the album is a sometimes unharmoneous, but sometimes inspired clash of Dome's noise-led experimentation and Miller's synth-pop leanings. 

It is with the pop-oriented tracks that the release really hits its highs, especially with the beautiful Or so it Seems. The combination of repeating tinky-pop tunelets and riffs, squelchy burbling noises and haunting vocals, is both infectious and timeless. Similarly engaging is the drastic reworking of Linasixup from Dome 1, now called The First Person and sounding like a bizarre mix of Dome rhythms, sweet, yet sombre voices and, oddly enough, the theme to Doctor Who... 

Of course, the atypical Dome fan is not to be left wanting. Along with the relentless beat of Hill Of Men that marks the introduction to the album, and the vaguely ethnic rumblings of A.N.C., one finds the epic Long Sledge. This slowly building stew of metallic rhythms, background clattering and claustrophobic space, lasts for nearly 17 minutes, slowly giving way to layered washes of texture and industrial sound loops. 

Apart from a few pieces that rely on the technology of the time (the very Mute-pop outro, Heart of Hearts springs to mind here) this release manages to transcend the decades, often sounding as fresh and original now as it must have done back in 1983. Dedicated Dome listeners or fans of Mute's output will probably note that Duet Emmo is something of a pick'n'mix, but you'll find most of the album is worth listening to. 

Craig Grannell / Wireviews

Né Ladeiras ‎– Corsária (1988)

Style: Abstract, Minimal, Ambient, Synth-pop
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Transmédia

Tracklist:
A1. Madrugada
A2.  Corsária
A3. Garbo
A4. Mar
B1. Cruz
B2. Pirata (J.G.)
B3. Sedutora
B4. Jag Vill Vara Ensam

Credits:
Lyrics By – Alma Om
Music By – Né Ladeiras

Com a força do mito   

Começo por declarar, com toda a solenidade que for necessária, aquilo que trinta segundos após a edição do disco se terá, -possivelmente, convertido no lugar-comum do mês, do ano —coisa pouca para me demover de fazê-lo: Corsária é um disco belo como não existem muitos na música portuguesa.

 Restaurar o mito de Greta Garbo (quem quereria ocupar-se de semelhante tarefa hoje em dia?) ou, na melhor tradição da Transilvânia, sugar-lhe até à última gota a sua essência mais profunda — eis para onde Corsária, num primeiro embate, parece apostado em empurrar-nos. Mas não deixa de ser estranhamente sintomático (ou inquietante, se considerada outra perspectiva) o que vem a seguir, fruto de cada nova audição. Que, tratando-se de um disco confessadamente de homenagem a Garbo e acompanhando-se, como se devem acompanhar, atentamente os seus belos textos, não seja possível em momento algum —nem mesmo quando Mário Viegas solta sobre ela uma mão-cheia de impropérios que jamais se aplicariam a Né Ladeiras — associar Corsária à lendária Ninotchka. 

Desengane-se quem julgue entrever aqui o rotundo fracasso de um projecto. «Povo Que Lavas No Rio» por António Variações fazia pensar em Variações. Não remetia para Amália, que era suposto homenagear. O mesmo se pode dizer de «Song To the Siren» dos This Mortal Coil em relação a Tim Buckley, seu autor. E de «All Along The Watchtower» de Hendrix face a Dylan. Estarei a mencionar fracassos, porventura? Ou não será este o começo de uma bela (não, não vou dizer amizade) colecção de obras-primas? Aproximemo-nos ainda um pouco mais do cerne da questão. Em 1982, os Tuxedomoon povoaram um outro disco erguido em honra do mito (Divine) de «samplings» da própria Garbo, extraídos dos filmes que a conduziram ao Olimpo, que acabaram por constituir os únicos pontos de atracção de uma partitura absolutamente anódina (é, significativamente, o único registo da sua vasta discografia que (o grupo norte-americano se recusa a ree-ditar). Que restou aí da forte personalidade dos Tuxedomoon? Nada. A triste imagem de um conjunto de músicos reduzidos à impotência perante a força de um mito. Corsária impõe-se onde Divine fracassou. porque a personalidade musical de Né Ladeiras, que Sonho Azul havia remetido para o campo das incertezas, assoma em Corsária com um fulgor que tudo converte à sua imagem. Daí que o universo da diva se submeta à «regras do de Né Ladeiras e não o contrário. Né Ladeiras nos anos 30? Não. Né Ladeiras (e Greta Garbo, se fizerem muita questão) nos anos 80, com os 90 a espreitar. Não o revivalismo mas a mais arrojada modernidade. Creio não ser suficientemente amplo o leque de considerações de ordem musical que não iriam desempenhar um papel drasticamente redutor da alucinante beleza deste disco, do irresistível ambiente feérico que as primeiras palavras («Desejo e veleiro, inovagem ou nevoeiro» indelevelmente instalam e que cada nova I sílaba lança num vertiginoso jogo de luzes e sombras em que a insatisfação é a única constante («Já o barco se vai da praia, apetece-lhe o mar») e a melancolia o derradeiro porto. Limitar-me-ei a conceder o devido destaque ao notabilíssimo e crucial trabalho de ambientação sonora de Luís_Cilia, extensão assumida do sentido profundo dos textos de Né Ladeiras. A escassez de «nuances» rítmicas dos seus arranjos, se bem que possa dificultar a abordagem do álbum aos menos predispostos para o pendor marcadamente melancólico das melodias da cantora, afigura-se como a opção mais correcta, já que favorece a corrente conceptual que percorre todo o disco, garantindo-lhe a unidade. 

Corsária é o futuro da música portuguesa a perturbar o presente: Se a palavra «investimento» não fosse tão estupidamente material, seria assim mesmo que me referiria ao que a sua imediata aquisição representa para cada um de nós. Uma outra excelente razão para fazê-lo? Seja. Em Portugal, ninguém canta como Né Ladeiras. Que me perdoem os mitos com ou sem fundamento... (LP Transmédia, 1988) 

Ricardo Saló / Expresso 

Parliament ‎– Chocolate City (1975)

Style: P-Funk
Format: CD, Vinyl, Cass.
Label: Casablanca

Tracklist:
A1.   Chocolate City
A2.  Ride On
A3.  Together
A4.  Side Effects
A5.  What Comes Funky
B1.  Let Me Be
B2.  If It Don't Fit (Don't Force It)
B3.  I Misjudged You
B4.  Big Footin'

Credits:
Bass – William (Bootsie) Collins, Cordell Mosson, Perkash John
Drums – Tiki Fulwood, Tyrone Lampkin
Guitar – William (Bootsie) Collins, Cordell Mosson, Gary Shider
Keyboards – Bernie Worrell
Synthesizer – Bernie Worrell
Vocals – Calvin Simon, Eddie Hazel, Fuzzy Haskins, Gary Shider, George Clinton, Grady Thomas, Raymond Davis
Arranged By [Horn, Strings] – Bernie Worrell
Arranged By [Rhythm] – Bootsy Collins, George Clinton
Mastered By – Allen Zentz
Producer – George Clinton
Engineer – Jim Callon, Jim Vitti

Parliament, along with its alter ego Funkadelic, defined funk in the '70s. The group delivered a series of classic albums, among them Mothership Connection and Up for the Down Stroke. Its work has also been anthologized on excellent single-disc and double-disc compilations: Funked Up: The Very Best of Parliament and Tear the Roof Off: 1974-1980. So why, you may ask, would you want to buy this new reissue of Chocolate City? 

For one, this CD contains many worthwhile songs not on Parliament compilations. Plus, the album hangs together as a coherent, cohesive statement. Like many R&B; albums of the '70s (but not the '60s or '50s), it is more than just a collection of singles. In fact, the album charted higher than either of the singles it contains. This record, like many Parliament albums after it, has a guiding concept, an overarching theme: the life and times of African-American Washington, D.C. in the '70s. 

Another selling point for this package is surely Tom Terrell's fantastic liner notes, which explain what D.C. meant to Parliament. According to Terrell, "D.C. was the first major city to give George Clinton's Parliafunkadelicment Thang mad love." Terrell points out that many of the songs on Chocolate City echo D.C. sounds –- such as "Let Me Be," which draws on '70s D.C. Gospel, and "I Misjudged You," a homage to smooth D.C. R&B; balladeers The Unifics. 

The two singles released from this album, though neither broke the R&B; Top 20, are both memorable. The title track stands as a moving, honest political statement, something that became increasingly rare in R&B; as the '70s progressed. With "Chocolate City", Clinton turns the tables on white society, which had begun to see inner cities as God-forsaken ghettos and the suburbs as the Promised Land. Though African-Americans didn't get their "40 acres and a mule", they did get the "chocolate city", which Clinton calls his "piece of the rock". Expressing love for "chocolate city", he posits it as central, dismissing the whiter areas surrounding it as mere "vanilla suburbs". With a wink and a nod, Clinton even predicts that African-American artists like Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin will one day fill the top positions in the Federal government. Musically, the spoken-word vocals of "Chocolate City" predict hip-hop, and the song's amalgam of funk and jazz stretches musical boundaries. The second single from the album, "Ride On" is a monster funk dance jam powered by a savage, distorted bass line -– courtesy of the legendary William "Bootsy" Collins -- tied to some heavy cymbal work on the one. 

The remaining songs on Chocolate City also offer much to enjoy. All of them feature the ace team of musicians and vocalists that composed Parliament, including, among others, "Bootsy" on bass, Bernie Worrell on keys, Tiki Fulwood on drums, and Gary Shider on guitar, with Calvin Simon, Fuzzy Haskins, and Grady Thomas joining George Clinton on vocals. "Big Footin'" comes down on the one like "Ride On" and features the catchy refrain, "I know what you can do, let us lay some funk on you." "Together" shares the heavy Funk sound of "Big Footin'" and "Ride On", but its choruses feature smooth soul vocals and beautiful harmonies. Like the title track, "Let Me Be" draws on jazz, but it also calls on gospel vocals and baroque classical piano as well, creating, in the process, a distinctive mix. 

How is this reissue of Chocolate City different than the original album? The remastered sound here, the work of Ellen Fitton, is excellent, and the package contains three bonus tracks. Though alternate versions of "If It Don't Fit (Don't Force It)" and "I Misjudged You" don't really add much to the originals, the third bonus track -- a previously-unreleased recording of "Common Law Wife" -- is a barnburner. It features nasty, syncopated horn lines, a gorgeous falsetto vocal, and topical lyrics. Like "Chocolate City", "Common Law Wife" seems to express pride for where African Americans were in the '70s, though that place may not have been where they wanted or expected to be. 

If you already have a copy of Chocolate City, it may make sense to forego this reissue, despite its superior sound, its great liner notes, and its inclusion of one great bonus track. If you have no Parliament at all in your collection, I suggest starting with a compilation such as the aforementioned Funked Up: The Very Best of Parliament. But if you have some Parliament at home and do not own Chocolate City, I recommend picking up this new reissue. If you do buy it, put it in your CD player, go to the second track, and follow Clinton's call to the dance floor: "Put a hump in your back, shake your sacroiliac, and ride on!"

Jordan Kessler / popMATTERS