Tuesday, 12 May 2020

David Bowie ‎– ★ (Blackstar) (2016)

Style: Experimental, Jazz-Rock, Art Rock
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Sony Music, ISO Records, Columbia

1.   ★ (Blackstar)
2.   'Tis A Pity She Was A Whore
3.   Lazarus
4.   Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime)
5.   Girl Loves Me
6.   Dollar Days
7.   I Can't Give Everything Away

Backing Vocals – Erin Tonkon
Bass – Tim Lefebvre
Drums, Percussion – Mark Guiliana
Electric Guitar– David Bowie
Guitar – Ben Monder
Percussion – James Murphy
Piano, Organ, Keyboards – Jason Lindner
Saxophone, Flute, Woodwind – Donny McCaslin
Strings – Tony Visconti
Vocals, Acoustic Guitar – David Bowie
Written-By – David Bowie
Mixed By – David Bowie, Tony Visconti
Producer – David Bowie, Tony Visconti

David Bowie has died many deaths yet he is still with us. He is popular music’s ultimate Lazarus: Just as that Biblical figure was beckoned by Jesus to emerge from his tomb after four days of nothingness, Bowie has put many of his selves to rest over the last half-century, only to rise again with a different guise. This is astounding to watch, but it's more treacherous to live through; following Lazarus’ return, priests plotted to kill him, fearing the power of his story. And imagine actually being such a miracle man—resurrection is a hard act to follow. 
Bowie knows all this. He will always have to answer to his epochal work of the 1970s, the decade in which he dictated several strands of popular and experimental culture, when he made reinvention seem as easy as waking up in the morning. Rather than trying to outrun those years, as he did in the '80s and '90s, he is now mining them in a resolutely bizarre way that scoffs at greatest-hits tours, nostalgia, and brainless regurgitation. 
His new off-Broadway musical is called Lazarus, and it turns Bowie’s penchant for avatars into an intriguing shell game: The disjointed production features actor Michael C. Hall doing his best impression of Bowie’s corrupted, drunk, and immortal alien from the 1976 art film The Man Who Fell to Earth. Trapped in a set that mimics a Manhattan penthouse, Hall presses himself up to his high skyscraper windows as he sings a new Bowie song also called "Lazarus." "This way or no way, you know, I’ll be free," he sings, smudging his hands against the glass. "Just like that bluebird." Bowie sings the same song on Blackstar, an album that has him clutching onto remnants from the past as exploratory jazz and the echos of various mad men soundtrack his freefall.

Following years of troubling silence, Bowie returned to the pop world with 2013’s The Next Day. The goodwill surrounding his return could not overcome the album’s overall sense of stasis, though. Conversely, on Blackstar, he embraces his status as a no-fucks icon, a 68-year-old with "nothing left to lose," as he sings on "Lazarus." The album features a quartet of brand-new collaborators, led by the celebrated modern jazz saxophonist Donny McCaslin, whose repertoire includes hard bop as well as skittering Aphex Twin covers. Bowie’s longtime studio wingman Tony Visconti is back as co-producer, bringing along with him some continuity and a sense of history. 
Because as much as Blackstar shakes up our idea of what a David Bowie record can sound like, its blend of jazz, codes, brutality, drama, and alienation is not without precedent in his work. Bowie’s first proper instrument was a saxophone, after all, and as a preteen he looked up to his older half-brother Terry Burns, who exposed him to John Coltrane, Eric Dolphy, and Beat Generation ideals. The links connecting Bowie, his brother, and jazz feel significant. Burns suffered from schizophrenia throughout his life; he once tried to kill himself by jumping out of a mental hospital window and eventually committed suicide by putting himself in front of a train in 1985. 
Perhaps this helps explain why Bowie has often used jazz and his saxophone not for finger-snapping pep but rather to hint at mystery and unease. It’s there in his close collaborations with avant-jazz pianist Mike Garson, from 1973’s "Aladdin Sane (1913-1938-197?)" all the way to 2003’s "Bring Me the Disco King." It’s in his wild squawks on 1993’s "Jump They Say," an ode to Burns. But there is no greater example of the pathos that makes Bowie’s saxophone breathe than on "Subterraneans" from 1977’s Low, one of his most dour (and influential) outré moments. That song uncovered a mood of future nostalgia so lasting that it’s difficult to imagine the existence of an act like Boards of Canada without it. Completing the circle, Boards of Canada were reportedly one of Bowie’s inspirations for Blackstar. At this point, it is all but impossible for Bowie to escape himself, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try. 
Thematically, Blackstar pushes on with the world-weary nihilism that has marked much of his work this century. "It’s a head-spinning dichotomy of the lust for life against the finality of everything," he mused around the release of 2003’s Reality. "It’s those two things raging against each other… that produces these moments that feel like real truth." Those collisions come hard and strong throughout the album, unpredictable jazz solos and spirited vocals meeting timeless stories of blunt force and destruction. The rollicking "'Tis a Pity She Was a Whore" gets its name from a controversial 17th-century play in which a man has sex with his sister only to stab her in the heart in the middle of a kiss. Bowie’s twist involves some canny gender-bending ("she punched me like a dude"), a robbery, and World War I, but the gist is the same—humans will always resort to a language of savagery when necessary, no matter where or when. See also: "Girl Loves Me," which has Bowie yelping in the slang originated by A Clockwork Orange’s ultraviolent droogs. 
Though this mix of jazz, malice, and historical role-play is intoxicating, Blackstar becomes whole with its two-song denouement, which balances out the bruises and blood with a couple of salty tears. These are essentially classic David Bowie ballads, laments in which he lets his mask hang just enough for us to see the creases of skin behind it. "Dollar Days" is the confession of a restless soul who could not spend his golden years in a blissful British countryside even if he wanted to. "I’m dying to push their backs against the grain and fool them all again and again," he sings, the words doubling as a mantra for Blackstar and much of Bowie’s career. Then, on "I Can’t Give Everything Away," he once again sounds like a frustrated Lazarus, stymied by a returning pulse. This tortured immortality is no gimmick: Bowie will live on long after the man has died. For now, though, he’s making the most of his latest reawakening, adding to the myth while the myth is his to hold.
Ryan Dombal / Pitchfork

The Heliocentrics ‎– A World Of Masks (2017)

Genre: Electronic, Jazz, Rock, Funk / Soul
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Soundway

01.   Made Of The Sun
02.   Time
03.   Human Zoo
04.   A World Of Masks
05.   Capital Of Alone
06.   Dawn Chorus
07.   The Silverback
08.   Oh Brother
09.   The Wake
10.   Square Wave
11.   The Uncertainty Principle

Vocals – Barbora Patkova
Baritone Saxophone – Jason Yarde
Bass Clarinet – Shabaka Hutchings
Electronics – Ollie Parfitt
Guitar – Ade Owusu
Strings – Raven Bush
Trombone – Raimi
Trumpet – Matt Roberts
Organ, Flute, Percussion, Piano – Jack Yglesias
Bass, Vibraphone, Guitar, Recorded By, Mixed By, Producer – Jake Ferguson
Drums, Percussion, Piano, Recorded By, Mixed By, Producer – Malcom Catto

At its core, jazz is a genre that relies on experimentation. Sometimes this comes in the form of carefully rehearsed improvisation, and sometimes, as on the new Heliocentrics album A World of Masks, it comes in the form of straight aural acid. 
The Heliocentrics have never been much for linear movement in their music. This year marks ten years since the release of debut album Out There, and in the last decade, the group has played Ethio-jazz with Mulatu Astatke, Middle East-inspired free jazz with Lloyd Miller, and Afrofunk with Orlando Julius, among other things. Now, with the addition of singer Barbora Patkova, the Heliocentrics break planetary orbit entirely for a new, bizarre trip into the avant-garde. You might love it. You also might hate it. You might question everything you’ve thought of as music. No matter what your reaction is, though, one thing is almost certain: you’re going to have one. 
Face-melting psychedelia opens up the album as Patkova, backed by ominous arpeggios and electronic squeaks, goes from a murmur to a shout. In four minutes, she reaches total abandon, and it sets the tone for the rest of the album, where anything can happen -- as long as it’s in a minor key. 
It’s hard to describe in words what A World of Masks feels like, and that’s because it evokes images. Listening to it is an almost synesthetic experience, stimulating the imagination with an intensity that makes it feel a little like hallucinating. The Heliocentrics conjure up interdimensional circuses, electronic jungles, and darkwave dancefloors. They create the surreal and cultivate a freeform wonderland.

Patkova adds a compelling dimension to the group. She goes from ember to wildfire with the kind of untamed energy that always sounds like a live performance instead of a studio mix. Every track she’s on has a raw edge to it, but also looser structure; the ensemble tends to save her fire for more fluid moments, which gives her voice ample room to wander -- which it does. Patkova is a risk-taker, and she is exactly where she belongs singing with the Heliocentrics. 
Near the end, a few tracks play it a little more straight. Bluesy electric guitars add a glow to smokey track "The Wake". "Square Wave" is synth heaven, and while plucked strings in the back get weird, they don’t pull away from the retro funk beats. At the very end of the album, "The Uncertainty Principle" is a starry, instrumental rock and roll piece that cleanses the palate after so many fuzzy freakouts. 
In the end, this is a triumph for the Heliocentrics and the people who love what they stand for: shameless jamming and an unfettered jazz spirit. Each member of the group has a command of what their instrument can do (whether it’s supposed to or not), as well as what their fellow band members can do, and as improvisational as it feels, it never falls apart. A World of Masks can be a difficult album to take in all at once, but if you have the time and the focus, it can take your brain places you won’t find on any other album.
Adriane Pontecorvo / PopMATTERS

Carla dal Forno ‎– Look Up Sharp (2019)

Style: Indie Rock, Dream Pop, Experimental, Lo-Fi
Format: CD, Vinyl, FLAC
Label: Kallista Records

01.   No Trace
02.   Hype Sleep
03.   So Much Better
04.   Leaving For Japan
05.   I'm Conscious
06.   Don't Follow Me
07.   Heart Of Hearts
08.   Took A Long Time
09.   Creep Out Of Bed
10.   Push On

Mixed By, Mastered By – Amir Shoat
Written-By, Producer – Carla dal Forno

Carla dal Forno's NTS show is usually a repository for the skeletal post-punk, modern cassette-scene obscurities and glowering minimal synth that informs her sound. But there was a moment, in a show last spring, when the London-based musician's romantic side shone through. After Snowy Red's Suicide-esque synth ballad "Baby Tonight," she followed suit with The Psychedelic Furs' 1982 single, "Love My Way" and then The Ronettes' immortal "Be My Baby." This push and pull between the insular and the universal is central to the Australian musician's appeal. It's what makes her second and strongest album, Look Up Sharp, worth returning to again and again. 
The most obvious manifestation of this tension is dal Forno's alternation between post-punk pop songs that rely on her vocals and minimalist, instrumental mood pieces. She employed an identical technique on her debut solo album, 2016's You Know What It's Like, but each side of her sound snaps into sharper focus this time around. The four interstitial pieces here include the moody "Hype Sleep," whose earworm bassline compensates for the lack of vocals, as well as the mostly wordless synth reverie "Leaving For Japan," which recalls the stately synth pop of Dip In The Pool. Beyond pacing, other aspects of dal Forno's sound remain unchanged. The queasy synths continue to color in the edges. Nearly every percussive sound is swallowed by dubbed-out echo, nodding to '80s groups like David Cunningham's The Flying Lizards and General Strike. Dal Forno's alto remains expressionless, in cool remove. But as well as highlighting a stronger vocal performance, the album also lays out a satisfying narrative arc. 
The album's first half takes a callous approach to relationships. The excellent first single, "So Much Better," is a brutal rumination on a former lover or friend. Over a loping bassline, dal Forno sings, "You were a disaster / I'm glad I caused you pain." A couple songs later, on the languorous dirge "I'm Conscious," the narrator describes a tryst that isn't going anywhere. "So busy talking, you're an educated man / That's not important, at least not for what I've planned," she sneers. Dal Forno's minimalist production style is mirrored by lyrics that revolve around absence—the absence of romance or meaning. On "So Much Better," she "looks up sharp" around every corner in fear of spotting her nemesis. No one's there. 
The album's late turn towards cautious optimism is a dramatic shift. On the album highlight, "Took A Long Time," our narrator is in the park as dusk approaches. Even as it grows cold ("I shiver but make no move to leave here"), her icy exterior has started to thaw. The object of her affection "sit[s] so close / yet still so far from my arms," goes the soaring chorus. Things have worked out by the concluding song, which is like a post-punk "Wind Beneath My Wings": "All my needs / I want to tell them / I believe / Someone else sees." It's easily the most romantic song in dal Forno's catalog. 
It's a tall order to go from extreme antipathy to unguarded romance over the course of five vocal tracks, but dal Forno has had plenty of practice harnessing opposing forces. Though she's a fierce advocate of music that has no commercial potential, dal Forno's own music has achieved a level of popularity, evidenced by frequent touring and hundreds of thousands of views on YouTube. Her music and production is minimal, but deceptively complex—her records get better with each listen. And dal Forno's lyrics, especially on Look Up Sharp, take the stripped-down language of modern fiction and manage to imply far more than they actually say. While her music is hyper-stylized, it never feels contrived. Look Up Sharp neither panders nor willfully obfuscates, residing in a dreamy space in between.
Matt McDermott / Resident Advisor

Pedro & Jenna Camille ‎– This Is What I'm Going Through EP (2018)

Style: House, Broken Beat
Format: Vinyl, FLAC
Label: Wolf Music Recordings

A1.   Intro
A2.   Float
A3.   Keep It H 2000
B1.   Future Dance (It'll Be Ok)
B2.   ?

Mixed By – Luís Neto

Depois de Pedro Ricardo ter lançado em 2017 o EP Going Somewhere, um registo que casa o jazz e a electrónica, estivemos uma vez mais à conversa com o multi-instrumentista e produtor portuense. Desta vez, falámos sobre o recém-editado EP colaborativo This Is What I’m Going Through, que atravessou fronteiras físicas e sonoras: mereceu uma edição em vinil por parte da inglesa Wolf Music Recordings e a norte-americana Jenna Camille deu voz aos instrumentais criados por Pedro. A música deste novo trabalho mergulha no jazz, soul e broken beat, géneros que trazem à tona uma dinâmica fluída e vivaz que o ligam facilmente à nova e excitante cena jazz inglesa que é encabeçada por nomes como Henry Wu ou Nubya Garcia. 
Para lá do talento evidenciado em todos os seus trabalhos editados até à data, Pedro sabe que isso não basta: após finalizar o processo de criação do EP, viajou até Londres para entregar em mão demos a várias editoras. Para quem está no meio musical, sabe-se que a sorte é, grande parte das vezes, fruto de trabalho e procura intensa e disciplinada.

Nos últimos quatro anos lançaste vários trabalhos com diferentes pseudónimos como Bababa e Hai. Entretanto, o que mudou na tua música para assumires o teu mais recente EP em nome próprio? 
A maneira como eu encaro a minha música não mudou mas apercebi-me que a mudança faz parte de mim enquanto artista. Não faz sentido mudar de pseudónimo só porque vou editar um disco novo, que inevitavelmente vai ser diferente do anterior, até porque existe um esforço deliberado da minha parte para isso acontecer. 
This Is What I’m Going Through é o nome do teu novo registo discográfico. Reformulando-o em questão: pelo que estás a passar neste momento? Quais são as referências actuais que te movem para compor? 
Este EP, ao contrário dos trabalhos anteriores, foi o primeiro em que existiu uma intenção real e honesta de falar sobre algo. Antes de partir para o que seriam os rascunhos das faixas, já tinha o EP bem delineado e sabia qual era a temática de cada música. Se Bababa foi a descoberta do mundo da electrónica, e se Hai foi tentar levar o sampling a um ponto que se confunde com o que está a ser tocado, o This Is What I’m Going Through foi sobre a intenção de querer dizer alguma coisa. 
A descoberta da Jazz:Refreshed foi, sem dúvida, um momento importante na composição. A Jazz:Refreshed é uma plataforma que funciona como editora e promotora que apoia as novas gerações de jazz inglesa. Artistas como Richard Spaven, Daniel Casimir, Triforce e Nubya Garcia acabaram por lançar EPs na editora que me influenciaram bastante. 
A beleza deste EP é decifrar de que forma produziste, tal é a vivacidade sonora dos elementos aqui presentes, nem sempre sabemos o que é tocado e o que é samplado. Não queremos desvendar o segredo da receita, mas aceitas falar um pouco do teu processo de composição? 
Não existe receita. Posso estar a tocar piano ou guitarra e surgir uma ideia, samplar um baterista, ouvir um baixo e tentar replicá-lo e construir algo por cima disso. Eu esforço-me para não repetir processos e para que cada música surja de maneira diferente. 
Ao contrario de Hai, em que os samples são mais pronunciados, a única coisa que samplei neste EP foram as baterias, o resto acabei por compor e tocar tudo. 
O EP surgiu de uma intenção de teres pela primeira vez uma presença vocal? Como é que criaste laços com a norte-americana Jenna Camille? 
Depois de ter um rascunho sobre o que seria o EP, senti que a maneira mais fácil de tornar reais os conceitos era utilizar palavras e a voz. Na altura encontrei o primeiro álbum da Jenna no Bandcamp, acabei por entrar em contacto com ela e as coisas aconteceram naturalmente . 
A Jenna tem opiniões muito fortes e bem definidas e depois de ouvir algumas entrevistas fiquei com mais vontade de trabalhar com ela. Para além disso tem uma presença muito forte em palco, que era exactamente o que eu estava à procura. Existe um vídeo da Jenna no Sofar Sounds que vale a pena ser visto. 
Este é um trabalho editado em vinil pela editora inglesa Wolf Music Recordings, o que te permite ter o formato físico distribuído um pouco por todo o mundo em lojas como a Juno no Reino Unido, a Groove nos EUA, a Oye na Alemanha ou a Jetset no Japão. Como surgiu esta oportunidade? 
Eu terminei o disco no final de Agosto [de 2017] e no início de Setembro decidi ir a Londres entregar demos em mão. Acabei por ficar em contacto com algumas editoras mas não surgiu nenhum convite concreto para editar o disco. Depois de alguns meses de espera, decidi que a melhor decisão seria lançar o disco sozinho, daí a criação da editora – Hear, Sense and Feel. No processo de criação da editora e de perceber como funciona o mercado, acabei por entrar em contacto com uma PR de Londres, ela gostou do disco e mostrou-o a algumas editoras. Os responsáveis da WOLF gostaram e fizeram-me uma proposta para editar o disco que acabei por aceitar. 
Em pouco tempo, a tua música já mereceu atenção, por exemplo de Gilles Peterson, que te destacou na rádio com a passagem do tema “Float”. A Wolf Music mencionou também que tiveste o apoio de artistas como Afronaut ou Henry Wu. Com esta validação, sentes que estás a abrir uma porta para uma carreira internacional? 
Obviamente que quando uma instituição como o Gilles Peterson toca a minha música na BBC ou um dos meus produtores favoritos Afronaut (Bugz in the Attic) fala incrivelmente bem do disco é impossível não imaginar e sonhar com o futuro, mas o mais sensato é não o fazer e concentrar-me apenas em desenvolver a música. 
Este ano revelaste a criação da tua editora Hear, Sense and Feel. Sentes a necessidade de te editares a ti próprio? Há edições para breve que possas revelar? 
A criação da editora passou pela necessidade de editar a minha música mas felizmente surgiu a oportunidade de o fazer com a WOLF. No entanto, se tudo correr bem, espero ter a primeira edição da HSF no próximo ano. Em termos de próximas edições, tenho duas músicas que vão ser editadas em duas compilações distintas de duas editoras portuguesas e um single que vai ser editado em Janeiro/Fevereiro numa editora inglesa.
Rui Correia / Rimas e Batidas

Brian Eno ‎– Discreet Music (1975)

Style: Ambient
Format: CDVinyl
Label: Editions EG, Virgin, Astralwerks, EMI

A1.   Discreet Music
B1.   Fullness Of Wind
B2.   French Catalogues
B3.   Brutal Ardour

Conductor, Arranged By – Gavin Bryars
Performer – The Cockpit Ensemble
Producer – Brian Eno

In this day and age, we tend to take music for granted. It’s always playing in the background, whether it’s in on the radio, in the car, around the house, in a movie, or—if you’re really old-school—on your vintage record player. But before technology made it possible for us to stream music wherever we are at all hours of the day and night, the notion of “background music” as we now know it simply didn’t exist. 
It wasn’t until 1917 when the French composer and iconoclast Erik Satie first coined the term “furniture music”—that is, music played in the background while listeners engaged in other activities. He wrote many pieces which were meant to be just another piece of furniture in the room—each comprised of interesting colors and textures, pleasing to the ear but not intended to capture one’s full attention. 
And in 1975, the British ambient music composer Brian Eno took this notion of furniture music one step further, creating something even more ambient, ethereal and—well, discreet. 
Thus was born “Discreet Music,” Eno’s 30-minute ambient music masterpiece: a gentle immersion into the slow, warm sound waves of an EMS synthesizer. The inspiration for the piece came to him when he was left bedridden in the hospital by a car accident. An album of 18th-century harp music was playing in his hospital room with the volume turned down toward the threshold of inaudibility—but he lacked the strength to get out of bed and turn it up. 
“This presented what was for me a new way of hearing music,” Eno said, “As part of the ambience of the environment just as the color of the light and the sound of the rain were parts of that ambience.” 
And now, another 40 years later, Toronto’s classical Contact ensemble has created a modern arrangement of Eno’s original “Discreet Music” for acoustic and electric instruments. Arranged by Contact’s artistic director and percussionist Jerry Pergolesi, the new recording is scored for violin, cello, soprano saxophone, guitar, double bass, vibraphone, piano, flute, and gongs.
Maggie Molloy / Second Inversion

Marcelo Camelo ‎– sou / nós (2008)

Style: Indie Rock, MPB
Format: CD
Label: Sony BMG Music Entertainment

01.   Téo E A Gaivota
02.   Tudo Passa
03.   Passeando
04.   Doce Solidão
05.   Janta
06.   Mais Tarde
07.   Menina Bordada
08.   Liberdade
09.   Saudade
10.   Santa Chuva
11.   Copacabana
12.   Vida Doce
13.   Saudade
14.   Passeando

Bucólico e minimalista, Marcelo Camelo caminha entre relva e plantas aquáticas, bonitas, que agora me escapam o nome. Monet as pintou em belo estudo impressionista. Trevo Dom Quixote dos morridos. 
‘Téo e a gaivota’ sobrevoam a mata inerte, assolada em lodos, lamas, engodos, em tramas: “todo amor encontra sempre a solidão”. Romanos algarismos, distintos, destinos, reverberam as cruzadas, sinos sonos: “os ais e os hão de ser”. ‘Tudo passa’.

Um bezerro cândido é agarrado à mão d’outro enquanto mamava, ‘Passeando’: “e lá vai deus sem sequer saber de nós”. Somente uma voz e…violão. Cobra arrasta a barriga na encruzilhada, assoviando calmamente, à espera da ‘Janta’, ‘Doce Solidão’: “foge que eu te encontro, que eu já tenho asa”. Mas a insistente cidade bate à porta e da janela embaçada se a vê em cada fim de faixa o sorriso irônico-babilônico.

Mallu Magalhães sente-se à mesa de cinza áspero, colore a mais fosca pedra, companhia: “pode ser cruel a eternidade”. ‘Voilá’. Condiciona o búfalo perante a fazenda erguida por braços fortes como a terra: “ver o mundo feito faz o mar num grão de areia.” ‘Mais Tarde’.
Pede colo porque não dá pra viver sempre à beira: “moça, por favor, cuida bem de mim”. ‘Menina bordada’. Cavalo corre cambaleante crista contra cismas calejadas: “vou fingindo ser o que eu já sou”. ‘Liberdade’. Dominguinhos subestima a verdade da vida, com a sanfona além-compreensão. 
Escreve uma página em branco (‘Saudade’). Clara Sverner adoça o café com piano preto. Lágrimas riscam o vidro embaçado do chalé; a chaleira treme à luz da lareira. Deus e solidão. Respiração mansa e aflita de boi no pasto. ‘Santa Chuva’: “meu coração vai se entregar à tempestade”. Violinos, violas, fagote, regência. Dois violoncelos amarrados amarelos arame farpado de feira.

Trompete, trombone. Tuba, flauta. Surdo, prato. Caixa, percussão. Arranjo, metais. Clarineta, clarone. Soprano, alto. Saxofones, carnaval. Relança ao céu o arco-íris e o sol transborda em correntes marítimas, rios e lagos, sais: “é o vento do mar, será que a gente chega, …”. ‘Copacabana’. 
Naturalismo e poesia reduzida. Voz arrastada e o silêncio. Sonoplastias e ruídos estranhos. Incursões ‘Macalísticas’ e narrações fragmentadas. Renato Russo (disco V Legião) e melancolia morna. Vinhetas sonoras ambientam as músicas em tábuas. Dorival Caymmi (‘Vida Doce’): “toda beira é final de dois, eu deixo tudo sempre…”. 
Atrás das matas guarda surpresa. No musgo tem o verde. Por entre a maré azulada há o branco das espumas. Crianças brincam na praia, é a infância que Camelo observa sitiado com um pingo (ou vários deles) de saudade.
Raphael Vidigal / Esquina Musical

M ‎– New York, London, Paris, Munich (1979)

Style: Synth-pop, Disco
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: MCA Records, Sire, Victor

01.   Popmuzik (Nik Launay '79 12")
02.   Woman Make Man
03.   Moderne Man / Satisfy Your Lust
04.   Made In Munich
05.   Moonlight And Muzak
06.   That's The Way The Money Goes
07.   Cowboys And Indians
08.   Unite Your Nation
        Bonus Tracks
09.   Fanfare
10.   Cry myself to sleep
11.   Cowboys and indians remix
12.   Cowboys And Indians (Featuring James Stewart)
13.   Satisfy Your Lust (Single Version)
14.   Moderne man (single version)
15.   M Factor (single version)
16.   M Factor (US single version)
17.   Moonlight and muzak '92 remix
18.   PopMuzik(hip-hop-PopMuzik)
19.   Popmuzik (Latino Cappucino)
20.   Popmuzik ('89 Reshuffle)
21.   Finale

Bass – Julian Scott
Drums – Julian Scott, Justin Hildreth, Phil Gould
Saxophone, Flute – Gary Barnacle
Synthesizer, Keyboards – Wally Badarou
Vocals – Brigit Novik, Robin Scott
Written-By, Producer – Robin Scott

Of course, "Pop Muzik" was the only song on M's debut album, New York-London-Paris-Munich, to become a big hit ("Moonlight and Muzak" and "That's the Way the Money Goes" were minor chart entries in the U.K.), but there's actually quite a bit of entertaining music on the record. Granted, the sound of the record is more entertaining than the songwriting, but with its synthesized, danceable beats, big, catchy hooks, and glossy "futuristic" production, it's a terrific new wave artifact.
Stephen Thomas Erlewine / AllMusic