The first (and from what I gather, one of the only) non-Final Fantasy release from legendary Japanese composer Nobuo Uematsu. Alternates between candy-sweet synthetic puffs of new age, ominous baroque, and spoken word. The instantly familiar “Dogs on the Beach” belongs on Ray Lynch’s Deep Breakfast, the title track feels like a very tasteful score for a Tim Burton ballet, and of course, “Final Fantasy” is an even more (!) baroque spin on the video game theme, this time with harpsichord and vocals from the incredible Chinatsu Kuzuu, whom we’ll probably be hearing more from soon. Thanks for the tip on this one Mike!
This is an album I would describe as multi-sensory and completely transportive. Listening to it, I feel refreshingly elsewhere! Really, it should be thought of less a quintet record, and more a formidable big-band recording with, as the name suggests, a palpable African feel. There’s boisterous and joyful percussion throughout, and some tasteful solos by Adderley, but for me what makes this record stand out are the memorable refrains and motifs. Adderley’s opening lead on “Khatsana,” on my first listen, made me think I had heard it a hundred times before; it’s narrative in such a familiar way and has an effortless predictability that makes you feel you’ve written it yourself and are merely conducting the musicians in your ears. In typical big-band style, the record is a sure-fire party winner, and the African influenced grooves and chunky percussion only add to the sense of lively ensemble and GOOD TIMES. There’s a filmic quality to much of the instrumentation here, like the sultry “Up And At It,” which wouldn’t be out of place in a stylish 60’s detective film. “Gun Ja” slows things back down, initially feeling like a mourning song with a wailing distant vocal before picking itself back up gradually, for a dramatic final chorus with cinematic horn lead. As far as big band records go, this is right up there for me alongside my favourites like Duke Ellington’s The Far East Suite. A total romp, with unforgettable melody and some genuinely touching moments. Highly recommended.
Minimalist classic. Originally released under Panasonic, and then later as Pan Sonic for legal reasons. Not the most original thing to say, but this feels distinctly like people taking backseat and allowing machines to do the work. Ecstatic beats, long stretches of whirring, and surprisingly little abrasion. Good speakers, headphones, or not at all, since there’s nothing to hide behind here.
As evocative and expansive as any soundtrack can hope to be. From what I gather, there have been two runs of The Miracle Planet (Chikyu Dai Kikou) series–one in 1987 and one in 2005, both co-produced by Japan’s NHK broadcasting corporation; although there’s very little information available about the earlier series. Technically, this release is a 1988 compilation which includes tracks from two of Yoshikawa’s other releases (including the instantly relatable “Nebraska,” which sounds as if it was heavily inspired by the Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence soundtrack. I’m always grateful for the full hour of music, so I’m including it as is).
Silvery synth pads, sleek pop arrangements, plump and wet percussion, traditional Japanese drumming, sentimental orchestral arrangements, and a few forays into fourth worldy nostalgia. I can’t say enough nice things about this. Ideal for fans of Yas-Kaz, Geinoh Yamashirogumi, Joe Hisaishi, and Hiroshi Yoshimura.
Comprised of four long, ruminative tracks, the classic Peace and Love – Wadadasow is probably reggae’s closest answer to Ash Ra Tempel: highly spiritual and free-wheeling, totally enveloping in its psychedelic nature with the brooding appeal of dub. It’s the second album by Ras Michael, released under the moniker Dadawah, and here his passionate chanting and singing is treated with expansive post-production effects courtesy of Lloyd Charmers. Willie Lindo provides incredible bluesy guitar improvisation. The rhythm section is held together tightly by a constant bass groove, and “Zion Land,” for instance, highlights the spiritual and emotional core of the album. It’s as much a spacey trip as it is an intensely devotional record.
Dug Out’s 2010 reissue contains a slightly different mix, with more present vocals and heavier reverb, while the original pressing (provided here) focuses more on the spacious, atmospheric instrumentation.
A La Izquierda Del Colibrí (“to the left of the hummingbird,” named after Huitzilopochtli, an Aztec deity whose name translates roughly to “hummingbird’s left”) is a collaboration between Mexican prog and ambient cornerstone Jorge Reyes (who has collaborated extensively with Steve Roach) and Antonio Zepada, a dancer, free jazzer, and ambient musician. Both had a strong interest in pre-Hispanic instruments, and they’re used extensively here (ocarina, teponaztli, and omichicahuaztli, among others) alongside a slew of synthesizers. A La Izquierda is mostly instrumental and heavily percussive, dense with tribal drums, purply synth pads, and rainstick textures. It also goes real hard on the wind instruments and field recordings of birds, so if you’re not excited about pan flutes, you should probably skip this one. Otherwise, take it for a drive and enjoy! Note: the last track doesn’t seem to be listed on any of the pressings that I can find, and I can’t find any information about it, but it’s really good so I’m including it anyway.
Deeply weird record. The first four tracks are straightforward enough: dusty-sweet synth pop, toy whirrs and blips, a Joy Division fan on board, pristine vocal harmonies, some half-hearted samba as the amphetamines are wearing off, sulky new wave guitar. Definitely perverse, but somewhere we’ve been before. Things start to get gnarly around track five, “Sweet Sultan,” which sounds like a dirtier Lena Platonos pirated off a broken answering machine. It gets more confusing as new wave decomposes into no wave (“Dead End”) and then into minimal wave (“Dust”), propelled along by what sounds like an 808 that’s been dropped a few times too many. “Ki-Rai-I” is Grape Iris‘s maximum euphoria, with a Sakamoto-esque marimba loop buried underneath Robin Guthrie-esque guitar warps and more static-scratched telephone-speak, the whole thing sounding like a tape that got left out in the sun. After one last frantic guitar stab (“So That Night”), closer “Float A Bort” returns us to strung-out delirium, slowly submerging itself in water as the sun sets. Keyboards and some production by Yoichiro Yoshikawa, who’s worked with Yas-Kaz and is responsible for the gorgeousMiracle Planet soundtrack (I’ll get there soon). Wowowow.
Jazzy, dubby, experimental, ambient, joyous, meditative and so much more. Fans of Mariah’s Utakata No Hibi will be visiting familiar territory here, as Shimizu is also the brain behind that long-awaited reissue from Palto Flats. There’s the same simplicity and attention to detail present on Kakashi and, having been released a year before Utakata, it appears to have been a learning exercise for Shimizu.
For starters, check out the repetitive marimba lines weaving throughout the space-jazz-dub of “Umi No Ue Kara” (a personal favourite) for a whole eight minutes, acting as bamboo scaffolding for drips of guitar and Shimizu’s sax lines which drift around it like a fine mist. Total masterful simplicity.
Elsewhere, expect ambient tracks that suddenly drop into a backstreet Chicago jazz club with dueling brass stabs and hand claps, only to drift out into smoke; abstract 8-bit sampling that could, frankly, send you a bit la-la until it flings you out into cosmic piano territory; uptempo psychedelic drama-ska; and, ultimately, the sound of Mongolian farmers having a stab at Arabic jazz!
Despite sounding a bit all over the place, there’s enough of a thread throughout Kakashi to bind it all together, and after only a couple of listens, I promise you the pieces fall into place.
Hard to know where to begin with Robbie Băsho, as he did so much in his twenty years of making music before his life was cut short by a freak chiropractic accident. He went to military school, then pre-med. He painted, sang, played trumpet, played lacrosse, lifted weights, wrote poetry, and changed his name to Băsho after the Japanese poet. He went through phases of cultural and musical obsession, including Sufi, Buddhist, Hindu, Japanese, Indian classical, Iranian, Native American, English and Appalachian folk, Western blues, and Western classical “periods.” He “used open C and more exotic tunings and he developed an esoteric doctrine for 12- and 6-string guitar, concerned with color and mood. He spoke of ‘Zen-Buddhist-Cowboy songs’ a long time before Gram Parsons mentioned his vision of Cosmic American music.” He studied under Ali Akbar Khan. He pushed for a broader appreciation of the steel-string guitar as a classical concert instrument. He made 14 studio albums in 19 years. He wrote “a Sufi symphony” and another for piano and orchestra about Spanish and Christian cultures coming to America. He’s considered one of the geniuses of American folk and blues, and yet his name often gets lost in conversations about John Fahey, Leo Kottke, and Sandy Bull.
Although several of his studio recordings are among my favorite albums, I wanted to share this live recording because (unsurprisingly) there’s a specific rawness to it that I love. The master files have been lost, so this is a cleaned up version of a second generation tape, and it shows. Băsho lets himself pick up speed at the expense of precision, often bordering on sloppy, and he sings unabashedly in a voice that many have snickered about but that gives me chills. It’s terribly intimate, and the audience is all but inaudible excepting polite bits of applause. You hear Băsho talk a bit about his guitar tunings, about his 115 year old instrument, and banter a little in bad German. More importantly, Bonn Ist Supreme gives an overview of his dizzying range, incorporating his signature guitar raga style, American spirituals, a reworking of Debussy, blues, themes from Wagner’s Parsifal, and Celtic folk melodies. Sprawling and trancelike.
Hooked on this one. World Standard is the project of Sohichiro Suzuki, who seems to still be releasing music as of 2013. Surprise surprise, a few of his releases feature Hosono production. Allo! is full of of the dry genre-referencing that I strongly associate with Japanese 80s pop, especially leaning into cinematic song structures, doo-wop, chanson, and bossa nova. It’s off-putting for some, though I think this is an unusually well-executed instance of it. It’s also an excellent entry point into World Standard’s considerable, and startlingly varied, catalogue. Cleverly built pop songs with swingy vocal layering, shivery synth blips, and several really effective moments of songs “opening up” in very moving ways. For fans of Asami Kado and Miharu Koshi. Thank you Ian for the World Standard tip!
