Category: Album

Hildegard von Bingen – A Feather on the Breath of God, 1984

Saint Hildegard von Bingen (1098 – 17 September 1179) was a German Benedictine abbess, writer, composer, philosopher, poet, doctor, visionary, Christian mystic, and polymath. She founded the practice of scientific natural history in Germany, lived to the age of 81 at a time when the life expectancy was early 40s at best, and wrote the oldest surviving morality play (sometimes called the first musical drama). Despite having no formal musical training, she was responsible for some of the most hauntingly beautiful and enduring music to come out of medieval Catholicism. Her compositions broke many of the existing conventions of plainchant, using extremes of register, dramatic leaps of pitch, melismas and flourishes to express rhapsodic, overflowing emotion. Sublime delivery of this collection of her songs by UK ensemble Gothic Voices and soprano Emma Kirkby, globally renowned early music specialist. Perfect hurricane soundtrack music.

Judee Sill – Judee Sill, 1971

Guest post by Cora Walters

The more I listen to Judee Sill’s music, and specifically this album, the more I come to think of it as a church. The perfect soundtrack for finding your way. Her earnestness and skill as a singer and lyricist certainly rank her among the sweet sirens of the seventies–Joni Mitchell, Vashti Bunyan, Karen Dalton, Linda Perhacs, Bridget St. John, Nico–but what sets her apart is her constant craving. Surreal parables swirl around, clutching to make contact or to make sense of the world and her place in it. Each song is a hymn of her own mystical making. Even at its most baroque (“The Archetypal Man”), twangy (“Ridge Rider”), or pop (“Jesus Was a Cross Maker”), she’s driftin’ and “lopin’ along” some serious terrain–the rocky road to salvation.

Steve Reich – Music For 18 Musicians, 1978

To celebrate our having posted 100 albums, I wanted to share a record that’s so canonical that it would feel silly to post any other day. Steve Reich needs no introduction, and the influence of Music For 18 Musicians can’t be condensed. Instead, here are Reich’s liner notes that explain a bit about how the piece “works,” including an interesting mention of borrowing the Balinese gamelan technique of using a distinct audio cue to call for a change in pattern. Here’s a nice overview of the “building blocks” of the piece.

To keep it brief, I’ll add that as a vocalist, the most exciting part about Music For 18 Musicians for me is its treatment of human breath and mechanization. The limits of human lungs (both for wind instruments and vocals) structure the pulse of the piece, and the other instruments are written to mimic the natural arc and fall of breathing patterns. Despite being built around such an organic phenomenon, the music is highly mechanized, a musical hybrid of human and machine. I’m always surprised that this is considered “minimalism,” when in truth it’s dizzyingly complex sonic embroidery. Sublime and light-dappled. Try it in headphones if you haven’t before. Wild that this only took Reich three years to compose. Cheers!

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Mariah – うたかたの日々 (Utakata No Hibi), 1983

Mariah was the brainchild of saxophonist Yasuaki Shimizu, who is most well-known for his solo performances of Bach’s cello suites in acoustically interesting spaces (he recorded in a mine, he did some work with Ryuichi Sakamoto, we love him, etc.). His work with Mariah was a far cry from the rest of his career, though–Utakata No Hibi, the band’s fifth and final LP, is loosely woven, big and wide open and facing skyward. The album is built around percussion, which ranges from traditional Japanese to tribal to Talking Heads-y, pencilled in with simple synth textures and spikes of brass. The songs are mantric, with vocals in both Armenian and Japanese that act more as an instrument than as a focal narrative. The definitive high is “心臓の扉” (“Shinzō No Tobira/Door of the Heart”). No filler, though–all the less poppy moments are a joy, and manage to simultaneously feel futuristic and medieval.

Maria gave me this record years ago, and it’s been in heavy rotation ever since. We’re really excited that it’s being reissued on Palto Flats, a label run by personal DJ hero Jacob Gorchov. It’s an important record that speaks to a wide range of people, and the attention it’s attracting is well-deserved. The New York release party is tonight, with vinyl for sale. Sample the remasters below, or listen to “Shinzō No Tobira” in its entirety here.

(Side note: watch Yasuaki Shimizu’s “Human Cuckoo Clock” installation, in which he did hourly performances of saxophone renditions of Bach’s cello suites for eight hours in the Tokyo International Forum, here. A really beautiful, playful use of acoustics.)

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Sivakumar Sarma – Santur: Inde Du Nord, 197-

Perfection. Pandit Sivakumar Sarma (also Shivkumar Sharma) was the first musician to play Indian classical music on the santur (a hammered dulcimer traditionally used as a folk instrument). Sarma has had a hugely prolific career and has worked with the most legendary classical musicians, but I have yet to hear very much of his catalog because I can’t tear myself away from this. Achingly beautiful work from the master of the instrument.

Note: Nobody seems to know exactly when this record was released, but based on a few hints I would guess mid-70s. This never made it to CD and to the best of my knowledge, has never been reissued (cough).

Colored Music – Colored Music, 1981

Anomalous! A collaboration between Atsuo Fujimoto and personal hero jazz pianist and vocalist Ichiko Hashimoto, this was Colored Music’s only official release, though apparently they scored a 1984 movie called Kougen ni ressha ga hashitta (高原に列車が走った)–if anyone has a copy of this, I’d really love to hear it!

Sinister and strange throughout, Colored Music defies genre, ranging from the scronky, free-jazzy “Anticipation” to the spaced-out, reverb soaked “Sanctuary” to the more explicitly new wave “Too Much Money,” flirting briefly with progressive rock along the way. Vocals include a haunted, warbling mermaid choir, sputtering Broadway theatrics, and faraway pirate chants buried deep in the mix. The standout is the shimmying, agitated “Heartbeat,” held together by a warped and weird house beat that gets shredded in half by an almost unlistenable piano meltdown. A little challenging, but totally worth it.

Virginia Astley – Hope In A Darkened Heart, 1986

A favorite that doesn’t get the attention it deserves. Virginia Astley is a British musician who put out a small slew of full lengths and EPs in the 80s, but seems to have flown under the American radar. Her music is distinctive for its sing-songy, little boy church choir vocal delivery, and her lyrics, while sometimes indistinguishable, are as dark and ruthless as they come (“I’ve tasted your tongue like a worm from the grave / Had you inside me, then like a rock beside me”). She also used her extensive collection of field recordings to make a gorgeous instrumental concept album chronicling a summer day in the English countryside, which is way more expansive and less twee than it sounds.

My sister first played me Hope In A Darkened Heart a few years ago and it’s stuck with me since. While the songs are effectively pop in structure, the record defies the specificity of genre: it truly sounds like nothing else. Astley wrote all the songs except for the opening track, which is a duet with David Sylvian. Ryuichi Sakamoto and Astley co-produced the record, and it feels very much like both of them: Astley’s lilting, pastoral nostalgia on top of Sakamoto’s mechanical, off-kilter synth chug. Its darkness is belied by how damn pretty it is. Well overdue for a re-release.

Vinicius Cantuária – Sol Na Cara, 1996

Wow! A favorite from the legendary Vinicius Cantuária. Sol Na Cara happened a few years after he moved from Rio to New York, and with it he helped usher in a slick new breed of electronically tinged “post-bossa.” Unlike so many of its less elegant peers, Sol Na Cara is subtle, sinuous, and never falls victim to the desperation of two-dimensional Starbucks flab. Even when Cantuária flirts with kitsch, as in the synth-squiggled title track, he’s too much of an aesthete to let his collaborators lead him astray from beauty. Oh, and about those collaborators: arranged by Ryuichi Sakamoto, co-produced by Arto Lindsay, who mixed it at Kampo Cultural Centre, a studio owned by a Japanese master of calligraphy; with songs co-written by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Caetano Veloso, and Chico Buarque, in addition to Sakamoto, Lindsay, and Cantuária himself, this is a dream team lineup, but the numbers don’t cloud Cantuária’s singularly beautiful vision. Lazy late summer perfection.

Bill Nelson – Getting The Holy Ghost Across, 1986

Bill Nelson’s body of work is daunting, to say the least. In addition to his 139 releases, his work as a founding member of the legendary Be Bop Deluxe, collaborations with David Sylvian, Harold Budd, Masami Tsuchiya, and many others, his name is constantly popping up in liner notes and album credits. Over the course of 44 years, he’s made a name for himself as one of the UK’s most singular and prolific musicians. Picking an album of his to share was tough, especially since I haven’t spent time with most of them.

Getting the Holy Ghost Across has a confusing history: it was released in the UK on several different formats with many different track listings ranging from 10 to 18 tracks. Its subsequent US release was clouded by concern over “occult symbolism,” so the title was changed to On A Blue Wing, the album cover was changed, and a good deal of the music was cut altogether. (These fears weren’t completely unfounded, as Nelson had a longstanding interest in Occultism and Gnosticism.) That being said, Getting the Holy Ghost Across (posted here with the track listing from the original cassette release) isn’t all that esoteric: a lot of it is terribly catchy jangling new wave, replete with towering synth hooks and restless, occasionally tropical percussion. Vocally, Nelson is up there with Andy McCluskey, Dave Gahan, Tears For Fears, and Other Famous British Guys, which is to say, many of these tracks coulda woulda shoulda been radio hits. Flanked by gorgeous ambient tracks like “Suvasini” and “Pansophia,” Bill Nelson wants you to remember that he’s still a weirdo genius, and that even though you’ll be too busy bobbing your heads to think about the lyrical content, this is still a theological concept record. No complaints here!

Bob Chance – It’s Broken!, 1980

Like no other. Scuzzed out leftfield basement oddity. DJ Shadow famously called this “hairy forearm disco,” and while I’m not sure how much of that has to do with the album cover, it definitely fits the warped, wonderful, pervy weirdness that Jonny Trunk calls “walking a strange line between the asylum and the dance floor.” Ranging from the relentless, ten minute long title track of gnarly, psych-streaked lo-fi disco, to my favorite “I See Her,” which could easily pass for a forgotten Pet Sounds demo, to the closing five minutes of meandering slo-mo-funk and bird screech on “Jungle Talk,” this record has earned its cult following. Apparently this was a favorite of Doctor Demento. Big ups to the excellent Trunk Records for making this heavily sought-after record available to the masses.