Hitomi “Penny” Tohyama is a Japanese singer who had a string of hit records in the late ’70s and ’80s. The earlier stuff is disco-funk in the J-Pop style, with YMO/Tatsuro Yamashita influences — smooth, electro production, with great synth bass-lines, and superb melodies. Some of her stuff in the late ’80s gets pretty cheesy, but Sexy Robot is a gem from front to back.
I can’t remember how I came across it — probably in a Hosono YouTube K-Hole — but my ex-girlfriend and I used to jam this record every night while making dinner — dancing around the kitchen, pouring more wine, turning up the volume. It’s catchy, despite 90% of the lyrics being in Japanese, though every few bars she’ll drop a phrase in English — something as short as just bursting out “Sexy robot,” or some groovier vocal progressions like “Sparkling eyes…fall in love…I am so sexy.” It’s one of those records that makes you feel sexy inside, and fun(!). Even if you listen to pretentious ambient or noise or techno all the time, this one is undeniable. It’s a reminder that despite all the awful things going on in the world, life is pretty great.
To sum it up — when you title your record Sexy Robot and have a cover like this, it’s hard to go wrong.
Midori Takada is the percussive mastermind behind Mkwaju Ensemble, as well as a member of the free-jazz trio Ton-Klami. This is her only solo release, and it’s gorgeous, comprised of percussion (mostly marimba, as well as what sounds like traditional Japanese drums), shakuhachi, and field recordings (mostly birds). It’s not all as fluffy as it might seem, though–Midori Takada is first and foremost a percussionist, so the album peaks when she picks up steam, building up to ecstatic, drawn-out drum crescendoes (especially on the closer, “Catastrophe Σ”). It makes for a record that is alternately dreamlike (“Mr. Henri Rousseau’s Dream”) and fiery (“Crossing”), but always precise and beautiful (and with an album cover that looks like a leaked painting from Rousseau’s secret hallucinogen phase, no less).
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.)
“This recording was made in L’Abbaye du Thoronet, a 12th-century Cisterian monastery in Provence, where I had previously brought the choir in 1978. The simple harmonic geometry of the abbey seemed perfectly proportioned to magnify the choir’s music and let it resonate within its sacred space. Working there was an incredible challenge: our sensations, our breathing, and even our thoughts and emotions became intensely amplified.”
–David Hykes, liner notes
Hearing Solar Winds is a milestone for the human voice. Much of Hykes’s work originates from Tantric Tibetan Buddhism and western Mongolian khöömi, or overtone singing. Yet in this context, recorded live in a French abbey over the course of two evenings, it’s a completely different beast from traditional throat singing. It’s less active and more drawn out, less human and more ghostly. It shimmers–did a songbird get trapped in the abbey, or was someone playing an unimaginably tiny glass flute? “Telescoping,” and of course “Rainbow Voice,” quite literally sound like light being split through a prism: when producing harmonics, “the voice acts as a kind of sonic prism, ‘refracting’ sound along a frequency spectrum which extends upward from the fundamental tone.”
Elsewhere, Hearing Solar Winds is as much about sonic illusion as it is overtones. Several tracks employ the Shepard scale, which is a “sound consisting of a superposition of sine waves separated by octaves, with the base pitch of the tone moving upward or downward. This creates the auditory illusion of a tone that continually ascends or descends in pitch, yet which ultimately seems to get no higher or lower. It has been described as a ‘sonic barber’s pole.'” Upon first listen, the effect is disorienting and even a bit nauseating, as it’s difficult to understand where you are, tonally. If you don’t mind losing track of your body, Hearing Solar Winds becomes less of an album and more of an hour long meditation–cosmic not because of shimmering synth pads or floating arpeggiation (there are none) but because of its direct sonic verticality. This is the real deal.
Incredibly, Hearing Solar winds is David Hykes’s first album. He went on to release five more albums with the unbelievably precise Harmonic Choir, and five more without them. (Side note: “Rainbow Voice” was featured in the soundtrack for Dead Poets Society.)He’s worked extensively with sound healing and spirituality, developing a comprehensive approach to “contemplative music” called harmonic chant, about which there’s a nice interview with him here. I would highly recommend a rainy day listen of Hearing Solar Winds on good speakers, without doing much of anything else.
Saâda Bonaire was a shelved EMI project comprised of songwriter-vocalists Stefanie Lange and Claudia Hossfeld, producer Dennis Bovell (Fela Kuti, Orange Juice, The Slits, whatever), jazz saxophonist Charlie Mariano, and a slew of backing musicians “culled from the local immigration center.” Dub-funk-disco-ish on top of a Turkish-African instrumental conglomerate. Dark and dancy perfection circa 1983-ish. Captured Tracks recently put out an excellent compilation with a whole lot of never-released material, which we’re not posting for download because you should just buy it. A favorite track below.
I first heard Miharu Koshi at the now-defunct Big Snow during a revelatory Gabe D’amico DJ set. The track that blew my mind was a lush, warped, slightly psychy, rollerskate-ready slo-mo disco track, which I still haven’t tracked down (did I dream it?), but the search led me to this deeply underrated, Haruomi Hosono-produced synth-pop record, about which there isn’t much information online. Standouts are the tribal-pop lament “Laetitia,” and “Scandal Night,” replete with skittering robot chirps and whirrs. Hideki Matsutake computer programming. Tasty and playful, with dense electro percussion throughout. Side note: “L’amour Toujours” is a Telex cover (tragic video NSFW).
One of the most organically freaky records I’ve ever heard. Totally serendipitous experimental pile-on of traditional Congolese singer Bony Bikaye; Algerian-born French producer Hector Zazou; and Claude Micheli and Guillaume Loizillon, mechanics of a massive wall of early 70s analog computers who called themselves CY1. Calling this “east meets west” is totally reductive; this thing is man meets machine on another planet.
