Tag: 1986

John Martyn – Piece By Piece, 1986

Edit: At the time of originally sharing this post, I was unaware that John Martyn had a history of perpetrating domestic abuse. I recognize the implications of embracing his work in light of that, and will do my best in the future to be more thorough in my research on the artists I write about!

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Piece By Piece is not for everyone. But what makes it such an exemplary slice of sophisti-pop, in my opinion, is that every time John Martyn toes the aesthetic line (is this too much saxophone? does this sound like late night lonely hearts suburban radio? are these lyrics actually just bad?), he redeems himself tenfold with startlingly gorgeous instrumentation and perfectly plump, high-gloss production. It continues to surprise after repeat listens, and is extra generous in headphones.

Backing up, though–for the unfamiliar, John Martyn was a British musician and songwriter who initially came up as a precocious folk scene giant but, as is well-evidenced here, branched out into much more exploratory territory. His body of work is as big as it is diverse, so much so that I still haven’t really wrapped my head around it. It’s been suggested that it was this very proclivity towards experimentation that kept him just shy of the mainstream success that he clearly deserved. He sadly passed away in 2009. He was a truly brilliant guitarist, he loved fretless bass, and his inimitable voice could turn from wistful sweet to inhuman growling on a dime.

While Piece By Piece might be an odd place to jump into his very rewarding discography, I think it’s appropriate in its own way. “Angeline,” for example, is exemplary of Martyn’s particular breed of strangeness: at first it seems like a Toyota dad ballad, but its repeating out-of-sync broken drum sample acts as a reminder that there’s got to be more, and sure enough, the “chorus”–which isn’t really a chorus at all–breaks open so pleasingly into gorgeous washes of reverb in which the vocals disappear into dissonant synth and vice versa. Oh, and for the fretless bass die-hards, it’s all over the record in spades. A deep purple and navy blue world of a record that feels so good to live in for 41 minutes: moody, wickedly smart sophisti-pop, with more and more to say for itself at every turn. Ideal night-time driving music.

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Motohiko Hamase – Reminiscence, 1986

Peak malletcore, except here fretless bass gets a little closer to center stage, dripping all over dense towers of avant-classical synthetic strings. A die-hard fretless enthusiast, Hamase has written several books about the subject and is perhaps most famous in Japan as a coveted session bassist. He’s worked with a daunting lineup including Jimmy Murakawa, Yasuaki Shimizu, Seigen Ono, Isao Suzuki, and Yas-Kaz.

Reminiscence was recorded at Tokyo’s Sound Design Studio, famous for being the home base for most of Kitaro’s giant catalogue. Despite its reputation as an ambient record, Reminiscence doesn’t adhere to stillness in the way we might expect. It moves freely and often in steep, vertical shapes, pulling just as much inspiration from avant-classical experimentalists as from gamelan and its subsequent American minimalism devotees. Though there are many moments of unflinching beauty, Hamase is unafraid to wade out into the deep end, moving seamlessly between woozy, noodling dissonance, transparent puffs of synthesizer rising like early morning fog, and tunneling tonal percussive segments. It’s a bit disorienting, in a good way. There’s a lot to chew on here, and thankfully Reminiscence only continues to open up with increasing generosity upon further listens. This is a longtime favorite of mine, but I only recently got ahold of a good quality rip, so I’m thrilled to be able to finally share it. Enjoy!

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Koo Dé Tah – Koo Dé Tah, 1986

Guest post by Milena Nugget (Optimal Ripeness)

This album gives me the chills. With the expansive synth sound typified by other Australian synth-pop groups like Icehouse, and brutally catchy, Madonna-esque sugary dance beats, this is a record full of earworms.

At the centre is Tina Cross’s exceptional voice, which can range from the cool and gliding (“Over to You,” “Think of Me”) to the effortlessly bouncy (“Body Talk,” “Meant to Be”), and suggests Kate Bush and Cyndi Lauper inspiration.

In several ways Koo Dé Tah stood in contrast with their contemporaries. Australian pop music in the 80s was heavily Anglo-Saxon male-dominated—whether by virtue of the pub rock circuit, insular cultural attitudes, or otherwise. Koo Dé Tah was comprised of two accomplished musicians with differing backgrounds (New Zealander Tina Cross with Māori heritage, and former Russian popstar Leon Berger). That they had a radio hit with “Too Young For Promises” and were still unafraid to take risks and experiment makes this record all the more remarkable.

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Claire Hamill – Voices, 1986

This blog started with the intention of sharing records that more people should hear, and I think that’s more the case for this record than any other thus far. It occupies a strange mid-point, both in visibility and in the context of the artist’s body of work. It’s been reprinted a handful of times, and its Discogs recommendations include acts as disparate and big-league as Mike Oldfield, Pink Floyd, Kate Bush, Tracy Chapman, and Prefab Sprout (begging the question, who exactly is listening to this record?). Claire Hamill debuted on Island Records, opened for Jethro Tull, and made several very big-budget albums. She dabbled in folk, synth pop, and electro before landing on Voices, which has been (somewhat confusingly) labeled as new age. It’s perhaps owing to that very difficulty in pinning her down or understanding her body of work that her work itself, with its dazzling high points, seems to have slipped through the cracks. We missed the trees for the forest.

But backing up: after an audition for Island founder Chris Blackwell, Hamill released her debut at seventeen, an impressive piece of folk that belied her age. It immediately drew comparisons to Joni Mitchell and was advertised in Time Out with the tagline “When most girls are frantically hunting husbands, starting work in Woolworths or learning to type, Claire has finished her first album.” (Happy International Women’s Day, by the way!) But despite her label’s high hopes for megastardom, her records continued to fall flat of large-scale acclaim. After a few more folk-rock efforts on a new label, Hamill ended up on CODA Records, Beggars Banquet’s “new age” imprint. She released Touchpaper, an ambitious electro-sophisti-pop record about which there are some great notes here, and then, while living in the English countryside married with a new baby–“a sweet time in my life”–decided to make a record using only her voice. Entirely self-written, self-produced, and featuring just a bit of synth and drum machine, Voices feels like a pared-down predecessor to Camille’s Le Fil. She uses her voice not just as a choir but as strings, as as keyboard, and as texture, all the while staying attentive to inclusions of inhales–they’re emphatic, but never oppressive. Songs like “Harvest,” which so clearly evokes a chorus of women reaping wheat, manage to worldlessly distill the bucolic ethos of what Aaron Copland needed an entire opera to do. Despite repetitive motifs and loops, nothing ever slogs. Everything moves.

What’s really shocking about a first listen, though, is how clearly you can hear threads leading directly to and from so many important artists. At the risk of sounding like the token music journalist who compares every female artist to every other female artist, you can explicitly hear the Celtic-tinged multi-tracking that Enya would go on to make a career out of, Kate Bush’s emotional fluency, a Cocteau Twins cavernous goth sensibility, Julia Holter’s polished baroque, Virginia Astley’s loving chronicle of the English countryside. Nothing folky, but totally pastoral. A (mostly) worldless spectrum of feeling. There are jewels to be found throughout Claire Hamill’s career, but Voices is her strongest, and perhaps most unsung, stroke of brilliance.

A note that while I always encourage you to buy records you love whenever possible, Claire has been personally funding her continued independent music-making, so if you love this as much as I do, please consider buying it!

Piero Milesi – The Nuclear Observatory Of Mr. Nanof, 1986

Guest post by Adam

I found this lurking at the back of a box of records in a charity shop in a nondescript part of north London. I’d never heard of Piero Milesi, but was drawn to both the title and the image on the sleeve, which turns out to be a still from the film to which this is a soundtrack. It depicts an enormous engraving outside a Volterra psychiatric hospital by patient Oreste Fernando Nannetti, who referred to himself as Nanof-11, an “Astronautic Mineral Engineer of the Mental System.” While I’m keen to track down the movie (which doesn’t even have an IMDB page!), in the meantime I make do with the music, which is characterized by lush synthesized themes interspersed with moments of meditative calm. Personal favourites are “The Presence of the City” and “Mr. Nanof’s Tango” (which really begins to soar about half way through, so stay with it). Originally an architect, Piero Milesi created musical installations as well as soundtracks, so you can see why the story of a vast stone book recounting life in a psychiatric institution appealed. Earth to Nanof-11, are you out there; can you hear us?

20 Favorite Releases of 2016

In the spirit of the season, I wanted to share some of my favorite releases of the year. Obviously not exhaustive; just some personal highlights. Let me know if links are broken. Happy holidays!

Previously: 2015

Arthur Russell – World Of Echo, 1986
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Bill Nelson – Getting The Holy Ghost Across, 1986
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Cocteau Twins – Victorialand, 1986
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Cocteau Twins & Harold Budd – The Moon And The Melodies, 1986
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Coil – Horse Rotorvator, 1986
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David Hykes – Harmonic Meetings, 1986
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Double Fantasy – Universal Ave, 1986
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The Feelies – The Good Earth, 1986
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Felt – Forever Breathes The Lonely Word, 1986
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Geinoh Yamashirogumi – Ecophony Rinne, 1986
buy / download
Hiroshi Yoshimura – Soundscape 1: Surround, 1986
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Isabelle Antena – En Cavale, 1986
buy / download
Janet Jackson – Control, 1986
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Just-Ice – Back To The Old School, 1986
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Linda di Franco – Rise Of The Heart, 1986
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Nu Shooz – Poolside, 1986
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Riccardo Sinigaglia – Riflessi, 1986
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Toshifumi Hinata – Reality In Love, 1986
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Virginia Astley – Hope In A Darkened Heart, 1986
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Zavijava Orchestra – Rivers Of Light, 1986
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dip in the pool – Silence, 1986

Debut from Japanese duo dip in the pool. Fairly minimal, often baroque-leaning synth and voice arrangements, with heavy, widely spaced drums that, in such a synthetic context, take on a cyber-medieval quality. Standouts are the title track and the stunningly beautiful “Rabo del Sol,” the video for which is previewed below–it comes from their 1991 laserdisc release of music videos. Both tracks evoke a similar mystical gravitas, a perfect vessel for Miyako Koda‘s straight-tone vocal sobriety. (Interestingly, though a handful of tracks pick up to a spronky trot–like “Hasu No Enishi” and “View”–and feel like obvious video game scores, it was a slower, more ceremonious track called “Ismeel” that was later used in the PlayStation game Omega Boost.) Silence, which was released elsewhere as a self-titled, features production by Seigen Ono and Masahide Sakuda. The duo recently released a collaboration with the Visible Cloaks geniuses on RVNG, and unsurprisingly, it’s very good.

Isabelle Antena – En Cavale, 1986

The best. Cheeky, punchy, synthy bossa-pop (or electro-samba, depending on who you ask). Production by Alan Moulder (Loveless, Siamese Dream, The Downward Spiral, Korn, casual) and Martin Hayles (Orange Juice’s Rip It Up, also casual). Instant gratification in a big way. Six songs written by Antena, plus a cover of Sister Sledge’s “Easy Street.” You might also recognize “Seaside Weekend” as a rework of a track she had originally done with her band, Antena. For fans of Antena, Sade, Linda Di Franco. Pleased to boast that I grew up listening to Isabelle Antena—my dad heard the maddening “Quand Le Jazz Entre En Lice” in a hair salon in Tokyo, where my family was living at the time, and took it home to my mom, who got hooked on it. Enjoy!

Yutaka Hirose – Soundscape 2: Nova, 1986

One of three records funded and released by Misawa Home Corporation for use in their prefabricated houses between 1986 and 1988. (The other two releases are both by Hiroshi Yoshimura; I’ve posted my favorite of the two here.) As with some of the other Japanese minimal records I’ve shared, Nova is an unabashed embrace of, as Spencer of Rootblog phrased it, “the illusion of nature in a hyper-urban environment.” Judicious use of water, insect, and bird field recordings, sparse bells, piano, and synth. Somehow just as evocative of an idealized, imagined natural world as it is of the synthetic, heavily manicured interiors that seek, roundaboutly, to reference nature. Regardless of where this puts you, it’s very good.

Linda Di Franco – Rise Of The Heart, 1986

Slinky, balearic perfection from Linda Di Franco, who was a DJ in the Turin underground circuit (a scene about which I know absolutely nothing) before releasing Rise Of The Heart, her only full-length. Hard to pick a favorite track, but the unbelievably hard-hitting “TV Scene” has been stuck in my head for years. Her blissed out, bossa-tinged cover of Dusty Springfield’s “The Look of Love” is a peak, as is the tropical jazz anthem “My Boss” (which, oddly, was released in Italy as a 7″ split with Rod Stewart’s “Love Touch”). This isn’t a great quality rip, but it’s the best I could find as the record is way out of print. If anyone has a better copy they’d like to share, let me know! For fans of Antena, Brenda Ray, Sade, and Gina X Performance.