Lino Vaccina and Vincenzo Zitello collaborator. Bardic harp, oboe, and synth all composed and played by Mazza. I hesitate to call Scoprire Le Orme (roughly “discover the footsteps”) minimal, though it does get thrown around as such–it feels denser and warmer than what I typically associate with Italian minimalism. To me it feels like far eastern baroque; very courtly–my guess would be that Mazza tuned his harp to scales more typically associated with instruments like the koto or even the sitar. There’s a dusty exotica sentimentality that reminds me of Finis Africae. A lot to love here. Hope y’all are having a very harpy winter.
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.
Listen to my sixth episode of Getting Warmer for NTS Radio below. I thought a lot about musical migration as I was making this: cross-pollination as a result of colonialism; exotic fantasy, escapism, and essentialism; and Brazil, both as a place of origin and as a source of inspiration. If you like it, you can download an mp3 version of it here. Enjoy!
Tracklist:
1. Carpenters – Invocation
2. Fé De Sábio – Crepúsculo
3. Isabelle Antena – Otra Bebera
4. Yellow Magic Orchestra – Shadows On The Ground
5. The Beach Boys – Til I Die (Alternate Mix)
6. Caetano Veloso – Gua
7. Mudd – Summer In The Wood
8. Orchestre Raymond Droz Avec Pierre Cavalli Et Son Orchestre – Passarinhos
9. Light House – 南太平洋
10. The Coconuts – If I Only Had A Brain
11. Googoosh – Sahel Va Darya
12. Brenda Ray – Another Dream
13. Miharu Koshi – 逃亡者
14. Nightingales Recorded by Jean C. Roché – In A Waste Ground Beside A Stream In Provence, June
Very deep love for this record, and a very big crush on Scott Walker (no, not that Scott Walker). Walker’s career has been wholly singular, and it’s impossible to succinctly sum up him, his work, or the thematic ties between such seemingly disparate records–the only way to make sense of it all is to listen. Walker started out in an LA-based pop trio called the Walker Brothers, though confusingly Scott Walker was born Noel Scott Engel, another member of the group was named John Maus (no, not that John Maus), and all three used Walker as their stage names—though for Scott, it bore out over a long and strange career. The group attained enough chart success in the UK that they were briefly a sort of inverse Beatles export, with screaming mobs of fans and a Tiger Beat cover to prove it.
As their brief window of fame closed, Walker embarked on a series of solo records, all called Scott, and all vessels for dark, heavily orchestrated and meticulously arranged pop. Though the music felt traditional and baroque enough to be almost regressive—this was the 60s, after all—the subject matter of the songs was dark and heavily referential. Walker wrote about Stalin, venereal disease, poverty, addiction, child abuse, and Bergman movies, and he sung the songs in a theatrical, almost Sinatra-esque baritone that belied their subject matter. The joke was always on us: Walker was able to pass off drippingly sentimental delivery as sincerity while barely masking his biting cynicism. His music appealed to the elderly, to the suburban, to those who wanted to cling to tradition as the world and its sounds were being lit on fire. Walker was the Carpenters’ evil twin, with a similarly surgical approach to arrangement and production, and the Bacharach pedigree to back it up. Bowie was a huge fan. I imagine that Van Dyke Parks, sharing a penchant for thematic exploitation of traditional orchestration, was also a fan. Leonard Cohen too.
But for Walker, the real god was Jacques Brel, Belgian master of theatrical showmanship and literary lyricism, and arbiter of chanson as the world knew it. Brel paved the way for Walker’s Trojan horse smuggling of a tortured psyche under a palatable, market-friendly facade. Walker covered Brel nine times on the first three Scott records, with 4 serving as his first entirely self-written release, and it was arguably the best and strangest of his 60s releases. Despite the weight of Walker’s persona bearing down on it, 4 attains glimpses of very direct beauty—the weightless “Boy Child” comes to mind—and it readily winks at Morricone’s spaghetti Americana. Yet when 4 failed to chart, unlike all his prior releases, Walker asked his label to delete it from their catalog, tried to swing more commercial, failed, and churned out a slew of half-hearted records just to get out of contract. He then all but disappeared for twenty years, reemerging in 1995 with the left-field Tilt as incontrovertible proof that he had finally allowed his inner demons to break from the confines of polite genre. 2006’s even more mutinous The Drift was my introductions to Walker when I was 16—at the time, it was the most explicitly avant-garde record I had ever heard—so I can’t listen to Scott 4 without hearing the early inklings of sonic assault, and I love it.
Hard to pick a favorite release from Hans-Joachim Roedelius, who’s contributed to 92 different releases, according to Discogs. Though most famous for co-founding Cluster and Harmonia, he’s been even more prolific as a solo artist. Wenn der Südwind Weht (“When the South Wind Blows”) was his seventh solo release, though he followed it up with a casual 35 more full-lengths, most of which I still haven’t heard. Of his earlier releases, this is both my favorite and the most exemplary of signature Roedelius. The most remarkable moments are when synthesizer acts as a vessel for his pastoral sensibility, with unabashedly sentimental lines of synthetic oboe, clarinet, organ, and something theremin-like sitting on top of rolling piano chord pulses muffled in golden-warm reverb. The title track, “Veilchenwurzeln,” and “Mein Freund Farouk” are the best instances of this kind of classical miniaturism–they’re what make this record feel like a favorite sweater–but in very German tradition, a handful of the other tracks meander into more shivery, drawn-out synth meditations (and that’s certainly a good thing). Ideal rainy day music.
The first of two releases from the mysterious Franco Nonni (keyboards) and Paolo Grandi (strings). They released a second album in 1990 with a larger ensemble (does anyone have this lying around?), and then Nonni went on to become a psychiatrist (cool reason to break up a band). This seems to get tossed around in progressive rock and jazz circles, though to me it’s neither. I’d call it squarely fourth world (cringe term), with a dip into murky synth drone (“Interludio con Dedica,” “Linfoceti”) and some moments of brassy baroque-isms (title track). For me, the album peaks at its bookends: “Mitochondria” and “Mitosi” are sublime, drawn-out meditations that build and bubble, leaning heavily on what sounds like a synthetic gamelan ensemble and smoothed out around the edges with strings. Ideal for fans of Jon Hassell, Yas-Kaz, and Hosono’s more ambient works. If it’s for you, it’s definitely for you.
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!
A classic. Deep Breakfast was the first independently produced record to be certified gold (and later platinum) by the RIAA. Lynch is a classically trained guitarist and lutenist with a background in spirituality (the record’s title comes from a line in a book by controversial teacher Adi Da Samraj, under whom Lynch has studied: “You must be starved, old friend. Come into my apartments and we’ll suffer through a deep breakfast of pure sunlight.”).
Deep Breakfast is meticulously produced and instantly likable from beginning to end, so much so that it’s a bit of an eye-roller. From what I understand it served as a new age gateway drug for hordes of listeners, but it’s unusually diverse for the genre. Opener “Celestial Soda Pop” is exactly what it sounds like: plump, bubbly, and candy-sweet with synthetic harp. “The Oh Of Pleasure” is sublime and sounds like what might have happened if Enya were more interested in electric guitar patches (you may recognize it from Grand Theft Auto IV). “Falling In The Garden” is ponderous and pastoral, whereas “Rhythm In The Pews” is unabashedly playful, almost naïve, with hyper-precious baroque-isms (this is one of several tracks in which Lynch’s classical background is most obvious). Closer “Tiny Geometries” is another favorite, with a Charles Cohen-esque shattered crystal introduction that unfolds into more familiar arpeggiations and eventually a searing new age epic. An excellent on-repeat record, and hard not to love.
Peak British folk. Bridget St. John is most well known for the trio of excellent records she released between ’69 and ’72 on John Peel’s Dandelion label. This, her debut and the first in the series, is the most bare-bones and raw, with guitar that’s alternately sunny and somber. It’s also blessedly absent of the goofy optimism that made many of her peers less palatable (and, unlike many of its contemporaries, all the songs on it are self-composed). Her voice is remarkable not just for sitting in a notably low alto range, but for its consistency of non-expression, as if she preferred to let her androgynous bard quaver and her direct lyrics speak for themselves. The follow up to this record, Songs for the Gentle Man, is also worth seeking out, but it’s more padded out with instruments, and feels somehow less pure for it–I love how Ask Me No Questions is unabashedly moody, dappled with the occasional patch of sun (the eight minute long closing title track is dense with field recordings of birds and church bells). Perfect fall soundtrack.
Classic! The opening track of this record, “Flowers Love,” was used as the theme for the French documentary series L’aventure des Plantes–it’s unclear whether any of the other tracks were included in the series, though the whole record is excellent. Joël Fajerman is a classically trained French keyboardist who was apparently nicknamed “Flangerman” (no mystery why). Ranging from baroque organ lines to towering, sinister synth arpeggiations, L’aventure is cosmic, dense, and cinematic. For fans of Jean-Michel Jarre, Vangelis, or the beloved Plantasia! (Note: pictured above is the Spanish reissue; hi-res images of the original French cover don’t seem to exist).
