Jóhann Jóhannsson's move to the distinguished ranks of Deutsche Grammophon for his first studio album in a few years was meant to start a new chapter in his career as a modern composer. Instead, it was a coda - after only a couple more soundtrack releases, he suddenly died aged just 48. The wintry, elegaic tones of Orphée, inspired by Jean Cocteau's film of the same name and the myth of Orpheus it was based on, took on an even more sombre air in hindsight.
It's a beautiful album, with 15 short tracks (only two breaking the four-minute mark) built on simple materials for maximum melancholy and atmosphere. Given Jóhannsson's considerable body of soundtrack work beforehand, it's perhaps no surprise that some of this music sounds particularly filmic, especially the opening Flight From The City with its piano motif gradually built upon. Several tracks are centred around strings, and little production touches like understated electronics and effects, and the ghostly radio samples of a "numbers station" add variety. Then all instrumentation is absent for the sublime closing track, performed by acapella choir.
Second album by Eberhard Weber's Colours collective - third if you count Yellow Fields, as a reissue box set did - and fast becoming my favourite Weber album, possibly overtaking even the more gentle, hushed Fluid Rustle. After four minutes of atmospheric ambience, the opening Last Stage Of A Long Journey develops into a gorgeous, sedate feature for Rainer Brüninghaus' piano and Charlie Mariano's flute (then Garbarek-like sax). The twelve-minute Bali also starts with a gentle, wispy drone, before bursting into life with Brüninghaus' repetitive piano figures, and developing in multiple sections. You can tell it's a Brüninghaus composition; he's well on the way to his own masterpiece Freigeweht with material like this.
Some more cyclical piano arpeggios introduce A Dark Spell, which develops into a great feature for Mariano to soar freely, especially in the uptempo end section. The title track starts with an odd clash of sounds in the accordion-like synth and clatter of percussion, held together by Brüninghaus' piano as John Marshall continues to roll around the kit before it all settles into another gorgeous track. Then 'No Trees?' He Said is a joyous, upbeat closer. This whole album is a pure delight from start to finish.
A collection of fascinating music and utterly bizarre sounds, even by the standards of the more outer limits of this blog. Texan avant-gardist, teenage occultist (he'd remain influenced by John Dee's "Enochian alphabet" for structuring his music), instrument builder, electronic manipulator, video artist and compellingly physical performer Jerry Hunt (1943-1993) just becomes an increasingly fascinating figure the more you read about him. There's a tribute website here with plenty of reading material - for now, here's an introduction to what he sounded like.
This CD collects an LP from 1979 and one side of a three-artist release from the same year, both released on Hunt's independent label Irida. First up is his piano piece Lattice, from the "Texas Music" compilation. It's about the only thing here that really qualifies as music in the traditional sense; a jittery, spidery exploration of dynamics and resonance of piano tones that Hunt recorded with bells attached to his wrists. Brought to mind Charlemagne Palestine's early piano work at points.
The remaining four tracks, all derivations of his Cantegral Segments series, are the real introduction to Hunt's weird, frequently discomforting soundworld. Transform (Stream) is based around manipulations of vocal sounds (I'm simplifying Hunt's sui-generis, ultra-technical to the point of near-incomprehnsible liner notes as best I can): whistling, groaning, gurgling and odd clattering noises and faint electronics make up its nine minutes.
Cantegral Segement 18.17 again takes vocal input as its basis, sounding like a lo-fi, homebrew version of a John Cage/David Tudor/Gordon Mumma experiment. Transphalba is the longest track and possibly the highlight of the collection, performed on "lip-vibrated aerophone", "solo mechanical instrument" and electronic manipulations of same. The closing Volta (Kernel) returns to vocal sounds. Utterly unique, weird and compelling stuff.
Jerry Hunt's "Four Video Transformations" - ends with Transform (Stream)
Blue Note session recorded 57 years and a couple of days ago, at a time when the label's most ambitious players and composers were reaching beyond hard bop for something spacier and more cerebral, but still hugely enjoyable and durable over the years. This was the first album as leader for trombonist Grachan Moncur III (b. 1937, NYC); he wouldn't record many more with his name at the top, which is a shame, as this is a great record.
Four lengthy tracks allow everyone to stretch out on these imaginative pieces all penned by Moncur, who is supported by Lee Morgan on trumpet, Jackie McLean on alto sax, Bobby Hutcherson on vibes, Bob Crenshaw on bass and Tony Williams on drums. Album opener Air Raid is a multi-section mid-tempo tune where Hutcherson is particularly good at supplying the atmospherics, then the title track is an eerie, pedal-point dronepiece. The album's second half contains the more upbeat selections: the aptly named The Coaster has twists and turns aplenty around a great melodic theme, then Monk In Wonderland is a fun tribute to the jerky rhythms favoured by its titular figure.
Whether you read that album title as an indication of musical dynamics ('soft, soft'), or just that Hans-Joachim Roedelius' touch on the titular instrument was so good he named it twice, this is a sublime album. Released in 1991 on the Italian label Materiali Sonori, these nine tracks of solo piano bear all the hallmarks of the master of melancholy melody. A couple of the longer ones meander a bit, but always in the nicest way possible, along the paths and across the fields of rural Europe that Roedelius' more reflective music conjure up.
On the CD version, Materiali Sonori added three bonus tracks: one of them 15 minutes long, and the other two back down to a compact three minutes. In contrast to the album proper, there are subtle synth shadings added to these extra pieces. In the lengthy In der Dämmerung, actually, they're not all that subtle at all to begin with, sounding like a particularly odd counterpoint or out-of-sync overdub at first, but it all starts to make sense after a few minutes.
Eberhard Weber's Yellow Fields band (minus Jon Christensen, who presumably had a hundred other ECM sessions to attend) coalesced into Colours in the late 70s. They produced two albums under this moniker, of which Silent Feet was the first (the other's coming up next week). John Marshall was now on the drum stool, laying down a neat mid-tempo shuffle for Weber, Charlie Mariano and Rainer Brüninghaus to move around in on the great 18-minute opener, Seriously Deep. Mariano's solos are a particular standout on this memorable epic of jazz-prog.
The two remaining tracks are 12 minutes apiece, with the title track starting out as a meditative feature for Weber and Brüninghaus, before Marshall kicks it into gear for the album's most joyously upbeat stretch. Eyes That Can See In The Dark then establishes a suitably nocturnal atmosphere, with subtle percussion and Mariano's wood flute. After a few minutes of this static ambience, Marshall and Brüninghaus take it into the home stretch, including a gorgeous piano spotlight for the latter and more of Mariano stretching out. The legendary bassist-composer of course provides the supple joints for the whole body of Colours to move as one.
"...and to the cat he has given silent feet and eyes that can see in the dark"
- Richard Adams, Watership Down, Chapter 6: The Story of the Blessing of El-ahrairah
Three electronic explorations from this Japanese artist, about whom there seems to virtually no information online* - at least on English-language sites. Bit of a mystery one, then; this compilation just caught my eye as a cheap addition to a Discogs order. The only information given on the back of the album is that these pieces, each around 20 minutes in length, were recorded in Tokyo in 1979 (track 1) and 1980 (tracks 2-3).
Given the recording years, and perhaps because I've been listening to so much early 80s electronica lately, I think I was expecting a bit more high-fidelity sheen to Watanabe's music. Quite the opposite is true: his tracks here, named Amoebas, Caimen and San-Youchiyu, are murky, echo-laden soundscapes reminiscent of '76-'77 Throbbing Gristle at their calmest, '71 Cluster or perhaps even Kluster. The last track is a bit more melodic, and will appeal to fans of Conrad Schnitzler. Definitely worth hearing if you like lo-fi, exploratory electronics.
The most high-profile entries in Between's compact discography are arguably And The Waters Opened (1973) and Dharana (1974). Those two frequently crop up at the margins of krautrock 'must have' lists as prime examples of their jazz/kraut/world-fusion sound, with group mainstay Peter Michael Hamel also fairly well known in his own right. I went for this one from the very end of their career for no other reason than it was more readily available than the others (almost all of these 2007 reissues seem to be out of print now), and it's an absolutely gorgeous album.
The sound of Silence Beyond Time has virtually nothing to do with krautrock of any shade, except maybe Popol Vuh at their most acoustic, and is based on piano, acoustic guitar and wind instruments (Robert Eliscu had played with Popol Vuh; Roger Janotta made some obscure appearances on ECM/Japo). If anything, Between on this album sound more like a less jazzy/more classical-influenced Oregon, or Azimuth without the electronics. After a brief opening track based on minimalist piano figures, the most atmospheric track Two Alone By The Waterphone is an early highlight. Percussion when it appears is minimal, either bongos or, on the lengthy Indian-influenced Das Molekül, tabla from guest musician Pandit Sankha Chatterjee. The baroque-inspired winds earned that track the working title "Telemann in India".
On Side Two of the original album, the title track was written just before the death of Hamel's father, to whom the final track is also dedicated; it starts as a meditative tribute with wordless voice, before picking up speed with another minimalist piano part. Peaceful Piece is a lengthy group improvisation; it's followed on the CD reissue by two further improvisatory tracks that didn't appear on the original LP, and are a fair bit looser and wilder than the LP tracks, so perhaps didn't make the cut for that reason. The album proper concludes with another beautiful piano and voice based piece, and a sublime guitar/flute/bass trio that was the last ever Between recording. Very highly recommended.
As per last week's post, Tomasz Stańko's TWET lineup was mostly retained for his first appearance on ECM, with only Peter Warren switched out for Dave Holland. And it's the legendary bassist who sparks this album into life, with the propulsive riff that kicks off the aptly named First Song. Stańko and Szukalski are united on a catchy theme, before going off on some incendiary solos.
The more atmospheric Tale follows, giving Edward Vesala his first feature on his signature range of percussion. Then there's a Vesala composition, Num - it's a bit more spidery and exploratory as per the darker-hued material on TWET, but never fully loses sight of the great melodic theme that it sets out. The album's first side concludes with a brief duet between Stańko and Holland.
Side Two comprises three tracks, all composed by Stańko. The title track is the kind of solemn dirge that would become Stańko's stock in trade when he returned to ECM almost two decades later. Last Song is more free and firey again - but it's not the actual last song: that's the closing Nenaliina, another great atmospheric feature for Vesala to star in.
Two works by Tod Machover (b. 1953, NY) dating from 1984, during his period at IRCAM in Paris. Although the album title might be expected to refer to all its contents, only one of these is for ensemble and computer - first up is Nature's Breath, purely for orchestra. Named after a Taoist saying about the force of wind producing other sounds in nature, it's an enchanting piece that concerns itself with "unity between diverse materials", and centres on a long, unfolding melody line whilst the three main sections respectively explore harmony, timbre and rhythm.
Spectres Parisiens is even more engrossing, played by the ASKO Ensemble conducted by Peter Eötvös against Machover's taped part from IRCAM, realised on the 4X digital synth. Machover doesn't go as far as calling this spectral music, but it definitely touches on some of the techniques used by the French spectralists. Again, Machover is interested in "many diverse elements [which] are accumulated and eventually unified", apparently a driving force in his overall musical thinking. As trailered in the bio note for this CD, his next project was an opera based on Philip K. Dick's VALIS - must get hold of that sometime.
Dark and skronky free jazz from Eastern Europe at its most inspired. Tomasz Stańko assembled a great band here with American bassist Peter Warren, Finnish percussion wizard Edward Vesala and fellow Polish jazz avant-gardist Tomasz Szukalski on saxes and bass clarinet.
The first of two lengthy tracks, Dark Awakening features Warren either clunking ominously or bowing a deep drone, whilst Vesala adds several odd sounds (and even occasional vocals) to his unique drumming style, giving the horn players the perfectly bizarre backing to take flight against. The title track is in a similar vein; loads of space, especially for Szukalski to bounce off of Stańko, and Warren mostly sticking to an ominous upward plod like a jazz Geezer Butler.
There's lighter material on TWET too, with Mintuu Maria featuring Stańko at his sweetest and most melodic for this period, and the closing Night Peace featuring little bell sounds from Vesala. In between those is Man From North, another lengthy exploratory vehicle. All in all, one of the most satisfying albums of Stańko's early career. He'd land his first ECM date not long after with almost the same lineup - that's coming up next week.
Been on another big TD binge these last few weeks, and worked through the Virgin years until I got to this - supposedly the 'black sheep' of their classic era. Time to give it a fair hearing with fresh ears? Absolutely.
Tangerine Dream at the end of 1977 saw their stable lineup of the last six years fracture, with the final departure of Peter Baumann. Edgar Froese and Chris Franke returned to the studio the following January, adding drummer Klaus Krüger and multi-instrumentalist Steve Jolliffe. The English-born Jolliffe's association with TD actually predated their first album, so he was effectively rejoining the band. The sessions by their own accounts were a bit of a try-anything blank slate, with competing voices for the overall direction. Then Jolliffe decided to sing...
Cyclone remains one of only a tiny number of TD albums with vocals. And to be honest, Jolliffe's weird, often effects-laden voice suits the electronic prog sound of Cyclone pretty well. The lyrics are no more or less nonsensical than on any number of prog classics you could name, and do help establish a fantasy-sci-fi atmosphere. In the middle section of Bent Cold Sidewalk, Jolliffe's wind instruments add another fresh colouring to the TD palette. Then for the side-long closer Madrigal Meridian, Froese, Franke and Krüger got their heads down and turned out a classic sequencer-based epic that solidified the Berlin school-prog hybrid they would perfect on the following year's Force Majeure.
More from David Tudor, whose electronic music we heard a few weeks back. This work was a simpler proposition: just point two shotgun microphones at an array of loudspeakers and mix the resulting feedback into alien sounds, using a processor again designed by Tudor's colleague Gordon Mumma.
Microphone was originally designed for the Pepsi Pavilion at Expo '70 in Osaka, with 37 speakers in a rhombic grid and headsets given to visitors in order to listen in. This later version, recorded for an LP on the Cramps label's Nova Musicha series, features two half-hour-long renderings of Microphone. Low growls, high-pitched whines and many other variations of processed feedback flit through the mix, come to sudden stops or fritter away into new sounds. Crank it up loud.
