Japan

After the Punk movement reduced popular music to its essential building blocks, bands were free to design their new sounds from scratch.  They could be post-punk, new wave, new Romantic, whatever, as long as they weren't Prog (of course).  

One of the bands ahead of that curve was Japan.  They were already glamming it up during the Punk explosion, so they were not initially successful, except in, well, Japan!  Luckily, they stuck with it until everyone else caught up with them.  It didn’t hurt that the band was full of musical geniuses.  The lovely David Sylvian stole the show, looking like a wax mannequin of Warhol, and sounding like Bowie with seasonal allergies.  But one cannot possibly speak of Japan without acknowledging the fluid and idiosyncratic fretless bass work of Mick Karn.  Karn was a self-taught bassoon player who actually won an audition to a symphony orchestra without knowing how to read music. He made his own fretless bass in the 1970’s simply by removing the frets.

Here’s the band performing The Art of Parties (the groove here is absolutely wicked, and it’s live!):



From the same concert, Still Life In Mobile Homes:



Sadly, Karn lost a battle with cancer in January of this year at the age of 53, having only been diagnosed about six months earlier.  Safe journeys, Mick.

Beaumont. this is... Beaumont (2000).

Keith Girdler, who had recorded originally with the band Blueboy, on Sarah Records, and subsequently in Arabesque, Snowdrops, and Lovejoy, put together Beaumont in 2000, with Lorraine Carrol (vocals), Dick Preece (keyboards), Leigh Saunders (trumpet, keyboards), and two former members of Blueboy: Martin Rose (drums, percussion) and Cath Close (vocals).

Unspeakably twee, the songs refer to plimsolls, tank tops, teardrops, and sipping cherry soda through straws.  Brief instrumentals punctuate the disc, sounding like outtakes from the soundtrack of some lost Julie Christie film.  It evokes, but does not directly imitate, the mid-1960’s, and it drips with wistful charm and beauty.  

Keith Girdler was diagnosed with cancer in 2004 and died three years later, at the age of 46.

For those of you who feel even Belle and Sebastian is too testosterone-fueled and macho for your delicate sensitivities, Beaumont might be just what you’re looking for.

Girls and Maths:

Caramel Snow. Laboratory Glassware (2011).

Shoegazey pop with lyrics from a Spam email.  More info on Myspace.

Bryan Ferry. Olympia (2010) ...and why it’s not the second coming of Avalon (1982).

Ex-Roxy members convened this past year for Bryan Ferry’s new album, Olympia.  The official press release states, “Bryan Ferry reunited on record with members of Roxy Music, including Brian Eno.”   But don’t expect an updated version of For Your Pleasure, or Avalon.  The press release doesn’t even mention Manzanera, Mackay, or Thompson by name and, try as you will, it’s pretty challenging to identify what Eno is doing on the record.  As Mackay says on his Web site, “I have read that I played on Bryan's upcoming record Olympia.  Just for the record I may have done but I am not sure!”  It seems Olympia started as a Roxy reunion, but got bogged down in Steely Dan proportions of perfectionism, and eventually became another Ferry solo outing.   

For those of us that have Avalon burned in our memory, the first track of Olympia starts with a shock of recognition: it’s the same pulsating string sound from “True To Life.”  That seems to tease us with the idea that Roxy is now reformed, picking up where Avalon left off.  But this is not the case.  In fact, the opening is a red herring.  Olympia has, to my ears, nothing to do with Avalon.  Olympia is more burnished wood than polished pearl.  It’s smooth, but you can see the grain underneath.  Avalon was many shades of sleek cool. Olympia has some brightness, but it’s mostly darker and tougher.

Without the co-writing contributions of Mackay and Manzanera, Olympia forgoes harmonic complexity in favor of groove and texture, which is typical of Ferry’s solo work. The core band, supplemented, as usual, with lots of guest players, creates under, one would assume, Ferry’s direction, a weighty bed of swirling layers for Bryan’s observant ruminations.  Practically every track has that now definitive Ferry ending: no fade, no chord, just a single unison note, a device we first heard at the end of “While My Heart Is Still Beating,” from, of course, Avalon.

The collaboration with Groove Armada on “Shameless” provides Ferry with a newer, updated and welcome context, but the track is marred by the distracting borrowing of the bleeping synth from Annie’s “Greatest Hit” (1999).  On Annie’s original it has a bit more filtering, more of a “wah” sound on the attack, and it’s a semitone higher, but it’s essentially the same motif.  Otherwise, the tunes are layered with guitar parts that creep like the roots of trees looking for water.  Ferry is able to orchestrate atmospheric yet muscular arrangements that generate heft without overpowering the etchings of his vocals.

At 65, Bryan’s voice is now fragile and frayed.  With Avalon, Ferry completely dropped the artifice of weird vocal mannerisms that had made his voice so distinctive and strange, and oddly appealing.  Since then he has crooned to us, close to our ear, with something just more than a whisper.

Roxy fanatics tend to express disappointment over Avalon because it’s perceived as less experimental, too safe and soft compared to their idiosyncratic earlier work.  True, it is pretty easy on the ears.  But it’s the work of an adult who had been through some hurt and heartbreak (Bryan was in his late 30’s when he recorded it), and Avalon is all about reflection of the past, or even the present as it fades right in front of us.  It’s a monument to beauty, nuance, and poignancy.  From moment to moment, Avalon presents itself as an elegant flow of meticulous detail; there’s not a single jarring event, or questionable note.  In that regard, it’s the first of the Bryan Ferry solo albums to come, and indeed there are the minimum of co-writing credits on Avalon.

But on stage at least, Roxy Music has reunited, as Ferry is touring with Manzanera and Mackay as a group (original Roxy drummer Paul Thompson having fallen out due to poor health), visiting Europe, Japan, and Australia.  And they sound (and look) pretty darn good doing the old stuff:

50/50 - various artists (2010).

Jon Nelson at Some Assembly Required put together an astounding compilation this year called 50/50.  Sound artists were invited to create 50 second compositions using at least 50% recycled sound from broadcast media.   

References to social and political commentary are mixed with collages and mashups of popular music.  Jon did a fantastic job of sequencing and making sense of the wide variety of the 50 tracks.  Although you would expect a lot of experimentation with this kind of thing, I was surprised at how entertaining, and frankly hilarious, this comp is.  Apparently, there is something about sampling broadcast media that brings out the sense of humor in sound artists.  

My own track, Lifetime Pop Head (#30), is a mashup of fragments from Kylie’s Can’t Get You Out Of My Head, Once In A Lifetime by Talking Heads, and an EZPop popcorn TV commercial from the 1950’s.  I was a little concerned that my submission might be too whimsical, but I needn’t have worried.  The chilled austerity or barrages of noise often associated with a term like “sound art” is nowhere in evidence here.  50/50 is clever, goofy, ridiculous, thought provoking, and full of inspired creativity.  It’s never boring. The time limitation required composers to basically get in, make a coherent statement, and then get out in less than a minute.  I was impressed at the consistent level of wit and skill displayed by the dozens of composers involved.  It’s guaranteed to bring a smile to any music lover, not just fans of experimental electronic music.

After 12 years of hosting his radio show,  Jon is has recently made the tough decision to retire Some Assembly Required.  50/50 is an impressive way to close this portion of his career, which will certainly continue in some other form, we hope.

It’s worth ordering the CD for the cool artwork, or download it from the usual suspects.

Lesley Duncan/Elton John/David Bowie. Love Song (1971).

Whatever you make of the flamboyant Sir Elton John now, there was a time around 1970, starting out as solo artist (after failing his audition for King Crimson!), when he was taken quite seriously as a critically acclaimed, sensitive singer-songwriter. His 1971 album, Tumbleweed Connection is, in fact, a flat-out masterpiece. But there is a track on Tumbleweed that he didn’t write, and it’s one of the very rare instances of Elton covering someone else. That haunting tune, simply titled, "Love Song," has always held a wistful allure for me. It was written by Lesley Duncan, and I always wondered who she was and how that song ended up on Tumbleweed. "Love Song" is singled out as the “the most memorable track on the album,” by David Prakel, in his book, Rock 'n' Roll on Compact Disc (1987).

I had just downloaded a compilation of British pop songs from the mid-60’s that includes a track credited to Lesley Duncan, and wondered if it was the same person. Doing some research on the Interwebs led me to learn more about Duncan and the legacy of "Love Song." I found it has been covered by more than 150 artists over the years, but Duncan was never able to pull off a successful career as a featured artist herself, although she sang backup on numerous records, including Dark Side of the Moon. Before Elton recorded his version of "Love Song," I was amazed to find out David Bowie had recorded it on a demo tape for his folk duo Feathers, with John Hutchinson singing lead. That demo helped Bowie get signed to Philips/Mercury, shortly before making Space Oddity.

Here’s Bowie singing backup and probably playing 12-string guitar on his demo of Love Song:

After years of singing with the stars and releasing a couple of commercially neglected albums, Lesley retired to Mull, in the Inner Hebrides, with her second husband, Tony Cox. She was well known in her town, not as a singer, but as a smiling, cheerful woman who was often seen working in her garden.

After struggling for years with cerebrovascular disease, Lesley succumbed in March of this year at age 66. A recording of "Love Song" was played to her as she lay on her hospital bed. Her husband sensed a tremor of recognition in her body while it played, just before she passed away.

Uffie. Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans (2010).

Uffie polarizes critics.  From “catchy, fresh-sounding and brilliantly self-referential” on MusicOMH, to “Uffie sucks at just about everything” on Tiny Mix Tapes, writers are at odds on whether Uffie’s debut is treasure or trash.  Critics hating on her get themselves tied in knots attempting to express their indignation: “This is an anti-review. It’s supposed to be bad. Therefore you cannot raise an objection. See?”  Or,  “I’d rather not have to endure seeing someone eat their own sick,” both of these from the charming  Drowned In Sound review.

Collaborating with French producers, Mirwais, Mr Oizo, and Feadz, Uffie came up with this debut album four years after she became a sensation at age 19 with only a few tracks posted on her Myspace page (where the stats for plays are stratospheric).  Since then she got married, got divorced, and had a baby.

As soon as I heard Uffie’s album I wanted to listen to it over and over.  Its appeal only strengthened with repetition.  Many of the tracks sound classic to me, in the sense that they could become reference points, or maybe already have done (see the debate over Ke$ha).  

Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans is like a kinetic sculpture made of Jolly Ranchers.  The colors are bright,  it’s transparent, it’s sweet with a slight edge of tartness.  So, why all the critical objections?  She does brag quite a lot about being a success, and she outrages some by saying she’s not a lyricist, but just an entertainer.  Whether or not she’s a good or bad rapper isn’t even the point, I think she’s just using her voice as one part in a musical thing which we’ll call a “song,” for lack of better terminology.  I find her lazy lack of “flow” a refreshing relief.  I believe she’s playing a role that happens to be based on her life, similarly to how Andy talked about himself in the 60’s. It all comes off as a little too ironic and artistic to be taken at face value.  It’s not what it is, it is what it’s about (claro?).

I think I figured out what the fuss is all about.  Her music is neither ground-breaking Electro, nor is it innovative Hip Hop.  It’s actually just another hybrid sub-genre of Pop.  Hip Hop, Electro and Synthpop are simply reference points push-pinned up on Uffie’s personal inspiration wall.   And that irritates purists with no sense of humor.

Pop The Glock