1. Gene Clark – No Other LP (4AD)




So I know it feels all kinds of wrong to accord the 1 spot on this list to a hoary old canonical classic which by my reckoning has been widely and affordably available for years, but – this is Gene Clark’s ‘No Other’, fergodsake. They could re-issue the damned thing every other week so far as I’m concerned, and if a few more sorry souls tune in each time around, none of the plastic n’ cardboard will have gone to waste.

Readers who remain unfamiliar with this one will just have to believe me when I try to reassure them that, in this instance, the Mojo writers got it right. If you’ve ever found yourself enticed by Gram Parsons’ promise of Cosmic American Music but disappointed by the fact that his stuff (good tho it is) basically sounds like straight up country… I believe this may have been the record you were actually looking for.

There has been an unedifying trend in the early 21st century for every solo artist or indie band who made a few quid to immediately hue toward The Epic, recording precious and bombastic personal song-cycles in readiness for the end-of-year lists and the invitation to recreate them at the Albert Hall with a twenty-piece band and so on. Naturally, these records have almost always been godawful, forgettable guff, but their sickly memory can be instantly eradicated by dropping the needle on ‘No Other’ and hearing Gene Clark, one day in the mid-70s, rousing himself from a sundazed stupor of substance abuse and chronic self-sabotage, making a few phonecalls, booking some studio time, and proceeding to swim fucking laps around the rim of the cloud-capped musical grail which has so consistently eluded the well-scrubbed contenders of our own era.

Naturally I didn’t shell out the £100+ required for the big, box set version of this reissue with sleeve notes and documentaries and so forth (what do you think I am, someone’s dad or something?), so I remain ignorant of ‘No Other’s exact production circumstances, but basically it sounds as if Gene and credited producer Thomas Jefferson Kaye assembled a small army of the most gifted, consummate session players the world had to offer and drilled them until they were all playing exactly what they needed to play at any given moment across these eight colossally poignant, multi-faceted compositions.

Within these songs, gravelly nuggets of mordant, hard-won wisdom casually arise, delivered to us upon tendrils of tangled and baroque poetic sprawl, fragmentary images glimmering, withering and reviving once more upon each repeat play as the guitars and harpsichords fray and yearn, the backing singers swoon and the funk-savvy rhythm section kicks in like a double-shot of espresso. Gene’s voice itself meanwhile sounds like some distraught cowboy spirit guide, intercepted through those Webb/Campbell wires as he unfurls his scrolls of revelation and gives ol’ Percy Shelley a run for his money.

To my amateur ears, the new remaster of the album sounds a bit quieter than my old CD rip, with greater dynamic range seeming to give instrumental line more space once the volume is suitably adjusted, and dropping the compression which used to render the album’s relentless cosmic bombast rather tiring when played through in its entirety. A definite improvement, if I’m any judge.

Taken individually, each song on ‘No Other’ basically sounds like the kind of staggering masterpiece most artists could spend their entire career working up to. Together, they form like Voltron to make an uber-masterpiece of fearsome majesty, solid and palpable enough to eat up all this damn hyperbole and come back for more; one of those cultural artifacts which it is pretty much impossible to rate too highly.


2. David Behrman – On The Other Ocean LP  
(Lovely Music)





From February:

“Regardless of the processes that brought these recordings about, the results are serene, oceanic and absolutely delightful, veering away from academic, pure tone minimalism toward what I suppose may have been seen as the more cerebral end of the ‘new age’ spectrum. Drawing on my own listening experience, they certainly put me in mind of Emerald Web’s Silicon Valley laser show conjurations, Arthur Russell’s neo-classical ‘First Thought, Best Thought’ recordings, and some sort of perfect, shimmering dream of driving down through the hills to San Francisco harbour in a silent, pastel-coloured Cadillac powered by sunbeams. Rare and mirage-like 20th Century American Utopian vibes can be found here in abundance – an impossibly precious dream of compassionate, technologically-mediated progress, shining forever on black wax.”

(I’ve also subsequently been very much enjoying David Behrman’s Music With Memory album, recorded in collaboration with violinist Takehisa Kosugi and saxophonist Werner Durand, and reissued on the Alga Marghen label in 2017 – highly recommended.)


3. John Coltrane – Blue World LP  
(Impulse!/UMG)





So, yeah, I know the recent trend in “new, unheard album from legendary, god-like artist” releases has the potential to become teeth-grindingly tedious pretty quickly now that the major labels seem to have cottoned on to it as a good earner, and I’d demurred on these ‘new’ Coltrane albums in particular, on the basis that there are still a fair few old Coltrane albums I need to catch up with, but…. I happened to hear the take on ‘Blue World’ that gives this collection it’s name on the radio one day, and that was that - Universal Music Group got my dough (filtered through a friendly, independant local record shop, of course).

The sole ‘new’ composition uncovered on this session of alternate takes recorded by the classic Tyner/Garrison/Jones quartet in 1964 for use on the soundtrack to an otherwise obscure French-Canadian film (Gilles Groulx’s ‘Le Chat dans le Sac’), ‘Blue World’ itself is, indisputably, a keeper – a proto-cosmic nugget of blissed out grace, with Garrison’s lolloping, head-noddin’ bass line – initially doubled by Tyner on piano, before he begins twisting the groove in some characteristically interesting directions - pre-empting not only the rhythmic backbone of ‘A Love Supreme’ (recorded a few months later), but even Cecil McBee’s work on Alice’s psychedelic masterpiece ‘Journey in Satchidinanda’.

Elsewhere, quartet remain in a mellow, reflective kinda mood (presumably in keeping with the feel requested by director Groulx). The exquisitely tender ‘Naima’ has always been one of my favourite Coltrane numbers, so it’s great to be able to take in two alternate versions of it here (the second one particularly superb, with Trane throwing a few scale-shifting question marks into the central melody), and three takes of ‘Village Blues’ – originally from the 1961 ‘Coltrane Jazz’ album – are not to be sniffed at either, with the final one briefly evolving into a slightly more aggressive, though still light touch, modal work-out, Jones’ strident crash cymbal leading the way. Beginning with lengthy solos spots from both Garrison and Tyner before the boss eventually steps in to breath fire, the take on ‘Traneing In’ on side two stays pretty trad, dad, but is still totally sweet too.

As you’ll no doubt be aware, hearing these four guys playing together is basically the musical equivalent of watching the sun and moon rise simultaneously, so getting a bit more of it in ANY context is to be welcomed, irrespective of major label vinyl revival machinations, and these recordings do have a unique vibe to them that makes this album an invaluable addition to the Trane catalogue – a kind of low key, beautific kick-about, setting the scene and sing-posting new directions, before the boys began striding forward in earnest, cracking the next few big eggs of their leader’s hallowed discography.


4. Masayuki Takayanagi New Direction Unit – April is the Cruellest Month LP (Blank Forms)





I’d long been aware of this one’s status as a storied landmark of Japanese guitar extremity, but Blank Forms’ 2019 reissue has definitely helped me achieve a new appreciation for the album, having previously only experienced it through some extremely low-res mp3s downloaded from god-knows-where.

The two cuts on side A keep it low key, axe-wise, with Takayanagi’s growly wah-wah scrapes looming in the background like some nocturnal hunting beast as the rest of the group (flautist/woodwind guy Kengi Mori, bassist/cellist Nobuyoshi Ino and percussionist Hiroshi Yamazaki) instead come to the fore, building a mordant, rain-soaked sprawl of kaidan-ish avant gloom and “bad night in the saw mill” free improv. But, it’s for the side long ‘My Friend, Blood Shaking My Heart’ on the flip that this disc will really be remembered.

Therein, we hear one of the world’s most uncompromising guitarists going absolutely fucking postal across twenty plus minutes of howling, unrelenting chaos, pushing the physical limitations of flesh on strings on wood about as far as they’ll go before reaching a state of complete collapse.

It’s breath-taking, overwhelming stuff – Too Much on every level, as Takayanagi’s frothing, unhinged attack often makes it sound as he’s consumed the then non-existent rulebook for grind/death metal soloing and vomited that weak-ass shit back into the black heart of his own personal fury, whilst his equally hyped up collaborators follow suit, with Mori in particular going absolutely bat-shit on alto sax. (Even sounds as if someone’s twisting knobs on a analogue synth across the last five minutes or so – what gives?)

Somehow though, spread out across the track’s extended duration, this full bore, constantly climaxing sonic violence actually becomes a strangely meditative, cleansing experience – like sitting impassively at the calm centre of a city-totalling hurricane. It also, you’ll note, sounds almost exactly like Guttersnipe – no small boast for what is ostensibly a straight-to-tape 1975 jazz session, given the extended chains of magic, flashing LED covered boxes that band use to realise their sound.

5. Berto Pisano - Death Smiles on a Murderer OST 2xLP 
(Arrow)





‘Death Smiles on a Murderer’ is a quintessentially narcotic and incoherent Italian horror film from 1973 (I reviewed it here at my Other Place if anyone’s interested), but composer Berto Pisano arguably went above and beyond the call of duty when it came to composing the movie’s main theme – an epic, baroque fantasia which and which sounds like the accompaniment to a ballerina suffering from tuberculosis expiring during her final dance and witnessing the dust of her bones reforming itself into the shape of a gliding, celestial swan.

This remarkable melody – channelled in some instances through the inimitable vocal cords of Edda Dell’Orso - tunnels its way into the viewer’s brain across the course of the film like a flower-bearing, funereally-garbed earworm, and indeed, Arrow’s double LP soundtrack release features what feels like about a thousand variations on it, all equally wonderful.

Pisano continues to deliver elsewhere across these four sides of morbid delirium however, providing sinister stabs of exquisite fuzz guitar, abstract, percussion-led creep-outs, limpid orchestral atmospherics and even some ‘On The Corner’-style FX-filtered trumpet jams. Just about everything you could wish for in one of these things in other words – highly recommend for those who are in the mood (or wish to be).

Of course, there are inevitably also several clod-hopping, buzz-killing jaunty harpsichord waltz numbers provided to accompany the film’s ballroom scenes – very much the gothic horror equivalent of those god-awful ‘saloon piano’ tracks that tend to stink up Spaghetti Western soundtracks, guaranteed to send me leaping toward the turntable as if intercepting a thrown hand grenade… but that’s all part of the fun really, isn’t it?

Labels: Berto Pisano, best of 2019, comps & reissues, David Behrman, Gene Clark, John Coltrane, Masayuki Takayanagi New Direction Unit

What better way to move on from all the dreadful crap below than by laying down some brief thoughts on new or re-issued things that have caught my ears in the first six weeks of 2019?

These blurry-eyed winter months are always a bit weird when it comes to music-listening. I’m not sure why, really. Does anyone else find that? They tend to find me scrabbling around here and there in the wake of the big, end-of-year cut-off point, grabbing hold of bit and pieces of sound that seem to appeal to me, but without really having the time to fully unpack anything before life steamrollers it out of the way and I find myself crawling back to something familiar instead. Maybe it’s just me?

Anyway, on the rare occasions that I haven’t been falling back into the comfort zone of ‘80s Bevis Frond, Motorhead or ‘70s James Brown, I’ve found myself willing to cautiously commend the following to your attention.


Pye Corner Audio.



After giving a tentative thumbs up here to some of his earlier records a few years back, I’ve subsequently lost track of Martin Jenkins’ recordings as Pye Corner Audio, but his new ‘Hollow Earth’ album finds me back on the case, simply because these Ghost Box LPs with the Julian House design work are so pretty and reasonably priced, it almost seems a crime not to buy them. After all, they won’t be around forever.

In a sense, Pye Corner Audio strikes me as the hauntological electronica equivalent of, say, a mid-table thrash metal band, or a jazz group who play at local pubs on a Sunday afternoon, or something like that. By which I mean, his music doesn’t send me off on ecstatic reveries or leave me slack-jawed with instant revelation or anything, but it’s solid. It’s there when you need it, it ticks the boxes and does what it does. It’s reliable, like that super-strong wood glue from B&Q.

Listening to the woozy, out-of-sync synth line that opens this LP, you might be inclined to think, well, we already have one Boards of Canada, how badly do we need another? But, as things crack on and Jenkins gets stuck into his trademark MO – essentially stripping the BoC idiom back to its strongest core elements, replacing their somewhat dated break-based drum programming with some throbbing 4/4 mutant techno and adding a heavy dose of John Carpenter style dystopian sci-fi dread – I think you’ll be hard-pressed not to give him the nod. Bits of this even remind me of Goblin’s music from ‘Tenebrae’, which I love, and the whole thing sounds great through my amp and speakers for whatever reason [“PROBABLY BECAUSE I MASTERED IT PROPERLY,” yells the underappreciated mastering engineer somewhere in the distance]. So, yeah – awesome.


Durand Jones & The Indications.



Although the revival of classic soul / jazz / funk sounds that’s been picking up steam over the past few years has undoubtedly been a happy thing to witness, I’ve not fully engaged with it thus far, simply because, well…. there’s still no shortage of actual 60s / 70s soul records available at competitive prices in the second hand record shops I frequent, so why would I feel the need to dive head first into what is essentially a retro reconstruction of those sounds, when there is still so much of the “real thing” I’ve yet to become fully acquainted with..?

Which brings us neatly to my experience of turning on the radio one Sunday lunchtime a few weeks back and hearing ‘Morning in America’ by Durand Jones & The Indications, convinced that I was listening to the best, most f-ing epic, socially conscious ‘70s soul jam I’d heard in years. Real “HOW have I not heard this before?!” territory, y'know. Just, wow. In truth, by the time the (excellent) fuzz guitar break kicked in toward the end, I’d twigged that this was probably one of those new, fangled retro soul groups, but, for a few minutes there, they had me fooled pretty good.

Although I am currently only able to listen to three tracks from the band’s forthcoming ‘American Love Call’ LP on the Dead Oceans label, they are so good that I’m willing to consider the possibility that they mark the point at which the retro-soul movement not only matches but actually threatens to surpass the benchmark set down by Curtis Mayfield, Bobby Womack et al, officially breaking the back of recorded history and causing 2019 to blur straight back into 1972 as if the horrible, intervening years had simply not happened.

Given that it has basically been life-long dream to live in a perpetual replay of the early 1970s, this is fine with me I suppose, and, given the intimidating level of technical and vocal expertise required to make good soul music, I think we can hopefully be reassured that we won’t be looking at a repeat of the Great Garage Rock Collapse of the early ‘00s a few years down the line, with a cut-price version of the Detroit Spinners sloppily banging it out on every street corner, expecting us to be knocked out by their vintage threads and dues-paying cover versions.

Basically I think, it feels churlish in these dark times to turn yr nose up at sounds as essentially good and wholesome as these, regardless of vintage, so why not take this opportunity to get on board? (With apologies in advance is the unlikely event that the other nine cuts on the record turn out to be rubbish.)


Farce.



One of the more exciting new bands I’ve scoped out recently on London’s DIY punk scene, Farce bravely move beyond the doggedly grooveless, second-practice level bleating h/c that sadly seems to form the inheritance of so many of these one-word-name, mayfly lifespan ensembles. Naturally this means embracing the grind, which they do in earnest, punching and tearing their way toward something approaching a multi-gendered, multi-ethnic reclamation of the early Napalm Death / Extreme Noise Terror sound – which is just as much of a fucking brilliant idea as it sounds, to be honest.

Well, I say that, but -- I’m not sure that that feeling, which I took from watching the band live, is quite captured on their demo, which takes a more of a straight-down-the-line crust / hardcore approach (not to mention some weird separation on the recordings, vocals are too high in the mix for my liking, and that bass sound on the bits where the other instruments drop out – jeezus). But, still, the sheer energy on this thing just kills, and the more grind adjacent tracks (‘Another Lie’, ‘Death By 1000 Cuts’) get where they need to go and then some.

True to form, the lyrics (as dutifully transcribed on the tape insert) sure ain’t subtle, but they certainly hit hard, getting straight to the point with a raw fury that snaps the neck of my middle-aged condescension. Great stuff. I hope this lot manage to hang around long enough to develop their sound and make a bit of an impact. Catch them playing amid the tear gas on a flatbed truck near you, should things really go Worst Case Scenario later this year [nervous laughter].


David Behrman.



On the reissues front meanwhile, I’ve been very much enjoying this exceptionally nice example of what I suppose you’d call early electro-acoustic improvisation, in which analogue synth, flute, bassoon and cello find themselves playing side by side with ‘harmonic responses’ generated by a series of sound-generating algorithms programmed into whatever passed for a ‘microcomputer’ in 1977. (Just imagine the quantity of Bakelite involved!)

As Behrman evocatively puts it in his sleeve notes for the current reissue on the aptly named Lovely Music label, the ‘On the Other Ocean’ sessions grew from a collective enthusiasm for “..homemade electronics with its mysterious knobs, its lexan enclosures with the screw holes drilled not quite in the right places and its hand-wired circuit boards inside; for idiosyncratic brews of electronic timbres that were not trying to imitate the sounds of the real world.” Nice.

Regardless of the processes that brought these recordings about however, the results are serene, oceanic and absolutely delightful, veering away from academic, pure tone minimalism toward what I suppose may have been seen as the more cerebral end of the ‘new age’ spectrum. Drawing on my own listening experience, they certainly put me in mind of Emerald Web’s silicon valley laser show conjurations, Arthur Russell’s neo-classical ‘First Thought, Best Thought’ recordings, and some sort of perfect, shimmering dream of driving down through the hills to San Francisco harbour in a silent, pastel-coloured Cadillac powered by sunbeams. Rare and mirage-like 20th Century American Utopian vibes can be found here in abundance – an impossibly precious dream of compassionate, technologically-mediated progress, shining forever on black wax.

Speaking of which….


Headroom.



Headroom was formerly a solo project of Kryssi Battalene, lead guitarist of New Haven, CT’s Mountain Movers (see review in my botched end of year list below), but it has seemingly been expanded to a full band line up for ‘New Heaven’ (see what they did there?), a new 12” of sprawling, loose-limbed psychedelic rock on the Ever/Never label.

Reviews I’ve read have all pulled Bardo Pond out of the bag as the go-to reference point here, and, though I would contend that Bardo’s approach is significantly removed from anything found here (cf: far thicker guitar textures, flute, structured / dramatic song construction etc), I can nonetheless see where they’re coming from.

I mean, there’s (sadly) very little else in the canon of Great American Rock Music that you can reach for to get a bead on this sort of thing, wherein slo mo bass and drum hits groove away in perfect, quaalude-fucked unison whilst a small fortune’s worth of dearly beloved pedals are fed to the gaping maw of Battalene’s speaker cabinet, conjuring weirdly bucolic, green-tinged swathes of fungal, feedbackin’ magnificence, occasionally accompanied by breathy, wordless delay/reversed vocals, like music to accompany the sensation of gazing at bacteria through a microscope in Biology class, a day or so after your first ever acid trip, whilst the sun is shining outside, and really you just want to go and run around and stick your face in the grass.

Or, that’s what I get out of it, anyway. I could listen to music like this forever basically, so I’m happy to have it. For all the excess inherent in this kind of guitar-playing, there’s an admirable avoidance of bombast here, a sort of laidback, accidental feel, and a warm, analogue distance to the recordings, which feels very appealing to me, coming as it does at a point in time when all forms of heavy music seem to be constantly upping the ante in terms of volume, compression and general mind-buggering immensitude. As with the Mountain Movers albums, it feels a bit old fashioned in that regard. In a good way, I mean. It’s just a nice record to hang with, if you like psychedelic guitar music. No expectation, no pretence. Just enjoy the sounds, cos they’re pretty sweet.

Labels: David Behrman, Durand Jones & The Indications, Farce, Headroom, Pye Corner Audio