Connections - Drone/Exotica/Minimal/Hauntological

Music (that hardly exists) was my first love.
A long long time ago (I'm talking 1984 here in the days of new-romantic flamboyance and post-punk noise fests) I went to see Jonathan Richman and was kind of amazed to witness the lengths he went to to play quietly. During the set, which culminated in an a cappella version of "Walter Johnson", Jonathan asked for instruments to be turned down, decided that the drummer should play with brushes, and then hands, before encoring without even a mic. He literally did go out with a whisper, which made the euphoric applause that greeted his unusual performance sound even louder than it was. This was not then or has ever been since seen as a conventional way to satisfy either performers or audiences in rock music, performances of which are often ruined by an over-reliance on brute-force volume. But it struck a chord with me and what it showed was how lightness and subtle nuance can truly rock your world.
Subsequently I've come to notice that a lot of music I love - and this may sound an odd way of expressing it - seems to barely exist, comprising of tiny ripples of sound with modulations and minute adjustments. It is almost tenuous. I guess it's why I took to acid house and why this year I have gone doolally over the music released on Ghost Box and a micro-genre generally called "drone". It's kind of given that this hazy approach to sound is key in those two. But this is also a defining characteristic of some other, less obvious music too. As noted in a pleased-with-myself earlier post, I just got a pristine copy of Arthur Lyman's Taboo. I was rather cooing about the actual item in that post and didn't say too much about the music, which I've been digesting in the last week. Lyman is very much a key figure in "exotica" and was one of those artists rediscovered during the "lounge-core" trend of the late 90s. This whole scene was very much based around an image of retro fun, frivolity and cocktail playfulness exemplified in titles such as "Space-Age Bachelor Pad Music" and saw a number of great artists like Esquivel, Martin Denny and Les Baxter restored from ignominious (qu)easy-listening posterity. In my mini-post I leapt onto the Esquivel similarities, of which there are many (extravagant use of percussion, lashings of spring reverb and a "kid in the toyshop" application of the then relatively uncommon and novel ability to record and release in stereo "hi-fidelity") but, there is a more potent vibe at work in the Lyman stuff. This guy really plays it quiet. There is an absence of those cartoonesque stabs of whacky percussion that were an Esquivel trademark and instead the music often fades in to the distance as ambient washes of wind, wave, bird or jungle sounds well up. In actual fact this is not a million miles away from the campfire vibe of some of Animal Collective's work and those washes of ambient noise bring to mind Basic Channel's dubby minimalism. This music is simply not "in your face". In terms of my very recent listening it sits beautifully alongside Belbury Poly (Ghost Box) and the beautiful drone ambience of Chihei Hatakeyama (whom I will be posting about soon).

Luke Haines' britpop memoir

"Bad Vibes: Britpop and my part in its downfall", by Luke Haines is definitely worth a peruse if you take your nostalgia un-rose-tinted and served with a good measure of misanthropy. It's mainly pretty funny and certainly gets off to a hilarious start with a recollection of how a stage-invading dwarf somewhat spoilt his band the Auteurs' swansong live show in France. It's pretty dark, very immodest (he has an appealingly over-inflated sense of his own place in musical history) and mentions plenty of actual names and places as it reveals to the reader how a sizable chunk of Britain's indie music scene in the 1990s evolved into (or came to be known as) britpop. Anyone with a fondness or interest in the era will enjoy the numerous anecdotes featuring characters from the scene (from household name Damon Albarn to the eternally cult Lawrence from Felt and Denim). But Mr Haines has few complimentary things to say about many of the great, the good (and the hardly-remembered also-rans) of that musical decade. In particular, I doubt Matt Johnson (The The) will likely be sharing a pint with Mr Haines any time soon. Oasis feature often as the object of the author's scorn and such is the cutting eloquence of these numerous put downs that I almost began to feel sorry for Noel Gallagher and co (I did say almost). He depicts himself as some kind of britpop fifth columnist - in there at the heart of the scene, agitating; quietly detesting and disdainful of the competition (more successful and otherwise). The odd grudging acknowledgment of rare good moments by peers (like Pulp's "Common People" for example) only serves to heighten the sense the reader gets of being on a journey with Mr Haines through a musical decade, kicking against the pricks, and cocking irreverent snoops to all and sundry along the way. But despite the spikiness you do empathise and the overall impression is that beneath the entertaining veil of superiority, a more humble present day Haines exists. In fact, as the author himself says in the intro, the impressions and views he describes were as he felt them at the time and do not necessarily reflect his current thinking (though it has to be said that the verve with which he regularly diminishes Oasis and its members seems rather too gleeful to be yesterday's feast). And as Mr Haines' band were indeed right in there at the start, this makes for a very insightful and witty dissection of the whole britpop phenomenon. Those familiar with his music will already know him as lyricist skilled at evoking and deconstructing past cultural eras. It's a strength he has managed to carry through to this enjoyable trek through a particular epoch in British music. Highly recommended especially if you have ever led a band yourself and fancied yourself as the greatest. And perhaps especially if you always thought Oasis were shit.

Taboo

Quite excited this morning that I managed to pick up an absolutely immaculate original pressing of Arthur Lyman's "Taboo" at my local market. I've been after this for a long time and always held back on copies I saw because of over-pricing and/or rubbish condition. This one's the bees knees though - the vinyl and the sleeve are near perfect. It's something to purr about. Look at the picture. The sleeve is still so shiny you can see my reflection in it! It's classic easy listening - but the kind of thing that never really deserved that tag, although it is undoubtedly easy on the ear. Very exotic sounding with a a definite South Pacific/Latin vibe but really "out there" sound and production-wise. File under "exotica" along with Esquivel, Martin Denny and the like.