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.

Endless Bob Brown...music was my first love...

It's not at all the raison d'être of this little soap-box to self-aggrandise (just that one little link to my music over there on the right isn't much is it!!). But something slightly funny has happened, which I guess is a function of the fact that the great worldwide-blogosphere-webby-sponge eventually leaves no stone whatsoever unturned. And so it comes to pass that a band I was in as a thin gaunt youth in the 80s seems to be stirring some interest, more than two decades after the event. PleaseRainFall, the main blog in question, has even released an online EP. That band was Endless Bob Brown, so named after a chant a stage-invader repeated and repeated - religiously, loudly - at a very early Birthday Party gig. It left an impression on me and might explain to this chap, a fan of the music, that the name is not "mince" (used as an un-flattering adjective). On reflection I can sort of see what he means about the name, but yes - Endless Bob Brown was my band - along with my friends Bryn, Guy and Tim. We were from the provinces; the West Midlands; mainly Kidderminster but with a foot in the Black Country. We were pretty good. But we were (on reflection) perennial under-achievers - not Biz-ready - not street-wise - and certainly not confident (at least outside the garage where we rehearsed). I think this is the story of so many other bands like us. We were the children of our influences for sure, but not just musically. Successful, no-compromise bands like the Smiths and Joy Division fed our sense of pride in being "outsiders" who would not "play the game" and who would abide faithfully - come what may - to a pure idea of artistic endeavour. This approach was, to be truthful, an iron-clad guarantee of ZERO SUCCESS, but despite that I must admit, I still kind of believe in it. To this day I remain puritanical and obsessed about music; often to a perspective-distorting extent. I can't really take it lightly. I mean, should a 40-something father, who works for a leading current affairs magazine, feel that the financial-crisis pales as a news story besides the debate over the rights and wrongs of a Specials reunion (wrong by the way)?

But in truth we did have our chances; the offer of a tour with the Chills (a band of the moment), patronage and support from UB40's producer, to name just a couple, but a combination of laziness and distraction (we were all heading off to different worlds - university, jobs etc) foiled even these "open goals". We all continued to do music and we all do today. Bryn and I kept at it as a band on-and-off, well into the acid-fueled l'eighteis (with Elation). Then Super 8 was our Pulp-inspired Brit-pop affair right up until I left Birmingham for London in 1996 (where funnily enough I eventually found a modicum of "real" success with actual releases on a record label). I think all the bands were at least "pretty good" - but we always had that self-imposed ceiling on real-world ambition. It doesn't matter, because being in Endless Bob Brown and subsequent bands was great fun - sort of - but it is still gratifying to find that all these years later some people are discovering and loving the music. So I modestly suggest that if you are reading this (stupid comment eh) you have a little click here and on those earlier links to see some nice things that people have said about us. It's undoubtedly good for my ego, but really and truthfully I actually think the writings and enthusiasm of these folks deserves an audience too.

A matter of local pride

Well there I was, crammed sardine-like into a Southwark bound Jubilee line tube on Wednesday night, subconsciously scanning those banner ads they have on the trains (they work so well becasue folk so strenousuly try to avoid eye contact that what else are they going to look at) when I spotted the one below for The Times and being a vinyl head I began mentally thumbing through my list of London emporiums trying to get a match. Then it dawned on me. Yes I do know it. But it's not a London shop at all. In fact it's Plastic Wax on Bristol's Gloucester Road (probably one of the last streets in Britain where you can still do a record shop crawl). Quite exciting really. Gave me some joy on a bloody horrible tube anyway. Must go up there at the weekend.

Weren't the Woodentops good?

I don't know why but a song by the Woodentops popped into my head the other day, prompting me to fish out "Giant", their first album - on Rough Trade - which came out around the same time as the Smiths' debut in the mid-80s. There was quite a buzz about them at the time and I saw them live at least twice (they were top-notch live - very tight - very intense). But they seem to have become something of a forgotten band considering their prominence at the time. Anyway - I'm not about to write a potted history or a plea for recognition/reappraisal here. But I would like to say I massively enjoyed the first album on re-listening. I'll be putting at least a couple of Woodentops songs on February's compilation - freshly ripped and slightly scratchy from two decades old vinyl - nice.

Final Fantasy - and why impulse buying is cool

I wondered a couple of weeks back if last year's end of year round-up from Pitchfork would throw up any gems. The answer is a resounding YES. Final Fantasy is a band I hadn't come across before. It's actually not really a "band" so much as a quasi-solo project. In this case of Toronto-based Owen Pallett who seems to have flourished as a collaborator with high-flyers like the Arcade Fire ( he did the orchestral and string arrangements on both Funeral and Neon Bible) while his own rather brilliant output has dipped under many radars (including mine until now). Via the Pitchfork list I heard a track called "The Butcher" which it said was the 99th best track of 2008 (is that damning with faint praise?). I loved it and swiftly went online to research and ended up buying three CDs from this nice record shop in Canada, which is also a co-operative co-founded by Owen Pallett.



The discs duly arrived mid-January. Now it's always exciting receiving such exotic goodies from afar, but I don't mind admitting that my heart skips a few extra beats when I buy records I have hardly heard. It's a risky business; more so when your lead has come from a track already picked out as a standout which could just mean it'll be downhill from there. And undoubtedly, I've had my fair share of disappointments, but oh the joy, the delicious sense of EUREKA!, when a gem is uncovered. And to be perfectly honest, there's a distinct feeling of reflected brilliance when ones own nose for for sniffing out quality is shown to be so damn keen. Of course me blogging about me discovering this proves the latter point! Final Fantasy is what I'd call a true gem - a pearl in fact - and along with my newly acquired complete collection of Ghost Box recordings, the CDs have been on constant rotation since they arrived. The music couldn't be more different to Ghost Box's stuff mind you. This is baroque chamber pop with occasional operatic flourishes, in the vein of the Divine Comedy, circa "Promenade" (though stranger, more off kilter and just a little lo-fi). The prominence of strings and the excellence of the string arrangements are the most distinctive features but Owen's voice is smashing; a delicate, slightly tremulous tenor (which is occasionally winningly overwrought) . It's not unlike Zach Condon's (Beirut), another collaborator, who also contributed to the most recent of the records, "Spectrum, 14th Century". This is the one that features "The Butcher" along with four other tracks. It's great EP and like the others has some really good artwork.

It is actually true that "The Butcher" is probably the standout track from this EP but the pick of the three CDs is undoubtedly the second album "He Poos Clouds" (apparently a compliment - your shit don't smell natch). This is a magnificent collection featuring a number of beautifully rich songs. My favourite at the moment is the heart-wrenching "I'm Afraid of Japan" which reminds me of nothing so much as the existential movie masterpiece, Monsieur Hire. I'm doing some monthly compilations this year and it's plain that Final Fantasy and Ghost Box will feature prominently on January's and maybe beyond. Brilliant stuff.