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I'm a sucker for fragmented compositions. They're an easy way to invoke the landscape of dreams. Or nightmares, depending on your state of mind. Takeo Toyama has some big-scale ambition in terms of the elements he brings together. I'm not sure the result really adds up, but I like the world it begins to construct. Title-wise, I don't really see where porno comes into the picture, but hey, that's dreams for ya.
Wouldn't you know it...a week of work stress segues right into a weekend of sore-throated body fatigue, flirting with a full-on cold. I'm always amazed how the body—ever loyal to external obligations—keeps it together just long enough to collapse when free time comes around.
Anyway, bring on the over-the-counter feelgood agents. And throw in some semi-hallucinogenic African thumb piano grooves. This one would be a dreamy head-bobber if the dude's voice didn't detour into a terrifying place at 2:32 and 3:22. An apt segue back to the workweek.
German synthy songstress Barbara Morgenstern is one of those musicians who hits the balance between catchy and inventive so frequently that you forget how hard that feat is. Sorta like the perennial All-Star who only attracts attention when the knees start to go. I'm lost in her world right about now, and quite happy about it.
"The Operator" was her hit from a few years ago. Here's a version that sets the song's lurching/spooky notes stomping around the creaky floor, and then brings them slowly down the stairs in sparkly evening dress.
Spent the weekend being an audience member in eclectic situations — a one-woman stage play, an NBA basketball game, a medieval re-enactment in New Jersey. After that, I'm all ears for these guys making quiet and pretty guitar sounds in a Chicago loft some 15 years ago.
Veteran 'blague readers know that I usually have to jump out of the car when the aimless jamming sets in. Which means that instrumental funk bands (especially post-1970s) start out with a big strike against them. It takes a snappy groove and/or some eyebrow-raising instrumental dexterity to keep along for the ride. These Chicago dudes are scoring on both counts for me today.
Drum chops watchers: note the sweet little turnaround at 2:23. Figure it out and throw it in your bag of tricks.
I love a song that puts the big dumb goofy smile on my face. It's important to be in touch with your simpering inner self lest you get lost in the brave faces of adulthood. Here's one that calls to mind those parties where someone brings in the ether tank and everyone's like "oh, yeah? Oh..yeah!"
Nothing like a business trip to make you appreciate the virtues of home. Some people are invigorated by the suitcase-dragging life and savor the constant sense of newness each hotel brings. I am not one of these people. When I'm traveling on the clock, slapstick disaster is always just a moment away. Logistics won't behave, and keeping the caravan of personal affects together is like herding a pack of restless dogs. It's no vacation, to be sure. Which makes me appreciate the astral flights of Sun Ra even more. Especially when they feel like the soundtrack to a very cheap '50s sci-fi film.
Sun Ra and the Myth Science Arkestra - Eve
Think about the kind of music you'd make if you lived under a military dictatorship. Would it reflect your turmoil and repression and come out all frantic and violent? Would it sound like giving up? Or would it groove and soar? I can't help but have affection for Brazilian musicians — Tropicalia and otherwise — who responded to the ugly realities of power by making music that was beautiful and full of sunlit spark. Soul of the sol, so to speak. Enjoy this one for a while. The 'blague will be laying low the rest of the week.
Gotta give it up for this unlikely assemblage of talent. Patrice Rushen, Freddie Hubbard, Ian Underwood, Airto Moreira, and others join very smiley trombonist Raul de Souza to bust out the Latin fusion disco jams. There's not much to say about a groove like this. Just tuck your shirt in and keep your sweat in check as you throw yourself around the room. (Oh also, join me in a little raised glass for Songblague's 4th anniversary.)
I think I've fully expressed my affection for C86 pop. But it's been a while since I got smacked upside the head with such a jangling gob of the stuff. So when it happens, I have to go all bobble-headed, and not utter the slightest complaint about how much like a singsong (albeit childishly vindictive) Morrissey the singer is trying to posture himself. It's important to get past these things.
