Jazz in exile

I guess it was musical destiny for '60s free jazz heavyweights to get lost in the '70s, figuring out how to be funky and create a future that might be more plausible than the crushed hopes of the previous decade. And how many of those albums were only released in Japan? Which must have made for a different perspective on the state of jazz to come over there. So it was with Marion Brown. Here are a couple rare treats — one a pleasant Latin-tinged workout, the other a double saxophone duet that I find rather lyrical and with a well-considered sense for when things should get all skronky-like. 

Marion Brown — Mangoes

Marion Brown — And Then They Danced

Brainwaves

And as sure as eggs is eggs, the first frosty breaths of air have got me nursing a sore throat and swollen glands and cheerleading on the sidelines as my white blood cells rush onto the playing field. Meanwhile, my mind takes refuge in some abstract sound explorations. This one just mesmerizes me. Like having sudden visions of vast nebulae from several angles at once, as inner and outer space imitate one another. And I haven't even gotten into the cold medicine yet.

Robert Schroeder — The Inside Of Feeling

That cold

Now that autumn is making its dour way onto the scene, it seems a good time to take a musical visit to the No Fun Dept. I admit that for all my instrumental admiration and general political sympathy, I have a hard time not making funny faces in the general direction of This Heat. Someone needs to bring a little levity to the air. Otherwise, it's like listening to a very earnest, utterly humorless grad student holding forth at the bar about the systemic injustice of our economic reality and the Marxist inevitabilities that are all that can save us. That dubious discussion aside, I do wholeheartedly enjoy the severe musical bombast of Charles Hayward's guises. Especially in the increasing chill of the air.

Camberwell Now — Daddy Needs A Throne

The truth about Benghazi...

is that some surprisingly delectable multicultural pop originated from there. And most people only think about Libya when dictators fall or when Republicans spew conspiracy theories. Ahmed Fakroun went on to achieve global stardom with some slick crossover tunes. I'm sure this early-'80s number would sound equally slick if subjected to proper digital cleanup, but I like the scratchiness of this version. Sounds desert-dusty and jerry-rigged from a scan of radio fragments of its day.

Ahmed Fakroun — Fil Moden El Kibira

Nights out

If I had a dime for all the rock narratives with well-meaning male singers who messed things up with their ladyfriend, and now she's out on the street among all kinds of danger, and he only wishes he'd done something different and would do epic task TBD to get her back in his safe arms. It's a funny strand of patriarchal condescension — the sleazy and the daddy rolled into one. Kinda awful and yet classic enough to maybe be a useful reflection on the culture that produces it. And certainly worthy of a representative moment here.

The Only Ones — Out There In The Night

Beyond the darkness

Maybe a new 'blague appearance from Goblin would've been more appropriate for Halloween. But having just seen a performance from their much-belated first tour ever tour of America (?!), I couldn't wait. Horror soundtracks have a way of standing on their own, and Goblin's proggy stylings would be just as evocative even if they didn't soundtrack a whole gamut of grotesquerie. And it sounds just delightful booming out form the rockstar stage. 

Goblin — Quiet Drops

Goblin — Pillage

Let me be your one light

Still reeling from last night's viewing of Gravity in all its 3D, vertiginous, space is awe-inspiring/freezing/vastly and utterly inhuman splendor. My mind casts out to a space object that is a much easier fit for romantic paeans. This one is worthy reading of Big Star's classic; a beautiful light pours out of it.  

His Name Is Alive — Blue Moon

Vibe visions

A band built around a hyperactive drummer and a relatively mellow vibesman yields some fun contrasts, like gears moving at different speeds. The backwards tape opening is an easy signifier for waking up bleary-eyed from an accidental nap, but the rest of the tune suggests that it's just the beginning of another sound dream. Jazzy chord sequences over hypnotic rhythms are surely the stuff of comfy dreams, and this one might just spill over into the part of Saturday morning where you look at the sky and wonder what degree of consciousness qualifies as actually waking up. 

The Dylan Group — Division Long

Plastic Japan

Here is one of the aforementioned sounds that has kept in steady orbiting my head the last few months. Sylvian unveiled his solo career with a little help and a lot of inspiration from Ryuichi Sakamoto. His post-Japan work may have gotten lost in a sea of caramel over-trilling, but his first few years were right stylish and still quite easy on the ears. Another triumph of familiar placelessness.

David Sylvian and Ryuichi Sakamoto — Bamboo Houses (remix)

Home bound

Well, pardon me please. I dip my head under water, and a month and a half of blague-lessness goes by. I would've thought that rapid change in multiple areas of my life would've inspired songworthy postings. The music in my head never stopped, but somehow I haven't felt compelled to push any of it out into the common air. Until...now (cue ominous rumblings, panning left to right ). Maybe moments of transition just speak for themselves, and things have to settle into place a bit before a day's song makes its wishes known. At any rate, here's a lilting little ditty that goes swimmingly with wandering around a new home and getting to know its character. 

The Ladybug Transistor — Brighton Bound