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Anxiously waiting for the baby's arrival leads to fidgety Spotify trolling, which leads to a Byrds rabbithole, which leads to some surprising enjoyment of their transition to country styles, which leads to more surprising enjoyment of this groovy, serpentine deep cut, which leads to cherry-on-top surprise at their ability to navigate a 5/4 meter. Now back to that anxious waiting...
Another one from college/post-college days. I haven't kept up with the continuing adventures of Tara Jane O'Neil, but I'm right pleased to have fresh ears for her haunted, strummed ditties of yore. I keep putting this album on and commence to tasks that don't compel me to restlessly change up the music. Which means I'm enjoying it in an attention span-preserving way. Which is therapeutic.
Alright, Polvo! I'm been in total rock-out for days listening to their second reunion album. I'm equal parts glad that they've still got it and that they're getting their snaky, mathy ya-yas out with the hooks proudly out front. This one may meander a bit, but the energy doesn't let up, and neither does my steady, dumb head bobbin'.
I wonder if there's some astronomical, Halley's Comet-esque formula that decides when I get into a Kate Bush obsession. When it comes around, there's really no substitute. Oftentimes the deep album cuts are the most pleasing. Like this little interlude on Never For Ever that seems to reference English composer Frederick Delius (whom I know almost nothing about) and floats past a couple eerie moments at 0:50 and 1:50 to maintain an uncharacteristically placid atmosphere. Good on her for knowing that wild Kate bits are all the more powerful when she holds them in reserve.
How cool was Tony Williams? When he was 17, he was a prodigy behind the drums, propelling Miles Davis's legendary mid-'60s quintet, which was probably the best aggregation of talent Davis ever had. He was also a budding jazz composer in his own right, creating sophisticated pieces like this one here. (And he had the tastefulness to not even pick up his sticks for it!) His Life Time album is just as essential as any other '60s Blue Note classic. Which makes it unfortunate that Williams spent his adult career being a whole lot less cool with a bunch of dubious Fusion albums, and staining the luster of that record by using it as the band name for those dubious albums. Like the proverbial high school football star, Williams never bested his teenage self. So it goes. At least we can enjoy the high water mark now.
While we're dealing in French decadence, here's one from another end of the spectrum. I recently gave the cult sci-fi classic Fantastic Planet a whirl on the DVD player. Having long regarded it as one of those movies meant to be watched under the influence of whatever psych drugs you fancy, I realized it's pretty damn freaky/psychedelic/disturbing all on its own. Maybe my mind is just apt to get deep inside a story of cosmic genocide in a crazy weird organic alien landscape, but I found it affecting in more ways than I probably should. And in no small part due to the very baked and desolately minimal soundtrack.
Well, sorry but it's true. If you're beautiful, stylish, and charismatic, you can have a crap voice and still be a pop star. What's more, you might even convince good songwriters to create vehicles upon which to build your mystique. And years later, many might look back fondly at the era you accidentally helped define. C'est la vie.
Ladies and gentleman...welcome to High Rollers skating rink, where it's always Saturday night and always a cosmic roller disco adventure! I'll be your host for the evening, or at least until I pass out from taking hits from my nitrous tank. Meanwhile, lace up those skates, get out on the floors, and lose yourself in our magic lights. Also, don't forget to visit the snack bar. And now, take it away, Mr. Leon Lowman...
Though their heyday predates my birth by a couple decades, I feel a weird kinship with the charmingly rosy-lensed dudes who tried to intermingle jazz and classical threads in the late '50s. Imagine the vibe at those sessions led by the likes of George Russell and Gunther Schuller in their tweedy best. I picture big smiles and arms wildly gesticulating as the whole big gang tries to will a colorful utopia into being. It petered like all those movements end up doing, but not without leaving behind some choice cuts like this one.
Is this a monstrosity? Cheer-Accident's longstanding commitment to signature mathy/proggy styles crashes headlong into a tender-hearted love of '70s AOR piano progressions. It's a strange, twitchy beast that results, and you wonder if this new species should have an island all its own to play out its possible destiny. Maybe one day...
Just as actually getting a Halloween costume together got away from me, so did posting a song specific to the holiday. I'll try to catch up. While a Nick Cave-type creeper might've been more obvious, I find the pretty/slinky/spooky vibe of this one more in line with that queasy feeling as evening light gives away to more sinister possibilities in the night. Courtesy of Wayne Horvitz and his erstwhile gang of sonic sorcerers.
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