skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Yellow Magic Orchestra is one of those bands I've liked more in theory than in fact. Combining Kraftwerky roboticism and a playful riff on Western notions of Japanese exoticism is a conceptual winner, even if the music doesn't always pull it through. But then they unleash a secret weapon in Akiko Yano, who I wish they made their frontwoman for more than just the occasional tour. I'm totally smitten with everything about her on this tune — the voice, the dancing, the headphones, all wrapped in a delicious synthy dream.
Funny how different ears hear music differently. Top shelf hard bop trumpeter Freddie Hubbard jumps out of the jazz crates into mid-'60s grooviness with this jam. To the non-jazz kids, this is infectiously swingin'. And yet you can hear the band practically straining to iron the swing out of the beat, like the curls out of their hair. No judgments, and certainly it's a hot one. Just funny, is all. And best enjoyed inside a tight turtleneck.
OK, just one more from the extended Can family. All-star dream team bands are usually a dicey proposition. Just ask many a prog rock outfit or the Brooklyn Nets. The egos in the room tend to suck the life out of the music. Or everyone has a different idea of what's going on. The solution seems to lie in not taking things too seriously.
I'm not sure who put this band together, but who can help but be intrigued by this assemblage, especially considering Jaki Liebezeit is on drums and Arthur Russell wrote the lyrics. Despite his early technical innovations, I enjoy almost nothing The Edge has put his name to, so this company is a nice surprise. This tune sounds like nothing any of these guys are known for. It's like they met up on the bandstand at a German nightclub and improvised something that works for both dinner and dancing. All in all, a very pleasing way to spend the next 8 minutes of your life.
Now this is why I've always been a bad completist. No completist at all, really. Obsessed as I have sometimes been with Can, I've spent precious little time digging into their not-too-intimidatingly-large solo catalogs. And even there, I've privileged Holger Czukay, who seemed to be the most interesting one (and I say that despite my highest admiration for Jaki Liebezeit's divine beatkeeping). So, happy surprises upon recently absorbing some albums by keyboardist Irmin Schmidt.
It's impossible to tell who contributed what to Can's totally unique stew. But on his own, Schmidt seemed much more melodically inclined. I'm especially digging his Musk At Dusk album (does the title sound better in German?), and this tune gives a sense of what Can might've sounded like if they'd tried to go be a straight-up pop rock band. Which is of course, not straight-up at all, but just weird enough to ripple the pleasant waters.
Ahh, reminded again of how the Can men are such masters of sounds to get oneself into some far innerspaces. In this case, light tremolo riffing and soft disco drum phrasings lead the way to a few minutes of ghostly magic. And here I thought Czukay had only one solo masterpiece. Good to know he had some more stashed away in that 'stache.
The first workweek of the year presented a not-so-easy return to reality. Life is easier when you can carve out a little domestic cocoon and stay busy with all the maintenance tasks of a baby-centric household. But it seems all stresses can be absorbed, and there's no reason why cleaning up milky messes can't become an acceptable start to the workday. Still, there's nothing better than watching the little lady coo and gently stir in her sleep. I'm sure her dreams are amazing in ways no one will ever understand. Maybe some of them sound like this.
Color me impressed. The weather division has finally caught up to the kind of yellow journalism that the rest of the news media operates by and managed to turn every climate variation into an invitation for social panic. What started with the schoolyard simplicity of Snowmageddon has evolved into the exquisitely named and more apocalyptic sounding villain known as the Polar Vortex. What will become of us once we enter this vortex? Will we ever shake its icy grip? For this week's bit of weather porn, I can't help but think of Stereolab and how they could/should easily have titled a song along similar lines. But for real, it's damn cold, so everyone huddle up next to this cozy little number.
Some days are made for staying home and digging back into an artist's deep catalog. And many thanks to holiday staycations for supplying such days. Not to reduce a life's work into a few hours of concentrated listening, but there's great pleasure in letting a full personality unfold as the hours pass. Hard bop heavyweight Horace Silver had no shortage of memorable tunes, but this one caught my ear and help tight with the grip of a crying newborn.
Happy New Year! Really, it is a very happy one. It's amazing how eventful a span of twelve months can be. If you had told me a year ago that there'd be fundamental change in nearly all aspects of my life by now, I would be hard-pressed to envision that new world. And yet, here it is. And I'm as optimistic about living it in it as I could hope to be. So here's a toast of gratitude to the universe for that. And here are a couple tunes to kick off a year of forward momentum. Or at least one that does that and then another one that pulls over after a long day of driving through an Arizona highway and decides to throw a couple back at a dusty roadside bar and watch the beautiful evening light dissolve.
