I dreamt Kate Bush was a Japanese cowgirl

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.

Night on the water

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.

Kate Bush — Delius

High Lowman

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...

Leon Lowman — Listen

Postgame

Watching the Super Bowl gives me a weirder and weirder sense of the state of life in America. As always, I'm entertained. And as always, I vacillate between being eventually numbed and wanting more violence of all possible kinds (also, wanting more actual ideas and less celebrity distractions in the ads). And since I rarely care who wins, I'm free to imagine what my own personal victory music might sound like. Probably something like this, at least, for the few seconds of my touchdown dance.

Space Art - Juares

Give the drummer some

Bill Bruford was one of my first big influences when I was learning to play drums (coincided with a first exposure to prog rock). Happy to say his precision and tastefulness still stand up when I put on those Yes and King Crimson records now. His solo career is a bit less sterling. He jumped on the fusion train pretty hard in the mid-'70s, and most people never really looked good wearing those pants. And yet, well, how can you not find something to admire in a drummer competently taking a bandleader role. And writing songs, no less! As noodling goes, this band kept it relatively tight. Then there's that bass solo commencing at 4:22. Don't know whether to love or hate, but I can't turn away.

Bruford - QED

Away

Vacation time! I'm headed to the Pac Northwest for some good relaxing and recharging. Think redwoods and pools, hopefully on the same day. This tune seems more appropriate for blasting off into an inter-dimensional head journey, building to a nice intensity. Which is just what I'm looking to disconnect from for a week or so. Yet again, The Growing Bin serves up a winner.  Peace out and see you back around Tuesday 7/10.

Henry-Skoff Torgue - Bacchanale Cardinale

New man

Legendary status aside, I've always thought Wire were at their best when they balanced out their post-punk stone-facedness with a healthy helping of pouty English posturing. Frontman Colin Newman's solo debut is pretty much an extension of the band's aesthetic, albeit with some surprisingly Cure-esque turns like this. Is that an accordion I'm noticing in the outro?

Colin Newman - Alone

In the clouds on the ground

Just when I get to a place of peace with air travel, I get on a plane and the fundamental absurdity of it all hits me again. Safety averages be damned, it will simply never seem right to be in a chair in the sky, prisoner to a thousand variables that can fail without warning or logic. What's worse, music that should be an agent of calm just seems to amplify the dread. Happily, time passes and solid ground is always there to welcome. And these audio clouds hold my weight with barely a rumble.

Vangelis - Memories Of Green

Poly wanna rock

Here's another band from the "how did this escape everyone's attention?" files. Not only in their would-be heyday, but also in the potential revival period. Top shelf NYC nervy, dancy post-punk. And produced by Philip Glass, no less! The copy writes itself. This track seems to want to be accompanied by candles, cigarettes, and no talking.

Polyrock - Your Dragging Feet

Replicant rock

I've been having quite the musical crush on Gary Numan lately. Such a bummer that he got tagged with one-hot-wonderdom, because he produced a really nice string of dystopian/robotic/androgynous, yet quite catchy, music. In fact, I'd say as much as anyone he elaborated on Bowie's Low-era innovations. And with some glammy sass too. He could've been the biggest star in a Blade Runner world.

Songblague has previously given Numan a little of his due, but here's a day all for him. This tune is just right — foreboding and becalmed at once. Like a beautiful flight through the clouds above a nervous and troubled world.

Gary Numan - The Aircrash Bureau

Sweet guitarmony

If Thin Lizzy had done nothing but bless us with harmonized guitar solos, we would still be forever in their debt. If they had only embodied the streetwise rocker archetype, we would still owe them heavy rotation on jukeboxes the world over. Add to that a fine set of bone crunchers and ballads and I can say it's taken shamefully long to pay them a proper tribute on the 'blague. Here's one from their later days, still full of fire, fueled by booze, and clad in don't-mess-with-me denim.

Thin Lizzy - We Will Be Strong

Coiled

Who needs drums! Aided by their fabulously toy-like drum machine, Young Marble Giants fashioned the basic rock essentials and tied it together with the taut wire of understatement. There's so much fury just waiting to escape those muted 8th notes and library vocals, and the band smartly kept it below the surface, forcing us listeners to supply the mental catharsis and aftermath our damn selves.

Young Marble Giants - Music For Evenings

Canon fodder

I've been living in this city long enough that songs from my first days in town sometimes feel like they're from another life. It's a fun time to mentally revisit, and summer especially takes me back. The Other Music heads were all over this "band" (more of a sporadic confederation of musicians circling around accordionist Alig Fodder) around '99, and I was quite smitten as well. You can hear why right here. This is like a cubist pop song — about five different potential versions of it all happening at once. Somehow, they make room for each other. Also, there's something a little Stereolab-y about it, and you might remember how wanky those same heads were over them at that time (yours truly of course being just as guilty). OK, back to now...

Family Fodder - Savoir Faire

Harald squared

I know what you're thinking — why did Anthony Michael Hall agree to wear metallic paint for this album cover? A more relevant question is why I have such a soft spot for sequencers, real drums, and lead synth that traces shapes in no particular hurry. I figure why stop at one winning groove when doubling down feels doubly good. Some imagery comes to mind — the first track accompanies as you burrow out of the ground and see the sunshine for the first time in years. The second is like gliding through endless air.

Harald Grosskopf - Emphasis

Harald Grosskopf - Synthesist

Spring forward

A few degrees' difference and everyone's all dropping layers and happy to hang out in parks and stoops. We're still away from heat-craziness, but it's only a matter of time. Here's one for the scene change. The light airiness is not at all representative of Fred Frith's work, but even fiercely Communist art-rockers need to skip around in the sun every so often.

Fred Frith - Spring Any Day Now

Nightmare beach party

It was over 30 years ago, but it feels like just yesterday. You had your beach blanket, bathing suit, big inflatable ball, and you were ready to leisure the sunny day away. Until suddenly, dour Bob Fripp emerged from the surf, set up his stool, and unleashed precision-guided menace all over the soft sand. When later interviewed by reporters, he discoursed on the research & development phase of Frippertronics through the prism of contemporary dance music. In the absence of follow-up questions, he got his his reel-to-reel going and soloed gently against drifting soundscapes as the sun sank forgivingly.

Robert Fripp & The League Of Gentlemen - Cognitive Dissonance

Good associations

Several months ago, Kissing The Pink segued out from an Associates jam in the SB flow. And since I couldn't help but give the former a second nod, I figure their neighbor deserves a follow-up too. Which makes sense considering how much I remain enamored of these old Associates. Weird that the voice keeps not annoying me.

The Associates - Even Dogs In The Wild

Bubbles in the brain

I suppose if you're going to cover a sultry jazz standard, it helps to be from another planet. Or the future. Or France circa 1980. This one reminds me of another weird work of re-imagination.

Lio - You Go To My Head

New York noise

Whoops, my bad. This one was meant for Friday, but a perfect storm of work madness and a subsequent evening of steam letting offing conspired to undermine my daily discipline. Deepest apologies to the SB faithful. But actually, this track sort of fits that spirit. I first heard it on the excellent New York Noise compilation that probably did as good a job as any of capturing the brilliant, Janus-faced postpunk/disco-not-disco scene of the late '70s/early '80s. I think these guys only made one EP, but this song puts you in the party right as it's hitting its decadent, wild grunting peak.

The Dance - Do Dada

Breakdown

So, how about that totally inept municipal response to last week's blizzard. I feel no need to pile on Mayor 3-term Whine-o-tone. I'm more interested in how it may foretell a future of collapsed infrastructure and a starved government's inability to get anything together. I doubt we're anywhere near that, but it wasn't too long ago that this city did seem on the verge of [insert favorite urban apocalyptic metaphor]. Which takes me to visions of Ed Koch and songs like this. Lest you think 2011 will be all about silver mornings and leotard jams, SB intends to keep the ominousness at an acceptably audible level.

Implog - She Creatures