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

Back to the sunshine

A belated hats-off to the recently-deceased George Duke. Apparently, he was not only the cuddly, well-Afroed keyboardist in Frank Zappa's most musically acrobatic band, but also made a string of mid-'80s albums that I have just recently discovered and am now totally addicted too. Here's a delicious summertime groove. And if you think old Fusion dogs can't learn new tricks, dig the keytar solo at 3:15.

George Duke — Got To Get Back To Love

A new landscape

And then things snap back into motion all at once. Sticking with Ryuichi, who is more than appropriate for plotting next moves, synthesizing a landscape of possibilities in a laboratory of false histories.

Ryuichi Sakamoto — In A Forest Of Feathers

Pause

That moment where you have to slow yourself to a near-halt and try to grasp the fleeting feeling of shifting tracks as things move decisively onto a new course. It's probably not possible to bring your mind to a full stop, but you might get close enough to glimpse a coherent past, present, and future all at once. Here's 5 minutes worth of music to accompany the effort.

Ryuichi Sakamoto — Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Are you sure we're getting away with this?

It's a bit sad that history has made the Hollies one of those bands that collector nerds have to keep championing. It just goes to remind that being hugely popular in your day is no guarantee that people will keep celebrating you tomorrow. Here's a song that could pass for an early Beatles classic. Also a lyrical reminder that vintage sugary pop also had more than a bit of sweaty teenage sleaze in its heart.

The Hollies — Games We Play

Breezin' on

I have nothing to say in my defense. I'm actually posting George Benson. May as well double down on that. Maybe he was responsible for the CD 101.9-ification of jazz, but in truth, he had a pretty great guitar tone, and his voice wasn't half bad when placed in the right setting. Not that any of that could justify his '80s output. Best to vibe on this pair of classix as we head into the weekend.

George Benson — Breezin'

George Benson — Six to Four

Fresh aches

Well, what do you know...Cocteau twins sound as exquisitely mysterious otherworldly lovely on a breezy summer's day as in midwinter. There are days when I think they've so thoroughly nailed it that everyone else should just take their toys and go home.

Cocteau Twins — Crushed

Exit to darkness

Been rubbing my ears up against some jazzy funky guitar sounds of late. There are some suspicious characters in that world, but Mr. Upchurch is not among them. Stylin' and struttin' all the way out the door.  

Phil Upchurch — Darkness Darkness, Part 1

Previte eyes

Sometime in my recent heat delirium, I suddenly recalled a favorite moment of my trip to Barcelona — wandering the Miro Foundation and getting caught up in a waking dream of color and sound. It's a state I lapse into all too easily in art/museum situations, and, as always, I wish had recorded any of the passing musical thoughts that ran through my head. Thankfully, Bobby Previte made a whole album of compositions inspired by Miro paintings that sounds a lot like what I was thinking.

Bobby Previte — On The 13th, The Ladder Brushed The Firmament

Let's be Frank

It's a thoroughly mashed-up world we live in. Everyone knows a little about everything and no one's afraid to connect things for fear of transgressing a boundary. That's mostly great, except for the vertigo. Which makes it interesting to go back to those visionaries who had their feet in many worlds back when that sort of thing was met with perplexed faces. And it's hard to go down that road without ending up in Zappa's universe. Even on the fairly slapdash Chunga's Revenge album, he made some deliciously unlikely leaps. From serpentine extraterrestrial jazz to glorious sleaze rawkin', here are a couple personal classix.
 

Frank Zappa — Twenty Small Cigars

Frank Zappa —  Tell Me You Love Me

Peace until voice

That moment when you realize you're staring off into the distance and have been for some time, but you've become so definitively at peace that you don't want to remember the before or consider the after. That is until about 5:10, when those evil voices slowly intrude and start melting your face.

Michael Hoenig — Voices Of Where

Sunbake day men

Jesu Christo, the heat! My body is becoming much less ambiguous in its rejection of these conditions. I only wish I could translate sweat to speech. Meanwhile, here's one from a tropical land of amphibious creatures shaped like math equations. 

90 Day Men — When Your Luck Runs Out

Independance days

I'm not sure if I more tired of being fried by work or complaining about how I keep getting fried by work. Not a great loop to be in, which makes this a well-timed holiday break, even if I can't help but feel like I'm neglecting at least a few responsibilities. So goes the self-inflicted psychological masochism. 

But let's forget all that and luxuriate in some classic disco. Nile Rodgers and company cooked up some irresistible tunes, and this is one of their early best. Some say this laid down the whole template — full-band lock groove, gospel-ish voices, and some fancy chordal moves to raise your eyebrows. Have yourselves a fabbo couple of days to unwind, assuming your schedule works out that way. And let's hope that power grid holds up.

Chic - Everybody Dance

Young machines in the open air

How sad are reunion tours? I suppose the spectrum is broad — between the goulish spectacle of another Rolling Stones rollout and the mostly respectable showing by folks like the Pixies — but still it's just an unnecessary exercise. Unless you need the money, in which case, put that disclaimer on the name of the tour, so everyone knows it's about real need and not vanity. Which is why Os Mutantes's wanna-be arena rock showing at Prospect Park this last Friday was such a bummer. It's not like they were ever in it for the money. And really, the only thing you can do to legendary status is to tarnish it by putting your good name on uninspired mediocrity in your plump years. At least it was another beautiful park night, and happily, some kids in the opening band saved the day with their giddily backward-looking sugar pop. Nothing for the ages, but great for welcoming a summer Saturday night.

Javelin - Drummachines

Music for beautiful evenings

I caught the Amadou and Mariam concert in the park the other day and was struck by how much it captured equally what I like and dislike about shows in the park, which pretty much aligns with what I like and don't like about crowds. Also, what I like and dislike about women in flowing dresses swaying to the music with their eyes closed. Still, you can't argue with a beautiful evening. I'm not sure if this tune got played, but a brief crawl through their albums got its loping groove deeply stuck in my brain.  

Amadou and Mariam — Sarama

Sunshower

Have I really made it more than 35 years into this life without having a Weather Report phase? Sure, various band members have made their presence felt on great albums (Shorter and Zawinul helping Miles Davis reach magical heights). Others I think of mostly in the context of instructional drums videos and endorsement deals. And let's not forget the very rock star-ish life and death of Jaco Pastorius. His headband lives on though.

At any rate, I'm in it now, and I'm not foggy-eared enough to ignore the fact that a good half of this band's work is peacock showoff stuff. But it's threaded through some compelling passages. Then there's the thick layer of cheese, which I enjoy heartily despite (or because) of its high fat content. Such as this ballad, which probably launched a thousand unfortunate saxophone careers, to say nothing of the fretless bass odysseys. You may find it impossible to keep a straight face. Me neither. And yet I will not stop listening. 

Weather Report — A Remark You Made

Love me in your car

Hypnagogic pop may have gone overground, but for me it's still the stuff of dreams. Literally! Some folks like it menacingly washed-out and queasy, and others like it magically vivid like midnight sunshine. There's plenty to like across that spectrum from the good folks over at Fortune 500. Here's a highlight. Deposit this in your bank of cool breeze cruisers.

Saint Pepsi — Carpark

Robot afros

Herbie Hancock has amazed me several times in my life. He was cool Mr. "Rockit" in my early sentient years, only to reveal an exquisitely textural presence in the string of Miles Davis classics I discovered as a teenager, only to be occasionally very brilliant in his hit-or-miss '70s Fusion wanderings. Here's a gem that floored me anew just a few days ago. It sounds like a possible Kraftwerk future fantasy, but with a generous dose of non-Germanic warmth. The fabulous textures are there too. Far-out synths and jazz familiars finding beautiful common ground. 

Herbie Hancock — Rain Dance

Archer's aim

We all need our solo projects. Sea & Cake guitarist/illustrator Archer Prewitt falls squarely into that camp of quiet contributors who impress with a side career of well-drawn pop daydreams. Nothing earth-shattering, but a useful outlet for creative ideas that might otherwise get subsumed into weird dinner recipes or other pursuits that would be of no benefit to me. Glad he's not that selfish.

Archer Prewitt - I'm Coming Over

Will-o-the-wisp

Feeling drained from a busy work week, which makes me susceptible to mysterious stringy noises leading me down equally mysterious mental paths. I'm not sure if it's light or darkness in the distance, but I can't resist the slow momentum toward it. 

Nels Cline - Friends Of Snowman

The neurotic

I've been in a serious Genesis rabbithole. It spans all stages of their career, from the baroque-iest to the beardiest to the Miami Vice-iest. It also spans all segments of my listening life way back to early teenage discoveries. And I'm not even gonna be bothered with allegations of cheesiness. No reason not to be fascinated by exquisiteness even when found in fundamental mistakes. So where to begin? A mixtape is probably warranted. Maybe it'll come to that, but meantime, here's a B-side from what consensus views as the low point. And yet, despite the unlikely stadium rockers they'd become, they're still trying to put together proggy epics, even if they were a bit lazy in the construction. They're also oddly trying to sound like the Police. Give them props for the effort, and the title nicely suits my last few days' manic journey through several circles of real estate hell. I'm ready for my home by the sea.

Genesis - Do The Neurotic

Medium rare

There comes a time when it's hard to make distinctions between A-list, B-list, and even lesser bands of the post-punk era. I wasn't around to make those judgments first hand anyway, so it's all retrospective evaluations of other people's memories. And aren't we all in the same gang in the end? Listening to this track, I'm happy to imagine Medium Medium were the most innovative mofos in the UK. I might even be willing to believe they invented the slap bass and dour vocal posturing.

Medium Medium - Nadsat Dream

Nursery riot

I wonder if the song that gets stuck in your head right before vacation is a function of where you were or where you're going. Some weeks' distance hasn't made the matter any clearer, but I still find myself humming the verses of this funky German obscurity (made available by the always excellent Growing Bin). The chorus makes me wish I hadn't cut my hair. And then a few days of crippling heat come along and I'm happy to remove all barriers to the air. 

Achterbahn Band - Richmond Road Riot