Whatever manifestation it took was whatever it was. There was numerology for a while; there was astrology for a while. Then we got into the I Ching.
And Brian felt that it was time to do a humor album. Jules Siegel famously recalled that, during one evening in October, Wilson announced to his wife and friends that he was "writing a teenage symphony to God".
Songs of faith. In lateWilson commented that Dumb Angel had been a working title for the album and explained that the name was discarded because the group wanted to go with something "more cheery".
Van Dyke had a lot of knowledge about America. I gave him hardly any direction. We wanted to get back to basics and try something simple. We wanted to capture something as basic as the mood of water and fire. Although Smile is a concept albumthe surviving recordings do not lend themselves to any formal narrative development, only to themes and experiences.
According to Heiser, there is also a wealth of material that appears to have "little, if anything to do with [an] Americana theme". By contrast, musicologist Philip Lambert describes Smile as "an American history lesson seen through the eyes of a time-travelling bicycle rider on a journey from Plymouth Rock to Hawaii. Parks' lyrics employed wordplay, allusions, and quotations. He said that, despite Wilson's later claims that the album was about humor and happiness, "the resultant album does not radiate predominately happy mood.
Perhaps the smile Wilson refers to is an ironic one Humour, sarcasm, and lonely introspection are the contrasts that hold Smile together. What should we keep from the structure that we had, the hard-wiring that we had with religion? He had religion beat into him, and I did in my own way, too.
So there's a lot of thinking about belief. Asked what words come to mind when listening to Smile in Wilson replied, "Childhood. A rejection of adult rules and adult conformity.
Our message was, 'Adults keep out. This is about the spirit of youth. They responded with " impressionistic psychedelic folk rock ", and said that while most rock seems to be about adulthood, Smile "expresses what Album) like to be a kid in an impressionistic way" and "depicts the psychedelic magic of childhood", to which Wilson replied: "I Album) that.
You coin those just right. Carter summarized that Smile ' s subject matter engaged with matters related to history, culture, and society while also traversing "complex landscapes of faith: from national allegiance and ideological persuasion to religious belief and spiritual devotion.
We did things in sections. There might just be a few bars of music, or a verse, or a particular groove, or vamp They would all fit. You could put them one in front of the other, or arrange it in any way you wanted.
It was sort of like making films I think. In the s, it was common for pop music to be recorded in a single take, but the Beach Boys' approach differed. Instead of working on whole songs with "clear large-scale syntactical structures", he limited himself to recording short interchangeable fragments or "modules". Through the method of tape splicing, each fragment could then be assembled into a linear sequence, allowing any number of larger structures and divergent moods to be produced at a later time.
Parks said that he and Wilson were conscious of musique concrete and that they "were trying to make something of it". There was no way this music could be 'real'. The material was continuously revised, rewritten, and rearranged on a daily basis. Anderle recalled examples: "The beginning of 'Cabin Essence' becomes the middle of 'Vega-Tables', or the ending becomes the bridge.
I would beg Brian not to change a piece of music because it was too fantastic. But when Brian did change it, I admit it was equally beautiful. In the mids, trialing mixes required the physical act of cutting tape reels with razor blades and splicing them together. Creating an entire LP that relied on these processes proved too challenging for Wilson.
About fifty hours of tape was produced from the Smile sessions and encompassed musical and spoken word to sound effects and role playing. Many of the modules were composed as word paintings and invoked visual concepts or physical entities.
The music itself carried on the "harmonic ingenuity" of Pet Sounds and in the belief of academic Dave Carter, "it makes little point to distinguish between the two albums in terms of their differential impact. Jardine said that the music became "more textural, more complex and it had a lot more vocal movement. With ['Good Vibrations'] and other songs on Smilewe began to get into more esoteric kind of chord changes, and mood changes and movement.
You'll find Smile full of different movements and vignettes. Each movement had its own texture and required its own session. The vocal arrangements, according to Heiser, use "a wide range of pitch centres, antiphonal effects, rhythmic variations, juxtapositions of legato and staccato figures, rounders-like echoes, and vocal effects not usually associated with mid-sixties rock records.
The journal considers comparisons with the work of Sun Ra and John Cageand concludes that this was a reconfiguration of doo-wop, a genre that the Beach Boys were rooted in. Psychedelic music will cover the face of the world and color the whole popular music scene. Anybody happening is psychedelic. She argued that Smile presented such a quality in the form of "alternately frantic and grinding mayhem" " Fire ""isolated, small-hours creepiness" " Wind Chimes "and "weird, dislocated voices" " Love to Say Dada ".
I'd call it contemporary American music, not rock 'n' roll. Rock 'n' roll is such a A Mutual Friend - Wire - 154 (Vinyl out phrase. It's just contemporary American. Smile drew from what most rock stars of the time considered to be antiquated pop culture touchstones, like doo-wopbarbershopragtimeexoticapre-rock and roll popand cowboy films.
Priore described this action as Wilson's attempt to expose "pre-'60s songwriting This LP will include "Good Vibrations" and "Heroes And Villains" and ten other tracks [plus] lots of humor—some musical and some spoken.
It won't be like a comedy LP—there won't be any spoken tracks as such—but someone might say something in between verses. On December 15,Wilson attempted to ease Capitol's concerns over the album's delay by delivering a handwritten note that contained an unordered, preliminary track listing. Capitol prepared record sleeves that listed these songs on the reverse side with the disclaimer "see label for correct playing order".
As Wilson neared the completion of "Good Vibrations", he asked Parks to rewrite the song's lyrics, but Parks declined, as he did not wish to alienate Mike Love. Parks immediately conceived the opening line: "I've been in this town so long that back in the city I've been taken for lost and gone and unknown for a long, long time.
The success of their collaboration led to them writing more songs with an Old West theme, including "Barnyard" and "I'm in Great Shape". We got into something else.
On November 4,Brian recorded a piano demonstration of "Heroes and Villains" that included "I'm in Great Shape" and "Barnyard" as sections of the song, but on his note from December, "I'm in Great Shape" was listed as a separate track from "Heroes and Villains". Marilyn said: "We went shopping one day and we brought home some wind chimes.
We hung them outside the house and then one day, while Brian was sitting around he sort of watched them out the window and then he wrote the song [' Wind Chimes ']. I think that's how it happened. He does a lot of things that way. The title of " Wonderful " derived from a pet name Wilson had for Marilyn. Honestly, I really thought we would do it, but I never found an opportunity to pursue that with the music I was given. Oppenheim declared on his CBS documentary that "Surf's Up" was "one aspect of new things happening in pop music today.
As such, it is a symbol of the change many of these young musicians see in our future. None of the lyrics mention worms. Parks later said that he did not know where the title came from and attributed it to possibly an engineer, Wilson, or Mike Love. Parks commented, "A lot of people misinterpreted that, but that's OK; it's OK not to be told what to think, if you're an audience.
Health is an important element in spiritual enlightenment. But I do not want to be pompous about it, so we will engage in a satirical approach. Inthe section spun off into a piece called "Mama Says". So the obvious thing was to do something that would cover the physical surroundings. Vosse recalled, "I'd come by to see him every day, and he'd listen to my tapes and talk about them.
I was just fascinated that he would hear things every once in a while and his ears would prick up and he'd go back and listen again. And I had no idea what he was listening for!
O'Leary's Cow" and commonly referred to as "Fire". Wilson instructed a friend to purchase several dozen fire helmets at a local toy store so that everybody in the studio could don them during its recording.
Wilson also had the studio's janitor bring in a bucket with burning wood so that the studio would be filled with the smell of smoke. Anderle recalled that Wilson told the group "what fire was going to be, and what water was going to be; we had some idea of air. That was where it stopped. None of us had any ideas as to how it was going to tie together, except that it appeared to us to be an opera. In Julythe composition was reworked as the first section of " She's Goin' Bald ".
Inthe piece was given new lyrics and retitled "On a Holiday". It was recorded the day after the "Fire" session, along with a piece titled "Friday Night", which was intended to segue from "I Wanna Be Around". He then handed out various tools to his musicians for them to create the sounds of sawing, wood cutting, hammering, and drilling. Brian was consumed with humor at the time and the importance of humor. He was fascinated with the idea of getting humor onto a disc and how to get that disc out to the people.
Wilson held sessions that were dedicated to capturing "humorous" situations. It was just like the old days with his Wollensak recorder, except much, much weirder. In earlyBrian's brothers Carl and Dennis went into the studio to record pieces that they had written individually. This look of, 'What the fuck do I do? Capitol gave Smile the catalog number DT At least two versions of the album jacket were designed, with minor differences.
By Holmes' recollection, his contributions were finished by October. Holmes based the cover on an abandoned jewelry store near his home in Pasadena.
This was something that would be pulling you into the world of Smile —the Smile Shoppe—and it had these little smiles all around. He felt that he and Wilson would not have continued the project the way they did without thinking of it in cartoon terms. According to Vosse, the smile shop derived from Wilson's humor concept. He said that "everybody who knew anything about graphics, and about art, thought that the cover was not terribly well done It was exactly what he wanted, precisely what he wanted.
I think that still stands; I think of Smile in visual terms. In September, Capitol began production on a lavish gatefold cover with a page booklet containing featuring color photographs of the group ultimately selected from a November 7 photoshoot in Boston conducted by Guy Webster as well as Holmes' illustrations. The gap between conception and realization was too great, and nothing satisfied Brian by the time he'd worked it out and gotten it on tape.
And eventually the moment passed He no longer had the same vision. Smile was shelved due to corporate pressures, technical problems, internal power struggles, legal stalling, and Wilson's deteriorating mental health. Writers frequently theorize that the album was cancelled because Wilson's bandmates were unable to appreciate the music. However, Stebbins says that the conclusions those writers draw from this perspective are "overly simplistic and mostly wrong" with not enough consideration for Wilson's psychological decline.
It is often suggested that Mike Love, in particular, was responsible for the project's collapse. Love dismissed such claims as hyperbole and said that his vocal opposition to Wilson's drug suppliers was what spurred the accusation that he, as well as other members of the band and Wilson's family, sabotaged the project.
Parks' later accounts suggest that he was dismissed from the project at Love's behest. You do a lot of pot, LSD, cocaine, you name it, paranoia runs rampant, so, yes, Brian could have become extra- ultrasensitive But can I be responsible?
Should Mike Love take a beating for Brian's paranoid schizophrenia? A playpen of irresponsible people. The group's heavy consumption of drugs at the time has been cited as one of the reasons Smile collapsed.
The three of us spent a lot of time together, but whenever Kizuki left the room, Naoko and I had trouble talking to each other. We never knew what to talk about. And in fact there was no topic of conversation that we had in common. Instead of talking, we'd drink water or toy with something on the table and wait for Kizuki to come back and start up the conversation again. Not that we were incompatible: we just had nothing to talk about.
Naoko and I saw each other only once after Kizuki's funeral. I tried raising several different topics, but none of them led anywhere.
And when Naoko did talk, there was an edge to her voice. She seemed angry with me, but I had no idea why. We never saw each other again until that day a year later we happened to meet on the Chuo Line in Tokyo. Naoko might have been angry with me because I, not she, had been the last one to see Kizuki. That may not be the best way to put it, but I more or less understood how she felt. I would have swapped places with her if I could have, but finally, what had happened had happened, and there was nothing I could do about it.
It had been a nice afternoon in May. After lunch, Kizuki suggested we skip classes and go play pool or something. I had no special interest in my afternoon classes, so together we left school, ambled down the hill to a pool hall on the harbour, and played four games.
When I won the first, easy-going game, he became serious and won the next three. This meant I paid, according to our custom. Kizuki didn't make a single joke as we played, which was most unusual. We smoked afterwards. He died that night in his garage. He led a rubber hose from the exhaust pipe of his N to a window, taped over the gap in the window, and revved the engine.
I have no idea how long it took him to die. His parents had been out visiting a sick relative, and when they opened the garage to put their car away, he was already dead.
Kizuki had left no suicide note, and had no motive that anyone could think of. Because I had been the last one to see him, I was called in for questioning by the police. I told the investigating officer that Kizuki had given no indication of what he was about to do, that he had been exactly the same as always.
The policeman had obviously formed a poor impression of both Kizuki and me, as if it was perfectly natural for the kind of person who would skip classes and play pool to commit suicide. A small article in the paper brought the affair to a close.
Kizuki's parents got rid of his red N For a time, a white flower marked his school desk. In the ten months between Kizuki's death and my exams, I was unable to find a place for myself in the world around me.
I started sleeping with one of the girls at school, but that didn't last six months. Nothing about her really got to me. I applied to a private university in Tokyo, the kind of place with an entrance exam for which I wouldn't have to study much, and I passed without exhilaration. The girl asked me not to go to Tokyo - "It's miles from here!
I wanted to begin a new life where I didn't know a soul. And so we parted. Thinking about all the things that made her so much nicer than the other girls at home, I sat on the bullet train to Tokyo feeling terrible about what I'd done, but there was no way to undo it. I would try to forget her. There was only one thing for me to do when I started my new life in the dorm: stop taking everything so seriously; establish a proper distance between myself and everything else.
It seemed to work at first. I tried hard to forget, but there remained inside me a vague knot of air. And as time went by, the knot began to take on a clear and simple form, a form that I am able to put into words, like this: Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life. Death exists - in a paperweight, in four red and white balls on a pool table - and we go on living and breathing it into our lungs like fine dust.
Until that time, I had understood death as something entirely separate from and independent of life. The hand of death is bound to take us, I had felt, but until the day it reaches out for us, it leaves us alone.
This had seemed to me the simple, logical truth. Life is here, death is over there. I am here, not over there. The night Kizuki died, however, I lost the ability to see death and life in such simple terms. Death was not the opposite of life. It was already here, within my being, it had always been here, and no struggle would permit me to forget that.
When it took the year-old Kizuki that night in May, death took me as well. I lived through the following spring, at 18, with that knot of air in my chest, but I struggled all the while against becoming serious. Becoming serious was not the same thing as approaching the truth, I sensed, however vaguely. But death was a fact, a serious fact, no matter how you looked at it. Stuck inside this suffocating contradiction, I went on endlessly spinning in circles.
Those were strange days, now that I look back at them. In the midst of life, everything revolved around death. I suppose I can call it a date. I can't think of a better word for it. As before, we walked the streets. We stopped somewhere for coffee, walked some more, had dinner in the evening, and said goodbye.
Again, she talked only in snatches, but this didn't seem to bother her, and I made no special effort to keep the conversation going. We talked about whatever came to mind - our daily routines, our colleges; each a little fragment that led nowhere. We said nothing at all about the past. And mainly, we walked - and walked, and walked. Fortunately, Tokyo is such a big city we could never have covered it all.
We kept on walking like this almost every weekend. She would lead, and I would follow close behind. Naoko had a variety of hairslides and always wore them with her right ear exposed. I remember her most clearly this way, from the back. She would toy with her hairslide whenever she felt embarrassed by something. And she was always dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief. She did this whenever she had something to say. The more I observed these habits of hers, the more I came to like her.
Naoko went to a girls' college on the rural western edge of Tokyo, a nice little place famous for its teaching of English. Nearby was a narrow irrigation canal with clean, clear water, and Naoko and I would often walk along its banks. Sometimes she would invite me up to her flat and cook for me. It never seemed to concern her that the two of us were in such close quarters together.
She led a spare, simple life with hardly any friends. No one who had known her at school could have imagined her like this. Back then, she had dressed with real flair and surrounded herself with a million friends.
When I saw her room, I realized that, like me, she had wanted to go away to college and begin a new life far from anyone she knew. We were all supposed to go somewhere more chic. You know what I mean? Little by little, she grew more accustomed to me, and I to her. When the summer holidays ended and a new term started, Naoko began walking next to me as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. She saw me as a friend now, I concluded, and walking side by side with such a beautiful girl was by no means painful for me.
We kept walking all over Tokyo in the same meandering way, climbing hills, crossing rivers and railway lines, just walking and walking with no destination in mind. We forged straight ahead, as if our walking were a religious ritual meant to heal our wounded spirits. If it rained, A Mutual Friend - Wire - 154 (Vinyl used umbrellas, but in any case we walked.
Then came autumn, and the dormitory grounds were buried in zelkova leaves. The fragrance of a new season arrived when I put on my first pullover. Having worn out one pair of shoes, I bought some new suede ones.
I can't seem to recall what we talked about then. Nothing special, I expect. We continued to avoid any mention of the past and rarely spoke about Kizuki. We could face each other over coffee cups in total silence. Naoko liked to hear me tell stories about Storm Trooper. Once he had a date with a fellow student a girl in geography, of course but came back in the early evening looking glum. Each time the photo changed in his absence, Storm Trooper became upset.
They're all nice pictures. You should be grateful. Not many things succeeded in doing that, so I talked about him often, though I was not exactly proud of myself for using him this way. He just happened to be the youngest son in a not-too-wealthy family who had grown up a little too serious for his own good. Making maps was the one small dream of his one small life.
Who had the right to make fun of him for that? By then, however, Storm-Trooper jokes had become an indispensable source of dormitory talk, and there was no way for me to undo what I had done. Besides, the sight of Naoko's smiling face had become my own special source of pleasure.
I went on supplying everyone with new stories. Naoko asked me one time - just once - if I had a girl I liked. I told her about the one I had left behind in Kobe. I don't know, sometimes I think I've got this hard kernel in my heart, and nothing much can get inside it. I doubt if I can really love anybody.
She didn't ask me more than that. I could sense her breathing through the thick cloth of her duffel coat. She would entwine her arm with mine, or cram her hand in my pocket, or, when it was really cold, cling tightly to my arm, shivering. None of this had any special meaning. I just kept walking with my hands shoved in my pockets.
Our rubber-soled shoes made hardly any sound on the pavement, except for the dry crackling when we trod on the broad, withered sycamore leaves. I felt sorry for Naoko whenever I heard that sound. My arm was not the one she needed, but the arm of someone else. My warmth was not what she needed, but the warmth of someone else. I felt almost guilty being me. As the winter deepened, the transparent clarity of Naoko's eyes seemed to increase. It was a clarity that had nowhere to go.
Sometimes Naoko would lock her eyes on to mine A Mutual Friend - Wire - 154 (Vinyl no apparent reason. She seemed to be searching for something, and this would give me a strange, lonely, helpless sort of feeling. I wondered if she was trying to convey something to me, something she could not put into words - something prior to words that she could not grasp within herself and which therefore had no hope of ever turning into words. Instead, she would fiddle with her hairslide, dab at the corners of her mouth with a handkerchief, or look into my eyes in that meaningless way.
I wanted to hold her tight when she did these things, but I would hesitate and hold back. I was afraid I might hurt her. And so the two of us kept walking the streets of Tokyo, Naoko searching for words in space.
The guys in the dorm would always tease me when I got a call from Naoko or went out on a Sunday morning. They assumed, naturally enough, that I had found a girlfriend. There was no way to explain the truth to them, and no need to explain it, so I let them think what they wanted to.
I had to face a barrage of stupid questions in the evening - what position had we used? What was she like down there? What colour underwear had she been wearing that day? And so I went from 18 to Each day the sun would rise and set, the flag would be raised and lowered. Every Sunday I would have a date with my dead friend's girl. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to do. For my courses I would read Claudel and Racine and Eisenstein, but they meant almost nothing to me.
I made no friends at the lectures, and hardly knew anyone in the dorm. The others in the dorm thought I wanted to be a writer because I was always alone with a book, but I had no such ambition. There was nothing I wanted to be. I tried to talk about this feeling with Naoko. She, at least, would be able to understand what I was feeling with some degree of precision, I thought. But I could never find the words to express myself.
Strange, I seemed to have caught her word-searching sickness. On Saturday nights I would sit by the phone in the lobby, waiting for Naoko to call. Most of the others were out, so the lobby was usually deserted. I would stare at the grains of light suspended in that silent space, struggling to see into my own heart. What did I want? And what did others want from me? But I could never find the answers. Sometimes I would reach out and try to grasp the grains of light, but my fingers touched nothing.
I read a lot, but not a lot of different books: I like to read my favourites again and again. Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler, but I didn't see anyone else in my lectures or the dorm reading writers like that.
They liked Kazumi Takahashi, Kenzaburo Oe, Yukio Mishima, or contemporary French novelists, which was another reason I didn't have much to say to anybody but kept to myself and my books. With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy. Gatsby stayed in first place for a long time after that. I would pull it off the shelf when the mood hit me and read a section at random.
It never once disappointed me. There wasn't a boring page in the whole book. I wanted to tell people what a wonderful novel it was, but no one around me had read The Great Gatsby or was likely to. Urging others to read F Scott Fitzgerald, although not a reactionary act, was not something one could do in When I did finally meet the one person in my world who had read Gatsby, he and I became friends because of it.
His name was Nagasawa. He was two years older than me, and because he was doing legal studies at the prestigious Tokyo University, he was on the fast track to national leadership. We lived in the same dorm and knew each other Album) by sight, until one day when I was reading Gatsby in a sunny spot in the dining hall. He sat down next to me and asked what I was reading.
When I told him, he asked if I was enjoying it. This happened in October. The better I got to know Nagasawa, the stranger he seemed. I had met a lot of weird people in my day, but none as strange as Nagasawa. He was a far more voracious reader than me, but he made it a rule never to touch a book by any author who had not been dead at least 30 years.
Life is too short. If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking. That's the world of hicks and slobs. Real people would be ashamed of themselves doing that. Haven't you noticed, Watanabe?
You and I are the only real ones in this dorm. The other guys are crap. I know. I can see it. It's like we have marks on our foreheads. And besides, we've both read The Great Gatsby. Two years? Fitzgerald's advanced.
Nagasawa was known for being smart. He breezed into Tokyo University, he got good marks, he would take the Civil Service Exam, join the Foreign Ministry, and become a diplomat. He came from a wealthy family.
His father owned a big hospital in Nagoya, and his brother had also graduated from Tokyo, gone on to medical school, and would one day inherit the hospital. Nagasawa always had plenty of money in his pocket, and he carried himself with real dignity. People treated him with respect, even the dorm Head. Retrieved 27 August Melody Maker.
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Retrieved 3 November Retrieved 24 January Retrieved 21 March The Quietus. Retrieved 16 March Retrieved 2 January House of Tracks TV. Archived from the original on 19 August Daily Express. Retrieved 20 January The Grammys. We have a homework help team for every course, subject, and level of study!
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Maalem Mahmoud Gania was a particularly prolific artist recording for many labels in Morocco and many details about the recording of this particular album or the people involved are destined to remain a mystery. The album comes with extensive sleeve notes written by Tim Abdellah Fuson, Berkeley scholar and curator of the excellent Moroccan Tape Stash blog.
First pressing of this release comes with a print of the album cover. There are fast blues, and smoky ballads. File Under: Reggae Bu y Here.
This beautifully intimate work resurfaces after more than a decade since its initial release, now available on vinyl for the first time. Constructed entirely of tape loops, fragile tapestries of forgotten artifacts canter with teetering rhythmic pulses.
Melodic counterpoints drift in soft bucolic reverie, as hazy recollections of undefined pasts seep out in blurs of nostalgic color. The album is imbued with a close tactile quality, lovingly crafted as a result of both manned and unmanned decay experiments.
Undeniably tender yet willfully introspective, something speaks immediately of those magic sonic moments, illuminated by the quiver of late-night candlelight. File Under: Ambient Buy Here. What better way to celebrate this milestone than with an immaculate must-have re-release package, with the music now spread out over double discs and cut at 45rpm on gram black vinyl to let the glacial top-end soar as originally intended, and the air of the general proceedings expand, once again, into the ears and consciousness of electronic music lovers the world over.
File Under: Electronic Buy Here. The songs are extremely personal and cover a spectrum of emotions in connection to growing up in a rural setting.
And out of that silence this record began to bloom, full of songs that would have otherwise been too quiet and drowned out by the noise of typical Killers records. But the ones tied to fear or great sadness were emotionally charged. File Under: Rock Buy Here. Alto saxophone master Lee Konitz joins with the great Gerry Mulligan on baritone saxophone and legendary trumpeter Chet Baker on a half-live, half-studio program of standards along with one Mulligan original.
The group is supported by bassists Carson Smith and Joe Mondragon with Larry Bunker on drums for this spontaneous and inventive jazz treasure. It means that you will never find a superior version. So how can a voice so familiar to others still seem foreign to its owner?
In JanuaryMcCaughan found himself at his home studio in Chapel Hill staring down a clean slate after wrapping up a film score and several other music projects. This setting — a distant light at the end of a figurative tunnel, and a literal room full of instruments — was integral to The Sound of Yourself. How can I disrupt this? I feel lucky to be able to collaborate with them despite the distances between us.
Sending off a song into the ether and having it returned greatly improved and in often surprising and moving ways was one of the most satisfying aspects of making this record. Mary Lattimore introduces and concludes The Sound of Yourself with her singular harp playing. One of the most iconic and enduring music leaders to emerge in the world over the last half century, William Parker continues to raise the bar higher. Mayan Space Station is his first electric guitar trio album, and features Ava Mendoza — electric guitar, William Parker — bass, and Gerald Cleaver — drums.
Cosmic multi-hued blues, perfect for space and time travel. All of the promise imagined by a trio recording of these musicians with compositions by Parker is delivered to the fullest. Her prodigious talents have illuminated many projects and recordings as both leader and collaborator over the past decade.
As is abundantly clear here, she is committed to bringing expressivity, energy and a wide sonic range to the music. Gerald Cleaver is an exceptionally gifted poet of drum sound who can play in the deepest of pockets and manifest all manner of sound to perfectly fit contours within the most open of forms.
It is an oasis where sound and silence navigators stop for sustenance to replenish their imaginations. It is a reality that important to the myth structure of the Tone World chronicle. Rudimentary Peni: Great War Sealed LP Recorded several years ago before Rudimentary Peni engaged in another mysterious hiatus, Great War has finally emerged to kiss the gas-tinged light of a mustered morn.
Great War cements new phase in the ever-crawling metamorphic madness that is Rudimentary Peni. The record comes with brand new Nick Blinko artwork. File Under: Punk Buy Here. With their collective musical experience encompassing collaborative work with figures as diverse as Evan Parker, Akiko Yano, Arto Lindsay and Christian Fennesz, in contexts ranging from pop session work to film scores to sound installation, no one could be sure how Sakamoto and Toop would approach their first concert together as a duo.
The course of the music follows a non-teleological drift, in which Sakamoto and Toop seem less concerned with establishing an overarching structure than in allowing each moment the space it needs to develop and breathe. The music takes a radical, unexpected turn when Sakamoto picks up an electric guitar, with both players turning up the volume for a passage of distorted roar and shuddering feedback — bracing evidence of the unfettered, exploratory approach shared by these two uncategorisable musicians, beautifully documented here.
An effortless blend of neo-soul, sophisticated pop, smart grooves and laid-back white funk, it enjoyed rapturous reviews from critics and music legends alike. But the album never managed to make an impact and given what was likely a token vinyl release at the time, the original records have long since been near-impossible to find.
Together they created an exquisite and sensually-charged record, with a freshness to the writing that makes the songs catchy, melodic-yet-deep and sometimes even funky.
Jane Says, Hai Hai - Supertramp - Supertramp часть 1-2 (CDr), Heimwärts - Empyrium - Into The Pantheon (Blu-ray), 3-2-1 Action - Various - Music Factory Mastermix - Issue 176 (CD), Disowned Inc. - Serj Tankian - Imperfect Harmonies (CD, Album), Spiller From Rio - Various - Serious Beats 24 (CD), Full Moon - Rico Tubbs - Knuckle Sandwich (CD, Album), Necronomicon Exmortis, Discobar - The Last Primate - Dreamland (File, MP3), We Missed The Marcus - The Ronny Chocha Band - The Ronny Chocha Band (CDr), Hello, Old Friend - Eric Clapton - Off The Record Specials With Mary Turner (Vinyl, LP)