Gastr del Sol - 'Camofleur' (Drag City)

More personal nostalgia (as if you haven't already endured heaps, if you've been reading this over the year): the release of Gastr del Sol's Camofleur in late 1997 was as impactful to me as Sgt. Pepper's or In Utero was to some people. Of course, there were very few people who I could share this with during my freshman year of college except a handful of friends. By the time this was released, the nascent Internet gossip (particularly the exalted droneon list, the archives of which from 1996-1999 I would kill to find) already indicated that the working relationship between Grubbs and O'Rourke had broken down, and Camofleur would be their last album. What I didn't realise then until it was released (and actually I forget about even now) is that Markus Popp joined as a full third member (or at least is credited as such) and whatever his impact was on the collaboration remains unknown - but the result is masterful. This is around (or just before) the time Jim O started producing Superchunk records and was talking in interviews about how much he loved Burt Bacharach, and this was not needless iconoclasm - it was an embracing of a plurality of sonic palette that served him really well on his first few Drag City solo albums, and surely influenced Camofleur immensely. What is more noticeable when listening to this, just five seconds into 'The Seasons Reverse', was how exuberant the sound was. Popp's digital glitching or whatever the hell he does (and that's not meant to be derogatory - I love me some early Oval) seems to propel these songs with a brightness that you could argue Upgrade & Afterlife lacked. It's not just that there was now a beat behind things, but that even Grubb's singing found a more conventional melodicism and while the lyrics are not necessarily any less cryptic, they feel truly like they support the musical idea rather than digging in their heels against comprehension. This opening track ends with an explosive cornet solo (one that I remember caused some controversy on droneon, cause after all, there are rules for experimental music, right?) and then it leads into a great bit of field recordings with O'Rourke attempting to communicate to a confused, non-English speaking child. 'Black Horse' is a thick, lush instrumental that sounds remarkably straight-forward compared to, say, 'Hello Spiral', but to me follows logically from that aesthetic. My local radio station used it as their station ID music bed for years so it conjures a special feeling; YouTube shows a live version from 1995 as just a guitar/bass/drums trio that feels like exactly the same song, yet completely different at the same time - so it's composition predates Upgrade but was wisely left off because (probably) it didn't fit the mood of that album. A song such as 'Blues Subtitled No Sense of Wonder' would have sounded like 'Rebecca Sylvester' on an earlier work, but the Camofleur transformation adds some fruit to this dinner plate; Popp's waterfall of digital effects feels as warm and organic as Systemisch and the cryptic, circular nature of Grubbs's worldview is something I love to lose myself in. 'Mouth Canyon' is the debut (as far as I know) of Jim O as a vocalist, and it also has this really wonderful opening passage that is like a series of breezes blowing against you - bleeping electronic tones and wind instruments come together in a magical harmony. 'A Puff of Dew' is the darkness before the dawn - a molasses-drenched swamp of stasis, with Grubbs intoning about staircases and mountains. I think Camofleur is by far the most American Gastr record, sounding influenced by landscape and other scenery throughout; 'A Puff of Dew' brings a dark undercurrent to the surface, and is one of the only mentions of an air mattress in a song that I can think of. And then it all comes to a summation with the instrumental beauty 'Bauchredner', the final march towards a higher consciousness. As it's the last track ever released by Gastr del Sol, it feels like a fitting conclusion.

Free Music Quintet - 'Free Music One and Two' (ESP)

Not a lot of Eurojazz landed on ESP and I guess that's not surprising as it was a NY-based label and these were the days way before the global communication network we're so used to now saturated our lives. So I'm not really sure what the story is with this album, which is one I almost never hear talked about but is pretty worthy of of the ESP brand, in my opinion. Ferdy Rikkers, Erwin Somer, Pierre Coubois, Boy Raaymakers and Peter van der Locht holed up in the farmhouse that Somer was living in and spent two days recording in June 1968, and this is the output. Free music it certainly is, and despite the jazz-leaning instrumentation this actually achieves something close to "non-idiomatic" at points (though it's probably years before that term was introduced). No instrumentation is listed besides Courbois's drum manufacturer (Yamaha and Paiste cymbals, if you were wondering) and the high-contrast photos on the back cover only hint at what we're hearing. Rikkers is on double bass, though it sounds like a higher-pitched stringed instrument, perhaps a violin, is getting played against him occasionally. Somer's on xylophone or vibes, though the photo shows him bowing it (I think). Van der Locht is on reeds and Raaymakers on trumpet or flugelhorn or something brassy. The latter two are playing two instruments at once in their photographs and that might explain some of the plurality heard here. Courbois pulls things into the jazz angle the most with his frantic yet light touch, and the saxes (which occasionally sound like they have wax paper stuffed in them) get appropriately bellicose when it's demanded of the others. Throughout the half-hour or so of music, the sliding measure between tense and fluid never settles, instead veering wildly from one extreme to another, often changing suddenly. Somer's xylophone playing is very mood-focused, and restrained; there are parts where he slowly rings out a descending pattern, the sonority of which cuts through the warring winds, and infuses a mature gravitas on the group. The punchier parts of this (such as the opening of side two) generally outshine the spacious parts, though Courbois does a stellar job creating atmosphere with his Paistes when he gets a chance. It's quietest moments are at the very end, where the proceedings sputter into nothing, and the crackle of 47-year old surface noise is barely distinguishable from the woodblocks, instrument-slapping and other light percussion that rides out this session. What does it feel like? Joyous, bright and open - the sounds of freedom, I suppose.

Fennesz - 'Endless Summer' (Mego)

This felt like a groundbreaking record when it came out, and probably represents my peak interest in whatever this genre was. I see it's been reissued since as a deluxe double LP edition so clearly it has some sort of place in history. By 2001 I had seen Christian Fennesz live a few times, and for a guy bent over a laptop he had the most performative presence I've still probably ever seen in, well, whatever this genre was. Endless Summer, as its title indicates, has a warmth and organic quality that doesn't jar with the 'glitches' and electronic crackle, but rather works with the qualities of that sound to complement the language of laptop-experimentalism. From the get-go, 'Made in Hongkong', Fennesz throws the listener into wet, warm tonalities with a burning digital ebb and flow. The achievement of Endless Summer is not the fact that it's trying to capture the same feeling as the Beach Boys or surf music, but rather that it is such a cohesive, expressive statement. The acoustic guitar strums on 'A Year in a Minute' have the languid quality of some of the Jeweled Antler pop bands or Dylan's more stoned moments, and it's remarkable that they achieve such a harmony with the gargling, folding-in-upon-itself undertow that is constantly fighting for air here. This type of wet electronic comfort (which I often associate with the Leaf label -- see the Eardrum review) can easily create a bath of thick mid-rangey tones, which can feel easy at times, like ear candy This doesn't hide it's digital manipulations - the pulsing of 'Before I Leave' is relentless, even annoying at times, and maybe the one track that feels out of place. But Fennesz is seeking new feelings, combining the familiar with the other, and this occasionally produces an exotica vibe ('Shisheido'), as if Les Baxter was being updated for the digital age. Repetition is present, nearly to the point of insanity on the lengthy closer 'Happy Audio', and this type of minimalism feels strangely maximal. Around the turn of the millennium we were lucky to find a lot of (mostly European) electronic artists trying to move away from the beats that characterise dance tracks, instead finding an affinity with post-rock by focusing on textures, colour, etc. I don't know how people more knowledgeable about this genre would feel about me lumping Fennesz in with Pole, Gas, or Oval, but to a young rocker seeking new musical languages, this stuff was magical. It's faded from my memory even though there's no shortage of great music being made today that picks up from where this left off. These descendants may be the proof of the eternity promised by the title of Endless Summer.

The Feelies - 'The Good Earth' (Domino/Coyote)

There was quite a hiatus before this appeared and when it did, it was almost shocking - gone are the jittery rhythms and angular guitar leads, replaced by languid, open-chord strums. And I think they're a better band for it. Was it a brave choice, turning down the energy and looking for something else; or was it a crass appeal to commercial pressures, fitting into the jangly 'college rock' vibe of the late 1980s? I don't buy it that turning down and simplifying - and consciously removing your 'edge' - is a sign of selling out or lesser quality music. The Good Earth is a masterpiece, clearly one of the high water marks of American rock in the 80s and the Feelies' finest achievement. And they have the distinction of being a band that simultaneously influenced R.E.M. (with their first album) and was influenced by R.E.M. (here). Though R.E.M. is a bit of an easy comparison, just because there's arpeggios galore and a solid backbeat; I also hear traces of country standards, blues/spirituals, and of course folk. There's a cowboy vibe to 'Tomorrow Today', which utilises the new rhythm section of Brenda Sauter, Dave Weckerman and Stan Demeski to great success. 'Slipping (Into Something)' and 'Let's Go' are not too far from the songwriting of Crazy Rhythms, just using a different arrangement to the same tension and cadences. 'The Last Roundup' is the most indicative of the earlier material, probably a holdover, with lots of frantic strumming and the two percussionists used to full effect. The highlight of this record for me, and therefore of The Feelies, is 'When Company Comes', the most simple sketch of a song, built around three chords strummed and with a chorus of nearly wordless vocals, topped with some searing guitar notes. It's pure psychedelia, but like you've never heard before. I don't know why it moves me so much - maybe, when combined with the speaking voices mixed into the end and the way it comes as the last song on side one (which is always the best position for a song, in my opinion), it all amalgamates into some lost, wispy alternative Americana that I can't remember (I was six when this came out) but yearn for anyway. (hint: it never existed)

Marion Brown - 'Afternoon of a Georgia Faun' (ECM)

I was in the car with Rob, and I don't remember exactly what kind of car it was - some old late 80's clunker piece of shit, like a Chrysler K car or an old Chevy. Long and boxy, and on it's last legs. We were on the Merrit Parkway in Connecticut, certainly a pleasing stretch of American highway if there ever was one. It was cold outside; maybe snow on the treetops; not the heat-drenched Southern sunshine this record makes me think of. But back then, I had never heard it, and he pulled out a Maxell Type II cassette with Afternoon of a Georgia Faun dubbed onto side A (with some Cerberus Shoal CD on the flip), and threw it in the deck. 'This is like birds playing in a birdbath, splashing around,' he said, and I now know that he is right, but at the time, I couldn't really hear it. Cause when you're going 65 mph in an old car, there's a lot of wind and distractions, and you can't always hear quiet, sparse nuanced music. I could tell that this was a delicate beast, and at the time it reminded me of the early Art Ensemble of Chicago jams - the little instruments and all that. But I honestly couldn't hear it; I could only feel Rob's enthusiasm for what he believed was one of the great forgotten masterpieces of it's era (1970). The car started to overheat so we actually had to wind the windows down and turn the heater on full blast, the logic being that the heat would be drawn out through the dashboard. It worked - we didn't break down, but it rendered 'Afternoon of a Georgia Faun' unlistenable at the time. It didn't matter to me; sometimes a friend's enthusiasm/passion is all it takes to make me a true believer. When I got home I ebayed this and finally got to explore 'Afternoon of a Georgia Faun' in the relative solitude of my own flat. The birdbath analogy has always stayed with me (even if I am remembering the rest of this story incorrectly) particularly because of Jeanne Lee and Gayle Palmoré's soaring voices. Invented instruments, percussive drops, and a genteel sense of spatial exploration make this a true classic. But it's a different thing than the Art Ensemble's explorations - it's the Sea Ensemble that I would probably put this closer to, in the way it breathes and pulses and seeks harmony instead of Dada. Side B's wonderful 'Djinji's Corner' was also a pleasant surprise - continuing the open poetics of the first side, but with a bit more energy, some propulsive snaredrum taps (courtesy of Andrew Cyrille) and maybe a bit of theatrics that are missing from side A. The lineup is great - Braxton is back with us sooner than later on our alphabetical sojourn, though he is really a sideman, despite playing 8 different instruments. I'm not sure which parts are his, Brown's, or Bernie Maupin's, but it doesn't matter at all - it's all a swirling, yet coherent abstraction. It's strange to me how this record is relatively obscure - I mean, it's not a legendary classic, but it probably should be - I've never seen reissues floating around as frequently as Brown's ESP stuff, but I think it towers over many similar approaches to sound organisation . Seek this out if you haven't heard it; it's a beautiful, magical slice of black vinyl.

Anthony Braxton - 'Four Compositions (Quartet) 1983' (Black Saint)

The closing trilogy of our Braxton collection all comes on the Black Saint label, and they keep the flame alive in those dark 1980s. All three of these smaller group compositions pair Braxton with Gerry Hemingway on percussion, and this one with George Lewis on trombone and John Lindberg. It's a smaller lineup than the orchestra madness we just saw, but the side-long 'Composition - No. 105 A' that opens the record is pretty astounding in how diverse and, well, fruity it sounds. Braxton and Lewis explode in a cornucopia of sounds, and the rhythm section alternately prods and propels them, making the whole thing feel a bit like one of those Willem Breuker Kollektief records despite being only a quartet. It's notated to death but it feels so alive, bubbly, and strange that it can't really be placed into any easily definable category. It certainly feels more European than American, and it was recorded in Milano so maybe that has something to do with it. By the end of the 20 minutes you've been taken through flowering, natural gardens and calculated, man-made constructions - but you've never had to leave the tour bus. Side B slows things down a bit, allowing some more emphasis on technique though there's still a fairly plotted map to follow. Lindberg does some good slow sawing on the first track, and the second track ends with Lewis sputtering about his mouthpiece in a Derek Bailey style of liminal catharsis. The parts that circle around a theme are the most enjoyable, because there's a real sense of sugar-coated fun, even as the musicians try to pull each other away from sensibile behaviours. The lock-step 'band' moments, when they gel, are all the more powerful when juxtaposed against the games. But why this description should apply to this record any different than another (by Braxton, or anyone really) I can't really say; this is a time where words fail to sum up what I'm hearing and feeling. This is another recommended one, particularly for those looking for a mashed-up cocktail with a flame underneath.