Gunter Hampel and his Galaxie Dream Band - 'Broadway/Folksong' (Birth/Jubilee Edition)

Hampel had a productive summer in 1972; several of these 'Jubilee Editions' are recording sessions from that time, spent in New York obviously in collaboration with many American musicians. This is recorded in July, two months after Angel, and in a studio this time. It's mostly a different cast though John Shea and Jeanne Lee are still present, and there's no drumming this time. The compositions are more strongly felt - this is a heavily melodic album, built around plucked and bowed strings. 'Folksong' with flute and violin together, teasing each other towards a theme before the other musicians creep in. It finds a form, a circular, rolling melody, not extremely 'folk'-based to these ears but meant obviously as people's music. 'Broadway' is the main piece, split over two sides, which works in several movements of variously tight compositional form. There's two bassist, a cellist and violin to support the flutter treble core of Hampel & Lee. There's a feeling of Tin Pan Alley, with the basses working to keep the rhythmic centre, and I suppose the title comes from this throwback feeling. This isn't 'Oklahoma!' but unmistakably tied to jazz's past era, with bouncy swing moments and call and response themes coming and going. Just after side two starts, it shifts to the most formal melody yet heard on these Hampel records, and Lee is a delight here, whisking over it all like a tiny hummingbird trying to feed. 

The Garbage & The Flowers - 'Eyes Rind as if Beggars' (Bo'Weavil)

If you wait long enough, eventually everything gets reissued. I had this for over a year and only just now realised there was a CD stuck inside, but my CD player is broken at the moment so I'm not sure what's on it. Maybe I should pay closer attention to things I purchase. In the New Zealand hall of fame, this band occupies a special place, though really they should qualify for the regular ol' "music" hall of fame, if such a thing existed. Thank gosh it doesn't. Originally released in 1997, this double LP is mostly made of lo-fi live recordings, documenting this anarchic, shambolic mess of a band that nonetheless managed to captivate enough listeners to warrant this deluxe reissue, many years later. This is guitar music, occasionally erupting into piles of dissonant feedback and distortion, but it's not the slightest bit aggressive. This is dream music, though it never seduces you with anything too easy or too confectionary. Singer Helen Johnstone and guitarists Yuri Frusin and Paul Yates are the yin and yang, with her gorgeous voice and their hell-guitars pushing and pulling, but the drummer is nothing to scoff at either - this was really perfection, more than the sum of their parts, because of (not 'despite') the rough edges. The album feels more like a collection of whatever was lying around, a document that this existed, rather than a focused project, and I couldn't imagine it any other way. The notes bend and shimmer ('Holy Holy Blue' feels like it's barely held together at all), the recordings sound like their all made during the last night on earth, and the feeling is all warmth and magic, mostly creeping in from the edges. The walls of guitar on 'Nothing Going Down' and 'Rosicrucinn Lover' are almost devotional; they take over the space but never feel self-indulgent. Maybe it's just the Velvet Underground taken to the logical conclusion if it was 25 years later and on the other side of the world, but I love it. There's a quality to a lot of music from New Zealand -- Alastair Galbraith, I'm looking at you -- that is spooky, reverent, and open. This record is saturated in that, while seemingly laid on a fun jammy indie-rock structure. This is all romance without cynicism, a testament to the powers of noise and the energy within a band unit. And it's simple too - listen to 'Nothing Going Down at All' or 'Carousel' - this could be you or I. It's inspiring, and it makes me feel young and old at the same time, and I'm gushing here but I'm just so fucking grateful that this band existed.

Burning Star Core - 'Challenger' (Plastic)

Another Burning Star Core LP, another label, another sound. This is one that is so incredibly precise in its vision that many consider Challenger to be the pick of the BxC litter. Certainly from a sound-quality point of view, this is the ultimate of intimate outer-awesomeness, permanently perched just over your shoulder when listening on headphones and fantastically in opposition with the rest of the world when heard on speakers. In my case there's a chainsaw audible outside my window which is just amazingly in-sync with Trevor Tremaine's guitar solo on 'Mezzo Forte'. Internally (meaning, inside the sleeve) we get some flatlined graphical scores, perhaps rough approximations of the soundforms on these eight tracks. And that's a fun thing to map out - the firecracker/percussion sounds on 'No Memories, No Plans' are certainly there, though it's the screaming voices in the background that make this track so compelling. This feels like a "fun" album, a party record, though the recordings are often somber -- reverb chambers and slowly rising and falling synthesizer/electronics parts make this anything but danceable, yet the consistency and track lengths solidify the proceedings. It's anything but filler here. There are moments of ur-drone concentration like ('Hopelessly Devoted') but they're sequenced just right, so when the drone breaks and 'Mysteries of the Organ' begins with it's melting, wispy organ pumping, it's a magically awesome trip. And 'Un Couer en Hiver' maximises the range of vinyl - processed industrial sounds of trebly, echoing field recordings - cut in and out around the windy, feather-like core. When they cut out it's practically shocking - a testament to the mastering and pressing process. And when they come back in, it's a giant boost, and a brilliant ending track. Great closers are ones that let the brakes off a little, but suggest/imply more than they show. 'Un Couer' is a gesture, beckoning towards possible worlds, perhaps a sonic transformation of the beautiful cover artwork. It's these tracks that cement the 'classic' status of albums -- for some reason what jumps to mind is 'Soon' by My Bloody Valentine, which the more I think of it, is not that far-off a comparison.

Bugskull - 'Distracted Snowflake Volume One' (Pop Secret/Darla)

I think this is probably Bugskull's finest moment. It's not quite as messy (sonically) as the last few albums, but boasts a pop confidence not heard ever before. There's a more emphatic approach to the instrumental work as well, as the opening track 'Icecream Daydream' sets the stage, sounding like a looser Yo La Tengo circa Painful. The electronica aspects are much more personal than before; field recordings, affected keyboards and weird synth sequences create songs that are some of the most mystically odd electronic music I've ever heard. 'Goodbye' is like a bizarro Boards of Canada track, every bit as detailed and perfectionist. But it's also got the most song-based side of Bügsküll that we've heard to date. 'Grand Canyon' is a straight-up folk song, somewhat improvised lyrically, with the sound of wind (perhaps recorded at the Canyon itself?) that is deceptively simple; it's nuanced and honest, and a far cry from Crock's soup-maelstrom. And 'Winky's Wild Ride (The Quest)' is the best Bügsküll song ever - with probably the most forward vocal part, and also some magically ascending toneclouds - it's the essence of the sublime. The closer, 'Sun', starts like Charlemagne Palestine on a hot air balloon - warm to the touch, and occasionally flaring up before plateauing into a sophisticated mid-level psych workout. The percussion is Eastern-tinged hand drumming, a nice complement to the hard electro-beats that pepper the other parts of the record. The recording quality is stunning, letting the instruments breathe and find their own space -- but it could also be that over the years, Mr. Byrne has upgraded his equipment somewhat. The liner notes contain a silly/nonsensical story about a garden gnome that I could live without, but it sets a mood I guess, and the album more than delivers. All of these Bugskull records offer something to enjoy, but this one seems to take every aspect of what he does and do it better than the rest.

Bügsküll - 'Crock: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack' (Pop Secret)

For years I thought Crock was a fake movie, since the names from the film credits sound made up (The Surgeon, Steve Sexx Stevens, Slats Grobnik) but the Internet tells me it's a real film. Prescott Sheng maybe didn't turn into the next Jean-Luc Godard, but whatever weirdness Crock was (the stills on the back suggest a wonderfully public-access aesthetic), it sure had a great soundtrack that probed the outer limits of bedroom psychedelia in 1996. Bügsküll (the umlauts are back!) are great for soundtrackin', as the longer instrumental jams first explored on Snakland seem ripe for arthouse cinema. The titles suggest a close affiliation with the film with Pretty Boy and the Lost Patrol being repeating names. 'The Cactus Corps' takes up most of side 1 and it's built over a crooked Casio beat with heavy guitar panning, disembodied affected ghostspeak, and sublimely accessible malevolence. The electronic beats creep in a good bit on 'Pretty Boy's Tent' but guitars, cheap keyboards, and consumer effects pedals beat all here. 'Maggot (heart)s Pretty Boy' is the most vocal we've heard Mr. Bryne in awhile, perhaps intending this to be the hit single. Through the gently plodding song there's bit of sun-starved twang guitar which cuts through those lower mids and opens a prism on things. I suspect this whole record is Byrne solo, a there are even less live drums. The drum programming, as mentioned before on 'Tent', is quite simplistic, almost like retarded proto-breakcore, but so buried in the drones and effects the effect is quite odd. 'The Lost Patrol Return Home' thuds along as an appropriate end-credits track, with a nice placid coda of perfectly placed tones. I realise with Crock how Bügsküll has too short of an attention span to properly "do" minimalist drone, and the results is a richer cornucopia of textures and melodies. Now if only Criterion will get on the DVD release...

Tim Buckley - 'Happy Sad' (Elektra)

This is overall my fave Tim Buckley record. It's the transitional one, where he's arcing up towards the stratosphere, knees tensed slightly. Or maybe he just heard Astral Weeks and said 'I gotta get some of that." "That" being the sound of pure liquidity; a record of ebbs and flows that bursts free with joyous character and somehow looks ahead to the even more out-there futurism of Lorca, Starsailor and the funky stuff. If you don't believe me, listen to the urban bongo grooves of 'Gypsy Woman', which dominates side B with its dark voodoo. It's partially due to the band really finding its voice, with Lee Underwood's lead guitar going apeshit here and on other tracks; not really being familiar with the in-between album, Goodbye and Hello, I'm not so sure how gradual this change was. It's pure jazz and Buckley lets his voice take a backseat at times, but knows when to let it rip. 'Gypsy Woman cast a spell on me / no mama don't you lie...' rips out like Robert Plant's 'Whole Lotta Love' bullshit, but this anticipates it, and this band rips the head off anything Zep ever did. (Though, can I name a single member of Buckley's backing band without looking at the liner notes? Can anyone?) But 'Gypsy Woman's histrionics belies the true beauty of this record, which is in the gentle rumbling grooves of the calm tracks. And let's not forget to mention David Friedman's vibes, which utterly transform a song like 'Buzzin' Fly' into a transcendent gem. Love is in the air and it's simple but with a biting undercurrent. 'Strange Feelin'' nails this, and it's a hell of a one-two punch with 'Fly', possibly being the greatest one-two punch in the history of rock music where both songs contain trailing apostrophes. 'Love From Room 109' is the difficult beast, which takes on the extended form in a moody workout, recalling the other epic folk jams of its day ('Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands' and that song on the first Neil album come to mind) but with a somewhat more watery presence. Maybe this stuff influenced shit like Dave Matthews Band but to my ears it's a magical blend, where everything is just right. There's more contemplative photos of Buckley on the sleeve for the teenyboppers to stare at, though I'd like to know how this went over with the pop kids. While some tracks are certainly accessible, like the straight-up folk beauty of 'Sing a Song for You', this sounds like a band that realises it has no limits. They make not take full advantage of this freedom quite yet, but it's on the horizon.

Kevin Ayers - 'The Joy of a Toy' (Harvest)

Jesus H. Christ, but how did I end up owning seven Kevin Ayers records?? Sure, we'll have a blast with these first three, a trilogy to rank among the progpop greats -- but then somehow I have both Odd Ditties (his Incesticide) and some cheapo greatest hits collection that has the French version of 'May I?' (yes, 'Puis-je?'), neither of which I look forward to hearing again. So another gauntlet here; fair enough, let's take it easy cause that's surely Kevin's M.O. I've always loved the lackadaiscal summer melodies on this record, laid down effortlessly with the most charming, smirking approach. There's a real goofball feel to the instrumentation, with slide whistles, oboes and soft winds, but it doesn't feel over-orchestrated. Instead it's a nice day out in the park with a slightly mischievous, maybe not entirely-reliable longhair as your guide. And the darker tunes aren't exactly dark - maybe it's just a bit overcast, but I still feel like I'm strolling through an open-air market, squeezing various fruits to test for ripeness. We get lyrics for only two songs in the moldy gatefold - the hypnotic, creepy 'Lady Rachel' and the Beatles-quotin' 'Song for Insane Times'. But there's nothing really insane here beyond the variable tapespeed fuckery at the beginning of 'Stop This Train'. Maybe this is Kevin's big philosophical statement about life- just relax, smoke a doob, grope a boob. I've always associated Kevin Ayers' music with rampant oversexed free love, and this album artwork is creepy enough to suggest something far more perverted. And exactly which kind of toy are you talking about, buddy? Soft Machine alumni back him up and things really get cooking on 'Eleanor's Cake' with some head-bashing solos. Though this LP looks pretty clean, it crackles a bit - and I wouldn't be surprised if this copy spent a few hours soaked in beer on an ugly carpet in a smoky room at some point in the 1970s. I used to rock this one quite a bit, so maybe some of the surface wear is my own fault; each spin would reveal a nice new detail, such as the kazoo's interaction with Hawaiian guitar in 'Lady Rachel'. Nothing is hidden here; it all sits really well in the mix. I wonder what Ayers was going for here - total pop success? It certainly feels like an attempt. Take the first Soft Machine album's songwriting formula, simplify the cadences a bit, and strip out the long instrumental vamps. Even the 'weird instrumental', 'Oleh Oleh Bandu Bandong' is pretty palatable, and it segues into 'All This Crazy Gift of Time', the straightest, folkiest statement of purpose that Ayers ever laid down. "All my blond and twilight dreams / All those strangled future schemes" -- fuck yeah! What strikes me about this record is how it appears to be such a straight arrow on first listen but slowly reveals itself to be a gradual curveball. Just like you can't see the Earth's curvature unless you're standing on a glacier or something. I don't think he ever found the commercial success due to his own hedonistic digressions and musically oddball urges, but this was a hell of an audacious start. Which makes our next listen even more interesting ....

Air - 'Air Lore' (Arista Novus)

Source: Ross. Honestly, I didn't get all of my records from one source, just a lot of the A's.

Can you hear the 80s on the horizon? For their sixth album, these innovators decided to 'explore not only the roots of American black music, but their roots as well', conincidentally making a very commercial record of standards just before the dawn of an era when avant-garde jazz went into remission. Well, Roots was big in '78, I guess. I don't mean to knock the effort - you can't deny that a musician might want to convey soul and feeling and not just write obtuse weird shit their whole career - but there's something a bit heartless in the Scott Joplin pieces here. They take on Jelly Roll Morton with a bit more life, though it's still missing something. Or maybe my ears are slightly occluded by the cover art, which is actually pretty incredible and maybe the best cover yet in this project. It's not the sepiatone aspect that I love the most, nor is is the suits, shoes, or glasses of white wine. It's the plants - and it's a shame the florist isn't credited on the back (since the shoe outfitter and stylist were) because I've love to spruce up the piano at Vinyl Underbite HQ with a similar species, but I don't know who to call. Anyway, side 2 is more Jelly Roll and then a Threadgill composition right in the middle that's all flute and bowed bass and McCall stepping lightly on clouds, and then it's more Joplin to close out on a high, or at least upbeat, note. Weird to kill the momentum with the Threadgill jam and it's also weird to spoil the conceptual purity of your "back to the roots" record but, hey, that's how the Air blows.