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PREVIOUS PLAYLISTS:
MARCH - 2007
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PLAYLIST (NOV/DEC 2005) Note : This playlist hopes to periodically introduce people who like Piano Magic to music the band themselves enjoy. If we don’t like a record, we don’t review it. There’s enough negativity in the music press, as it is. Piano Magic generally buy their records from www.smallfish.co.uk and www.boomkat.com or www.roughtrade.com
Deaf Center – Pale Ravine (Type) The name doesn’t fit and the title isn’t particularly inspired but this is a wonderful, wonderful record that sits up there on the throne with our recent adoration for Max Richter, Marsen Jules and Mountains. If you liked those (and if you like Piano Magic), you cannot go wrong with this album. This is darkly romantic, evocative, absorbing record that evokes the spirit of, perhaps, Dead Can Dance’s more pensive side, Max Richter’s warm tinklings, the country Finland and this great, whale of a season we’re in the mouth of : Winter. Piano Magic’s Record Of The Year.
www.typerecords.com
This album, the first in a series of Cluster/Eno-related reissues on Californian label, Water, was recorded in Summer 1977 at Kraftwerk-producer Conny Plank’s German studio. Even so, like much of Eno’s output, the date and circumstance are immaterial - for this music is timeless, in limbo. Most records can be dated quite easily by the technology employed but Eno, rather than following any trend of the day, was his own trend. Of course, given Cluster, Plank and Can’s Holger Czukay’s involvement here, some might wish to slap a Krautrock tag on this collaboration but it just doesn’t stick. No motorik rhythms, no monosyllabic bass. On the contrary, this is essentially minimalist interplay between warm analogue synths, piano, E-bowed guitar, occasional padding toms and sitar. The less-is-more philosophy leaves the listener with lots of space to lose oneself in. An essential purchase.
I was sold this record on the promise that Anoice are “like
Rachel’s…but they rock…” But isn’t
that Godspeed? Well, no because whereas Godspeed dangle you worringly
over a cliff for the duration of an album, Anoice frequently drop
you, pick you up again and occasionally even make you float. What’s
more, there’s often more of a rhythmic framework here. The
bass isn’t afraid to groove, the drums do ‘Bolero’
behind the cascades of passionate viola and hammered piano. Anoice,
in fact, are as adept at approaching the rock/classical thing from
the rock end as the classical end, which gives them more than one
string to their bow and potentially makes for some celestial live
performances. In places, they sound like an instrumental Arcade
Fire. In others – particularly the incredibly beautiful tracks
5 - 8 – they sound as good as any living film composer worth
his salt. If track 6 (Liange) doesn’t astound you, you are
a glacier. www.importantrecords.com
Any compilation’s a hit and miss affair but this one is heavily
weighted in favour of ambient excellence. Sebastian Roux’s
music reminds me of an afternoon nap in sunshine; its light and
breezy drones calmly weave through you, evoking dreams of flight
and tall grass. Safe, happy, somnabulent flutterings. www.staartje.com
A common affliction of bands is the inability to make a record sound as potent as you play live. That’s not to say ‘The Darkest Hour’ is one of those albums but it really does whet your appetite for seeing The Birdwatcher in a smoky, spit-and-sawdust bar with just the blue lights on. It’s an album so delicate in parts that you can actually hear the valve amps buzz, the breaths between lines. Space is utilised to optimum effect and each guitar string is thoughtfully struck. This rich analogue tapestry indeed evokes that cold, pensive time for the insomniac just before the sun starts warming everything up. It’s music for owls and foxes. Nobody really makes this kind of stuff in Europe. We don’t have the patience. We don’t have the guts to be quiet. It’s like Stars Of The Lid but with rusting guitars and cymbals.
A grown-up electronic record. That is, like Air, Sinner DC knows very well how to twist and contort technology to their own aims and the sound is sheeny, shiny, big as a fridge. It’s a record constructed from clever loops, complex sequencing, yearning vocoder, crushing beats. You can dance to it and think about it at the same time. Quite rare, that.
Windsor For The Derby always struck me as an “almost” band. If their music was a peach, there was always one bite missing. I’ve so wanted to welcome them into my heart but they stayed outside in all weathers, existing in the shed at the bottom of the garden with the American Analog Set, Lali Puna, The Sea & Cake and a bunch of trowels. ‘Giving Up The Ghost,’ however moves them several steps up the garden path and it’s about time. By track 3, ‘Praise,’ they’ve clearly laid out their stall - Disco Inferno, circa 1989 when they thought they were Joy Division but were, in fact, more Crispy Ambulance. ‘Shadows’ sounds like ‘Truth’ from New Order’s first album, ‘Movement’ so, if you’re anything like me, right about now you’ll be logging onto Boomkat to pick this up. It’s simply a really good stab at early 80’s Factory Records, down to the room reverb, sizzling drum-machine hi-hats and muttered vocals. ‘The Front’ (as in “cold front” no doubt), is a splendid coldwave instrumental that fills the gap somewhere between 5 Or 6’s ‘Polar Exposure’ and Bark Psychosis’ ‘I Know.’ After that, however, the stall gets a little shaky. I was a little bored by the pedestrian strum of ‘Giving Up’ and ‘The Light Is On’ sounds uncomfortably like a step back into the band’s old fare but ‘Gathering’ is as jittery and dirty as anything from Joy Division’s ‘Still.’ This is when they’re at their best, taking notes from the godfathers of isolationism and whereas this may not be the greatest advertisement for individuality, it’s definitely progress.
In Nostalgia Corner, this month, possibly the greatest Winter album
ever made and for me, Low’s first long player was also their
best. That is, compared with subsequent releases, this was simply
flawless. ‘I Could Live In Hope’ is a rowing boat slowly
sliding over a great lake that’s been frozen still. It’s
the passage of fog. It’s the blue light turning to black around
4pm this Winter. Everything here is brushed or strummed or plucked
with kid mittens. It’s an eggshell of a record that would
be cracked and crumble with the slightest ascension in volume or
dynamic. Kramer’s golden production touch is the veil of warm
reverb over everything from the methadone bass to the caressed hi-hat.
The vocals are, as ever, otherworldly – the telepathic chemistry
of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker, even in 1994, could reduce you
to tears. Sparhawk, particularly, sounds, in turns, disturbed, helpless
and lost throughout. You worry about him and this is well before
the bleak, barren depths of ‘Secret Name.’
Given that this record features contributions from Hope Sandoval and David Roback (Mazzy Star), Colm O’Ciosoig (My Bloody Valentine/The Warm Inventions), Martin Duffy (Primal Scream/Felt) and was produced by Kevin Shields (MBV) and Guy Fixsen (Laika), you might have exceptionally high expectations. Well, lower them and relax a little, for it’s only then that you might appreciate this unashamedly lo-fi, (good) naïve and intriguing record. Charlotte Marionneau, French, cute, signed to Poptones by Alan McGee some years ago, has a brittle, husky voice – one which you may not realise you’ve already heard - on Piano Magic’s 2002 album, ‘Writers Without Homes’ (4AD). Since then, Charlotte’s been taking her own sweet time piecing together these loveable ramshackle vignettes. It’s the suggestion that these songs could collapse at any moment that’s particularly endearing. Despite Shields’ legendary meticulousness in the production chair, this is all remarkably non-produced! At best, these recordings are original home tapings that have been only slightly dusted down to make them a little more accessible. Even so, what she lacks in radio-friendliness, Marionneau balances with copious amounts of charm and confidence. Drums struggle, guitars jangle, Casios bleep, glockenspiels tinkle but it’s that voice that really seduces – a 40-day-habit, whiskery, breathy, French whisper. The accompanying video for “I Killed My Best Friend” is no less budget, though as enchanting as the music.
The Bitter Springs have never had much luck. Unfashionable, of a certain age and seemingly unable to stick to any one record label, it’s something of a minor miracle that they’re still releasing records. But their bloody-minded persistence is their buoy – they can’t not make records and well, just hope someone’s listening. For me, the majority of the record-buying public is missing out on one of the greatest British lyricists we have, Simon Rivers. Up there with Jarvis Cocker, Rivers is essentially a narrator of Britain’s fat, tattooed underbelly. He’s all woodchip and underlay, chipped tea cups and your gran’s teeth in a glass. He’s the Martin Parr of the indie underworld. ‘That Sentimental Slush’ is jam-packed with sublime observations, delivered without a hint of pretence. “I’d rather smell of booze than stink of bullshit.” “Would Drake still sound as good without the early grave?” “Muppets on their mobiles, driving, really cut a dash. Can you ring me at the A&E, I’m just about to crash.” “Sell your studio on the drum sound.” This is all genius stuff yet the Springs don’t take themselves too seriously - check out the gloomy calypso of ‘Paedophile Island’ where they sound like a jaded hotel band. Musically, the Springs are more than adeptly melodic so it’s rather a shame that they don’t have the production budget to give these songs the sheen they demand. Even so, this is their best record and demands a much wider audience than they’re accustomed to. Unfashionable is the new fashionable. It never killed The Fall.
If you haven’t yet encountered Jeffrey Lewis, you’re
a sadder person than you need to be. Jeff’s a troubador, comic
book artist, really nice guy and thankfully, like Adam Green, he’s
finally transcended the frankly irritating New York Anti-Folk scene
to which, two years ago, he was happily anchored to. Jack, his brother,
looks like a villain from Felix The Cat. www.TheJeffreyLewisSite.com
New Order : Singles (London)
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