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Following years of memorable turns in collab with Dean Blunt and on her own solo recordings, ‘Blurrr’ is likely the moment Joanne Robertson ooozes into much wider acclaim and recognition - a stunning album of sparse heartbreakers recorded in the company of Oliver Coates and landing at an irresistibly fragile spot somewhere between classic Grouper, Cat Power and Arthur Russell’s ‘World of Echo’. A real delicate, special album - one of the year’s finest.
In pursuit of last year’s ‘Backstage Raver’ duo with longtime spar Dean Blunt, Manchester born, Blackpool-rooted, Glasgow-based Joanne Robertson casts her strongest spell yet on ‘Blurrr’, cementing her status as a master of timeless songcraft. On nine new songs, every strum and murmured lyric exposes a patient beauty and rare intimacy that transcends the sum of its parts. It includes a trio of co-productions with Oliver Coates - noted collaborator with everyone from Malibu and Mica Levi to Laurel Halo - lending an extra frisson of flesh-tingling substance to accentuate the sensuality of Robertson’s voice.
In solo mode, she has us by a thread on the album’s longest piece ‘Friendly’ where we're treated to harmonies and hooks that pull from Nick Drake through Sarah Records and the blissed Americana of Hope Sandoval, lilting into a filigree coda somehow comparable to Vini Reilly’s sun-kissed, balearic glissandi. Her blissed coos on ‘Peaceful’ set our arm hairs on end, and the languorous opener 'Ghost' is like Robertson's answer to Grouper's timeless 'Heavy Water’, while ‘Why Me’ feels like the Nirvana Unplugged x Cat Power hookup of our dreams; there's nothing heavy handed or overdone - just bare expressions - like a blast of cool air on a humid afternoon.
Coates elevates three of the album's most striking tracks. His emotive string flourishes are remarkably subtle, there's a trace of the cinematic wonder that elevated his work with Laurel Halo on 'Raw Silk Uncut Wood' and with Malibu on the now classic 'One Life', but Coates is careful not to overpower Robertson's songs, enhancing her harmonies without ever obscuring their faultlines. On 'Gown' we’re reminded of Arthur Russell's timeless 'World of Echo', and that connection deepens further on 'Doubt', where Coates' fluttering low-end reverberates below Robertson's cool-headed voice. The killer for us, though, is 'Always Were', a glittering masterpiece that sounds like Robertson’s voice has been recorded to a half-broken mic, then dubbed to worn tape, magnifying its emotional resonance as it cracks alongside Coates' heaving strings, snowballing into a dense mass of harmony and echo.
Caracol is one of the first examples of fusion between Brazilian percussive music and electronics. Synthesizers, samplers and sequencers were still a novelty in Brazil in the 1980s, but João de Bruçó and R.H. Jackson created an avant-garde masterpiece.
Using popular references and an eagerness to escape any retro / stylistic cliché that came to haunt Brazilian youth music at that time, they plunged into an audacious, intuitive and improbable sound journey in Caracol.
This rare adventure of Brazilian music was released independently in 1989, financed by the artists themselves. The original small pressing sold-out, belonging now to record collectors around the planet. For the first time Caracol is re-released on vinyl, with two extra tracks found after decades!
Remastered from the original tapes, this reissue includes a reproduction of the original graphic art, new testimonies from João de Bruçó and RH Jackson and a long article signed by Bento Araujo, author of the book series Lindo Sonho Delirante, which investigates audacious and fearless music created in the Brazilian underground.
Brazilian singer, poet, guitarist Joao Gilberto made his 1959 debut with the now legendary LP, ‘Chega de Saudade’, a new sound and acknowledge as the first bossa nova album, a genre that swept the world in popularity and taken up by such artists as Stan Getz, Charly Byrd, Astrud Gilberto, Frank Sinatra, Quincy Jones, and countless others. Presented here is essentially a themed compilation of some of his best songs, including tracks from his acclaimed debut LP, ‘Chega de Saudade’.
‘Sorrow’ is the third in the ‘Aquarii In Dub’ series from musician and producer Joe Armon-Jones, written and produced by Joe in his own studio and released on his own label Aquarii Records.
As well as Liam Bailey and James Mollison, Sorrow features Morgan Simpson on drums, bassist Luke Wynter, and Mark Mollison on guitar.
Produced and mixed by Joe Armon-Jones, mastered by Noah Priddle.
Joe Henderson, who had made a name for himself with his Blue Note albums, was based at Milestone from the late 1960s onward, releasing a series of albums that pushed blackness to the forefront. In the summer of 1971, Joe Henderson visited Japan by himself and delighted Japanese audiences. One of the climaxes of his visit was a five-day concert series at Junk in Ginza, Tokyo. Henderson's Habiliment” is a record of that night. The powerful, emotionally rich, and lustrous playing is a masterpiece. The Japanese musicians who performed with him, Hideo Ichikawa, Kunimitsu Inaba, and Motohiko Hino, also showed their sharpness. Starting with “Junk Blues,” which even has a terrible taste, followed by the blaring “'Round About Midnight,” the deeper “Blue Bossa,” and the hip and beautiful “Black Narcissus,” which was not included on the American version of “In Japan,” the performance was so rich and full that it tore at the seams.
Miyazake collaborator Joe Hisaishi's accompaniment to 1993 crime thriller 'Sonatine' is another lovingly repackaged oddity from the WRWTFWW stable; one of Hisaishi's personal favorites, it's an eccentric, vividly colored mash-up of global percussion, Tangerine Dream-style cosmic minimalism and earworm piano themes.
Hisaishi isn't the first person we'd think of if we were directing a gangster film, but we're not Takeshi Kitano. The award-winning pianist and composer has penned over 100 scores, and is best known for his work with Hayao Miyazaki, having worked on all but one of his films, but he also nurtured a close relationship with Kitano, scoring 'Kids Return', 'Hana-bi' and 'Dolls', among others. 'Sonatine' is one of Kitano's most acclaimed films, and follows an aging yakuza (played by Kitano) who expressionlessly contemplates his decisions as his time ticks away. Somehow, Hisaishi takes this prompt as an opportunity to work in technicolor, juxtaposing his expectedly jaunty motifs with plasticky fanfares, Midori Takada-style marimba sequences, hand drum workouts and wyrd library psych detours.
We don't fully remember how the soundtrack meshed with the visuals (it's been a while), but as a stand-alone, Hisaishi's bizarre suite of cues works remarkably well. 'Sonatine' arrived over a decade after 'MKWAJU', his outstanding African-inspired collaboration with Takada, and his new age/kosmische-slanted solo album 'Information', and there are traces of each to be found here. Centerpiece track 'Into A Trance' might lack the Prophet 5-powered bite of 'Information', but its Reich-to-YMO electroid minimalism echoes the themes, and 'Eye Witness', a wonky ethno-scrunch of sitar drones, hollow reversed percussive thumps, shamisen plucks and sampled vocal stings is a tongue-in-cheek extension of Hisaishi and Takada's high-minded concepts.
Elsewhere, Hisaishi tries his hand at tabla-tinted Hammond psych on 'Mobius Band', and deploys a Miyazake-ready solo piano heart-melter with 'Light and Darkness'.
Miyazake collaborator Joe Hisaishi's accompaniment to 1993 crime thriller 'Sonatine' is another lovingly repackaged oddity from the WRWTFWW stable; one of Hisaishi's personal favorites, it's an eccentric, vividly colored mash-up of global percussion, Tangerine Dream-style cosmic minimalism and earworm piano themes.
Hisaishi isn't the first person we'd think of if we were directing a gangster film, but we're not Takeshi Kitano. The award-winning pianist and composer has penned over 100 scores, and is best known for his work with Hayao Miyazaki, having worked on all but one of his films, but he also nurtured a close relationship with Kitano, scoring 'Kids Return', 'Hana-bi' and 'Dolls', among others. 'Sonatine' is one of Kitano's most acclaimed films, and follows an aging yakuza (played by Kitano) who expressionlessly contemplates his decisions as his time ticks away. Somehow, Hisaishi takes this prompt as an opportunity to work in technicolor, juxtaposing his expectedly jaunty motifs with plasticky fanfares, Midori Takada-style marimba sequences, hand drum workouts and wyrd library psych detours.
We don't fully remember how the soundtrack meshed with the visuals (it's been a while), but as a stand-alone, Hisaishi's bizarre suite of cues works remarkably well. 'Sonatine' arrived over a decade after 'MKWAJU', his outstanding African-inspired collaboration with Takada, and his new age/kosmische-slanted solo album 'Information', and there are traces of each to be found here. Centerpiece track 'Into A Trance' might lack the Prophet 5-powered bite of 'Information', but its Reich-to-YMO electroid minimalism echoes the themes, and 'Eye Witness', a wonky ethno-scrunch of sitar drones, hollow reversed percussive thumps, shamisen plucks and sampled vocal stings is a tongue-in-cheek extension of Hisaishi and Takada's high-minded concepts.
Elsewhere, Hisaishi tries his hand at tabla-tinted Hammond psych on 'Mobius Band', and deploys a Miyazake-ready solo piano heart-melter with 'Light and Darkness'.
Absolute K.O. bout of free jazz poetry by a spry, 85 year old Joe McPhee, adapting his renowned improvised practice to words - juxtaposed with Mats Gustafson’s sparing brass and electric gestures. It’s an utterly timeless and transfixing salvo, another shiny notch for Smalltown Supersound’s brilliant Le Jazz Non Series.
*300 copies limited edition* As a common ligature to the OG free jazz scene of ‘60s NYC, with formative binds to its European offshoots and the experimental avant garde, Joe McPhee is a true force of nature who has represented jazz at its freest over a remarkable lifetime. In duo with Swedish free jazz and noise standard bearer Mats Gustafson, he upends expectations with an astonishingly vivid and upfront example of his enduring contribution to freely improvised music. In 11 parts he variously reflects on everything from the neon sleaze and scuzz of NYC to contemporary US politicians and laugh out loud imitations of his previous sparring partners such as Peter Brötzmann, with a head-slapping immediacy that leaves you reeling, spellbound.
McPhee’s flow of rare, organic cadence, ranging from urgent to contemplative and dreamlike, is blessed with a unique turn-of-phrase that surely mirrors his decades of instrumental work. Gustafsson, meanwhile, dextrously takes up the mantle with a multi-instrumental spectrum of sounds, leaving McPhee unbound and able to float and sting on the mic. There’s obvious wisdom in his perceptively penetrative observations, as derived from a rich cultural life well spent, but also a playful naivety and levity in his ability to veer from almost melodic speech to explosive aggression and a knowing, bathetic wit. It’s perhaps hard to believe that McPhee only started incorporating and performing spoken word in his work in the past ten years, a half century since his declaration of “What Time Is It‽” announced his arrival on a legendary debut ‘Nation Time’ (1971), ushering in one of free jazz’s most singular characters in the process.
"It's been nearly five decades since Joe McPhee assembled a group of musicians to perform the weekend concerts that would become Nation Time. It was December 1970, thirty-one-year-old McPhee was inspired by Amiri Baraka's poem 'It's Nation Time,' and the students at Vassar College didn't know what hit them. 'What time is it?' shouted the bandleader. 'C'mon, you can do better than that. What time is it?!'
"The music on Nation Time came out of the fertile, but little-known creative jazz scene in Poughkeepsie, New York, McPhee's home base. Two bands were deployed, one with a funky free foundation featuring guitar and organ, the other consisting of a more standard jazz formation with two drummers and the brilliant Mike Kull at the piano. Across the concert and the next afternoon's audience-less recording session, the band was ignited by McPhee's passion and his gorgeous post-Coltrane / post-Pharoah tenor. On 'Shakey Jake,' they hit a James Brown groove filtered through Archie Shepp, while the sidelong title track is as searching and poignant today as it was during its heyday.
"Originally released in 1971 on CjR, an imprint started expressly to document McPhee's music, Nation Time has a sense of urgency and inspiration. Additional material from those December days would later appear on Black Magic Man, Hat Hut's first release. In fact, the first four records on this seminal Swiss label all featured McPhee.
"Nation Time was largely unknown a quarter century or so later, when it was first issued on CD through Atavistic's Unheard Music Series. On Corbett vs. Dempsey, we reissued the album along with all known tapes leading up to and around it as a deluxe box set, but the standalone LP has long remained incredibly rare. Now is the time for a new generation of freaks to lose their shit when settling into the cushy beat of 'Shakey Jake' and answer McPhee's call with the only appropriate response: It's NATION TIME."
– John Corbett
Lady of Mine is the 1989 debut LP by self-made Italian-American Joe Tossini. An astoundingly honest, passionate record of cosmopolitan lounge music, he willed this charming suburban oddity into existence without any formal musical training.
Sicilian by birth, Tossini drifted around the world between Italy, Germany and Canada, before finally settling in New Jersey. After the passing of his mother and the breakdown of a second marriage, an anxious and depressed Tossini took to songwriting as a form of therapy, crafting disarmingly candid lyrics from his extraordinary life and loves. Whatever industry savvy or musical virtuosity he lacked was made up for by unflinching resourcefulness and infectious charisma. Befriending bandleader Peppino Lattanzi at local club The Rickshaw Inn, he was encouraged to animate his singular songs with an ambitious cast of 9 players and 5 backing vocalists, sincerely credited as his Friends.
The Atlantic City basement sessions are a low budget, high romance testament to Tossini’s character and the power of positive thinking. From the defiant, Casiotone samba of If I Should Fall In Love, to Wild Dream’s dizzying escapism and the native tongue croons of Sulla Luna and Sincerita, Lady Of Mine hums with the inimitable magic of a true original. Piercing the heart with an effectively sparse combination of humming keys, CompuRhythm drums, horn flourishes and backing divas, ample room was left for Tossini to frankly deliver his much-needed life lessons.
Underperforming commercially at the hands of short lived label IEA Records, Lady Of Mine has since earned a place in the outsider music canon. Recently peaking interest as a cornerstone of the Sky Girl compilation, the private press trades for inordinate sums, typically with no financial benefit to its creator. Lady Of Mine is now finally reissued on the artist’s own terms via Joe Tossini Music, in partnership with Efficient Space, restored from original master tapes with unseen photos, extensive liner notes and Tossini’s trademark wisdom.
Devoutly independent, Tossini has previously self-released the 2015 instrumental album When You Love Someone as well as two books - a new fiction novel The Devil In White and his autobiography The Account of My Life.
During the last half-decade Joe Westerlund became engrossed in studying the clave, the metric pattern that first defined so much Afro-Cuban and Latin music and then drifted into almost every corner of jazz and rock. What did it mean for an idea to be so flexible, for it to fit so many forms while retaining its own essence? The result is aleap into the unknown for Westerlund: Curiosities from the Shift, a 12-track playground of endlessly interwoven beats and melodies, where Westerlund’s clave enthusiasm collides with his textural experimentalism, where his rhythmic symphony of one shakes hands with friends decorating this space alongside him. The three-piece suite that holds Curiosities’ first half begins with the junkyard percussion and delightful bass splashes that frame “Tem” and ends with the surrealistic boom-bap of thumb pianos and shakers on “Can Tangle.” There is a hard-won joy to these numbers, as if Westerlund is delighting in real time in spotting a potential dead end but finding his own way forward, anyway. Those songs became a kind of working roadmap for the terrain that Westerlund explores across Curiosities, from the call-and-response glory of opener “Nu Male Uno” to the uncanny amorphousness of closer “Felt Like Floating.” All of these songs are defined by an identifiable rhythm, like the loping strut at the center of “Midpoint” and the head-nodding pulse that winds through “Persurverance,” winkingly misspelled to suit his North Carolina-via-Wisconsin pronunciation. But those are springboards for other textures, moods, and notions, like the New Age references—shimmering metallophones, chattering birds, retiring flutes—that circle through “Midpoint” or the dub-indebted delays and gamelan hymns that bubble up through “Persurverance.” This is deeply multivalent music, each number’s propulsive core counterbalanced by a series of surprising choices. Bittersweetness and joy, grief and liberation, sighs and smiles: It all exists here, tangling toward infinity. In the months after the initial sessions were done, Westerlund reached out to friends—Califone’s Tim Rutilli, saxophonist Sam Gendel, trumpeter Trever Hagen, and violinists Libby Rodenbough and Chris Jusell among them. These were his most thoroughly composed and precisely built works ever, but he wanted to hear what happened when his pals responded in real time. They delivered grace, depth, and feeling, with their parts pulling back curtains on hidden recesses of rhythmic worlds. Westerlund readily admits he is surprised by the album’s insistence on groove and meter rather than drifting abstraction. Having lived and worked so long with bands, he assumed he was done functioning within basic meter. These 12 songs fuse so many of Westerlund’s loves into pieces that are endlessly fascinating, using familiar elements to render his adventures into the unknown. Playful but tender, wistful but wondrous, driven by beats but not bound by them, this is Westerlund’s definitive statement so far, the solo drummer record that opens wide to reveal a musical and emotional landscape richer than perhaps even he imagined he might find.
