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Archive for the ‘Perfect Tunes’ Category

Concert review: Congotronics vs Rockers – The Barbican – 12/7/11

Thursday, July 14th, 2011

 

Regular readers (if I can claim such a thing) will be aware of my ongoing obsession with Congotronics, the modern take on traditional Congolese music featuring Official Best Noise In The World, the electric thumb piano (as voted by me in a survey of me). The most recent release was Tradi-Mods Vs Rockers wich featured Western musicians like Animal Collective, Shackleton and Mark Ernestus remixing or being inspired by the more traditional Congotronics source material.

Last Tuesday the Barbican played host to a mega-band consisting of Congolese favourites Konono No.1 and Kasai Allstars as well as some of the contributors to the Tradi-Mods Vs Rockers album: Deerhoof, Juana Molina, Wildbirds & Peacedrums and Matt Mehlan. The night was billed as a live version of the album – an ambitious goal given the breadth of styles covered and the sheer number of musicians involved.

I was curious as to how they would approach the set – would it be individual bands taking turns to do their thing, or selected members of each band coming together for different songs? Instead, no less than 19 people took to the stage including percussionists, a marimba, vocalists, guitarists, basists and of course thumb pianos. Somehow they’d worked out how to merge their myriad styles and sounds into a remarkably coherent whole. Some tunes involved fewer musicians and a more identifiably Western or African sound, but these numbers didn’t feel like the line up had been tweaked or choreographed to ‘achieve’ the different sound. The Congolese musicians augmented the Western music and vice versa, and for the most part it was a harmonious collaboration – a band, if you will!

Personally I preferred the more overtly African pieces. Whether it’s cultural (in that they sound more exotic to my ears which were weaned on the music from my own part of the world) or simply down to taste (in that African rhythms and timbres excite me more than Western ones) I can’t say, but there it is – congas, marimbas and thumb pianos get me going more than a drum kit and a guitar. That said, the whole project is inspired by the Congotronics sound specifically, so it never strayed too far.

At risk of sounding hyperbolic, there were moments (specifically the 3 tunes where the entire band were going for it and playing Konono No.1 or Kasai Allstars classics) where, for my ears and my particular wiring, the music was perfect. I’ve talked about ‘perfect tunes‘ elsewhere in this blog and the same disclaimer as for those is relevant here: the music wasn’t, of course, empirically faultless (one can’t classify art that way), but to me it simply couldn’t have been improved upon. It was a genuinely thrilling, deliciously energetic barrage of up-beat, feel good, rhymically ingenious delight! To top it all, it looked like the musicians were having a ball.

I am going to write another couple of posts on subjects that have been brewing for a while and that definitely tie in to my experience at this gig. Namely: the effect that a venue or setting can have on music, and the physical movement (or otherwise) of audiences to rhythms. Or dancing, as it’s generally called. Suffice to say for now that the Congotronics vs Rockers gig ‘broke’ the Barbican Hall in that I’ve never seen so many people going for it in what is generally considered a classical, or ‘serious’, venue. Indeed, I got congratulated by a fellow dancer for ‘raving hard’ as I left, and had my hand shaken. A fitting end to the night as far as I was concerned!

Before heading home I indulged in the sumptuous Congotronics box set that I’ve been eyeing up for a while. 5 LP’s, a 7″ and a memory stick with a booklet in a lovely box. Mmmmmmm:


A bit sedate for the general vibe of the evening but here’s a video anyway:

Top image from 405

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Trish Keenan – RIP

Sunday, January 16th, 2011

TrishKeenan

In 2003 a review I’d written won a competition on the BBC Collective website. My prize was supposed to be an album by Broadway Project but there was a mix up and I received Broadcast‘s Haha Sound instead. Unfamiliar as I was with both bands I didn’t even realise and happily settled down to listen. A few weeks later I received an email from the Collective explaining that I’d been sent the wrong prize, and should I wish to switch CDs that it wouldn’t be a problem. By this time, however, I’d firmly fallen for Broadcast and couldn’t bear the idea of parting with Haha Sound. Since then I’ve followed their releases closely and caught up with what I missed and I’ve come to know and love a wonderful body of work. It was with considerable sadness, then, that I read about the death of front woman Trish Keenan from complications associated with pneumonia.

Broadcast are often described as an ‘art pop’ band, which I guess fits, but as so often with such pigeonholes it barely scratches the surface of their unique and gorgeous sound. I also remember reading a review in which Trish Keenan’s voice was described as ‘dead pan’. It wasn’t meant in a negative way and I can see where the reviewer was coming from, but again it’s misrepresentational. ‘Matter of fact’ would be a better description, I feel, and the fact of the matter was beauty. It was an unaffected, beautiful lullaby of a voice that contrasted and complimented the lilting, low-fi nature of the instrumentation, which ranged from spine-tingling twinkliness to static-soaked experiments and extended technique. The overall effect was ethereal, warm and soothing.

Broadcast had a genuinely artistic approach to writing music. That is, for all the 60′s psychadelia, 80′s synthwave and 00′s electronica that are evident influences in their music, they sought to originate. For example, Keenan constructed many of her lyrics, particularly for 2005′s Tender Buttons, by mixing up lines and randomly rearranging them, à la William S. Borroughs. The result was sometimes challenging but always poetic. (‘In autosuggested pathways you are caught‘ , ‘Michael, Michael Michael / This is not your saw tooth wave‘.) Meanwhile the band tailored their sound in unique ways – parts of Haha Sound were recorded in a church, for instance, lending the album its deep, penetrating resonance.

My personal favourite moments are Ominous Clouds from Haha Sound and Corporeal from Tender Buttons. The former is almost nursery rhyme-like in it’s gentle dreaminess but self-aware and poignant in it’s message of avoiding the big wide world for a while longer – it’s like she’s giving herself permission (‘I’ve got to find a place / be myself and learn to face / the ominous clouds / But not now, not now not now‘). The latter is a peculiar distillation of the automatic instinctiveness of sex and the inscrutable beauty that it can invoke – it’s like a biology text book rewritten as poetry (‘With and without mind / With or without Darwin / Classify me / The strings of my autonomy‘.)

I’ve been deeply moved, challenged and thrilled by Keenan’s voice over the years, and I’m gutted that I’ll never see Broadcast live (bafflingly they were always one of the bands I decided to ‘catch next time’).

Thanks for the music, Trish.

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Perfect Tunes 2: Boards of Canada – Telephasic Workshop

Sunday, February 7th, 2010

Music has the Right to Children

Do you have records or songs that are responsible for revealing to you an entirely new sonic world? A piece of music so different to those you’ve heard before, or so in tune with your head that it feels like it’s composed from the same impulses and waves? I do, and I treasure those rare but tangible moments.

Back when my obsessive drum & bass days were waning I was dabbling in more chilled styles of music and electronica peaked my interest, almost exclusively down to a Bomb the Bass mix recorded from BBC Radio 1. While it featured no Boards of Canada, I visited my local record shop (Rounder of Brighton in this case) and dug through their electronica section. This is where I pulled out the mottled green, slightly sinister sleeve of Music has the Right to Children, BOC’s first album for Warp. The write up on the front implied it was one of the best albums ever recorded. With such an accolade my decision was made – I took it home, stuck it on, and the way I listened to music changed.

The whole album is a sublime experience of hazy, nostalgic childhood summers – if a recording can have the aesthetic of Super-8 Cinefilm, this one has it. But the track that really stands out for me (and has done since the very first listen) is track 4: Telephasic Workshop. Unlike many of BOC’s tunes, this one is deeply funky and totally danceable. Like most of their tunes, it is wonky and saturated in glitch and ambience. Starting with a muffled hint of the beat and a pretty synth line straight from an 80′s school science program, the beat soon fills out with a heavy kick, an integral vocal snippet and a crisp snare.

Just as you’re grooving along to the shuffly rhythm, a strangely cut up vocal steadily fades in on the left channel, soon joined by the right. Increasing layers of male and female voices taken completely out of context and unintelligable for the most part stutter and splutter along with the beat. The resulting groove is perfectly programmed but still organic and natural. The fact that you can’t tell what the voices are saying makes you listen more closely and adds a delicate air of mystery or suspense to the track. I have a theory that such tricks are what give this kind of music it’s nostalgic air, the half-information without a definite source open to infinite interpretation reminiscent of a childhood state of mind, but that’s for another post!

Telephasic Workshop also features another of my favourite musical phenomena – that of the ‘single, perfect sound’. Again, I don’t get this often, and for some reason it usually concens a snare (Underworld’s Pearls Girl has possibly the most perfectly placed snare drum I’ve ever heard) but in this tune, it’s one of the vocal snippets. It occurs but twice, lasts less than a second, is a kind of high pitched hiccup, and marries the beats preceeding and proceeding it so perfectly that it makes me shudder. It concludes and anticipates in equal measure. Perhaps it was a complete accident rather than planned production – if so, I think I love it all the more!

Once it’s established its dual hooks of fat & funky beat with stuttered voice samples, the tune rolls on for a few minutes before petering out to the original synth line. It’s deceptively simple but feels far more complicated. For me, it also feels ‘important’. I don’t really know how to explain it, but this and some other pieces of music somehow have a certain gravity or urgency that make them feel important (in a metaphysical way rather than in a current affairs way).

I still remember sitting on my bed as Telephasic Workshop floated to an end for the first time and staring open mouthed at the record deck. I had literally never heard anything like it. It introduced me to a world of intricate but effortless production that sounded at once futuristic and antiquated. It did away with conventions (admittedly inventing it’s own, but thats what innovation does) and took risks. It was playful but serious. Most importantly for me, it was the opening of the door to genuinely emotional electronic music, a door that had previously been nudged ajar by the likes of DJ Shadow, but Boards of Canada managed to push it wide open.

Listen to Telephasic Workshop

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Perfect tunes 1: You’re So Great – Blur.

Saturday, January 16th, 2010

There are certain pieces of music that I consider perfect. Not to say that I think they are a pinnacle of human artistic endeavour; just that for me, they couldn’t be improved upon. They do something to me. Quite what, I don’t know. (I often wonder at the validity of writing about music and art – I believe that art exists because words have limits. But to not write about it would defy the point in this blog, plus I like a challenge!)

So… having recently included Blur’s You’re So Great (from the Blur album) on a compilation for a friend it’s been doing the rounds in my playlists again, so I’ll start with that.

One of the few Blur songs penned by Graham Coxon (another of my favourites, Coffee and TV, is his too,) ‘You’re So Great’ is an understated, lo-fi ballad about a loved one brightening up an otherwise dreary world. The message is a simple one, almost in a ‘does what is says on the tin’ way.

Sometimes you don’t get past “you’re so great and I love you” when thinking about someone you adore. Or rather you get so far past it that in trying to catch the essence of your feelings you run out of suitable metaphors and adjectives and end up back where you started. There’s beauty in such simplicity; in economy of phrase. To adorn the sentiment with more words, mere words, misses the point.

This is why music is so powerful. There’s another layer behind the poetry of the lyrics. In the case of this song, the fuzzy, Sunday-afternoon monotony is present in the treatment of the vocal, which sounds like it’s coming via a phone line from far away. A slightly distorted, bubbly guitar forms a backdrop to a crisper rhythm line and an intermittent lead. The switches between minor and major chords and the joyful, effortless melody of the lead guitar take you from the buried, introspective fuzz of the verse to the uplifting redemption of the chorus, the words that form the title of the song being delivered acapella and almost deadpan at the choruses crescendo. The end of the song is a contemplative, lilting vocal ‘ooh’ and a gloriously uplifting looped guitar riff – affirmation that everything is going to be alright and a tingle down the spine moment for me.

The song strikes a balance between that kind of minor, downcast, melancholic slump of a mood and the balancing, stirring support that love offers. Both sentiments are present throughout the whole song which leaves it unresolved but neutralised. “I’ll feel like this again, but it doesn’t matter,” it says to me.

Read the lyrics to You’re So Great

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