VA - Bossa Nova and the Rise of Brazilian Music in the 1960s

There have been a million bossa nova compilations released since the toned-down samba form came into existence in the late 1950s. Through the years, it has not been able to shake its perception as a cute and frivolously breezy soundtrack for cocktail parties. This is largely thanks to the disproportionate attention given to one song, "The Girl From Ipanema", and the moderately talented Astrud Gilberto, who happened to be in the studio when her husband was recording the tune with Stan Getz. From there, bossa as we know it became a very west coast cool jazz sound, codified into a 3-3-4-3-3 rhythmic pattern that was never indigenous to bossa in the first place and represented on collections by the same old five songs—you know them well: "Desafinado", "One Note Samba", "Wave", "Chega De Saudade", and of course, that darned "Girl From Ipanema". 

The scene in the 1960s was a lot more interesting than conservative compilers allowed us to know about, until the Acid Jazz scene really started to dig for obscurities in the '80s and '90s, before finally leading to a massive deluge of reissues in the late '90s and early 2000s.  During this time, collections of Brazilian rare grooves focused on the impossibly obscure, often, again, missing out on the narrative of bossa nova as it actually developed in Brazil. 

John Kong, label boss of Do Right Records, referred to this as a "bossa nova 101" collection, while browsing in our shop on one of his regular visits, and he’s right. What is most interesting is how this is, in my mind, the first of its kind to get it right by avoiding the false clichés of the genre while staying clear of the pitfalls of steering too heavily toward the hopelessly obscure. Having spent hundreds of dollars on this stuff before downloading put an end to the goldrush, most of this is familiar to me, but the sequencing, in-depth liner notes, and impeccable tracklisting from Gilles Peterson and Stuart Baker make this an essential reissue for collectors and newcomers alike.

One of the key indicators that this would be a solid set was the inclusion of the criminally overlooked Nara Leão, the beautifully fragile singer who arguably invented MPB (the rich open-minded popular music of Brazil of the past 40 years), and was so beloved by the tropicalistas for her forward-looking musical vision that they adopted it as a model for their progressive movement. (In fact, that’s her on the cover of Tropicalia: Ou Panis A Circenis, in a framed portrait held by Caetano Veloso.) Following her 1964 debut on the Elenco label (whose black, white and red iconography predates Jack White's by decades), she never stood still, constantly developing her style and always having the best choice of tunes; after all, her role as the 'muse of bossa nova' (her bourgeois background and spacious Copacabana apartment allowed her to regularly host most of the major figures of the second wave of bossa, where they would workshop their latest compositions and guitar tricks) put her in a position in which she could be the auteur of her artistic development. The same could never be said about Astrud Gilberto. 

Leão’s "Berimbau (Ritmo De Capoeira)" is her only track included, but her influence is all over it, a slightly darker and moodier version of bossa than you might be used to. Edu Lobo, who supported Leão when the bossa scene fractured into a politically progressive wing (represented by Leão and others) and another, more conservative one, shows up here with a version of "Ponteio" that is happily new to me.  He’s also got "Aguaverde", one of his many vocalese tracks. The Technicolor arrangements of Roberto Menescal light up the 5/4 "Inverno", while another track in 5, Wanda Sã’s delicious "Adriana", is a surprising but savvy inclusion. 

Goodness, I could go on and on about this stuff, but I’ll leave you to dig in yourself. I can only hope that this will set off a rash of reissues of originals that are patiently awaiting a second go at it. For now, please enjoy this absolutely essential 2CD package (alternatively available as two separate double-vinyl volumes), made even better if you pick up the eponymous companion oversize book, which documents the fabulous album art that gave a face to the rise of Brazilian music in the 1960s. Once again, Soul Jazz has set the bar high on this one, making this an early contender for best international reissue of the year.  

(Ed. note: We've also just received stock of the single-disc follow-up that supplements/accompanies this set, this time focusing solely on the Elenco roster, titled Brazil Bossa Beat! Bossa Nova and the Story of Elenco Records, Brazil.)

WILLIE WRIGHT - Telling the Truth

For Willie Wright to have recorded a spare soul-drenched folk album in a single-day session in 1977 New York, it’s hard to imagine he was hoping for renown stretching beyond the night spots and Nantucket yacht clubs where the travelling musician played at and sold this, his second album. 

Like many singers of his generation, Wright got his start in doo-wop groups before falling into the folk scene and recording an album in 1963 on Argo Folk, a subsidiary of Chess Records. In the intervening years between that album and Telling The Truth, he seemed to have developed a taste for faux island rhythms to add zest to his often meditative atmospheric folk. The arrangements here are super-lean, usually boasting little more than guitar commentary from The Jimmy Castor Bunch’s Harry Jensen, hippy-dippy flute, and light percussion with the occasional funky rhythm section on the more swinging tunes. Call it spiritual folk jazz, an unusual descriptor for sure, but one that only applies to a few 1970s artists, including Terry Callier, Jon Lucien, John Martyn, Eugene McDaniels, and Gil Scott-Heron. 

Not all is on the esoteric end of things: "I’m So Happy Now" swings nicely with the help of his daughter Sheila on vocals, while "Nantucket Island" ends up slightly more Caribbean than it should considering its subject, but so what? "Love is Expensive" brings a touch of reggae bounce, and on "Lady of the Year" and "Son, Don’t Let Life Pass You By", he’s a dead ringer for Lou Rawls. But it was his take on Curtis Mayfield’s “Right On For Darkness” that first caught attention of collectors. Not only is it included here on disc, but it’s also thrown in as a bonus functional 5" (!) vinyl single, backed with the self-identity-probing "Africa". 

Of course, this sold like hotcakes at dinnertime—a nice idea, but a bit on the later side of timing. Wright disappeared further into obscurity, never to record again, although the opportunity did arise in 1981 for another New York City session. (He never bothered to show up.) Diagnosed with Parkinson’s, he still writes today, but is long retired from live performance, so don’t hold your breath for a comeback.

DEERHOOF - Deerhoof vs. Evil

Sometimes, it's just not honest to play the role of the sober, objective reviewer. For as much as drooling fandom can be a disservice to a reader looking for a fair indicator of something new to listen to, feigning a neutral position often gets in the way of displaying the true emotion certain music can spark within us. So it is with the following disclaimer that I review the new album by this San Francisco quartet: I LOVE Deerhoof. I'm talking like 'how peanut butter loves chocolate' love: entirely and fully immersed in my candy-coated dedication.

Why the love? Read the title, man: they fight EVIL. They're a noble band.

The "evil" that Deerhoof are fighting this time around is the same villain they've successfully pit themselves against their whole career: predictability. No matter how each has differed in approach, every Deerhoof album (and indeed each individual tune) strives to be one step ahead of its listener. While a little more reliant on electronic beats and blurbs than before, Deerhoof vs. Evil hods true to that aim. 

As always, what makes this relentless bobbing and weaving so compelling (rather than just exhausting) comes down to two things. Firstly, this quirky group always manages to be extremely catchy, albeit in unorthodox ways. Satomi's childlike chirp of a voice isn't for everybody, but its simplicity and direct approach to melody acts as a life raft amongst the ever-shifting backdrop of their music. No matter the maelstrom, she's there keeping things steady. (And if any singer is likely to have you walking down the street humming lines like "People need a gorilla" to yourself, it's her). 

Secondly, it really helps Deerhoof's cause that like other iconoclastic art-rockers such as Frank Zappa, they can really play their instruments. This isn't just bratty punk destruction of songcraft—it's a gleeful picking at conventional structures by a group of musicians who have the chops to do it. So just when you feel the band may be a little too willful in their self-sabotage of form, moments like the gorgeously fluttering Spanish guitar of "No One Asked To Dance" or the rollercoaster shifts of "Behold a Marvel in the Darkness" carry a confidence that reminds you that their is indeed a firm, experienced hand on the wheel.

If Deerhoof vs. Evil is a creative shade below past high-water marks like 2007's Friend Opportunity or the wild 20-song ride of 2005's The Runners Four, it is also one of the more direct and pleasing albums that they've made. That's a relative statement—their meat-and-potatoes is most other bands' haute fusion cuisine—but with über-pop candy like "Super Rescue Heads!" and the tight groove of "Secret Mobilization" leading the charge, now just might be the time for a few curious onlookers to join Deerhoof's gallant fight.

MOGWAI - Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will

Remember the days when Mogwai was supposed to save music?

In case that sounds like the setup for a snide, derisive takedown of the now somewhat veteran Scots, it's not. Back in the late '90s, Stephen Malkmus' famous prediction that Mogwai were the "best band of the 21st Century" felt in no way an exaggeration. Everything about the mostly instrumental group's sound was primed to launch indie rock into some new plane of existence—taking the haunted minimalism and starkness of what was becoming post-rock and marrying it to both a simple melodiousness and—in particular—moments of destructive heaviosity. With ear-crushing live shows of legendary import, Mogwai's music changed how half of indie rock was being played, to the point where every second new band bore very distinct traces of their sound (if not a wholesale lifting of it).

After Mogwai finished pushing themselves to the absolute limits their style dictated (climaxing in the 20-minute brutality of "My Father, My King", a hallowed set-closer that bore witness to a forceful peak worthy of its title), the group began to explore songs that were shorter and that revolved more completely around melody. The first result of this shift, 2003's Happy Songs For Happy People, has endured to be (in my opinion, at least) one of the finest in the band's catalogue. Tracks like the vocoder-fueled ballad "Hunted By A Freak" revealed how Mogwai had evolved to write highly immediate, yet oddly expressed pop songs, while the massive middle of "Ratts Of The Capital" reminded us that their raw power was still present when they chose to exploit it.

But following this small victory, the band displayed a kind of cruise control. Neither Mr. Beast (2006) nor The Hawk Is Howling (2008) are especially bad albums, but they both found Mogwai a little aimless—more efficient than inspired, more competent than memorable. Now after moving to a new North American label (to Sub Pop from Matador), the brilliantly-titled Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will certainly sounds like a defining statement, if a little tongue-in-cheek.

Just as the title implies both an iron endurance and a winking surrender to the inevitable, Mogwai's latest gains great strength by playing entirely within their known sonic boundaries, rather than trying to break through them. "Rano Pano"'s endlessly restated riff is a stirling example of how well they can be heavy and robotic, yet still convey crackling feeling. And whether quick and to the point ("San Pedro"), languid and drifting ("Letters To The Metro"), or playing their unique strain of cyborg motorik pop ("Mexican Grand Prix"), there's just something about the record that feels far more at ease than on their past two studio albums.

Of course, maybe it's just me as a listener, too. While the band's output has not slowed down any (last year also saw a very good live album and film released by the group), the belief that they are the future of music has clearly waned. As much as getting over that can be a pain, by seeing themselves through to the other side, a new kind of appreciation has set in. New label. New record. In 2011, Mogwai are now just another band. They may no longer change the world, but they and their music are all the better for it. 

JAMES BLAKE - S/T

In the world of sports, there's a term for young players whose raw potential balances out their often naively bad decisions and one-dimensional play. It's known as having an "upside". A good upside is why a general manager will seemingly risk a team's future on a slight kid with no defensive skills but a devastatingly quick snapshot and an unflappable go-to deke. The bet is that with proper nurturing, the kid could become a superstar. But he could also remain a nifty shot and little else.

Right now, the blogosphere is seeing the upside to young Brit James Blake, and everyone wants in on the action. With good reason. Over the course of a few EPs and singles, Blake's approach to the cavernous, patiently shuddering world of dubstep has grown in leaps and bounds—each new release suggesting an impressive understanding of how to manipulate technology, while also displaying sound and daringly naked skills as a singer. After teasing with his confidently abridged slo-mo version of Feist's "Limit To Your Love" late last year, bets were on for his debut full-length to be this year's The xx—a chilled-out, dark and moody Anglo urban pop hybrid that reached listeners across the public spectrum.

For the most part, it is: numerous reviews have already and will continue to praise the record's confidently eloquent composure, dazzlingly gorgeous production, and overall refusal to bend to common notions of what a 'song' is. And yet, it's with that last point that I think the hype surrounding Blake must be taken soberly: for his sake as much as our own. 

The guy is a total wunderkind and his debut sounds fantastic. It pushes dubstep into intriguing and—for some of the young genre's purists—controversial places. But he’s not much of a songwriter.
Of the 11 tracks on James Blake, less than half have anything resembling a verse/chorus structure, often choosing to follow Blake’s rule of thumb: find a sentence or two that you like, and repeat it forever. Fine, you say? That's the point?

I suppose. After all, only last year Four Tet's excellent There Is Love In You featured numerous tracks very successfully based around cutting and splicing a single vocal hook. And from Jim O'Rourke to LCD Soundsystem to old Delta blues singers, plenty of artists have the played the game of getting a lot out of very few words. But when the words in question are a couplet as maudlin as "My brother and my sister don’t speak to me/but I don’t blame them", it takes a certain kind of patience to get through a song that repeats them nine times in a row. 

By focusing so much on vocals on his debut, Blake is opening himself to this sort of scrutiny. To his credit, he works very hard to assure the listener that it's the technique with which he delivers his minimal text that is most important. The song in question above, "I Never Learnt To Share", is introduced with an ever-building set of harmonies that would make most neo-soul singers weep with jealousy. "Lindisfarne I & II" pitch-shifts and roboticizes its vocals to a blissful binary oblivion—like a haunting ballad for the garbage-sorting robot from Wall-E. On "I Mind" he samples himself into alluring aural knots, wriggling his way free at the tightest moments with the ease of a magician. Again and again, Blake subjects his rather beautiful voice to a digital bruising, and these sounds convey emotion a hell of lot better than the words themselves. 

None of these quibbles can hide the fact that this record is quite unbelievably beautiful and inventive. I love it immensely. But still, like a 20-year-old hotshot winger with a lethal shot, it pays in the long run to analyze a rookie's shortcomings while acknowledging his natural talent. Perhaps a savvy 'vet' like Caribou holds an example of how an electronic artist can improve as a songwriter without ever becoming stagnant and bending fully to its rules. James Blake's upside is huge. He could be the Antony or Jeff Buckley of dubstep. But if he's not careful, he could just as easily be its James Blunt.

CUT COPY - Zonoscope

You know what's old news? The '80s are back. Heck, given what young bands like Smith Westerns are doing (along with numerous reunions from Polvo and Pavement to Archers Of Loaf), it's kind of even old news to say that the '90s are back. But while the '80s' once-ghettoized electronic drums and arpeggiated synths have become so completely reabsorbed into our musical culture as to feel permanently redeemed, not all touchstones of the Reagan era have been so evenly reinstated. Singer Dan Whitford of Melbourne, Australia natives Cut Copy is an embodiment of one of those touchstones: the impassioned white-guy yelp.

I’m talking Andy McCluskey of OMD on "If You Leave" styles—the cry of the hopelessly romantic Caucasian male, so completely devoid of grit, dirt or guts that it practically cleans your bathroom mirror as it sings. For the most part, the '80s revivalists of the aughts preferred to stay to the more deadpan, wailing or sneering sides of vocalization. After all, as long as this was the case, those with colder feet could still make a case for irony or punk iconoclasm.

Not Whitford. This guy’s purely populist pop pleas echo without a trace of a wink—he means it like Bono or Chris Martin mean it, except over music that neither of those artists are especially good at making (anyone remember Pop?). Fortunately for Whitford, he and his bandmates are very, very good at making that type of music. Which brings us to their third album, Zonoscope. Even though this record closes with a shimmering 15-minute throwdown ("Sun God") and features an instrumental interlude of twinkling beauty ("Strange Nostalgia For The Future"), most of it rides on the back of Whitford’s performance.

While highly danceable, his presence and vibrant emoting is never anywhere but front and centre. In other words, no matter what the songs are doing, if you don’t buy him, there’s no getting around it.
As such, I feel albums like this represents a key point in our culture revisiting the '80s. It’s clearly no longer about picking and choosing the coolest parts of the time period anymore. Zonoscope hones in on the most flagrant aspects of that decade’s dance-pop and revels in them with total abandon. Its production style and overall oomph may be a bit more modern, but its spirit is entirely borrowed. And what’s more, it’s a spirit that, for the most part, led to a following movement in music that was based on guitars, sloppiness and sarcasm (please see: grunge/4-track indie)—a wholesale renouncing of all of the traits that make Zonoscope such a buoyant and optimistic listen. So the question is: now that we’re back here, are we here to stay? Can the Cut Copys of the world co-exist with the next Sebadohs and Mudhoneys in our collections?

Only time is going to tell how cool it’ll be to sound like these guys in 2018, but for now, can I just say, "Yes!!"? Because all over this album—the opening one-two punch of "Need You Now" and "Take Me Over", the perfect final ascension of "Pharaohs & Pyramids", the almost indie-rock bliss of "Alisa"—are moments whose instant enjoyability belie the skill it takes to craft them. This is a great record, and in the same way that listening to OMD’s "So In Love" or Pet Shop Boys’ "Heart" should now leave you a little agog, these Aussies are making pop music that sounds terrific today, and, hopefully, classic in the future. 

WIRE - Red Barked Tree

"Who are your influences?"

That, the most hated and rudimentary of rock band interview questions, is also one of the most difficult ones to answer honestly. That's because the same cross-pollination that has led us to increasingly broad record collections has greatly muddied and blurred whole paths of rock's family tree. Do young bands that model themselves after Radiohead know that much about Neu! or Autechre? Let's call it indirect inspiration.

In this case, few bands can claim to be as unknowingly pickpocketed by the present as Wire. Sure, that whole Elastica thing was pretty blatant, but nearly two decades after that incident, it's telling that you don't even need to sound much like Wire to borrow from their playbook. Their clipped song lengths and nervous guitar riffs; their synth explorations and mood-setting slabs of atmosphere; their moments of minimalist rhythms—artists can pick up on any one of these characteristics and run with them in any direction they choose (see Guided By Voices' Robert Pollard's assertion that Wire were his favourite band, bringing tiny song lengths to his otherwise Beatles/Who/prog inspired records).

Thankfully, you can add to that list Wire themselves. Because even though 1976 was thirty-five years ago, the band has—intermittently at least—continued to build from and expand on their ground-breaking sound. With Red Barked Tree, their twelfth album, Wire continue to make music that sounds both completely at home in their back catalogue and thoroughly contemporary. 

Despite the mileage, the group is anything but tentative. The lock-step "Moreover" and accurately-titled "Two Minutes" are full of singer Colin Newman's heavily enunciated English vigour, and find Wire in pretty admirable fighting shape. On their own, these noisier tunes would feel a touch forced for a bunch of men pushing 60. Fortunately, these gents were never as simple a concept as many of their contemporaries turned out to be. An ability to construct affectingly reflective pop songs provides Red Barked Tree with the balance that makes it tick. "Adapt" swirls and spins around a beautiful drifting melody, while the acoustically-powered title track is a stately closer that glides home on its repeated quest "to find the healing red-barked trees". And it's not all just about ping-ponging sonically between extremes. "Smash" is the best of both worlds, merging sheets of feedback with a total ear-candy chorus.

For a band that built their rep on playing unpredictably with all of the best elements of punk, underground pop, and experimental music, it makes complete sense that Wire have aged so well—they're never really in one spot long enough for anything to get stale.



DESTROYER - Kaputt

I was participating in a playful little internet discussion the other day that centered around a friend's query about when, if ever, there would come a day that he could listen to Al Stewart—the Scottish folkie turned highly literate purveyor of soft-rock—without apology. Based on the rapturous response to Dan Bejar's latest as Destroyer, a shameless tribute to smooth vibes called Kaputt, I'd say that time is now.

As with most things, this wave of appreciation began with a blast of irony. A cheeky DJ playing Hall & Oates' "Private Eyes" here; an episode of "Yacht Rock" there. But with that door open a crack, the last few years have seen a far more naked brand of affection for soft-rock: Michael MacDonald was asked by Grizzly Bear to track vocals for them, Bon Iver is heading up a group (Gayngs) whose sole mission in life is to bestow greater appreciation upon Godley and Creme's "Cry", and Gerry Rafferty's passing is met with more tearful postings of links to "Right Down The Line" than one would've ever anticipated.

So what gives? Did we all just have copies of Breakfast In America and Year Of The Cat hidden in our sock drawers, waiting for a moment like this? While listening to Kaputt, it's not hard to imagine just how different the reaction to it would've been in 1995. But now in 2011, there's a sense that we've gotten over the giggles and self-conscious embarrassment to simply return to the heart of the matter of any genre: are the songs any good? After all, isn't that why—no matter prevailing trends—it was never really gauche to love "I'm Not In Love"? 

By that measure, no amount of saxophone solos can muck up the great songs that fill Kaputt. More to the point, they quite enhance them. The entire record—both sonically and lyrically—walks a line between winking silliness and genuine pathos. As characters chase after parties and cocaine, deny themselves love, have spats with the press, sing songs for America, and just generally carry on in indulgent, self-destructive ways, they do so to a soundtrack that evokes a faded decadence—a false front of elegant composure that we all know hides a decaying structure behind. 

While not a concept record per se, first track "Chinatown" plays more like the opener to a suite than a single track, its extended instrumental breaks and concise, image-laden lyrics setting the scene beautifully. From there, Bejar's gentle but smirking croon proves the ideal narrator—soothing when it's required, telling a joke to ease the tension. He guides us through a rich, yet casual record of soft-pop that, aside from the New Order-ish turn of "Savage Night at the Opera", sits in the same sonic strike zone throughout. Even 11-minute closer "Bay of Pigs", a previously released piece of prog-pop, doesn't break the spell, its lengthy ambient passages capping the album perfectly.

Bejar is restless enough as an artist for one to surmise that Kaputt is more of a lark than anything else, but while often funny, it's no joke. This is easily one of the best records Destroyer has ever done and a boon to soft-rock champions everywhere. Keep it smoooooth, people.

THE WHITE WIRES - WWII

Though we've yet to see it firsthand, we've been hearing reports over the last while of a great movement happening right now in our nation's capitol, with a network of groups making the type of catchy garage-punk that our own city is so starved for. Bands with names like The White Wires and labels like Going Gaga Records (with their slogan "the power poppe shoppe") releasing a steady stream of 7" singles and limited edition LPs. It all seemed to good to be true, but we now have the new White Wires album WWII in our hands as proof, and let's just say we're going a little gaga ourselves.

"There's a little place that I want to go/I could take you there if you let me so/Come on, pretty baby/Run away with me tonight" is the album's first line, and a good indicator of what to expect: simple but great lyrics that you can sing along to, a basic guitar/drums/bass setup playings songs with so many hooks that you'll be anchored to your stereo. This Ottawa three-piece writes catchy tunes with such ease, they've almost got it down to a science. Released by Dirtnap Records, The White Wires have much in common with another band on that label, the sorely-missed Exploding Hearts. They both tattoo their influences on their arms, while still coming up with enough fresh ideas to be worth listening to. On "Popularity", frontman Ian Manhire sings about listening "to the sound of the bands today/and you wonder what it takes to make the grade". It's a question worth asking, but with WWII, The White Wires have crafted an album that definitely makes the grade.

VA - Angola Soundtrack: The Unique Sound Of Luanda 1968-1976

Much in the same way that the Next Stop...Soweto series re-shifted emphasis to the pre-'80s era of South African compilations, Angola Soundtrack seeks to redress the near-complete absence of any form of survey of the former Portuguese colony’s music scene in over a decade. Sure, Luaka Bop put out the respectable Afropea: Telling Stories To The Sea in 1995, which helped to spread the word about artists like Bonga, Waldemar Bastos, and the 'barefoot diva' Cesaria Evora, but in the years since then, collectors of African music have become less interested in the slick studio productions of the '90s and more drawn to the sounds of the classic period of the late '60s and early '70s. No surprise, then, that Analog Africa has stepped up with another platter, holding an edge over their competition by revealing an underrepresented corner of the continent, and not simply cranking out yet another Nigerian or Ghanaian comp (though that’s not necessarily a bad thing!).

Similar to what was happening elsewhere in Africa, Angolans in the period covered by this set were concerned with gaining independence from their colonizers, asserting their African-ness while showing their with-it-ness by taking traditional sounds and instruments and combining them with electric guitars, as well as rhythms from both Cuba (“Mi Cantando Para Ti” by N’Goma Jazz being an obvious example) and their colonial Lusophone cousins in Brazil. The influence of the latter can be felt in the near-batucada breakdown on Os Bongos’ “Kazucuta,” a floor-shaker that proves there is more to Angola than the morna (most closely comparable to the Portuguese fado in its minor-key anguish). Os Korimbas also go for the pounding percussion workout with their “Semba Braguez,” semba being an antecedent of the Brazilian samba.

Many of these musicians recorded in local languages instead of Portuguese, describing everyday life while not delving too heavily into politics, even though the country was embroiled in a guerilla war that did not let up until independence was won in 1975. No, the key here is to induce dancing, and in that respect this collection is a total success. As a bonus, compiler Samy Ben Redjeb was able to secure full licensing for all tracks and had access to master tapes, guaranteeing gorgeous fidelity from bassy bottom to shekere-rattling top. The liner notes are among the best the label has penned, combining crate-digging travelogues from Redjeb with historical context from academic Marissa Moorman, along with detailed track-by-track analyses filled with first-hand accounts from the musicians, many of whom contacted Redjeb to tell their stories.

Of all of the African collections put out in 2010, this latecomer is quite possibly the best of the lot!

ANIKA - S/T

Like another moody, no-frills, B&W-bedecked jewel case released two years back to little initial acclaim but slowly-grown consensus (I'm thinking of Actress' Hazyville, released back in late '08/early '09), Anika's debut stood out upon its release last month not only through its unique take on past styles (more on that later), but also in part due to its December date; the flipside of this was that that very timing put it out of contention for a spot on most listeners' and critics' best-of-year lists (this writer's included!).

Produced by Geoff Barrow of Portishead (credited as a full-band production by Beak>), Anika couldn't be a better candidate for co-release between Barrow's Invada Records and L.A.'s Stones Throw—the latter have spent the last five or so years occasionally spanning out from hip hop to stamp their imprimatur on disparate electronic, experimental pop, dance, and outsider/outlier acts like Gary Wilson, James Pants, Koushik, DāM-FunK and Bruce Haack (as well as countless compiled and podcasted minimal wave artists), and Anika's personality comes off as strong and steely as any of the above, an impressive feat considering the degree to which this record makes a point of showing its influences on its tattered/tailored sleeve, whether interpreting the songs of Skeeter Davis, Yoko Ono, Bob Dylan and Ray Davies or eerily echoing the early-'80s productions and spirit of such staunchly individual acts as The Flying Lizards, Vivien Goldman, ESG, The Slits and PiL.

JIM SULLIVAN - U.F.O.

There is a lot of confusion over Jim Sullivan, the most banal being that he is not Big Jim Sullivan, the British session guitarist extraordinaire who played on around 1,000 hit singles (and also dabbled in some go-go sitar albums in the late '60s).  No, this is the American Jim Sullivan, who moved to L.A. with his wife in 1968, recorded his private-press debut LP U.F.O., and then, with his marriage on the verge of collapse in 1975, headed out to Nashville and simply disappeared. His abandoned VW was found on a desert road; his guitar, wallet, and other belongings were left behind in a hotel.

Like Connie Converse, another enigmatic songwriter who also disappeared without a trace after driving off in a Volkswagen (just a year before he did!), Sullivan remains one of those musicians who really deserved greater renown but simply got lost in the shuffle in the deluge of incredible music made during that goldmine time for rock. Stylistically, he shares similarities with Tim Hardin, especially vocally, and would typically accompany himself with only guitar whenever he played live. The difference, though (and this may be the power of suggestion at play here, considering his probable demise), is that there is an understatedly ominous vibe that colours this record with the sort of unease that accompanies ghost stories told in the dark.

On the U.F.O. sessions, his distinctively deep voice and guitar playing were augmented by Wrecking Crew players Jimmy Bond (bass), Earl Palmer (who drummed on Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” and The Righteous Brothers' “You’ve Lost that Lovin’ Feelin’”), and Don Randi (who played keys for Phil Spector and on The Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations”). It’s this combo of killer playing and Bond’s orchestrations that place this album in similar territory as such genre-defying works of psych-folk orch-funk as David Axelrod's Song Of Innocence and Songs Of Experience (on both of which Earl Palmer also drummed!), as well as Jean Claude Vannier’s arrangements for Serge Gainsbourg; folkies and beat-diggers alike therefore have much to sink their teeth into with this one.

Every year lost albums are unearthed, though few of them merit much airplay. This past year, impossibly obscure albums by Ted Lucas, Robert Lester Folsom, and Pastor T.L. Barrett were all saved from oblivion by intrepid reissue labels.  Sullivan's only effort is pretty near tops in that category, and deserves the scant but fervent attention it has received since resurfacing. In the meantime, the mystery of its author’s fate remains unsolved.

SURF CITY - Kudos

Even in the age of the internet, you never really know what's going on in a particular music scene until you actually take a trip there. I was reminded of this first-hand when, in 2004, I came back from Melbourne with an armful of terrific local bands about which I'd never even heard a whisper in this part of the world. A similar thing happened a few years back, when our shop's owner Greg came back from New Zealand with a few surprising chestnuts for the staff. Foremost among these was the first EP by Surf City—a noisy combo playing wildly fuzzed-out indie pop in the vein of Clinic, The Jesus And Mary Chain and that proud lineage of undersung Kiwi pop like The Chills and The Clean. It was a succinctly perfect little six-song debut—a total gem.

Now, after a little longer than we'd have expected (or liked), the band has finally put together Kudos, their first full-length. Coming off an EP that so well paired the brevity of the format to the band's uptempo style, it was always going to be interesting to see how they faired over the course of an LP, and Kudos does have a few tunes that reveal a more languid side. Tempos are more to the middle rather than the breakneck rush of EP standouts like "Headin' Inside". One track, the swirly, motorik workout "Icy Lakes", even runs just shy of eight minutes. But even on more drawn-out songs, the spirit of the band remains intact: all clangy and reverberated, Surf City make a most beautiful type of nonsense. Their music is not about any real literal meaning, but instead the thrill of playing primal and primitive pop music at really loud volumes in a basement—one where the PA system isn't quite loud enough to really make out the vocals, so the singer resorts to shouting non-sequitur mantras and catchy "oo-oo-oos" over and over just for the experience of letting it out.

And if you take the basement metaphor one step further as a comment on the overall isolation a New Zealand group has from any scene but their local one, it says something terrific about Surf City's approach: they're pure. This is honest pop music played by people in love with the feeling it brings them. That's it. Sometimes that says and means more to a listener than even the most well-crafted lyrics. Underrated and well worth your ears.

SYL JOHNSON - Complete Mythology (6LP + 4CD box set)

When Numero Group put out the Twinight instalment of their ongoing Eccentric Soul series in 2007 and left out unappreciated soul giant Syl Johnson, eyebrows were raised. One way of looking at the omission was that maybe the artist better known for his Hi recordings was just too big to fit Numero’s mandate of bringing attention to complete obscurities, which Johnson certainly is not. That licensing issues may have also kept such wonderful material off that excellent compilation was another potential answer. Then there was the slight possibility, that glimmering hope, that the revered reissue label were holding back with something truly special.

Three years later, not only have Numero delivered the goods on Syl Johnson's Twinight material, but they've gone far beyond what any soul fan could have hoped for and put together a package that also gathers the rest of his pre-Hi material in a gorgeous 4CD and 6LP box! From the '50s to the '70s, Johnson’s earlier career is covered across his many homes including King/Federal, Shama, TMP/Ting, Zachron, One-Derful, Cha Cha, Special Agent, Trip, and P-Vine. The vinyl gives you the two Twinight LPs with original album art, plus four more slabs collecting singles from the remaining labels. It’s all reproduced on the CDs, and comes with a book of detailed discographic/biographic information, including interviews with the man himself. The price is excellent too, considering the kind of archaeology and investment it would take to amass a similar collection in original form.

And the music? Over the years, hip hop producers and soul aficionados have propelled Syl Johnson to cult status, thanks to a career that spanned late '50s R’n’B to classic funky '70s soul. Well-covered songs like “Is It Because I’m Black?”, and beats that have been plundered endlessly for samples, have secured him a very special place in the hearts of soul fans (certainly a much bigger one than when he recorded this material).

This one’s a treat for sure, and a perfect gift for the holiday season.

VA - The World Is A Monster: Lonesome, Blue And Jump Jivin' Hillbillies From The Columbia Vault 1948-1958

The last time a comp of country nuggets knocked me off my feet like this one was when RPM put out the stunning Double Up & Catch Up: Hillbilly Bop’n’Boogie 1950-1958, back in 2004. That disc showcased insanely catchy tunes from the powerhouse country wing of Capitol Records, and made a convincing claim that rockabilly was more a punked-up form of hillbilly music with an rhythm and blues influence than a fusion of the two.

Omni’s similar turn scopes the Colombia catalogue for the hidden gems they have unearthed in their ongoing quest to dig up the best of vintage country music.  There are few tinkling pianos, and absolutely no lush strings and smooth crooning backing vocals here in this pre-Nashville Sound set. This is the time when fiddles, pedal steel and stand-up bass still formed that backbone of any hillbilly or honkytonk band, and this expertly selected collection generously puts forth one jaw-dropper after another.

Rockin’ dance numbers abound from The Country Boy’s instrumental “Bud’s Bounce” to The Maddox Brothers’ reliably belligerent party chug-a-lug “Ugly and Slouchy”. Baby sister Rose Maddox delivers a weepy waltz with “When the Sun Goes Down”, as does Freddie Hart on the gorgeous “Blue”. Elsewhere, we find deep twang and dissonance on the great Johnny Bond’s “All I Can Do Is Cry” and the cautionary anti-rambling ditty by Rocky Porter that provides this set with its name.

The esteemed Bear Family’s single-artist series Gonna Shake This Shack Tonight mines similar territory, while their ongoing Dim Lights, Thick Smoke And Hillbilly Music, a by-the-year history of country music from 1945 on (their just-released last 5 volumes bring us to 1960), is an invaluable resource for newcomers and collectors alike. But at 32 tracks—all remastered from the orginal tapes, many of which are making their digital debut—The World Is a Monster is a perfect one-stop shit-kicking country bonanza!

BOB DYLAN - The Bootleg Series Vol. 9 -The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964 / BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN - The Promise

Unreleased demos and shelved recordings aren't supposed to be essential. That's the reason they weren't released in the first place, right? Sure, a golden moment may lurk here and there—an orphaned chestnut of a track that simply made its parent recording too long or didn't match the pacing or theme of a proposed full-length. But we've seen enough lame-duck double-album collections of kitchen scraps and cutting-room floor casualties to know that, in the end, these are just thinly veiled cash grabs.  

Well, The Witmark Demos and The Promise—two such releases from Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, respectively—aim to challenge that notion with collections of songs that offer more than just insight and education: they're also damn enjoyable to hear, regardless of the context of historical significance.

Both sets examine a formative time for each artist: Dylan being in the throes of finding his own voice beyond being a simple mimic of Guthrie and folk/blues songwriting; Springsteen working to further his also Guthrie-informed (but far more populist and anthemic) rock music with a more personal and direct eye. The full-lengths that came from these time periods—Dylan's first four LPs and The Boss' landmark Darkness At The Edge Of Town—speak volumes about the successful end results. As it turns out, the process itself wasn't so bad either.

Of the two releases, The Promise is the one that contains the more complete 'lost' album. With bonafide hits (and live staples) "Because The Night" and "Fire" leading the singles charge, a solid core of tracks such as "One Way Street", the Phil Spector swoon of "Someday (We'll Be Together)", "Gotta Get That Feeling" and "Ain't Good Enough For You" form the heart of what would've been a very good record. But what is immediately noticeable about these songs is how they differ from the overall timbre of Darkness. In this context, as good as they are, it's easy to see why Springsteen either gave them to other artists (Patti Smith, The Pointer Sisters), or left them behind completely.

The rest of The Promise consists of songs that would either have worked well on Darkness—closer "City Of Night", in particular—or would actually grow and evolve into some of the new album's tracks. What makes these latter songs really worthwhile though, is the fact that they're not just poorer recordings of the eventual final cut. They show genuine experimentation on the part of Bruce and The E Street Band. Here, "Racing In The Street '78" has a very different verse chord progression and prominent fiddle solos. In contrast, Darkness' version boasts a more sombre progression and leaner arrangement. "Candy's Boy" is a mellow jaunt of a prequel to the later album's firecracker, "Candy's Room". And what turns into Darkness' eloquent working man's tale, "Factory", is here seen as a plea for a night on the town, "Come On (Let's Go Out Tonight)". An attentive ear will even catch hints that look further into Springsteen's future—"Spanish Eyes" has a first couplet identical to "I'm On Fire" off of Born In The U.S.A. 

Even better, all of these songs sound full, rich, and completely realized—it is only the presence of Darkness that makes them in any way incomplete or transitory. (Even if The Boss did cheat a bit by polishing a few of these songs up just before this release, the result is still stunning.)

The Witmark Demos, as the title suggests, is not nearly as refined. It's rough, scratchy and loose. And at 47 songs, it is frankly easy to get a little lost in. But its pleasures, while different, are many. For starters, it's startling to hear Dylan on the edge of what would soon be. Throughout the many tracks, he pushes and pulls at the folk form like Play-Doh, searching for and imploring his own unique voice to emerge. Early tune "Hard Times In New York Town" is purely a reflection of what Seeger and Guthrie have molded for him. That the same young kid would also soon write "Blowin' In The Wind" and "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" (both of which appear here) clearly shows how far Dylan came in a very short period.

This fact isn't really a shock, though. We all know the guy started out somewhere. But there's a far greater pleasure to be had here than that. Dylan as we have come to know him for the past five decades is a brilliant but cantankerous, willfully obscure artist—basically too smart for and distrusting of the rest of us to ever let us in too far. But the demo nature of these recordings allows us to see a part of the man long lost to time. This Bob Dylan chuckles, coughs, jokes and sings with a casual air that is almost unrecognizable as the same man. 

And really, I guess, that's because he isn't the same man. In the wake of these demos and the subsequent albums, Dylan changed—both from within and without—to become the 'Judas' of the very forms he'd come to perfect and champion. If you look closely, there are hints of that inevitable betrayal all over The Witmark Demos—hints that this style will only satisfy his mind for so long before he seeks to burn down the temple and rebuild it again and again in new forms. But for this moment, Dylan is still a student. Take a look while you can. The moment doesn't last. 

STORNOWAY - Beachcomber's Windowsill

This one has been kicking around for a few months and was a big hit with us here, with both staffers and whoever happened to be in the shop inquiring, who is this? For me, it quickly jumped from album of the week to a contender for pick of the year.

What is remarkable about this album is how incongruous it is, however unassuming it may seem at first. The band is led by Brian Briggs, whose soaring voice and songwriting style had my mind reaching back to certain late-'80s indie acoustic acts as reference points. It took a while, but I finally recalled the Trashcan Sinatras, a highly unlikely launching point at this juncture of the indie continuum, combined with songwriting chops comparable to Neil Finn (“Fuel Up”) and a tendency toward unusual instrumentation and textural sound effects. There’s even a bit of early, clangy Velvets in the verses of “Watching Birds.”

Where some contemporary bands slather on the overdubs to the disservice of the song, with Stornoway the majesty of the songs is never lost, even in the midst of their more obtuse sonic layering, thanks to the gift of subtlety. Case in point: “Here Comes the Blackout”, easily one of my tracks of the year, is a two-minute burst of flawless songcraft, dressed up with boing-y guitar and sparkling synths, which, in the final repetitions of the chorus, features the sounds of vegetables being sawed to pieces (not that you’d notice it the first, second, or third time, but that’s exactly the point). “Watching Birds” wraps up with a kazoo solo, while “Fuel Up” gets coloured with dulcimer, and “Zorbing” gets obtuse with Gregorian backing vocals and brass arrangements.

This is an album that rewards the listener more and more over time, with the power of the songs and the sincerity of the performances a welcome antiseptic to a time when the sheer weight of pop music history makes it very difficult to create songs that are both memorable and original without hiding behind bludgeoning production trends. Thoroughly refreshing as it is uplifting.

DOLLY PARTON - The Fairest Of Them All/My Favorite Songwriter, Porter Wagoner / PORTER WAGONER - What Ain't To Be, Just Might Happen

Three key reissues of 2010 are to be found in this pair of discs from the Omni Recording Corporation, featuring 1972 releases from Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton. At this point in their inextricably linked careers, they had already recorded a half-dozen duet albums together. His highly prolific career was still strong in its third prolific decade when he recorded What Ain’t To Be, Just Might Happen; hers was still in its ascendency when she paid full-length tribute to him with My Favourite Songwriter, Porter Wagoner.

Five years earlier, Porter gave Dolly her big break, inviting her on his TV and road show following the departure of erstwhile partner Norma Jean after a failed romance. (Adding insult to injury, Norma Jean is sometimes thought of as a Dolly copycat, though the former’s career and style was established first.) Wagoner even put his royalties on the line as a guarantee in order to convince RCA to sign his ingénue. His risk was a safe one, though, and by the time these recordings were released, her sales had surpassed his and were about to go through the roof.

Both artists complement each other perfectly, and comparing their versions of “What Ain’t to Be, Just Might Happen”, “Comes and Goes”, and the classic “Lonely Comin’ Down” reveals a pair of singers that are quite distinct, yet cut from the same proverbial cloth. The push and pull between light and dark shows up with both artists’ treatment of unusual subject matter, as does the development of complex and vivid characters for their song narratives. Dolly’s 1970 album The Fairest of Them All is paired up with My Favorite Songwriter for this reissue, and puts her own songwriting style on display, dealing with controversial themes of incest (“Chas” and “Robert”) and teenage pregnancy on “Down from Dover”.  For his part, Porter is no stranger to strange themes, and the inimitably surreal “The Rubber Room” is one of the most bizarre records of the '70s country canon.

Following these albums, Dolly struck gold with 1974's Jolene, which spawned the title track plus “I Will Always Love You”, a love letter to Porter which also bade their relationship farewell. She quit his road show to form her own Travellin’ Family Band that same year. Wagoner sued her for breach of contract and settled before recording one more duets album, albeit tracked separately.

Together, these releases contain 53 songs (there is a wealth of bonus material on the Porter disc), nearly two and a half hours of music, and loads of detailed liner notes from the Omni gang. Essential material from both Dolly and Porter.

FREDERICK SQUIRE - March 12

For anyone who has followed the career of Fred Squire over the past decade, you'll know that he's involved in a lot of other people's musical projects, but he's never been one to promote his own solo material. So it's a bit of a shock that we've even got to the point where he has an album of his to sell you. We've got Blue Fog Records (Andre Ethier, Castlemusic) to thank for putting it out, but first, a round of applause goes to Fred himself for actually sitting down and making this beautiful record.

While there are quite a few readily available albums to feature his talents, including several albums and EPs from Shotgun & Jaybird (the group he co-fronted with Shotgun Jimmie from 2003-2007), as well as Julie Doiron's latest album I Can Wonder What You'll Do With Your Day, Mt. Eerie's Lost Wisdom, and last year's Daniel, Fred & Julie record, Fred has always kept his solo output to small runs of CD-Rs—sometimes as few as 50. In fact, this album started off much the same way, as a CD-R being sold on a Daniel, Fred & Julie tour earlier this year. Now that it has a wider release more people will get to hear the tremendous talents of this Ajax, Ontario native.

It's never made clear what the significance of the date March 12 is, though to hazard a guess it could be the day the album was recorded. It's not impossible to believe the whole thing was done in a day or two, but the quick fashion in which it was made would explain a lot. After spending many years on the road playing other people's songs, perhaps Fred felt it was time to let himself be heard. He certainly pours a lot of himself into the lyrics—on "Old Times Past New Times", he sings about "decisions that I've made". The song "The Future of Tradition" was written as a response to the traditional tune "Frankie & Albert" (covered on last year's Daniel, Fred and Julie album); the words are written as a back and forth exchange between Albert, singing from his grave, and Frankie, moments before her execution. Tying it all together is Fred's understated piano, guitar, and voice. There's no studio trickery to be found here—in fact, on the back of the record's sleeve he lists every piece of equipment he used to make the album. All in all, it's a refreshingly honest album, created entirely by one person at his home. Don't skip over it; it's one of the year's best.

SUSUMU YOKOTA - Kaleidoscope

Susumu Yokota may not be a household name, but in certain circles he is certainly a recognized benchmark. For over a decade, Yokota has been quietly making quiet music whose quality speaks much louder volumes. True, his catalogue also includes some exceptional house albums, but his main output has been focused on the kind of ambient electronic albums that anyone outside of Eno, Budd and Aphex Twin would kill to make one of. Records like Sakura, The Grinning Cat, The Boy and The Tree, and Laputa all feature Yokota's signature touches—merging patterns of traditional and ethnic music from around the world with gorgeous synth pads, gently loping rhythms and ear-catching found sounds. What has always saved him from merely making background music is the way he can subtly anchor his pieces with a kind of sonic narration. It's hard to explain in any way other than to say that his records go places—all while remaining quite still.

Kaleidoscope, while representing no real quantum shift in his approach, is another solid addition to Yokota's body of work. Like the best albums of this genre, it takes on dramatically different forms depending on the volume used by and the attentiveness of the listener. The music works in layers, and what appears translucent and hazy from a distance is sketched with surprising detail up close. The tortoise-paced evolution of colours on "Lily Scent Jealousy" is pulse-calming, but underneath voices calling for "The mothership..." hint at great unrest. 

Yokota's years of being a house producer also make a few appearances, albeit in atypical ways. "Pebble On The Verge Of Breaking" plays its title out, as Yokota uses the classic dance floor trick of a reverse whoosh after a long keyboard build up to signal the throbbing bass-heavy beat...except, in this case, the beat never comes. It plays with our Pavlovian sense of anticipation skillfully, keeping our senses riveted to what is essentially quite static music.

In the end, just another day in the workshop by a master craftsman. Beautiful stuff.