| Kraftwerk’s new album just
appeared. No magazine covers, no interviews, no media blitz, it
was just there. What a contrast to the drooling cash for hype that
most other modern performers surround each piece of new product
with as it hits the market. All the more surprising given Kraftwerk’s
current stature in the electronica world & that this is their
first new album of material since 1986’s “Electric Café
“, breaking their no phones no fax no Email exile with only
2 singles & a remix album
Well was it worth the wait? “ Tour De France Soundtracks “
does feature 4 versions of the title track, but each version is
so different, the 3rd resonates with Underworld charm, that they
function as a suite rather than mere rote repetition. As to the
other tracks, the machine masters give us the cool detached manipulation
& tonal touch that new & old fans will love. Seemingly oblivious
to the demands of the dancefloor, they bring us floating clouds,
electro vocals, breathy rhythms, mechanical beats & their subtle
pulse draped across 7 excerpts from an adroid’s dream. All
that’s missing are the electric sheep.
After the punk explosion of New York bands that brought us the New
York Dolls, The Ramones, Television, the Voidoids & many others,
the focus moved away from the city & left us at the mercy of
record companies who foisted on us the dreaded new wave. But meanwhile
the drugged out downtown denizens of Manhatten left CBGBs &
the other so called punk venues & mutated onto the crowded dancefloors
of the myriad clubs & bars that infested the alleys & basements
of the island. To compete with the disco dynamics, many musicians
from the experimental end of the art school community created a
mutant dry white boy punkfunk , a minimalist groove that stole from
jazz rock funk latin & pop that was dubbed by someone trying
to pull together the diverse group of bands under one banner, New
York Noise. Released on small independent labels & marked by
a cool indifference to commercial success, it was where arthouse
met dancefloor, experimental met electronics & attitude was
all.
Many of them never even released albums & remain largely forgotten,
their meagre output unavailable. Until now. ”New York Noise”
is a 15 track compilation that sounds like some it was actually
dubbed from the original vinyl, giving it an authentic audio style.
The faux funk of James White & The Blacks sits next to the pre
Sonic Youth massed noise guitars of Glenn Branca, the tribalism
of Liquid Liquid, the percussive Konk & the tough girl rock
of the Bush Tetras, as well as rap & avant garde pioneerings.
None of them ever had commercial success or any mainstream attention.
It’s an invigorating journey through one of music’s
forgotten most inventive & exciting meanders.
Everyone has at least heard of Miles Davis &
John Coltrane & an easy way to get to know not only their music
but the equally legendary men behind it are 2 newly issued DVDs,
The World According to John Coltrane & The Miles Davis Story.
Both are about as definitive as we’re ever going to get. Miles
Davis rarely gave interviews so he is not all that present in the
doco but the strength of his genius & his character burns through
the large number of musical collaborators that he worked with in
his lengthy & chameleon like career, as they recall being in
the man’s intimidating presence. It skips over his 70 s incarnation
too quickly for my taste & perhaps dwells a little much on the
very early days, but really they’re just minor quibbles, the
colossus himself just looms out of the screen.
The Coltrane doco is even better, featuring as it does heaps of
live footage that I didn’t even know existed from all stages
of his tragically curtailed career. His widow musician Alice Coltrane
is involved, along with many musicians who were lucky to cross his
path recalling the impact that he had on their lives. There’s
a weird tack on of Roscoe Mitchell jamming with some Moroccan dervishes
that ‘s actually pretty cool, but the live footage is so compelling
(drummer Elvin Jones is truly a joy to behold) that it will uplift
& inspire even the most anti jazz person’s heart.
When I first saw “Ports Of Entry: William S Burroughs And
The Arts “ in the bookshop I was struck by what a handsome
example of bookcraft it was, the large format, the design, paper
quality, type faces & colour reproductions combined to produce
a book that just reeked of quality, craft & thought. It was
actually printed by The Los Angeles Museum of Art to accompany an
exhibition of Burroughs visual experiments, from his early cutups
inspired by Brion Gysin through film & into his paintings that
he turned his talents to when he gave away writing in his later
years. For a moment I paused, asking myself “Am I just being
a completist? “ given that I’ve got everything the man
has written & most of what has been written about him. Maybe
enough is enough. But then I opened the book to a print of one his
paintings ( “Screaming Ghost “ as it turned out in a
weird moment of synchronicity ) & before I looked at it, my
brain saw it & before thought I simply fell into the painting
& it fell into me. The voids recognised each other before I
had even arrived. Since that moment I’ve immersed myself in
the book & it’s text gives his work, as opposed to the
oft-told tale of his notorious life, the focus & understanding
it richly deserves. Even people as familiar with his written work
as they should be maybe surprised by the parallel creative journey
that he pursued throughout his life. It assembles materials never
before seen into a visual odyssey of his life with the text translating
the ideas appropriately. Absolutely excellent.
I‘ve picked up Charles Shaar Murray’s Boogie Man The
Adventures Of John Lee Hooker In The American Twentieth Century
a little late as a bargain hardback remainder & as a fan of
his previous book Crosstown Traffic, where based on his examination
of Jimi Hendrix he drew a fascinating musical map that connected
a diverse musical culture into a coherent community of like spirits
. It was essential. The focus of this book is far more concentrated
on the enigmatic man & musician at its core. It’s follows
his incredible career, along with a critique of his enormous recorded
output, but somehow leaves the man behind it all still a mystery.
Murray is obviously in awe of his subject, but you have the feeling
that Hooker was essentially a private man with a musical job &
that he prefers to keep it that way.
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