093: Venus on Earth, by Dengue Fever

Dengue Fever (USA/Cambodia)
Venus on Earth (2008)
12 tracks, 47 minutes
Bandcamp • Spotify • iTunes

I’m really into Cambodian music, especially classical and folk styles, and we’ll get onto those a little later in the year. This one is something different.

Dengue Fever are an American band that have their roots in Cambodian music, but it’s Cambodian music that has its roots in American music. The group formed to play covers of Khmer pop from the 60s and 70s, pumped up to be extra psychedelic for good measure, and before long they had found Chhom Nimol, a well-known singer in Cambodia who had just moved to LA – she brought a proper air of authenticity to the group’s sound.

I debated for quite a while whether to choose this album, or Escape from Dragon House, which the band released three years earlier, before falling on the side of Venus on Earth. That’s not because this one is necessarily better, and it’s not perfect either – there are a couple of weak points – but I think I prefer this one because there is a bit more of a variety in the styles.

By this point, Dengue Fever had really got that psychedelic Khmer sound down, and they were making musical connections to other styles – the twangy electric guitars, Farfisa organ and roaring saxophone lent themselves as much to surf rock as the Cambodian style, so that plays an important role here. There are also deep Ethiopian influences in the Mulatu Astatke mould, especially evident on tracks such as ‘Integratron,’ which provides an extra layer of interesting connection: the ‘golden age’ of Ethiopian jazz almost perfectly syncs up with that of Khmer rock, both reaching their heights between 1969-1975 before being crushed by brutal regimes. And all the way through the album, Nimol’s beautiful voice cuts through it all, razor sharp but crystal clear, twisting around above the grooves.

From a band that started just to play covers of decades-old music from half-way across the world, Dengue Fever completely transcended that. They manage to keep that time and place palpable within their music, but they turned it into something that is recognisably their own, and all the more exciting for that.

092: Liquid Clarinets, by Matt Darriau, Ismail Lumanovski & Patrick Novara

Matt Darriau, Ismail Lumanovski & Patrick Novara (USA/North Macedonia/Italy)
Liquid Clarinets (2009)
8 tracks, 59 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

I adore the clarinet. I tried to become a clarinettist once, thinking that, as a saxophonist, the skillset would transfer easily. It didn’t. But I don’t resent the instrument. In fact, I reckon it’s really underrated and under-utilised. Not here, though.

Liquid Clarinets is a culture-clash between three clarinet virtuosi, each from different traditions, but all with a passion for musical exploration. There’s Matt Darriau from the US, a master of Yiddish klezmer and known for his work with the Klezmatics; Ismail Lumanovski from North Macedonia, who plays in a Balkan style; and Patrick Novara, a French-born Italian with specialities in tarantella and Turkish music. It’s not just clarinets on this album – there’s also accordion from Dimos Voughioukas and hand-percussion from all over by Francesco Manna, as well as other windthings (gaita, kaval, bagpipes) played by Darriau and Novara, and they all add their own textures to stop it all from sounding too samey. But it’s definitely those clarinets that are the main attraction.

Together, the musicians guide the album through pieces in all of their various styles, with each bringing their own techniques to the traditions of the others. Their melodies weave around each other like multi-coloured threads, often moving in completely different directions but sometimes coming together to make harmonies so tight they sound like some sort of clarinet organ rather than three separate pairs of lungs and sets of fingers.

Altogether, it is a rich tapestry of frenetic dance styles, melodic acrobatics and calmer, more introspective moments. A wonderful adornment to any clarinet-lover’s record collection. And if you don’t like those single-reeded tubes of African Blackwood, then…well, wait until tomorrow’s Good Album, I guess.

091: Love Songs and Trance Music from Balochistan, by Abdulrahman Surizehi

Abdulrahman Surizehi (Balochistan/Iran)
Love Songs and Trance Music from Balochistan (2006)
13 tracks, 133 minutes (2CD)
Spotify • iTunes

One of the most exciting things about music is discovering a great new sound you’ve never heard before; a subsection of this (and one that happens rather rarely) is finding out about an interesting instrument that makes a unique sound that had previously evaded your knowledge. That’s what I had when I first heard/saw the instrument that you hear on this album.

I actually first saw it on a documentary about Afghan musicians, where it was called an ‘electric banjo,’ but it definitely didn’t look like that. It was like a lap steel guitar, but with keys instead of a slide or frets. Then I did some digging and found out its wonderful story. In the Indian subcontinent, the acoustic version of the instrument is also known as the bulbul tarang, but it’s thought to have been directly adapted from the Japanese taishogoto, which itself evolved as a German-inspired mixture between the koto zither and…a typewriter. Not only that, but the Japanese instrument also made it to East Africa where it became absorbed into the taarab ensemble. An instrument with a global history that I’d somehow never heard of – I love it!

For Abdulrahman Surizehi, the instrument is called the benju, and he uses it to play the classical and folk music of Balochistan and the Baloch people. Balochistan is a historic region that spans areas of modern-day Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iran; Surizehi hails from the Iranian portion. The Balochi culture is much closer to that of Afghanistan and the subcontinent, however, and that can be clearly heard on this album.

This is a double album, so there’s lots of music to be enjoyed on here (although it’s rather impractical as part of a record collection, as you might be able to tell by the shape of the cover). Each of the discs is made up of one of the two themes, with CD1 made up of nine folk melodies and CD2 dedicated to four extended medleys of religious pieces. The lyrical themes are all implied, of course, as this is an instrumental showcase for Surizehi’s benju, backed only by tambura drone and dokhor drum. Over the course of the album, though, you can get a real sense of the range available to the instrument, from joyous to sincere. My favourite track is something a bit different again, the last one from the first CD, ‘Min Gudbrandsdal.’ It’s Surizehi’s own composition, and it means ‘My Gudbrandsdal’ in Norwegian, after his adopted home. It’s a really cheerful mix of a Scandinavian folk-style melody in the Balochi setting, and it’s dead catchy.

It’s always a thrill to hear something new. A banjo-typewriter hybrid playing folk music from a country that doesn’t exist? You know you’re in for a treat.

090: Revolver, by the Beatles

The Beatles (United Kingdom)
Revolver (1966)
14 tracks, 35 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

We’re on a great run of albums that aren’t just Good but some of the best, and Revolver is certainly keeping that ball up in the air.

When I was little, I was completely obsessed with the Beatles. When I was in Year Two or Three, The Beatles were my ‘thing’. And then I sort of forgot about them. Obviously I knew they were great, and still listened to them occasionally, but it was more taken as read rather than felt. But then about nine years ago, I put Revolver on and it blew my mind all over again. Cue listening to it again and again over the period of a few weeks, and my love for the Beatles fully rekindled.

Every track is perfect in context of the album. Even the obligatory drippy love song (‘Here, There and Everywhere’) and children’s offering (‘Yellow Submarine’) add, rather than subtract, to the album’s overall quality. There are so many moments of out genius on Revolver that it’s easy to forget them. The album has one of the best Beatles guitar solos in ‘Taxman;’ the desperately sad ‘Eleanor Rigby,’ performed only by a double string quartet and voices; George’s most successful Indian experiment in ‘Love You To,’ and one of the group’s earliest forays into musique concrète in ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’…and it was released just three years after their strummy-wummy debut. How a group can progress so far in such a short amount of time is nothing short of madness.

(Revolver also gets bonus points for one of the best album names ever, clever in the same way as The Buzzcock’s Spiral Scratch EP.)

089: Blue Train, by John Coltrane

John Coltrane (USA)
Blue Train (1958)
7 tracks, 59 minutes (2003 CD version)
Spotify • iTunes

I’ve already told you a bit about my evolution as a jazz listener, from Louis Jordan’s jump-blues to Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew, but it was John Coltrane’s Blue Train that cemented my ever-passionate love of that late 50s-mid 60s hard-/post-bop sound. It also readied my ears for the likes of Ornette Coleman, Modern Jazz Quartet and Albert Ayler.

As a sextet, this album has a bigger band than I normally prefer in my jazz nowadays, but come on, who can find fault in Blue Train? It’s an all-star band for one: Lee Morgan on trumpet, Kenny Drew on piano, Paul Chambers on bass and Philly Joe Jones on drums. It also gives a voice to the under-used hard bop instrument, the trombone, as played here by Curtis Fuller. Everyone needs more trombone solos in their life. And then there’s Trane on the top of his game – great, memorable head sections and genre-defining solos.

I have listened through to this album so many times. Every track is a winner, and instantly recognisable. Favourite moments are all over the place, but I can’t really get over the immaculate cool of the title track and that opening solo. I’ve pored over that more times than I can count, in sonic and dot form and it still fills me with wonder. And then there’s ‘A Moment’s Notice’ which makes me feel really Christmassy for some reason, every time without fail (much more than Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s actual carol).

It all comes together so well. Even the cover is exactly in tune with the music – it features Francis Wolff’s iconic photography that defined the Blue Note visual aesthetic showing a Coltrane relaxed but purposeful, cool but intense and ready to let the music flow through him and his horn.

There’s not much more I can say on this one without getting boring in my waxing lyrical. Just listen and worship at the altar of Saint Coltrane and his five hip apostles.

088: Floodplain, by Kronos Quartet

Kronos Quartet (USA/everywhere else)
Floodplain (2009)
12 tracks, 79 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

Western classical musicians are known for their virtuosity, but not necessarily their versatility. Kronos Quartet have them both to staggering degrees. Floodplain encapsulates everything that I love about the group. On this album, they delve into the classical styles of three continents, playing compositions from Central Asia, the Balkans, India, across the Arabic world, Turkey, Iran, Ethiopia…the range is staggering.

But Kronos don’t just play music from other cultures on two violins, a viola and a cello by reading some dots from a page. They approach each piece holistically: they work closely with the composers, arrangers or collaborators; they learn about the musical cultures upon which the pieces draw, and they learn about what the pieces mean and the emotions that they evoke; they adapt their playing style to suit each piece, rather than applying a one-size-fits-all Western classical template to everything; they even play specially-adapted or -invented musical instruments to make sure that they convey the pieces in exactly the right ways.

With this meticulousness, the performances on this album are obviously spot on. And that is only right and proper as a show of respect to the twelve pieces on display, all of which, to a one, are absurdly beautiful in their own ways. I could wax lyrical about each one of them. ‘Tèw Semagn Hagèré’ is an arrangement of the celebrated Ethiopian begana lyre player Alèmu Aga, with those aforementioned commissioned instruments echoing the begana’s haunting buzz and Alèmu’s whispered voice. The live performance of ‘Getme, Getme’ with the celebrated Azeri mugham singers Alim and Farghana Qasimov and their ensemble, in which the two classical traditions blend so seamlessly as to feel completely natural. My favourite, ‘Tashweesh,’ written by and performed in collaboration with Palestinian hip-hop/electronica collective Ramallah Underground, which is treated and remixed so heavily that it barely sounds like a string quartet piece at all, but which fits in the collection seemlessly. Or my other favourite, the Lebanese Easter hymn ‘Wa Habibi,’ made famous by the singer Fairuz, which is given a simple arrangement that accentuates the mournfulness of the piece and brings to the fore its connection to both church music and Arabic classical singing. And that’s only four of them.

Floodplain isn’t just an album I enjoy listening to, although I do, and often. It’s more than that. I am in awe of it. The sheer musicianship on display, the outstanding compositions and arrangements, the sensitivity of it all, it all adds up to an album of breath-taking, even heart-breaking beauty. For what it does, I would even go as far as to say that this is a perfect album.

087: The Singer, by Diamanda Galás

Diamanda Galás (USA)
The Singer (1992)
10 tracks, 46 minutes
Another album that doesn’t seem to be easily available for streaming or download in the UK. I found seven of the ten tracks on YouTube, so I’ve stuck them in a playlist for you, but if you want the whole thing, let me know and I’ll sort you out.

Probably the most exciting thing when you’re a music fan is that moment you first hear something of the sort you’ve never heard before but it grabs you immediately – you have no idea what you’re listening to, but you know you love it. Listening to Diamanda Galás for the first time made me feel exactly that way. To be honest, I’m not sure I can even really tell you what it is now, but I can try…

Diamanda Galás’ fingers, when they come into contact with a piano or electric organ, tease out avant-garde jumbles of notes. They’re something like amorphous clouds of sound: heavy on the sustain, sometimes dissonant, and usually favouring the lowest registers of the instrument. But then a blues note will come and go in a swirl. The note comes back again and attaches itself to another, in a cluster. That builds into a lick, and then suddenly she’s playing some of the bluesiest lines while somehow still in that disorientating avant-garde frame. Then comes her voice.

She has the voice of an opera singer trained in hell. She can turn it on a dime, from a powerful, full-chested boom, to paper-thin screeches that would make a blackboard cringe, to menacing, throaty rasp. At times she sounds legitimately possessed. Put that together with her piano, it all sounds positively demonic. If she hits you in the right frame-of-mind, it can be absolutely terrifying.

Like some other things I’ve covered here, The Singer is not an easy listen. It’s uncomfortable and it’s intense and weird and I absolutely love it. This album in particular is a set of blues and gospel standards, played as if they have been percolated through the nine circles. But they lose none of that bluesiness at all. See what I mean by checking out ‘Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?’ It starts off plaintive and creepy, and descends (or, ascends) into operatic shrieks of accusation, the piano keeping the tether in the earthly plains throughout.

I’ve not heard anyone else even approach what Diamanda Galás can do. I don’t even 100% get what she’s doing, but I know she’s doing it exactly right. It’s marvellous stuff, and great music to listen to while you scare the kiddies on Halloween.

086: Lost in Spice, by Kamel Nitrate

Kamel Nitrate (United Kingdom/Portugal)
Lost in Spice (2003)
10 tracks, 54 minutes (2019 remastered version)
Spotify • iTunes

Kamel Nitrate were, until not too long ago, a group that seemed to come and go in a blink. They had one great album, played around for about a year or two and then seemed to disappear almost completely, save for a couple of remixes here and there. But they left a deep impression on me.

The Kamels as they were then were a bunch of musicians orbiting around the nucleus of producer and multi-instrumentalist Tony Marrison and the excellently named DJ Nelson Dilation. Together with a group of excellent musicians including Portuguese singer Maria João Branco, they created a sound that epitomises dubtronica for me. Not only does it have dub and electronica in heavy doses, but the influences are global. Every continent is represented musically in some way or another, whether as samples that drive the direction of whole tracks, to something as small as a chromatic passing note in an organ solo.

The resulting album, Lost in Spice, is a proper party record, and an annual sound of the summer. Since getting the album in 2003 (or perhaps a little earlier – if memory serves me right, me dad got a hold of an early copy direct from the source), this album was never too far away from my speakers.

It took all the way until 2016 for Kamel Nitrate to rise again, with Tony Marrison rallying some worldwide friends to create the sequel he had always envisioned in the form of Lebanon Elevator. I even got a personal thanks in the album sleeve for the support, too, which was nice.

And then, as a lovely surprise, Lost in Spice came back around – they released a remastered and slightly extended version just earlier this year. The original mixes were lost to the hard drives of time, so Tony had to painstakingly put everything together piece-by-piece and it sounds lovely and sparkly for that. It’s great to get to appreciate it all over again, and I really hope this re-release gets this classic album the wider listenership it always deserved.

085: Presenting the Alan Lomax Collection, by Various Artists

Various Artists (USA)
Presenting the Alan Lomax Collection (2004)
12 tracks, 46 minutes
This particular compilation wasn’t anywhere to play online, and most of the tracks aren’t on Spotify either. I made a YouTube playlist of most of the tracks for you (the last track wasn’t on there, grrr)

…having said that, all of Alan Lomax’s recordings are now in the public domain, and they’re all searchable and listenable via the Cultural Equity website – thousands of hours of recordings from all over the world, go nuts!

This is a compilation of music recorded by Alan Lomax on three of his journeys across the Deep South of the USA, between the late 40s and 1960. Most of the recordings are from Mississippi, but there’s also some from Virginia, Georgia and Arkansas too. These tracks were chosen because they were the ones that were remixed as part of the Tangle Eye project, where they were mixed up with all sorts of beats and other nu-blues accoutrements. That album is really disappointing. If you want the good stuff, turn to the originals.

Lomax recorded so much material on his southern journeys that the compilers must have been spoilt for choice. As a result, all of the tracks are wonderful. There’s quite a range presented here too, from the delta blues to spirituals to pieces based on English (or possibly Eastern European) folk songs.

The most spine-tingling of them, though, are the ones recorded in the Mississippi State Penetentiary, also known as Parchman Farm (you can see which tracks were recorded where and when on Discogs). Inmates of Parchman Farm were treated in conditions that amounted basically to legalised slavery, and the practice of chain-gangs was still going strong. The songs sang there are heavy with world-weariness. They are work songs and chanties, some even sang in that context, chopping wood, for example. They are beautiful, if haunting – the high-pitched voice of Henry Jimpson Wallace singing ‘No More, My Lord’ is heavenly, but full of sadness.

But then there’s also the very short track, ‘Jim and John’ by the Young family of Ed, Lonnie Young and Lonnie Jr. It’s the only fife-and-drum music included in this collection, and it’s one of my favourite tracks on it. It doesn’t have the aching quality of the chain-gang songs – in fact, it sounds joyous. The fife is just so bluesy, but drums are begging you to dance. Really, I could go through every track on this album and say why I love it.

As tempting as it is, it’s hard to really call this music the roots of the blues – after all, blues was in full swing by this point. In fact, the post-bop era of jazz was already in its prime for most of these, and the British blues boom was starting to come together. But there is something about recording these musicians in their homes – or jails – that captures the real essence of all the different types of folk music that the urban blues styles drew upon. This is music with deep roots, and far-reaching branches.

084: Why I'm not writing about Thriller, by Michael Jackson

Michael Jackson (USA)
Thriller (1982)
9 tracks, 42 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

Well this timing is awkward. Just a few days before writing this one, a new documentary, Leaving Neverland, came out on Channel 4, which details pretty comprehensively the allegations of child sexual assault committed by Michael Jackson. To be honest, we knew for a long time. He was not a good man, and he has that in common with some others that will be on this blog at some point. His reputation deserves to be tarnished with this knowledge forever, but at the same time, his importance and contributions to the world of music is indisputable.

This is a really important time to think about the meaning of legacy, and how much we can continue to revere those of people that have directly caused such suffering. There is a case to say that, if the art isn’t connected with the transgressions of its creator, then it should be excused from being tarred along with the name. This is a flawed argument, especially when it comes to Michael Jackson. For starters, it is because of his music and the popularity, riches and fame that it brought, that gave him the means, the access and the trust of people that was required to abuse children in the way that he did. It doesn’t even work to say that the music itself is innocent of the crime, as the subjects are unrelated – listen to ‘Human Nature’ with this knowledge in mind and try not to be creeped out.

I’m not sure it’s appropriate to talk about this album from a musical perspective at the current time. You know what it sounds like, and you can go and listen to it if you don’t – no-one is stopping you. It’s a great album, but that is less important than the human cost that its success, in part, enabled. It hurts, because I would not have chosen this album to write about if I didn’t think it was worthy, and I didn’t enjoy listening to it. I am sure I will listen to it again, and I’m sure I will gain enjoyment out of that experience. But it isn’t appropriate to write about this album with veneration. Not now, at least.

It’s important that we believe survivors of assault and rape, and it’s important that we don’t let our biases or tastes get in the way of their personal justice.

083: Gorillaz, by Gorillaz

Gorillaz (United Kingdom)
Gorillaz (2001)
16 tracks, 61 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

Gorillaz are one of the biggest bands around nowadays, so it feels a little disingenuous to talk about this album as though you’ve never heard it. I think their other albums have surpassed the debut in terms of popularity, though, so I think this one deserves another look.

I don’t know why, but I still approach this album in the same way as I did when it first came out. It was mysterious. They were referred to as ‘the first virtual band,’ but I think that was just the early 2000s excitement with the internet coming through a bit; what it actually meant was that the band members were basically anonymous, masquerading behind cartoon characters. It was common knowledge that it was fronted by Damon Albarn of Blur, but the rest were unknown (to me, at least). As such, there wasn’t much clue as to what the music was going to be like.

It turns out, it was going to be a lot. It was some mix between alternative rock and hip-hop, but that’s only half of it. There’s lots of trip hop and dub in there, punk and pop occasionally too. And it’s all done so well, no matter where it travels. It even goes to Cuba, with guest vocals from Buena Vista Social Club legend Ibrahim Ferrer.

If I had to pick, I’d say the album is best when it’s straddling the line between hip-hop and trip-hop…but there’s really no point in picking favourite tracks because they are literally all great. ‘Clint Eastwood’ with the great rap from Del Tha Funkee Homosapien obviously stands out and the polyrhythmic indie of ‘5/4’ is really cool, but other less-flashy tracks such as ‘Double Bass’ and ‘Latin Simone’ (with the aforementioned Ferrer) definitely deserve the attention too. And let’s not forget the hidden track, the raga refix of ‘Clint Eastwood’ by Ed Case, which rivals the original and is a great addition to almost any DJ set.

What a perfect debut album. Gorillaz seemed to come basically out of no-where, no-one really knew what it was all about, and the album keeps you guessing as to what’s going to come next. Nothing is what you expect, from start to end, but it’s exciting and enjoyable the whole way through. No wonder they went on to be huge.

082: Blackhouse, by Peatbog Faeries

Peatbog Faeries (United Kingdom)
Blackhouse (2015)
10 tracks, 59 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

The old adage is ‘never judge a book by its cover,’ but book covers serve an important function of enticing you to pick it up and give it a go – they are made to be judged, it’s their whole point. I don’t have a problem with the cover of Blackhouse, it doesn’t particularly stir me either way. But I will admit that I was put off from giving the Peatbog Faeries a go for a long time, just from their band name alone. It’s such a stereotypical name of what I imagine would be a proper crusty, quite bad folk band. I guess it’s supposed to be self-aware in that way, but not Jim-aware, so I wrote them off.

I was wrong. There’s not an inch of crust on them. It is folk music at its very heart, so I got that right at least – most of the tracks are based on self-penned reels and jigs and all that sort of stuff, replete with highland bagpipes, whistles and fiddles. As soon as that first track, ‘Is This Your Son?’ hits the speakers, though, those doubts disappeared. It doesn’t start with wholesome fiddlry or earnest twangitude: it starts with a dirty sawtooth synth wave, some apocalyptic drums and a deadly bassline. This isn’t ale drinkers in kilts with a sideline in toffee and shortbread sales (although they might be some of those things) – this is The Prodigy! Then the fiddles kick and it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Throughout Blackhouse, Peatbog Faeries prove themselves to be like a punkier, less Afro-ish Afro Celt Sound System, with its hard rock and deep electronica elements all undergirded by Celtic melodies and energies. A lot of this wouldn’t be out of place at a cyberpunk night, and it’s sure to get you bouncing. It isn’t as unrelenting as the opening track may have you expect; there’s some gentler pieces scattered here and there with a chill-out vibe. I think I personally would prefer it to keep banging 100% of the time, but the slower tracks aren’t bad and don’t necessarily disrupt the flow – I just like dancing hard when I can.

I’ve had opportunities to see Peatbog Faeries quite a few times over the years at festivals and such, but never took them due to the name thing, and I’ve not managed to see them since. I imagine that they’d be rocking. I’ll have to update you if I ever do catch them live. Until then, remember: judge books by their covers if you must, but don’t be afraid to take a peek inside a dubiously-jacketed one now and again.

081: Yemenite Songs, by Ofra Haza

Ofra Haza (Israel)
Yemenite Songs (1984)
8 tracks, 39 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

Ofra Haza was one of the first world music stars – even before world music existed. In fact, this album was indirectly one of the reasons for the creation of world music as a specific marketing term and strategy. When it was released internationally by the Globe Style record label in 1985, it was a massive success, but so were King Sunny Ade and Les Mysteres de Voix Bulgares, and record shops were having a hard time working out where to put the albums…so, after a fashion, world music became a thing. But I digress. If you want to learn more about that all stuff, it’s brilliantly chronicled on the fRoots website by the editor Ian Anderson.

As for Yemenite Songs, it is, when it all boils down, Israeli pop. And really 80s pop at that: bad synths and gated reverb abound. It wouldn’t be on this blog if that were all it was though. As the title suggests, Haza uses the album to explore her heritage as a Yemenite Jew living in a modern Israel, and the music reflects all of these identities. She sings in Hebrew, Arabic and Aramaic and her vocal style changes to reflect the different cultures. The instrumentation is rather orchestral without sounding it: the string, woodwind and brass sections, in conjunction with the synths and the dance beats, end up sounding quite disco-esque. Sometimes the woodwinds take a step forward and make things extra funky, and it all gets quite Bellowheadish on the medley ‘Tzur Mentati/Se'i Yona/Sapri Tama.’ The dhol-soundalike tin drum adds another flavour with its driving beats.

Basically, what I’m saying is that this is pop music inspired by Yemenite heritage and the Arabic culture that goes along with it while also retaining a Hebrew identity and mixing in classical poetry while striving towards all the modern trappings of the 1980s. Now I can see why those record shop owners had a hard time finding the right box to put this in…

080: 6, by Soil & "PIMP" Sessions

Soil & “PIMP” Sessions (Japan)
6 (2009)
13 tracks, 58 minutes
Bandcamp • Spotify • iTunes

One thing I love about this blog is some of the juxtapositions that are thrown up by the random selection. This album and yesterday’s album are not entirely without their similarities, but their soundworlds are absolutely light-years apart.

Soil & “PIMP” Sessions approach jazz with the vigour of a thrash metal band. There isn’t actually any metal in the sound itself, but they play with such wild abandon in contrast to jazz’s usual restrained, tasteful image. They call it ‘death jazz,’ although I’d say it’s much more life-affirming than that implies. After the introductory sound collage contributed by DJ Kentaro, the album hits straight into that stride with the piece ‘Keizoku,’ which won’t half blow those cobwebs away. It’s a million miles an hour and it barely lets up for the rest of the album, and it’s all just pure jazz (maybe with hints of samba and Afrobeat thrown in).

Considering there are only five musicians in the group – trumpet, sax, piano, double bass and drums – they make so much noise, it sounds like there are about 20 of them. And all-acoustic too! A passing listen would convince you that there’s all matter of electronics going on, but nope. It’s all just air, reeds and strings.

There’s also a sixth, key element of the band. Shacho is the bandleader and ‘agitator’ – that means he’s the Bez of the group. His job isn’t musical as such (although he will bellow into a megaphone or hit a cymbal occasionally), as much as it is to just get the band and the audience as riled up as possible and create the perfect atmosphere: a near-riot. As you might imagine, as good as the album is, it just cannot compare to their live show. I’ve only seen them live once, at WOMAD in 2010, but I’m not sure I’ve stopped sweating since. Enjoy this album now – catch them live as soon as you can!

079: New Memories, by Henry Makobi

Henry Makobi (Kenya)
New Memories (1993)
10 tracks, 40 minutes
Spotify • iTunes

Here’s an album to get you through a tough Wednesday. It’s all just Henry Makobi and his acoustic guitar – together they make really lovely, jolly-sounding music to put a smile on your face and a warmth in your chest.

A lot of music from East Africa, taking its cues from Congolese rumba, has a strong Latin influence. In many iterations, such as benga, this influence results in hot dance styles with electric guitars, drum kits and horn sections. Henry, though, takes it another direction. He takes those chord progressions and rhythms from Cuban music, but plays them on the guitar using interlocking patterns inspired by the local Luhya lyre, the litungu. He even emulates the rattling tone of the litungu in the simplest way – he just stuck a bunch of coins into his acoustic guitar. Whatever works! Add in little bits from country music and calypso and you have Henry’s very own style that he called sutuki.

His music is uplifting in the way that it is somehow both perky and gentle at the same time, and there’s something really sweet in the simplicities of his melodies and lyrics (especially the wording of the song ‘Take Me Home and Kiss Me There’). It puts me right into the mindset of a hot summers day, playing in a park or maybe relaxing under a palm tree; it's a guaranteed cheerer-upperer.