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Jo Gabriel: The Amber Sessions

Jo Gabriel: The Amber Sessions
I am prone to gushing enthusiastically on most music posts here because I usually only write about music I enjoy. Still, I need to get something out of the way quickly: The Amber Sessions is magnificent. Here’s why:

Jo Gabriel’s album lives alongside its darker sibling The Last Drive In. They’re both naked instrumental recordings borne out of musical passion – a boundless urge to create and to express emotion. The Amber Sessions is also a 4 track affair, but definitely not lo-fi (apart from occasional tape drop-out.) Indeed, the unexpected richness and depth of the recordings is to be admired, and yes, it’s stunning when played loud.

Synthetic string pads and processed loops form the bedrock of much of the album. Jo’s piano accompanies their shifting sounds, diverging at will or brushing across them. Although centred around progressions, it darts off periodically to embrace song structure. Subtle dissonance emphasises the melodies and sometimes the piano falls away completely, to let the accompaniments peek through, unadorned. These tiny moments are breathtaking. This clash of the simulated with the real is critical to the mood and success of the album.

Considerable attention has been given to the sequencing of the pieces, so whilst it’s possible to cherry pick individual tracks that work on their own, the album is probably intended to be heard as a complete work. It can be intensely consuming. Curiously, The Amber Sessions also excels as ambient music – the choice is yours.

Introduction to this landscape comes in the form of the opening tracks Sway, Flicker and Crush. Sway immediately generates tension due to the slowish attack on the lower strings, which rub against the organ drones and chord-less piano lines. The melody changes subtly, incorporating additional pads to round off this slow starter. The shorter Flicker picks up the pace, but cuts back on the melody. Here, little sonic experiments begin to emerge – a trait which considerably enriches the second half of the album. Crush uses abrupt organ stabs and delayed piano to tease out variations in rhythm, relishing the space it has been given.

Delightful though these are it’s only when Moments Like Drops arrives that the first fully realised tune unfolds. Here the piano deviates from its previous excursions through greater variation in tone and dynamics. Only a cycling plucked instrument keeps it company. Savage Bliss continues on this new course, re-introducing the organ and strings, then constructing recurring cascades of harmony and modulated tempos. By now the importance of those first three tracks becomes obvious.

Passing / Arriving temporarily returns to that isolation with crumpled samples and screeches but chooses to re-invent itself twice, firstly as lounge music, which confines the piano to one side, then again by adding strings, becoming more elaborate and beautiful in the process. This stunning piece boasts the vital links between what has already been heard and what is to come.

In the meantime, the strings and guitar that open The Sun King tempt three times before the long-awaited keyboard arrives. When it does, this stereo mix contrasts with its recent restriction. Summoning is all about percussive rhythm but it’s important not to ignore the counterpoint which at times becomes the dominant melody.

Mistress of Time begins the four tracks which gradually build to complete the album. Here Jo plays busily alongside a dusty operatic loop. It’s initially unsettling, but through familiarity these two resolve their differences. What follows next is more remarkable: Juno blooms in the wake of Passing / Arriving but nuzzles up to a scratchy, detuned cello which is granted its own little solo for the coda.

The final two pieces, Amber and Mothlight unexpectedly replace the strings with snippets of renaissance music. Amber is the baby of the two – a sleepy diversion from Juno’s perkiness. Mothlight develops further: the ebb and flow of tension that threads carefully through the album is finally released, by using two or three individual piano tracks wrapped around Thomas Tallis’ acclaimed motet Spem in alium. This brings the album to a dazzling and deeply satisfying conclusion.

Jo Gabriel’s most widely available album, Island, is set firmly in the mould of singer-songwriter. Only the brief instrumental If Not hints towards The Amber Sessions and if you love Island I implore you to investigate this too. The Amber Sessions is a fascinating complex piece of work that becomes more impressive with each listen.

The Amber Sessions is available from Jo Gabriel’s website.

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Pluramon: The Monstrous Surplus

I’m very late with starting the reviews of my favourite albums of 2007. In this respect I find it vulgar to reduce my opinion and feelings of an album to a mere review and to consider one better or worse than another. But I do so because it allows me to more easily recall exactly how I felt about an album and where my head and the rest of me was at that time. It builds relationships between albums, between artists and when other albums are released it allows me to appreciate them more and perhaps place them in my pantheon of ‘best loved’ music. Carrie Brownstein has another view. My favourites of last year’s music (which traditionally encompasses everything I’ve heard that year, not only released that year) realise something else too: that how frequently I play an album doesn’t correlate to how much I like it. An album – more than just a single song – requires a context before being listened to. The time invested in listening is irrelevant, the emotion however is not. There needs to be a match and emotions are subtle creatures. Some albums require a more defined head state than others, which is why some of the albums on this list of 2007 surprise me with their appearance. Including this one:

Number 10 of 2007 — Pluramon: The Monstrous Surplus

Pluramon: The Monstrous Surplus: Pluramon
This is the fourth album from Marcus Schmickler’s shoegaze project. But to earmark it thus is slightly inconsiderate. I’ve listened to a lot of Lush’s work over the past two days, re-encountering the gradual transplanting of their original sound into its Britpop vision. Like their final version, Pluramon’s sound doesn’t over-exploit its most obvious references, nor does it totally consume other styles. Instead – particularly with this album – it turns inwards, refining the genre through the benefit of technology, reducing the attendant emotions from ‘dream pop’ towards only dreams. Despite its four vocalists – three female, the other from Marcus, all gorgeously employed – and its lyrics, this is an album which is experienced by how you respond to it, a place that AR Kane got to visit on their 1989 album, “i”. It wants to be pure pop music but the layers of sound which slide, grind and collide, burying individual songs, ensures it isn’t, although an awareness of the way pop is felt and constructed is obvious.

Turn On opens the album sounding like Alison Shaw fronting mid-career Lush, but when the enveloped vocals of Julee Cruise hide beneath the expanse of string-like noise (or noise-like strings) the tone of album is set. On Border, there’s no such foreplay. We land directly where Marcus wants us to feel. Just when we’re comfortable with this, an organ picks up the main melody to tweak the emotional connection with the song still further. Elsewhere there are more obvious reference points to genre: the portmento guitar slides that characterised My Bloody Valentine’s sound is mimicked on If Time Was On My Side, but without the expected queasiness. Similarly, the collapsing frantic drumming of their music is ignored. Instead Pluramon uses traditional rock percussion that serves to emphasise the rest of the music.

Drowning In You turns vocals into noise, the guitars and bass simply swirl and cut, this is where sensation comes from. For some songs it’s not necessary to internalise what is sung (that comes later), initially just the notes and how they’re sung will suffice. Language is unimportant. For others, particularly in the standout cover of Sham 69’s The Kids Are United, the lyrics are critical. This is also true for Fresh Aufhebung, which features Jutta Koether’s spoken words, taking the drone-pop of Loop and turning the dreams nightmarish.

When the noise drops as it does on crossover between K-Land and Can’t Disappear – essentially one song split in two – piano, strings, high hat and vocals – it arrives more beautifully than if it had appeared without its predecessors. Even the clichéd thunderstorm feels right, complementing with its own bassy rumble. Perhaps these couple of songs are merely a lead to the key point of the album. Once you know what’s coming, the drawn out conclusion of Can’t Disappear teases further. If The Kids Are United strikes home immediately with folky tambourine bashing. The vocals, sometimes just adding a layer to the other songs, take centre stage for this song, choral and chorused they bring a sublime blissful state. This isn’t enough however – the pop desires of this album push forward once again with a masterly key change.

After this the final two tracks are unsatisfying, but this album is clearly at the front of the continued evolution of the genre. I never expected the celebration to last this long.

The Monstrous Surplus – iTunes UK
Pluramon – Official Website

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Yelle: Mal poli

And if you want proof that the music press should never stick text in front of my nose that includes the words ‘electro’ and ‘pop’, here it is. Because give me five seconds with such music and I’m usually off to iTunes. This time, I think it was mere milliseconds.

This track from the “French electro-popper”’s debut album doesn’t know whether to be rave, rap or pop. So in the end it decides to be all three.

Live:

Yelle: Pop Up – Version deluxe – iTunes UK
Yelle – Official Website

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Strike the Colours: Bare Legs In a Storm

Arggh.. delay in posting, proving that when my head is full of tech stuff – specifically Git this time around – music isn’t boisterous enough to barge in and kick it out.

Strike the Colours make music that seems to grab the best bits from all my favourite bands and weaves them together in tingly shifting ways. This track from their debut EP (and yes, it’s a proper EP) is my favourite because of the way Jenny Reeve’s voice curls round the words and what happens after the piano break.

Inexplicably discovered on the BBC’s TV show Rapal. I don’t know quite why they turned up there, rather than somewhere more accessible, but I’m glad they did.

Rapal: Strike the Colours
The Face That Sunk A Thousand Ships – iTunes UK
Strike the Colours – Official Website

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Sofia Talvik: Street of Dreams

Street of Dreams, Sofia Talvik’s second album, released last year, absolutely nails the folk-pop target that I think she has been aiming for. Perhaps genre-fying her music is a little vulgar – it doesn’t deserve that simplistic treatment. The album crosses the path laid by Heidi Berry 20 years ago – check out Jozsef Nemeth’s piano on this song if you want to play Snap – and that’s a very good thing.

Sofia undersells herself via the lyrics of the title track, whilst making the point musically and vocally that she’s achieving her goals. A new album Jonestown is due out later this year.

Street of Dreams – Official Store
Sofia Talvik – Official Website
Sofia Talvik – MySpace
Street of Dreams – iTunes UK

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Robyn: Eclipse

A valid criticism of Robyn’s latest (and eponymous) album is its unbalanced delivery of songs, collecting the slower more reflective tunes at its end. However I believe this is a better approach than the usual random delivery of ballads that tend to appear throughout every pop-based album. Margaret Berger’s Pretty Scary Silver Fairy works around this by wrapping ballads inside dance tunes. It wouldn’t have worked on Robyn’s album because of her desire and ability to emote, which she does most effectively, and sometimes a song deserves, requires, a certain treatment.

Eclipse dramatically breaks away from what appears earlier by delivering something breathtaking: a ballad without the usual string theory, without the overuse of instrumentation to emphasise words and feelings. Using just a sprinkling of piano keys and an upright bass, Robyn sings a song, not of what has happened, nor what might happen, but of a guarantee of what will happen – all turning on one word.

Robyn – iTunes UK
Robyn – Amazon UK

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Underworld: Faxed Invitation

Stylus Magazine’s review of last year’s Oblivion With Bells criticized Underworld for now being permanently stuck in the ‘morning after’ phase. Fortunately, their latest album is more of a success than A Hundred Days Off, and to my ears it might be one of their best. Don’t believe the reviews. Most of that Stylus review is wrong. There’ll be people that tell you the lyrics don’t hang together. Wrong again. They just don’t recognise themselves in them. After the singular dance-oriented landscape of their earlier work, Underworld are now exploring what it means to write a song – by removing the unnecessary musical utensils, leaving the barest accompaniments to Karl Hyde’s sometimes rambling lyrics, making his words and delivery even more fundamental to their style. Streamlined. Refined.

Faxed Invitation is a track which is almost an incidental. It begins with the merest throb of a bass drum and delicate percussion. Over the course of the next three minutes it becomes fuller: the pinging bassline grows a melody and the weedy pad joins in. It’s just a head nodding experience, which given more time to develop could have turned into something quite brilliant. Karl Hyde’s vocals are typically encoded, the lyrics the usual cracked snapshots of urban life – overlapping scenarios, half-rendered and scratchy.

Oblivion With Bells – iTunes
Amazon UK

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Pluramon: If Time Was On My Side

Marcus Schmickler’s project is now into its fourth album, The Monstrous Surplus. If Time Was On My Side begins with sleepy vocals from its songwriter Julia Hummer and a hint of shoegaze, rubbed out and turned slightly acoustic. The keys and their changes are typically inspired by or borrowed from you-know-who, with that wonderful not-quite-right feeling – a little more restrained than you might expect. Further through the song Marcus weaves additional melodies which float above the song, only to dissipate into its mix, gradually devolving the song back to something more recognisable as the genre. Like the rest of The Monstrous Surplus, it’s a gift for your ears and your deepest emotions: this is what love sounds like.

The Monstrous Surplus – iTunes UK

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