Tag: instrumental

Carlos Maria Trindade / Nuno Canavarro – Mr. Wollogallu, 1991


Not really sure how to write about this one. Mr. Wollogallu is pretty slippery and there’s very little information available about it online. It’s split into two sections, with side A made up of songs written by Carlos Maria Trindade and side B of songs written by Nuno Canavarro, both Portuguese musicians, and both of whom contribute instrumentals through both sides. Songs range from the churning, Sakamoto-esque opener “The Truth” (which includes a sample from Network) to fourth-world, densely percussive “Blu Terra” with silvery sparse mood pieces in between, punctuated by spoken word samples. Somebody should make a movie just to have this as the score. Singular, transportive–this feels magical, in the truest sense of the word. Definitely an on-repeat record.


Don Slepian – Sea of Bliss, 1983


Classic, extraordinarily detailed synth swirl heaven. Snowglobe music. Not too much to say about this one, except that all three of these tracks were composed over the course of two days in February of 1980 and were reworked once for the Sea of Bliss cassette release and then again in 2000 for its CD release, this time with the inclusion of “Sonic Perfume” (included here).

From Don’s notes about the CD release:

Computer music was born back in 1958 in Max Mathew’s sound lab, at what was then the Bell Telephone Labs research center in Murray Hill, New Jersey. From 1979 through 1981, I was “Artist In Residence” at the Labs. Most of my time then was spent working with the Bell Labs Digital Synthesizer, also known as the Alles Machine (pronounced “Alice”), named after its designer Hal Alles. The Alles Machine was disassembled in 1981, with Sea of Bliss the only full length piece of music ever realized on it. Using that machine, the three pieces that make up Sea of Bliss were composed, performed and recorded February 3–4, 1980 and released on cassette. I revised these tracks in the year 2000 for the first CD release, adding a few touches of acoustic piano. Sea of Bliss may change one’s state of consciousness. People have often used it for meditation and massage. In hospitals, it has been used during labor and childbirth as a sonic analgesic. In the car it combats rush hour/traffic stress. I consider it a form of aural fragrance, or “Sonic Perfume”…Stochastic sequential permutations (the high bell tones), lots of real time algorithmic work, but who cares? It’s pretty music. No sequels, no formulas. It was handmade computer music.

There’s some more technical information about the recording here, as well as a nice writeup about Don’s work here.


Joan Bibiloni – Born, 1989


Really difficult to pick one record from Mallorcan guitarist Joan Bibiloni, as his body of work is unusually diverse, ranging from boogie-funk to jazz to ambient. For a more inclusive collection, pick up the excellent Music From Memory’s excellent compilation, El Sur. Born is an experiment in combining classical guitar with subtler synth textures. Though Bibiloni is first and foremost a guitarist, Born hits its peak when synth shares center stage on stunner “Sa Fosca,” which sounds like an outtake from Wally Badarou’s Echoes. Elsewhere, find Indian drum textures and saxophone (“Born”), sunny jazz-flecked meandering (“Una Vida Llarga I Tranquil·la”) and moody, nimble-fingered bravado (“El Sur,” “Water Drops”). Heavy rotation on this one. Enjoy!


Hiroshi Sato – Orient, 1979


Synth-funk exotica at its finest. Hiroshi Sato (sometimes “Satoh”) seems to slip through the cracks, though he was arguably one of the most important Japanese keyboardists of his time. He played keyboards on almost every Tatsuro Yamashita record of the 70s and 80s, and contributed to much of Hosono’s solo work, including the beloved Cochin Moon. Unsurprisingly, Hosono makes some appearances here on bass. Sato died in Yokohama on October 24th, 2012. His only daughter, Chirudo, had to say of her father:

His life’s work was pouring his everything enthusiastically into music. He also loved his studio in Yokohama, putting in speakers and installing the equipment and synthesizers one by one. He fell down and breathed his last breath in that studio while he was making music. He was sixty-five years old, and an acute dissecting aneurysm of the aorta was the cause of his death. However, this is the least important aspect of his passing. Despite an instant death, I believe he knew the time had come, because he was sitting cross-legged with his hands joined together, as if practicing Zen meditation. He was alone, but not lonely, because whenever he was surrounded by music he was happy, as if he were an innocent child. He lived life as a musician and lived as a musician with his whole life.

Orient is mostly instrumental, with vocals by Hiroshi Sato and Masaki Ueda on “Son Go Kuw,” “Tsuki No Ko No Namae Wa Leo,” and “Bright Wind.” Cheeky and heady, with immaculate percussion. Lightyears ahead of its time. Thanks for everything, Hiroshi.

Note: Hiroshi Sato also makes an appearance on our OMG Japan mix.


Futuro Antico – Dai Primitivi All’Elettronica, 1980


Guest post by Dru Grossberg

Jetting out their debut album in 1980, this runs a neat sonic parallel to Jon Hassell’s notion of fourth world music, melding minimalism, ambient and South Asian classical tropes. Futuro Antico are an Italian group interspersed with Indian and African members, rather than another distant westerner’s constructed exotic fetishism. They live up to their name, which renders the sound timeless. Often, it’s tricky to decipher whether this is a product of childlike, spontaneous vulnerability, or calculated engineering. There’s a host of indigenous instrumentation present, as well as synths, vocals, and maybe even a didgeridoo.

If cascading pianos, howls of swinging creatures in the distance, or labelmates of Franco Battiato peak your fancy, click away.


Ray Lynch – Deep Breakfast, 1984


A classic. Deep Breakfast was the first independently produced record to be certified gold (and later platinum) by the RIAA. Lynch is a classically trained guitarist and lutenist with a background in spirituality (the record’s title comes from a line in a book by controversial teacher Adi Da Samraj, under whom Lynch has studied: “You must be starved, old friend. Come into my apartments and we’ll suffer through a deep breakfast of pure sunlight.”).

Deep Breakfast is meticulously produced and instantly likable from beginning to end, so much so that it’s a bit of an eye-roller. From what I understand it served as a new age gateway drug for hordes of listeners, but it’s unusually diverse for the genre. Opener “Celestial Soda Pop” is exactly what it sounds like: plump, bubbly, and candy-sweet with synthetic harp. “The Oh Of Pleasure” is sublime and sounds like what might have happened if Enya were more interested in electric guitar patches (you may recognize it from Grand Theft Auto IV). “Falling In The Garden” is ponderous and pastoral, whereas “Rhythm In The Pews” is unabashedly playful, almost naïve, with hyper-precious baroque-isms (this is one of several tracks in which Lynch’s classical background is most obvious). Closer “Tiny Geometries” is another favorite, with a Charles Cohen-esque shattered crystal introduction that unfolds into more familiar arpeggiations and eventually a searing new age epic. An excellent on-repeat record, and hard not to love.

Midori Takada – Through The Looking Glass, 1983


Midori Takada is the percussive mastermind behind Mkwaju Ensemble, as well as a member of the free-jazz trio Ton-Klami. This is her only solo release, and it’s gorgeous, comprised of percussion (mostly marimba, as well as what sounds like traditional Japanese drums), shakuhachi, and field recordings (mostly birds). It’s not all as fluffy as it might seem, though–Midori Takada is first and foremost a percussionist, so the album peaks when she picks up steam, building up to ecstatic, drawn-out drum crescendoes (especially on the closer, “Catastrophe Σ”). It makes for a record that is alternately dreamlike (“Mr. Henri Rousseau’s Dream”) and fiery (“Crossing”), but always precise and beautiful (and with an album cover that looks like a leaked painting from Rousseau’s secret hallucinogen phase, no less).



Toshifumi Hinata – Reality In Love, 1986


Guest post by Travess Smalley

I’ve been keeping a playlist with my partner Kaela for the last few years called “Home Listening.” It’s all albums, about a hundred now, that can be played at almost anytime, and allow us to work or read, to let our listening drift in and out of focus. The albums tend instrumental and spiritual–Hans-Joachim Roedelius, Alice Coltrane/Turiyasangitananda, Eberhard Weber are some of those who make repeat appearances. There’s a familiarity and comfort to most of these albums now that warm the environment whenever they’re played. I made a zine of the album covers in the playlist for Kaela while on an extended lakeside residency in the mountains of southern Austria last spring. The music was a reminder of our home 3000 miles away, of morning coffee, and reading in bed. You can see it here.

Toshifumi Hinata’s Reality In Love is the most beautiful addition to our playlist. At turns melancholic, nostalgic, ambient, and atmospheric it reminds me of the Japanese film scores from the 80s and 90s I know–or at least, imagine I know. The piano compositions, like in “Passage,” reverberate against taped strings like a vague memory of an emotion. Reality in Love’s consistency and completeness have made it a routine soundtrack to my walks around the city, or while reading on the train. Every piece holds, it’s a record that never needs a track skip and it feels complete, softly ending with a reprise of the first song, where it started.

As an introduction I’d recommend the album’s climax “光と水.” A brief and isolated piano transitions into a melody so lush it shimmers. Chimes and triangles lightly reverberate and fizzle as a harp flutters around a structured melody that feels pulled from the ballroom procession of a film you’re sure you’ve seen. I always visualize a gold color during this part. It’s truly transportive.


Joe Hisaishi – Curved Music, 1986


Gorgeous album from Joe Hisaishi, the mind behind the massive soundtracks to Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, My Neighbor Totoro, Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, Howl’s Moving Castle, and around one hundred other things, which is to say that if you’ve ever watched anime you’ve probably heard his work. (Fun fact: Hisaishi, née Fujisawa Mamoru, takes his stage name from a Japanese re-transcription of the name Quincy Jones: Quincy is pronounced “Kuinshi,” or “Kuishi,” which can be approximated in Japanese using the same kanji as “Hisaishi.”)

Curved Music alternates between new wave-tinged synth pop songs and shorter instrumental vignettes, often employing more traditional Japanese folk and classical instruments. Highlights include the aching, anthemic “The Winter Requiem,” Sakamoto-esque rolling synth-organ on “Tsuki No Sabuku No Shoujo,” and the minute long plastic violin cream puff “White Silence.” Elsewhere, find a baroque faux-flute interlude (the brilliantly titled “Classic”) and what might be a Terry Riley homage (“A Rainbow In Curved Music”) that seems to nod more explicitly to Art of Noise and Depeche Mode. Ignore the album artwork and enjoy!


Joël Fajerman – L’aventure Des Plantes, 1982


Classic! The opening track of this record, “Flowers Love,” was used as the theme for the French documentary series L’aventure des Plantes–it’s unclear whether any of the other tracks were included in the series, though the whole record is excellent. Joël Fajerman is a classically trained French keyboardist who was apparently nicknamed “Flangerman” (no mystery why). Ranging from baroque organ lines to towering, sinister synth arpeggiations, L’aventure is cosmic, dense, and cinematic. For fans of Jean-Michel Jarre, Vangelis, or the beloved Plantasia! (Note: pictured above is the Spanish reissue; hi-res images of the original French cover don’t seem to exist).