My newest episode of Getting Warmer for NTS Radio is a continuation of the late summer ambient series. It’s also an extra-luxurious two hours long, so I hope it’s helpful in soundtracking a lazy picnic or an afternoon nap. I went slightly off-script this year, incorporating some tracks that aren’t as strictly minimal or classically ambient, and I included more folk, more vocals, and more guitars. Pretty pleased with how it turned out, so I hope you enjoy it. If you do, you can download an mp3 version here.
Tracklist:
1. Brian Eno & Robert Fripp – Wind On Water
2. Yoshio Ojima – Sealed
3. Contraviento – Desencanto
4. Yas-Kaz – The Gate of Breathing
5. Mark Pollard – Quinque II
6. Klaus Wiese – Dunya (Excerpt)
7. lovesliescrushing – Butterfly
8. Oscilation Circuit – Homme
9. Takashi Kokubo – Quiet Inlet
10. Julianna Barwick – Wishing Well
11. Al Gromer Khan – Mumtaz
12. Not Drowning, Waving – Frogs
13. ironomi ft. Coupie – 楓
14. Margaret Gay – Prelude No. 1 in C Major from the Well-Tempered Klavier (Bach)
15. Bobbie Gentry – Courtyard
16. Meitei – Ike
17. Priscilla Ermel – Folia Do Divino
18. William Barklow / Loons – Wail Duet
19. Harold Budd – Afar
20. Bill Douglas – Lake Isle Of Innisfree
21. Nuno Canavarro – Antica/Burun
22. Edson Natale – A Flor
My newest episode of Getting Warmer for NTS Radio is a harp special, featuring some of my favorite harp moments from across a slew of different genres. I realized while I was putting it together that if I ever do a follow up harp episode it should probably be focused on harp-heavy Russian classical moments, as there are so many exceptional ones, but for now please enjoy this mix featuring Harold Budd, Alice Coltrane, and the melodic origin of one of my favorite songs, “Stranger In Paradise” from the opera Prince Igor. You can download an mp3 version here. Cheers, and happy harping :}
Tracklist:
1. Joel Andrews – Introduction
2. Raul Lovisoni – Hula Om (Excerpt)
3. Philippa Davies & Thelma Owen – Bugeilio’r Gwenith Gwyn (comp. John Thomas)
4. Kelan Phil Cohran & Legacy – White Nile (Excerpt)
5. Unknown Artist – In A Landscape (comp. John Cage)
6. Erica Goodman – Nocturne No. 2, Op. 9 in E Flat (comp. Frederic Chopin)
7. Daniel Kobialka – Magnetic Unity (Excerpt)
8. Joanna Newsom – On A Good Day (Live)
9. Erica Goodman – Polovtsian Dance No. 17 (comp. Alexander Borodin)
10. Leya – Flow
11. Unknown Artist – Harp Sonata, Op. 68 III (comp. Alfredo Casella)
12. Alice Coltrane – Turiya
13. Harold Budd – Madrigals of the Rose Angel (Excerpt)
Here’s my most recent episode of Getting Warmer for NTS Radio. It’s a mix that, to me, feels very adjacent to this particularly weird moment we in the states are going through: euphoric, uncertain, sweet, stumbling. Lots of psychy folky moments with a couple shots of adrenaline and some new age haze for good measure. If you like it, you can download an mp3 version here. Thanks as always for listening.
1. Kristine Sparkle – Gonna Get Along Without You Now
2. 包美聖 – 小茉莉 (Little Jasmine)
3. Daniel Lentz – Slow Motion Mirror
4. The Association – Never My Love
5. Jeannie Piersol – Your Sweet Inner Self
6. Frank Harris & Maria Marquez – Loveroom
7. XTC – Earn Enough For Us
8. Pyewackett – Reynardine
9. Clannad – Ocean of Light
10. The Fleetwoods – Mr. Blue
11. Joan Armatrading – Willow
12. Bluebyrd – In The Morning Light
13. Steve Kindler – Song of the Seabird
14. Collage – Mets Neiude Vahel (Forest In Between The Maidens)
15. Gigi – Guramayle
16. Tina Turner – River Deep Mountain High
There’s a significant chance you’ve already heard half of this record, as I’ve regularly been using it in mixes for the past year and a half. And with good reason! Aside from being objectively beautiful from start to finish, it feels particularly aesthetically situated to resonate well with listeners right now, so I wouldn’t be surprised if this prompts a reissue. (Do it!)
It’s a mysterious record–the only release from the eponymous duo Goddess In The Morning, comprised of Akino Arai and Yula Yayoi. Akino has left a pretty dense paper trail, credited on 95 different releases for vocals, writing, arrangement, and production, notably as a regular contributor to Yoko Kanno scores. Yula is a little harder to trace, with a handful of releases that I’ve had limited success in tracking down. I’d particularly love to hear her 1999 record Summer Aura on the basis of its cover art and release year alone, if anybody has a copy they’d be willing to share. (She also shows up as a vocalist on Seigén Ono‘s behemoth 20-disc Saidera Paradiso, and fittingly, Ono is credited with mastering Goddess, which seems particularly cool in light of how divergent the record is from Ono’s wheelhouse.)
Goddess In The Morning is a wild ride in the truest sense, ranging from hazy trip hop on “Ucraine” to the Celtic folk-inspired prog “Saga” to the Virginia Astley-esque pastoral closer “14.” Across them all are (what I assume to be) Yula and Akino’s heavily layered vocals (effectively musical catnip for me), processed into intricate electronic landscapes that feel both spacious and heavily polished to a reflective chrome sheen. I’m not gonna try to sell this too much harder, because if it’s for you, it’s very obviously for you, but I do hope you love this, as it keeps worming its way nearer (and dearer!) to my heart.
I wrote about this record in 2015, very briefly, and while I’m delighted by the opportunity to revisit it at greater length, I wish it was under different circumstances. Musician, composer, and poet Harold Budd passed away yesterday at the age of 84 from complications caused by COVID-19, and with him we have lost a giant.
It was jazz that first inspired musicianship in Budd, or, as he put it, it was “…Black culture that freed me from the stigmata of going nowhere in a hopeless culture.” He was drafted into the US army where he drummed in a regimental band alongside the highly influential free jazz saxophonist Albert Ayler. Budd repeatedly credited Ayler with granting him the freedom to abandon time signatures, a freedom which stayed with him throughout his career.
Budd was notoriously resistant to genre classifications, so much so that I feel a bit sheepish using genre tags on this post: “The word ‘ambient’ doesn’t ring a bell with me. It’s meant to mean something, but is, in fact, meaningless. My style is the only thing I can do well,” “When I hear the words New Age, I reach for my gun,” and, at greater length in this excellent 1986 interview:
I’ll tell you very frankly that this whole ‘new age’ business is very distasteful to me. I don’t like being even considered in that category and I have almost no respect for it at all. To me it’s a kind of arrogant philosophical point of view where music has a metaphysical or biological function. I agree that music has a metaphysical function but when that’s your whole point of view, when it isn’t just a thing that happens out of the normal course of events, I think it becomes arrogant and rather precious. It smacks to me very much of science fiction religion and that’s not me. It’s very lightweight and very bothersome to me. ‘New age music’ is a marketing ploy and I don’t think it has anything to do with the actual truth about the meaning of the music. The only thing that rings my bell is serious music and music is that way when it’s impossible to analyse: ‘new age music’ is easily analysed.
But new age or not, Budd’s music has a consistent quality of brushing up against an experience of the divine.
Harold Budd with Hiroshi Yoshimura, 1983
Perhaps part of his resistance to being labeled as “ambient”–a term which, by definition, suggests something incidental and negligible–is that much of his music isn’t actually optimal background music. (I would argue that the category of “music to fall asleep to,” which Budd is frequently cited as–presumably to his chagrin–is also not necessarily background music.) I’ll go ahead and plagiarize my 2014 post about The Moon and the Melodies, which Budd made in collaboration with Cocteau Twins and which began his decades-long collaboration with Robin Guthrie. While not all of these observations apply to Pavilion, there is most certainly a slipperiness and synergy that the two records share, as do many of Budd’s other works:
It’s an uncategorizable work, one which far exceeds the sum of its parts. It’s egoless. It’s a fluid, restless record, moody and aloof–it peaks several times, ecstatically, only to retreat back into itself. Startling synergy between these masterminds means that ambient and new age fans will find a lot to love here–it’s Harold Budd, after all, and there are long stretches of huge, hulking instrumental tracks. But the record is darker than typical new age–it feels like climbing through a cavernous skeleton, and the instrumental tracks (like “Memory Gongs”) are echoing and sometimes sinister. It’s not as effusive as Cocteau Twins, and perhaps not as immediately gratifying–many tracks fade out right when you want more the most. It’s not daytime music, and it’s not background music. Clocking in at just under 40 minutes, it’s a perfect on-repeat record, folding in on itself like water.
Harold Budd with Satoshi Ashikawa, 1982
Budd began Pavilion in 1972 after returning from his “retirement from composing” with “Madrigals of the Rose Angel,” of which he said, “The entire aesthetic was an existential prettiness; not the Platonic τόκαλόν, but simply pretty: mindless, shallow, and utterly devastating.” Though the piece’s debut was at a Franciscan church in California conducted by Daniel Lentz (!), it was the piece’s subsequent live botching that led Budd to take up the piano in earnest in his mid-thirties:
Madrigals of the Rose Angel…was sent off for a public performance back East somewhere. I wasn’t there, but I got the tape and I was absolutely appalled at how they missed the whole idea. I told myself, ‘This is never going to happen again. From now on, I take full charge of any piano playing.’ That settled that.
Here’s what I wrote about The Pavilion of Dreams back in 2015:
Twinkling, lazy jazz-scapes for new agers. A dripping, humid, reactionary piece of anti-avant-garde. Budd refers to this as his magna carta. Gavin Bryars on the glockenspiel and celesta, Michael Nyman on the marimba, Brian Eno production.
To this I’d like to add that I can think of few records which can so immediately shift the feeling of the room in which they are played in the way that Pavilion does, literally within seconds. It’s the sonic equivalent of taking a few deep, elongated breaths: the pulse slows, the jaw unclenches. It’s an opiated smoke drift in which, once again, everything Budd touches feels weighted with spiritual potency. The worldless, meandering glissandos sung by Lynda Richardson, though clearly delivered in a Western classical style, start to suggest Eastern devotional drone and chant traditions. The occasional chime from the glockenspiel begins to resemble bells used in meditation. And most thrillingly, at times you can hear the creak of the harp against the floor, the crack of a knee, the scrape of a chair. When music is this willfully shapeless, rolling through space like a liquid, it becomes that much more consequential to be reminded of solid objects, human bodies in a room. Everything becomes sacred. Perhaps this is what Budd was after with his commitment to “existential prettiness” at the deliberate expense of meaning. Perhaps this is why critics and listeners still can’t help but try to pin him down with a label: it’s difficult to hear this much reverence without trying to name it in service of something.
Here’s my most recent episode of Getting Warmer for NTS Radio. It’s two hours of late-summer ambient and ambient-adjacent sounds, meant to capture the hazy, humid, golden quality of August and September, featuring field recordings, sunbeams, and bugs. It’s ideal for mid-day napping. (It’s also kind of a sequel to this mix from two Augusts ago, if you’re curious!) A modified one hour version of this was broadcast live on the air last week, so this extended two hour version is a director’s cut of sorts. Thanks as always for listening and being here; I hope this can serve as a moment of quiet in what, to me, feels like a very loud time. You can download an mp3 version here.
Tracklist:
1. Richard Burmer – Riverbend
2. Jean C. Roché – Nightingales: In A Waste Ground Beside A Stream In Provence, June
3. CFCF – Lighthouse On Chatham Sound
4. Finis Africæ – Ceremonia Màgica En El Estanque (Magical Ceremony In The Pond)
5. Elicoide – Mitochondria
6. Takashi Kokubo – 満月の木陰
7. Notte & Bush – Wake Up In Baby’s Room
8. Steven Halpern & Daniel Kobialka – Pastorale
9. Toshifumi Hinata – ミッドサマー・ナイト (Midsummer Night)
10. Hiroshi Yoshimura – Green Shower
11. The Durutti Column – Vino Della Casa Bianco
12. Susan Mazer & Dallas Smith – Kalimbo
13. Haruomi Hosono – Wakamurasaki
14. Joanna Brouk – The Space Between (Excerpt)
15. Goddess In The Morning – 14
16. Virginia Astley – It’s Too Hot To Sleep
17. Constance Demby – Om Mani Padme Hum
18. Michael Stearns – As The Earth Kissed The Moon (Excerpt)
19. Ghostwriters – Slow Blue In Horizontal
In the spirit of the season, I wanted to share some of my favorite releases of the year. Such a nuts year for music, with huge leaps of brilliance happening in so many radically different genres! Obviously this isn’t meant to be exhaustive or authoritative; just some personal highlights. Quite a few of these are giant major label releases, so I’ll be taking down those download links quickly or leaving them off accordingly. Let me know if links are broken. Happy new year!
Pristine minimal ambience from Italian musical giant Giusto Pio. Best known for his many collaborations with Franco Battiato, Pio was a composer and world class classical violinist born in Castelfranco Veneto in 1926. He was sought out by Battiato as a violin teacher, but the two went on to sculpt Battiato’s sound from post-prog to minimalism to Europop, with many other projects along the way, like their contributions to this Francesco Messina record. Among these collaborations, Battiato produced Pio’s first solo album, considered to be Pio’s crowning achievement and a holy grail of avant-garde minimalism: 1979’s Motore Immobile. Pio continued to release solo records until 1995. He passed away in 2017 at the age of 91.
Alla Corte di Nefertiti, however, is a very different beast. Though it was released by Battiato’s publishing company L’Ottava S.r.l. as a subsidiary of EMI Records, Battiatio wasn’t involved in production. The record is two long-form tracks of synth impressions, the first of which is more of a holistic composition and the second of which is a reflection, or “frammenti,” of the first, sonic pieces broken up and scattered with spaces falling where they may. I like the more pure minimalist moments the best, where single vibrating tones are left to hang in the air like washes of color, but there are also some great moments with synthetic choirs of angels radiating concern from plastic celestial bodies. A few moments of percussive texture, some which have a cinematic urgency that feels appropriate for Pio’s background, but for the most part Alla Corte di Nefertiti is just drifting in pillows of sound. Made on an Akai MG1212. Excellent for working to, or waking up to. Thanks for all the music, Giusto.
A record comprised entirely of mama likembi, a homemade instrument consisting of a grouping of African thumb pianos (aka likembe, mbira, or kalimba), meant to be played with the fingers rather than the thumbs. Before his conversion to Islam, Nadi Qamar was known professionally as Spaulding Givens, and you may know him as a revered jazz pianist and composer. Born in Cincinnati in 1917, of “Seminole, Cherokee, and African heritage,” he recorded extensively with Mingus in the early 50s and performed with Max Roach, Charlie Parker, Oscar Pettiford, Lucky Thompson, and Buddy Collette. His later career saw him focused on African instrumentation and ethnomusicology: he produced several large-scale performances of his own compositions, toured with Nina Simone, taught voice, piano, and orchestra at Bennington for seven years, and made a series of mama likembi records for Folkways,* some of which are highly instructional and technical audio guides.
The Nuru Taa African Musical Idiom is gorgeous. Under deft hands, Qamar’s mama likembi sounds like a harp, a classical guitar, a koto, and still like itself. Cloaked in a thick layer of roomtone, these recordings feel just as small and intimate as one might hope. You can hear she shifting of Qamar’s clothing, hear his hands brushing up against wood. And you can hear him shifting in and out of different tunings, “draw[ing] from many sources to project a contemporary Black expression,” as he writes in the liner notes. Though Qamar’s interest in music’s spiritual potential is plain, this is shy, discreet music, ideal for background music while working or even for meditation. It’s also excellent music to hole yourself up indoors with when it’s suddenly very cold outside.
*If you’re unfamiliar with Folkways, it’s a terrific catalogue to sift through if you have a free afternoon or ten. It was founded in 1948 to document “music, spoken word, and sounds from around the world” and was acquired by the Smithsonian Institute in 1987. Since then, the Smithsonian has kept all of their 2000+ titles available on their website.
At a time when self-care is as much a multibillion dollar industry as it is a punchline, it seems wise to look back to a more substantial model for the articulation and maintenance of self. I’m confident that no better an example can be found than Jeriann Hilderley’s wonderful 1978 avant-folk record, Jeritree’s House of Many Colors. Jeritree is both persona and methodology, one that Hilderley inhabits and directs. Coming from a tradition of sculpture and instrument-building, she describes her work as “ritual dramatic music (creating conscious space that is healing, releasing and expressive), women’s music (diving deeply into my own womoon-self for the materials…) and creative music (creating a whole new world of meaning that comes out of the particularities of my existence).” Healing, specifically healing oneself through self-directed activity, is a central theme.
I haven’t found a lot of biographical information on Jeritree, save for the wooden yet enchantingly solipsistic jacket text. The LP was distributed by Kay Gardner‘s Wise Women Enterprises in Maine and lists a P.O. Box at Madison Square Station. 1978 was an extraordinarily generative time for the downtown music scene, which would soon give rise to New Music America, an annual nomadic festival showcasing New Music. House of Many Colors is a record equally at home with the Takoma stable as it as among members of this scene who experimented with vocals, such as Shelley Hirsch, Kirk Nurock, and Anna Homler.
“Sea Wave,” the nine minute opener, is buttressed by rolling, cacophonous cymbal crashes. To say that these evoke, symbolize or otherwise represent the ocean’s violent cycles would be entirely wrong. These thunderous crescendos are waves. They physicalize the music, inscribing the body of the listener and binding her to its rhythmic imperative. Hilderley’s vocals are shimmering specters that emerge from the stereo and linger in space long after the record has stopped spinning. Less about communicating or aligning the song with a particular style or expressive mode, they are a kind of personal evidence in the offing. The album’s title number (alternately, “Symphony of Little Sprouts”) is shortened from a 30 minute ritual performance piece and is described as a “meditational healing chant.” For me, the true delight here is the final piece, “Through Your Blue Veil,” a stirring devotional tune in which Hilderley somberly returns her lover’s assorted virtues, somewhat tarnished (“I give you back your perfect mouth/Less perfect since I have known you”). Its emotional power is shocking, disarming, and without comparison.
Hilderley’s vocals work against the marimba’s casual agreeability, and, as is the case with Robbie Basho, I imagine them to be the record’s polarizing aspect. While the instrumentation is an ode to the sonic and psychoacoustic possibilities of the marimba, her mournful warble has more in common with jazz and soul singers, taking her project out of the folk register. Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, and even Maya Angelou’s 1957 one-off Miss Calypso all come readily to mind. Hilderley worked closely with recording engineer Marilyn Ries to “milk” the marimba’s rich overtones, drawing on Japanese, Mexican, African and Central American traditions.
The power of House of Many Colors is in many ways demonstrative, and it more closely resembles a kind of praxis than a display of artistic talent or ambition. Its politics operate on a broad formal level, without slogans or entreaties to identify or exclude. I am reminded happily of the experiments of Brazilian artist Lygia Clark, who by 1970 had given up plastic art for individualized psychotherapeutic encounters, or what she called “ritual without myth.” I can think of no better way to describe Hilderley’s stunning achievement.
