v a l l e j o n o c t u r n o

Raynald Colom

From Bird is the Worm music blog:

Not an easy album to encapsulate, due primarily to the expansive breadth of music influences that trumpeter Raynald Colom attempts to incorporate into this complex, yet elusively straight-ahead jazz album.  Bringing in musicians with backgrounds in a varied set of regional musics and focuses, Rise is, at its heart, a modern jazz recording.  Yet by spotting the compositions with spoken word, vocals, orchestration, and traditional jazz, Colom creates enough folds and angles to the music in a way that inspires the delight and wonder of an elegant origami construction.

This is the kind of album that makes for a long, slow reveal, one that’s ultimately rewarding when it’s all said and done.  Three of the tracks have orchestration.  They’re my favorites.  The third of the three also has a spoken word piece incorporated into it, a blend which goes a long way as evidence of Colom’s talent as a composer.

P.S.  This is a really strong line-up.  Pukl, Ortiz, and Royston all have put out solid albums this year, and Carter has contributed to Ortiz’s excellent recording as well as to a number of other albums and performing with Wallace Roney.  A good album to use as guidance to find other good albums.

Your album personnel:  Raynald Colom (trumpet), Jure Pukl (tenor saxophone), Aruan Ortiz (piano), Rashaan Carter (double bass), Rudy Royston (drums), and guests:  Philippe Colom (bass clarinet), Roger Blavia (percussion), Core Rhythm (spoken word), Sofia Rei (vocal), and the Eclectic Colour Orchestra.

Underground Lovers . . .Weekend

From Beat Magazine, a review of an interesting and worthy rock album:

Underground Lovers achieved a degree of fame in Melbourne with their electronic groove music before it all slowly dried up and they disappeared. Save for a 'best off' compilation last year the band members have worked on separate projects and eked out their own carreers since. Seemingly, the Underground Lovers were laid to rest. No so! "Weekend" sees the reincarnation of the cherished Leaves Me Blind era lineup of the band. Aside from new member Emma Portignon, all band members from that period are present. Andrew, Argiro, Bennie, Giarrusso and Nihill all answer the roll call.

Listening to Weekend it is hard to comprehend that this lineup has not recorded together for over two decades. And whilst it would be fallacious to believe the band is stuck in a time warp, Weekend is firmly early period Undies. Produced by the axis of the band that is Glen Bennie and Vincent Giarrusso, this record continues their search for the eternal dreamscape. Spaces is sugary in the Saint Etienne way and it is as if everything that has taken place since this lineup has recorded together has been left by the wayside. So have the Undies stagnated? Not entirely because Weekend is quite a sophisticated and heady collection.

Can For Now could only be the Undies. It is like putting on the undergarments to stop the chaffing. The fuzz, the bleeps, the not quite there vocals, the desire for innovation. They sound like they are still adrift in their own universe and we all the better for it. Like all their records, they are best appreciated as whole in one sitting because in isolation the songs lose a lot of meaning.

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Shivkumar Sharma and Hariprasad Chaurasia - The Valley Recalls

John Luther Adams Interview

From Sequenza 21, an interview with the composer John Luther Adams:

How did you end up in Alaska? What influence does it have on your work?

I was a suburban refugee. I grew up in relatively homogenous suburbs from the deep South to the outskirts of New York City, and I went to music school in southern California. All that moving around left me with a deep, inarticulate hunger to find the place where I belonged. I first came North in 1975. The moment I arrived, I knew this was Home.

In the mid-70s, I worked for the Alaska Coalition, lobbying in Congress and doing roadshows around the country for passage of the Alaska Lands Act - the most sweeping land preservation law in history. This was how I met my wife, Cynthia. For several years, we worked together at the Northern Alaska Environmental Center. And our wedding ceremony actually took place in the Arctic National Refuge.

My passion for this place has had a profound influence on my life and my work.

Your work it totally original but it has echos of other "northern" composers - Rautavaara, Vasks, Kanchelli. Is this coincidence or is there something in the cold northern light that reveals itself as music?

In Alaska, everything we do is measured against the overwhelming presence of the place. And the landscapes of the North are a constant touchstone for me.

Over the years, my music has evolved from tone painting "about" place into more self-contained musical landscapes. Works like The Far Country of Sleep (1988), Dream In White On White (1991) and Earth and the Great Weather (1993) are "about" place. But I hope that works like Clouds of Forgetting, Clouds of Unknowing (1995), Strange and Sacred Noise (1997) and other more recent works in some sense are places.

Like the landscapes of the North, my music embraces extremes - from dense clouds of sustained tones, to explosive fields of percussive sound. I want the music to be rigorously formal and ravishingly sensual at the same time. I want it to immerse the listener in suspended time and a sense of endless space. I want music to be a wilderness. And I want to get hopeless lost in it.

What were your earliest musical influences? Whose work has influenced you most and why?

Like many composers of my generation, I grew up playing rock 'n roll. As a kid, I took piano lessons, sang in choirs, and played trumpet in school bands and orchestras. But it was playing drums and singing in a series of garage bands that really got me excited about music.

As time went on, my band mates and I got tired of just rehashing other people's songs and started writing a few of our own. The deeper we got into songwriting, the more adventurous and ecumenical our listening became.

On the back of his early records, Zappa used to print a defiant little epigram: "The present-day composer refuses to die!" - Edgard Varese

My buddies and I would read that, scratch our heads and wonder: "Hmmm. Just who is this VaREEsee guy?"

Then one day in the local record shop (this must have been about 1967), one of us discovered one of the first Varese discs (a mono LP). We quickly wore out the grooves.

From Zappa to Varese, it didn't take long for us to discover Cage, Stockhausen, Xenakis, Partch, Oliveros, Reich, Nancarrow, and a whole new world of music.

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Strayhorn's Lush Life

Vallejo Nocturno 2013 - Belgian Restaurant/Bar

Lush Life

I used to visit all the very gay places
Those come-what-may places
Where one relaxes on the axis of the wheel of life
To get the feel of life from jazz and cocktails

The girls I knew had sad and sullen gray faces
With distingue traces that used to be there
You could see where they'd been washed away
By too many through the day, twelve o'clock tales

Then you came along with your siren song
To tempt me to madness
I thought for awhile that your poignant smile
Was tinged with the sadness of a great love for me
Ah yes, I was wrong
Again, I was wrong

Life is lonely again and only last year
Everything seemed so sure
Now life is awful again
A trough full of hearts could only be a bore

A week in Paris could ease the bite of it
All I care is to smile in spite of it

I'll forget you, I will while yet you are still
Burning inside my brain romance is mush
Stifling those who strive

So I'll live a lush life in some small dive
And there I'll be
While I rot with the rest of those
Whose lives are lonely too

Wyatt's For The Ghost Within

From The Guardian, a review of the the 2010 release For The Ghost Within:

Robert Wyatt, that most eloquently lackadaisical of jazz-loving English troubadours, has made some unforgettable albums over his long solo career, but this will rank among the frontrunners. Mingling jazz standards such as Lush Life, In a Sentimental Mood and Round Midnight with a scattering of originals, and imaginatively arranged by violinist Ros Stephen for the poetic Gilad Atzmon's alto sax and clarinet and a string ensemble, it strikes a balance between tradition-observing musicality and Wyatt's knack for getting to the painful or joyous heart of things while sounding as if he has just dropped in off the street. From the moment Atzmon's vibrant alto curls around Wyatt's matter-of-fact delivery of Laura, through the microtonal clarinet intro to a vocal line mixing falsetto sounds with guttural contemplation on Lullaby for Irena, to the Sergeant Pepper-like quirkiness of electronics and vocal whimsy on Maryan, the session barely misses a beat. Wyatt offhandedly whistles his way through Round Midnight, plays movingly muted trumpet on Lush Life, and comes close to Louis Armstrong's Wonderful World for gratefully dazzled simplicity.

Bianconi joue Debussy

PHILIPPE BIANCONI joue DEBUSSY from Bernard Martinez on Vimeo.

El Txef A interview

Interview with ElTxef A, House producer from the Basque country:

While many producers these days come from cultural hotspots, like London, NYC, or Berlin, your home is in a relatively remote part of Spain, the Basque Country. What was it like to grow up there, and how does your town influence your music? Until a year ago I spent all my life in Gernika , a small town made famous by the Picasso painting [which bears the same name]. Now I've moved to Bilbao - it's bigger, but as you have said it can't compare to pioneering cities like New York, Berlin, or London. However, I think being here helps keep my work and creative process pure. Life is very peaceful in the Basque country and I think that is reflected in the feelings of my work.

Your breakthrough EP, She Kissed Me First, came out on Hypercolour a little over 2 years ago. But it's clear from the quality of that record that you had been producing for some time before. When did you start producing dance music, and what was your inspiration to start? I started producing my first dance beats seven years ago I think. I have always been closely linked to the music through my brother and parents. I started by playing piano and drums, and then I started researching sampling. Even today I’m continuously learning new things, about everything.

I think now I'm closer than ever to sharing with people what I truly want to, and showing what I am.

How did you meet the guys at Hypercolour? Did the debut with a well known label have an impact on your music or your life? I recorded " She Kissed Me First " in 2009. I don’t know how but the song ended up in the hands of Jamie from Hypercolour and he sent me an email saying that he was very interested in releasing that track. It was a really fucking great piece of news for me. I have always loved that label and it really was a big chance for me to show the world my work.

In comparison to many electronic artists today, you've chosen to release slowly. Following your debut, you put out one EP on Wazi Wazi a year later, and then a full length album on your own label Fiakun, this year. Why have you chosen this pace? I always try to create something special from the deepest site of my heart. The same when I do remixes - I try to choose very precisely what I throw out there.

I try to show what I am at that point in my life, through music.

Tell us about Fiakun and the concept behind it, and your album, "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room". Firstly...what does Fiakun mean? Fiakun was born of six lifelong friends - we’ve known each other since we were 3 or 4 years old. We just wanted a platform to work together and help our projects and ideas move forward. I decided to release my first long play on our label because I think that makes the album more special, knowing that it’s not making a huge “splash.”

Fiakun has a lot of meanings , could be a pretty girl , could be a nice beer , could be a cool party….

When you are stuck on a song, or having writers block, where do you go for inspiration in making music? I go to Gernika , where my family is based, and just have a walk around the beach, have a special evening.

Now a technical question for the producers out there - what is your workflow like in the studio? Do you have any favorite hardware or software? I’m not a freak when it comes to synthesizers. I’m happy with a drum machine, a piano and a mic.

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Komatssu Interview & Music

From clubbingspain.com an Interview with Hector Sandoval regarding his Komatssu project:

Te has tomado con calma la producción de este disco...
Muchos de los temas que aparecen en el álbum son antiguos, algunos de ellos tienen más de dos años. Cuando empecé el proyecto comencé a grabar muchos cortes. De hecho tenía alrededor de cuarenta o cincuenta temas.

¡Son muchos!
¡Es que yo hago mucha música! Con Komatssu tengo un procedimiento diferente, no es igual que cuando hago techno, que el proceso es más mecánico. Cuando a Valentín y a mi nos llega un encargo o afrontamos la producción de un nueva referencia, trabajamos rápido y de forma sincronizada. Con Komatssu, cuando me siento delante del ordenador o cuando enciendo los sintes, simplemente me dejo llevar. Dejo que las canciones surjan e intento hacerlas crecer, les doy el cuerpo para que puedan sonar en un club, aunque no haga material de pista.

¿Eres más mental o emocional cuando trabajas en tus temas?
Creo que soy una persona muy pasional. A veces intento ser mental y me sale todo lo contrario. Lo que me gusta es dejarme llevar. A veces me sale algo para Komatssu, a veces para Exium, y a veces algo que no encaja en ninguno de mis proyectos. Pero siempre acabo los temas. Aunque sepa que no vaya a hacer nada con ellos, los acabo...

Eso es muy raro.
Puedo tener más de trescientas canciones en el ordenador... A veces recupero proyectos y me sirven para comenzar nuevas ideas. Me guío mucho por las sensaciones. Puedo escuchar un tema bien veinte veces, pero como lo escuche sólo una vez mal y no me guste, ya lo descarto. Tengo que tener los tracks redondos para que les dé salida. Pero a veces es algo que se escapa de tu control... Las canciones están ahí, tienen vida propia, has de moldearlas, y ellas escogen su propio camino. Por eso me gusta terminarlas.

Dices que este álbum es una retrospectiva de todo lo que te ha gustado durante los últimos veinte años. Personalmente encuentro que hay muchos guiños (intencionados o no) a grandes artistas de la IDM. Un tema te recuerda a Clark, otro a Autechre y Plaid, luego aparecen formas a lo Raster-Noton...
Sí, son influencias... Escucho mucha música, soy el típico que se empapa de todas las novedades pero que también le gusta descubrir música antigua continuamente. Cuando escuchas Komatssu puedes pensar: 'Se nota que a este tío le gusta a Aphex Twin y le gusta Warp; ahora este corte suena un poco a Raster Noton, en este tema hay una suciedad que recuerda a Ben Frost...'. Yo lo que intento es expresarme y, claro, las influencias siempre salen a la superficie de manera inconsciente y condicionan tu trabajo. Pero no es porque quiera copiar, simplemente hago la música que me gusta escuchar. De creadores natos, gente que ha sacado cosas de la nada, hay muy pocos: Krafterk, Juan Atkins...

Pero ellos crearon sobre un territorio virgen. Ahora estamos expuestos a mucha información...
¡O Stockhausen! Que lo escuchas y dices, ¿y este tío de dónde coño sacó esto? El 99% de los músicos no somos genios. Clark, por ejemplo, es cojonudo, es buenísimo; pero realmente no ha inventado nada. Aphex Twin sí que es un puto genio. O los Autechre de los 90... hicieron cosas extraordinarias. Pusieron un discurso muy innovador encima de la mesa. Ahora lo vemos todo muy cotidiano, pero lo cierto es que sus obras forman parte de la cultura popular de ahí en adelante, y eso es lo grande de estos creadores. El factor tiempo es importante para valorar las cosas con serenidad y criterio. El tiempo es clave.

¿Qué utilizas para producir los temas de Komatssu?
Uso mucho software, aunque empiezo muchas canciones con sonidos que grabo por ahí. Siempre llevo conmigo un reproductor mp3 que graba sonidos y lo uso mucho cuando voy de viaje. Suelo utilizar atmósferas y sonidos y construyo cosas encimas. Para este disco he utilizado también bastante un Access Virus, pero no soy de los que tiene mucho equipo. La tecnología es importante, pero creo más en el talento, no vas a ser mejor por tener más equipo. El tío que tiene talento te hace música con una cafetera.

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Derrida/Ornette Interview 1997

Interview of Ornette Coleman by Jacques Derrida in 1997:

Jacques Derrida: This year in New York you are presenting a program entitled Civilization — what relationship does it have with music?

Ornette Coleman: I’m trying to express a concept according to which you can translate one thing into another. I think that sound has a much more democratic relationship to information, because you don’t need the alphabet to understand music. This year, in New York, I’m setting up a project with the New York Philharmonic and my first quartet—without Don Cherry—plus other groups. I’m trying to find the concept according to which sound is renewed every time it’s expressed.

JD: But are you acting as a composer or as a musician?

OC: As a composer, people often say to me, “Are you going to play the pieces that you’ve already played, or new pieces?”

JD: You never answer those questions, do you?

OC: If you’re playing music that you’ve already recorded, most musicians think that you’re hiring them to keep that music alive. And most musicians don’t have as much enthusiasm when they have to play the same things every time. So I prefer to write music that they’ve never played before.

JD: You want to surprise them.

OC: Yes, I want to stimulate them instead of asking them simply to accompany me in front of the public. But I find that it’s very difficult to do, because the jazz musician is probably the only person for whom the composer is not a very interesting individual, in the sense that he prefers to destroy what the composer writes or says.

JD: When you say that sound is more “democratic,” what do you make of that as a composer? You write music in a coded form all the same.

OC: In 1972 I wrote a symphony called Skies of America and that was a tragic event for me, because I didn’t have such a good relationship with the music scene [milieu de la musique]: like when I was doing free jazz, most people thought that I just picked up my saxophone and played whatever was going through my head, without following any rule, but that wasn’t true.

JD: You constantly protest against that accusation.

OC: Yes. People on the outside think that it’s a form of extraordinary freedom, but I think that it’s a limitation. So it’s taken twenty years, but today I’m going to have a piece played by New York’s symphony orchestra and its conductor. The other day, as I was meeting with certain members of the Philharmonic, they told me, “You know, the person in charge of scores needs to see that.” I was upset—it’s like you wrote me a letter and someone had to read it to confirm that there was nothing in it that could irritate me. It was to be sure that the Philharmonic wouldn’t be disturbed. Then they said, “The only thing we want to know is if there is a dot in that place, a word in another”; it had nothing to do with music or sound, just with symbols. In fact, the music that I’ve been writing for thirty years and that I call harmolodic is like we’re manufacturing [fabriquions] our own words, with a precise idea of what we want these words to mean to people.

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