Japan on opium. In other words, Japan discovers nature. You should discover nature, too.
Ok, confession time: I don't like Japan. I mean, they're cool and all, but it just feels forced. Not bad, just... well... kind of stiff, y'know? So, the fact that david Sylvian's first proper solo album has shades of Japan-ness on it is a little disappointing, but expected. "Pulling Punches" kicks off the record with its Japan-reminiscent quasi-funk fretless electric bass and dated production, but, even amongst the gunk, it will still reveal itself as great tune upon repeated listens. It's not until the album's second track, "The Ink In the Well" comesin do you realize that, 'Hey! This isn't just the new Japan album!' Featuring John Martyn's (undeniably cool) acoustic bassist Danny Thompson, it's the sort of slow, semi-ballad, autumnal sound that Sylvian would make his trademark over the next few years. "Nostalgia" proves the previous track was not a fluke and it is absolutely gorgeous music. It's a sort of new wave/smooth jazz hybrid that evokes none of the negative connotations that either sub-genre carries and proudly displays the most positive aspects of both descriptions. The rest of the album follows suit and provides a stunning listening experience. Very meditative and very slow. But also very good. While some of the production and the keyboard sounds have become dated by this point, the songs are just too good to ignore, so by the time the epic title track revolves around, you probably won't notice anymore. Some editions of the album include the following year's three track Words With the Shaman EP, which is excellent by any standards. It hints towards the full-on ambient textures (and full-length albums to come) that David would persue all throughout his career; not to mention that it previewed what the Rain Tree Crow album would sound like nearly six years before the fact.
~Austin
Thought that first album was a fluke? Think again, pal.
Besides having one of the coolest titles ever, this album is yet another step in Mr. Sylvian's neverending evolution. The production misphaps of the previously mentioned album are remedeed here and practically the only thing that betrays the album's time period of creation is the 'Is that really a keyboard?' sound of the fretless electric bass. Otherwise, is this thing from last year? "Before the Bullfight", besides being one of David's best, is one of a few epic pieces on this album that really fulfills his true potenial up until this point and sets the scene for a doorway to even more vastly unexplored territory. Seriously and honestly, fewer simultaneous instruments have never sounded as full and as orchestrated as they do here. And despite the slowness and discordantly melancholy tone of the music, it's not a downer at all. Instead, the ambient textures of the proper songs and the trult ambient portions of the album exude feelings of the joy of creating such unique music. In fact, on the second half, the album takes a left turn into truly and wholly ambient music that makes pioneer Brian Eno's efforts seem like the haphazard prototypes that they more or less are. Truly, it's the blueprint for a lot of stuff that came after it (some of which was great, some, admittedly not so great) and those later Talk Talk albums just don't sound the same in its shadow. More 'supprt vinyl' propaganda: the CD versions of this album append five of the ambient tracks from the second record of the double vinyl album. Should be able to to get the vinyl used somewhere; besides, it'll be cheaper anyway.
~Austin
An artistic statement on par with the most important of any musical generation. And it has "Forbidden Colours" at the end.
We're friends, right? So, I can be honest, right? Ok, I mean really? Are there any other 1980's hidden classics that are as unheralded as this album? For all its contemporary intents and purposes, post-rock starts with this album. From Danny Thompson's jazz-informed fretless acoustic bass (on most of the album), to the 'this is how it really is' live drum sound, to the spacey ambient-informed and meshed sonic landscapes created, this album is —at the risk of sounding very corny— majestic. It's jazzy without falling prey to the stereotypes, as the trumpet and piano solos on "Orpheus" exhibit. Everything here is in perfect sync with everything else and the 'less-is-more' philosphy reaches its apex within the emotionally resonant pop song; and specifically on the album's centerpiece "Let the Happiness In". Intensely personal and, at times, quite spiritual, it's arguably DS' finest work. The 2003 remastered version sounds absolutely fantastic and is otherwise worth picking up, except for the fact that it foolishly replaces the incredible (and indispensible) Ryuichi Sakamoto collaboration "Forbidden Colours" with the good (but not worthy, in comparison) "Promise (The Cult of Eurydice)".
~Austin
Holger Czukay of Can fame? You Betcha.
Eponymously titled, this is two sidelong, fully ambient pieces from two seriously weird guys basically. There's tons of droning, tons of incoherent sampled dialogues and not a whole lot of structure. Except, if you liked the ambient stuff on Gone To Earth, this is actually really good. There's layers to this stuff that don't reveal themselves until maybe ten minutes into the songs. So, if you've got the patience, you will be seriously rewarded. It's not really that pretty ambience that you may be expecting; on the contrary, some of this is quite disturbing (but, in a good way, I mean new agey sounding pianos can only be so threatenting). Kind of a footnote, but a good one if you're interested.
~Austin
Holy shit, this album is depressing.
Now, a lot of Mr. Sylvian's music could be misinterpreted as being a downer, but if you listen to the lyrics, there's a lot of hope and positive philosophies going on. So, it's actually quite uplifting and life-affirming music. Until this album. To serve as a primer for the rest of the affair, the title track is a thirteen minute long epic of bitterness and regret that will make you despise tremolo pedals in an entirely new respect. Except, it's good. Because it's actually the epitome of David's music. The song is one of the most sparse in any songwriter's catalogue, as the whole is mostly just David and that menacing tremolo guitar chord repeated over and over. In fact, the rest of the album is pretty similar. In a seriously twisted and flat out weird turn of events, half the album is practically an accapella record. The glitchy ambient sounds that accompany David throughout the record are truly unique and some of the sounds achieved (namely on "The Heart Knows Better") are so incredibly sparse, yet so unbelievably full, it has to be heard to be fully understood. Make no mistakes though, this is one of the most isolated and upsetting breakup albums I've ever heard. For all its good qualities (and they are numerous), it surely is not for everyone; least of all the easily discouraged. But, when it's all said and done, he's still got a somewhat positive outlook: "There is always sunshine above the grey sky".
~Austin
Don't be turned off by the 'remix' tag. Or do. Miss out on an amazing record. See if I care.
The tag of 'remix' has inherently negative connotations. But, all in the same, I can't think of a more abused term. Evidence: this record. The original mix of the Blemish album is undoubtedly too bleak for some (well, ok, a lot of) listeners. This 'remix' album fleshes out the songs more fully, sometimes providing contemporary classical backings (Ryoji Ikeda's reinvention of "The Only Daughter"), sometimes going the full-on dancey remix route (Readymade FC's stunning revision of "A Fire In the Forest") and sometimes molding the songs into classic sounding DS compostions (Burnt Friedman's rendition of "Blemish"). Honestly, even though "Blemish" and "The Only Daughter" get two versions a piece, this thing sits as a cohesive and excellent proper album all by itself. An unexpected turn, which makes it even better.
~Austin
