By Johnny Ray Huston
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Coconot, Cosa Astral (Bcoredisc)
One of the things I like most about Pablo Díaz Reixa is his mode of singing. There’s something really endearing and adorable about it – some of his choruses sound like chants at an athletic event, but not all macho, just enthusiastic.
Coconot is the band he plays with when isn’t being El Guincho. To be honest, I kind of like Cosa Astral even more than El Guincho’s Alegranza, because Diaz-Reixa leaves more space in the overall sound, and things aren’t so exhaustively manic. (Though the manic tendencies can also be endearing.) Amongst the nine tracks, I’m already entranced by at least three: “Te tenía en cinta,” which is like a carnival winding down; the joyous and loose Afrobeat shimmer of "Tao"; and “Miles de ojos,” a Surrealist-influenced sonic vision with a chorus that is impossible to stop singing once you’ve heard it.
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Nite Jewel, My CD (Human Ear) and Good Evening (Gloriette)
One shorthand interpretation of Ramona Gonzalez’s recording project Nite Jewel is that it’s a bit like Glass Candy or Chromatics on Quaaludes. I don’t know if I like Nite Jewel quite as much as Glass Candy’s underrated B/E/A/T/B/O/X (c’mon, they made “Computer Love” melancholic, what’s not to love?) – or if I like it more.
Gonzalez’s singing is both high-pitched and kinda dazed. On “Weak 4 Me,” she reminds me of Mr. Bill, which can never be a bad thing. “What Did He Say” might be the best Nite Jewel song so far – it sounds like a radio playing “I Can’t Wait” by Nu Shooz slowly sinking to the bottom of a pool. I’d like to see Nite Jewel live. SF isn’t that far from LA.
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Tim Hardin, 1 (Water)
Tim Hardin’s voice is the kind that sticks. The first time I heard it, I didn’t think it was that handsome. Kinda nasal, and it seemed like he was swallowing his sounds. But now I can hear muted horn qualities in it, and a grain that is wholly unique. He’s understated, too, in a way that suits the sentiments (or disenchantment) in his lyrics. All of this comes through clearly when he tells his love – and, presciently, his generation -- not to make promises that can’t be kept. The fatalistic despair of the piano ballad “It’ll Never Happen Again” is almost shocking in its blunt truth. Water keeps reviving great music from the ‘70s. We have a treasure trove in Oakland.
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Adele, "Chasing Pavements" (XL/Columbia)
Amid the latest wave of Antony mania, I'm going to cast a vote for Adele as a non-pretentious and comparatively refreshing torch singer, even if her debut album 19 isn't a patch on the pop majesty of this shiver-inducing single. She's also obviously a sober replacement for an Amy Winehouse, who has reached Weekend at Bernie's territory, but none of Winehouse's songs are as emotionally nuanced as this one. I hear Karen Dalton's influence in Adele's rasp. Both she and Antony flirt with and caress their own voices as they sing, but while Antony seems enclosed in self-love that assumes worship, Adele seems to be making discoveries as she goes along.
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Pierre Bastien, Les premieres machines 1968-1988 (Gazul)
I don't know much about Bastien, but love how his band of robotic string-picking and drum-hitting machines sounds like Moondog on these recordings. Aside from the wonderfully abrasive mouse squeaks of "Orphean Veranda," which actively annoy, these ramshackle folk-jazz-blues tunes tease the ear.
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They made this album a year before their soundtrack for Suspiria. It isn't punishing or deranged like that wholly unique record. It's a prog trip to the discotheque (Claudio Simonetti's disco leanings are nascent here), propelled by all kinds of Phantom of the Opera keyboard action. In next month's Playlist, I might dive further into soundtracks, by Goblin and others. This is a proper album.
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