Deep Voices #31 on Apple Music
Playlist notes:
The cover of Glissandro 70’s self-titled album is a construction paper remake of the signature record sleeve of disco label West End. West End released classic songs like Taana Gardner’s “Heartbeat,” Loose Joints’ “Is It All Over My Face?,” and Peech Boys’ “Don’t Make Me Wait,” all songs that are monumentally catchy, and a tiny bit wonky. Being from the late ’70s and early ’80s, is to be from an era of dance music production that melded organic and inorganic sounds. Operating two decades later, Glissandro, the duo of Sandro Perri and Craig Dunsmuir, take the more off center moments found in the label’s catalog and run with them. Or maybe, more accurately, they take an aimless stroll with them.
It’s kind of taken on a mythical status to me. For anyone who was a reader of my Fader column Slept On, where I wrote about music not getting enough attention, this was the first album I wrote about. “Bolan Muppets” is the song I still turn to, and it more than holds up. A two-part slow burner, it begins with a light refrain and a lethargic riff guitar taking its time to build. It’s recorded incredibly intimately and you can hear the chug of the strings, like the guitar player is kneading dough. After four and a half minutes of that, the song reaches a gentle eruption with several strums of the guitar and the entrance of hushed lyrics. There are shakers and little percussive moments and the pace picks up though the tone remains deeply chill. It ends with a minute of simple guitar work, something a mellow busker might play.
I think the reason I’ve loved the record is that it feels like an open secret. It’s on Constellation, a relatively popular record label and, since its release, Sandro Perri has gone on to have a fruitful career exploring the sound of homemade, off kilter disco. So why is this record so largely unknown? It’s the kind of thing that seems so precious on paper, but hits all the right buttons when you put it on. Maybe it takes too much patience. Maybe it’s too subtle. Maybe the disco fans it targeted wanted something for the dance floor. It certainly hits the heart, not the head. And not the butt either. Everyone I play “Bolan Muppets” for totally swoons for it. I’ve been waiting for the right moment to put it on Deep Voices. It’s wild to find myself still carrying the torch for these sweet Canadians 14 years later. Not necessarily because I didn’t think I’d still be writing about music’s unknown legends, but because I still think they’re so legendary. Timeless music for anyone looking for some weird beauty.
I interviewed Ron Morelli about his record label L.I.E.S. for Bandcamp and the story ran last week. I’m a huge fan of the label and of Ron’s, a man who says a lot of deeply pessimistic things but whose actions are at heart deeply optimistic. He’s passionate about his artists and releases music at an insane pace. He’s never chased trends or sought to create a roster of anything other than innovative artists regardless of status. To him, every record is a hit. It’s a generous attitude. I find his irrepressible passion inspirational. The piece could only touch on a handful of the records he’s released over the past decade, and a personal favorite that didn’t make it is Torn Hawk’s Bad Deadlift EP. What the hell kind of music is this? Krautrock meets house? Is that possible? Beats me! It is deeply funky and extremely warped. All four tracks are worth checking but I particularly love “Trapdoor” which sounds deeply bugged out but also sounds like it could pack the dance floor at weddings. Don’t know another record like it.
Atlanta’s Kwony Cash never found the success he deserves as an artist. But as a songwriter and producer crafting beats and hooks for rappers Soulja Boy and K-Camp, his signature sound of over the top synths, rhythms and operatic autotune found regular radio play. His first mixtape, Dis One 4 Da Peons, is pure jubilance. The vocals are between rap and just yelling because you’re excited and the beats sound they’re being played by the band at Chuck E. Cheese. When I tell you I was obsessed with this music 10 or so years ago, that does not even begin to explain it. Kwony unfortunately went to prison and lost some of his momentum. Some of the music took a bit of a darker turn, but he still had a lot of horns accentuating the beats. It was like he went from sampling a pep band to sampling a funeral march. All bombast no matter what. I’m currently on the hunt for an mp3 copy of his long gone track “Take It How You Wanna,” a recitation of facts. “Money attract money/Dummies attract dummies” it goes. Truer words…
My discovery of the week has been Ela Orleans’ fantastic album Lost, a bright collection of lo-fi pop songs from 2009. She’s not French, but the record feels almost like chanson due to the lilt in her voice and the music’s overall feel of yearning, with light touches of strings and deep organ. It has a layer of fuzz to it, too, but it never succumbs to darkness. I think a record coated with a filter can work two ways, like it’s either drowning in that noise or it’s trying to escape it. This is most certainly the latter.