April Orchestra Part III: from 10 to 30, with many missing [1975-1979]

After the Volume 10 in which poor Renaissance man Rameau was trotted out for some unfathomable reason, French conductor Caravelli (aka Claude Vasori) was brought in for some really easy listening in Volumes 11 and 12, which are yet unavailable.  A more promising set appears in Volume 13 with some very entertaining compositions by Christian Chevallier (who created with A. Feanch one of my favourite library albums ever in Space Resonances), consider for ex, his Prelude pour un Balladin:





Volume 14 presents "baroque by swingle" and sounds so unappealing I am thankful it makes no appearance here.  Volume 15 steals tracks from the progressively famous Lard Free of Gilbert Altman (extracts from both their 1973 and 1975 albums).  The team of Caravelli and son Patrick Vasori who composed quite a bit in later editions, appear with some great mood music in Volume 16.

And then of course our poorly helmed boat suddenly capsizes for Volumes 17-19 with the sound of Philly.  The ship recovers-- somewhat-- with Volume 20 in which Shylock's two albums, fabulous complex French prog masterpieces, are ripped off, along with cathedral organ compositions by another library alumnus, Michel Magne.  In fact the subsequent Vol. 21 devoted to Magne's orchestral music was already ripped for prognotfrog 4 long years ago now.

An odd turn to Spanish guitar music with Manolo Sanlucar is featured in Vol. 22 before the bottom completely drops out of the franchise, as Volumes 23 to 30 are devoted almost entirely to orchestral modern music from Czechoslovakia-- with the exception of Vol. 28, also posted in pnf long ago, with its amazing fusion from Jiri Stivin's Zodiac masterpiece and Klapka's Mahagon, as well as a big band called Konstelace Josefa Vobruby.  (Everyone should have that first mentioned.)

Now I love good modern classical music as much as any tweed-pantsed food-stained sweatshirt-wearing old man who goes to the local symphony hall purely to drink those tiny free one-ounce 2% milk containers next to the coffee machine, but the music in the volume that is available, namely 25, is not even well-written and was impossible for me to slog through even with pants pulled up above my belly button.  Have a listen, if you dare.  But I beg you not to request those.

So, available currently are the following: 13, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 25, and 28.

Michael Jarrett's We're All Going Down Together in 1972, Playboy Records

OK if this guy is seen near your local school, please tell them to go into lockdown mode.  Though I will readily admit that the insane stare is what led me to purchase this, without knowing anything about the music.  Note that this is a Playboy production-- yes, they did produce records too, back in those glorious seventies (specifically, from about 1973 to 1979).  In fact we should be well acquainted with the 1973 release called Ivory, which Tom once reviewed, and which indeed is a fine and recommended album.

Oh those days when Playboy ruled the world!  At one time this little magazine and its ridiculous slippered and multi-silicone-pillowed founder had an empire that included not just publishing but videos, bars or 'gentleman's clubs,' TV shows, and of course records, before first video in the eighties and finally internet in the nineties destroyed its premise like those parasitic wasps that lay eggs inside crickets and whose larvae then consume the insect slowly from the inside, the least important organs first, until only the shell remains.  Those who grew up in the seventies or earlier will always have fond memories of those foldout 'centerfolds' and the hyperbolically liberal articles, interviews, and bizarre letters that always seemed more teen fantasy than reality.  What I particularly loved about Playboy was the sheer beauty of the contents (the human contents that is), which no other mag or rag could come close to, particularly when they went into the video market.  Today when any random google search avalanches us in completely naked women popping up in the most compromising (for husband) positions (and what's worse, the vast majority are barely attractive) it's hard for us not to get nostalgic about these old magazines which boys shared with each other secretly, though always mother would find the 'stash' somehow and confiscate it and yell at us-- while father would return them to us the next day with more from his own-- hold on, nostalgia over porn? admittedly not the first time I've spoken on this issue... 

There are spoken word intros to many of the songs which really detract and distract, as if this were the recording of an interview, which maybe it was.  Songs range from pop to country with not too much hook to hang an ear from.  Hilariously the record isn't even well made, perhaps due to all the distractingly large-breasted hangers-on with lacking clothing from Playboy head office, it shuts off one second right after the last music instead of letting the needle slowly swirl down into the middle as a proper toilet paper should on its way down.

Information from the database here.  In this discogs bio it says Michael is most famous for writing for Elvis.  And indeed his song "Sweet Emily" bears a distinct resemblance to the beautiful and far superior Elvis song, made famous by B.J. Thomas, called "I just can't help believin'" (written by Cynthia Weil and Barry Mann) with the same descending chord structure:





And let's all of a certain age remember those beautiful Playboy days tonight with a toast.

Klaus Bößer's Hotel Bluefields from 198?, Germany

Year unknown, one of those healing guitar albums as master shige used to say, that can either entrance you or simply put you to sleep.  A typical track, called Carlito y Carlita: 





A saving grace is that some tracks are more electric, and some even feature pianos, rescuing the work from the hypnotically numbing effect of too much guitar strumming.


Credits 

Bass – Uli Wagner
Drums, Percussion – Colin Jamieson
Guitar – Klaus Bößer
Photography – Klaus Rediske
Piano, Cello – Martina Fromme
Recorded By – Gerd Birsner
Saxophone – Raymond Meisters

April Orchestra Part II: Volumes 1 to 9 Complete [1974-1975]

It's odd that there is so little information on this library entity available, still no English or French wikipedia page, for example.

In 1974 the franchise is launched with tracks from a whole host of composers, the full title being Music for Radio and TV.  Its soundtracky easy listening music with grand piano and orchestra was very much a part of those times, and in all honesty I found this first ed. hugely enjoyable in terms of quality, with even some advanced compositions to boot.  Unfortunately on the second volume, in which involvement by C. Lara commences, there is less to cling on to here in terms of quality though the style is superficially the same.  And this diminution carries through Volume 3, sadly, as well as 4 in which the composers from the first are reprised, until we get to the 5th which uses new blood Frank Wilding (aka of Jean-Claude Aron Bacri) and violinist Igal Shamir, whose folky-fiddled polkas really drove me crazy-- though it's admittedly a short drive.  So the new blood in this case goes straight to the yellow biohazard containers.  (At least for me, apologies to those who enjoy.)

At this juncture, in 1975, the long titles are dropped and each colored sleeve is simply labelled with April Orchestra and the volume.  Volume 6 (with compositions by the trio Bitboul, Costa, and Yared) perhaps as a result is significantly superior to its immediate predecessors with a return to those lovely easy listening film themes.  Suddenly then and rather abruptly in Volume 7 we seem to have a quick catch-up to popular trends with the introduction of fusion, though these tracks are all stolen from pre-existing albums, namely, Magma-related Rhesus O (which came out in 1971), master prog-fusioneers Moving Gelatin Plates, and a completely forgettable outfit called Titanic (from 1970).  What an odd mixture, again, it leads me to wonder who was navigating this particular ship?
Then, like an unhealthy smoking habit that's impossible to break, Volume 8 returns with the soundtrack music again after such a promising dip into more interesting sounds.  Nonetheless the instalment, with the usual composers from earlier volumes and despite the presence of the by-now pestiferous Lara, is undeniably good.  In particular the sharp Belgian songwriter Jean Vallée really takes it home with such gentle beauties as La Demoiselle Du Manoir:





The harp and acoustic guitar each in one stereo channel, augmented by the vibes in the second half of the melody, just kill me every time.  They knew, back then, not just how to compose such painfully exquisite beauty, but what instruments to achieve the maximally teary tender effect too.  But wait a second, there's something odd here in volume 8: tracks B1 and B2 are discoish funk, from something called the Soul Philadelphia Orchestra-- what are they doing in there?  Well, how about devoting a record to the 'Sound of Philadelphia' in the April Orch franchise? Better yet, why not give them a whole bunch of records? (Volumes 17-19)  At this point I seriously started to wonder who was directing this series, if perhaps, overconsumption of such substances as were commonly abused back then had led to some very odd decisions...

Roughly the same team returns in Vol. 9, including, obviously, C. Lara (how could you think you would escape her, she's like your crazy ex-girlfriend stalking you everywhere) but the compositions are again superior and occasionally top-notch with just that little bit more inventiveness you'd expect from a franchise that by now had to have accumulated at least a bit of experience.  Or did they?  How about following number 9 with a volume 10 devoted to the 18th century renaissance composer Jean-Philippe Rameau about "Les Indes Galantes?"  This particular volume is not yet ripped and I sincerely pray it never will be.

Consider 9's track A3 Capharnaüm which was written by Lara and Alain Lacaux; doesn't it sound exactly like it could be one of Jean-Luc Chevalier's wonderful compositions:





And with that suspenseful end let's set aside the A.O. until we move on to the Volumes 11 to 30 series next week (there are many left unripped in those twenty, evidently for very good reasons, so I don't have more than half)-- expecting of course many surprises along the way by this ship drifting without a rudder or a steersman or even a hull...
In the meantime, enjoy the complete Volumes 1 to 9 which do indeed have a number of surprising delights.

Sonny & Doug's Sum Pair from 1977, another tax scam label release...

Guiness records was another tax scam label.  From discogs:

Guinness Records was a tax shelter record label set up by Prelude Records. The records were never meant to be sold, but the label accountant enabled a cousin in Florida to make some cash by setting him up as a wholesale dealer. 

Wait a minute-- what?    Moreover, you can see they released no fewer than 50 albums in the one year they were active, 1977!  It's still hard for me to believe it was really worth all that effort.

Returning back to this release, some lovely and useful information from rym:

So here's one of the Guinness releases that you can actually track back to its original life ...  A Long Island New York-based duo consisting of guitarist/keyboard player Sonny Hahn and singer/keyboard player Doug Miller, this is an outfit I don't know much about, nor have I ever been able to dig up much on them.  Released by the small Euphoria label (apparently a short lived Jubilee offshoot), their sole release 1971's "Sum Pear" was well worth looking for (though it's relative rare and increasingly costly - I've seen two original copies in twenty years). Produced by Bob Gallo, the set offered up a great mix of psych-influenced rockers ('Better Get Down'), straight ahead rock ('Bring Me Home America'), and more conventional folk rock ('I Can See').  Miller had a nifty voice and Hahn's penchant for feedback drenched guitar (check out the blazing 'Got Me Tragedy'), were both strong selling points.  Some interesting lyrics and the presence of a full backing band with a kick ass rhythm section in the form of bass player Bob Dorsa and drummer John Scaduto certainly didn't hurt the proceedings.  With the pair writing virtually all of the material (a killer cover of Mickey Newbury's 'Down On Saturday' being the lone non-original), highlights included 'Hey Sun', the wah-wah guitar propelled 'What's So Bad About Feelin' Good', the hyper-speed 'I Need Lovin'"' and the horn-propelled 'Thoughts of Slumber'.

Five years later the album reappears on Guinness.  Same track listing, but different song sequence and as you can see new artwork.  So what's the common denominator here?  Producer Bob Gallo and 'album coordinator' Louis Lofredo.  Wonder if these guys were aware that they'd been reissued ... 

Here you can see the original LP.  At eight dollars for the least, the above reviewer must have been distracted by all those great songs.  Note how much more enjoyably pleasant the tax scam cover is compared to the 'real' cover from 1971.

Track A3's Bring me home America's Black Sabbathy sound:

I love that they dare to stretch the word 'America' in the chorus on the medieval rack torture instrument of the tritone, and with the chorus in D and the verses in G sharp, the doomsday sound comes through loud and clear.  In fact had they used a dropped-D tuning it would have sounded like proto-Nirvana as in some of Kurt's dark Bleach or Insecticide tracks.  

The album alternates between hard and soft rock, clearly at home with both styles, in one earlier song the hilarious and unprescient line occurs "there will always be mountains left to climb" -- perhaps on Venus, but not here on earth, where today Mt. Everest has come to resemble the Carnival in Rio for its hordes of 'explorers' during the 'climbing season' so much so that a moratorium had to recently be declared to clear off all the frozen dead humans that were stuck along the sherpa-guided paths, pity those unsuccessful, or perhaps half-successful ones who did not quite master the exit strategy of the mountain and were too elated with their ascent to come back down... no, today there is not a square yard on the surface of the earth yet unexplored, except the bottom of the oceans.

A particularly nice song on side b recalls my old favourite J.F. Murphy, its name was incorrectly recorded thanks to a mistake on discogs, but is called "Thoughts of Slumber":




Quite a delight to listen to I would say.  Really, altogether an unfairly unknown lost album...