Jean-Michel Jarre - Equinoxe

Disques Dreyfus/BMG: 1978/2014

Despite being a solid follow-up to Jarre’s synth-wizardry debut Oxygene, Equinoxe remains overshadowed by its elder sibling. Like, why hasn’t Jarre’s sophomore earned itself a spiffy New Master Recording? Or a conceptual return three volumes deep? Not to mention the oodles of EP re-releases, usually coinciding with a greatest hits package. And while a couple tracks from Equinoxe often make the cut on such compilations, Oxygene dominates the selection process.

Part of this has to do with the fact Equinoxe pretty much is a continuation of ideas and sounds already explored in Oxygene - and as we all know, it’s primarily the First of something that gets all the attention. As Jean-Michel’s career carried on through the decades, it was marked by several other significant moments that took up space in your standard Cliff’s Notes recaps: the mega-concerts, the switch to digital from analog, the switch back to analog from digital, the on-again off-again relationship with club culture, etc. With so many talking points to touch upon, its unsurprising discussion of ‘the album that came after Oxygene’ isn’t the highest priority.

But important it is. Not Very Important, mind you, but important enough in that Jarre had to prove Oxygene wasn’t some fluke of creative serendipity. Given the nearly unprecedented global success of his debut in the world of synth music (no, we will not include Deserted Palace in this discussion, ever), fan and foe were eager to hear what he’d come out with next. Could he replicate that magical blend of modern classical artfulness while keeping an ear tuned with pop sensibilities? Might he go more abstract as a creative challenge? Or totally sell out with some disco pop, as was the happenin’ thing to do at the time? A little of each, turns out.

For sure Jarre has another long-player concept in mind for Equinoxe, this time of the dawn-to-dusk journey of Mankind. Right, that’s one Hell of a vague descriptor, though listening through this album, I can hear what Jean-Michel was shooting for. The first two tracks (Part 1 and Part 2) call upon his classical music knowledge, the first more a grand opening, the second a somber, mysterious reflective piece. Things get peppier in Part 3, building up to the centerpiece of the album in Part 4. It’s got a strident rhythm, sweeping synth strings, a hooky refrain, key changes, and lots of plinky sounds, burbling proto-acid…the usual assortment of Jarre treatments. Is it better than Oxygene? Does it matter? I think it’s cool, isn’t that enough?

Part 5 and Part 6 are even brisker than Part 4, though clearly treading into synth-pop’s territory. Part 7’s where it’s at though, tying everything together in a tidy, tasty sonic bow. Would have made for a perfect end to Equinoxe, but Jarre decides a little indulgence is in order, Part 8 running through some French pop silliness, then going full modern classical again for an outro. Ah, why not; I’ll allow it. ‘Tis fun.

The Police - Outlandos d'Amour

A&M Records: 1978/2003

Punk music’s emergence and growth has long been attributed to a youthful counter-reaction to rock’s growing pomposity within prog and jazz-fusion. Looking at some of the biggest bands of the era – The Ramones, Sex Pistols, The Clash, Black Flag, namedrop, namedrop, namedrop – the image that scene cultivated certainly supports the theory. Then you get a trio like The Police, also influenced by punk music, but fronted by musicians that had almost nothing to do with it. Okay, they did have a scrappy start, with financial and critical support so miniscule, you’d think they were a go-nowhere garage band. Plus, it was no secret Sting, Stewart Copeland, and Andy Summers came from the very same prog and jazz-fusion scenes the punk movement so vehemently railed against, seemingly bandwagon jumpers as the music hit its first crossover peak. All in all, The Police had everything working against them, except one key, critical attribute: insanely awesome talent.

They may not have been punk in the strictest sense, but they understood what made that music work. Even better, they could fuse it with other genres like reggae and, yes, jazz, such that it gave their songs remarkable depth for a three-piece act. Seriously, focus on how unique each member sounds – Sting's bass leads, Copeland's dynamic drumming, Summers' playful guitar work – and marvel how well they play off each other.

Of course, that skill initially worked against The Police, many dismissing the debut album Outlandos D'Amour as too slick and polished for a supposed punk band (even with a shoe-string budget and erratic studio time). Even more curiously, their lead singles of Roxanne and Can't Stand Losing You were banned from radio play, dealing with such taboo subjects like prostitution and suicide as they were. On the other hand, if you're ever to gain traction in a counter-culture music scene, being banned from prominent broadcasters was the best way of going about it, and sure enough The Police found their fame growing exponentially soon after. As if a capper on the point, Outlandos D'Amour is now regarded as one of the greatest rock albums of all time. So fickle, the music press.

A few killer singles does not a great album make, however, and you don't need me to tell you how these tunes sound – just turn on your classic rock radio station to hear them once or thrice a day. Instead, gander at some of these less-heralded tunes! Peanuts, a peppy-punk outing that hilariously has Sting shouting “Peanuts! Peanuts!” at the end. Be My Girl and Sally, one a mere pop-punk chorus interrupted by a goofy poem-and-piano bit about a blow-up doll. Masoka Tanga, a... ska jam? Oh, now you're just messing with us, Police man!

Outlandos D'Armour's a fun album, all said. The Police were as tight a band as any of the time, and were still all about having fun with their music, a few years off from getting all socially conscious and shit.

Synergy - Cords

Third Contact: 1978/2013

Not sure why Larry Fast barely gets name-dropped when talk of '70s synth wizards goes down. He was right in the thick of things along with the Jarres and Hammers, even beating Tomita at the modern classical game with original compositions. Yet whereas the big ol' Vangelis gets to score classic movies like Bladerunner and Chariots Of Fire, poor Synergy manages goofy 'documentaries' like The Jupiter Menace. It's that lack of any chart-friendly material, isn't it? Too highfalutin in conceptualization as the years wore on, that was the problem.

Synergy initially started out as another kraut-prog rock project, though Fast, in a bit of piss-takery on the growing anti-synthesizer sentiment in the ‘real’ rock world, countered that his albums were “one-hundred percent guitar-free”. Even his first album’s title was a rib on rock-opera, Electronic Realizations For Rock Orchestra. It also got him noticed though, crafting a tidy decade-long career for the Synergy banner before Fast moved onto other pursuits.

Cords is the third Synergy album, where Fast (and one Peter Sobel) finally utilized guitars ...“sort of”, the liner notes clarifies. It’s also heavier on creating a conceptual whole of an LP, three iterations of a synthy fanfare titled On Presuming To Be Modern performed at the beginning, middle, and end of Cords. A two-parter titled Phobos And Deimos Go To Mars forms our proper first pieces of music, both utilizing deep pulsing synths as their rhythmic backbone - always cool to hear ‘drums’ before everyone started using Roland machines in their electronic compositions. As for the differences between Phobos and Deimos, the former is far chipper, basically space-synth in its primordial form (and style-bitten by Gatekeeper, apparently), whereas the latter goes darker, even sounding Arabic with its Moog modulations. Both work a cool yin-yang concept, and I remain baffled why no one points to these as essential tunes from this era.

The rest of Cords plays out as you’d expect a modern classical album from the ‘70s would. Good for me though, as I have the re-re-mastered version released just last year (2013), thus these synths sound big and beefy compared to how tinny releases from the time often come off. Some tracks, like Disruption In World Communications and A Small Collection Of Chords, wouldn’t be too out of place in a forest temple level of a 32-bit era jRPG. Fast also gets all Bach on us with Full Moon Flyer, a bit more proggy with Terra Incognita (hey, synthesizer guitar), then throws everything into the caboodle with Trellis.

It’s all neat sounding stuff if you’ve an ear for early synth music, but I can hear why it didn’t catch on the same way Fast’s peers did with the public. Though not unbearably obtuse, Cords’ pure classical leanings wasn’t something regular folks would get into – Hell, Tomita only got away with it by covering easily recognizable compositions. I give Fast all the credit in crafting his own music, but Cords is about as egg-headed as early space-synth gets.

Boney M. - Nightflight To Venus ('Proper' Review)

Song BMG Music Entertainment: 1978/2007

Okay, let's critique this for realsies. Does Nightflight To Venus hold up? Was Frank Farian a mad musical genius or German hack? Why do we forgive Boney M.'s lip-syncing, but ruthlessly crucify the latter Farian-helmed project, Milli Vanilli? Actually, that last one's easily answered: Milli Vanilli won Grammys, while Boney M. did not. Fool the common plebs of music consumers all you want, but don't you dare make a mockery of the Grammys!

It's not like Farian planned a career of studio lurking while pretty boys and girls pranced about on stages, quite content remaining anonymous. Despite a love of funk, disco, soul, reggae, and other contemporary black music, his being way German wouldn't fly with traditional audiences of those scenes. So hiding in the studio suited him fine, but then his Boney M. project got ridiculously popular within a few short years, and a demand for live performances and telecasts forced him to create the stage act we associate with the name. Why not appear live himself? He wouldn’t be taken seriously, of course, unlike having lip-syncers ‘perform’ the music instead. 1970s, you so wacky.

Nightflight To Venus came out when Boney M. was at the height of their popularity, Farian’s perfect blend of disco-pop and euro-reggae having won the ears and hearts of thousands across the continent. How’s a crafty German follow upon such success? Get totally conceptual on the masses’ asses! Well, not too conceptual, but the first two tracks have to rank up there with some of the ballsiest moves a disco-pop producer could open an album with.

Though hopping on the super-hot sci-fi bandwagon with the titular cut wasn’t unprecedented, the fact Farian would craft such a loopy, tribal rhythm had to catch the Boney M. faithful off-guard. Add in marching drums and clapping “Hey! Hey!”s, and it feels as though you’re a part of the Soviet Verena missions to Venus. For that matter, Farian must have had a brief fascination with the Russians, carrying the rhythms through to Rasputin so whatever theme he’d created with Nightflight To Venus was maintained. As for one of the biggest disco-pop hits ever, can you imagine a song about a Russian monk hitting the top of today’s dance charts? Hell, anything with an historical story involved? Utterly, brilliantly daft and genius, that Farian be.

The other big single off here, Rivers Of Babylon, plays more to the group’s Caribbean charms, inoffensive music often emanating from radios, though anyone deeply versed in reggae won’t find much of interest there. And if I’m honest, that’s also true for the disco cuts He Was A Steppenwolf and Voodoonight. Farian does have a way with a hook though, and slick production chops that you can’t help but find yourself grooving to. It’s the sort of music most DJs wouldn’t mind playing as part of a fun mixtape, the unheralded album tracks that somehow work against all odds. Go on, admit your unabashed adoration for Boney M. Rasputin compels you to...

Boney M. - Nightflight To Venus (Anecdotal 'Review')

Song BMG Music Entertainment: 1978/2007

Say what you want about Boney M. – and believe me, you won't be saying anything new – it's undeniable their popularity's endured thanks to Frank Farian's impeccable production chops and savvy marketing. Hell, it sure worked for me, Nightflight To Venus an irresistible concept to a kid just discovering things like Star Wars and other cool space-orientated- ack, no, no! I won’t turn this review into an endless parade of anecdotes. My self-imposed word count doesn’t allow for it. Okay, focus, focus...

Nope, not happening. I’m not getting through this review without dropping more. Sure, I could be all professional and shit about Nightflight To Venus, but there’s no fun in that. I’ve so many stories tied to this record, so many memories as a kid listening to it. You know what, screw it. I’m going all the way down Anecdote Alley here, and if that’s a problem, come back tomorrow where I’ll deal with the album proper-like. I gotta’ get this nostalgia outta’ my system, folks.

Nightflight To Venus is undeniably ground zero for my enjoyment of so many things musically: catchy hooks and harmonies, DJ mixes, dance rhythms, space-themed music, and Neil Young. For a kid getting into sci-fi, the titular opener was utter catnip for a fruitful imagination. Those robot voices, sound effects, gnarly guitar licks, and thumping rhythms was unlike anything I’d heard before, purely driven by a concept than actual song writing. Then it kept going into a totally different song about a bizarre Russian named Rasputin, with some of ear-wormiest hooks I’d ever heard. It blew my young mind you could even do that with music, make two separate tunes seem like one! And those awesome choruses are filled throughout Nightflight To Venus, some with lyrics that seem almost intended to be sung along with by kids (Painter Man, Rivers Of Babylon, Brown Girl In The Ring).

What’s elevated Nightflight To Venus above so many other albums of my young life, however, is the fact it was the first record I recall listening to front-to-back, and aside from Raffi’s Baby Beluga (shaddap), would remain the only one I would repeatedly do so for many years. For as much as I enjoyed The Police’s records too, I still could only ever get through half a Side A before getting bored. While Boney M.’s fun music was part of my willingness to go the distance, the fact one of my favourite songs on the album, Heart Of Gold, was at the end, forced me to sit patiently through the whole record to hear it (the original’s country? No way, this is the real version!). Even the slower ‘message’ song before it, Never Change Lovers In The Middle Of The Night, couldn’t deter me from waiting in anticipation for those wonderful vocal harmonies and funky disco guitar licks emerging. It instilled a listening habit that persists to this day, of appreciating albums as collective wholes rather than jumping from song to song. Well done, Nightflight To Venus. Well done.

Tomita - Kosmos

RCA Victor: 1978/1991

Long before electronic music was almost exclusively made for the riff-raff of dance culture, electronic music was exclusively made for the hoity-toity upper elites of culture. True, only higher class brackets were capable of affording synthesizers at the time, so naturally only classically trained composers did much of anything with the gear. Shortly after the ‘70s took hold though, the commons clued into the catchy potential of electronic music too, and some charming compositions began charting in record sales. Well, if they’re enjoying these camp pieces, scoffed the elite, they’ll undoubtedly lap up the fromage of the classics too. Thus they set out a Japanese robot dubbed Tomita to placate the masses with synthesized interpretations of Stravinsky, Holst, Strauss, and Bach.

Right, the specific details above are mostly the bunk (probably), but if anyone greatly benefited from Wendy Carlos and Rick Wakeman proving you could do classical music with electronics, it was ol' Isao. By the time he released Kosmos, he'd gained a reputation as the foremost modern classical interpreter about, folks always anticipating which master of the past he'd tackle next.

Did I mention sci-fi was a big deal in the '70s? What better way to give the fans what they wanted – and maybe even lure in a few who’d yet to discover the Japanese synth maestro – than opening Kosmos with a quirky, charming cover of John Williams’ Star Wars Main Title? It’s… um, well, it’s… Star Wars? Kinda bloopy, with a whistle instead of the opening fanfare; surprising amount of bouncy rhythm for the time too. Y’know, when you think of chintzy, made-for-TV sci-fi pulp from that decade, this is the music you’re likely imagining soundtracking it. Follow-up Space Fantasy borrows from Strauss’ Also sprach Zarathustra and various Wagner compositions, most notably Ride Of The Valkyries and Tannhäuser, though whenever I hear the latter, I almost immediately think of Bugs Bunny riding an obese white horse rather than space opera. Also, Kosmos has quickly turned incredibly camp with such music.

Fortunately, things get more interesting with the following songs. The Unanswered Question from Charles Ives goes ambient, mysterious, and with a touch of mechanical menace lurking. Rodrigo’s Aranjuez-Adagio is soaring and gorgeous, especially with the synths Tomita utilizes here, and Solveig’s Song’s from Edvard Grieg’s no slouch either, Tomita cleverly playing a portion of the campy bit through a filter as though it’s a transmission from deep space.

The highlight of Kosmos is the final track though, J.S. Bach’s The Sea Named “Solaris”; heck, it was a highlight on Carl Sagan’s Cosmos too! Yes, finally, at the end of this review, I come clean about my primary reason for getting this album. Look, I was starting a Tomita collection eventually, and it may as well be the album holding the song I’m most familiar with by him. If you haven’t heard The Sea Named “Solaris” yet, get on that shit, brah! Absolutely essential modern classical! Kosmos ain’t too bad either, once you get past the corny first bits.

Kraftwerk - The Man-Machine

Astralwerks: 1978/2009

Bunch of sell-outs. Sure, jump on the disco bandwagon. Abandon conceptual LPs in favor of appealing to gaudy, dolled-up dance clubs. Dear Lord, they’ve made an ode directly to one of those types in The Model. It’s that Moroder influence, isn’t it. That’s the Italians, ruining everything, and now creative German electronic Krautrock music with corny pop melodies. Have your time in the lime-light, Kraftwerk, it won’t last. Everyone will forget this travesty of an album by the next decade, and the true artists of this era, like Cluster and Neu!, will be remembered for centuries.

Said some Berlin hipster in ’78. Probably.

As for the rest of the world, those charming pop melodies in The Man-Machine finally got regular folks regarding Kraftwerk as something more than a one-hit curiosity, even getting TV time and performing as the titular machine men. While their prior albums were landmarks in showing off what electronic music could produce, this one proved it could exist just fine alongside any ol' mainstream hit and not be regarded as some novelty (re: Autobahn). Granted, The Robots or The Model weren't tearing up charts the world over, but you just know many other electronic music hopefuls were taking notes.

Debate persists over which Kraftwerk album is their best, but for pure accessibility, The Man-Machine easily tops the rest. Them Germans always had an ear for a melody, but here they craft the ear-wormiest hooks they could, sounding as naturally pop as any top hit-makers of the ‘60s (you know which ones). And sure, for all you highfalutin types out there, this album does offer a proper concept. Almost certainly inspired by the classic sci-fi film Metropolis, a running theme of future societies permeates every track (sans The Model). Whether Kraftwerk aimed to spread a poignant message of such futurism with their tunes or were content in providing simple pictures with their music is up to interpretation, but that’s good pop music for you.

The particulars of The Man-Machine, you’ve heard in some form over the years. The Robots has long been the stand-out, what with those precision-perfect rhythms, spacious sound design, succinct hooks, and wicked-awesome vocal effects (it’s also great for testing headphones and stereos!). At the other end of the album is the titular cut, a cousin to The Robots, and while not as catchy, has equally awesome vocal effects. Elsewhere, Spacelab and Metropolis get their Moroder disco on, likely inspiring a legion of future space synth and trance producers in the process. Neon Lights is the obligatory extended Kraftwerk jam, charming in its own right with shimmering synths, though you have to endure Ralf’s warbling to get there. And yes, The Model, definitely lyrically goofy synth-pop by any standard, but holy cow, that bassline, mang!

Of course, for the musically egg-headed out there, The Man-Machine contains juicy goodies aplenty to drool over (theory! gear! spawned genres!), but I’m out of space. Not time though, as this album’s as timeless as Florian’s fashion.

The Steve Miller Band - Greatest Hits 1974-78

Capitol Records: 1978

You’ve likely heard more Steve Miller Band songs than you’re aware of. While everyone – and I mean everyone - knows The Joker, Jungle Love, and Fly Like An Eagle are by the space-folk rock act, there’s plenty more they’ve released that you’re going to recognize without even realizing it’s the same band. Yes, even within the narrow time frame of their discography this greatest hits package covers.

For instance, I always associated Swingtown with my old man, as it’s been one of his staples for whatever bar band he happens to be playing in, easily and awesomely nailing the opening “Ohhhhh” refrain and lyrics. It was years before I discovered this was one of Steve Miller Band’s biggest hits, yet after hearing so many practice sessions growing up, I can’t help but think it’s my dad on the vocals, and not Steve Miller. Oh my, this is quickly turning into an anecdote review, isn’t it?

Can’t be helped. Steve Miller Band’s music has become so ubiquitous on radio stations (not to mention endlessly licensed out for soundtracks) that you’re almost guaranteed to have at least known someone older playing the ever-living shit out of these tunes. Some sort of memory will become associated with a Steve Miller Band song – even if it’s nothing more than, say, a teenaged Homer Simpson singing along to The Joker - that almost any discussion about their music will undoubtedly turn anecdotal over where you heard it (more often than not, at a bar or house party).

Despite the band having a long history with plenty of variety, this particular release deals with the peak of their radio popularity, and boy did Steve Miller ever hit upon a winning formula: good ol’ Southern blues, folk and rock, with just enough psychedelia to stand out from their peers, and dance floor savvy (ooh, is that a touch of disco I hear in Jungle Love?) to make these bar staples for decades to come. Despite this particular greatest hits collection gathering up music from a mere three album’s worth of material, very little AOR makes up this package; maybe the synth-effects lead-in to Jet Airliner, Threshold, could be considered one, but Miller realized he could get double the royalties if Threshold was considered a separate track, and you can’t imagine your classic rock station playing Jet Airliner without that lead-in, now can you.

Look, you don’t need me to tell you Greatest Hits 1974-78 is a solid package of charming pop-rock. You’ve heard tunes like blues-stomper The Stake, starry-eyed hippie folk Wild Mountain Honey, and inoffensive rock-chugger Take The Money And Run plenty of times, even if not these songs in particular. Steve Miller took blues-rock staples, turned them about as radio friendly as one could in the ‘70s, and crafted a pile memorable hits as a result. You wouldn’t want to hear these all the time, but good luck holding back a nostalgic grin on your face when one of these songs crops up.