tsoi45

[tsoi45]

Prince - Prince (1979)

First things first - good Lord that album cover. I apologise for the jumpscare on your dashboard.

I was not expecting to come up with an album write-up so soon after last week's American Football one. I only write about records when I feel completely and utterly floored by them - when a work of art bubbles up inside me so much that I feel the need to just rant about it and write, write, write. These all come from a place of awe, of sheer admiration and respect. As you probably very well know, albums that floor like that are rare. And so I come here once in a blue moon, rant and rave, and then leave once again.

Except this time, Prince took over my life.

I was never a big Prince fan growing up - or until very recently, for that matter. Having grown up in a country, time and culture far from Prince's heyday - in a world where the only place you'd hear about him was music class (where you played Purple Rain badly once on the recorder) - his lavender sheen and sleek motorcycle, his hyper-sexuality and funky groove were merely distant, foggy visions that I was too 1960s-oriented to possibly grasp.

The thing is, this album is also not that Prince. From where we stand right now, 1979, we are a long - and brilliant - five years away from The Kid's apex years, from the peak of his purple empire. No, here he's not at his peak yet. To misquote Dennis Reynolds: This Prince hasn't even begun to peak.

And yet, in making just the second album of his discography (!!!) and at an astonishingly talented 21-years old, Prince busts out funk classic after funk classic, from the unbelievable opening streak of I "Wanna Be Your Lover" | "Why You Wanna Treat Me so Bad" | "Sexy Dancer", to the much mellower yet still as explicit "When We're Dancing Close and Slow" (I know I shouldn't be shocked coming from Prince, but even after countless listens the antepenultimate line on that song still takes me back).

Personally, however, I believe the album's highlight to be "I Feel for You" - perhaps the warmest, most joyous on the whole album, that just never ever fails to make me smile whenever it comes on. There's something to that song - a sunniness - that transcends the rudimentary lyrics and brings a feeling impossible to put into words.

Prince, as we all know, would go on to bigger and better things after his self-titled. What he achieved here, though, is a crucial stepping stone toward greatness; 40 minutes of excellence, of mythos-building funk that, by themselves, could have been more than enough to quell the ambitions of a much-less driven dreamer. It isn't the style the world would come to know, but by now we were getting frighteningly close.

Robert Christgau wrote in reviewing this album: "This boy is going to be a big star, and he deserves it." It was true - and the best was yet to come - but that doesn't mean we didn't groove like hell until we got there.

[tsoi45]

Kraftwerk - Tour de France Soundtracks (2003)

Gonna be honest - until I came across Kraftwerk's Tour de France, the bleep-bloop sounds of German men-machine had never clicked for me. Their music had always sounded like half-outdated predictions of what technology would be like in the year 2000 or the theme to some local evening news program. It still does - but I have now learned to love the robot.

It was my fascination with concept albums that led to me falling head over heels for Tour de France. In fact, I would go so far as to call this a "hyper-concept album", as each and every lyric, song title, every single time signature and instrumental down to the very minute, singular sound effect, contribute to the euphoric feeling of braving through l'Enfer du Nord down through the Champs-Élysées. From the exhalations of an exhausted cyclist in the title track to the pre or post-race medical trials of Elektro Kardiogramm and the even more clinical Vitamin (which to me evoked the advertising of energy / health drinks that surges with the Tour), every piece of imagery here serves a purpose, showcasing the huge business, and the sport, of the Tour.

But it's not just the cycling and the vitamin drinks. As is their trademark, Kraftwerk have always had an obsession with the creeping influence of technology on tradition. Take the lyrics to Etape 2, where in just four robotically-sung verses you get a vision of the shiny futurism that the Tours of the future now encompass:

Information from Radio Tour Transmissions from the television Reporting from a motorbike Camera, video and photo

Gone are the days where cyclists were only seen by French fans and passers-by - the vision of the Tour Kraftwerk presents is ultra-connected, broadcast worldwide with cameras pointing at each pedal, fans connected to the radio, to the television, seeing photos, watching videos - at every moment new updates flooding the screens of millions. It's been incredible to look at footage of the original 1903 Tour de France and, with this album in mind, comparing it to the world of today - to see how in less than a century, the athletic men-machine of our dreams became real.

If this album doesn't make you feel in awe of the hyper-technological age we're living in, let it at least inspire you to go out and go for a pedal. For the robot.

[tsoi45]

[Quickie] Hiroshi Iwai - かみしばい (1973)

This is a wonderful album from a musician whose work seems to have been all but forgotten. With barely any listeners on Spotify, scarce Google results and an English biography that includes only date of birth and death (apparently in a car accident at the turn of the millennium), Hiroshi Iwai's gorgeous banjo playing, coupled with his soft vocals and wholesome melodies make for an experience that is hard to put into words. If it's bizarre to hear something as far-flung as Japanese bluegrass? Yes - but it's also an unexpected delight.

[tsoi45]

Sigur Rós - Ágætis byrjun (1999)

It turns out I've subconsciously hit a theme with these write-ups. None of the albums I've written about so far are in English nor rely on lyrics, instead placing focus on instrumentals, unique vocals and the features of their home language to transmit their message. In their specificity, all these albums touch something universal. That very feeling of universality shines in the gorgeous Ágætis byrjun.

Sigur Rós are not the easiest of bands to get into. Everything about them is otherworldly, from the mix of Icelandic and vocalisations that make up their lyrics, to the meticulous way in which the songs are composed and down to Jónsi's vocals themselves. And yet, speak to any fan of the band and you will hear impassioned stories about how these Icelandic musicians have changed them, what their music symbolises and how it has come to define the good and the bad periods of their lives at various points.

I got to witness this firsthand four days ago, when Sigur Rós played in Portugal for the first time in nine years. From my own teary-eyed point of view I saw people from dozens of countries, of all ages, alone, with family or their partners all converging in a room with one common goal: experiencing the catharsis of a band whose beauty means so many different things to so many different people. Earlier in the evening I spoke to a couple who got married to Starálfur - a highlight of this record - and a teenager a few years younger than me whose fond childhood memories of watching the Jónsi-scored We Bought a Zoo had brought her there. The tales go on and on, some of happiness, some of tragedy. The point remains - Sigur Rós are a generation's soundtrack to the most important memories of their lives.

The beauty of Ágætis byrjun starts with its packaging. The title means "A Good Beginning" in Icelandic, and with the album cover portraying a foetus surrounded by deep blue and emitting a heavenly white aura, images of birth, stasis and bliss might come to mind. To me, a lot of this album is just that - the security and peace of a mother's womb and the idea of leaving the darkness and embracing the strangeness of a new world. The (translated) lyrics to Svefn-g-Englar, topped with the iconic tjú, a sound that Icelandic mothers whisper to soothe their babies, and the "explosion" of birth at the 6 minute mark reflect this perfectly:

(I) am here once more (anew) Inside of you (It is) so nice to be (in here) But I can’t stay for long

I float around in liquid hibernation (in a hotel) connected to the electricity board (and drinking)

Tjú, tjú

But the wait makes me (uneasy) I kick (the fragility) away from me (and I shout) I have to go (help)

Tjú, tjú, tjú, tjú, tjú

I explode out and the peace is gone (Bathed in new light I cry and I cry, disconnected) An unused brain is put on breasts and is fed by sleep Sleepwalkers

Much like in the entirety of pregnancy and birth, quiet and bombast are present and live hand-by-hand throughout Ágætis byrjun. Moments like the final crescendo in Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása or most of Ný batterí are loud and awe-inspiring, offering some of the most angelic, gorgeous highs ever put to music. There is so much to look for here; its texture is pristine, its vocals transcendent, its pacing expertly crafted with even transitions between some of the songs. I've mulled over and over about what my favourite moment in this brilliant hour of music is - and I can't decide for the life of me - but everything about Olsen Olsen, namely its slow progression and celestial flute, always manages to bring me to tears.

Sigur Rós is undoubtedly one of the defining bands of my life, and Ágætis byrjun one of my all-time favourite albums. I have felt joy and sorrow to the sound of Jónsi's voice an unbelievable amount of times throughout the years, and the gratefulness I feel toward them is infinite. When I saw love and empathy flood that concert hall in Lisbon four days ago, I knew I wasn't alone.

[tsoi45]

João Gilberto - João Gilberto (1973)

Over the past few years I've watched as my idea of music slowly dematerialised. When I was 13, all good music meant to me was hard rock - there had to be riffs, there had to be a concreteness to it, vocals and lyrics that made sense, things to hold onto - songs that were just that - songs. Who can blame me?

Then, steadily over the years, as I was introduced to more experimental and foreign acts, my notion of what makes a good song began to change. I'll always find joy in a Beatles track and Dylan's long stories will always move me, but if everything except the bare minimum is stripped away, will a song still hold the same beauty? João Gilberto's (1931-2019) brave and sadly all too forgotten self-titled experiment begs you to ask yourself that very question.

This is a strange, introverted record from one musician who was, by all means, a strange, introverted man. To understand this album, you must realise Gilberto is widely held as one of the most reclusive celebrities who ever lived. His feats may have included co-founding Bossa Nova, one of Brasil's signature genres, and working on what is one of the most universally beloved albums of all time, 1963's Getz/Gilberto and yet on his end was nearly always... silence. Profoundly solitary and perfectionist with a bad case of stage-fright, Gilberto never basked in the glory of knowing he profoundly changed his country's musical identity. By the end of his very accomplished life he hardly ever left his apartment in Rio.

So, much like his life, this album is quiet, understated, soft-spoken and, above all, an entirely mesmerising experiment. It's as if you're sitting there watching him strum along with his guitar in the quietude of a Brazilian night, sometimes mumbling lyrics he remembers to his own unique rhythm, sometimes improvising if nothing comes to mind.

The first track, Águas de Março, is a staple of Brazilian music. You've probably heard Jobim and Regina delightful rendition of it, a warm, fun and flirtatious duet, or maybe you've heard Art Garfunkel's controversial cover in English. Gilberto's version, however, has a staggeringly different atmosphere to both of these. Gone are the pleasant tempos of Jobim and synths of Garfunkel's. This is a hurried, minimal, unfamiliar and, again, desolate track whose colder and more discreet vibe contrasts in a striking manner with Gilberto's warm voice. It establishes right away that this is no typical Bossa Nova, MPB or Samba record - this is Gilberto at his rawest, most intimate and genuine. Other standouts include the gorgeous Avarandado, Falsa Baiana and É Preciso Perdoar.

But Gilberto's magnum opus, the thing that solidified him as one of the most brilliant musicians I have ever known, comes second on the album: the confounding Undiú. It's hard for me to find words for a song that itself only uses one, so I won't try. Just allow yourself to not pay attention to anything else for those six minutes.

Notice every minor detail there, the mild fluctuations in his voice, his gentle lull. Don't take the sparseness of this record as a fault - delve into its beauty - and in that moment of trance you will understand João Gilberto.

[tsoi45]

Группа крови (Blood Type) - Кино (1985)

It's unbelievably hard for me to express my love and passion for things like cinema, music or literature. If I like an album to the point of feeling the need to tell someone about it, then that is exactly the type of thing that leaves me speechless. This record is just that.

Кино (Kino - 'Cinema' in Russian) are quintessential Russian music gods. These guys, led by the legendary Viktor Tsoi (1962-1990), came at a time of profound change for the Soviet Union - the era of Gorbachev, of Glasnost, Perestroika, of unfolding empires and disillusioned dreams. Much like other bands who revolutionised their country's music scene, and especially due to them being at the right place at the right time, their music came to define a Soviet youth of uncertainty, whose world was broadening immensely just as it crumbled around itself. The things they had known and taken for granted all their lives were now being questioned, their nation barrelling toward doom. No other band, from where I stand, captures the complexity of changing times quite like Kino.

Bombastic, joyful, insecure, melancholic, exhausted and hopeful. These emotions coexist not only in Tsoi's vocals and lyrics about the frustration, routine and quiet rebellion of life in the USSR but are the summation of the crossroads of history that him and millions of young Soviet people found themselves in in 1988. To this day they are widely beloved, and it is beautiful to think that lyrics and melodies written in a setting so different from ours today still soothe those who seek peace and solace in Tsoi's music.

Nearly all, if not all the tracks in this record were massive hits at the time of its release. The title track, first on the album, is still frequently named one of the greatest tracks in Russian music across several lists. When Metallica came to Russia in 2019, they played Группа крови in honor of Tsoi, whose death in a car crash had happened almost twenty-nine years to the day of their concert - and it was the most applauded song of the entire set that night.

My favourite track, though, is Бошетунмай - an unexpectedly reggae song whose title either means nothing or was just never explained by Tsoi. It resembles nothing else in their discography, a track where monotone vocals and reflective lyrics collide against the aggressively upbeat attitude of the instrumental. The lyrics, like much of the band's discography, don't openly refer to specifics about Soviet life while very much hinting at the state of affairs of the era. All of these things form something almost surreal, a manifestation of the times that is as beautiful as it is moving.

He who left his home at fifteen Will hardly understand a private high school student He who’s got a good schedule for his life Will hardly be thinking about anything else

We drink our tea in old apartments We wait for the summer in old apartments, In old apartments where there is electricity, Gas, telephone, hot water, radio, parquet, Bathroom, a brick building, One family, two families, three families, (No ground or top floor proposals!) Close to the metro, center. Everybody says we’re together Everybody says but very few know where we have to gather And an unusual smoke creeps out of our chimneys Halt! Danger! Brainwork! Mmm, Boshetunmai! (Translation: @queensboro)

I've said this before but it is worth mentioning again - Группа Крови is one of those records that comes once in a lifetime. It grabbed the zeitgeist of its time and froze it forever, opening the window to a youth that screamed then and still screams to this day: "Цой жив!"