{"title":"Paradise Of Bachelors","description":"","products":[{"product_id":"michael-chapman-50","title":"Michael Chapman '50'","description":"A master guitarist and songwriter  - ¦ The godfather of experimental rock guitar' \u003cstrong\u003eMOJO\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'A world-class songwriter. Terrifically unpredictable  - ¦ beyond any genre tag' \u003cstrong\u003ePitchfork\u003c\/strong\u003e. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter five decades of recording and touring, veteran British songwriter and guitar sage Michael Chapman has finally made what he calls his \"American record,\" and the aptly titled 50 now stands as his late career masterwork, a moving legacy statement by a legend. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBacked by a collaborative group of friends and acolytes - \u003cstrong\u003eSteve Gunn\u003c\/strong\u003e (who also produced), \u003cstrong\u003eNathan Bowles\u003c\/strong\u003e (Pelt, Black Twig Pickers), \u003cstrong\u003eJames Elkington\u003c\/strong\u003e (Jeff Tweedy, Richard Thompson), \u003cstrong\u003eJason Meagher\u003c\/strong\u003e (No-Neck Blues Band), \u003cstrong\u003eJimy SeiTang\u003c\/strong\u003e (Rhyton), and fellow UK songwriting luminary \u003cstrong\u003eBridget St John\u003c\/strong\u003e - Chapman tears into both bold renderings of new songs and radical reinterpretations of material from his revered catalog, the crack band adeptly scaling the same rarefied sonic heights of classic Harvest albums like Fully Qualified Survivor, guided by a true survivor's instinct, wit, and wisdom. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe result is a sublime chiaroscuro self-portrait, more shadow than light, as an invigorated Chapman wrestles with weighty themes of t ravel, memory, mortality, and redemption, his world-weary whispers assuming the incandescent power of prophecy. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe deluxe LP package includes tip-on jacket, printed inner sleeve, lyrics, and download card with two bonus tracks; the CD features a gatefold jacket, lyrics, and two non-LP bonus tracks. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe album includes both radical reinterpretations of obscure material from Michael's catalog as well as three new compositions: 'Sometimes You Just Drive,' 'Money Trouble,' and 'Rosh Pina.' A longstanding but freshly urgent preoccupation with (as Michael sings in a beloved early tune) 'time past and time passing' is evident straightaway, from the album title and the first line of the first song through the final lyric of the record. Never before in his storied career has Chapman gazed so steadily into the abyss of time lost and regained; never before has he engaged so intimately with his legacy and the changing meanings of his own music over time. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat he manages to do so without succumbing to nostalgia or sentimentality bears testament to the steely fortitude of his ruminative, tough-minded songs, which survey both inscape and landscape with the same stoical detachment. 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Whether articulating words or intoning phonemes, her powerful, lucent voice elevates the proceedings to a devotional plane whenever it emerges from the saturated field of sound. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eTracklisting:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide A:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1. Feeding on the Flats\u003cbr\u003e2. Matchstick Grip\u003cbr\u003e3. A Palinopsic Wind\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRIYL: Popul Vuh, Henry Flynt, Arthur Russell, CAN, La Düsseldorf, Tony Conrad \u0026amp; Faust, Broadcast, Terry Riley \u0026amp; Alice Coltrane - ¦ \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide B:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e4. Zeitgebers\u003cbr\u003e5. Lanterns on the Beach\u003cbr\u003e6. Vermillion Pink\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide C:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e7. Halfway to the Zenith\u003cbr\u003e8. Oculate Beings\u003cbr\u003e9. 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Recorded in rural West Wales, True North unflinchingly surveys home and horizon, traveling from the Bahamas to Texas to the Leeds of Chapman's childhood, haunted by the mirages of memory and intimations of mortality. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJoining him on this introspective journey is a cast of old friends and new disciples: once again \u003cstrong\u003eSteve Gunn\u003c\/strong\u003e produces and plays guitar, and fellow UK song writing hero \u003cstrong\u003eBridget St John\u003c\/strong\u003e sings, collaborating with cellist \u003cstrong\u003eSarah Smout\u003c\/strong\u003e and legendary pedal steel player BJ Cole, who has accompanied everyone from \u003cstrong\u003eJohn Cale\u003c\/strong\u003e to \u003cstrong\u003eScott Walker\u003c\/strong\u003e, \u003cstrong\u003eElton John\u003c\/strong\u003e to \u003cstrong\u003eTerry Allen\u003c\/strong\u003e, \u003cstrong\u003eFelt\u003c\/strong\u003e to \u003cstrong\u003eBjörk\u003c\/strong\u003e. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe album begins with the gnawing regret of 'It's Too Late,' and every song Chapman sings thereafter directly references the passing of time'its blind ruthlessness, its sweet hazy delights in noirish language almost mystical in its terseness and precision. (The two transportive, gorgeous instrumentals, one per side, both have appropriately evocative'though decidedly not Northern'pastoral place names for titles: Eleuthera is an island in the Bahamas where Chapman habitually holidays every winter, and Caddo Lake straddles the border between Texas and Louisiana.) \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis is Chapman at his darkest and most nocturnal, yes, but also his most elegant and subtle, squinting into the black hours with an unseen smile. By the time True North is out in the world, Chapman will be seventy-eight years old and will have released nearly as many records, a staggering achievement. 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The other songs were selected from various obscure corners of Chapman's vast catalogue ('Youth Is Wasted on the Young' was previously recorded with \u003cstrong\u003eThurston Moore\u003c\/strong\u003e and \u003cstrong\u003eJim O'Rourke\u003c\/strong\u003e for a compilation, for example.) In these renderings they receive their definitive treatments, utterly transformed. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'A rich, haunting, collection of forlorn love songs, apocalyptic picaresques, and bewitching instrumentals that marks the latest stage in a remarkable career renaissance  - ¦ by the godfather of new cosmic Americana' \u003cstrong\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e'Beatific. 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A chance encounter and a last-ditch record deal convinced him to make one last album, which he recorded in 1974 at Pathway Studios in London, with “The Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World,” featuring the inventive South African jazz rhythm section of \u003cstrong\u003eLouis Moholo\u003c\/strong\u003e and \u003cstrong\u003eHarry Miller\u003c\/strong\u003e with UK saxophonist \u003cstrong\u003eMike Osborne\u003c\/strong\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This first-ever reissue includes a bonus CD of Milan Live Acoustic 2018, a previously unreleased solo set that represents Cooper’s return, after forty-four years pursuing free improvisation and electronics, to a new, deconstructed approach to singing, steel guitar, and songcraft. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe deluxe LP+CD edition also features a six-panel insert with additional artwork and an essay by the artist about both records. The deluxe 2xCD gatefold edition features an eight-panel version of the same insert. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the wake of his magisterial triptych of early 1970s avant-folk-rock records Trout Steel (1970), Places I Know (1971), and The Machine Gun Co. (1972) the British songwriter, guitarist, and fledgling improviser Mike Cooper retreated to the Costa Tropical of Granada, Spain. With no prospects for touring or recording again, his fiery band the \u003cstrong\u003eMachine Gun Co.\u003c\/strong\u003e had disintegrated. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCooper sets the scene in his liner notes of the first-ever reissue of his unjustly forgotten next album Life and Death in Paradise (1974): No one came running with offers of fame and riches, and we fell apart, and I left the country and headed for the beach, disillusioned and a bit disorientated musically. I went to Almuñécar in Andalusia, a place I had been going since 1969, because a painter friend from Reading, \u003cstrong\u003eRowland Fade\u003c\/strong\u003e who made the collage in the gatefold of my earlier album Trout Steel had moved there in 1968. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was in this synthetic coastal “paradise,” unmoored and adrift, considering retiring from music altogether, that he began tentatively writing new songs. A chance encounter with producer \u003cstrong\u003eTony Hall\u003c\/strong\u003e, who offered Cooper a last-ditch record deal on Hall’s nascent Fresh Air label, convinced him to make one last album with the stipulation that he could assemble what he called “The Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World.” I told Tony that I would do it if I could hire some of my South African jazz musician friends that I had used on my Pye\/Dawn albums and some friends from Reading that I still knew and admired. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI called up \u003cstrong\u003eHarry Miller\u003c\/strong\u003e, \u003cstrong\u003eLouis Moholo\u003c\/strong\u003e, and \u003cstrong\u003eMike Osborne\u003c\/strong\u003e, who were in fact a trio at the time … and several local Reading heroes, including the singer-songwriter \u003cstrong\u003eTerry Clarke\u003c\/strong\u003e. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe result, recorded live with minimal overdubbing at Pathway Studios in London, was Life and Death in Paradise, an utterly singular suite of gloaming glam-rock anthems performed with a spiritual jazz trio comprising the inventive South African jazz rhythm section of Moholo and Miller with UK saxophonist Osborne. Unlike anything else in Cooper’s extensive catalog. Fresh Air fizzled, and Life and Death became Cooper’s final record as a songwriter, having pushed the form as far as he could. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDrifting north from Spain back to the UK, he fell into the scene of the London Musicians Collective (LMC) including \u003cstrong\u003ePaul Burwell\u003c\/strong\u003e, \u003cstrong\u003eDavid Toop\u003c\/strong\u003e, and saxophonist \u003cstrong\u003eLol Coxhill\u003c\/strong\u003e, Cooper’s bandmate in the \u003cstrong\u003eRecedents\u003c\/strong\u003e and fully embraced free improvisation. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was still, however, interested in singing and lyrics, so, influenced by \u003cstrong\u003eTom Phillips\u003c\/strong\u003e, \u003cstrong\u003eWilliam Burroughs\u003c\/strong\u003e, and \u003cstrong\u003eBrion Gysin\u003c\/strong\u003e, he began experimenting with text collage and cut-up techniques, arriving at his own hybrid compositional strategy for improvisatory songs. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe previously unreleased solo set Milan Live Acoustic 2018 represents Cooper’s return, after more than four decades pursuing free improvisation and electronics, to a new, deconstructed approach to singing, lap steel guitar, and songcraft. Presented here together with Life and Death in Paradise, the two records provide fascinating bookends to Mike Cooper’s long, mercurial, and pioneering practice as a songmaker.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eTracklisting:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide A\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e1. Rocket Summer \u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e2. Black Night Crash (including “Horry Rocker Show”) \u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e3. O.M.M. Coda \u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide B\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e4. Suicide De Luxe (including “Rock and Roll Hi Way”) \u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e5. Life and Death in Paradise (including “Through a Veil,” “Beads on a String,” and “Reprise”) \u003cbr data-mce-fragment=\"1\"\u003e6. 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Kosmische correspondences are inevitable and valid, but also somewhat deceptive, given this meditative music’s terrestrial rootedness in the familiar natural world, more in native humus and humidity than in outer space. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFuelled by a vibratory hybrid of acoustic and electronic instrumentation, these four stately longform pieces sound like a UFO slowly sinking into a peat bog (or, as we call it in North Carolina, a pocosin). An instrumental trio comprising Nathan Bowles (solo\/trio, Pelt, Black Twig Pickers) on strings, keys, and percussion; \u003cstrong\u003eJaime Fennelly\u003c\/strong\u003e (Mind Over Mirrors, Peeesseye) on harmoniums, synthesizers, and piano zither; and \u003cstrong\u003eJoe Westerlund\u003c\/strong\u003e (solo, Califone, Sylvan Esso, Jake Xerxes Fussell) on drums, percussion, and metallophones, Setting established its own setting and found its footing in regularly scheduled improvisational sessions outside Westerlund’s home in Durham, North Carolina, beginning in 2021. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe three players began as two, in the context of occasional Bowles and Westerlund percussion duo performances dating back to 2018. Fennelly provided the initial impetus to gather and play together with intentionality and discipline, as well as an harmonic adhesive and thickening agent in the grain and gravity of his harmonium and synthesizer. As always, Bowles’s background as a pianist and drummer informs his approach to banjo, imparting a woodiness, a piney verticality and resinous tang. Westerlund’s training with \u003cstrong\u003eMilford Graves\u003c\/strong\u003e is apparent in his polyrhythmic flow and its correspondences to human circulatory and corporeal rhythms. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey recorded their collective discoveries with engineer Nick Broste in the spring of 2022.The record begins, like the group’s name, and like the language of its unique instrumental interplay, with ambiguous grammar: “We Center,” the first and longest track at thirteen and a half minutes, builds patiently to a percolating climax of tidal heaving, with ceremonial connotations. “Zoetropics,” the shortest piece, follows, offering a more diaphanous counterpoint to the density of its predecessor. The zithery, shivering “A Sun Harp,” its title redolent of \u003cstrong\u003eSun Ra\u003c\/strong\u003e, showcases Westerlund’s unfettered drumming, which skitters restlessly until anchored, at its conclusion, by a minor bass progression. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFinally, “Fog Glossaries” exhales through the maritime and meteorological evocations of its title, distant buoys clanging. Although certainly elements and strategies of so-called ambient and drone musical traditions are invoked and deployed, those diffuse terms feel inadequate to describe everything else happening here: the devotional valences, the minimalist rigor, and even submarine jazz inclinations perceptible beneath the surface. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThroughout this four-movement program, which invites deep listening, it is often difficult to differentiate individual instruments from the massed choir of the group’s unified sonic presence. At times what sound like field recordings cicadas, birds, wind, water splash out of this slow but powerful current, only to be revealed as overtones produced by harmonium, banjo, or cymbals. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSetting’s sound is fundamentally synthetic in the sense of synthesis, not artifice—in a manner remarkable for its almost entirely acoustic arsenal of instrumentation, often registering as the product of a single alien technology, perhaps the rainbow lights of that bog-marooned UFO. (“Setting,” of course, can also refer to a machine’s variable operational amplitude its temperature, volume, speed, elevation, etc.) Sometimes the most seemingly extraterrestrial lifeforms are in fact our unfamiliar earthbound neighbors. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDespite the destruction of many such habitats, the coastal plains of eastern, tidewater North Carolina is home to more pocosins freshwater, evergreen wetlands with deep, acidic, sandy, peat soils than anywhere else in the world. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese threatened peat-bog ecosystems are the only native environment to sustain the carnivorous Venus flytrap, among other oddities. The sonic ecosystem of Setting similarly deep, acidic, and boggy contains equivalent wonders, savage and delicate, for listeners willing to take the time to sink. \u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eTracklisting: \u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide A\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1. We Center\u003cbr\u003e2. Zoetropics\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide B\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1. A Sun Harp\u003cbr\u003e2. 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Tunes suddenly downshift from anthemic rallies into different, loping tempos (“Everybody I Know,” shivering with tremolo), and others seem to elide what once may have been two or even three separate ideas for songs (“You’ve Been Doing Fine,” with its elegantly foliated guitars). Happily, with the increased compositional complexity, the melodies don’t suffer but rather proliferate in counterpoint. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo songs, including the title track, unfold to a full seven minutes, while miraculously managing to retain a sense of effortless spontaneity. Unlike so many of us, Polizze is not in a hurry. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith the album’s new emphasis on acoustic fingerpicking, there are traces of friends and fellow Delaware County denizens Kurt Vile and Steve Gunn, though only in the sense of shared artistic ancestry, Delco echoes of British fingerstyle forebears like Bert Jansch and Wizz Jones. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe arcing, celestial jangle of “It Goes Without Saying” and the hushed, spooky insularity of “Four Celestions”—an ode to the classic British brand of electric guitar speakers, though ironically there is no electric guitar on this album—recall Rain Parade or Opal. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut ultimately these recordings dazzle with Polizze’s own easy, lapidary style, characterized by careful patience, studied nonchalance, and quiet yearning, reaching, always reaching for any, any, any, anything. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eTracklisting:\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cstrong\u003eSide A\u003c\/strong\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1. 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It was, the fledgling artist patiently explained to his bemused parents, a vampire trap. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHalf a century later, Blood Sucking Maniacs, the record by the eponymous Allen family band, resembles, in its own manner—that is, unwieldy and convoluted, ardent and hammy, slightly deranged—a vampire trap in both construction and intent. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA bricolage of potent symbols and spare parts, wary of the eternal, at once affectionate and defensive, vulnerable and dangerous, fiercely protective of past and future wounds. In other words, a family—or a mechanism for one specific family to write (and interpret) itself. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese maniacs, ten kin, span five generations and 121 years. In order of descending seniority: Pauline Allen, Terry’s hellraising, barrelhouse piano-playing mother, who died in 1984 but joins the party through a transmission from beyond the grave; Jo Harvey and Terry, the matriarch and patriarch, who, separately and together, inhabit myriad artistic endeavors; Bukka, their firstborn, an accomplished songwriter and studio and touring musician; Bale, their younger son, an equally accomplished visual artist, gallerist, and drummer; their three grandsons, Sled (a drummer, entrepreneur, and fisherman; see the “some like to fish” lyric in theme song “Blood Sucking Maniacs”) and Calder (another songwriter, musician, and fisherman), Bale’s two boys, and Bukka’s son Kru (a piano-playing football star); their granddaughter-in-law Sophie (music industry executive and mother), and finally, Sled and Sophie’s baby boy, Lucky Marlo, Terry and Jo Harvey’s first great-grandchild, whose fetal heartbeat opens and closes the record with the actual (ultra)sound of coursing Allen blood. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTerry has designated four additional official Maniacs, surrogate family members adopted into the Allen family fold: Richard Bowden and Lloyd Maines (credited as the “Blood Brothers”), the benevolent bedrock of the Panhandle Mystery Band since the first day of recording Lubbock (on everything) in the summer of 1978, and real-life brothers Charlie Sexton and Will Sexton (the “Bastard Children”), who, between them, have collaborated with the Allens and just about anybody else you can imagine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThough their bloodlines are, genetically speaking, different, these maniacs have drunk deeply of Allen blood, and their sympathetic playing elevates these recordings.\u003c\/p\u003e\n\u003cp\u003eThe songs collected herein are miscellaneous and multiplex, comprising heartrending ballads and arch in-jokes on a spectrum from sublime to unabashedly sentimental, mordant to doting. 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