LATEST ADDITIONS

When I recollect the soundtrack to my acid-tinged summer of 1967, several LPs stand out: The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's you-know-what, The Rolling Stones' Their Satanic Majesties, Richie Havens's Mixed Bag, and Dennis Brain's equally famed recording of the Mozart Horn Concertos, with the Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by Herbert von Karajan. Though all of them sounded potent and execrable, in equal parts, through our starving–ex-student record players, neither the Mozart's monophonic provenance nor the too-distant sound of Brain's horn could diminish the joy it brought me...

How wonderful it is to revisit these tuneful, often jolly concertos played by a superb horn virtuoso, Alec Frank-Gemill, backed by the Swedish Chamber Orchestra conducted by one of the world's most distinguished period-practice authorities, Nicholas McGegan.

In addition to resetting that bit of conventional wisdom, Lund's study may have uncovered an important contributor to the feeling of envelopment so many audiophiles crave, itself a profound source of pleasure beyond the music itself. As I have often said, and probably written once or twice, listening to a good hi-fi system is like getting a massage.

Arriving in Japan from the United States is like being turned upside down. This condition lasts for much of the first week. When I visited in November, the time difference between Tokyo and New York was 14 hours. "The floating world" is a term for the pleasure-addled urban culture of Edo-period Japan, but it's also an apt description for the twilit and not-entirely-unpleasant weirdness of first arriving in Tokyo. Everything seems slightly unreal.

I'd come to Japan for several reasons, one of which was simply to spend more time in what for me is the most enjoyable place on the planet. Another was to explore the country's distinctive listening spaces, which I've been thinking and occasionally writing about over the past few years. During that time, listening bars and cafés from Boulder to Sydney have been popping up like mushrooms after a rainstorm, and for many of these new venues, Japan's jazz kissas (or kissaten in the Japanese plural) are both the model and spiritual mothership.

If there's one word that best describes the sound of the Boston-bred alt-rock quartet known as Pixies, it has to be "dynamics." It's a musical milieu Pixies have deftly presented for 37 years and counting, right from the outset of the sinister janglefest known as "Caribou," the opening track on their inaugural September 1987 EP on 4AD, Come On Pilgrim.

From there, short, sanguine, sweet, succinctly titled songs like "Debaser," "Velouria," "Monkey Gone to Heaven," "Gigantic," "Here Comes Your Man," "Gouge Away," and "Where Is My Mind?" have all served to cement the bedrock of Pixies' planet of sound. Chief Pixies songwriter and vocalist/guitarist Black Francis—born Charles Thompson—recently described it in an interview for Stereophile as this: "Let's be quiet. Now, let's be loud. Let's be whispering. Now, let's be explosive." That's a precise four-sentence descriptor not only of their entire prior CV but also of Pixies' latest, and ninth studio album, the forebodingly titled The Night the Zombies Came, which was released by BMG in October 2024.