from Maledictus Sound (1968)

Before Visitors, there was Maledictus Sound, among the many other projects Jean-Pierre Massiera came up with, but while they are all nominally different, so far I have found them all to be frustratingly the same, starting with a template of more or less novelty stock music and then piling on some hired instrumental guns, extraneous tapes, and all sound effects available in the studio (so maybe John Zorn owed him a little something during his Tex Avery moods...). The most frustrating part of it though, is when he would occasionally leave a small gem behind, suggesting he could actually bring it should he want to; but he didn't feel like it, so screw you. 

In this case, it's a bonus track from 1973 which, for some aggravating reason, only got to see the light of day in a reissue of this album, and whose title, "L'étrange Monsieur Whinster", would double as the album title for another project, Horrific Child, but where that track or any other with that name is nowhere to be found, much less any one better than this one (or even close to it). 

Nominal mindf#$%ery aside, it really is a remarkable collage, always changing gears but with a sense of flow, that's unexpected, exciting and, for once, a bit creepy (unlike the cartoon monsters on the original cover of the album); and the fact that something like that remained locked away as if it were a dirty secret, while all the throwaway stuff he could muster got sent to the stores is just grrrrr. Sure, it can also spur some hope that there might be a lost project still to unearth, where Massiera took his music a tad more seriously and consistently delivered the goods; but at this point I assume that, just like those weathered comedians, whose whole mental make-up gets conditioned by years of appearing in talk-shows, there was simply no way no one could ever get him to stop doing shtick for much more than 5 minutes.

from Visitors (1974)

I have very little tolerance for gleefully trashy aesthetics, so Jean-Pierre Massiera, french king of musical exploitation and one-off artistic aliases (this being one of them), has no real hold on me. Still, I will admit that his counterfeit sound profile should be understood and discussed as a bona fide aesthetic option, and not simply as an artistic cop-out by someone who can't do any better; if nothing else, because the title track here is much better than the rest of this proto-Z-movie soundtrack, filled with 'futuristic' sounds, 'alien' voices, and ghoulish choirs chewing the cardboard sci-fi scenery. On the other hand, and as you can surely surmise from that description, for those times when eliciting condescending derision is one of the main sources of enjoyment you can get out of a work of 'art', this might be right up your alley. Who knows, it may even sync up nicely with that copy of Plan Nine From Outer Space.

from Panta Rhei - Bartok (1976-77)

As is well known, adaptations of classical pieces for rock instruments are one of the things that made prog a much maligned genre, and that, like any snap judgement, can be partly right, in what concerns those who engaged in such generally contemptible practices (when (and how) they did: I'd certainly never throw Gentle Giant's mostly stellar discography overboard on account of a warped quote of Liszt's Liebestraum No. 3 on "Nothing at all" (which could even be heard as a deconstructionist take on romantic aesthetics and subject matters) - I'm not even dismissing that otherwise fine song because of it), but it can also be very wrong in what concerns those who were actually thinking progressively about music, instead of simply doing electrical versions of more or less recognizable musical pages from the western canon. Regrettably, that is what these ELPesque adaptations of Béla Bartók pieces essentially do; but that doesn't mean I would go as far as Bartók's heirs have, in determining that this shouldn't even be released. In fact, and taking into account that these guys have already been punished enough for their hubris, I might be even willing to concede that the initial "Quarts" may bring some nuance to such a critical view, by suggesting that, at least in short syncopated bursts, even rehashed old formulas can for a brief moment bring a spring to your step.

from Harald Grosskopf - Synthesist (1980)

For a record of electronic music released in 1980, called Synthesist, and with the artist looking like a chromed nerd on the cover (possibly also doing the robot on his live shows), this could certainly be worse; but that's not exactly enough. The album still bears some traces of Grosskopf's respectable resume, having played with quite a few krautrock household names: the more spacey tracks in particular ("B. Aldrian" and "Trauma") can pleasantly recall Ashra's m.o. on the best parts of New Age of Earth, although in a more rushed way (it is 1980 after all: time to wake up, snort a line, grab your briefcase, get a cappuccino on the way, and go to the office). 

Sadly, the tracks relying more heavily on repetitive rhythms and sequencer patterns may also recall Ashra's m.o. on the worst parts of New Age of Earth - only without Manuel Göttsching's guitar inventions to give it some form of human touch, which is why a good chunk of this ends up feeling a bit like music on autopilot. Now, I'm sure that, in AI times, saying that will quickly stop being the burn I still think it is, as HAL 9000 2.0 fixes the whole of existence and makes life all smooth-sailing from here on out (whether you like it or not), but, call me old-fashioned, as long as I get the choice, and even if solely as a safeguard, I do still prefer my pilots to at least stay awake for the duration of the flight.

from Paolo Tofani - Indicazioni (1977)

Oh dear, it's Cramps' avantgarde series, the 1970's italian place for experimental musicians (italian and otherwise) to unleash their most experimental instincts; this time around, the guitarist extraordinaire from Area, in a solo effort where, just as in the solo efforts his colleagues Demetrio Stratos and Patrizio Fariselli recorded for the same label, it would be ill-advised to expect to find much semblance of what that revolutionary powerhouse (in every possible sense) usually brought to the table as a collective. 

As such, like the bulk of these Cramps records, this one is a bit of a tough bone to pick, and while I have nothing against thought-provoking music, I do enjoy being thrown a meatier snack once in a while to reward my attention - same reason why physics professors feel the need to crack a joke about two atoms walking into a bar halfway through their lectures on quantum mechanics. 

That's sort of what Tofani does on "Tung Tze Mao", sandwiching his electronic feedback experiments between some lovely liquid guitar harmonies (that I'm sure hold their place in Jim O'Rourke's boundless echoic memory; what they might have to do with the "great helmsman", though, is beyond me), but that's about your only treat for the day. 

Beyond that, apart from a choppy vocal piece, it's an all straight lecture on the art of the avantgarde guitar. It may very well be of theoretical interest, and mixes in some sound experiments that can make you occasionally go 'cool'; but if you're easily distracted like me, there's also a good chance that, from time to time, you'll find yourself drawn to other pressing matters, like folding paper airplanes or sticking gum underneath the desk.