How To Buy David Sylvian: A Guest Post & Weekend Mix By Noam Sane

 

 

It was late spring 1981 and I was looking to score from a cut-out bin at some department store, one of those little victories for money-challenged dudes enmeshed in multi-year post-kicked- out-of-college lulls. In amongst the usual disco-hangover dreck and sketchy rock flotsam, there sat a plain white album cover: a fuzzy headshot, a person of indeterminate gender, sporting the poufy hair and oversized eyeglasses of the time, and who, one of the band later noted, “looked like a secretary.” It was David Sylvian, singer and chief songwriter of the band spelled out in vertical block letters to his left: Japan.

Never heard of them, but the weird cover sold me. First listen revealed a knotty cacophony of whinging synths, bellicose percussion, weird snaky bass lines, and a crooner in the Bowie/Ferry mode offering oblique tales of travel and worry and instant photography. It was dense, thorny, and deeply difficult to take in right away. Turned out the record was a US-only mishmash of their last, and best, two albums, neither of which had sold bupkis stateside but were much admired elsewhere. Put off at first, I soon found myself playing it every day.

It was also in 1981 that, on the heels of the strange and wonderful Tin Drum, their commercial and creative peak, Japan committed hari-kari. The usual solo careers ensued. Sylvian and drummer Steve Jannsen continued to collude. Fearlessly inventive bassist Mick Karn took on a number of solo and collaborative projects, and synth wiz Richard Barbieri kept busy, with both Sylvian and Jannsen and the band Porcupine Tree.

It’s obvious now that Sylvian was the chief creative engine for Japan. He has released a half-dozen progressively challenging records since 1984, and any number of one-off singles, collaborations, guest spots, and compilations. There are also numerous ambient recordings; beautifully done but not something I’m intellectually equipped/patient enough to evaluate. 

The Japan era has been ably covered here by Buzz Baby Jesus. Here’s the link:

https://burnwoodtonite.blogspot.com/search?q=japan

And here, my recommendations for a David Sylvian starter playlist:

Scent of Magnolia - This is the first cut on Everything and Nothing, a 2000 double-CD compilation of both old and new cuts that I’d recommend as an entry point. A dreamy mid-tempo sort-of-road song, it’s exquisitely produced, and sports a remarkable string-laden bridge that builds to a dramatic soaring dissonance before it dissolves into the last verse. Even better with headphones. 

Heartbeat - Sylvian and singer Ingrid Chavez were occasional collaborators (and were married for a time.) She chimes in on this atmospheric slow jam Sakamoto co-write. The percussive setting is sublime as usual. There’s also an absolutely perfect guitar solo from Bill Frisell. Another cut from Everything and Nothing.

Red Guitar - First cut on the solo debut, 1984’s Brilliant Trees. A semi-hit in the UK, this is straight-up midtempo pop rock, buoyed by Ryuichi Sakamoto’s fractured piano solo. The way the major-key verse slinks into the minor-key chorus; this is high-class ear candy. And listen to Jannsen’s deftly sympathetic percussion, singular and inventive but utterly supportive; he’s a Ringo!

*Steve Jannsen is David Sylvian’s brother. They have assumed names. Careful listening will reveal Jannsen as a truly exceptional percussionist. Moving along:

Backwaters - Also on Trees. For the most part, Sylvian’s lyrics ponder the universal question: What the Fuck am I Doing? In this case, the self-examination floats uncertainly over a  repetitive, gurgling synthesizer line, peppered with dictaphone.

Dictaphone? Yes, the ancient dictation device that records its “samples” on mini-cassette, as

played/manipulated by Holger Czukay of Can. It’s all garbled voices and warped, distant buzzing and singing, odd scratchy tones, like broadcasts from another dimension. It works.

Taking the Veil - From “Gone to Earth,” the second solo album, 1986. Your tolerance for Frippery may be tested on this album; the crafty guitarist generously adorns Sylvian’s warped pop on the first half, and then a batch of short, compelling ambient instrumentals on the second. This sweet-but-not-sugary set opener offers a warmly funky milieu and vivid imagery, and Fripp’s playing is sublime. 

Orpheus - From solo record #3, 1987’s Secrets of the Beehive. A more traditional singer -songwriter album and one of his better selling efforts, largely acoustic, warmly produced yet autumnal in feel. This song is about struggling with writer’s block, and the wait for inspiration. In this context, the false ending is pretty funny. 

God Man - A muscular rant from Dead Bees on a Cake,1999, this is a lyrically impressionistic one-chord number with dank production that both complements and subverts its slow funk mise en scène. Some sharp acoustic playing by Marc Ribot and strangled electric guitar from Sylvian. Are those real vibes? What is Sunstate? Can I have a slice of cake, without so many bees on it? Mysteries abound here.

Wanderlust - A beautiful and soulful ballad. The musical setting is sumptous; Ged Lynch’s drums seem to be mic’d from across the room as he ticks away on his ride cymbal, supporting a beguiling blend of B3 organ and Rhodes piano, and bracing a reservedly emotional Sylvian vocal. It ends too soon after two verses and a bridge that suggests George Harrison. Also from Dead Bees. 

Pop Song - When he’s not trying to determine What the Fuck He’s Doing, Sylvian can be dryly funny. The is a factory floor-worker complaint about the radio pap he was forced to hear on the job:. "It was loud…irritated me so.” The beat is mechanistic and unrelenting as he regurgitates pop lyric contrivances, painting “pictures of bright tomorrows” even as “every road begins and ends with you.” Taking the piss, as they say, funny and sad and ever-pertinent. Found on Everything and Nothing.

Linoleum - Tweaker was Chris Vrenna, a Chicagoan who moved from synth pop to an almost heavy metal thing when he started scoring video games (Doom 3!). This Sylvian guest spot from their Attraction to All Things Uncertain album is pounding loud/quiet/loud rock and it seems he was born to do it. A great cut, turn it up!

Blackwater You know what song I hate? “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” Why, Noam? Well, it’s tuneless and stupid and badly sung, sure. But the synth patch. It’s like, stored patch 0001, the first thing you hear when you plug in your new DX7. Seriously, it’s take-a-hostage for me 30 seconds into it. You will never hear that crap on a Sylvian record. You’ll find bespoke tones meticulously curated to be of the recording, rather than simply on it. For example, from 1991’s Rain Tree Crow album, this sonically beautiful and dreamy float down the river. And Jannsen’s brushwork here…damn. 

Extra points for the lyric, “Summer came and went, it passed us over…” Yup, every damn year.

  

Late Night Shopping -  2003’s Blemish is essentially a divorce album, written and recorded alone after he split from Chavez. It’s grim, sometimes lacerating, occasionally quite funny (dig the shopping cart solo), and finally accepting and hopeful. On this song, the handclaps - golf claps? - seem to comment sarcastically as our hero ponders his relevance in light of betrayal. He strikes me as an analog to the stooge narrating Steely Dan’s “My Rival,” tangled up, pissed off, and hopelessly ineffective.

Wonderful World - This is from 2005’s Snow Borne Sorrow, by a side project called Nine Horses. Personnel are Sylvian, Jansen, Sakamoto, Burnt Friedman, and a cast of musical ringers, including Swedish singer-songwriter Stina Nordenstam, who stands out in a  gorgeous, honestly affecting 9/11 meditation.

Check him out, and thanks for reading.

Noam Sane

TRACKLIST:
The Scent Of Magnolia (edit)
Heartbeat (Tainai Kaiki II)
Red Guitar
Backwaters
Taking The Veil
Orpheus
God Man
Wanderlust
Pop Song
Linoleum
Blackwater
Late Night Shopping
Wonderful World

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