The very first Now That’s What I Call Music compilation, issued in the UK in November 1983, has been reissued a number of times but the second volume, which followed four months after the first in March 84, is to be released on CD for the first time in April. Now That’s What I Call Music 2 has long considered to be one of the best ‘NOWs’ (it helps that it was issued in early ’84, the best year in pop) and it effortlessly combines some contributions from relative veterans (Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, Slade, Queen) with brilliant ‘new’ pop from the likes of Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Eurythmics, Nik Kershaw, Thompson Twins, Nena and Cyndi Lauper.
Jethro Tull was very much a blues band on their debut album, vaguely reminiscent of the Graham Bond Organization only more cohesive, and with greater commercial sense. The revelations about the group's roots on This Was – which was recorded during the summer of 1968 – can be astonishing, even 30 years after the fact. Original lead guitarist Mick Abrahams contributed to the songwriting and the singing, and his presence as a serious bluesman is felt throughout, often for the better: "Some Day the Sun Won't Shine for You," an Ian Anderson original that could just as easily be credited to Big Bill Broonzy or Robert Johnson; "Cat's Squirrel," Abrahams' big showcase, where he ventures into Eric Clapton territory; and "It's Breaking Me Up," which also features some pretty hot guitar from Abrahams.
The Rumble Man was recorded and filmed during Link Wray's UK tour of March ’96, the CD features Link rockin' his leathers off live, while the DVD is a mix of live footage and documentary, featuring an extensive interview with the man himself. What you now hold in your hand is a piece of Rock 'n' Roll history. In his own words and music you are about to witness the greatest guitar player this planet has ever seen. So sit back, hit that volume control to distortion and listen to The Rumble Man.
The pairing of Francis Poulenc and Reynaldo Hahn on this album may seem contrived merely because of biographical parallels between the two men, for their musical approaches and styles are quite different, if not at odds. Poulenc's neo-Classical, self-conscious parodies in the Sinfonietta and the dry, sarcastic wit of the Aubade are a world away from Hahn's pretty, even precious, Romanticism, which is unabashedly on display in La bal de Béatrice d'Este. However, the discerning listener may find in Poulenc streaks of Hahn's pensiveness and languor, which his comic antics never completely conceal; there is in Hahn a buoyant, diatonic tunefulness that is readily found in Poulenc. (Interestingly, some of Poulenc's adaptations of Renaissance music bear a remarkable similarity to Hahn's antique pastiches in this ballet.) Furthermore, their fondness for unusual chamber combinations is striking, and the transition from the Aubade to La bal de Béatrice d'Este is not at all jarring because they both share the charm and ambience of the salon orchestra.