Sumac

It was a musical cocktail born in a marketing meeting: Two parts easy listening, one part jazz, a healthy dollop of conga drums, a sprinkling of bird calls, and a pinch of textless choir. Serve garnished with an alluring woman on the album jacket for best results. Liberty Records co-founder Si Waronker called it Exotica; the soundtrack for a mythical air conditioned Eden, packaged for mid-century, tiki torch-wielding armchair safariers. In the five years after Exotica—Martin Denny’s 1957 landmark Liberty debut—arrived, hundreds of other ethnographic forgeries washed up in record racks all over the U.S., bearing titles like Sophisticated Savage, Sacred Idol, Chant of the Jungle, Polynesian Paradise, Exotic Paradise, Taboo, Primitiva, Forbidden Island, Afrodesia, Hypnotique, Percussion Exotique, and a barrel’s worth of other portmanteaus. “All of those ica and itiva endings I came up with because I thought I was being cute,” Waronker said. “And I don’t know why, but nobody got wise.”

It was a musical cocktail born in a marketing meeting: Two parts easy listening, one part jazz, a healthy dollop of conga drums, a sprinkling of bird calls, and a pinch of textless choir. Serve garnished with an alluring woman on the album jacket for best results. Liberty Records co-founder Si Waronker called it Exotica; the soundtrack for a mythical air conditioned Eden, packaged for mid-century, tiki torch-wielding armchair safariers. In the five years after Exotica—Martin Denny’s 1957 landmark Liberty debut—arrived, hundreds of other ethnographic forgeries washed up in record racks all over the U.S., bearing titles like Sophisticated Savage, Sacred Idol, Chant of the Jungle, Polynesian Paradise, Exotic Paradise, Taboo, Primitiva, Forbidden Island, Afrodesia, Hypnotique, Percussion Exotique, and a barrel’s worth of other portmanteaus. “All of those ica and itiva endings I came up with because I thought I was being cute,” Waronker said. “And I don’t know why, but nobody got wise.”

It was a musical cocktail born in a marketing meeting: Two parts easy listening, one part jazz, a healthy dollop of conga drums, a sprinkling of bird calls, and a pinch of textless choir. Serve garnished with an alluring woman on the album jacket for best results. Liberty Records co-founder Si Waronker called it Exotica; the soundtrack for a mythical air conditioned Eden, packaged for mid-century, tiki torch-wielding armchair safariers. In the five years after Exotica—Martin Denny’s 1957 landmark Liberty debut—arrived, hundreds of other ethnographic forgeries washed up in record racks all over the U.S., bearing titles like Sophisticated Savage, Sacred Idol, Chant of the Jungle, Polynesian Paradise, Exotic Paradise, Taboo, Primitiva, Forbidden Island, Afrodesia, Hypnotique, Percussion Exotique, and a barrel’s worth of other portmanteaus. “All of those ica and itiva endings I came up with because I thought I was being cute,” Waronker said. “And I don’t know why, but nobody got wise.”

TAPIR est un quartet qui développe un univers musical singulier à la croisée du jazz, des musiques traditionnelles et de l’improvisation. Mené par des musiciens issus d’univers musicaux différents, ce projet a l’ambition de proposer une voix originale qui interroge les rapports entre écriture et improvisation, savant et populaire, tradition et modernité. Inspirées d’une Méditerranée largement imaginaire, les compositions font la part belle aux recherches modales et aux rythmes asymétriques qui deviennent le terrain de jeu des improvisateurs. Le quartet acoustique saxophones/piano/zarb/contrebasse laisse parfois la place à un univers plus électrique marqué par les textures du Fender rhodes et le groove puissant de la basse électrique alliée à la batterie.

1998 soundtrack of the Coen Brothers masterpiece ft Bob Dylan, Yma Sumac, Captain Beefheart, Townes Van Zandt…
One of the most inspired cobbled-together-from-a-stack-of-records soundtrack albums since Pulp Fiction, The Big Lebowski matches the goofily ramshackle spirit of the Dude, the hero of its celluloid companion. While offering Bob Dylan's luv-addled "Man in Me" together with the Gipsy Kings' redefinitive "Hotel California" and the psychedelic-era Kenny Rogers nugget "Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In)," Lebowski also gives longer play to some cuts barely sampled in the film, including Elvis Costello's "My Mood Swings." Whether taken as a Coen brothers mix tape, a one-album CD carousel, or an apropos souvenir of one wiggy flick, this is a smart, eclectic buy. –Rickey Wright

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