Time Capsule Organic Grooves 5 Items

The kaleidoscopic psychedelia of 1970s Japan captured a fragile and fertile moment as the country sought its future in funk grooves, heavy reverb and lyrical hallucinations. The follow-up compilation to Time Capsule’s Nippon Acid Folk, Nippon Psychedelic Soul takes myriad pathways into the tripped-out undergrowth of 1970s Japan. Finding their feet at home and looking for inspiration abroad, the musicians featured here were engaged in the communal soul-searching that followed the breakdown of the 1960s protest movements. Some made it big, others drifted into oblivion. The music they left behind shimmers with intensity.

At the core was Happy End, the first project of YMO’s Haroumi Hosono, whose distortion-heavy guitar and crisp back-beat laid the foundations for Japanese lyrics that flipped the paradigm of Japanese rock music on its head. With it came a new found sonic ambition, such as in the bold Philly-soul style arrangements of producer Yuji Ohno, whose work with occult wandered Yoshiko Sai shares some of the bittersweet grandeur of Rotary Connection or David Axelrod.

Then there was Jun Fukamachi, a pioneer of Japanese synthesis, whose debut album was a carnival of orchestral funk, euphoric horn lines and rich production, complete with soaring guitar solos, psychedelic organ and a truly cinematic finale. The first and only time Fukamachi would sing on record, ‘Omae’ rips like the ultimate end-of-nighter.

Influenced by giants of the US soul scene, maverick composer Hiroshi “Monsieur” Kamayatsu (otherwise known as ‘the Brian Wilson of Japan’) went one step further, enlisting Tower of Power to play on ‘Have You Smoked Gauloises?’ The B-side to Monsieur’s biggest-selling single, it coasts with sophisticated cool - a liquid bassline and suave keys comping under a roaring trademark ToP sax solo. No surprise it found favour once more on the Acid Jazz dance floors of ‘90s London.

Such was the spirit of experimentation that big studio productions and private press releases sat side-by-side, with the likes of Momotaro Pink and Kazushi Inamura, taking their hopes of success into their own hands with the resources available to them. More reflective but no less robust, theirs was a heavy, fat-backed drum sound, soaked in dramatic, soulful psychedelia.

If some were dreamers and others space cadets, none were further out than sci-fi writer, musician, activist and self-made scientist Tadashi Goino, who transformed his own fantasy novel Messenger from the Seventh Dimension into an operatic prog odyssey with few discernible musical reference points – a majestic and completely bonkers outlier even among company as strange and brilliant as that which is collected here.

Less a compilation of a scene, as a compilation of a sentiment, Nippon Psychedelic Soul is a wild ride from start to finish, shattering the narratives of the Japanese folk and rock tradition into a million tiny pieces.

This collection of ground-breaking instrumentals captures a moment of musical alchemy. Stylistic edges become blurred with by-turns into jazz, gospel, soul, funk and dance. A new genre - gospel jazz - was created in their wake.

Creole poetry, folk mysticism and heavy-grooving cosmic synths combine on this unprecedented survey of spiritual Martinique polymath Gratien Midonet’s first four albums.



“I always broke free from the rules, from codes being too narrow,” says poet, musician and sonic shaman Gratien Midonet. “I have always had this sense of peaceful knowledge that there is no separation between genres, beings and universal things.”



For Midonet, pushing musical boundaries was less a choice than an extension of his spirit. A self-taught guitarist and composer,



drawing on his childhood memories of bélé and beguine rhythms, Midonet’s musical life developed in parallel to his academic and spiritual pursuits. Studying philosophy and psychopedagogy in France, it was his fascination with pan-Africanism and animism which fuelled the transcendent energy of his music. Although Midonet honed his sound in France, the four albums he released during the



late ‘70s and ‘80s were heavily inspired by diasporic nostalgia, or what he describes as the “smells and colours… subliminal noises… fruity notes, the memories of funeral wakes, the bombastic organ of the cathedral and the gasps of the drums” of his childhood home on the Caribbean island of Martinique.



Fittingly, it’s there that Midonet achieved cult status for the title track of his 1979 debut, Van An Lévè, which became a protest anthem for the island’s independence movement, and was briefly censored by the French authorities. Look no further than ‘Mari Rhont Ouve La Pot’, which opens this collection, to hear the propulsive mix of cosmic synths, acoustic folk, and Creole lyricism that became the essence of Midonet’s sound. Released on Martinique label Touloulou, Van An Lévè was followed in 1980 by L’inité, whose tropical acid folk (‘M’en ka Monté Mon’) and majestic, violin-led melodies (‘Kannaval Sakré Pou Tout Z’Heb Poussé’) confirmed Midonet’s unique and intuitive approach to composition.



Not content to skip effortlessly between genres and influences, Midonet also began pushing the boundaries of the album form itself. His third album, Bourg La Folie, released in 1984, was a soundtrack for a lost film about the mysticisms of carnival, while his fourth, Fô Ou Tchimbé, took the form of a ‘conte musical’ (a narrated story accompanied by music) presented at the Pompidou Centre, and spoke to Midonet’s literary prowess as a fierce proponent of the Creole language.

Brazil’s Black Rio movement had a lasting impact on the country’s marginalised black youth. Inspired by the African-American Civil Rights Movement and the revolutionary, politically conscious soul and funk being produced by the likes of James Brown, Curtis Mayfield, Gil Scott Heron, Billy Paul and Nina Simone, a new scene began to incubate in Rio’s poor and oft-neglected North Zone - one which put black culture front and centre. At bailes funk (funk balls) revellers proudly sported afros and danced to their own beat while artists such as Banda Black Rio, Trio Ternura, Tim Maia and Emilio Santiago subverted officially-sanctioned Brazilian styles by fusing elements of imported soul, funk and jazz with samba rhythms to create a new form of music they could call their own.

Sérginho Meriti was one of many young artists caught up in the excitement of the movement. Born Sérgio Roberto Serafim and raised in the north Rio suburb of Meriti (from which he’d take his stage name), he began his career with Black Rio funk/soul outfit Copa 7, for whom he penned the stridently funky dance floor hit Som Da Copa 7.

Snapped up by Polydor at the turn of the 80s, Bons Mementos was his first work as a solo artist. It’s the work of a young musician brimming with musical ideas and creating a new take the Black Rio sound - one he would refer to variously as Meritiense (the sound of Meriti) or as Electric Samba. The title track is perhaps the perfect distillation of his ideas, mixing Black Rio’s funky bass and guitar lines with a healthy dose of the samba rock style developed by Jorge Ben, a pinch of eighties synths, and some of the best call-and-response female vocals this side of Fela Kuti. The result is a potently-rich musical stew that has made the track a compilation favourite and the album hugely collectable among funk connoisseurs.

Elsewhere on an all-killer-no-filler effort, Madureira adds reggae-fied guitar rhythms and low-slung bass to the mix while Malandro’s added bursts of brass give playful homage to Glenn Miller’s Big Band standard In The Mood. Memorias demonstrates Meriti’s mastery of tempo. Beginning with a languid slice of samba rock the track abruptly changes speed half way through for a bright and zippy finish of brass-heavy funk. Serjane adds layers of flute and saxophone the latter adding to the natural warmth of Serginho’s rough-hewn vocals. Tipo is a classic funk workout with some deliciously squelchy synths, while Batalha ends the album with a warm slice of funk, it’s yin and yang melding of joyful horn bursts with mournful vocals a potent demonstration of the sadness that underpins the album’s seemingly sunny soul.

OBI is missing!