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Collection of Mobile Electronics Products at RaceShop

One of the biggest surprises last year came with the seventh volume of Emotional Rescue’s Schleißen series, as balearic pop and rare groove legends A Man Called Adam presented a delirious collage called “Sketches (2011 - 2017).” This was the first new music from the group in years and was also one of the most cerebral, challenging, and modern pieces in their adventurous back catalog, showing that despite the passage of time and years of absence, Sally Rogers and Steve Jones were just as tuned into the “now” as ever. And it turns out, this appearance signaled an exciting period of new activity for A Man Called Adam, one culminating in the release of Farmarama, their first full length album since 1999’s Duende. Issued on the duo’s longstanding and newly resurrected other imprint, Farmarama surveys and revisits some of the most infectious and loved up sounds of their career, with beats morphing fluidly between chill-out breaks, disco stomps, and house bangers while the air is colored with romantic melodies, psychedelic fx, and tropical atmospheres sourced from Steve’s arsenal of mobile electronics. There are vibrant layers of live percussion, bass, keys, and horns provided by a close group of friends and Sally is at the top of her game, moving effortlessly between cooing whispers, sensual breaths, lounge jazz serenades, and soulful diva enchantments. And the album’s energy is so joyous and freewheeling…like a collective of beatniks, hippies, and flower children reveling in the vocabulary of acid house, with side-journeys through sunshine reggae, space-age pop, tropical exotica, balearic soul, post-classical forest folk, cosmic kraut funk, radiophonic weirdness, and so much else besides.

A Man Called Adam - Farmarama (other, 2019) “Mountains and Waterfalls” cuts right into a warm disco stomp, with rolling hand percussion and obscured claps and snares. Slightly drunken pianos are hypnotically looped and infinite webs of polyrhythmic cymbal shimmer suffuse the air while gentle blasts of space synthesis wrap around fusion e-pianos. Sally is joyous and care-free…as if dancing through a sunshine meadow and Fergus Quill’s fat-bottomed basslines slip and slide through solar funk grooves. At some point everything fades out, leaving sexual croons and layers of starshine electronics for a floating expanse of ambient soul. Then comes a dazzling display of soprano and baritone sax magic with James Taylor dropping intertwining melodies of lounge jazz smoothness that occasionally work into free jazz fire and all throughout the track there are moments where the beats start smashing and crashing…as if threatening to explode into some peak-time jam. Then towards the end, such a moment finally arrives with a heady passage of backwards sucking and compressed filter disco magic, where flanging basslines underly clipped pianos, scatting horns, chittering vocal fx, and gorgeous refrains. In “Ou Pas,” electronic marbles roll through crystal tunnels as kick drums march and anxious percussive energies suffuse the air. Twilit vibraphone snippets evoke Milt Jackson, fragile pianos bang away, exotic organ melodies weave colorful patterns, and synthbass squelches move through lands of dark enchantment while Sally delivers expressive French vocalisms. And the whole thing is intercut by cinematic transitions where forest fairy woodwinds fly above droning sitars and tanpuras...the effect like the cinematic noir exotica and pop psychedelia of Broadcast.

The title track is balearica of the highest order and evokes for me the José Padilla-curated Café del Mar compilations and React’s Real Ibiza series (which is of course no surprise, as A Man Called Adam appear on many of those releases). Filtered hammock house beats roll beneath an open sky panorama of seagulls and clouds and melodic hand drum patterns sit within a sea-spray haze of shakers, shells, and cymbals. Celestial layers of ambiance fade in alongside tropical chord progressions and jacking synthbass lines and the vocals are ecstatic, soulful, and often multi-tracked…creating fluttering harmonizations and dreamy conversations while chime strands flow through the background ether. There is so much snare and clap action firing softly between the sizzling cymbal layers and chugging basslines and near the end, majestic horns uplift the spirit while acoustic guitars wander through lands of pastoral jazz folk...the whole thing aligning nicely with the work of Tortoise. “Top of the Lake” sits at the opposite end of the B-side and is one of A Man Called Adam’s most mysterious compositions. Crystalline pianos move above backwards flowing melodies while shadow energies and forest mysticisms are evoked by operatic vocal streaks. Romantic and vaguely flamenco-inflected guitars play melodies of medieval enchantment, only smothered beneath a thick and heavy sonic fog…as if the tantalizing songs of fauns and wood nymphs are heard through a veil of darkness. As the amorphous drones and smeared electronic continue cycling, occasional snippets of piano or acoustic guitar break free from the storm…these brief flashes of mystic light that drawn you further into the ancient woodland.

Between “Farmarama” and “Top of the Lake” sits “Higher Powers,” which loops kaleidoscopic e-pianos over dusty house percussion layers, spellbinding hand drum cascades from Josh Ketch, stuttering kick beats, and harsh hi-hats working between clipped closed hits and open sizzles. Adventurous fusion pianos drifts around Sally’s cut-up “your heartache” refrains and interstellar synth vapors and squiggling psychedelics pan side-to-side as the track revels in the darker sides of French touch. Then comes a rather dramatic transition featuring skittering snares and filtering cymbals flying through resonant phasers, all while Sally alights on romantic voice adventures with lyrics imploring surrender to nature’s higher powers. From here on out, we flit back and forth between zoned out filter house workouts and colorful passages of cinematic synth-pop while the vocals swoon and croon over post-classical swells and angular transitions. There are extended sections dominated by weird sonic fractals and phaser experimentations that also see snares moving through alien motions and Sally’s soft serenade is increasingly surrounded by desperate chants, wails, and pinging tones. At some point it all breaks down into a ritualistic yet funky hand-drum passage that is soon kissed over by dark acid lines that bend and slide through a jungle of hallucinations. And as the beats return, Steve and Sally pile on cosmic delay bubbles, pitch-morphing snare rolls, rainforest drum energies, and breathy voice fx.

The epic length “Michael” loops strange percussive textures, pulsing synths, and stuttering drums into a chill-out breakbeat while marimbas, vibraphones, and kalimbas are trailed by rainbow tracers. Sally flits and scats between dream logic verses and structured choruses that again evoke Ibizan sunsets and beachside parties, especially as aching orchestrations move through the sky. James Taylor appears again with cooler-than-cool lounge jazz sax solos while fluid funkbass pulsations and proggy bass guitar wiggles hold down the groove. There’s a moment where it all spreads and spaces out, with cut-up bass solos, cosmic synth detritus, and wailing saxophones merging and as the paradise breaks fade back in alongside island breeze marimba patterns, Sally delivers one her most captivating performances of the album…her voice growing increasingly desperate and untethered to any melody or rhythm as she repeats “I still believe there is a deeper love.” The song progressively vaporizes around her…like a lone angel floating within a cloud of aquamarine and as the smooth downbeat rhythms return, cinematic orchestrations wrap around Afro-folk idiophones that occasionally alight on hallucinatory runs up and down the scale. And sometimes, it sounds like several different drum beats rush into the mix, creating a delirious rhythmic energy surrounded by wavering psychedelics and lyrical soul raps replete with sage life advice.

We head towards an equatorial dub dreamworld in “Tic-Toc,” starting with sub-bass currents, sunshine basslines, and electro-percussions panning and echoing. Flutey synths and sun-blasted organs create hazy melodic clouds as e-pianos smear out and float towards an infinite horizon and the vocals are so amazing here...swooning and playful, conversational and sassy…with all sorts of child-like backing harmonies and intertwining layers. I’m reminded of moments from Gang Gang Dance’s Eye Contact, especially as tropically-tinged pan-pipe futurisms snake through a seaside jungle of sound. It’s joyous reggae perfection skanking through a balearic dreamscape and the beats never quite come together, creating instead a shambolic dub stomp while chanting voice samples and cut-up guitar runs dance together. Fergus Quill’s basslines are supremely melodic and soaked in positivity as they slide around and the mix is periodically subsumed by psychoactive delay, reverb, and phaser waves. African folk guitar spells and jazzy six-string solos support Sally’s hypnotic conversations, oceanic melodies, and stoned sing-song progressions and as tambourines jangle alongside crystal strands blowing in the breeze, candy-colored synth solos and heatwave organs rush into and out of the stereo field. But as bright as it all is, the lyrics seem heavy and personal while also overflowing with a powerful feminist energy.

The song suite that introduces the D-side is truly spectacular and is already one of my favorite compositions of the year (maybe of all time?). We start deep within Daphne Oram’s Radiophonic workshop as “Spots of Time” constructs a collage of interstellar transmissions, industrial metal tones, advanced computations, fractal tape loops, garbled voices, and disjointed cymbal taps. A radiant and wavering synth arp then introduces “Ladies of Electronica,” soon joined by mellifluous post-rock basslines that would feel right at home on Mogai’s Young Team. Sally sings a gorgeous paean to the titular ladies of electronic: Daphne Oram, Pauline Oliveros (and Pauline Anna Strom perhaps?), Delia Derbyshire, Laurie Spiegel, Wendy Carlos, and Suzanne Ciani while chiming synths and solar guitar melodics bring to mind Michael Rother and Vini Reilly. I’ve always felt there was spiritual kinship between Stereolab and A Man Called Adam and it has never been so apparent as here, especially as bubblegum harmonizations work in round over sections of outerspace psychedelia featuring cut-up drone cascades, blasting drum fx, instructional voice samples, and delirious echowaves. Eventually a smoldering and ultra-tight breakbeat builds in strength alongside cushiony sub-bass pulses as we transition into “Sally’s Ladies Rerub,” which is a spaced out krautfunk jam of the highest order. It’s the kind of thing you might hear from Can, This Heat, or even The Heliocentrics, all minimal and heady, with vaporous synths splashing though rainbow tidepools. And after an extended zoner groove out, Sally re-emerges and delivers once more her dreamily effected tribute to the pioneering women of sonic experimentation.

Though “Paul Valery at the Disco” name checks the poet and philosopher Paul Valery, it has its sights firmly set on early 1970s Berlin and the collective of artists based around Rolf-Ulrich Kaiser’s Cosmic Couriers imprint. Indeed, the beginning of the track sees a star-maiden calling across a cosmic void…her coos, whispers, and intergalactic incantations flying over a hypnotizing display of primitive synthesis and insectoid buzzing chaos. It evokes some of my favorite music of all time: Walter Wegmüller’s Tarot, Ash Ra Tempel’s Join Inn, and the work of the Cosmic Jokers, especially those moments where Rosi Müller or Gille Lettmann would add seducitve voice hypnotics to the collective’s far-out electronic dreamscapes. Whether or not it was intentional, the track nails the early kosmische vibe better than almost anything I have ever heard…like instant time travel to Germany during the advent of LSD and synthesized electronics. But eventually, Sally and Steve drop us into the dirtiest and most sexually charged groove of the album…a loved up and sensual beat stomping through a land of compressors and filters while ravey synths boil, wriggle, and writhe. Funky choirs and radiant divas implore you to “come on and lose yourself” while octave basslines bring Hi-NRG dancefloor heat and though we’ve now entered a land of dark disco enchantment and sweaty club motions, the track never quite looses that 70s krautrock edge as chunky and drugged out streaks of Klaus Schulze-ian synthesis wash over the mind.

Curt Adapter with Tester

RaceShop for Mobile Electronics Products in Canada

Curt 3/4in Electrical Tape (60ft Rolls 10-Pack)