How well can you judge a CD by its cover? We put that question to the test by having each classical editor choose an album based solely on its cover, record his/her initial impressions and expectations, and then review the recording. Each editor’s “before” expectations are listed below; follow the links under the entries to see the “after” reviews. And now, on with the judgment!
 
 

Anthony Coleman: Lapidation
Blair Sanderson

At first blush, this CD appears to feature some kind of sparse avant-garde or ambient music, judged solely by the simple abstract art on the cover. There’s a subdued, minimalist feeling to the washed-out colors and roughly repetitive shapes, and the spiral — do you go clockwise or widdershins? — connotes an introspective approach in the music, perhaps of a meditative bent. Does a Japanese rock garden spring to mind? A Zen koan, anyone? Without knowing the work of this composer or how lapidation (i.e., the stoning of a person to death) figures into the musical style, method, or structure, one might guess that the music has some connection to pitched percussion or tuned stoneware, and hopefully not smashed crockery.

Read the review here

 

Philip Glass: Animals in Love [Original Film Score]
Allen Schrott

Animals in Love, with its pair of smooching marsupials on the cover, initially looks like the cloying apotheosis of marketing gags — the musical equivalent of puppies photographed through a fish-eye lens. All together now: “awwwwwww!” But this is actually Philip Glass’ original score for a documentary of the same name by director Laurent Charbonnier, and once the kangaroo-induced disorientation wears off (”I….get a kick…out of you”), the possibilities are intriguing. Film has often brought the best and most adaptable efforts out of America’s most easily parodied minimalist, and this could turn out to be a modern Carnival of the Animals or Peter and the Wolf. Hearing Glass discover the distinct physicality of various animals within the boundaries of his limited palette would be fascinating. The back cover, (cozy dolphins awash in deep-sea blue this time) with track titles like “Ballet of the Birds” and “The Orangutans and the Small Ducks” (we hope in separate scenes!), seems to support that possibility. But then again, the score could just as well start out with the stale pulsing arpeggios and chords that mark Glass at his least creative — the musical cubicle farm — and stay there for a maddening hour.

Read the review here
 

Alcvin Takegawa Ramos: Zen Shakuhachi 1
Stephen Eddins

The subtitle of this CD, “Japanese Traditional Flute Music for Meditation,” establishes an expectation of functional music — an aid for creating a mood of stillness and receptivity. One would expect the sound to be quiet, slow moving, and free of disruptions or surprises that could interrupt one’s inward thoughts (or lack thereof.) The graphics of the cover completely confirm this mood of mellow relaxation. The background is a soothing, dappled, earth-toned burgundy. The writing on the cover is in a discreetly small font, with the title in a westernized approximation of Japanese calligraphy and three pale gold Japanese characters at the middle. This centered, symmetrical presentation creates an expectation of balanced regularity, order and predictability, and the background silhouette of a branch with leaves and flowers perfectly conveys the serenity that the title promises. In all the elements of its presentation, the cover creates the anticipation of an hour of restful, lulling music, ideal for assuming the lotus position, or simply lying back and drifting off to sleep.

Read the review here

Christine Schäfer: Apparition
Patsy Morita

Apparition comes in a translucent slipcover over the digipak case with the disc in it. To get the real impact of the photos on the package, you have to remove the slipcover. It’s almost like those signs that start out with some prominent shocking word or picture, followed by “now that I have your attention….”

There is Christine Schäfer, in her white gown, standing in the midst of a dinosaur skeleton. On the back of the package is a full, face-on picture of a dinosaur skeleton with scads of others behind it. As the slipcover fits over this photo, a red heart outlines the skeleton’s nasal cavity. What is this? What relevance is there to the composers Henry Purcell and George Crumb, already an unexpected combination? The first reaction is, what a bizarre idea, posing among skeletons at a museum. It’s not that they’re creepy, although some people may think so; it just seems a completely strange thing to do. And it turns out that what she’s wearing is a Christian Dior wedding gown. Won’t it get dirty? It really is a striking cover and you can’t help but wonder what’s going on, what was she thinking (other than that she needed to grab your attention), and how in the world it relates to the music. Are the bones meant to represent the 300+ year-old Purcell, implying that his music is ancient, dry, or hard, while the dress means Crumb’s music is brighter and softer? In most people’s mind, the tuneful, tonal music of Purcell would probably be characterized as more easily grasped than Crumb’s, which usually is experienced more intuitively. Maybe it’s the other way around: the bones are a reference to the way Crumb often mixes the ancient and the modern musical ideas or the way he tries to use music to re-create natural sounds; and the wedding gown is the traditional, Western classical music of Purcell. Either way, the album is bound to be interesting. (Inside are more skeleton photos. My favorite is the giant turtle on its back, with its claws turned upward as if to say “Why me?” or “What the…?”)

Read the review here

Les Sacqueboutiers: El Fuego
Uncle Dave Lewis

Les Sacqueboutiers literally translates as “The Sackbutters.” The sackbut was a predecessor to the trombone, and it looks like a little trombone, cute in a way that would suit a child’s toy chest. But the instrument has a more conical bore and smaller bell than a standard trombone, and its sound is considerably more cramped and nasal in comparison. Listening to Renaissance brass instruments for an hour can lead to “cornetti syndrome” — an aural ennui that results from the monochromatic, piercing sound of the instruments. The front cover image, a painting by the 16th-century eccentric Giuseppe Arcimboldo, shows a human torch who almost looks like a Renaissance wicker man. Imagine: more than an hour of burning, blazing sackbut music…please lead me to the fire exit….

Read the review here