Pulco - Dip in the Ocean – An Introduction to Pulco

Reviewed by Mark Barton (The Sunday Experience)

Once upon a time (well 1998 to be more precise) a track by the name of ‘Radar Intruder’ ushered from the house radio one night, and into our lives and long-held affection. By Derrero, it made the lower end of that years Peel Festive 50. Three and a half minutes of blissfully perfect pop possessed of an unerring knack for shimmying beneath your well guarded defences, and with it – around our gaff at least – always considered a bit of a memorable gem.

Now, any right minded person at this point might just be scratching their head thinking where is he going with this, and thanks for the trip down memory lane. Well much to our embarrassment, Pulco was in said band Derrero and has been for the last decade or more been hatching little nuggets and releasing them beneath our usually astute and watchful radar on the Folkwit imprint. ‘Dip in the Ocean’ is, as the full title hints, a kind of bringing-you-up-to-speed compilation, gathering together various previously released EP’s all of which, to stunned and humbled horror, we’ve managed to miss.

‘Dip in the Ocean’ reveals a creative artistry ever watchful, wandering and withdrawn from the maddening crowd that is pop. Many who’ve stumbled across, for example, Lux Harmonium via the esteemed Static Caravan will be alerted to the trace elemental similarities in so far as the crystalline toning. None more so is this the case than on the soft undulating lilt of the carefree and dreamy ‘Tudor Grains’, which arrives possessed of a demurely dinked lineage that draws close to Magnet’s ‘Wicker Man’ pastoral lilts. The same airily rustic devices are utilised on the shyly bittersweet soft psych shimmering of ‘Place Lid on Me’, which A B Leonard enthusiasts may do well to investigate, not to mention those whose hearts skip a beat at the mere appearance of a youthful Kevin Tihista looming on their turntable player. Then there’s the homely, sighing, porchlit creak of the blissfully cast adrift and drifting ‘Wearing Down the Well’, which had us in mind of an optimistically thoughtful June Panic, sparring with the Panda Gang (nee BDI’s, nee the Lancashire Hustlers), while those fancying of something totally off the wall and done with an impish grin might warm to the crookedly playful ‘Whoops’ which features (or so it appears) some junior members of the Pulco family not to mention some Radiophonic meets Raymond Scott wackiness . Best moment of the set for us though is the opening salvo ‘Song 37’, a lolloping gem rippled in hiccupping lock-grooved motifs, all kissed with a smoky sea sawing sleepy headed 70’s vintage – quite fetching if you ask me.

Available digitally here:

Cosmic Analog Ensemble - Petits Pays

Reviewed by Mark Barton (The Sunday Experience)

I must admit that we here are suckers for the sound of a well heeled vibraphone, farfisa and harpsichord (our ears even picked up a theremin alert ‘Les Tours Eiffel Sous la Tour Eiffel’). They create a sense of outer worldly mystery and magic that has you conjuring all manner of images of anything from romanticised picturesque landscapes of faraway retreats, to sci-fi strangeness, spy noir, and more besides.

No strangers to these ears, I stumbled across Cosmic Analog Ensembles’ alluringly kitschy and kooky ‘Murs Libres’ via the Active Listener Sampler #24 and immediately adored its vintage tonalities, likening it to a would-be musical hive mind born of Basil Kirchin and Raymond Scott personas.

‘Petits Pays’, their latest opus, is a mood murmured mirage that one suspects has been time-tripped from an age of arty flock wallpaper-adorned habitats envisaged by Pininfarina and Vadim, where the optimism of the space race (still in its golden age) contrasts and duels with the spectre and realism of the prevailing cold war. Both expressive and entrancing ‘Petits Pays’ sits on the sonic outer rings of a mid 90’s musical scene by way of a collective primarily populated and headed up by Stereolab, Broadcast, Plone, Pram and Scott Bond (the latter being much recalled on ‘Main sur Hanches, Doigts sur Manche’) - like minded souls who enthused and delighted in the retro futurism of shimmering 60’s accents and lush library lilts. It would be easy to lazily file Petits Pays’ under the lounge umbrella but in truth there’s much here that ought to appeal to those admiring of such imprints as Finders Keepers, Trunk and Italy’s missing in action Shado.

Amid this beautified 15 track bouquet romance arcs gracefully shimmered in forlorn Autumnal reflection, floral posies, and silken spy noir sophistication. Here you’ll be smitten by the deceptive down tempo kitsch funk of ‘The Concept & The Purpose’ with its cutely cool tropicalia flavouring recalling a would be tryst between Lemon Jelly and the Winston Giles Orchestra, while there’s a faintly detectable noir chic attaching to the Third Man-esque ‘Vaise a l’aenvers’ to be savoured. Elsewhere the quite delectable ‘Sombre Affair’ freefalls seductively into an autumnal thoughtfulness reminiscent of the much missed L’Augmentation, while the bitter, sweetly reflective ‘National Blues’ is graced by a slyly off set yearn and tenderness that has you imagining it being some lost and forgotten score sketching, hatched during down time by an afterhours studio gathering of Barry and Grainer types. All said we here are quite adoring of the brief visitation made by ‘As Much as a Sonnet’ – a trippy slice of lunar loveliness twinkled by the galactic fanfare of opining cosmic carousels.

"Petits Pays" can be downloaded for free, or streamed here: