Author Archives: Joseph Neff

With the February 14 release Fania Records: The Latin Sound of New York (1964–1978), Craft Recordings offers an outstanding primer into what is almost certainly the greatest of all Latin record companies. It’s an essentially flawless party soundtrack, but with ensemble playing so elevated that one could just collapse into the sofa to soak it all up. These 16 tracks aren’t the last word in salsa; indeed, the four sides of vinyl aren’t even the last word in Fania’s back catalog, but for anybody who’s been tempted to take the Latin vinyl plunge, if this set doesn’t whet an appetite for heightened groove science, then nothing will.

As is so often the case with the great record labels, nobody else was doing it, so musician Johnny Pacheco and lawyer Jerry Masucci stepped in to fill a void. Fania Records wasn’t the first Latin record label, and had Fania never existed it’s very likely that many of these bandleaders and vocalists would have cut records for other companies, but what’s uncertain is the level of quality that hypothetical output would have attained.

Fania didn’t just intermittently hit high points, the enterprise sustained a level of inspired mastery, and assuredly so across the 14 years covered by The Latin Sound of New York. The final track, “Pedro Navaja,” is from Siembra, a 1978 album by Willie Colón and Rubén Blades that just last year topped the Los 600 de Latinoamérica (The 600 from Latin America) list of the greatest Latin recordings from 1922–2020. Siembra also topped Rolling Stone magazine’s 2024 list of the greatest Salsa recordings.

In a nutshell, Fania thrived through a deep understanding of the music and a strong bond with the community. As “Pedro Navaja” makes clear, the sound of Fania grew in ambition over time but without diluting the essence in an attempt to cross over to broader commercial success. Instead, consumers have gravitated to Fania’s output over time through reputation and exposure.

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Celebrating H.R. in advance of his birthdate tomorrow. —Ed.

The discography of the incalculably influential Bad Brains is in the midst of a long-overdue reissue program, and as the releases are coming through Bad Brains Records with assistance from ORG Music, this return to circulation has been a sweet development for both the fans and the band. I Against I, the beloved 1986 album from this stylistically restless outfit returns to availability; the options are compact disc, cassette, and black or plutonium color vinyl tucked into its original sleeve or a fresh Punk Note jacket designed by John Yates. Arguments will long persist over Bad Brains greatest achievement, but this album, their third and biggest seller, is surely a contender.

The Bad Brains story has been well documented. One of the few bands to come to punk from jazz fusion, they were a powerhouse of precise energy that barreled forth so furiously that the barrage could register as barely controlled. African-Americans in a scene dominated by Caucasians, Bad Brains stood out and excelled because they remained true to their experience, broadening the punk landscape rather than conforming to its more prevalent norms.

For some listeners, Bad Brains are the only hardcore punk band that matters. I don’t share this viewpoint, but do acknowledge that the list of worthy contemporaries is a short one, and will add that many of the other solid HC bands from the same era took direct inspiration from singer H.R., guitarist Dr. Know, bassist Darryl Jenifer, and drummer Earl Hudson.

Bad Brains weren’t perfect, however. They were enthusiastic about reggae (enough so that they became Rastafarians), and while that was admirable (and as said, helped to set them apart), the band’s excursions into the style, if not terrible, are still pretty far from top tier. I Against I is the first Bad Brains full-length release to not include any straight reggae tunes, which makes it their most consistently satisfying album to that point, even as its stand out moments don’t rocket as far into the stratosphere as those on the self-titled debut from 1982.

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You Ishihara is primarily known as the vocalist-guitarist in cornerstone Japanese underground psychedelic rock band White Heaven, but in 1997, his striking solo album Passivité was released, only on compact disc, to almost no fanfare. Alternating delicious late night vibes with terrifically bent blasts of rock, the album isn’t easily comparable to anything else that was happening at the time, or developments since, for that matter. Unsurprisingly, positive feelings toward the record have grown and with a first-time-on-vinyl reissue scheduled for February 7 via Black Editions, the music is sure to become even more esteemed.

White Heaven formed in the mid-’80s, but it took roughly a decade for the band’s rep to spread through the international underground, in tandem with fellow purveyors of Japanese psych rock like High Rise, Mainliner, Fushitsusha, Acid Mothers Temple, and Ghost, all bands from the roster of P.S.F., a label formed by Hideo Ikeezumi with connections to a record store and a fanzine.

Passivité was not released by P.S.F. but instead Creativeman Disc, a label that from inside a short timeframe emitted an impressive gush of Japanese noise and related u-ground sounds (C.C.C.C., Ground Zero, Otomo Yoshihide, Taku Sugimoto, Phew). And Passivité benefitted from a stunning aggregation of players including White Heaven bandmate Michio Kurihara on guitar for five of the album’s seven tracks, Chiyo Kamekawa of Fushitsusha on bass for four tracks, and Koji Shimura of Acid Mothers Temple on drums for three tracks.

For Passivité’s closer “For You,” a short cloud of hazy pulsing drift recorded in 1980, 16 years before the rest of the album, Yojiro Nagano played synthesizer and You’s brother and eventual White Heaven bandmate Ken Ishihara played drums, with You contributing organ and vocals to the track. It contrasts pretty sharply with what precedes it but still works as a sort of flashback snapshot that’s in keeping with Passivité’s general spirit of eclecticism.

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Currently based in Chicago (and formerly Charlottesville, VA), bassist, composer, improvisor, and bandleader Christopher Dammann has been on the contemporary jazz scene for roughly 15 years. The players he’s chosen to fill out The Christopher Dammann Sextet have comparable levels of experience, and on February 7, the group debuts on record with a self-titled full-length effort that’s available on limited edition vinyl (500 copies, black) and compact disc (150 copies). Released by Out of Your Head Records, the album’s blend of Dammann’s compositional sharpness and the ensemble’s advanced improvisational fireworks delivers a consistent reward.

The bulk of Christopher Dammann’s recorded output comes through his contributions to the 3.5.7. Ensemble, a size shifting outfit of which he was a constant member. They debuted as a quintet with Run… in 2010. Expanding to a septet (an octet for one track), they followed it up with Amongst the Smokestacks and Steeples, an at-times excellent 2LP set from 2014.

No matter the size, the 3.5.7. Ensemble can be thought of as a collective, even with Dammann’s constant presence, but he’s been designated as the leader of Restroy, a group that combines jazz with contempo classical and electronics. The big difference between 3.5.7./Restroy and the Dammann Sextet is the latter outfit’s focus on the bassist’s compositions, with Dammann credited with writing the entire album, although there is a simultaneous and unflagging emphasis on improvisational brilliance.

Along with Dammann’s bass, the group features Mabel Kwan on piano (he previously played in Restroy and contributed prepared piano to Amongst the Smokestacks and Steeples), James Davis on trumpet, Jon Irabagon on alto saxophone, Edward Wilkerson, Jr. on tenor saxophone and Eb alto clarinet, and Scott Clark on drums.

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Vocalist-guitarist-songwriter Vashti Bunyan only released three albums, but they cohere into one of the most lauded discographies in all of British folk. The esteem accrued gradually, however, as her second record Lookaftering, released in 2005, emerged over thirty years after her first. Now, twenty years later, DiCristina Records has assembled an expanded edition of the set featuring a second disc of demos, an alternate take, and a live track. It’s an enlightening and pleasurable plunge into the evolution of an era-defining record, available February 7 on 2LP/2CD

Well before her first album came out, Vashti Bunyan released a pair of singles (as simply Vashti) in 1965-’66 under the auspices of Andrew Loog Oldham. The A-side of the first, “Some Things Just Stick in Your Mind,” was composed by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, a connection established with pretty obvious Marianne Faithfull-ish intent that’s deepened by her contribution of “Winter Is Blue” to the soundtrack for Peter Whitehead’s film Tonight Let’s All Make Love in London.

This early material failed to gather commercial steam, which effectively ended Bunyan’s relationship with Oldham, and when she reappeared on the scene roughly half a decade later, she’d become something of a back-to-the-earth hippie, traveling to the Scottish isle of Skye with her partner Robert Lewis in a horse and carriage with the intention of joining a commune envisioned by fellow folkie Donovan.

That commune (or “Renaissance community,” as it has been called) fizzled out, but during the long and interrupted trip to Skye, Bunyan began writing the songs that shaped the Joe Boyd-produced Just Another Diamond Day, so ‘twas not a waste. But the record, issued by Philips in 1970, sank without a trace despite input from Simon Nicol and Dave Swarbrick of Fairport Convention and Robin Williamson of The Incredible String Band plus string arrangements from Robert Kirby (noted for his work with Nick Drake and others).

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Bassist William Parker and drummer Wiliam Hooker are two of the elder voices in jazz music’s long and rich history, with both men still very active on the scene. Amongst their recent activities, they’ve joined together with tenor saxophonist Isaiah Collier, a younger participant to the current jazz landscape, to form The Ancients, a group specializing in long-form improvisation in the grand tradition of the great trios established by Cecil Taylor and Ornette Coleman. On January 31, Eremite Records releases the debut recording by The Ancients on double vinyl, the release offering one long performance improv, dynamic and diverse, on each of the album’s sides.

Intergenerational combos have a special appeal. Often it’s a torch-passing thing, though that’s only somewhat the case with The Ancients, as Chicago-Brooklyn-based saxophonist Isaiah Collier, the youngest member of the trio, is already firmly established on the scene, in large part through a series of recordings made with his group The Chosen Few.

Collier & The Chosen Few debuted in 2018 with the CDr Return of the Black Emperor on the Good Vibes Only label. The next year brought a follow-up, the self-released digital-only The Unapologetic Negro (Live at the Coda Club Cafe). In 2021 came Cosmic Transitions, the first of three 2LP sets on the Division 81 label, with the next two, The Almighty and The World Is on Fire, arriving just last year. In 2023, Collier released Parallel Universe apart from the Chosen Few on the Night Dreamer label.

Collier’s music spans from bop-ish runs to post-Coltrane modal dives to calmer spiritual modes to straight up late ’70s drive time R&B, and now, as part of The Ancients, lengthy free jazz excursions are part of the saxophonist’s creative equation. But in a sweet move, in the opener “2023-05-12 LA Set II,” Collier immediately establishes his own personality on tenor, beginning the piece with contemplative serenity before transitioning into appealing melodic energies.

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On January 31, the tireless Parisian wellspring of reissues Wewantsounds presents a fresh edition of Music From the East, the second album from the iconic Egyptian musician and composer Ammar El Sherei. Originally released in 1976 by the Soutelphan label, it’s seeing its first ever vinyl reissue with this splendid new pressing. Offering seven songs in tribute to another legendary Egyptian musician and composer, namely Mohamed Abdel Wahab, the set strikes an infectious balance between classic Arabic melodicism and more contemporary strains of groove urgency. Nearly 50 years later, the fire still burns.

Ammar El Sherei released two records in 1976, debuting with Oriental Music, which received its first vinyl reissue by Wewantsounds back in 2020. With that set, the parameters of El Sherei’s style were immediately in place, as well established Arabic sounds, long snaky violin tendrils in particular, were an integral part of the foundation. Then-nascent keyboard models like the Steelphon S900 or the Farfisa (the latter is what’s pictured on the cover of Music From the East) were subsequently integrated into the scheme.

El Sherei also focused on songs from Abdel Wahab on Oriental Music, so there were no giant musical steps taken between his debut and Music From the East, though that’s not to suggest the LPs are interchangeable. One distinction is that Oriental Music relies a bit more on that aforementioned violin wiggle right out of the gate. Contrasting, Music From the East has a feel that’s more spacy, and immediately so in opener “El Kamh El Leila,” which unfolds a bit like El Sherei getting visited by the ghost of Joe Meek.

If an eager adopter of the latest musical tech, the mention of Meek should relate that El Sherei’s sound is a bit dated, and sometimes more than a little. That’s not to say that El Sherei’s music is chintzy or kitschy. To the contrary, there is enough rhythmic heat running through Music From the East and its predecessor that both records have been described more than once as funky.

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Celebrating Roddy Frame in advance of his 61st birthday tomorrow. —Ed.

While technically a band, Aztec Camera was always the creative brainchild of Scotsman Roddy Frame. On the debut LP High Land, Hard Rain, released in 1983 through Rough Trade in the UK and via Sire in the US, he made an outstanding case for himself as one of the decade’s great pop music auteurs. The album embraced intelligence and sophistication as it abandoned any pretense to a rapidly aging punk standard that spawned it, and if it isn’t perfect, 30 years after High Land, Hard Rain’s making it wears its minor flaws very gracefully.

High Land, Hard Rain opens with “Oblivious,” one of the record’s more famous tracks, though in hearing it with fresh ears after a very long absence I was struck by two elements. The first was the heights of Roddy Frame’s pop ability and at the tender age of 18; where much pop climbs to greatness in the details, “Oblivious” can be accurately assessed as an exceptionally written tune. It attains its success through sublime construction around a foundation that many well-respected songwriters twice his age had never managed to build.

The second element was Aztec Camera’s sheer level of dedication to an unabashedly erudite sensibility. This was maximal, accessible, unabashedly sophisticated Pop Music not only shirking off any tangible debt to punk but also steering far clear of the swelling tide of the synth-wave. And this relates directly to my third thought; in the bass line to “Oblivious” lays the key to so much of High Land, Hard Rain’s essence.

I’ll start by mentioning that I’m not smitten with Campbell Owens’ playing on the song, which is lightly and tastefully funk-tinged in a manner undeniably ‘80s, though my lack of regard for the bassist’s swagger hardly sinks the whole. Aztec Camera at this point functioned as a band, with Bernie Clark on keyboards and Dave Ruffy on drums/percussion alongside Owens’ bass and Frame’s vocals, guitar and harmonica, but they also operated squarely in the pop zone and lacked any significant rock gestures.

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On January 31, Vampisoul Records is reissuing Las últimas composiciones de Violeta Parra from the celebrated Chilean vocalist, stringed instrument specialist, composer, folklorist, and ethnomusicologist Violeta Parra. Released in 1966 by the RCA Victor label, it was the final album she recorded prior to her suicide in February of the following year, a tragic loss that brings the 13 songs, already immaculately executed, additional significance that has endured right up to the present. Sourced from the master tapes and released with the original artwork, this is the album as listeners heard it in 1966.

It’s important to explain that Vampisoul is reissuing Las últimas composiciones de Violeta Parra as it was first released rather than the updated version from 1974 that added string arrangements by Nino Garcia. That subsequent edition is far from a travesty, the additional instrumentation thoughtfully conceived if superfluous. But the lack of necessity becomes moot as it’s likely some listeners who were introduced to the songs through the 1974 release, which was reportedly the better-known of the two versions for decades, prefer the augmentation to the original.

But everyone should have the opportunity to hear the music as it was recorded in 1966, and for reasons that extend beyond understanding and appreciation of Parra’s clear intentions for the album. Unadorned by posthumous pop gestures, Las últimas composiciones de Violeta Parra is no ordinary recording. It’s considered one of the greatest Chilean albums of all time, ranked as the very best by Rolling Stone magazine, in fact.

By extension, Las últimas composiciones is considered one of the greatest Latin albums ever recorded, as just last year it secured the number two spot on the list Los 600 de Latinoamérica, a ranking of 600 releases dating from 1920–2022 from across the Latin musical spectrum. For context, Parra’s album was bested by only Siembra by Willie Colon and Ruben Blades.

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Remembering Klaus Nomi, born on this day in 1944. —Ed.

Released in 1982 and featuring New Wave-era rock infused with legit elements of opera and an undisguised gay sensibility, the debut LP from German-born NYC-based singer Klaus Nomi was readymade for cult status. The record very much belonged to the fringe of its time but without being ahead of it; the man who made it endures today not as an oft-pilfered stylistic touchstone but rather as a beacon for individualistic expression. That’s cool, as is his penchant for adapting ’60s pop tunes. 

I was all of eight years old when Klaus Nomi, along with his friend Joey Arias, vocally backed-up and added performance zeal to David Bowie’s appearance on the December 15, 1979 episode of Saturday Night Live. Unsurprisingly, I missed it when aired, but have caught up with “TVC 15” and “The Man Who Sold the World” archived on the internet. Those songs blend nicely with the footage that did serve as my introduction to Nomi’s work, his entry in the 1982 various artist concert film Urgh! A Music War.

It was sometime in ’87 that I and a few friends popped the home video edition into the VCR and had a fine evening at the crossroads of punk, new wave, post-punk, and reggae. And while there’s no denying an immediate reaction of incredulousness to Nomi’s NYC club performance of “Total Eclipse,” by song’s end we’d all adjusted pretty well.

I bring up this anecdote to counteract the still occasionally extant viewpoint of Nomi as a sheer curiosity. Sure, after viewing a performance by the guy it’s unlikely he’ll be forgotten. For example, during that version of “TVC 15” on SNL he walks around the stage with an imitation pink poodle (with a TV monitor in its mouth), and yet he somehow doesn’t steal the show from Bowie. But his work, if eccentric by pop marketplace standards, holds substantial value, which means that Klaus Nomi is an album to own for reasons far beyond “Hey, get a load of this” territory.

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Celebrating Robin Zander on his 72nd birthday. —Ed.

‘twas just recently that Real Gone Music released Cheap Trick’s Live at The Whisky 1977 in a 4CD 2,000 copy edition which sold out at the source. However, its rapid-fire scarcity doesn’t mean the release is no longer worthy of appraisal. To the contrary, this generous documentation of four nights in the early days of a canonical band explicates their sustained popularity across a spectrum of fandom that includes classic rock aficionados, power-pop diehards, and even punks with a passion for hooks. Parties interested in obtaining a copy of Live at The Whisky 1977 need to peruse store inventories while perhaps lobbying for a repress, hopefully this time on vinyl.

By the time I’d been fully exposed to Rockford, IL’s Cheap Trick in the early 1980s, they were fully established arena rock stars. Indeed, they had a bona fide frontman with charisma and sex appeal in Robin Zander, as bassist Tom Petersson was no slouch in the good looks department. Adding depth to the lineup, guitarist and primary songwriter Rick Nielsen and drummer Bun E. Carlos were a pair of colorful characters.

Carlos (real name Brad Carlson), with his business suits (complete with loosened neck ties and unbuttoned vests) and smoldering cigarettes dangling from below his moustache, teetered on eccentricity, looking more like a public accountant under duress in the waning moments of a hotel bar’s happy hour than the on-the-money sticksman for one of ’70s power-pop’s defining and most successful bands.

This stature was earned through catchy, smart songwriting and sharp execution. By the early ’80s, Cheap Trick had settled comfortably into rock’s mainstream, getting there through the somewhat unexpected smash sales figures of the live in Japan LP Cheap Trick at Budokan (initially a US import) and the steadily rising chart placements of studio albums two (In Color, ’77), three (Heaven Tonight, ’78) and four (Dream Police, ’79), plus their associated hit singles.

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Born in Britian and based in Paris, singer-songwriter Flora Hibberd makes a strong positive impression with her debut album Swirl, which is out now on ice blue transparent vinyl and digital via 22Twenty Records. Sturdy and pretty of voice and sharp with her lyrics, Hibberd’s music benefits from structural heft, depth of feeling, and stylistic range that’s aided by a fine backing band. The album’s eleven songs are fully formed as they predict a promising future for the artist.

Regarding Flora Hibberd, it should be mentioned that the promise began in 2021 with the release of the 10-inch EP “Hold,” its seven songs establishing a warm, folky sensibility blended with pop smarts and non-trite country shadings. Swirl doesn’t break with this introductory foundation, but rather enhances it with increased astuteness in execution.

With crisp guitar and a buoyant rhythm, Swirl’s opener “Auto Icon” leans toward the pop side of Hibberd’s spectrum, but with a clear classique singer-songwriter undercurrent. It has the feel of a sleeper hit, in part due to the appeal of Hibberd’s singing, which is far from wispy but stopping short of husky. Additionally, what she’s saying is worth hearing, but the construction of the songs is equally beneficial, allowing them to withstand repeated play and flourish, really get their hooks in.

“Remote Becoming Holy” is a harder hitting dose of pedal steel tinged folk-rock, subtly suggesting Neil Young. A whole album in this mode would be fine, but then “Code” shifts gears, returning to a pop template but injecting it with touches of the unusual. Next up is a turn toward gentle folk with “Every Incident Has Left Its Mark,” although the piece does gradually build up to a folk-rocky conclusion, complete with some guitar burn (and not so Neil-like, this time).

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With the imminent release of The Bad Fire, Scottish post-rockers Mogwai are now eleven full-length records deep into a discography that has grown with steady diligence since the band’s formation in the mid-1990s. Their sound has evolved across that span, but there may be no bigger stylistic jump in their body of work than the ten tracks on their latest. A bold excursion cohering into a satisfying whole that feels borne from necessity, it’s out January 24 on 3LP+CD+photo book deluxe and 2LP editions, 2CD, cassette and digital via Rock Action Records in the UK and Temporary Residence Limited in the US.

When Mogwai first hit the scene, they fit into the burgeoning post-rock category pretty well. Clearly influenced by Slint while resisting a soundalike scenario, the band flourished in the slow lane in terms of tempo, often angular but over time just as likely to connect like a less dour Godspeed You! Black Emperor, or to glide and glisten in a manner similar to Explosions in the Sky and Sigur Rós. Interestingly, producer John Congleton, who’s worked with the latter two bands, lend his expertise to The Bad Fire’s three singles (“God Gets You Back,” “Lion Rumpus,” and “Fanzine Made of Flesh”).

Bands often stagnate by adhering too closely to their foundational sound. Happily, this is not the case with Mogwai. “God Gets You Back” opens The Bad Fire with what can fairly be described as a techno atmosphere, though by the end of its six and a half minutes the pace quickens and takes on a rock-ish thrust. It’s in the following track “Hi Chaos” where the ambiance turns recognizably Mogwai, but still moving fairly speedily with dynamic shifts that lay down a shoegaze-like distortion.

The fuzz resurfaces in “What Kind of Mix is This?” as the band leans into a sort of post-rock psychedelia while conjuring a fair among of thud, and then “Fanzine Made of Flesh” is an unabashed rocker with vocals that insinuate one of Georgio Moroder’s distant cousins was invited to the party. “Pale Vegan Hip Pain” moves at a more gradual clip, and like “Hi Chaos,” it’s nearer to the template Mogwai sound. This scenario carries over and blossoms during “If You Find This World Bad, You Should See Some of the Others.”

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After an exceptional 2024, Elemental Music starts off the new year in strong fashion by adding three more entries to their Motown Sound Collection; Reflections by Diana Ross and the Supremes, Nitty Gritty by Gladys Knight & the Pips, and Pure Smokey by Smokey Robinson. Allowing younger generations of vinyl aficionados the opportunity to build solid shelves of Motown albums without years of perseverance and good luck, all three are available now on limited edition 140 gram vinyl.

Released in 1968, Reflections is notable in the Supremes’ discography for a variety of reasons, two of them related to billing and lineup as Florence Ballard exited the group as the set was being recorded. She’s heard on three of the album’s songs including the title track. As Cindy Birdsong made her entrance, Motown used this circumstance to help solidify a new hierarchy, with Reflections credited to Diana Ross and the Supremes.

Straight away, Reflections isn’t subtle in its psychedelic inflections, though that’s not a knock. The LP ranks high in the group’s oeuvre in terms of quality attained through good judgement that pertains to matters of taste and ultimately, restraint, or perhaps better said, caution. Maybe a mite too cautious, as “I Can’t Make It Alone,” with its harpsichord-ish chimes and what sure sounds like a Theremin (but is almost certainly an approximating synth), serves as a standout (and is maybe the record’s best song). It really should’ve been released as a single.

This brings us to how Reflections marks the Supremes’ culminating collaboration with songwriters Holland-Dozier-Holland. The team’s compositions dominate side one, the stronger of the record’s two halves, as “Forever Came Today” and “In and Out of Love” are also highlights. Side two’s versions of “What the World Needs Now is Love,” “Up, Up and Away,” and “Ode to Billie Joe” go down smooth, but they lack the spark of personal interaction that made Holland-Dozier-Holland’s input such a major component in the Motown narrative.

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Remembering Françoise Hardy, born on this date in 1944. —Ed.

French vocalist Françoise Hardy openly disdains being described as an icon, though of course her modesty plays a large role in why she continues to be revered by so many. Naturally, the most important component in her enduring reputation is the music; a superb singer and true artist from within the oft-unrelenting 1960s pop machine, her records have aged exceptionally well, retaining the allure of their era as they lack period gaffes. Hardy’s first five French language albums, all originally issued by Disques Vogue from ’62-’66, comprise a highly worthy run of productivity.

Françoise Hardy is a cornerstone of the ’60s Euro-pop phenomenon known as yé-yé. Akin to rock, girl groups, svelte male crooners, and the majority of the era’s teen-oriented sounds in general, yé-yé was widely considered to be of an ephemeral nature, and by extension was basically dominated by the collusion of producers and labels. The singers, amongst them France Gall, Sylvie Vartan, Clothilde, and Chantal Kelly, were the crucial ingredient in a very calculated recipe.

Hardy differed from the norm by writing a significant amount of her own stuff, all but two songs on her debut in fact, and as a result she evaded the sometimes embarrassing subject matter thrust upon other yé-yé girls. Furthermore, she was regularly photographed with guitar in hand, though it’s unclear to what extent she actually played on these recordings. To borrow a phrase relating to Studio-era Hollywood, Hardy transcended the “genius of the system” method of pop manufacture, instead excelling at a subdued auteur-driven approach.

In the tradition of the original filmic auteurs, few recognized Hardy as a major talent during her emergence on the scene. She definitely sparked interest in fellow musicians however, including The Beatles, Mick Jagger, and Bob Dylan, the last so struck by her skills he dedicated the poem “Some Other Kinds of Songs” to her; it’s on the back of Another Side of Bob Dylan’s sleeve.

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