Provided you don't find the idea icky, the quality of a chill out compilation is all about the execution. A good chill comp is like a featherweight mixtape from a friend with an ear for laidback grooves; a bad chill mix is just muzak that's been tagged "eclectic" in iTunes. Likewise the recent trendlet where rockers and ravers have been scraping the layer of mold off of forgotten hunks of 1970s and 80s mellow gold can sometimes feel like trying to dress up cheesy listening and weak beats as "lost gems." But mp3 blog scavengers (and producer/artists like the Studio, Quiet Village Project, Map of Africa, and others) have also managed to unearth singles that were unforgivably banished to the bargain bins when punk and new wave trimmed rock back to pop and house shaved away disco's hairy excesses.
The officially licensed chill comp meets the underground's current fascination with yacht rock, space disco, pastoral prog, Pacific Coast synth-pop, fairy folk, and perennially feted Krautrock on Hans-Peter Lindstrøm's new edition of the popular LateNightTales series. Even the tracks recorded a few months ago sound like they could have been heard floating from the window of a young German's flat in 1975--or maybe 1985. As a producer and DJ, Lindstrøm is known for his ProTool-ed upgrades on the cosmic swooshes of Italo disco and the regimented bliss of Giorgio Mororder's mechanistic funk. Though little on his Late Night Tales reaches house's 120 bpm tempo, it's still of a piece with his vision of a world where kids hung Vangelis posters in their lockers and Ralf und Florian got mobbed by Tiger Beat readers.
Hell, Lindstrøm's taste in African-American soul, here represented Sly Stone's "In Time", also burbles to a drum machine beat. Other Yankee inclusions range from the ludicrously slick electronic skank of Carly Simon's "Why" (love the proto-house piano and multi-tracked big harmonies that indelibly date stamp it "mid-'80s") to an electro-disco hoedown from Dusty Springfield (hambone rhythms meet the spotless production of a Donna Summer record). Two future shock novelty tunes from Todd Rundgren and George Benson treat synthesizers like the space age instruments they once were, sounding like a cardboard UFO strafing a small town in a '50s B-movie soundtrack and a slightly new age-y sound FX record respectively. And we should point out that Lindstrom also includes a track from Pitchfork's own Dominique Leone which, even accounting for nepotism, ranks as the compilation's prettiest moment, a fuzzed-out lullaby where Brian Wilson invites Roedelius over for a play date to splash around in his sandbox.
But mostly this Late Night Tales is a European show, whether Lindstrøm is drawing from relics of the era of arpeggiated basslines or young bucks attempting to ape their style. Usually the relics come out ahead. The cod cinematic grandeur of Klaus Schulze associate Rainer Bloss' moistly melancholy synth strings, "Chariots of Fire" piano, and hissing '80s gated drums will bring a tear to anyone of a certain age with warm memories of the era's synth schlock, but the wheedling harmonica (or its computer equivalent) and lite-funk rhythm of Terje and Thomas' "Regnbagn" just sounds like the limp instrumental/dub b-side to a Lionel Richie single.
It's uncomfortable realizations like that where you suddenly remember that much of this era's castoffs were not necessarily forgotten by accident. It also makes you question why modern producers like Terje and Thomas would want to imitate or pay homage to such toothless fare. Unlike Rub-N-Tug's sour riposte to the chill out market, Better With a Spoonful of Leather, where the New York duo slowed down and processed the same sort of raw material that Lindstrøm is working with until it turned downright eerie, Late Night Tales is a straightforward trawl through laidback/featherweight music that often edges too close to muzak. Lindstrøm's ear gets the balance right about half the time, but he's occasionally too proud of showing off his taste in records that should have been left in dad's basement.
