Salam Jenkins, USOUNDS office manager, slips into the role of reviewer for the first time as he previews the new Spiritualized record, Let it Come Down as well as the next few weeks of USOUNDS.

 

It was another long day at the usounds LA office. In the morning Lance F. Rockaway dropped by bearing new records from Radio Khartoum, that gem of a label based in Oakland. As usual the packaging looked superb. I didn't have a chance to actually hear the albums (Gypsophile and Nice System), as I was holed up with Terrence, American Buddhist and Samar Soiree in the back room, discussing Terrence's recent voyage to Italy over some fragrant local product. He's now back at his monastery in Japan, and we should be hearing from him soon.

Later that morning at coffee break, Ric called from his new pad in Seattle, bearing news of wine, women and song. Still no article though, of course. Over coffee the main topic was the various imbecilic problems with the Daft Punk interview. It's all very hush-hush.

A mini-crisis developed when Terrence ran out of bud; luckily the office is always stocked. The real blow-up happened after lunch when an email came from Vianney over at Mini-Tenor. An entire shipment of rare European singles has apparently been lost. After that night mare it was generally agreed that everyone would knock of early and head to the Brig in Venice.

But not me. Everyone else has their fun, jetting around the world, spending extravagant amounts on the usounds diner's club in the name of 'research' and 'experience.' And meanwhile I'm left to be the bean counter, the spelling corrector, the writer, the photographer. Half of our 'big name' writers have never even written an article for us, let alone even make contact or acknowledge our existence. So it's up to me to send music to Istanbul, sell office furniture in a pinch, and authorize more martinis and 'friends' for Ric.

Of course, I have my pleasures. Late at night, with the office all to myself, and the secret stash of first rate shit. The promos, the advance mp3s, the studio leaks. They're all mine, first. I hear what no one but engineers and artists hear, occasional before the label even gets it.

On this particular night my treats were some new, rare Fantastic Plastic Machine remixes a friend had emailed from Japan, and assorted tracks from the Spiritualized record. It's been a while since the 1998 live album, and I was looking forward to the return. I cranked up the usounds main office stereo, a behemoth encased in sleek metal and glass, analogue and digital mixing sweetly in the production of fine internacional sound. The disc vanished into the CD player's mouth and a silky sip of wine disappeared into mine.

The familiar Spiritual Sounds drifted past me, circled around the room, and came back for a second pass when the drums kick in. By the time the horns starts wailing in Out of Sight, you know you're back in Spiritualized's suffocatingly open corner of heaven. As usual the lyrics may be grating in contrast to the smoothness and vision of the music, but once you find the sweet spot they all fall into place. Look for Let it Come Down September 25th on Arista Records. There are no major surprises besides the depth and breadth of J. Spaceman's soul expansion, but that is to the record's credit-- it's Spiritualized just how you want it, bigger and more. The record uses over 100 musicians (a chunk of whom are choral and gospel singers), and the technical production is superb.

After that I prepared the VCR to fire up Logan's Run, but something stopped me. Dreaming of further pleasure, I popped in one of the two new releases from RK. Guillame Belhomme's sweet Bossa Nova sound put me in a melancholy mood. I would say more, but I understand I'm supposed to ship this record to Spain tomorrow to meet Phillippe Coullette, IV at his small beach cottage on the Costa Brava. There will be a review and some mp3's on the way...

The sun sunk below Santa Monica and I found myself nodding to the Bossa Nova and barely breathing as darkness got punctured by humans on their way somewhere in the city. Stuck to my chair my car, alone in the parking lot, waited to be illuminated by the lot's auto night light.