A pseudo-documentary about the processes involved in putting together and casting actors and actresses for a porn film. Although several actual porn stars are in the film, it is not a porn film itself.
Paul Stanley is a 1978 solo album from the rhythm guitarist and vocalist of KISS. It was one of four solo albums released by the members of Kiss on September 18, 1978. Of the four solo albums “Paul Stanley” was the most similar to the sort of material fans would have expected from a full KISS release. This was not particularly surprising considering Paul’s role as the primary songwriter of the band, though the material wasn’t particularly surprising. While there was some experimentation on the album, Paul didn’t stray too far from the style of music he had been making for the previous five years. The departures would be more subtle, unlike the recordings of the other members on their efforts, and the result was somewhat formulaic.
Vocalion's reissue of classic 1970s albums by famous French orchestra leader/arranger/composer Paul Mauriat. Remastered from the original stereo tapes for Vocalion's trademark crystal-clear sound quality.
Inspired by his time spent with the Xingu Indians of the Amazon, to whom the album is also dedicated, Sol Do Meio Dia (Midday Sun) is a consistently intriguing transitional album from multi-instrumentalist Egberto Gismonti. With him are percussionists Nana Vasconcelos and Collin Walcott and guitarist Ralph Towner, as well as Jan Garbarek on soprano saxophone for a brief spell. At this point in his career, Gismonti was beginning to fill in the porous sound of his 8-string guitar. To this end, Vasconcelos and Walcott flesh out much of the dizzying rhythmic space that defines his sound, while Towner’s 12-string laces the background with more explicit chording. Walcott traces magical circles in “Raga,” for which Gismonti engages us with nimble fingerwork on the guitar’s highest harmonics.
Before migrating across the ECM continent, Stephan Micus outfitted some of his most formative expeditions in the territories of the JAPO sub-label. On these albums one hears Micus at his most elemental, turning every gesture into inter-spatial awareness. The album’s duration of 36 minutes only serves to deepen its intimacy as a space in which the listener might catch a cushion of meditation in a world of splinters. Micus’s practice has always been to render the stem before the flower, and in the album’s title track a table harp provides that very illustrative function. Its dulcimer-like heart beats a rhythm at once ancient and fresh, curling as the scriptural page, its edges darkened from constant contact with the hands. Those same hands cradle a method of speech so musical that its melody is discernible only in the freedom of solitude.
Ida Haendel’s sinewy and athletic reading of the often under-rated Britten combines toughness with a cumulative dramatic impetus which is hard to resist. Berglund and the Bournemouth players respond with a terse and argumentative vigour, suitably balanced between resignation and defiant rhetoric, especially in the closing Passacaglia. The Walton Concerto, also dating from 1938-9, is played with an apposite blend of inscrutable panache, as in the irrepressibly brilliant central movement, and elsewhere, a sensuous, if occasionally over-indulgent languor. Rare lapses in the finale can be safely overlooked, in a performance of eloquence and undisputed stature.