Issued before the release of Chrominance Decoder, April March's first large-scale U.S. album, Lessons of April March collects tracks March recorded with Bertrand Burgulat (three of which appear on Chrominance Decoder), as well as cuts from her Sympathy for the Record Industry releases (Los Cincos, Chick Habit and Paris in April). As such, the record has a pasted-together feel, largely due to the sheer number of collaborators March has worked with – but at points, it's a lovely showcase for her re-creations of 1960s French pop and yè-yè music. Case in point: the track "Chick Habit," which adapts English lyrics from Serge Gainsbourg's "Laisser Tomber les Filles," originally sung by France Gall. March's more modern tracks are a hit or miss affair here – those which later appeared on Chrominance Decoder are slick, unique and thoroughly worthwhile, but some of the earlier work collected on the album (and the closing track "Jesus and I Love You," from the Orgazmo soundtrack) seem like tacked-on throwaways.
A spicy mix of rarities, alternates and previously unissued R&B goodies from South Louisiana and S.E. Texas, where you are never too far from a bayou and some good rockin’ music. This 15th compilation in the “By The Bayou” series takes us back to the R&B sounds you would have heard belting out of a Louisiana juke joint on a steamy night in the 1950s or early 1960s. All of the tracks included were recorded in that party state, although some of the artists were based in Texas, crossing the state line to make music in studios based in Crowley and Lake Charles.
Blimey! They don’t come much more frenetic or savage than this - a riotous reading of LTIA pt1 emerging from a down 'n’ dirty intro/improv. Pausing only to catch breath in David’s solo (here with additional guitar shadings) before taking off again. “That was a good ending” says an approving Bill Bruford before they duck and dive their way through an especially crunchy Dr Diamond. The fun continues during Easy Money with ornery and cussed clusters taking flight from the fretboard like a bunch of punch-drunk wasps, ready to sting wherever they land.