New Music From Sambassadeur, Altin Gün
Sambassadeur
Survival
(European)
The Swedish group Sambassadeur—which takes its name from the Brazilian-influenced Serge Gainsbourg song “Les Sambassadeurs”—went from playing above-average indie-pop to creating some absolutely sublime and majestic pop songs on its third album European, including the breathtaking, Phil Spector-influenced “Sandy Dunes” with soaring strings and a brilliant cover of the obscure Tobin Sprout song “Small Parade”.
This writer eagerly awaited its follow-up, wondering how the band could top the dizzying heights of European, and after nine long years, we have Sambassadeur’s fourth album, Survival, released digitally on the band’s new label European Records.
Offhand, Survival isn’t quite as outgoing as European, but repeated listens reveal a different kind of sophistication with a songcraft that seems deceptively modest, shooting for an easygoing mood rather than grand gestures.
The weaving electric guitars and keyboard lines of “Foot of Afrikka” stand out, along with lead singer Anna Persson’s calm navigation through twisting melodies. The bubbly, crystalline keyboard sounds that drive “Stuck” may seem a little precious, and it’s not exactly clear what kind of style the group is attempting; but if you break the hard candy shell, there’s a solid pop song underneath the exterior.
“Orustfjord” ambles along with its own demure grandeur with gentle strums and piano chords played with conviction, and it subtly builds its layers so it never outstays its welcome. The finger-picked, lithe acoustic guitar notes, warm bass and milky synth-reed melodies of “41” are perfectly balanced with Persson’s comforting voice; a similar mood is channeled on “Roads”, but its yearning sincerity comes off as a bit mawkish.
The upbeat “Kors” provides a mid-album jolt with pop hooks leading to more pop hooks, and the album finds its denouement with “Ex on the Beach”, winding down with music-box twinkling and melancholic pop balladry; it closes an album that’s a bit of a jumble and a step back from the ambitions of its predecessor, but there are intricate pop pleasures to be uncovered.
Altin Gün
Gece
(ATO)
The six-piece psychedelic rock band Altin Gün, based in the Netherlands, was formed out of bassist Jasper Verhulst’s obsession with Turkish music—in particular, Turkish music from the ‘70s that melded traditional folk music with western-world rock influences (a.k.a. Anatolian rock), including artists such as Selda Bağcan, Barış Manço, Erkin Koray, and most importantly, Neşet Ertaş.
Although only one member—vocalist and keyboardist Merve Daşdemir—was born in Turkey, another member Erdinç Ecevit (who sings and plays synths and the saz, a lute-like stringed instrument) has Turkish roots; however, it’s quickly apparent when listening to the second album Gece (“night” in Turkish) from Altin Gün (which means “golden day”), that they are all serious about this music.
And it’s perhaps telling that, according to Spotify’s “Where people listen” statistics, lots of people in Turkey (along with listeners in Paris and Amsterdam) are digging this stuff.
“Yolcu” opens Gece, sporting a sinister riff and a thick psychedelic vibe with wah guitar from Ben Rider and funk-inflected conga and drum kit beats from percussionists Gino Groenveld and Daniel Smienk, while Erdinç Ecevit’s singing in Turkish is relatively restrained, echoing and reverberating.
Altin Gün’s arrangements adapt tried-and-true traditional melodies and rhythms, transforming them into killer vamps with distortion and envelope effects that unmistakably evoke the era of ‘70s rock, when guitar solos were a fact of life and didn’t seem to be particularly indulgent.
“Leyla” is an album highlight, overloaded with guitar fuzz and a funk momentum, topped with Merve Daşdemir’s ardent vocals. The album’s sole original composition is the improvised piece “Şoför Bey”, with spoken-word passages delivered by Daşdemir while the other musicians hold down a groove, but the track feels less memorable without the benefit of penetrating melodies.
The grin-inducing closing track “Süpürgesi Yoncadan” on Gece is a bit of an oddball, with unabashedly cheesy synth tones, spacey sounds, and artificial beats, capturing the disco-fever era in the late ‘70s.
There seems to be a distinct yet diverse strain of ‘70s revivalism that is highly competent and earnest, crossing oceans and continents for influences—The Budos Band and Khruangbin come immediately to mind—and now you can add Altin Gün to that list.