Blaine L. Reininger - Songs From The Rain Palace - Klanggalerie - Out Now
San Francisco post-punk art-rock collective Tuxedomoon was arguably at its creative peak in the '80s with genre-twisting albums Half-Mute and Desire garnering acclaim among the hip set and scrutinising media of the time.
Behind the scenes, its various members were happily embroiled in their own creative indulgences. Steven Brown explored poetic, classical and electronica avenues, the late Peter Principle carved out musique concrete furrows and Winston Tong delivered the extraordinary avant-pop opus Theoretically Chinese long-player (with an enviable array of musicians and sadly little to show for it). They weren't unique but I can think of Wire's extra-curricular activities as a comparable reference point.
Violinist and songwriter Blaine L. Reininger has arguably had the most creatively lucrative solo period out of all of them. 1990's Songs From The Rain Palace opened the new decade with little fanfare but planty to savour. His last studio album for Belgium's Crepuscule imprint has subsequently garnered little in the way of praise since its release, yet conversely highlights its creator's deft ability to merge pop and atmospherics with some aplomb. Even the artist himself has been recently bemused by its warranted attention.
There's no denying that Rain Palace is an album of two halves. The first six songs are a mixture of the sprightly (My TV, Zeb and Lulu), the atmospheric (Song For J.J.), the sublime (Justice and One-Way Man) and the throwaway (KMart), all typically thoughtful Reininger storyboards with melodic twists and turns and lyrical couplets, with One Way Man being the most classic, atmospheric and glorious of the lot.
It's the second half of Rain palace that truly ignites the flames. The powerful Voice Of The Hive is a belter with its wall of hefty drums, bullying synths and robotic vocals while the closing Spaziergang provides a soundtrack to that stately Sunday wander around any European park of your choosing.
Where this album really comes into its own is during the absorbing Europe After The Rains trilogy, a short semi-biographical travelogue encompassing coffee-fuelled Austrian backstreets, a touch of Harry Lime and rain-soaked Belgian lowlands. Reininger's melodic strength is as potent as the caffiene in his macchiato - one for the headphones and the senses.
Extras include tracks from the era including two seriously revelatory instrumentals - Grapelli Hook from the Matereli Sonori archives and string-fuelled Nocturne in 7. Shame that the attention to detail dips with Visions in Fire (listen again for the jumps, Klang remasterers), but overall this is a vibrant and atmospheric album worth adding to your Tux library. A vinyl reissue with sharper mastering would be very welcome.
8/10