Livros sobre música que vale a pena ler - Cromo #102: David Stubbs - "Mars By 1980 - The Story Of Electronic Music"

 

autor: David Stubbs
título: Mars By 1980 - The Story Of Electronic Music

editora: Faber & Faber
nº de páginas: 430
isbn: 978-0-571-35129-9
data: 2018
1ª Edição / 1st Edition

CAPA:

‘An elegant, humorous, diligently researched labour of love.’ Uncut

DAVID STUBBS

MARS

BY 1980

THE STORY OF ELECTRONIC MUSIC

‘If you only buy one account of electronica, make it this… Enthralling.’ Record Collector

ff

 

CONTRACAPA:

‘Stubbs unpicks a vast, sprawling and very human history … A wise, human guide.’ Victoria Segal, Sunday Times

 

In Mars by 1980, David Stubbs charts the evolution of electronic music from the earliest mechanical experiments in the late nineteenth century to the familiar sounds of electronica, house and techno that we know today. It’s a tale of mavericks and future dreamers overcoming Luddite resistance, malfunctioning devices and sonic mayhem. Its beginnings may be in the world of avant-classical composition, but the story continues through the cosmic funk of Stevie Wonder and Giorgio Moroder, via the pioneering sounds of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, through unforgettable eighties electropo from the likes of Depeche Mode, the Pet Shop Boys and Laurie Anderson, right up to present-day innovators on the underground scene.

 

‘A vitalm document. Essential Reading.’ Louder Than War

 

‘A fascinating trip back to the future which stands alongside Simon Reynolds’ rave history Energy Flash as one of the best books in the field,’ Rupert Howe, Q

 

‘Ân absorbing account… This instructive book may help us listen to the world with ears newly attuned.’

Ian Thomson, FT Weekend

 

FABER & FABER

 

ISBN 978-0-571-35129-9

Cover design by Luke Bird

UK £12.99

 

Pg.1

MARS BY 1980

David Stubbs is a British author and music journalist. Alongside Simon Reynolds, he was one of the co-founders of the Oxford magazine Monitor before going on to join the staff at Melody Maker. He later worked for the NME, Uncut and Vox, as well as The Wire. His work has appeared in The Times, the Sunday Times, Spin, the Guardian, the Quietus and GQ. He has written a number of books, including Future Days: Krautrock and the Building of Modern Germany and Fear of Music: Why People Get Rothko but Don’t Get Stockhausen, a comparative study of twentieth-century avant-garde music and art. He lives in London.

 

Further praise for Mars by 1980:

 

‘Bewitching… Fascinating.’ Jude Rogers, News Statesman

 

‘Mars by 1980 teems with great stuff and is destined to become one of my favourite music books.’ Freq

 

‘Fascinating… The avant-garde tape compositions of Karlheinz Stockhausen and Pierre Henry are often seen as forbidding and cerebral, but in Stubbs’ vivid prose, they come alive.’ List

 

‘Whether writing about Stockhausen or Soft Cell, Stubbs avoids tech talk, instead seeking out the humanity in the music, focusing on the artists who have utilized technology to aid-self-exploration.’

Graeme Thomson, Uncut

 

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‘As David Stubbs… so vividly illustrates in Mars by 1980, technology has been a creative accelerant, not a brake, on the music of the past century.’ Victoria Segal, Sunday Times

 

‘[A] brilliant history,’ Choice

 

‘If you want to trace a line from the work of the Futurists back in 1909 to Fatboy Slim, then let David Stubbs take you on that journey. It’s some ride.’ The Crack, Book of the Mouth

 

‘An insightful, droll work, bouncing brightly between themes like the film criticism of David Thomson. Open your mind.’ Prog Magazine

 

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MARS

BY

1980

The Story of

Electronic Music

David Stubbs

Ff

FABER & FABER

 

Pg. 4

First published in 2018

By Faber Limited

Bloomsbury House

74-77 Great Russell Street

London WC1B 3DA

This paperback edition published in 2019

Typeset by Ian Bahrami

Printed in the UK by CPI Group (UK) Ltd. Croydon CRO 4YY

All rights reserved

© David Stubbs, 2018

ISBN 978-0-571-35129-9

 

Pg. 7

CONTENTS

Preface I             ix

Preface II: One Summer              xiii

Introduction      1

 

PART ONE

1 Electronics: A Prehistory          35

2 Futurism and the Birth of Noise            43

3 Poème Électronique: The Long Wait of Edgar Varèse 60

4 Un Homme Seul: Pierre Schaeffer and the Art of Scissors        79

5 Stockhausen: Beyond the Cosmos      88

6 4’ 33” of Everything: John Cage and Other Concrète Solutions              110

 

PART TWO

7 Distant Galaxies, Deep Oceans: Sun Ra and Miles Davis            135

8 Deux Femmes Seules: Derbyshire and Oram 160

9 Stevie Wonder and the Electrification of Soul                173

 

PART THREE

10 From Suicide to the Pet Shop Boys: The Art of the Duo          197

11 They Were the Robots: Kraftwerk and Pop Automata            221

12 Substance: From Joy Division to New Order, the Human League, Depeche Mode to Depeche Mode              250

 

PART FOUR

13 Brian Eno, the Aphex Twin and Ambient’s Late Arrival            283

14 Cutting Up the World: From Cabaret Voltaire to J Dilla            312

15 Reverberation and Decay      343

16 Legitimacy: From Castlemorton to Skrillex     365

17 Conclusion    399

 

Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Musical Technology: A Timeline   407

A Mars by 1980 Plylis     412

Index    417

 

PREFACE I

In writing this book, I realized I was taking on an exciting but also invidious, some might even say impossible, task. I wanted to take in the full range of electronic music, rather than home in on one particular aspect, beginning with its very earliest manifestations at the turn of the twentieth century and its apparent global domination in the popular music of the twenty-first, with EDM challenging rock’s long-held dominance as the default form of stadium music entertainment.

I wanted to take in its vast sweep, across a range of genres, create an account at once intimate and aerial in its perspective, at once personal and historical. It´s not, however, intended to be exhaustive. This is not a directory. I can see now fans of particular electronic musicians, or even the musicians themselves, reaching for this book, heading immediately for the index and finding, to their dismay, no mention of their heroes (or themselves). I can hear the voices of anguish. Why no mention of Super Collider and their sinuous blend of fractal electronics and neo-soul vocals? Where is Todd Rundgren, whose synth driven A Wizard, a True Star blazed a lightning trail through the 1970s? Why the omission of the brilliant Tod Dockstader and Arne Nordheim from the musique concrète list? Were they not French or female enough?

Or where is Halim Abdul Messieh El-Dabh, the Egyptian American composer born in 1921 who experimented with wire recorders in the early 1940s, composing music made from field recordings in Cairo that, albeit tentative in their technology and outcomes, pre-date Pierre Schaeffer by half a decade, and who died in 2017 having seen the electronic music he prefigured spread arterially throughout the body of modern music? Or Jean-Jacques Perrey, early adopter of the Ondioline, who used the techniques of musique concrete to splice together a gleefully de-solemnised, populist take on the genre, eventually going on to work with Luke Vibert on the album Moog Acid (2007), aged eighty? Of neither of these is there a single mention in the entire book.

How come no Jen-Michel Jarre, a more serious student of electronic music than his rather son et lumière style suggests? Or Vangelis, whose soundtrack for the 1981 film Chariots of Fire was, in retrospect, an inspired choice for a period film about the 1924 Olympics, where a lazier, safer choice would have been an opulent, Downton Abbey-style orchestral soundtrack?

Where are Space? Hot Butter? Sara Brightman and Hot Gossip’s ‘I Lost My Heart to a Starship Trooper’? And how could you possibly write an entire book of this nature and completely ignore Kraftwerk? (It’s alright, Kraftwerk are in here.)

No judgement is intended on those omitted. As I say, this is a personal and selective account that is more about aspects and angles, patterns and trails than encyclopaedic completism. Nor is it a ‘techie’ account. It’s more about the meanings and resonances of electronic music, how the shapes it has taken, the successes It has achieved and the failures it has suffered reflect the hopes, fears and loathing it has inspired in humanity. It refers outside of music into the realms of sport, TV, philosophy, the visual arts, non-electronic music, politics, national identity, race. But predominantly it refers to the music, made using the medium of electricity, but no guitar based. That’s important. That such music feels less ‘real’, less organic, less heroic, more schematic and heartlessly methodical too those wary of it is one of the underlying themes of Mars by 1980.

The book stretches into the twenty-first century but, as the title implies, it alludes also to something that was lost in the twentieth century at some unspecified, pre-postmodern moment: an idealism about the future and all that it might contain, from socialism to space travel, dreams that now seem laughably antique or agonizingly extinct. Mark Fisher, my late friend and colleague, felt something along these lines. While not hoping to emulate his own cultural and philosophical investigations, there are smatterings here and there of his influence, not least in his abiding belief that the oppressive school of thought established in lieu of Mars circa 1980 – that there is No Alternative to the prescriptions of capitalism and the free market – is merely a rhetorical sleight of hand. Electronic music has been a carrier of malignant ideas, of date-stamped fictions and a means of disseminating mediocrity on an industrial scale – in every gym, all the time, for a start. However, at its best, it has opened up great vistas of possibility as to what human beings can do with their invention and imagination, when unshackled from fear, custom and conservatism.

‘No alternative’ was the neo-liberal mantra; ‘no future’, as jeered by Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols in 1977, was the concurrent cry of despair that punk bequeathed, which, whether it meant to or not, helped scotch the flowery, futuristic dreams of a new Age of Aquarius as dreamt by the hippies. No future. We’re still suffering the aftershock of that particular Song of Experience, the cynical refrain of the post-space age, of our postmodern times in which we are too clever, too afraid to speculate wildly on a better future of expanded horizons. This is the historical vantage point from which Mars by 1980 surveys over a hundred years of electronic music is made today. There are a thousand good reasons to give way to despair, but what is there to lose by attempting to rediscover in the electronic music of the past not merely a glow of nostalgia but the glow of possible dormant futures that have merely been deferred?

A further note: although the book proceeds broadly chronologically, its chapters are thematic in a way that militates against an orderly timeline. There’s a little bit of leaping about back and forth between the 1950s and ‘60s, 1970s and ‘90s, and back – but we reach the twenty-first century in the end.

 

For their valuable assistance, guidance and illumination I’d like to thank the following: Dave Watkins, Ian Bahrami, Lee Brackstone and all at Faber, as well as my agent, Kevin Pocklington; Jono Podmore, Simon Reynolds, Dan Hancox, Robin Rimbaud, all at The Wire magazine, where I worked for two years, a brief but packed era of immense discovery and exposure to new musics, and a chance to meet their creators; the commissioning editors of the late Melody Maker, Vox and Uncut, including Allan Jones and Jerry Thackray, who allowed me to meet childhood (and adult) heroes in the flesh; Neil Mason, Rudi esch, Uwe Schütte, Mark Wernham and Push at Electronic Sound Magazine; Luke Turner and John Doran at The Quietus; Clive Harris, Graham Dowdall and my partner, Roshi Nasehi.

 

PREFACE II: ONE SUMMER

July 1977. Britain. A late Sunday afternoon. A dormitory village, several miles from Leeds. A lane. A bedroom in an extension above garage. A bedside table. A fifteen-year-old boy on the bed, bedroom-bound by adolescence. A boy holding a microphone connected to a cassette recorder next to a transistor radio, a fuzzy mono transistor radio with a soft grey speaker. Customarily, this radio sits in the kitchen, accruing a coating of brown grease from the cooking fat billowing around the clock. Customarily, it’s an instrument of oppression, broadcasting Waggoners’ Walk, The Archers, Vince Hill, Sing Something Simple, all of which give the lie to the supersonic seventies – the sallow fifties, more like.

On a Sunday afternoon there’s nothing to do except homework, to while away the hour until the velveteen Tom Browne presents the suspenseful Sunday, chart show, the first breaking news of the hit parade in any week. This is too important to be broadcast solely on Radio 1, with its barely adequate, interference-addled signal, so, for one hour a week only, there’s pop on Radio 2, rather than the customary bow-tied crooners and Semprini Serenade. Unfortunately, it’s preceded by Charlie Chester and his Sunday Soapbox – ‘With a box full of records and a bag full of post, it’s radio soapbox and Charlie your host!’ It’s impossible for a fifteen-year-old to make sense of. He’s billed as ‘Cheerful’ Charlie, but it´s cheerless fare indeed, like being obliged to look on as an old uncle shows you his yellowing collection of World War II bobbins and cigarette cards, with the threat of a slap on the head if you’re not paying attention. These were the 1970s as lived, still coated with dark-brown war-surplus paint, barely relieved.

This was the context into which a new single crash-landed like Skylab.

 

1976. Musicland Studio in Munich, home to the communes that gave rise to Amon Düül but now host to an emerging disco factory. Among the musicians are Keith Forsey, a drummer who, like Can’s Jaki Liebezeit, rejects the ostentatiousness of soloing in favour of the discipline of keeping time with thudding, machine precision. There’s Pete Bellote, a shy English expat who is good at framing albums conceptually and song structure. There’s engineer Robbie Wedel, keeper of the secrets of the Moog synthesizer, some of which, it turns out, are unknown even to Mr Moog himself. Fibnally there’s the grand master and surveyor of the mixing desk, Giorgio Moroder. To the fifteen-year-old, his name speaks of sports cars, of aftershave cool, go-ahead European Teknik. Later, his moustache, hair and shades will make him look like a Eurodisco grotesque, but for now he exists primarily in the fifteen-year-old’s imagination. Motorik, mobile Moroder.

Finally, there’s Donna Summer herself, an American ex-cast member from the musical Hair who will later refuse to limit herself as ‘merely’ a disco singer, as well as unwisely alienate a vast segment of her audience when she gets religion and decides to condemn the gay lifestyle. For now, however, she’s Donna Summer – wide-eyed, energetic, gossipy, full of love and fun, a gift from heaven. This team helped put together the epic, sensual ‘Love to Love You Baby’, but it was banned on release for its overt sexuality. The boy had no means of hearing it at the time, merely hearing about it. It was as mythical to the fifteen-year-old as sex itself.

This new track is an afterthought – an addendum to a concept album conceived by Bellote, an Anthony Powell-esque dance backwards and forwards trough pop history and prehistory with the ironically title of I Remember Yesterday. It’s a showcase for Summer’s immense versatility, harking back to 1940s swing, then the Motown era, then early-1070s badass soul, then disco as constituted in the present day with ‘Take Me’ – and then with ‘I Feel Love’, the tomorrow that was 1977.

The track is built like a new car, the body first. Its apparently impossible electronic repetition and velocity is achieved by Wedel syncing two tracks in a way that feels superhuman. It’s another feat of German ingenuity, following the composer Paul Hindemith’s experiments in ‘motorik’ music, the investigations of Herbert Eimert and Karlheinz Stockhausen, and, later, the inventions of Klaus Dinger, Ralf Hütter, Jaki Liebezeit and engineers like Kurt Graupner during Krautrock era.

‘So You Win Again’ by Hot Chocolate is at number one. The boy resents its fatalism, which seems to infect the pedestrian pace of the song. ‘Ma Baker’ by Boney M is in there somewhere, another West German Confection. Emerson, Lake and Palmer have ballooned into the Top 10 with ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’, as corny and example of prog rock’s pretensions to classical status as ever deigned to touch down in the charts, but snapping further back somewhere is ‘Pretty Vacant’. Two new holes are being ripped in pop’s arse this week, and this is one of them. The other…

Practically the moment it beams down, ‘I Feel Love’ feels like first contact: the slow opening of the spacecraft door, the blinding shaft of green light. This is… what is this? Brian Eno hears it and rushes straight into David Bowie’s studio, claiming to be holding the future in his hands. Sparks hear it and promptly decide to ditch their band, hit up Moroder and function as an electronic duo. And that’s just the start.

What is this? Pure, silver, shimmering, arcing, perfectly puttering hover-car brilliance. Space’s ‘Magic Fly’ to the power of ten. Seven inches have become twelve. Keyboards are played with unheard-of, bionic, rotor-blade capability. It glides the way scissors do when you achieve that perfect synergy between mind, hand and blade, cutting through the dreary curtain of 1970s entertainment and revealing space. Space 1977. Vo exhaust, no vapour trails, no strings, no frills, this is a take-of. People will be left behind, people will be laid off. May you never hear rock music again. May you never hear light orchestra music again. May you never see Happy Days again.

Meanwhile, Donna Summer’s vocals fall like petals from robot heaven. The machine, threshing immaculately, owns this song; it´s for her to glide diaphanously around it, strew it with vocal grace – minimal subject matter. The words ‘I feel love’, applied with a mild, synthetic treatment, sound like she is channeling the voice of machinery that has experienced an epiphany, like Star Trek’s Commander Data discovering emotion. Except there is something coolly indifferent about this sonic craft, indifferent even to Donna Summer as it glides onwards and upwards, for minute after minute, powered on something far more durable than mere human stamina. Even has the record fades away, you sense it is still out there, puttering pneumatically away, cruising at cirrus level.

In 1973, the boy had received a five-year diary as a Christmas present. Flicking forward through its empty pages, he reached as far away as 1977. Maybe it was the way the two sevens clashed, or maybe it was the chevron-like effect of the two numbers in conjunction, but as a year it felt especially futuristic. What will life be like in 1977? Even decades later, the feeling somehow still holds. 1977 was Star Wars, Skylab, The Six Million Dollar Man, the Sex Pistols, Summer. The Apollo mission had closed a few years earlier, but no matter. Mars. Mars by 1980, surely. The boy was still growing, the world was still growing. Colour television had arrived only months earlier, in the boy’s household at any rate, and now electricity had arrived, the electricity that would take us to uncharted space. ‘I Feel Love’ felt like the launch of an exploratory mission, an advance probe to delineate the decades that would take us to the twenty-first century, by which point the boy would be thirty-seven years old with his whole life behind him.

Decades later, the boy would still ask himself, ‘What will life be like in the year 1977?’

DAVID STUBBS

A MARS BY 1980 PLAYLIST

 

Some of this I regard as canonical, some personal. To be used as a journey to take you down many other wormholes.

 

23 Skidoo, ‘Just Like Everybody’

A Guy Called Gerald, ‘Voodoo Ray’

Luke Abbott, ‘Moder Driveway’

The Advisory Service, ‘Civil Defence Is Common Sense’

Laurie Anderson, ‘O Superman’

Aphex Twin, ‘Didgeridoo’

The Art Of Noise, ‘Close (to the Edit)’

Edward Artemiev, ‘Dedication to Andrei Tarkovsky’

Robert Ashley, Your Money My Life Goodbye

Autechre, ‘Second Scepe’

Arseny Avraamov (arr. Miguel Molina), Symphony of Sirens

Afrika Bambaataa and the Soulsonic Force, ‘Looking For the Perfect Beat’

Basic Channel, Arrange and Process (various artists)

William Basinski, The Disintegration Loops

Luciano Berio, Omaggio a Joyce

Boards of Canada, Geogaddi

David Bowie, ‘Beauty and the Beast’

Gavin Bryars / Alter Ego / Philip Jeck, The Sinking of the Titanic

The Bug, ‘Superbird’

Burial, Untrue

Cabaret Voltaire, The Voice of America, ‘Slugging fer Jesus’

John Cage, ‘Williams Mix’

Can, ‘Moonshake’

Carter Tutti Void, ‘f=(2.7)’

Suzanne Ciani, Concert at Phill Niblock’s Loft

Dave Clark, Live at Lowlands Festival

Cluster, ‘Rosa’ (from Zuckerzeit)

Coil, ‘Sex With Sun Ra’

Holger Czukay, Movies

D.A.F., Gold Und Liebe

Daft Punk, Homework, ‘Digital Love’

Miles Davis, ‘Yesternow’ (from Jack Johnson), ‘He Loved Him Madly’ (from Live/Evil)

De La Soul, ‘Eye Know’

Deadmau3, ‘The Veldt’

Deathprod, Morals and Dogma

Depeche Mode, ‘A Pain thet I’m Used To’ (Jacques Lu Cont remix)

Delia Derbyshire and Barry Bermange, ‘There Is A God’

J Dilla, Donuts

Terrence Dixon, From The Far Future

Todd Dockstader, Eight Electronic Pieces

Einstürzende Neubauten, ‘Engel der Vernichtung’

Halim El-Dabh, The Expressions of Zaar

Brian Eno, Music For Airports, On Land

Faust, Faust, Faust So Far

Fennesz, ‘Rivers of Sand’

Luc Ferrari, Music Promenade

Foul Play, ‘Open Your Mind’

John Foxx, London Overgrown

Front 242, ‘Headhunter’

The Future Sound Of London, ‘Papua New Guinea’

Gas, Königsforst

Godley and Crème, ‘Under Your Thumb’

Goldie, ‘Jah the Seventh Seal’ (from Inner City Life)

Manuel Göttsching, E2-E4

Laurel Halo, ‘Jelly’

Herbie Hancock, Sextant

Harmonia, ‘Sehr Kosmisch’

Heaven 17, ‘(We Don’t Need This) Fascist Groove Thang’

Tim Hecker, Ravendeath, 1972

Matthew Herbert, One Pig

Holly Herndon, Movement

Human League, ‘The Dignity of Labour’, ‘Love Action’

Humanoid, ‘Stakker Humanoid’

Janet Jackson, Rhythm Nation 1814

Japan, ‘Life In Tokyo’

Philip Jeck, ‘Fanfares’

Joy Division, Closer

Leyland Kirby, ‘Stralauer Peninsula’

KLF, Chill Out

Kode 9 + the Spaceape, ‘Ghost Town’

Kraftwerk, Autobahn, Trans-Europe Express, The Man-Machine, Computer World

LA Style, ‘James Brown Is Dead’

Ladytron, ‘Playgirl’

Thomas Leer, Four Movements EP

Letherette, Space Cuts

Liaisons Dangereuses, ‘Los Ninos Del Parque’

György Ligeti, ‘Artikulation’

Madlib, ‘Shadows Of Tomorrow’

Mantronix, ‘Megamix (in Full Effect 1988)’

Matmos, The Civil War

John Maus, We Must Become the Pitless Censors of Ourselves

Derrick May, ‘It Is What It Is’

Joe Meek, ‘I Hear a New World’

Merzbow, Merzbient

Metamono, ‘Warszava’

M.I.A., ‘Born Free’

Jeff Mills, ‘Cubango’

Janelle Monáe, The ArchAndroid

Luigi Nono, Ommagio a Emilio Vedova

Gary Numan, ‘Cars’

Pauline Oliveros, ‘Bye Bye Butterfly’

Daphne Oram, Four Aspects

The Orb, ‘A Huge Ever Growing Pulsating Brain that Rules from the Centre of the Ultraworld’

Edith Pade, ‘Faust’

Man Parrish, ‘Hip-Hop Be Bop (Don’t Stop)’

Aneette Peacock, ‘I’m the One’

Pere Ubu, ‘Non-Alignment Pact’

Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, ‘Soul Fire’

Pet Shop Boys, ‘Rent’

Henri Pousseur and Michael Butor, Paysages Planetaires

Prine, ‘If I Was Your Girlfrien’

Jamie Principle, ‘Baby Wants to Ride’

Pyrolator, ‘Happiness’

Éliane Radigue, Trilogie de la Mort

Steve Reich, ‘Come Out’

Robert Rental and the Normal, Live At West Runton Pavilion

Porter Ricks, ‘Port Gentil’

Roxy Music, ‘Virginia Plain’

Rufige Kru, ‘Ghosts of My Life’

George Russell, Electronic Sonata for Souls Loved by Nature

Pierre Schaeffer and Pierre Henry, Orphée

Conrad Schnitzler, ‘Fata Morgana’

Paul Schütze, ‘Tears’

Raymond Scott, ‘Light Works’

Scritti Politti, Cupid & Psyche 85

Scuba, ‘Adrenalin’

DJ Shadow, Entroducing

Skinny Puppy, ‘Harsh Stone White’

Soft Cell, ‘Memorabilia’

Mark Stewart, ‘Forbidden Colour’

Karlheinz Sotckhausen, Gesang de Jünglinge, Kontakte, Hymnen

Morton Subotnick, ‘Silver Apples of the Moon’

Suicide, ‘Frankie Teardrop’ (from Suicide), ‘Touch Me’

Donna Summer, ‘I Feel Love’

Sun Ra, Media Dreams, ‘I’ll Wait For You’

Supercollider, ‘Gravity Rearrangin’’

Tangerine Dream, Zeit

Telex, ‘Moscow Discow’

This Heat, ’24 Track Loop’

Throbbing Gristle, ‘Tesco Disco’, ‘Discipline’

Underground Resistance, ‘Afrogermanic’

Edgar Varése, Déserts, Poème Électronique

Video-Adventures, ‘Tina’ (from Musiques pour garcons et filles)

White Noise, An Electric Storm

Stevie Wonder, Music of My Mind, Innervisions

Iannis Xenakis, Orient/Occident

Xhin, ‘Vent’

Yello, You Gotta Say Yes to Another Excess

Yellow Magic Orchestra, Technodelic

Young Gods, ‘Jimmy’

Zapp, ‘Computer Love’

Zomby, Where Were U in ´92?