Enter a zip code
CD
| 1 | |
| 2 | |
| 3 | |
| 4 | |
| 5 | |
| 6 | |
| 7 | |
| 8 | |
| 9 | |
| 10 | |
| 11 | |
| 12 | |
| 13 | |
| 14 | |
| 15 | |
| 16 | |
As the prime mover behind the '80s French worldbeat-punks Mano Negra, Manu Chao, a Spanish-born son of a prominent Madrid journalist, set the template for Latin rock bands all over the Americas. The ingredients: breakneck rhythms, a babel of foreign languages, the ability to leap from punk to ska to salsa in a single bound - and an anarchist call for social justice and revolution. The band's exploits were the stuff of legend. There was the time they toured South America by boat, actually playing from the deck of a ship funded by the French government, and the ill-fated rail tour of Colombia that ended in a fiasco of banditry and guerrillas. Then there was Chao's disappearance - for years he traveled through Africa and South America, working in a circus, disproving the occasional rumors of his death. Clandestino is the hallucinatory account of these years in exile, a brilliant, primarily acoustic montage of found sounds, answering machine tapes, ukeleles, trombones, dancehall chatter and Chao's nursery-rhyme style lyrics. Like Beck without the hipster irony, Chao's songs straddle folk strains and post-modern pastiche, flowing from one into another in a twilight jumble of loneliness, a dreamlike suite that sounds like shortwave broadcasts from the end of the century. You need to tune in. Mark Schwartz, Barnes & Noble