Snowflakes Are Dancing (1974); art direction; Joseph J. Stelmach; artwork: David B. Hecht.
The Japanese composer Isao Tomita died last week so I’ve been listening to some of his early recordings, and thinking—as usual—about their cover designs. Tomita was by far the best of the many electronic musicians in the 1970s who took advantage of the huge success of Wendy Carlos’s Switched-On Bach (1968) to create their own versions of classical music with Moog and other synthesisers. If this makes Tomita sound like an opportunist (and his 1972 collection of electronic pop covers was titled Switched On Hit & Rock), he quickly developed his own approach to electronic composition which ranged from quirky humour to his own brand of cosmic pictorialism. The latter was very different from the equally cosmic meanderings of Tangerine Dream which seldom strayed too far from the rock world. Tomita had a genius for taking very familiar pieces of classical music which he fashioned into synthesizer soundtracks for imaginary science-fiction films. (He also produced actual scores for a number of Japanese films but few, if any, of these were released outside Japan.) This approach is shown to great effect on The Bermuda Triangle (1979), an album that was subtitled “A Musical Fantasy Of Science Fiction”, and which filters Prokofiev and Sibelius through a library of crank paperbacks, with references to UFOs, undersea pyramids, Agharta, the Hollow Earth, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and the Tunguska Event.
Pictures At An Exhibition (1975); artwork: bas-relief by Gene Szafran. The first appearance of the logo that became a fixture of Tomita’s albums. No designer is credited but I’d guess it was the work of Joseph J. Stelmach. The logo typeface is Sinaloa.
As for the covers, Tomita’s recordings may have been classical music but RCA targeted the albums at a rock audience so there’s no sign of the venerable composers heads that appear continually on the sleeves of orchestral recordings. The examples here are almost all the Western releases which, surprisingly, tended to have better covers than the Japanese originals. This is also a partial selection, favouring Tomita’s own releases (no soundtracks), and mostly the early albums. The later albums aren’t as impressive, and many of them were only released in Japan.
Firebird (1975). No design or art credit. I’d not noticed before that the logo evolves by degrees, here gaining some extensions.
Lastly, I’ll dedicate this post to my old friend Nik Green who died in March. Nik was a session musician of some note, and the first person I knew who owned a synthesizer (an ARP Odyssey). He was also a great Tomita enthusiast who shared Tomita’s sense of humour and relished the quirkier moments on many of these albums. I can’t listen to the opening of the Mars section of Tomita’s The Planets without remembering Nik shouting “That’s a Moog!” when a synthetic fanfare interrupts the sounds of a spacecraft lift-off.
The Planets (1976); artwork: Stanislaw Fernandes. The choice of a spaceship may seem lazy but Tomita spends the first two minutes of the album enacting a countdown and take-off before Mars begins.
Kosmos (1977); art direction; Joseph J. Stelmach; artwork: Ron Walotsky. A collection of SF-film themes and other music.
The Bermuda Triangle (1978); art direction; Joseph J. Stelmach; artwork: Don Punchatz. The logo sports Hokusai’s famous wave for this release.
Daphnis Et Chloé [Japan] / The Ravel Album [Europe] (1979); design: Toshio Kajiura; artwork: Hiroo Isono.
Bolero (1978); art direction; Joseph J. Stelmach; artwork: Barron Storey. The North American release of The Ravel Album.
Grand Canyon (1982); artwork: Ichiro Tsuruta.
Okhotsk Fantasy (2016); artwork: Ukawa Naohiro. A return to form on this Japan-only release.
Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The album covers archive