Having read as many reviews as I can stand about Goldfrapp’s latest album, I have still not come any closer to figuring out if I actually like it or not. I’ve only heard bits and bobs of Felt Mountain and started listening to Goldfrapp in earnest with 2002’s Black Cherry, so maybe I expect a bit more edge and a bit more weirdness from Alison and Will—fewer sunkissed glamour photo shoots like the ones commissioned for Seventh Tree, and more half-horse electroglam cutouts. When your overriding vision of Goldfrapp involves Alison Goldfrapp on stage at Glastonbury wearing tall leather boots and a horse’s tail, abusing a portable theremin as though she were wearing a strap-on, readjusting to Seventh Tree’s far less carnivalesque atmosphere can take some time.

About that cover: it looks like someone took the same aesthetic from Beth Orton’s Daybreaker and recast it in Sherwood Forest. Somewhat fitting in that Orton took a similar low-key chillout approach to her most recent album, 2006’s Comfort of Strangers, though Orton threw away the electronics completely. Goldfrapp is infinitely more successful in that Seventh Tree remains interesting even in its most serene moments. It even approaches the electro sound perfected on Black Cherry and revisited on Supernature at times, though Alison’s old seductive persona never makes an appearance even on relatively bleep-heavy tracks like “Happiness.”

But for the most part, Seventh Tree remains a bit of a cipher—I’m still on the fence. Goldfrapp’s previous formula had worn thin after just two albums, so at least it’s not an even duller version of Supernature. And so far, the new album has proven difficult to dismiss outright. It just requires a lot of my attention to appreciate some aspects of the album; otherwise critic favourites like “A & E” and “Caravan Girl” go in one ear and out the other to little effect.

I guess it’s kind of an internet joke now that if you are at all associated with anime, there’s a devoted group of followers waiting to worship you. And so it is with Yoko Kanno, a Japanese composer that you’ve probably never heard of unless you love Ghost in the Shell, Escaflowne, Macross Plus, or any of a dizzying array of anime and video game works she’s composed music for, in which case you’ll almost certainly recognize a song or two of hers. Though she’s worked on several non-soundtrack music projects and even played in a couple of pop bands, Kanno continues to be known best for her soundtrack work.

“Cyberbird,” from the second Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex soundtrack, is one of her better known tracks, and served as my introduction to Kanno’s work. Gorgeous strings backed by a propulsive backbeat serve as a launching pad for the angelic female vocals of Gabriela Robin, a frequent Kanno collaborator (or doppelganger, depending on who you talk to). As an aural backdrop to a action-packed helicopter chase scene, it’s an inspired choice. As an original composition, it’s perhaps a bit too inspired.

The second season of Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex, for which “Cyberbird” was composed, first aired in 2004. Back in 1998, Hooverphonic put out their breakthrough second album, Blue Wonder Power Milk. The wonderful lead-off track is a little number called “Battersea,” a spirited drum’n'bass ride through the stratosphere. And if you Google the terms “battersea” and “cyberbird”, like I did on a whim, you’ll find a bunch of people who’ve all noticed the exact same thing I have: the two songs sound similar. Very similar. (I’ve reposted “Battersea” for comparison.)

It turns out Kanno begs, borrows and steals from a lot of sources, at least in the eyes of some; this forum thread lists a number of similarities, inspirations, and possibly outright thefts of other people’s material. I haven’t heard most of the songs mentioned, but at least a few of the similarities check out: “Where Does This Ocean Go?” definitely shares a certain resemblance to Bjork’s “Hyperballad”, and “Face On” sounds like a rock-inflected remix of Craig Armstrong’s “Finding Beauty”.

What’s it all mean? Not sure, exactly—it doesn’t seem like anyone’s bothered to sue her for plagiarism, though some of these cases sound worse than, say, Elastica’s “Connection” versus Wire’s “Three Girl Rhumba.” (Elastica narrowly avoided the courts by settling with Wire’s publishers in that case; they also had to settle a case with the Stranglers for another song on their debut.) And some of the songs on the list don’t seem to match up particularly well to their supposed sources, like “Call Me, Call Me” versus the Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony.” I suppose the best likely outcome is curious individuals discover the source material upon which some of Kanno’s work is based, and appreciate the new artists they find as a result. In which case, if you liked “Cyberbird,” may I humbly suggest you pick up a couple of Hooverphonic CDs?

Another left-field track: as far as anyone seems to know, Shimpei doesn’t exist except as the creator of this single track. There are a couple of Japanese artists who happen to have the word Shimpei in their name, but I don’t think they’re the same. Whoever Shimpei is, they created this one track for a music rhythm game called Pop’n Music that seems to have only been released in Japan, but must be wildly popular because there are sixteen versions of it so far. Really the only other hint available to you in the music file is the presence of farm animals—a strangely reassuring and recurring theme when it comes to Japanese game music (also see We Love Katamari’s “Scorching Savanna“).

Um, so that’s it for today. I have no idea where to point you if you want more of the same, or more information on the artist, or even how you can get more barnyard beats. If anyone DOES know where to get more barnyard beats, though, I’m thinking we could kickstart this genre, put out a compilation, get the kids riled up. The Saturday-morning cartoon meets utopian grassroots agriculture aesthetic is one that could use more hit singles, no?

Some things simply fall into your lap unbidden, and make an impression even without the benefit of context. “Pitch Control” is one of those songs for me. Perhaps because of the not-too-recent resurgence of teutonic influences in electronic music, “Pitch Control” sounds pretty current to these ears—which is why it was surprising to discover the track was actually produced in 1982 by some of krautrock’s lesser-known godfathers.

Zero Set saw Dieter Moebius and Conny Plank, both associated with seminal krautrock band Cluster, collaborate with drummer Mani Neumeier of the band Guru Guru. Apparently inspired by African music, “Pitch Control” basically sounds like Kraftwerk if you took it out for a couple of drinks and gave it dance lessons. It skitters and skips all over the place, the gears of the musical machinery drenched in luxurious curtains of satin-finish lubricating oil. In short, it’s one of the sexier krautrock songs out there—which, admittedly, probably won’t replace big gay disco anthems or top 40 hip-hop remixes in the clubs any time soon. But if you like a little funk in your groove, this might be a good place to start.