chemistry class

Some Favorite Films

2007-07-03T20:55:00.000-04:00

Another occasional list. Recently seen enthusiasms.

-THE FABULOUS BARON MUNCHAUSEN (Karel Zeman, 1961)
Not the Terry Gilliam version, but the far superior Czech marvel that inspired it. A fantastical mix of cut-out animation, live action, and deliberately unreal backgrounds. Whimsy at its finest.

-HAPPINESS (Agnes Varda, 1965)
Candy-colored French pastorale, complete with Bach reveries, and true romance. Only there's one lover too many in this mix. And an unaccountably creepy undertone that only expands in your mind once the film is over. Nearly perfect.

-OUTER SPACE (Peter Tcherkassy, 2000)
Reedits a cheesy 80s horror film starring Barbara Hershey into 8 minutes of pure abstract visceral terror. Like Eraserhead, but with claws and fangs. Terrifying and exhilerating.

-ACTRESS (Stanley Kwan, 1992)
Normally hate bio pix, but this virtually reinvents the genre giving you both the story of a tragic Hong Kong silent film star from the 20s as well as a faux documentary about the making of the movie itself, which actually enrichs and deepens the original drama.

-Z (Costa Gravas, 1969)
For years I've mistakenly assumed this was just some middlebrow thriller. Stupid me. It's a top-rate political film about the overthrow of the Greek government filled with scenes of gripping tension, terrific performances, and an impassioned tone that comes off as a genuiue cri de coeur.

-PROVIDENCE (Alain Resnais, 1976)
How is this movie not better known?! Featuring an incredibly witty script and stellar English cast led by a career turn from John Gielgud. It's clearly a major influence on Charlie Kaufman, only this moves between various levels of reality and skips around in time with much greater sophistication and ease -- plus it delivers a whalloping emotional payoff. Hard to imagine the person who wouldn't love this. Not someone you'd want to meet for drinks.

-TO SLEEP WITH ANGER (Charles Burnett, 1991)
Ancored by a sly performance from Danny Glover, this movie creeps up on you. At first it seems like a typical family melodrama until people start hypnotizing chickens and invoking hoodoo enchantments. The elderly folks here are the wild ones, bringing the old ways into a middle class suburban Los Angeles neighborhood with deeply unpredictable results. Masterful.

Open up and read.

2007-02-05T21:46:00.000-05:00

Recently finished up a comprehensive and solidly done new Iggy bio, Open Up and Bleed, by British journalist Paul Trynka. I haven't read Iggy's autobio, so I'm not sure how much of the same ground is covered, but Trynka does a yeoman's job of capturing all aspects of Iggy's career -- his home life, musical achievements, extra-musical relationships -- if not setting any stylistic milestones. The central conceit is a Jekyll & Hyde-like narrative that pits Iggy vs. Jim in a battle for the singer's soul. Trynka is quite solid and believeable on the music itself, praising what's great while also calling out the dogs in Iggy's oeuvre. He also seems to have spoken to anyone who ever came within ten feet of Iggy's dick, which amounts to a lot of people.

Iggyophiles may already be aware of this odd encounter, but I wouldn't have believed Trynka fully until I finally watched it myself. Here is Iggy performing on the Dinah Shore Show, in support of The Idiot, I believe:

The band is Iggy, Bowie, and Soupy Sales' kids. Elsewhere on youtube you can find more Iggy from this appearance, speaking with Dinah on the couch. A few years later, Iggy appeared on Tom Snyder's show, "Tomorrow." You can hear the audio from this interview at Post-Punk Junk. And for an articulate reivew of the upcoming Stooges album, Marcello has it.

Enthusiasms (#3 in a continuing series)

2007-01-23T22:48:00.000-05:00

Tom Wolfe : THE ELECTRIC KOOL AID ACID TEST : words
those novels are the dreck, but his early nonfiction is jaw-droppingly amazing, never more so than in this linguistic tour-de-fucking-force. have some interest in kesey, the pranksters, and the like, but it's really the prose that gets me going here, the amazing way he limns various minds and flavors the words with their moods and impressions (not just druggy either, no way). and while i thought he woulda been more sneering, it's a pretty fair and sympathetic account of a tribe's brave and foolhardy journey into that place where there are no words - and back again.

The Fire Engines : CODEX TEENAGE PREMONITION : sounds
glasgow punk that barely recorded anything on wax, just friends taping their rehearsals and gigs and mr. peel once coaxing them into his studio. velvet underground fans with itchy fingers and crazy riddims, going spastic in three directions at once but still getting that ole jangle-drone. going. a neat trick. far more loose than their compatriots in orange juice or joseph k. fun stuff, don't even mind the fidelity.

Toshio Matsumoto : FUNERAL PARADE OF ROSES : pictures that move
the cream of the very creamy japanese new wave film movement of the 60s-70s. the new wave where there were no truffauts but fifteen godards. yow. this film was one of the main influences on 'a clockwork orange.' an outrageous-but-controlled pastiche of styles - including documentary, experimental, fashion-shoot images, and more. it busted taboos with its look at gay life, telling a fractured oedipus story of fighting geisha 'girls' against a backdrop of youth revolt, rock freak-outs, u.s. treaty protests, and dada pageants.

Songs of the year.

2007-01-12T00:11:00.000-05:00

"Living in Sin in the USA" - Oakley Hall. It starts with the melancholy in Rachel Cox's voice, and gets better from there. Oakley Hall was one of my favorite discoveries of 06, from an SFJ tip. His offhand reference, and the ready availability of the album at eMusic, allowed me to get to the songs without any further mediation. It's a rare joy to be able to come to music with no real expectations or sound associations, and rarer still to find the music totally winning. This melody just kills me, and when Cox and Patrick Sullivan harmonize, it's that Gram/Emmylou wet dream all over again. It's Richard and Linda after a few strokes with the whetstone. It's John and Exene after a particularly grim whiskey bender. But with uplift; aren't we all living in sin in the USA? Is there any other way? It can be ugly, I guess. Here it is beautiful, and sad. The band name is borrowed from an author, who is himself one of several Oakley Halls. He doesn't seem to mind the association.... [Buy Gypsum Strings at eMusic, CD Universe.]

"Soul Pride" - The James Brown Orchestra. When my son was an infant, he cried bloody murder for months. In my saner moments I could try to reassign the sound, imagine it some kind of Aylerite wail. But it was mostly an insane time, so the cry sounded like itself, and it hurt all of us. Sleep was a blessed reprieve, for him and us, But sleep did not come easily. One method that seemed to work was to dance him into oblivion, particularly for daytime naps. I tried, with him slung over my shoulder, everything: Fela, Sly, Lee Morgan. Sometimes these worked, sometimes they didn't. But this track never failed us. Thinking back, I'd have to say that there was a little violence in the dancing; I think there's a little violence in the music, too. A sublime rhythmic violence. And even though there may be something a little obtuse about remembering JB with a track on which he does not appear (co-writing credit, though), Brown's innovations are all rhythmic to me. His singing, exhortations, movement, drive, music--all in service to rhythm. And that's what I hear here. Jesu, it's glorious. Oblivion, here I come. [Buy Say It Live and Loud at CD Universe; "Soul Pride" is also on the seemingly deleted Polydor instrumentals collection, naturally called Soul Pride--highly recommended.]

Honorable Mention
"The Blues Are Still Blue" - Belle and Sebastian. Because Marc Bolan's estate could probably use the royalties. And because the fact that this kind of thing has been done well before doesn't mean we don't feel the same excitement and happy little vibrations when it's done well again. There is always room--always--for the good choogle. And keep chooglin. [Buy The Life Pursuit at eMusic, CD Universe.]

Apologies to Perpetua for the format swipe.

When Jop Goes Pazz

2006-12-30T11:13:00.000-05:00

List freak action. We recently posted the Top 10 Most Popular Downloads over at Destination: Out. But for those curious about our (mostly) non-jazz tastes, here's our take on the year in pop music for 2006.

FAVORITE ALBUMS:

1. JUNIOR BOYS So This Is Goodbye (Domino)
1980s New Wave distilled down to its sublime essence and injected with impossible yearning.

2. ART BRUT Bang Bang Rock & Roll (Downtown)
Released last year in the UK, it was still the most fun rock record of the year in this country.

3. THE LIARS Drum's Not Dead (Mute)
Early PiL as seance, rising the dead, making the zombies twitch and moan in rhythm.

4. GHOSTFACE KILLAH Fishscale (Def Jam)
Earns his sample of the Rocky theme.

5. ORNETTE COLEMAN Sound Grammar (Sound Grammar)
A late career blooming that encapsulates the maestro's interests in classical, world, funk, and right, jazz.

6. DESTROYER Destroyer's Rubies (Merge)
"Why can't you see, a life in art and a life of mimicry - it's the same thing?!"

7. OOIOO Taiga (Thrill Jockey)
Joyful chants, crazy rhythms, dadaist pop, folk-jazz hybrids - enough to make you forget about the Boredoms (for a while).

8. BURIAL Burial (Hyperdub)
Mapping the abandoned city block by desolate block, using only a rumbling echo and a high hat.

9. MOUNTAIN GOATS Get Lonely (XL)
Sometimes the tunes feel too simple, but the aching sense of despair eventually seeps into your marrow and starts to almost feel comforting.

10. JOANNA NEWSOM Ys (Drag City)
Still digesting.

11. BEACH HOUSE Beach House (Carpark)
Sweet and mournful drone songs that avoiud self-pity and drift into timeless melancholy.

12. SONIC YOUTH Rather Ripped (Geffen)
Trying to make their Parallel Lines and mostly succeeding.

13. THE KNIFE Silent Shout (Mute)
Eurotrash synth-pop that's tougher than leather.

14. BORIS Pink (Southern Lord)
Released on import last year, this Japanese metal trio detonated my stereo this year by fusing the sludgy and the fast, both at once.

15. HOT CHIP The Warning (Astralwerks)
Squelchy combo of Aphex Twin and Paul McCartney, futuristic electro-soul you can hum in the shower.

16. SCRITTI POLITTI White Bread Black Beer (Nonesuch)
That voice, stirring as ever; the music, a surprising mix of elastic grooves, sixties pop hooks, and slowed-down hip hop beats.

17. MATMOS The Rose Has Teeth in the Mouth of the Beast (Matador)
Brilliant miniature audio portraits of everyone from disco deejay Larry Levan to German philospher Ludwig Wittgenstein to the Germs' Darby Crash - cig burns, hair droppings, and rat cages included.

18. TOUMANI DIABATE'S SYMMETRIC ORCHESTRA Boulevard de L'Independence (World Circuit)
Block-rocking Cubano beats meet sinuous kora grooves, writ large for the dancefloor.

19. ARCTIC MONKEYS Whatever You Say I Am That's What I'm Not (Domino)
After the hype and backlash, what remain are the songs, the swagger, the heedless forward momentum, the tongue-tied desire to chronicle the right now.

20. YO LA TENGO I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass (Matador)
Some soggy parts, but the best tracks hold their own with anything in their catalog.

Lastly... SCOTT WALKER The Drift (4AD)
Either a work of godlike genius or a howlingly pretentious bauble. Scorched earth opera for the 23rd Century. My friend Mike: "Objective terms like good doesn't even seem to apply here..."

Bubbling under: Bob Dylan; Final Fantasy; Thom Yorke; Cat Power; Dave Burrell; Mission of Burma; Odyssey the Band; Asobi Seksu.

Haven't got yet or still listening: Clipse; The Roots; Andrew Hill; Wolf Eyes; Bonnie Prince Billy; Kode9 and the Spaceape; Vijay Iyer; The Coup; Grizzly Bear; Abrams/Lewis/Mitchell; Lupe Fiasco; Om.

FAVORITE SONGS:

GNARLS BARKLEY "Crazy"

PRINCE "Black Sweat"

BOB DYLAN "Ain't Talkin"

YEAH YEAH YEAHS "Cheated Hearts"

RACONTEURS "Steady, As It Goes"

GRAHAM COXON "Tell It Like It Is"

TV ON THE RADIO "Wolf Like Me"

LUPE FIASCO "Kick, Push"

THOM YORKE "Black Swan"

REGINA SPEKTOR "Fidelity"

FAVORITE REISSUES:

1. JEAN CLAUDE-VANNIER L'Enfant Assassin Des Mouches (Finders Keepers)
The arranger of Serge Gainsbourg's Histoire de Melody Nelson steps out with this insane mix of lush orchestrations, funk grooves, jazz textures, rock guitar, and music concrete. Essential weirdness.

2. MOONDOG The Viking of Sixth Avenue (Honest Jon's)
Perfect primer of the music of this homeless, Viking-helmet-wearing composer whose fans include Stravinsky, Charlie Parker, and Tom Waits. His tunes triangulate between them.

3. DELTA 5 Singles (Kill Rock Stars)
Hailing from Leeds and friends with the Gang of Four, this male-female combo artfully chart "the distance between us."

4. JOSEF K Entomology (Domino)
Dapper and jagged. Franz Fernidand with the smirk wiped off their faces.

5. KHAN JAMAL Drumdance to the Motherland (Eremite)
Dubbed-out, Afro-vibe free jazz smoldering from a basement in Philly.

6. THE WRENS Silver and Secaucus (Wind-Up)
The frantic, power-pop flipsides of The Meadowlands.

7. BRIAN ENO AND DAVID BYRNE My Life in the Bush of Ghosts
Still spooky.

8. OHM+ The Early Gurus of Electronic Music
Alvin Curran, Alvin Curran, ALVIN CURRAN!

9. CLUSTER Soweisoso
Lovely pastoral electronica from the early 1970s.

10. Wayfaring Strangers: Ladies from the Canyon
The orphaned daughters of Joni Mitchell finally find a context - and a moment.

List this!

2006-12-27T16:26:00.000-05:00

Heya. Maybe you've seen so many best-of lists your eyes are bleeding. But please don't let that stop you from checking out these two worthwhile compilations from somewhere left of the dial:
Doug Schulkind, FMU Wonderkind
and
Eleventh Volume.
Hope these prove illuminating.

And: everything we do gonna be less funky from now on....

Here is a good place to pay respects, if you can't make it to the Apollo tomorrow.

Taking liberties.

2006-12-18T22:55:00.000-05:00

Haven't always been one for memes, but The Bad Plus opened up their musicians' survey to all comers, and it's a hard one to resist....

GIVE US AN EXAMPLE OR TWO OF AN ESPECIALLY GOOD OR INTERESTING:
1. Movie score. Rosemary's Baby
2. TV theme. Barney Miller (bass! how low can you go?); Police Woman
3. Melody. Beach Boys' "I Know There's an Answer"
4. Harmonic language. Sleater-Kinney's "Step Aside"
5. Rhythmic feel. CCR's "Heard it Through the Grapevine"
6. Hip-hop track. PE's "My Uzi Weighs a Ton"; 3rd Bass' "Wordz of Wizdom"
7. Classical piece. Bach 2-pt inventions (little shallow here)
8. Smash hit. The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony"
9. Jazz album. Jackie McLean's Destination Out! (natch)
10. Non-American folkloric group. New Pornographers
11. Book on music. Geoff Dyer's But Beautiful

BONUS QUESTIONS:
A) Name an surprising album (or albums) you loved when you were developing as a musician: something that really informs your sound but that we would never guess in a million years: Rolling Stone Record Guide - "Old Blue"
B) Name a practitioner (or a few) who play your instrument that you think is underrated: Eric Marathonpacks. Hank Shteamer. Mike McGonigal (where you been?)
C) Name a rock or pop album that you wish had been a smash commercial hit (but wasn’t, not really): Mekons' Rock n Roll
D) Name a favorite drummer, and an album to hear why you love that drummer: Philip Wilson, Dogon A.D.

Arrivals, departures.

2006-11-13T23:28:00.000-05:00

Wanted to note, with sadness, the passing of Ellen Willis, cultural critic par excellence. Her VU essay in the Greil Marcus-edited Stranded --- amid celebrations of Desperado and Linda Rondstadt, and well in advance of the '80s reissues that made it a whole lot easier to get with this band --- is a wonderful thing to behold. SFJ also reports on his brief interactions with Willis.

Also, while we're cranking up the Victrola, we can also recommend an extraordinarily rich Sun Ra post over at Durutti, in which we learned that the incoming governor of Massachusetts is none other than Pat Patrick's son. Holy cow, we are behind in our reading....

Attention beauty parlor dirtbags.

2006-09-18T23:15:00.000-04:00

Finally, the YouTube moment I've been waiting for:

and

...seemingly posted by the creator. As I recall, these MTV shorts featured the vocal talents of Mr. Andy Dick, among others.

I love a Trey Azargoth solo.

2006-08-09T12:18:00.000-04:00

Mountain Goats at the Voice: "If you bring in a guy to rap over your indie-rock song, what is that? That's an invitation for Pitchfork to make fun of you." Really great conversation; Darnielle, to steal his description of Morbid Angel, is fucking awesome.

Summer Reading List

2006-07-07T17:12:00.000-04:00

Summer is flying by. Here are some titles I hope to read before the long days turn into early evenings.

-HOPSCOTCH by Julio Cortazar: The great put-it-together-in-any-order-you-want novel. Was loving it and thinking some sections (Berthe Trepat! The all-night jazz listening session!) were among the best I'd read anywhere ever. Then I got snagged in midair on a clothesline stretched between apartments in small town Argentina. Time to finish up.
-RIMBAUD by Graham Robb: biography of the 19th century punk poet, derranger of the senses, seasonal tourist in warm climes, and later African drop-out.
-UBIK by Phillip K. Dick: Summer and sand somehow mean sci-fi to me. This seems like a good place to dip my toe in the salty sea of Mr. Phillip. Paranoia-a-go-go.
-VIRTUAL LIGHT by William Gibson: Because I loved Neuromancer. And Pattern Recognition. And Idoru. And Count Zero.
-THE SONNETS by Ted Berrigan: 14 lines at a time is about my attention span these days.
-SKIPPER BEE BY by Ron Rege Jr.: Pictures without words. A graphic novel that seems to be inventing something close to a new language using pipe-smoking elephants and guitar-loving mice. Read it years ago and it boggled me. Newly reissued and time to revisit.
-CLOSER, FRISK, and TRY by Dennis Cooper: The first three parts of his five book "George Miles Cycle." I strongly suspect he's the best American writer putting pen to paper these days.

Not The Drama You've Been Craving

2006-06-27T21:57:00.000-04:00

Well it wasn't a huge surprise after Carrie talked publicly about how she "played every show like it was her last because as far as she was concerned it was." Not a huge surprise after Corin talked about wanting to be a more full-time mother and back away from rock and roll. Not a huge surprise after Janet talked about the difficulties of trying to talk Corin back into the band, the hardships of making The Woods and the negative energy surrounding the entire process. And didn't Corin warn everyone early on that she wasn't always for the spotlight - singing "You've got me -- for now" in "Dig Me Out"? But none of that cushions the blow of hearing that Sleater-Kinney has officially broken up.

I suppose this is the point where I start to wax poetic about the band's great achievements but if they aren't self-evident to you at this point I don't know what to say. I don't feel the need to defend or reinforce the obvious fact that they were the best band of their generation, both in the studio and on stage. Being an all-women group and staying on an indie label got them somewhat rooked in the critical sweepstakes but whatever. Quality will out. There isn't a single album in their catalog that is less than excellent and they produced three bonafide masterpieces, at the very least. And anyone who saw them live knows the passion and energy they put into every single show they played. They were an all-or-nothing band and I never once saw them come up short.

My favorite memory was of their show at The Cooler in NYC, their first tour with Janet and before Dig Me Out was released. The place was packed to the gills and so hot that I could barely see for the sweat pouring down my forehead. But the performance was so powerful that the band seemed to knock me out of my body, leaving no room for intruding physical sensations, demanding and grabbing every ounce of attention. As soon as the song stopped I was immediately back in the room, drenched in sweat, jostled by bodies on all sides, uncomfortable as hell, but then the next song began and I was completely transported. Or maybe just completely subsumed by the sound. Rarely have I ever been so blissfully and forcefully enveloped by music.

For a long time Sleater-Kinney was the music I reached for when I was having bad days, when I needed inspiration, when I was feeling euphoric. It was music that demanded and delivered a huge emotional commitment - and it was up to whatever high or low you could throw at it. As a band, Sleater-Kinney always seemed to work at a higher and keener emotional pitch than their peers. If I rarely could attain that pitch myself, their music served as a benchmark to strive towards. A reminder of the creative and interpersonal intensity you might still summon in this age of easy irony.

A year after The Cooler show, I saw the band headline at Tramps. Afterwards, my friend Jeff told me the quintessential Sleater-Kinney story: "I was standing next to the stage when Carrie announced the next song was 'Little Mouth.' Somebody nearby started to scream with excitement. And then I realized it was me."

No, just staring at the back of my eyelids for a couple of weeks.

2006-06-16T00:04:00.000-04:00

Also, reading Ashley Kahn's bio of Impulse records. Snoozers. An annual report cut with record reviews. Worth a peruse for those, and perhaps the complete Impulse discog. at the back, but unless you got a serious Ed Michel jones, you're better off with the records. One wonders if anyone recognized there's a difference between a book about the making of a glorious album, and one about the company that funded it. For label whores only (and takes one to know one).
Here's something Impulsive for your trouble:
Archie Shepp, "Attica Blues"

Also, gobbling up Jon Langford's eMusic dozen.

Also, working on something that might be of interest to you or someone you know. Be nice; it's a work in progress.

Ornette on Friday, Vision on Saturday: hope to see you there. I'll be the middle aged white guy vaguely redolent of office job.

Double-bacon geniusburgers.

2006-05-05T17:13:00.000-04:00

Stopgap measures (not that you asked).

There was much high-end deliciousness on the Interwaves this week, much of it of such a high calibre that the impact was equal parts amazement, gratitude, and shrinkage:

Darcy James Argue reported in detail his impressions of the American Music Center's award banquet/concert Monday night, which featured performances by Matthew Shipp, Meridian Arts Ensemble, and Pamela Z. Honorees included the New Yorker's Alex Ross and jazz's Billy Taylor. Darcy's knowledge of what he's talking about, and forthrightness (whether he knows or not), is bracing. (Many links to be found in DJA's post.) Argue has also indirectly hipped me to a locus of what appears to be a community of composers, and also the great be.jazz, which is one of those blogs I wasn't ready for back when I first saw it months ago? years ago? DJA has also of late brought his musical acumen to bear on two nifty production-related posts, one citing a long Stylus article on compression, and one big-upping Neko Case's loathing of auto-tune.

SFJ did a similar blow-by-blow for the Paris Review's recent big night. Guess who: They should donate some of their good-lookingness to charity because they are fucking up the whole curve just by walking around and being bodacious.

If you already know of the EMP conference, there will be nothing new here, but Carl Wilson, whose digital garment hem I touch with much respect, has two posts worth your time, one on some Stephin Merritt contretemps (I look at Merritt's name now and it easily conjures Stepin Fetchit), and one on everything else.

Tim OT alerted me to the power of the Pitchfork, possibly.

Warning: do not click on this unless you have an open hour, hour-and-a-half in front of you. Really: Best. Wikipedia entry. Ever.

And for the weekend drive: Do not be an angel, but do call home.

Later: Forgot to mention the jazzhead eggheadedness on display at the always superb Point of Departure. PoD main man Bill Shoemaker convened a virtual roundtable on the state of jazz criticism in the twenty-first century: do the old standards apply? Or, as he put it: "What critical methods best assess work from this [i.e., current] period? Do old school expectations of acuity and adept execution still apply? What recently articulated evaluative criteria do you think will withstand the test of time?" Discussing this are George E. Lewis, Fred Ho, Ajay Heble (director and founder of the Guelph Jazz Festival), Caroline Kraabel, and George McKay. And don't miss part two. I confess to finding much of it tough-going, if not impenetrable, and got a lot more out of the Dave Douglas jukebox jury-style feature here, a reprint of a Jazz Review article by Shoemaker from 2004. Douglas has some ears on him. Either that, or he was tipped off, Quiz Show style. Either way, some perceptive listening and commenting from the trumpeter and new label-head. Douglas blogs, and here is his recent, empassioned defense of Miles' Cellar Door Sessions. Bye-ya.

Embarrassment.

2006-05-01T16:28:00.000-04:00

Of riches for NYC-based jazz fans this month, as The Stone turns May into a memorial for the late Derek Bailey, who was to have curated this month himself. Lots of solo perfs, which, in the intimate space of The Stone (no distracting passing trays or [unintentionally] mishandled glassware), could be truly beautiful. Some great guitar throughout the month, natch.

Suggested listening:
Derek Bailey - "Gone with the Wind," from Ballads (Tzadik, 2002). Read about it. Buy it.

"Fritos."

2006-04-28T17:53:00.000-04:00

Fitted Sweats' latest, but only if you're somewhere where laughing like an insane person is acceptable behavior.

Viva La Reputation!

2006-04-28T14:13:00.000-04:00

It takes a bit to get me to post about live shows these days. It's not just cuz I now live in North Carolina and don't see shit. Hey, I made it to the opening night kick-off of Wilco's recent tour*, checked out Dinosaur Jr. reunion gig last month where they actually played new material**, and two weeks ago was dazzled by the high-octane antics of Th' Legendary Shack Shakers.***

But somehow none of them were as impressive as The Reputation's gig last Friday at the historic (read: dilapidated) Milestone in Charlotte. They took to the stage after a succession of mildly engaging freak-folk acts and plugged in their guitars and stared down the scant crowd of 20 people. "We're about to be a lot fucking louder than everyone else here tonight," Elizabeth Elmore said. "And we're not trying to be. That's just who we are." And with that they kicked into their first song, a blistering and propulsive rock tune who's corruscating riff was matched only by the scalpel-sharp lyrics. A bunch of alterna hippy-types clutched their ears and headed for the exit before they even hit the chorus.

Now most bands would hardly give their all for such a miniscule crowd, especially one that they managed to thin out just by virtue of plugging in their instruments. But the foursome didn't hold anything back and actually leaned into the songs, pushing them further than the album versions. They tore through a set entirely composed of their best galvanizing rock tunes like "Bottle Rock Blues," "Either Coast," and "Alaskan" along with a handful of new songs that sounded immediately terrific. The band was clearly having a good time, the sound was excellent, and even though Elmore claimed her voice was shot it had a nice grain that sounded appropriate. They interacted with the crowd, joked with each other, and then ruthlessly ripped the head off each song in succession. It was the sort of display of good faith and sheer artistry that's all too rare these days.

It's shocking to me that The Reputation aren't better known. Despite raves from the likes of Greil Marcus and Robert Christgau, being named "Hot Band" in Rolling Stone, and plenty of good reviews, they seem to fall below the radar of most indie rock fans. That's a shame because Elmore writes some of the smartest and emotionally devastating lyrics going. And the band is tight and ferocious, uncorking stinging riffs alongside subtly inventive arrangements. Beginning with Sarge, Elmore has cut her music from the fairly traditional pop-punk cloth. I suspect some folks give her stuff a cursory listen and decide there's nothing overly special about it. But if you listen closer, the band doles out some crazy rhythms and complex textures while still offering the pleasures of verse-chorus-verse.

And then there's the words. Perhaps they're too easy to miss amid the tumult of the music but it's to Elmore's credit that she didn't become some acoustic troubadour when Sarge split. Because she's got the chops to wipe 99.5% of the confessional singer-songwriters off the map. Her work has a clear-eyed emotional honesty that's both bracing and touched with more than a bit of melancholy. She can unleash torrents of images or practically go haiku and switches effortlessly between intimate confession and character acting. I hate to quote lyrics, but the sparse opening of "New Town" captures the stifling and wary feeling of moving to a new place better than most entire songs: "New town/ fit in/ dumb it down/ hold it in/ stare straight ahead and watch your back/ see it through to the end."

Sadly, the band is now without a label since it appears Lookout! is in dire financial straits. Here's hoping some savvy indie like Merge will give the band the good home it deserves. Elmore's got a law degree from Northwestern so she's not going to go hungry but it would be nice if she could stay on the road and in the studio and out of the courts. So check out the band's myspace or pick up one of their albums - both the self-titled joint and To Force A Fate are highly recommended.

*Alternating between trad alt-country dirges and freeform noise jams makes for a schizophrenic show but the brand new tunes were exquisite - like Abbey Road floating in space.
**Who told them trading vocals like Sleater-Kinney was a good idea?!? But you still can't beat the guitar tone and Lou's amazingly heavy but fluid and hard bass lines.
***Swinging from the rafters an actual description, not a figure of speech.

Heaven (that's how we knew).

2006-04-28T13:34:00.000-04:00

High school USA, mid-eighties. Someone much cooler takes pity on you and introduces you to the Velvet Underground. Also Townsend’s Lifehouse, but you don’t hold that against him. Somehow you find your way to Talking Heads and New Order. You’re still taping “Greatest American Hero” off of the radio, though. (Believe it or not.) Cut to college in New England, late eighties. All you hear is U2 and PE and CSNY. One day you catch a local live show. The unknown opening band, also local, is catchy enough. You buy the EP. You catch them a few more times, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not. You buy the t-shirt. You buy the first full-length. You decide: THIS is the band I will take as my own. It’s a good fit. You are hopelessly unaware of any band backstory, which is relatively rich. It doesn’t matter. You buy the next album; it has a gatefold. This feels like the beginning of the end. Then the last gasp on a major label; graduation; oblivion.

Cut to April 2006. The mySpace page. And the recent fond remembrance at a music blog. And: He Is God.

Signifying flunky.

2006-04-24T23:33:00.000-04:00

Inter alia:

I come not to bury Evans in praise, but to de-hype him. At Bagatellen, Tom Djll has penned a heartfelt and rich "nonbeliever's appreciation of Bill Evans," and in particular attempts to de-mythify the 1961 live set at the Village Vanguard that has become the widely accepted ne plus ultra of piano trio performance [see Adam Gopnick's 2001 New Yorker piece on this release]. Some alternatingly insightful and infuriating comments down below highlight in a nutshell all that is generous and petty about jazz writers and listeners today. Or perhaps it's just blog posters today. Listen to Evans here. Read about Djll's own music here.

One day, when I was browsing Soulseek folders of people with good tastes, I came across a compilation called "Lux and Ivy's Favorites." So begins yet another FMU blog post crammed full of pretention-free arcana---obsessiveness never seemed so sensible. Anyway, 174 songs with the Cramps garbage-scented seal of approval for you to discover on your own.

One of my best friends was really into the Ramones, the Talking Heads, the Violent Femmes, etc, but I thought he had terrible taste in music, and I kept going back to my beloved Mancini tape. New-to-me blogger and jazz composer/bandleader Darcy James Argue running the changes on influences and anxieties. DJA's group Secret Society recently played the Bowery Poetry Club, and this perf was written up by the indefatigable nightafternight blog. DJA generously (and rather quickly) posted mp3s of the outing; check the right-hand column of his blog, though for this most recent concert the year is listed incorrectly as 2005. I will enjoy getting to know this Secret Society, which at first blush claims something from the Gil Evans pile, the Muhal Orchestra pile, the Mingus pile, and the pop pile that contains everything referenced above. It's all about DJA here.

Wiki waki woo-hoo. Some trendspotting, Timo Thompson-style: indie-wiki. Wikis have sprouted for Mission of Burma [turn up PC volume before clicking], Destroyer, and Silver Jews. The aspiring music blogger can also find community via the simple magic of wikification. And for good measure: the wicca wiki.

Coda: 2005.

2006-04-14T15:26:00.000-04:00

As a coda of sorts to Jay’s inspiring top ten movie recap for ’05, and just in time to accompany the first flowering of 2006 best-ofs, I’d like to offer my own lightweight remembrance of the year in music. I’m no good with lists—my tastes are artificial enough as it is, and the list-making just seems to exacerbate the tendency—but one new jazz album really stood out for me. So, for whatever it’s worth, here is:

The Good Professor’s Best New Jazz Album of 2005:
1. William Parker Quartet, Sound Unity

[Statisticians in the house will appreciate that the total pool from which this award stems is somewhere in the vicinity (statisticians love that term) of five.]

From the moment it arrived in the mail last summer, unannounced, a goodwill gift from the princely Stephen J. of Aum-Fi, this record has given me so much pleasure. In a year that featured three outstanding reissues, heralding no less a trinity than Bird, Monk, and Trane, this six-track disk from Messrs. Parker (bass), Drake (drums), Barnes (trumpet), and Brown (alto) stakes its claim for the here and now, while still paying respect to jazz progenitors.

Parker, bless him, writes full-on songs. Sometimes with lyrics (see “Raining on the Moon”), though (bless him) not here. Most of these tunes start out with a strong melodic statement made by the two horns together; the harmonies generated aren’t very far from the twinned lines of the classic Jazz Passengers of forty years ago. The solos that follow typically build on notions introduced by the theme. I guess this makes the album more “in” than “out,” but one of the side effects of an album this enjoyable is that those kinds of concerns couldn’t matter less.

This is a group—these artists have spent time together—I mean, the rhythm section has recorded their own album of duets—and their simpatico with one another is immediately apparent. Drake and Parker are in the pocket so deep they form their own event horizon. It’s also a recording of a group in front of an audience; all six tunes were recorded at two gigs from a Canadian jaunt in the summer of 2004. The fidelity, and separation, is beautiful, intimate—with only minimal audience sound, but the heightened sense of risk and event that only comes when playing live.

Modern jazz can come across as a deeply un-relevant music. Part of Parker’s strength as a leader (of the group, if not the NYC free jazz firmament) is how he combines a groundedness in the present with an awareness of and respect for what came before. The four songs recorded in Vancouver on a July 2 night are folk songs—Spiritual Unity begets Sound Unity—as simple in melody as they are deep with resonances. From Parker’s notes: “‘Wood Flute Song’ is written for the late trumpet player Don Cherry…. ‘Hawaii’ is a song written in honor of Frank Lowe”; while ‘Harlem’ and ‘Groove’ express a strong sense of place (Jamaica, in the latter case) with a beauty that speaks, to this listener, of human possibility and every jazz metaphor having to do with the balance between individuality and common cause.

The album isn’t without its missteps. The twenty minute title track—a stretched out high-wire act that doesn’t achieve the required tautness—was almost certainly a “you had to be there” moment. And as much as I love Hamid Drake, I’ve never been a fan of the drum solo. But these quibbles aside, were a Venusian to land on my stoop tomorrow insisting on hearing something that best represents all that jazz has to offer in the mid-oughts, I would not hesitate before spinning this.

And I'd send him here to buy it.

TGIGF.

2006-04-13T12:10:00.000-04:00

Just a reminder that Manchester and the BBC will tomorrow present Ever Fallen in Love? (With Someone You Shouldn't've Fallen in Love With): The Musical.

Happy spring holidays, everyone.

Anxiety of influence.

2006-04-13T09:16:00.000-04:00

I've been hanging out with some film fanatics recently and it's interesting how these folks seem to fall into certain camps under the intense sway of a particular critic. Those whose ideas about film spring from the catholic-but-kooky tastes of Jonathan Rosenbaum from the Chicago Reader. Or from the so-wrong-he's-not-even-wrong Dictionary of Film author David Thomson. Or from the brilliant writer and inspired argument-starter Pauline Kael, who Woody Allen astutely described as "having all the attributes of a great critic, except taste." And he wasn't being glib, folks. There's even one person under the sway of the current film critics of The New Yorker - if you can even call them critics. They're more like smug wanna-be comedians who audition their limp one-liners at the expense of the films they're reviewing; their pieces are an endless series of winks.

Anyways these people's fidelity to the tastes and ideas of a single critic struck me as, well, weird. I've come to film with no filter and no classes. I don't need no critic to tell me the movies of Harmony Korine are pure genius - and good thing, because I don't know of any critic who will back me up on that. And it doesn't bother me that every critic and their maiden aunt loves 'Vertigo' because that movie is genius too and there's no money in being contrary just for the sake of it. So here I am patting myself on the back for my rugged individualism in movie taste when I suddenly remember. Oh, shit. Maybe there was no critic who shaped my view of movies so completely, but there was one who did that for music. And I was just as much under the sway of his spirit as my friends were under the tutledge of their gurus.

Two guesses and first one doesn't count. Right: Lester Bangs.

The immortal Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung was foisted on me by an English prof during my impressionable first year of college. I went right to the essay on The Stooges "Funhouse" because my friend Ted had just lent me the album and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what the fuck was going on there. I mean, was this music or just BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAARRRRCCH!!!!! What did it all mean? Lester had some answers and good ones they were, too. Reading him gave voice to some of my pent-up inarticulate musical feelings and showed how obsessing about music didn't have to be a static and undigested thing. You could give some of that love back. Writing about music could be its own artform and creative expression. (Yeah, it hasn't been so much since Lester died and Greil ascended into Harry Smith Heaven, but that's neither here nor there).

That summer, after an operation left me with my jaw wired shut for eight weeks, unable to do more than grunt and salivate over solid food that I couldn't eat, I read Psychotic Reactions back-to-back twice. It was the summer of Lester Bangs, renting tons of foreign movies, and milkshakes. It was the summer of searching out every album Lester mentionned as if they were the holy grail: PiL's 'Metal Box,' Charles Mingus 'Black Saint and the Sinner Lady,' Sex Pistols 'Great Rock n Roll Swindle,' Patti Smith's 'Radio Ethiopia,' MC5's 'Kick out the Jams,' The Godz ESP recordings, Coltrane's 'Africa/Brass,' Otis Rush 'Original Cobra Recordings,' Teenage Jesus and the Jerks. And of course Richard Hell and the Voidoid's 'Blank Generation.' They weren't all solid gold, as witnessed by my copy of The Guess Who 'Live at the Paramount' (a rare example of criticism being better art than the art it describes). But fuck it, I'm glad I tracked down that expensive Dutch import of Lou Reed's 'Metal Machine Music' on CD. Years later, living on 2nd Avenue while some construction crew was jackhammering the street at 2 a.m., that album was the only thing that could drown out the racket so I could get some sleep!

And even though it seems like Lester became a bit of curmudgeon before he two-stepped off this mortal coil (see latest posthumous collection, the less impressive Bloodfeasts and Bad Taste), I like to think he was a pure spirit when it came to music. He dug what he dug, regardless of trends or non-trends, and trusted his gut so much that he was willing to revise his previously hard-fought opinions in public and in print. Maybe Lester was a pure soul but I know I can't say the same for myself. Because when I listen to a new album there's still a small part of me, the kid with his jaw still wired shut, wondering how Lester might've heard this particular platter. And I know I'm better for it.

Fully loaded.

2006-04-12T13:34:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday, Herbie Hancock. Long may he mwandishi.

Pop-up books.

2006-04-07T16:09:00.000-04:00

This past week PopMatters has been giving Continuum's 33.3 series a thorough going over; I glommed right onto editor Rob Horning's dissenting voice, as he scratches in overly erudite fashion the uncomfortable itch that this series has long provoked in me. (Despite not having read a one; an earlier crab-out of mine almost led to a freebie, but it never came to pass.)

I don’t agree with everything Horning says, and I should add that on some level I really do appreciate the series—it’s hard not to make a mental list of albums worth the treatment, for example, and the serialist in me loves the hardcore design repetition—but when I read: “Devoting a monograph to an album … recasts the record as a curated objet d'art worthy of intensive analysis,” I nodded. (Note to Horning: you might rethink citing Derrida, in French, while critiquing the drive toward ivory towery musical writing. I’m just sayin’.) What is happening in this series is different than what happens in the Greil Marcus-edited Stranded, for example, with chapters from different critics devoted to desert-island discs, or the Phil Freeman-edited update of same that’s to come. A matter of scale, I guess, and degree of fetishization. In the case of Stranded, I’m not left wondering about what was left out; in a series pushing thirty volumes, there’s a tendency to ask why one’s faves are not part of this particular museum.

But the idiosyncratic selections are not my main beef at all, and I’m trying hard to figure out what it is about this series that grates enough to make me dislike it from a distance. I think the problem I have has something to do with that curatorial impulse, how the albums, simply by virtue of being collected and described between hard covers in a formalized series, are invested with a totemic importance that … what? obscures or alters their true meaning / genius / resonances? Nah. As Carl Wilson noted in his blog yesterday, if that happens, “either you’ve got a pretty weak album or a supernally powerful critic.” (A third option is: you’ve got a weak-willed reader who prefers received wisdom and mediated art to first-hand experiences.) Although speaking of totems, the process of turning these albums into books does mirror my own mildly discomfiting experience of turning what started as fan-based record buying into “collecting,” a trend I accept if not embrace.

On the curating tip: I think my distaste is at least partly based on my experience

in the book trade, as an occasional curator/editor of series. Wherein the Iron law of oligarchy was typically activated, and, whatever the original impulse behind a given series, the point becomes the preservation and continuation of the series uber alles. I have no quibble with the authors, or the editor, and can’t even comment on individual volumes. (Even if the editor did kindly reject a book proposal of ours in recent months.) This is a meta-critique, stemming from one reader’s skeptical take on book series in general. And one who’s having trouble living with his inner curator. For what it’s worth, I also have problems with this series, to name another. I have zero problem whatsoever with this series, however.

Mystical dreams.

2006-04-06T15:47:00.000-04:00

Y'all already heard this on NPR over the weekend, probably, but in case you missed it, the Rahsaan Roland Kirk portion [kindly scroll down ever so slightly] of Kurt Anderson's recent Studio 360 show on dreams is well worth the eight minutes it'll cost you, especially the bit at the end featuring Kirk's widow responding to a quotation from her late husband, as read by the interviewer, regarding his seeing music via dreams.

The inevitable end.

2006-04-03T12:58:00.000-04:00

Sad to report the passing of Jackie McLean, at 74. NYTimes obit. All About Jazz obit.

In honor, and memoriam, a yousendit-fueled download, from McLean's 1967 album with Ornette (on trumpet), New and Old Gospel. Thematically appropriate, if not JM's shining moment.

"Lifeline" (15 MB)

Witness for the ax-ecution.

2006-03-31T17:29:00.000-05:00

It’s like being in the back of the room at some kind of human sacrifice.

There's a long and wonderful interview with Marc Ribot at the unsung (by me, anyway) All About Jazz site. The interviewer really knows his stuff and allows Ribot room to go deep. I especially liked the guitarist's take on Ayler --- noting his links to ritual music, and talking about how Ayler's recordings are as much about a frozen (and lost) moment in time as a collection of tunes --- that what we hear listening now is not necessarily what happened in the room. I dunno; sounds better when he says it.... Also, Ribot has the ability to sound like a fan, in his enthusiams, which makes his assessments and pronouncements much easier to take.

I'm no guitar god worshipper (have to look up the spelling of Yngwie evvy time, for example), but ever since the tri-fecta of Rain Dogs, Big Time, and Big Heart, I've been totally sold on Ribot. Were this an mp3 site, you would find a link to "Big Time" right here:

Jazz? Sure, I suppose so. All I know is it makes me get up and boogie evvy time. Evvy. Single. Time.

Mashup Monday.

2006-03-27T18:23:00.000-05:00

Hi. How are you? Nice to see you again. When I first heard Evolution Control Committee's Herb Alpert-meets-Chuck D. train wreck, my head spun on its axis like a pinwheel. And it held a smile the whole way. The tune was on a mix, natch, from a friend (hey, Chilly), who offered no supporting or identifying information. I guess it's technically a mash-up, but lest you dismiss that trend as being so very 2002 (or was it '04?), this track hails from 1994, and can be heard in its two-minute entirety at the bottom of this post. I recommend skipping the post's text at first; this piece is ideal coming atcha with no context at all. (If it doesn't play on your machine at first click, saving it to your desktop might help.)

As a bonus, the Clash/Missy boot, "Burning Hot Jazz" by AgentLovelette, found elsewhere at The Pop View is, as she so aptly puts it, really, really hot.

Suddenly.

2006-03-27T15:58:00.000-05:00

Nikki Sudden has passed. Notices and songs can be found here and here. And of course here.

Can + AC/DC = Th' Faith Healers

2006-03-24T11:04:00.000-05:00

My math may be a little fuzzy, but that's close enough.

Th' Faith Healers, the early 1990s UK quartet that made barely a splash in those indie-boom days but whose mix of Kraut Rock drone, relentless propulsion, and all-out rawk made them one of the few bands from that period to be what they call "ahead of their time."

Th' Faith Healers, who claimed that Thee Hypnotics won their "e" in a late-night poker game. A story Greil Marcus included in every article he wrote about them - and he wrote several - and later proclaimed them "a great combo who made the most blithelessly extreme music of the decade."

Th' Faith Healers, who released a several EPs and two albums on Elektra - Lido and Imaginary Friend - and then broke up before they could record the tracks they wrote for their third full length. Unclear whether it was creative differences or sheer public neglect.

Th' Faith Healers, whose brand new Peel Session EP collects many of the tracks from that very same coulda -been, shoulda-been album. And now they've reunited, played SXSW to universal raves, and are booked to blow through the Mercury Lounge later this month.

Th' Faith Healers, whose lead singer Roxanne Stephen raves about her favorites in a recent Dusted Top 10, shedding some light on the group's musical influences and proving her good taste by also discussing brilliant filmmaker Lynne Ramsay (Ratcatcher, Morvern Callar) and author Iain Sinclair (Lights out for the Territory, Lud Heat).

Th' Faith Healers, a band whose albums I only bought because of my friend Mark's adament recommendations and promptly underrated but curiously never sold back. But returning to them several months ago, I found they've only grown in stature, swagger, and raw power. Lido is more rock, whether it's the unhinged hardcore '60s putdown "Hippy Hole," Feelies play heavy metal rush of "Moona in a Joona," or their fab amphetimine cover of Can's "Mother Sky." But good as that is, Imaginary Friend is even better. The songs are stronger, the buzzing drone is more nuanced, and they groove as much as they rock - which is quite a bit on both counts. Best album closer ever: "Everything, All at Once, Forver" - a loping and corruscating 20 minute piece that keeps ebbing and flowing without once breaking its hypnotic spell. (This is where they win their "e" back). It's a song you want to get lost in and promptly do, the type of music that is difficult to find your way out of again. What the group might do for an encore is nearly impossible to imagine, but I'm not going to make the mistake of selling them sort this go round.

A book you need to read.

2006-03-17T10:00:00.000-05:00

The Book of Ruth by Frank Lentricchia.

Not to be confused with Jane Hamilton's novel of the same title.

Since we seem to be drifting further afield from reporting on articles about music these days (could it be we're slowly morphing into something else?), I thought I'd take this opportunity to flog one of my favorite books of recent years by an author who has the pole position in the race to become The Greatest Unknown Writer In America.

Frank Lentricchia made a name for himself in academia as a critic. He was famously dubbed by the Village Voice as 'The Dirty Harry of literary criticism' and is perhaps best known for his book 'Introducing Don DeLillo' which did just that for many readers. His work on modernist writers such as Eliot and Stevens is also highly regarded, but over a decade ago he turned his back on criticism to dedicate himself to prose.

As you might imagine, this move was met with much suspicion in both the academy and reviewing community. Didn't this guy know his place? Many reviewers just assumed Lentricchia was moonlighting and more-or-less ignored his superlative novellas 'Johnny Critelli' (lyrical meditation about transformative powers of memory) and 'The Knifemen' (brutal, headlong narrative about crippling effects of remembering). His ambitious follow-up, 'The Music of the Inferno,' a Joycean evocation of his Utica, N.Y. hometown is both harrowing and howlingly funny. It's actually not dissimilar from 'The Sopranos' in tone and Philip Roth's 'The Human Stain' in subject matter, although it predates both. It was met by an even more stultifying silence.

The neglect from both critics and readers began to seep into the work. Amazingly, Lentricchia transformed this material from self-pity into something hilarious, lacerating, and poignant. 'Lucchessi and the Whale' unfurls the story of unknown writer Thomas Lucchessi in remarkable and occasionally surrealist snippets that recall the Calvino of 'Mr. Palomar.' The centerpiece of the book is a long section that grapples with Melville - another writer unknown in his time - and The Great White Whale and stands as some of the most imaginative criticism about 'Moby-Dick' and a wonderful prose reimagining of the same. Despite its significant and singular achievements, the book was below the radar of even the most astute lit blogs.

All of which brings us to his latest: 'The Book of Ruth.' It's simply a great novel - in terms of its narrative sweep and propulsion, its creation of compelling characters, its stinging wit, and the jaw-dropping rhythms and quality of its prose. The blurb on the back from Jay Parini has it exactly right when comparing the book to both Graham Greene and JM Coetzee. It's of that high quality. The plot sounds ungainly in synopsis - it involves a reclusive photographer, linked to both Casto and JFK during the Cuban Missile Crisis, who is hired to snap pics of Saddam during the runup to Gulf War I - but it works perfectly on the page. Thomas Lucchessi makes another appearance but this time he's less a comic figure brilliantly sketched with one hand, and a more fully rounded individual as befits the narrative of this book.

It's a sad irony of the publishing industry that Lentricchia's most accomplished, accessible, and purely enjoyable novel had to be released by a small press with little funds to publicize it. We like to believe that great art eventually - decades, even centuries later - reaps the acclaim it deserves. But why wait? Seek this out now.

Truth in advertising.

2006-03-15T16:08:00.000-05:00

A hearty thank you to the discerning folks at Best of the Web, blog edition, for recognizing Chemistry Class as one of the finest chemistry blogs going. We will do our damnest to hold up our end of the orbital.

And a sincere welcome (and apology) to those readers approaching from the BOTW chem blog page. In case you're wondering, see here.

Words words words.

2006-03-14T16:10:00.000-05:00

"He was not the Visser I had known in Paris. Prison had broken him. Once his passions had been in his eyes, but now they were in his mouth and cheeks."

---A Coffin for Dimitrios, by Eric Ambler

Around the horn.

2006-03-10T16:32:00.000-05:00

When Morrissey and I started The Smiths, we thought pop music was the most important thing in the world. Johnny Marr remembers The Queen Is Dead, twenty years on. (Twenty? Jesus Christ.)

Various unintentional influences have crept into our work, some of which were quickly removed: The Moody Blues, Tubeway Army, Wings, always Wings, never The Beatles, Eno of course, you can't play ebow (a bow for electric guitars) without sounding like Eno, Modern English, middle period post-Gabriel Genesis, The Stranglers, 10CC. We're still trying to find a way to insert some dub/white reggae in the mix, just as an intellectual exercise, to see if we can do it without being dropped from the label. New Pornos live at the 9:30 in DC on March 6, courtesy NPR. Weak mix, but a solid hour of songsmithery, and three of finest from Twin Cinema. That NPR host sucks ass, however.

Trick or treating with Carlos D. Other Music snuff film [scroll down].

Blogwatch: wordsandmusic and word the cat. Word. And music! To emulate/imitate/assiduate/inhalate. How missed till now? See also the latest Point of Departure, and don't miss this signal lesson in how not to respond to an artist's criticism of your review.

I got fucking awesome taste in music, as the first four of my 3,497 songs that came up on shuffle will dictate. David Cross et al. discussing their shuffle-playlists at The Onion AV.

The lilting melodies of Trio Matamoros, Orquesta Aragon and the compositions of the great composer Lecuona are some kind of holy grail of the heart in the same way that the legendary bluesman’s few recordings are to many rockers. David Byrne gets all Latin curatorial on us, but at least there's two-and-a-half hours of music to support the syllabus.

And finally: You and I differ on many things. I like Queen Latifah. You do not. I'm open to your opinions, as long as you know that they disgust me. The incomparable Jeff Johnson, on his disagreements.

I want my BBC.

2006-03-09T11:58:00.000-05:00

Couple of interesting docs on BBC Radio 2 right now. One, which started this week, looks at plagiarism and plundering in music history, sort of a rip-offs 101. The first thirty-minute program looks at fairly well known cases, including a Brian Wilson/Chuck Berry rip, the George Harrison/Chiffons case (we hear Harrison say that he was ripping off a different song), and a ZZ Top/John Lee Hooker cop. Hooker actually chimes in at one point. Could get more interesting as the series, called It's the Same Old Song, rolls into hip-hop.

And then there's this, part three of a four-part James Brown audio-bio, Get Up for James Brown, with current interviews with Brown and many associates, including a notable turn with soul sister Marva Whitney, who makes it plain in stating that she. does. not. hate. James. Brown: "You must gives props to whom props are due." The statement does not come easy. Lots of great music snippets, too, mostly from the JBs band of the early 70s, including "King Heroin," "Hot Pants," "Soul Power," "Stoned to the Bone," "Talkin' Loud," "Think," "Got to Have a Job," "Doing It to Death." The British context makes for an odd tone at times—the host is unusually interested in where Mr. Brown's nicknames (Hardest Working Man, Mr. Dynamite, etc.) came from—and the JB expert will likely be bored, but it's never less than respectful and it's not like you're going to hear a four-hour radio doc on JB on American radio, mind.

These programs have about a minute of lead-in from previous shows, so don't be alarmed if they don't cue right up. In one case, it's Joan Armatrading reporting from her music journey through the Caribbean.

A great year for movies.

2006-03-02T15:17:00.000-05:00

Not that you'd particularly know it from the Oscars. An unusually bland, safe, and boring selection this year. Yeah yeah, they chose some "darker indie films" but what choice did they have? The studios produced so few good movies this year that the Academy's back was to the wall. And they still punked out.

At least the Oscars give me an excuse to air my Best Movies of the Year list since I was too far behind in my viewing to post it in January. Still haven't seen Cache, Mysterious Skin, and a few other celebrated films. But this year's crop was so strong that my picks for 11-20 could have easily been my Top 10 in just about any other season. And there were plenty of wonderful movies that didn't even make the list, from fun popcorn fare like Batman Begins to smart political thrillers like Syriana, Munich, and The Constant Gardner to quirky gems like You Me and Everyone We Know. Anyhow, the list:

1) The Century of the Self
Visionary doc about the direct role Freud's theories have played in advertising and gov't, tracing Freud's nephew Alan Bernais - who invented the term "public relations" and was later employed by the CIA - and his daughter Anna, who was also hired by the government in the late 40s and whose ideas about therapy were based on her beliefs that analysis should help people conform to their environments and smooth over any deviations. Also looks at the 60s backlash against these ideas and how radical politics were later co-opted by the self-centered pursuits of EST in the 70s and by advertisers who hit upon the idea that people can be made to feel like they are expressing their individuality through purchases. Commodify your dissent, indeed. The movie comes full circle by examining the Clinton and Blair governing philosophies of marketing political initiatives to target demographics. Even-handed, dense with factual backup, and filled with startling images and juxtapositions, director Adam Curtis unrolls his four hour narrative in an always entertaining and striking manner.

2) Memories of Murder
A straightforward but hardly simple police drama that seems familiar at first but slowly reveals itself to be one of the most trenchant character studies, haunting crime stories, and layered meditations about obsession in ages. Filled with both unexpected humor and horror, it's also a very subtle critique of Korean history.

3) 2046
Long rumored, many years in the making, Wong Kar-Wai's lovelorn epic bounces between Hong Kong in the 60s and the sc-fi world of the future. One of the most visually ravishing films ever made, it's brimming with terrific performances, dense narratives, and creates a sense of loss and longing so palpable you're sure those emotions have taken shape right in front of your eyes.

4) A History of Violence
A taut thriller worthy of Hitchcock. About how you can have two different personalities and be completely sane. Among other things. A perfect 90 minutes.

5) Old Boy
A cold-blooded Jacobean revenge tale worthy of Webster. With a nod to Tarantino and set in modern day Seoul. Virtuoso filmmaking.

6) Chain
Half-doc, half-drama, Jem Cohen spins a one-of-a-kind tale about people marooned in the nowhere zone along those endless, lookalike, mini-mall stretches of highway. Are you in New Jersey or the outskirts of Brussels? It all looks indentical and feels numbingly the same. Shot on locations in 10 countries and over 100 suburbs, it's a singular tour de force.

7) My Summer of Love
Ah, the throes of teenage passion. This sun-drenched, delicate wisp of a film embodies those times when play-acting at being in love crosses the line into something else. Faking it so real you're beyond fake. And then back again.

8) The Holy Girl
With novelistic density, this film unspools its soap-opera plot in the most oblique manner possible while still making it magnetic. The story: Girl who lives in hotel has vision of Virgin Mary and falls for older guy who molested her but really wants her mother. The result: The transubstanciation of pulp into art.

9) The New World
Terrence Malick's worst movie, which means it's still one of the most stunningly beautiful and jaw-dropping things you'll ever see. Career performance by 15-year-old newcomer who plays Pochahontas. Filled with lovely longeurs, radical editing, and an emotional whallop of an ending.

10) Werner Herzog trifecta: Grizzly Man; Wheel of Time; The White Diamond
None of these by themselves might been so high on the list, but together they attest to the continuing vitality and strangeness of The World's Greatest Documentarian. Herzog avoids the "facts of the bean counters" for the "ecstatic truth." Filled with oddball digressions and searing images, deadpan humor and moments of pure visual rapture.

THE BEST OF THE REST:

11) The Beat My Heart Skipped
12) Brokeback Mountain
13) Last Days
14) Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance
15) Tropical Malady
16) The Squid and the Whale
17) Capote
18) Land of the Dead
19) Save the Green Planet
20) Saraband

Charlotte, are you in the house?

2006-02-27T16:25:00.000-05:00

Just wanted to quickly note, for our North Carolinian readers, that none other than CJC, my co-proprietor in this effort, has put together a stirring string of African-American films for the inaugural NoDa Film Festival, the web site for which is here. The fest began yesterday, and runs through tomorrow, so run don't walk. But leave your wallet at home: movies are FREE. Remaining on the schedule:
Monday, Feb. 27
(Great Black Directors)
7pm: To Sleep With Anger (1990)
9pm: Do the Right Thing (1989)
Tuesday, Feb. 28
(One-Time Indie Wonders)
7pm: Daughters of the Dust (1991)
9pm: Chameleon Street (1991)
Films will be shown at the Neighborhood Theatre, 511 E. 36th St.
Details: 704-608-9146

Creative Loafing, Charlotte stylee, gives some background dope.

Yes, I really thought it was good.

2006-02-27T14:52:00.000-05:00

Outside the strict jurisdiciton of this blog, but wonderful nonetheless: The Guardian's collection of personal stories about the redoubtable Samuel Beckett on the centennary of his birth. Some priceless bits from far-and-wide, but none more touching than this from Paul Auster that helps to humanise the rather intimidating Mr. B:

During the conversation, he told me that he had just finished translating Mercier and Camier, his first French novel, which had been written in the mid-forties. I had read the book in French and had liked it very much. 'A wonderful book,' I said. I was just a kid, after all, and I couldn't suppress my enthusiasm. But Beckett shook his head and said, 'Oh no, no, not very good. In fact, I've cut out about 25 per cent of the original. The English version is going to be quite a bit shorter than the French.' After that we started talking about other things. Then, out of the blue, five or 10 minutes later, he leant across the table and said, 'You really liked it, huh? You really thought it was good?' This was Samuel Beckett, remember, and not even he had any grasp of the value of his work. No writer ever knows, not even the best ones. 'Yes,' I said to him. 'I really thought it was good.'

Fear of (less) music.

2006-02-25T18:02:00.000-05:00

A few quick thoughts re: The Good Prof's insightful "Ways of Hearing" post and the rather curmudgeonly comments they inspired. Seems to me that the main victim in terms of so much music being so easily available for free is that we gain a superficial knowledge about a ton of different artists but don't delve deeply - and form that crucial emotional bond - with much of anything. As a result, we think that no music out there is really exciting us and hey, aren't we in a position to know since we're sampling so much of it? But really we're victims of own exhaustion without realizing it. Or maybe that's just me.

The best albums and music often require that you sit with them for a while. Many of my all-time faves took many spins and exposure in a variety of contexts before they clicked. But I stuck with them because I had already invested the cash and wanted to see if I could fan the flicker of interest they inspired into something more sustaining. Sly's "There's A Riot Going On," Pere Ubu's "Dub Housing," Tricky's "Maxinquay," DJ Shadow's "Entroducing," Miles Davis' "Nefretiti," even George Jones "Greatest Hits" all took real effort for me to crack, but now I can't imagine my life without them. I'm sure everyone has their own list. The effort was a big part of the payoff, etcetera. But today when I come across something new, even a reissue that I've coveted for years, I'm tempted just to right-click, add it to a playlist, listen a few times, then file it away and quickly move onto the next. Pere Ubu - Check. DJ Shadow - Got It. Arctic Monkeys - Sure. Now what else you got for me?

Borges talks about how much more we would know if we only read one book - but really knew it inside and out - instead of ingesting an entire library. And there's much truth to that. There's a real hollowness to the rapid ingestion of music that the web inspires. And music blogs tend to exacerbate this feeling. Everyone's looking for the next thing and burning through so much music - much of it often before it's even officially released - that the thing itself seems D.O.A. by the time it hits the shelves. All the excitement and mystery drained from it. Or else we feel like everyone else has already had our reactions for us and what else could we possibly add to the conversation? (Quick fr'instance: the new Destroyer).

Now The Prof talks about how his edge is so dull, but I'd wager that part of his (and certainly my) obssessive reading of music blogs is because he's still trying to keep up! We want to know what's the hippest new shit even if we don't get to hear it because at least then we're participating to some degree. We can't stand the idea of being left behind. Even as we feel ourselves becoming more and more alienated from the music itself.

Time spent reading music blogs = less time spent actually listening to music. Especially for those of us who are juggling precious little free time in terms of job, family, and social life. There are some obvious answers to this situation, but they seem a bit specious coming from a music blog. Perhaps some practical solutions to follow at a later date. Comments welcome.

Ways of hearing.

2006-02-24T12:26:00.000-05:00

Perhaps you’ve heard about this report, which links ease of access to web-based motherlodes of music to listener apathy, and a devaluing of music in general. I’d link to the many blogs that have taken this up, but for this post, anyway, will refrain, because such links can be, for me, part of the problem.

Which isn’t the overwhelming availability of (free) music, but the time-sucking, addictive, overwhelming presence of recommendations for new music. I’ve turned into a pathetic consumer of music journalism; I’ve fallen down the blog-hole. Where ten years ago I might’ve got my music news from a handful of friends, the Village Voice, the radio, and the occasional Spin or Pulse, I can now read the sometimes daily piquant assessments of an army of talented, opinionated writers (an uncommonly well-selected assemblage is here for your browsing pleasure), from Canadian Carl Wilson to Oregonian Mike McGonigal to the ILX kids. I’m a music-porn addict.

I fetishize the information. My edge was lost so long ago I can’t cut cream cheese. And yet it’s all I can do to keep up with that never-ending tunnel of insidery music news that feels like connection and only later reveals itself, in the form of a vast empty feeling, as a waste of time. I’m collecting unpackaged, hand-lettered CD-Rs at a rate whereby the technology will be rendered obsolete by the time I absorb each disk. All based on solid information, mind you.

The upside, of course, is awareness of and access to a host of fantastic sounds I wouldn’t otherwise have encountered. No quibble there. The downside—and this extends beyond music—is nothing more that the loss of time, and serendipity, and a dangerously outgunned aesthetic sense. This is where the devaluing comes in, not from unfettered access to music, but the avalanche of copy that carries this music into the world. The same press release fatigue that must sap the enthusiasm of all but the hardiest journalists now creeps its way into the hearts of lowly bloggers.

Not that I blame the avalanche. It’s my choice to be buried. And maybe this is how the organism survives: only those able to maintain limits, deeply held loves and hates, equilibrium on the sea of words, lives to enthuse about the next big thing. I’m reminded of someone’s recent call to celebrate one’s inner nerd, the tastemaker in the machine, the one that pays no heed to hipsterism, lastest-thingism, or even the NME. This is the struggle, one of the largest there is: with all-access passes to every gig going, what show do you catch? What’s your time worth? What do you like?

(No, not you; that guy next to you. With the Rvng pin.)

Lines discovered this morning at 5am while experiencing unusually strong gastric distress, from John Berger (the lines, not the distress): Publicity is the life of this culture—in so far as without publicity capitalism could not survive—and at the same time publicity is its dream. ¶Capitalism survives by forcing the majority, whom it exploits, to define their own interests as narrowly as possible. This was once achieved by extensive deprivation. Today in the developed countries it is being achieved by imposing a false standard of what is and what is not desirable.

In other words, time to wake up. One might also add that today (the Berger quote is from 1972) it is also being achieved via the opposite of deprivation.

Hm. I wonder what SFJ has to say about all this…

UPDATE: SFJ, not so much, but the inimitable Paul Ford, he of Gary Benchley fame, had something tangential to relate earlier last week, on the subject of fetishizing the object, sorta:

I think of my fascination, at 13, with the CD on the concrete in the office park. CDs had a brief chance to become objects of veneration, less time than vinyl, a few decades--just an eyeblink in time when compared to books, which have had over a millennia to build up mystique. So the CDs are easier to throw away. They don't resonate. But ultimately books are just as disposable (even the one I wrote).

Ds, p.

2006-02-20T23:48:00.000-05:00

Sweet article from the weekend's New York Times on fab drummer Susie Ibarra's latest activities.

There's also a rundown on Andrew Hill's '63 Blue Note Smoke Stack over at Bagatellen, possibly occasioned by his return to Blue Note after a 15-odd year absence. Many comments speak to Hill's chilliness, which some find off-putting, and others oddly compelling. That's me: I don't always get what Hill is up to, and sometimes his playing sounds clinical, but some probing quality always draws me back. As always, seeming someone live helps, and his duet with Jason Moran a year or so ago went a long way toward thawing Hill out for me.

UPDATE: Friday's New York Times featured a lengthy article on Hill by Ben Ratliff, one in their "listening to CDs with" series. Hill picks Bird and Brubeck, mutters a few inscrutable comments, while Ratliff gives a good potted history of the man. There are also a few audio clips.

You GOT to know your chicken.

2006-02-17T18:20:00.000-05:00

Lethem, at Moistworks' writers' week, on the ever-funky chicken, parts one and two.

Flowers.

2006-02-16T13:44:00.000-05:00

Just blazed through the UK version of Simon Reynolds’ RIP IT UP AND START AGAIN, his preposterously comprehensive and readable history of the post-punk years 1978-1984. It’s freakin amazing, and all the clichés apply: I think I actually learned something new on every page. And in the case of Depeche Mode, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Dexy’s Midnight Runners, The Human League, and ABC I learned things that I didn’t think I’d care to know, but didn't mind learning.

The fastest 600 pages I’ve experienced in a long time. The book is all about velocity. The interested reader’s, but mostly that of the surge of innovation that was released when the punk wave crested and broke over the British Isles. (And Cleveland. And LA.)

Reynolds manages to balance his obvious interest in the deeper underpinnings of pop (see his blog) with thoughtful and meticulous mini-bios of all of the key bands discussed. One of the great accomplishments here is how Reynolds is able to stand up real people --- with ambitions, lusts, artistic blocks, hates, grandiose dreams, dumb-ass ideas --- behind canonical (“Love Will Tear Us Apart,” say) and near-canonical (“Mind Your Own Business”) songs that long ago shed their attachment to the corporeal world.

Though my own interest in the bands Reyolds takes on flagged considerably after about page 300 or so, just after the transitional Two-Tone bands turned the innovative spirit back to the past, it's a tribute to Reynolds' rigor and sugared-pill writing that I saw him through the pop transformations of the bands listed above. He's also got a serious Scritti Politti jones.

The US edition is available later this month (tomorrow, at Amazon). Reynolds earlier blogged about the differences in the two editions, but I’ll be damned if I can find this now. The UK book is now out in a cheaper edition. His UK publisher got as far as setting into type an extensive discography, and thought better of printing an 800 page tome. Reynolds has made this available to all, online [opens, slowly, as a 26-pg PDF]; not a bad place to start for a snapshot of the territory he covers (a snapshot the size of Colorado). The book site has more, including mention of a companion CD.

And attention NYers: TMFTML has the details on an upcoming panel (28 Feb) in NYC featuring Reynolds and assorted characters from the book.

Kraut Rock.

2006-02-13T14:49:00.000-05:00

Never been a fan of Julian Cope's music but the man does seem to know his Krautrock. He's written a book on the subject including a list of his Top 50 essential albums from the genre. Worth a look even if he tends to favor the really obscure.

If you think the whole idea of Germans rocking out 1970s stylee sounds like a premium time waster for cash-flush collectors, I highly recommend checking out Can ("Monster Movie" = Early Floyd meets Early Sabbath; "Ege Bamaysi" = Stereolab meets James Brown), Neu! ("Neu! 75" = Sonic Youth meets Kraftwerk), and Popul Vuh ("Hosianna Mantra" = Brian Eno goes to India). All satisfaction guaranteed. And that's just the tip of the Teutonic iceberg.

St. Bernards come out of the sky, and they stand there.

2006-02-08T16:53:00.000-05:00

Yes, it is easy to make fun of Yes. But that does not mean that doing so is not also funny.

On fire.

2006-02-07T14:49:00.000-05:00

More list freak action: Several years ago, The Wire polled critics about about "Albums that Set the World on Fire (When No One was Looking)." The result: a roll-call of underappreciated gems by everyone from Al Green, Kevin Ayers, and Johnny 'Guitar' Watson to more obscure acts like The Spontaneous Music Ensemble and Annette Peacock. Some of these albums have been reissued as a result, others are still languishing as collector bait for the curious. A kind soul has recreated the list - have a look.

He'd be a right good librarian.

2006-02-07T14:45:00.000-05:00

John Lydon talks about his new bug show on the Discovery Channel, walking off reality TV, why Green Day and Blink 182 can fuck off, having a curry with Jah Wobble, how it feels to be inducted into the Rock and Roll "Hall of Fame," and what he'd be doing if it hadn't been for the Sex Pistols. Among other things.

Cutout bin.

2006-01-27T17:02:00.000-05:00

--I noted the passing of guitarist Derek Bailey on Christmas day last year with sadness, but an almost total ignorance of the man's oeuvre. The best blog post I've seen on the man, a great introduction for neophytes like me and a fitting memorial, can be found at the night after night blog. [latter link spotted at bags]

--If the WMFU blog didn't sate your thirst for Nurse With Wound list action, insect & individual is making its way through the list, supplementing the 'fmu posts with additional information on the albums, cover art, and perhaps most crucially, complete album sound files (via rapidshare).

--Free Albums Galore earlier this month linked to ubuweb's posting of an odd Sun Ra album (which is saying something): a live "duet" with John Cage recorded in 1986. On Side A, Cage and Ra alternate, with Cage supplying vocalese and Ra offering, variously, spindly keyboard lines and celestial soundscapes. The Arkestra files in, mostly playing in, on side B. There's also a good deal of silence, broken only by vinyl surface noise. Worth a quick listen. For a brief, more theatric Ra performance, there's a minute-plus video clip of him at youtube (courtesy this ILM thread, via the usual). 'Nother short Marshall Allen clip from the same gig here.

--One item in that ILM thread worth your time is this 1980 clip of PiL on American Bandstand, performing "Careering" and "Poptones," and getting EVERYONE involved. Awesome and uplifting. While in the UK last week, I stumbled onto a current BBC TV interview with a gap-toothed Lydon; the interviewer reminded me of Martha Quinn. Lydon was responsive, polite, thoughtful, gracious. It was mildly unsettling, but better that, I thought, than a ranting, prancing senior citizen (viz. the upcoming Super Bowl halftime show).

--Noticed recently that the newish, Indiana-based, and totally above-board mp3&c. blog marathon packs (name came to him in a dream) has us in amid the blogroll. Given the company, it suggests a mistake or typing glitch, but we're happy to be there all the same. For a taste, here's MP's best videos of '05 list. Carry on.

--Happy birthday Bobby Blue Bland, wherever you are.

If you're feeling Dylanish.

2006-01-13T18:05:00.000-05:00

And aren’t we all. Establishing once and for all that no one posts it slower. At least one of these is not true.

Radio Dylan: Dylan to host an XM satellite radio show. No word yet on whether he's been asked to share the mic with Jackie Martling.

Jazz-hands Dylan: In the great tradition of ABBA, Billy Joel, and the Smiths, a new Twyla Tharp-directed musical based on Dylan’s oeuvre is in the works, opening next month in San Diego.

Lost Dylan: Dylan reportedly was separated from his iPod, and his playlist was offloaded and posted.

Action Dylan: Barbie will soon be able to canoodle with the rock star in her dream house, as Mattel has planned a Ken-style posable figure modeled on the singer.

Fifth Beatle Dylan: Some guy (literally) has put five mintues of Eat the Document --- the Lennon/Dylan cab ride --- up at Google video. "I only know the lesser-knowns," sez Bob. John does not throw up.

Lord Dylan: John Schaefer, host of the WNYC program Soundcheck, last month spent a bit of time disucssing a new musical based on the life and work of Lord Buckley. Now go spend a bit of time staring at Bringing It All Back Home.

New tones for tired heads.

2006-01-13T15:26:00.000-05:00

Radical music to disarrange the senses and unalign the mind. A new leaf in an already old year. Some titles to point the way forward.

KAORU ABE Jazz Bed
KAORU ABE Solo 1972.4.11
ALVIN CURRAN Canti Illuminati
ALICE COLTRANE Transfiguration
GHOST Snuff Box Immanence
BUFFY SAINTE-MARIE Illuminations
ENNIO MORRICONE Crime and Dissonance
THIS HEAT This Heat
JEAN-CLAUDE VANNIER L'Enfant Assassin des Mouches

For artists only.

2006-01-05T10:30:00.000-05:00

Billboard has an end-of-the-year list of Top 10s from a surprisingly diverse group of musicians. Interesting lists of 2005 fave albums from Carrie Brownstein, Robert Pollard, Jeff Tweedy, Beck, and many others. My vote for best list: Bob Mould. Worst list - by such a wide margin that it actually makes me worry about their next release - M83. No shame: John Doe. No Shame, Part Two: James Murphy. The lists are broken up alphabetically in four parts, so be sure to check out the other three sections.

Seen.

2005-12-30T15:58:00.000-05:00

I'm still catching up on this year's new film releases, so instead here's a list of older things seen during 2005 in revival or on DVD or video that flipped my wig. Carefully selected. Results guaranteed. View with confidence.

LIFE CHANGINGLY GREAT:
A Brighter Summer Day (Edward Yang, 1986)
Coming of age in Taiwan in the 60s. Rebel Without A Cause as imagined by Wim Wenders, when he was on his game. Humane and epic. Even better than Yang's also-great Yi Yi.
Elephant (Alan Clarke, 1988)
Utterly mesmerizing series of short scenes about violence in Northern Ireland. The best tracking shots in the history of cinema. Bleak subject, exhilarating art.
Los Olvidados (Bunuel, 1952)
Youth gangs in Mexico City. Collective fever dreams of family and loss. The producers wanted an expose in the neo-realist style and instead got this tough and strange tone poem about the dispossessed.
Spirit of the Beehive (Victor Erice, 1973)
Franco's Spain during WWII. About surviving in a repressive society, the unusual workings of our memory, watching Frankenstein as a young girl, and the type of people who hide out in abandoned wells. A visionary work.

MERELY EYE-POPPING:
Battle Royale (Kenji Fujisaka, 2002)
Unruly students put on an island and ordered to kill one another. The winner gets to live. Gripping and also quite melancholy. Caused protests and pickets when it played one show at BAM.
Blood for Dracula (Paul Morrissey, 1974)
Udo Kier as the Count, who can't find any wirgins to satisfy his wud lust. Lush and baroque visuals. The unique tone veers between scary and laugh-out-loud hilarious. Pretty much genius.
In A Year of 13 Moons (Fassbinder, 1978)
Transvestite looking for love. Operatic cri de couer and tour of Berlin underworld, made by Fassbinder weeks after his lover committed suicide. One of his very best.
Kes (Ken Loach, 1969)
Lower-class British boy trains a hawk. One of the great child performances. Incredibly well observed and subtle drama. Avoids social schemata of much of Loach's other work.
Killer of Sheep (Charles Burnett, 1980)
A fantasia of African-American life in lower-middle class Los Angeles. An L.A. Story where people actually use public transit. Similar to Scorsese's Who's That Knocking At My Door, only better realized.
Land of Silence and Darkness (Werner Herzog, 1971)
Portrait of woman who's both deaf and blind and assists others in her condition. Herzog's most tender film - and it doesn't stint on the strangeness.
L'Argent (Bresson, 1983)
So fast-paced it practically gives whiplash. Tolstoy novel in 80 minutes, updated to modern France, leeched of any traces of sentiment. Bracing.
Man with a Movie Camera (Dziga Vertov, 1929)
Film as collage. An assemblage of disparate images of Moscow city scenes - kept lively through great editing and pacing. Pure cinema.
The Match Factory Girl (Aki Kaurismaki, 1990)
Quiet and understated hilarity runs throughout this should-be-sad-sack tale of a meek woman oppressed by her family and betrayed by a man. Has exactly the sort of ending you dream these stories will have but almost never do.
Onibaba (Shindo, 1965)
A mother and daughter-in-law survive during a feudal civil war by killing lost samurai and selling their armor. Then a virile neighbor returns from the war. And a ghost starts appearing.
The Passenger (Antonioni, 1975)
Antonioni and Jack Nicholson making a political thriller? Only in the 70s. Comes off like a tale ripped from Paul Bowles notebooks and updated by Graham Greene. Deliberately paced but pays off. One of the greatest last shots ever.
Porco Rosso (Miyazaki, 1992)
Pure joy. Porcine flying-ace-turned-mercenary has to defend his turf, save his business, and maybe even win back his lost love. Filled with unexpected details, great animation, and plot twists that keep the story from ever going where you expect.
Scum (Alan Clarke, 1976)
Originally banned by the BBC, this British bortstal drama is as tough as its title. Starring Ray Winston - later in Quadraphenia - and a secret influence on punk rock. Exciting, not exploitive.
Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (Todd Haynes, 1987)
Right: the Karen Carpenter story as played by barbie dolls, but actually not gimmicky. Like a cross between Goddard and Behind the Music, this affecting and innovative film actually makes you care about the bland pop act.

Best.

2005-12-30T10:23:00.000-05:00

My 2005 Pazz N Jop ballot, with some caveats.
Many interesting albums not heard. At all. As usual.
And even more singles.
Where's the jazz?
Still in my iPod.
Actually, I don't have an iPod.
Coulda/shoulda/woulda: One Kiss Can Lead To Another box set - if I had digested it in time; Art Brut's Bang Bang Rock N Roll - if it had been released in an affordable domestic version (next year?); Wayne Shorter's Beyond the Sound Barrier - if I could hear it apart from his incandescant Carnegie Hall show.
Singles in alphabetical order.
No songs from my fave albums.
Mostly songs from really good albums that didn't make the cut.
ie, Mountain Goats.
ie, Isolee.
ie, White Stripes.
What, no Four Tet?
And for the record, I hate John Lennon's "Imagine." Soppy tripe.
But Vijay's version is sublime. Needs to heard to be believed.
Here's the rundown.

ALBUMS:
1. New Pornographers - Twin Cinemas - Matador (20)
2. M.I.A. - Arular - XL (18)
3. Sleater-Kinney - The Woods - Sub Pop (15)
4. LCD Soundsystem - LCD Soundsystem - DFA (12)
5. Dungen - Ta Det Lugnt - Kemado (8)
6. Various Artists - Run the Road - Vice (7)
7. Kanye West - Late Registration - Roc-A-Fella (5)
8. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois - Asthmatic Kitty (5)
9. Various Artists - World Psychedelic Classics Vol. 3: Love's A Real Thing - Luaka Bop (5)
10. Go-Betweens - Oceans Apart - Yep Roc (5)

SINGLES:
1. Art Brut - Formed A Band - Fierce Panda
2. Boredoms - Seadrum - Vice
3. Broadcast - Michael A Grammar - Warp
4. Futureheads - Hounds of Love - 679
5. Isolee - Shrapnell - Playhouse
6. Vijay Iyer - Imagine - Savoy
7. Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley - Welcome to Jamrock - Universal
8. Mountain Goats - This Year - 4AD
9. Mountain Goats - Love Love Love - 4AD
10. White Stripes - My Doorbell - V2

If you're feeling Zornish.

2005-12-05T17:26:00.000-05:00

NPR [hearts] Zorn. A few weeks ago on Weekend Edition, Lian Hansen interviewed Zorn and John Madof, guitarist for Rashanim, a "Jewish power trio" who's latest album features ten "unknown" tunes from Zorn's Masada songbook, and whose album Masada Rock was put out by Tzadik. Worth it for Lian's attempts to pronounce tzadik and rashamin. Also for Zorn's big up for Dick Dale.

This past Saturday night, Zorn checked in with David Garland, whose Evening Music program acts as a soporific weekend evenings on the NYC NPR affiliate. Garland has lately been hosting a "must have" festival, where guests run down musical must-haves. JZ basically presented a concise history of experimental classical music, from the tenth century to Harry Partch. Annoyingly, Zorn's roster of artists is unavailable online, and show is similarly offline (for now --- might be archived soon enough). It was a treat to hear Brian Lehrer, who by day hosts pound for pound the most thoughtful daytime radio talk show in the tri-state, open the night's show with a celebration of the many phases of Miles Davis.

And: if you're interested in supporting Zorn's performance space in NYC, The Stone, head on over to the Downtown Music Gallery and pick up a limited edition CD featuring Zorn, Dave Douglas, Bill Frisell, Mike Patton and others, the proceeds from which will go to fund further events at the club.

Better living through blogs.

2005-11-22T17:10:00.000-05:00

Was thrilled to discover that author Paul Collins has a blog, Weekend Stubble. I freaking loved his book Banvard's Folly (don't let the McSweeney's look sway you), and always like his occasional pieces (one was recently in the NYTimes mag; he's also written a number of essays for the Voice). That I haven't read his other books is only a function of available time and money. Anyway, another literary-ish blog to enjoy and enthuse over, if you're not already doing so.

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Pete Townsend is using a blog to serialize ~~his navel~~ a novel. I'm not sure if I'm reading this right, but does this page show Townsend and his fabulous girlfriend?

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Travelers Diagram, he don't post much these days, but there are two great covers along the sidebar right now: SY's "I Know There's an Answer," from the deluxe Goo --- god, it's great to hear them work out a straight song --- and Annie Hayden's superb-o "Swingin' Party" --- god, Tim! Anyway, most of the TD action is happening over at his del.icio.us link blog, at which I heard tell of SY's recovering of some equipment jacked in '99 [scroll down an item or two] and this hi-sterical ILM thread on little-known music trivia (for example, #225: The Shona language of southern Africa has 34 words for Rockism. Bantu, however, has none).

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Not a blog, but Point of Departure looks to be a worthwhile stop in the free jazz-o-sphere, sort of a slimmed down Paris Transatlantic, or a calm, single-voiced Batagellen. Enjoyed the pissy take on current jazz writing, though a quick tour of the reviews at PoD reveal the danger of this approach (review thyself, and all that). Weird that the Chris Porter dis makes no mention of his web outlet, the MP3 blog Suburbs Are Killing Us, which, admittedly, is more and more simply a dumping ground for Porter's print journalism.

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Mentioned this before, but it seems to me more folks should be reading and enjoying The Pop View, if the total subscription number at Bloglines is any indication of overall audience size. Here's TPV on tv story structure, and here on slasher films, and on tv show opening credits. And sometimes there is music, sweet music.

Is jazz publishing dead?

2005-11-21T17:11:00.000-05:00

In the Dec. 5 issue of The Nation, David Yaffe reviews five recent jazz tomes: Is Jazz Dead? (Or Has It Moved to a New Address) by Stuart Nicholson; Crossovers: Essays on Race, Music, and American Culture by John Szwed; the not-so-recent Django: The Life and Music of a Gypsy Legend by Michael Dregni; Northern Sun, Southern Moon: Europe's Reinvention of Jazz by Mike Heffley; and Jazz on the River by William Howland Kenney. It's a long, engaging essay by Yaffe; and while I'm happy to see lots of column inches devoted to jazz books, the fact that all five come from university presses says more, I hope, about The Nation than the state of jazz publishing. (Of course, in my own experience, no press is interested in jazz.) But it probably says the same thing about both, and what it says is niche. It also says ghetto. Rather than lament the state of modern jazz or jazz publishing (to cite TMFTML, boo-fucking-hoo --- is there anything more tedious than another dude bemoaning the fallen state of jazz as a cultural force? Let's agree it has the cultural cache of maybe pro bowling), I'll note that two of the three nonhistorical titles in Yaffe's round-up focus on European jazz, and (seemingly) compare it favorably to the current domestic strains. It's possible jazz's "new address" is on the other side of the Atlantic, but I doubt it. Or don't want to believe it. Though the new audience is probably there. This kind of divide raises all kinds of questions, centering on race and cultural nationalism, that I'm spectacularly unqualified to answer. But academic presses owning the jazz field, and a migration of the center of the jazz world (conceptually, anyway) east across the water, doesn't bode well and taken together should make for one starchy-ass future for the jazz fan and reader.
[ via ]

I'd rather go blind.

2005-11-15T11:31:00.001-05:00

What smoking, god-fearing drummer out-funkies the Funky Drummer?
Who saw Bob just before he hit the road, or the road hit him?
What jazz scribbler wants it all live, all the time?
Which reconstituted Boston post-punker used the Huffington Post to announce a new album?
What Queer Noises queen threw a snippy over the rise of macho jazz?
What link compiler with excellent initials just wasted my weekend?
Who blogs N.C. with the big brass? [For Chilly, mebbe.]
Which free pianist has no piano at home, and has (again) recorded his last album?
What Naked City dweller has some knickers in a twist (again)? [See comments esp.]
Which label that rhymes with boney maroney sucks ass?
Which old professor likes to take it in the ear, just like they used to do, way back when?
Who slouches, hoping it's taken as flattery? [For Chilly.]
What guerrilla author/webraker pissed off King Kong, to the point where he might be stomped out of virtual existence?
Which author with the vaguely racist name is in fact a racist?
Who is out of ideas?
Zapp? Zapp!

Via all the usual suspects.

Footnotes of note.

2005-11-10T16:50:00.000-05:00

The first in what is sure to be an arhythmically occurring feature:

I'm trying to work out how this makes sense as a noun meaning "the product of a bowel movement." This is not Dawson's personal euphemistic misstep; the usage persists in medical writing today. Should you have had the forturne of visiting a web page called The Constipation Page, you will [sic] have seen the phrase, "the motion or stool is very dry or hard." Perhaps this is why the term "motion pictures" was replaced by "movies." Now that I see it on the page, "movie" would have been a far better BM euphemism than "motion." I'd love to chat, but I need to make a movie.

Which is something Joe Esterhaus used to say quite regularly. Spotted in Roach, Spook, page 116.

Peel, slowly, and see.

2005-10-26T14:07:00.000-04:00

The three copies of "Teenage Kicks" are no surprise, but the safety of Sheena Easton's "9 to 5" is, along with the collected Jack White singles. Peek inside the late John Peel's 7-inch collection. [via SFJ]

Maybe we can get Mailer to knife someone.

2005-10-25T14:32:00.000-04:00

Fans of the Village Voice and her ilk will be interested in Jeff Chang's passionate eulogy for the alt-weekly, occasioned by the sale of Voice parent company Village Voice Media. A case could be made that blogs have sponged up some of the juice that used to be supplied by the alt-press, but the long-form, dilligently edited, and --how you say?--- reported stories aren't there, so much.

In the event you'd like to get your freak on.

2005-10-24T13:28:00.000-04:00

You can, repeatedly, here.

Book dump.

2005-10-21T17:11:00.000-04:00

Or, What I Did on My Summer Vacation (& Beyond).

This past summer I read music books like they were going out of style, which perhaps they are. My motivation for this remains fuzzy, but it was somehow spurred by the online discussion of Words and Music at Clap Clap Blog (specific post lost) and elsewhere, a book I was somewhat surprised that I hadn’t heard of, and that I felt weirdly obligated to read. But then, I reasoned, I’ve read so few music tomes to begin with, why start now? And with a university press book, no less. And then suddenly it began, aided by easy access to a few titles courtesy my proximity to the ass-end of the book industry. So here’s a book report, inspired and modeled after Bronwyn C’s similar posts:

TURN THE BEAT AROUND: The Secret History of Disco, by Peter Shapiro
Shapiro’s a Brit, and this ridiculously entertaining investigation into the roots of disco has something of the outsider’s attitude about it.

Which is all to the good, because it’d be hard to fathom why anyone would want to read an insider’s guide to disco, the only purpose of which would seem to be the recreation of a velvet rope in book form. Shapiro is crazy in deep with the disco—the first DJs and 12” singles he avidly discusses share almost no DNA with more mass notions of disco that came just before the fall (and that made up my Saturday Night Fever-inflected sense of what the music was); by the time the Village People show up, they seem like players in a different story altogether, a pantomime act. Rather than sway linearly through this story, Shaprio tries on different lenses: first it’s a New York City story, then a musical history, then a gay culture story, then a producer/dj story, a drug story. Even with some timeline to-ing and fro-ing, Shaprio keeps readers on the dancefloor. While he falls back on some stock licks when it comes to describing the music in fine grain detail (I recall a lot of hissing high hats), and almost certainly overstates the role of Northern Soul (if not Georgio Moroder), the depth of his research is impressive. So much of the early disco he describes was so unfamiliar to me that it seemed cruel a companion CD was not made available. One odd factlet: most of the legendary, early disco DJs were Italian-American.

Further reading [ flaska ]

DREAM BOOGIE: The Triumph of Sam Cooke, by Peter Guralnick
Guralnick strives for the definitive.

His two-volume Elvis biography is a monumental thing, awesome in its scholarship, evenhandedness, and sensitivity. Rather than take on the legend, it was as if he wanted to reassemble Presley one real-life detail at a time, until a inarguable portrait of the artist as an actual human emerged, Chuck Close-style. He brings this same vigor and immensity of purpose to this Cooke bio, certain to be the ultimate statement on the singer for now and forever. As in the first volume of the Elvis story, Guralnick excels at depicting the creative education and professional rise of a performer on the cusp of fame and greatness. Letting Cooke's friends and family tell large chunks of the story, the language is wonderfully evocative, and Guralnick occasionally fashions a strong sense of drama in describing the phenomenal impact on an audience of the Cooke-era Soul Stirrers. More than once we hear of church ladies "falling out." Guralnick seems to lose interest when things go south, though—and when the end comes with less than fifty pages to go (of 800+) the reader is left bereft, curious about the “triumph” involved, and in need of more context-setting and solace than is provided. But, like the disco book, if reading this doesn’t send you to (re)discover Cooke’s glories, you probably won’t be reading it to begin with. (Full disclosure: Guralnick was the director of the sleep-away camp I attended for three summers back in the ‘80s.)

Further listening [ Dave the Spazz Cooke set from '03; tune in at 2:38 ]
Further reading [ Bk Rail review; Wolk on live set]

AWOPBOPALOOBOP ALOPBAMBOOM: The Golden Age of Rock, by Nik Cohn
Where Guralnick is precision and pointillist portraiture, Cohn, a Brit, is bold strokes and, given his known penchant for truth-stretching, faintly believable hyperbole.

This book is Cohn closing the door on rock as a viable form. What makes this unusual is that he wrote it as a twenty-two year old in 1968. It’s a vibrant document of a kid burning with a love for the music as strong as his disillusionment. Cohn has a sharp eye for the inanities of ‘60s rock, particularly given his proximity to the UK scene—his perspective is refreshingly lacking in awe or idle idol worship. Except when it comes to major “who dat?” figure, P. J. Proby, a false god if ever there was one. Cohn seems a journalist with an unerring ability to be where the action is: London in the 60s (this book); New York in the ‘70s (the faux article that became Saturday Night Fever). Most recently he was hanging with New Orleans rappers; his book on the scene, now decimated along with everything else in Katrina’s wake, is being pushed up by his publisher and will arrive next month.

Further reading [ Cohn picks other books; Jeff Chang picks Cohn apart ]

ESCAPING THE DELTA; Robert Johnson and the Invention of the Blues, by Elijah Wald
In a lot of ways the Cohn book is a treatise on pop vs. the rock, without a lot of awareness that such a debate need exist; he found the seam naturally.

Wald’s project here is to try to unburden Delta blues, in particular folks blues c. Robert Johnson, from the sepia-toned nostalgia of collectors and aficionados, tastemakers who put a high price on rough-hewn “authenticity,” while entirely missing the boat on what was respected—and moreover popular—back in the day. Wald injects himself into the story, charmingly most of the time, and we travel with him as he searches out old bluesmen for as honest and firsthand a look as possible at the early Mississippi blues scene. Wald is trying to decalcify these performers in much the same way Guralnick did with Elvis, only Wald has more of a mission. There are some itch-making parallels with the indie purists' love of all things unsung, underappreciated, loved for their very rarity and cultish insider qualities [that rustling you hear is my hand going up slowly]. This too is a book about rock and pop, only in this case "rock" stands in for "the Delta blues you've heard" and "pop" for "the Delta blues that was deemed too commerical in its day to warrant your hearing it now."

Further reading [ Wald on his own book, extensively ]

ENGLAND’S DREAMING: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock, and Beyond, by Jon Savage
What is it about these Brits and their need to chronicle rock movements?

(cf. Simon Reynolds’ Rip It Up and Start Again, which, when paired with this book, would bring you from 1975 to the 80s without missing a beat, all of punk and post-punk in two handy volumes.) Savage walks slowly through the birth story of the Sex Pistols, larding on amble scoops of British political history and a healthy heap of cultural studies, heavy on the Situationists. Though as detailed as Guralnick's Cooke book—we see the Pistols coming together under Malcolm Maclaren's unsteadying hand in something close to real time—Savage has as much interest in the underlying historical forces and subcultural heavings of the time as the individual players; no Great Man of Musical History template for him. Though occasionally wearying, the overall effect is hugely exhilarating, the musical minutiae clashing with the Greil Marcus-like myth-making to ramp up the (different kind of) tension to the point at which one can begin to sense the immensity of what was at stake in England at the time. The extensive annotated discography at the end is alone worth the price of the book.

Further reading [ no nostalgia ]

ROCK TIL YOU DROP: The Decline from Rebellion to Nostalgia, by John Strausbaugh
A thorough and carefully constructed demolition of the latter day Rolling Stones, Rolling Stone,

and the notion that old folks rock. Contains some great take-downs, particularly concerning the giant mausoleum/oxymoron that is the Museum of Rock and Roll, and some great interview material with the likes of White Panther/MC5 ringleader John Sinclair. Another brick in the wall separating rock and pop. Though wanting to distance himself from his Boomer peers who need to convince themselves they can still rock, at any cost, Strausbaugh himself seems stuck in an old frame of mind that pits the collaborative, spontaneously creative hits-be-damned artisty of rock against the premeditated, division-of-labor, hit-making machinery of pop. As M. Doughty tries to teach him in the last chapter, these lines matter less and less. (But how old is Doughty at this point? That Strausbaugh has him stand in for the youth vote only proves the author's point all the more.)

Further reading [ overnight for day ]

Welcome any and all recommendations of life-changing music books....

Son of Congo.

2005-10-21T17:03:00.000-04:00

Over at The Suburbs, news of Congotronics 2, and a domestic release of Konono No. 1's Congotronics 1. Fellow NYCers can welcome Konono to our fair city in November, 11/16 @ Joe's Pub, 11/17 @ S.O.B's. Video etc. at the Crammed label blog.

That big old jet airliner just carried him way too far away.

2005-10-14T15:54:00.000-04:00

Paul Pena, the man who penned "Jet Airliner" for Steve Miller, is dead. No I hadn't heard of him either. Spawning an army of lite rock air guitarists is legacy enough for any man, but Pena's story is fairly amazing:

Almost completely blind since birth and plagued by illnesses most of his life, he proved to be a natural musician, singing and teaching himself several instruments. In the late 1960's, he was in a band that opened for big-time acts including the Grateful Dead and Frank Zappa. Blues artists ranging from T-Bone Walker to B. B. King to Bonnie Raitt recognized his talents, hiring him to play guitar in their bands.

In 1971 Mr. Pena moved to San Francisco, where he played many gigs, frequently opening for Jerry Garcia's and Merle Saunders' bands. Mr. Pena became interested in throat singing when he heard a Tuvan broadcast on his shortwave radio in 1984. Later he found a Tuvan record, playing it countless times until he learned how to throat sing, which involves producing several distinct vocal-cord sounds simultaneously. In 1993 he demonstrated his technique to Kongar-ol Ondar, one of the foremost throat singers in the world. Mr. Ondar was impressed with Pena, nicknaming him Earthquake and inviting him to Tuva to participate in the annual competition.

His 1995 journey to Tuva, where he won awards in the contest and charmed local residents who were delighted with this foreigner who had mastered their art form, is recounted in Genghis Blues.

Genghis Blues was a documentary Pena made about his Tuvan experiences, and it was nominated for an Oscar in 1999. Keep on keepin' on....

Recent faves from hither, yon.

2005-10-03T16:32:00.000-04:00

Dylan doc blog entry (has nothing to do with Dock Boggs):
“I’m not anythingggg! -- I’m just inscrutable and shit!”

Katrina-inspired radio show:
Doug Shulkind paying his respects and dreaming of the masters during "Give the Drummer Some," on WMFU, September 2d. Shulkind fits in, inter alia, the whole of the Mayor Ray Nagin/Garland Robinette interview on WWL-New Orleans (around 2:18 into Shulkind's show), which segues devastatingly into James Booker's "Make a Better World." Not a benefit, a beautiful, heart-breaking elegy.

DVD reissue:
On the heels of No Direction Home, the Murray Lerner documentary Festival, a remarkable (and remarkably compact) chronicle of the Newport Folk Festival from 1963 to 1966, is going to see the light of day on DVD later this month. The Lerner footage provided some of the performance highlights of the Bob'n'Marty Show. Saw this years ago on a small big screen, and recall a burning Howlin' Wolf segment and some phenomenal people-watching. That pre-hippie, post-beat look adopted by the cool set c. '64 was probably the closest the US came to having its own mod moment. Festival offers perhaps the only extant evidence that Joan Baez was once hot. Lerner later captured the 1970 Isle of Wight festival on film; it's called Message to Love, and features, among many memorable moments, a stunningly ineffective Joni Mitchell wig-out. [ via ]

Kiwi rock:
The Bats are back.

Inaccessible rock:
In 1979, the members of Nurse With Wound, Steven Stapleton, John Fothergill and Heman Pathak, compiled a roll call of their favorite "outsider" musical artists to include with their first album, Chance Meeting on a Dissecting Table of a Sewing Machine and an Umbrella. No other details were provided, just 300 or so names in block type. The second version of the list included several newly added names, and came with the To the Quiet Men From a Tiny Girl LP in 1980. Stapleton and co. knew not what they hath wrought; the so-called Nurse With Wound List has since become a scavenger hunt of holy grails for fanatical collectors of Krautrock, progressive rock, psychedelic, post-punk, jazz, free improvised and experimental music.... So begins 'FMU's William Berger's three-part MP3 compilation/public service announcement...with glockenspiel. Part one. Part two. Part three. Please excuse me while I bathe myself in the bitter tears of rock snobs who spent their paper route money and countless stanky hours trolling record fairs looking for this stuff.

Postage stamp mega-event:
Would we lie?

Educational music blog post:
Before you exclaim, "hey, I love that song in the new HP camera ad" and rush off to Soulseek, hastily casting yourself in the horrid yellow light of advert-music-know-nothing, I implore you....

Either/Or

2005-09-30T16:10:00.000-04:00

They're sitting around the bar on a Tuesday night just bullshitting, talking guy stuff, some baseball, and of course some music. Kerry asks Jay to list his favorite bands. "Top five," he says. Jay gives it a little more thought than necessary, then launches into the litany. "The Clash, Velvets, The Beatles, Rolling Stones--"

"Hold it right there," Kerry says. "You CANNOT list both the Beatles AND the Stones as your favorites. No way. You're either a Beatles person or a Stones person. There's a big difference. So which is it?"

Jay is nonplussed but gets the point. "Beatles," he says quickly.

An interesting idea - that splitting hairs among your preferences actually reveals more than a list of general likes and dislikes. So in the spirit that deep in your soul you're EITHER foremost a Stones person OR a Beatles person, here are a few other musical tests of primary allegiance.

The Beatles OR The Rolling Stones
John Lennon OR Paul McCartney
Sex Pistols OR The Clash
Billie Holiday OR Ella Fitzgerald
Iggy Pop OR David Bowie
Frank Zappa OR Capt. Beefheart
Al Green OR Marvin Gaye
New Order OR Joy Division
The Bee Gees OR ABBA
Biggie OR Tupac
Miles Davis OR John Coltrane
Husker Du OR The Replacements
John Bonham OR Keith Moon
Motown OR Stax
The Cure OR The Smiths
Howling Wolf OR Muddy Waters
Jerry Lee Lewis OR Little Richard
Roxy Music OR Brian Eno
The Stooges OR The MC5
Tori Amos OR Kate Bush
Parliament OR Funkadelic
Dr. Dre OR The RZA
Janis Joplin OR Tina Turner
Frank Sinatra OR Tony Bennett
Sam Cooke OR Otis Redding
Tom Waits pre-Swordfishtrombones OR Tom Waits post-Swordfishtrombones
Minor Threat OR Black Flag
Dolly Parton OR Loretta Lynn
Cecil Taylor OR Ornette Coleman
Ice Cube OR Ice-T
Fat Elvis OR Thin Elvis

BONUS BEATS:
Raw Power OR Fun House
Harry Smith OR Alan Lomax
Philip Glass OR Steve Reich
Quadraphenia OR Tommy
The O'Jays OR The Chi-Lites
Pink Floyd with Syd Barrett OR Pink Floyd without Syd Barrett
Sgt. Pepper's OR Pet Sounds
John Cale OR Lou Reed
Caetano Veloso OR Gilberto Gil

Post your answers in comments. "Yes" does not count, smart guy. Ditto for "neither." (List revamped 10/1)

Oi, vayzmere.

2005-09-27T16:05:00.000-04:00

Having recently read England's Dreaming, Jon Savage's deep history of British punk, version 1.0, it was a little unsettling to read, via Cosloy's Can't Stop the Bleeding, that British PM Tony Blair was escorted to the stage today at a Labo(u)r party conference accompanied by the Sham 69 anthem "If the Kids Are United." Perhaps Blair was inspired by Sham singer Jimmy Pursey's recent kicking match with former foe John Lydon (as reported here, also with a link to the song itself), finding inspiration in this bit of school yard drama: punk not entirely dead. Maybe I'm just used to the plasticine political appreances of the US's current leader, but given UK punk's slipperly political lineage---which shifted from a Dada-inflected, massive NO, to Rock Against Racism, to Oi! and National Front and skinheads at various points---it would seem that Sham 69, progenitors to Oi as they were, is a pretty dicey choice. Is thirty years enough time to erase history?

It's also a bold choice simply on musical merits. Classic UK punk might be thirty years old, but "If the Kids" is still pretty potent. And about kids. Hard to imagine what the W. equivalent would be. Marching up to the podium to "Blitzkrieg Bop"? (Johnny would've liked that.) Among other things, this little episode is just another bit of evidence pointing to the chronic need of the enfranchised to make certain songs not mean certain things.

Highway to hell.

2005-09-26T14:42:00.000-04:00

Jack White may be ordering Satan to get behind him these days, but it didn't seem like he was battling any demons on Saturday night at keyspan Park in Coney Island. Instead he seemed plugged root-deep into his own talents and inspirations and able to draw freely on all that power to play a nonstop 100-minute show that electrified the entire ballpark. He segued from song to song without pausing, raced around the stage between guitars, organ, piano, and mandolin - and even rocked the marimba on a surprisingly loud and satisfying version of "The Nurse."

The emphasis was on rawness, and many of the songs were taken at breakneck speed with jagged whelps of disortion spraying from the amps and Meg White bashing away like she was in a Minor threat cover band. Jack has mastered the trick of making his one guitar sound like (at least) two people playing at once and used an octaver to summon the brown sound bass usually reserved for techno clubs. His insanely unhinged slide playing on "Death Letter" was dubbed by my pal Kurt as "Duane Allman gone to hell and come back with a nasty meth habit." The rest of the solos were two parts Jimmy Page, one part Link Wray, and one part Greg Ginn. Ferocious slabs of riff but still sculpted and nuanced. He hollared and teased out the lyrics, knee deep in every sentiment.

Yes, there's still only two of them, so coasting wasn't an option. The band - and duh, Jack in particular - seem to be riding some creative high right now. He seems like an effortless conduit for the music he wants to conjure - mixing blues, garage, punk, country, bluegrass, soul, and even some electronica into something distinctly his own. He's turned into a majorly charismatic (and weird looking - he's still sporting the Michael Jackson gone hasdic look) rock star, but one of the most uncompromising I can think of. People still talk shit about Meg's drumming, but it's more clear than ever that she gives the band that necessary primal punk edge needed to ground his virtuosity and keep it honest. Anyone who can't see that by now just doesn't get their music at some fundamental level. Plus, when Jack eventually goes solo, it won't be as good. Why? History, for one thing. Can you name an artist who made their name in a band and then went on to do even better work as a solo artist?!! (Art says "Peter Gabriel." Kurt, who actually likes early Genesis, isn't so sure. Myself, I don't really care that much for either phase of his career.)

One of the best things about the show was seeing how much the white Stripes have improved in the last five years. (And thanks to Art and Ellen for the free tickets and encouragement to give the band another chance). I walked out on the band's free Hudson pier show right around the time the great White Blood Cells was released. Jack stood stock still and stared at feet while playing listless five minute guitar solos that went nowhere. Meg seemed like she was in a Shaggs cover band. Maybe it was an off night, but there was no spark. Saturday night's performance was a different order of magnitude altogether. Same two people, but an entirely different band.

Pull Up the People

2005-09-26T09:26:00.000-04:00

Idly watching TV last night, I was shocked to hear M.I.A.'s "Galang" blasting from my speakers. No, I wasn't watching New York Noise [sic] but rather tuned to a Honda Civic commercial on CBS. A really fucking lame Honda Civic commercial at that, filled with bad animation, explosions, and cars swooping through the air like superheroes. The ad even used "Galang"'s rebel yell/take it to the streets coda, just to complete the utter debasement of the song.

Yeah, I know we live in an all-consuming corporate culture and have managed to get over such dissonant oddities as The Stooges "1969" used to advertise deals on long distance. But what does it mean for a self-proclaimed revolutionary who raps about overthrowing the system and compares herself to Public Enemy in interviews to sell her song for a car commercial six months after releasing it? You may ask, would "Fight the Power" be any less potent if it was used to shill for Friskies a year after its release? Yes, yes it would.

Birthday blitz.

2005-09-22T16:59:00.000-04:00

Coltrane's birthday is tomorrow, September 23. He would've been 79. To honor the day you can listen to the rather lovely ten-song stream available at johncoltrane.com, or tune your Internets to Columbia U's WKCR, who will surely be airing their annual birthday broadcast all day. Born under a musical sign, JC shares his birthdate with Albert Ammons, Frank Foster, and Ray Charles. Sam Rivers turns 75 two days later.

AACM pianist and teacher Muhal Richard Abrams also turned 75 on Monday, September 19. His standards show no sign of flagging, as he refrained from performing solo at Tuesday evening's Vision Fest-sponsored Katrina benefit, owing to an out-of-tune piano.

And the Braxton @ 60 series of performances are underway at Wesleyan, and running through December, for interested Connecticutians and neighbors.

Showing vision.

2005-09-19T18:08:00.000-04:00

If free jazz is your bag, and you've been looking for additional ways to support Katrina-affected citizens, here's where you'll be tomorrow night (Tuesday, Sept. 20):

A Jazz and Creative Music All-Star Benefit
for the Artists of New Orleans

ANGEL ORENSANZ FOUNDATION FOR THE ARTS
172 Norfolk Street (just south of Houston)
Tuesday September 20, 2005
5pm to midnight
Donation $30 or for those who can afford $100

Order of Appearance
--Students from the New York High Schools (Humanities Preparatory and James Baldwin) perform work developed with Vision artists and teachers: Bob Craddock, Lan Ding Liu, Patricia Nicholson, William Parker, Matthew Shipp and Guillermo E. Brown
--The Little Huey Creative Music Orchestra with Rob Brown, Sabir Mateen, Darryl Foster, Dave Sewelson, Roy Campbell, Lewis Barnes, Matt Lavelle, Masahiko Kono, Steve Swell, Dave Hofstra, William Parker, Andrew Barker, Leena Conquest
--Masada with Dave Douglas Greg Cohen, Kenny Wollesen and John Zorn
--Matthew Shipp, William Parker, Whit Dickey, Patricia Nicholson
--Bill Dixon solo trpt
--Oliver Lake, Ted Daniel, Ahmed Abdullah, Reggie Workman, Cooper-Moore
--Muhal Richard Abrams solo piano
--Kidd Jordan, Clyde Kerr, Kali Z. Fasteau, Henry Grimes, Hamid Drake + poet Amiri Baraka
--Tri-Factor with Hamiet Bluiett, Billy Bang & Kahil El-Zabar + poet Quincy Troupe
--Kidd Jordan, William Parker, Charles Gayle, Roy Campbell, Hamid Drake
--Jazz Passengers with Deborah Harry and Elvis Costello
--Yo La Tengo with Other Dimensions in Music

Emcees: Steve Buscemi, Steve Dalachinsky & Patricia Nicholson

All proceeds from these events will go directly to New Orleanian artists via The Jazz Foundation of America and the New Orleans Musician's Clinic.

Death to :-).

2005-09-19T18:02:00.000-04:00

Witness the birth of the smiley emoticon, twenty-three years ago today, in horrifying slow motion. Answers for all time the burning question: were they really that geeky? [ via ]

Where you want this killin' done?

2005-09-16T16:23:00.000-04:00

Why are Dylan fans so goddamn literal?

It makes me feel so sorry.

2005-09-15T11:54:00.000-04:00

You got the DVD on preorder, you got the TiVo all lined up, the book+CD package is already on the coffee table.... but are you really a Dylan fan if your cell phone doesn't croon "Lay Lady Lay" when a call comes in? [ via ]

Ballad of a thin man.

2005-09-06T16:52:00.000-04:00

With September shaping up as National Bob Dylan Month (funny it didn't make the cut here), Radio Byrne is streaming 40-odd Dylan songs, with a (too) select few covers (Jimi, Byrds, Band, Baez, Chan). It's easy to quibble --- more choice covers might've been nice (Thurston's "Sitting on a Barbed Wire Fence"; The Poster Children's "Isis"; Polly Jean's "Highway 61 Revisited"), also more from recent days, more rarities --- but if you're looking to soundtrack your day with Dylan, it'll do.

She said, "Don't be afraid."

2005-09-01T17:43:00.000-04:00

Alex Chilton was in N.O. through Katrina. No word yet, but no reason to be fearful, either, as he apparently made it through the worst of the storm intact. [via]

UPDATE: Chilton okay. This is of course a tiny story amid the catastrophe, but we're not up to grand statements and leave the context-setting and commentary to others.

On second thought, stop the carnival.

2005-08-31T15:52:00.000-04:00

Francis Davis in the Voice on Sonny Rollins' latest, a live recording made a week after 9/11, in Boston. Davis notes, "When Rollins goes first, everything else is anticlimactic, and when he goes last, as is more often the case, the wait seems forever—you wish he'd give trombone and piano their own features and grab the spotlight. Why have Bob Cranshaw play electric bass if all you ask him to do is walk? The constant buzz is a distraction, and an upright would blend more handsomely with the wood in Rollins's cello-like lower register. Adding Kimati Dinizulu's hand percussion to Perry Wilson's traps doesn't intensify the groove: With both of them going at it, the rhythm section just sounds busy. And Rollins's opening head arrangements of four standards, including 'Why Was I Born?' and 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square', are superfluous time killers." Davis' verdict? Rollins' best since Don't Stop the Carnival, close to thirty years ago.

Semi-mellow jazz docent (teaches the jazz kids how to indie).

2005-08-30T11:48:00.000-04:00

Proving yet again that jazz's salvation will be at the hands of someone other than jazz fans, avant jazz has been popping up on the indie MP3 blog axis lately, perhaps in response to a slow release month. Anyway, The Pop View posted some semi-successful electro-jazz from Matthew Shipp last week; and Eddie Gale, fresh from a furious Vision Fest appearance (he was furious with the sound guy), and a primo spot on Soul Jazz' New Thing! comp., has popped up twice at Orbis Quintus, and once at Fluxblog, a while ago. And then there's that Gold Sounds album, twelve jazz covers of Pavement songs, finally due September 27, from Brown Brothers. (This is a cool idea, and should get lots of attention, but the lead up to this release has been so protracted they're running the risk of sapping all of the native enthusiasm they've engendered. Right, Fiona?) The Brown Bros. site is now streaming "My Own Mine," which appeared most recently on the deluxe Slanted & Enchanted.

ECM for dummies.

2005-08-25T17:29:00.000-04:00

Remember that book proposal we were always going on about? Well, we're just about at the point where our agent has done all she can, a termination letter is a few weeks away, and we will soon send the thing out to some farther-flung houses under our own steam. We have even suffered the ignomy of a reject from a U press that had gone out of its way to request the proposal. (Thanks, man. Good luck with that Elvis retread.) On the occasion of the Julian Priester reissue, and in celebration of the diminished likelihood that anyone other than you will read these words, here's our sidebar on ECM Records, one of a planned dozen or so capsule label histories:

ECM Records

The record label ECM—Edition of Contemporary Music—was founded by Manfred Eicher in Munich in 1969. At the time, free jazz was rapidly emerging in Europe, as American ex-pats spread the gospel in England and on the Continent, and European players embraced a new freedom developed in-country. Eicher remains president of the label today, which in part explains the tremendous consistency in output, design, and overall aesthetic that ECM albums have maintained since its first release, pianist Mal Waldron’s Free at Last (1969). Nine hundred albums later, ECM continues to be one of the leading sources of experimental jazz with a European flavor.

Certain performers have come to be associated with ECM, including saxophonist Jan Garbarek, bassist Dave Holland, and especially pianist Keith Jarrett, who has recorded for ECM exclusively for the past 25 years. Jarrett’s diverse output—solo concerts, jazz groups, classical compositions—mirrors that of ECM as a whole. His solo Koln Concert (1975) has sold over four million copies, a remarkable feat for any jazz performance, let alone an improvised and unaccompanied concert.

ECM’s main trademark has been its production style. Eicher is a classically trained double-bassist and it may be this background that led him pursue an austere, big-room sound on just about every ECM release. Along with the spare sleeve designs, it is this crystalline tone, with almost tangible silences, that defines ECM output—for better or worse. The varied critical responses to this signature sound might explain why Eicher refuses to grant interviews. The music is consistently challenging, unafraid of lyricism and beauty—not to mention quiet—and embraces its European roots.

It’s worth noting that ECM’s very earliest records, from 1969 to the early 1970s, were recorded without Eicher at the controls. These recordings were brought in by the artists and only distributed by ECM. The lovely Dave Holland album Conference of the Birds (1973) is one notable example. Fans put off by the sterilized tang of current ECM output would do well to search out these first releases.

ESSENTIAL ECM ALBUMS
Terje Rypdal, Terje Rypdal (1971)
Dave Holland, Conference of the Birds (1973)
Jan Garbarek, Witchi-Tai-To (1973)
Art Ensemble of Chicago, Nice Guys (1978)
Art Ensemble of Chicago, Urban Bushmen (1980)
Jack DeJohnette, Album Album (1984)
Evan Parker Electro-Acoustic Ensemble, Toward the Margins (1996)
Nils Petter Molaever, Solid Ether (2000)

Thanks for reading.

What's next b/w What's old.

2005-08-25T16:19:00.000-04:00

Had your fill of leaked tracks by [yr fave artist with upcoming disk here]? Not sure where to turn next, and not willing to wait for Pitchfork/Fluxblog/TMFTML to tell you? Bill Berger's eclectic song dump at the 'fmu blog might be just the ticket. Heavy on selections from the "infamous" Nurse With Wound list, you get everything from Amon Duul II to 70s reggae to Cheap Trick; the real find for me is The Trees, 70s Brit-folk akin to Fairport fronted by a more annoying Sandy Denny. No, it's good.

The 'fmu blog also has the lowdown on the rather nutty Lydon-Jimmy Pursey (Sham 69) set-to, as witnessed by the Proclaimers. Perhaps this was a scene from some new reality show: Old & Punk'd? Hard not to see Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau cast in the recreation (except for the being dead part).

Dribs, DRABS.

2005-08-24T17:49:00.000-04:00

-- Thom Yorke has a blog, Dead Air Space. Brings to mind the Kid A booklet, awash in artless art, gnomic in-jokes, and wasted real estate. But he seems to be warming to it.

-- ECM has reissued trombonist Julian Priester's 1974 free funk-fest Love, Love. Priester was fresh from Herbie Hancock's Mwandishi band at the time, which took Miles Davis' electronic skronk and Mooged it out; Priester's group gets back to the beat. This track was ear-marked for the rumored second volume in Virgin UK's Jazz Satellites series.

-- I want to take this time to send out a special, special dedication to the girl standing to my left at the Killers concert last night at Stubb's.... So begins an amusing rant at Craigslist/Austin. But really dude, why not just move?

-- So the Village Voice music blogs now? We are unfazed (as we are unread), even in the face of Tom Breihan's rather funny write up of Heinekin's AmsterJam (really), held last weekend at Randall's Island, "an apocalyptically ugly venue." Check Diddy's wordless cameo.

-- Lit blogger Ed Champion rips Klosterman a new one while coining a new one: Klosterfuck. People really seem to enjoy trashing this guy, seemingly for good reason. I didn't mind Fargo Rock City, though that was given to me and probably all that I'll ever read by him. But like the enraged fan at the Killers show (see above), who seems to have enjoyed being so put out, it's weird that people enjoy hammering hammering hammering hammering on the Kloster-man, to the point where any impartial observer can see there's a puddle where his head used to be. It goes above and beyond. That's all I'm sayin. Oooo, you stepped right in it....

Well, truth be told, not all of them were my friends....

2005-08-23T17:32:00.000-04:00

Apropos of nothing, an old, short squib by Jonathan Lethem about an even older song, my response to which echoes that of the author, even if I heard it first some ten years later. Promptly bought the LP, which may as well have been a single with nine flip sides, so far above and beyond was "People Who Died." I could never understand why that track came at the end of side 1, but it now strikes me as a desperate attempt to get people to listen to the rest of the album, or at least that side. The song is ridiculously over the top, and Carroll sells it, fully committed, with the slightest acknowledgment of the goofiness that is "They were all my friends, and they died." While the music brooks no such wink.

This is the second remembrance I've recently read of a song being played twice in a row on the radio --- the other was "Walk on the Wild Side" [link sadly lost], on black radio no less --- and when was the last time that happened? Though Jack and his lookalikes may play whatever the hell they like, I doubt that includes playing anything two times, 4 your mind. Though maybe this happens all the time on stations I'm simply unaware of (i.e., most of the dial).

Anyway, the Lethem site has some good stuff and is worth a look-see in general, in the glove compartment, and don't look now, but is that Eliot Winterpenis?

RIP Mr. Moog

2005-08-22T11:21:00.000-04:00

Robert Moog has died.

Tomorrow is a long time.

2005-08-16T10:43:00.000-04:00

Son of splatter: blood on our hands.

2005-08-11T15:42:00.000-04:00

Bird lives downtown, and uptown, too. The 13th annual Charlie Parker Jazz Festival is set for the weekend of August 27/28 in NYC --- Marcus Garvey Park on Saturday, Tompkins Square Park on Sunday. Geri Allen, John Hicks, Fathead Newman, Cindy Blackman: the Sunday bill looks solid. We have fond memories of attending the first annual fest, which had the sweetest neighborhoody feel and a bracing lack of commercialization (i.e., it's free, and no Verizon banner). And the music cooked.

July indoors. Bronwyn C, over at the WFMU blog, has been on a tear of late, with some posts chronicling her recent bout of skin cancer that are as moving as they are entertaining, skipping maudlin all together. The July indoors entry presents her notes on books she's read while stuck inside for weeks on end; everything from Carnivorous Nights to Happy Kitty Bunny Pony. It's great. Actually, the collected Bronwyn C posts make for pretty excellent reading all down the line, though at this point I'd probably read her take on microcephalic dwarves---o wait, I have already.

High water coming. John Darnielle is ready for the CocoRosie throwdown, even though their sophomore effort, Noah's Ark, isn't due for another month. It's a preemtive strike, an attempt to get the good word out before the bad news starts flowing to such a degree that a positive review then becomes some kind of radical, tide-stemming stand. (wha?) So now we're trying to game the spin cycle on CocoRosie? CocoRosie? It's enough to make a person rave Let's hear about something old, for crying out loud. (And we actually like the new CocoRosie, having randomly found the thing for sale in a Brooklyn music hole.) [This via the OQ.]

Splatter.

2005-08-08T17:34:00.000-04:00

--Hungry like the Chuck: Carl Wilson not digging on Chuck Klosterman.

--Tangled up in polka dots: Clothesline Saga, a dotty Dylan photo gallery.

--Democracy now: Francis Davis, in the Village Voice, reviews the latest liberation project from Charlie Haden. Also the recently released Bird/Diz rediscovery. Also Billy Bang's Vietman: Reflections.

--Future days: A long feature at Pop Matters on Can's second wave, and Mute's re-release of Future Days, Soon over Babaluma, Landed, and Unlimited Edition.

--Music blogs that you will soon read instead of this one: The Pop View, which today notes the passing of Buena Vista vocalist Ibrihim Ferrer (see also snappy, sample-related posts on Sade and De La with Lou Rawls); Hallmonitor, formerly The Rub, indier-than-thou but in the nicest way possible, and we don't hold his GBV fixation against him; and free jazz reviewer Nate Dorward, whose reasonable tips for music reviewing are hard to argue with, and whose blog appears to be updated fairly regularly now (don't let the sabremetrics stuff fool you).

--Scraping the barrel: A column at Stylus from Ned Raggett seemingly devoted to pillorying whatever's lying around Stylus's offices on any given week, unclaimed. It's actually called Scraping the Barrel. So for barrel scrapings, thoughts on discs no one else even bothered to pick up, reflections on the forgotten, unforgiveable, unremarkable, and otherwise unavailable, go to, and have fun.

Silkworm drummer killed in car crash.

2005-08-04T13:25:00.000-04:00

This sad news is already a few weeks old, but we just came across it today, via Cosloy's 12XU site, of all places:
Silkworm drummer Michael Dahlquist was killed in an automobile accident on July 14, in Chicago. The band's official site has a wonderfully full and touching obit at the top of the page, along with a link to a great Steve Albini appreciation that appeared in the Chicago Reader. To hear what's been lost, if only in part, go to the Touch & Go download page, which has three great Silkworm songs up [scroll down]; "(I Hope U) Don't Survive," despite the unfortunate name, showcases some typically great work from Dalquist.
Further: the T&G site has a stream of Silkworm's 2004 disk It'll Be Cool here [scroll down].

Ladies and gentlemen, David Byrne is floating in space.

2005-08-02T13:14:00.000-04:00

Radio Byrne-man has updated his monthly stream, and, in celebration of the IRA cease fire in No. Ireland, is featuring three hours of "nonstop psychedelic beauty." Not sure I see the connection, and once again there's too much Donovan (and no Van Morrison?), but it's great to hear mildly trippy chestnuts like Thunderclap Newman's "Something in the Air" replace the nonstop Italian parade that was running in July. Though, again, how is "Only Living Boy in NY" psychedelic?

The Cream tracks call to mind the recent FMU post that highlighted free-market ticket prices for their reunion tour. Druggy nostalgia don't come cheap.

Every day is Fela Day.

2005-08-01T11:13:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow, August 2d, marks the eighth anniversary of Fela's death, due to AIDS.

Brett Cook-Dizney. Painting of Fela done
for Red Hot Fela Project Party. (2001)

To honor the day, African Shrine Entertainment Productions & The Foundation for Democracy in Africa, in collaboration with C.O.U.M.B.A. Foundation, Inc., will present the second annual African AIDS Awareness Concert in honor of Fela Anikulapo-Kuti: ten hours of live music at Kalakuta Rebublic, Lagos. For those who can't make it to Nigeria, there will also be a Fela Day celebration in Brooklyn this Saturday, the 6th, at Cadman Plaza, from noon until 8pm. Among the scheduled performers: Kaleta; Wonderland Afrobeat Orchestra; Dead Prez' M1; Sandra Isidore; Randy Weston; Talib Kweli; Mos Def; Roy Ayers. (No Antibalas seems a little weird, though they appear to be in France.) It is FREE. And for those closer to DC, there will be another day-long Afrobeat extravaganza on Fela's birthday, October 15th --- location and lineup to be announced. (Though one hopes, certainly, for an appearance by the Baltimore Afrobeat Society.)

Passings, in passing.

2005-07-29T12:51:00.000-04:00

Recent musical losses:
Eugene Record, Chi-Lites lead singer. NYTimes obit here.
Long John Baldry, British white blues shepherd. NYTimes obit here.
Albert Mangelsdorff, German trombonist uber alles. Allaboutjazz.com obit here. Really odd Google-assisted translation of Der Spiegel obit here.

Carrie picks ten.

2005-07-28T11:45:00.000-04:00

This is from May, but whatev: SK's Carrie picks ten songs to enjoy
on a fair-weathered Sunday, at Pitchfork. The Dead, Monk, Richard and Linda, Jimi --- all point to their current sound, minus the heaviness, which perhaps is better suited for a Friday afternoon commute home, or a Monday morning windstorm.

Music book deal of limited import, stranded edition.

2005-07-27T12:17:00.000-04:00

Via Publishers Marketplace:
Editor Phil Freeman's Marooned: The Next Generation of Desert Island Discs, which spotlights a new generation of music critics as they discuss which single album they'd take to a desert island and why, to Ben Schafer at Da Capo, for release in Spring 2007, by Andrew Stuart at The Stuart Agency. Freeman blogged the news a couple of weeks ago, and includes there the roster of critics he's got lined up, including fellow bloggers John Darnielle, Sasha Frere-Jones, Michaelangelo Matos, Simon Reynolds, Derek Taylor, and, by fiat, Douglas Wolk. (And how about showing Carl Wilson some love? Is it the Canadian thing?) It pains me to say this, but it's an excellent, timely idea, and I wish I'd thought of it. Oh, and Greil Marcus, the original inspiration for this, will pen an intro.

Incidentally, Freeman's book on Miles Davis' electric period comes out in September.

Out of the closet, into the stores: ole!

2005-07-26T09:29:00.000-04:00

Time after time, vault-seeker after vault-seeker, how is it no one thinks to look in the god-forsaken closet? The "Coltrane family closet," no less? Wouldn't you start looking in something called the Coltrane family closet?

Ps, Qs.

2005-07-14T18:20:00.000-04:00

Don't mind us as we ignore the notion of a news cycle, or regular postings, or coherency:

Nelson George on his blog notes three books of import, including the hottest cultural product in hip hop nation.

To entice listeners to support the station during pledge drives, WFMU has their DJs create custom compilations for pledgers. The incomparable jock behind Give the Drummer Some, world music maven Doug Schulkind, has posted the complete MP3 listing for his 2004 premium comp, Culture Shock. Burn here now.

Derek Taylor, mostly of Bagatellen, reviewed Wadada's lastest at Dusted, of all places. In short, "a puzzling bore," but the review's not.

We thought we'd absorbed all we could on Galangalass MIA, but Jane Dark just dropped a giant fucking exclamation point on the end of this particular discussion, at least in those portions we could understand. If you still care, it's worth the eyeball time.

Whatevs, strangely useful, compiled all Pitchfork 10s and naughts to date. Solid down the middle but squishy on the sides. (I mean, English Settlement? Even XTC made better albums.)

Greg Tate on MJ? Behind it lay the twisted desire for one of the most overexposed and durable artists in pop history to act as if he were still waiting for his 15 minutes. Jackson has spent the last 20 years mostly trying, however absurdly, to warrant a photo-op - concocting a public persona so given over to doing (and contriving) crazed publicity stunts that he lost all sense of proportion between what should be staged for popular consumption and what should not. In so doing, he came to repulse the very audience he'd originally bleached, sutured and shined himself up for - that heartland TV crowd who somehow needed to believe a star of Jackson's stature wanted nothing more than to baby-sit their brats over the weekend. Hell yeah.

Crossing the Dead C with Konono No 1.

2005-07-11T12:41:00.000-04:00

Safe to say that this is one of the odder split singles of 2005, and based on the samples, one of the more entertaining, too.

Reading my mind.

2005-06-29T14:40:00.000-04:00

It's as if that amazon.com feature that calls up other items one might like went one step further and actually recorded an album designed to appeal: as noted in the latest DMG obligation, a newish (early 2005) album from Euro-freakout-trio The Thing (Mats Gustafsson /Ingebrigt Haker Flaten / Paal Nilssen-Love),

called Garage, from the Norwegian Smalltown Supersound label. The BBC --- no flies on them --- reviewed this thing back in January, and also offer the only sound snippets I could find (had trouble with the previews seemingly available at the Smalltown store). Out-Bad-Plussing the Bad Plus, The Thing take on the Yeah Yeah Yeah's "Artstar," the White Stripes' "Aluminum," and the Sonics' "Have Love Will Travel," which, as The Sunday Times (UK) pointed out, "has gone from obscurity, via car-advert ignominy, to experimental reinterpretation," for which I offer hearty thanks. The outfit also shows its non-garage roots with a Brotzmann cover. Bassist Flaten's site has pretty much everything you're going to need on the group. Based on the two thirty-second bits I've heard, I'm gonna have to get this soon. As a bonus, Smalltown Supersound also released a 7" single: "Artstar" b/w "Have Love Will Travel." Ebay hounds with solid actuarial tables take note. Pitchfork, too, eh?

Behind the semipopular song.

2005-06-27T17:17:00.000-04:00

KCRW/Morning Becomes Eclectic DJ Nic Harcourt got the New York Times Magazine treatment over the weekend, a long profile that mostly reflects on how well-connected Harcourt is. No doubt he has an ear for talent --- he has my ear most days from 9 to noon PST --- which is not to say I have talent --- but six pages on the guy? And while we're talking makers/machers of semipopular music, where's the Matthew Perpetua shout-out?

Every show like it's the last one.

2005-06-24T10:48:00.000-04:00

Sleater-Kinney at Roseland, NYC
Thursday, June 23

A simply stunning show. One of the very best I've seen them perform. Even being familiar with the new album, it was surprising just how much heavier the band sounds now. Even the old songs bennefitted from the new approach. While Corin was the star of my last S-K gig at Irving Plaza in 2004, this time it was all about Janet. Fuck the "good female drummer" bullshit and let's say it plain: she's the best drummer in rock right now, period. Yeah, Dave Grohl can sit back down. My pal Dave rightly compared her to some unholy blend of John Bonham and Keith Moon. She's kicked up her game several notches even since the last tour. Never heard her playing louder, harder, more inventively, or with such a firm grasp of dynamics. So powerful without ever showboating. Not to say that the rest of the band wasn't in fine form. Corin shredded many of the songs and even though she seemed to lose her voice a bit towards the end of the regular set, she was in full force for the last five songs of the show. I've never seen Carrie more animated - pogoing around the stage for half the show, crouching down, doing windmills and a slinky duckwalk. Her guitar playing drove the literally epic jam out of "Let's Call It Love" which was longer but much more structured, coherent, and exicting than on the album. She was feeling it - nice to see after the Irving Plaza gig where she seemed a little lost at times.

In interviews the band has been flirting with talk of breaking up the band. Corin openly wonders about retirement and Carrie's said "I play every show like its my last, because as far as I'm concerned it is." They certainly left it all on the stage last night. The good news is that they seemed to be having a good time, Corin jumping about during the jam and throwing in uncharacteristic hand gestures during "The Fox" and "Step Aside." Even if she did look a little nonplussed during Carrie's long solo during "What's Mine Is Yours." Still, it's hard to imagine why they'd want to walk away at the very top of their game.

The highlights: a never better "Light Rail Coyote" so unhingled and explosive that it made the album version sound tame; "Sympathy" which detonated like a sledgehammer and got scary in the middle shouty section; the roiling groove of "Rollercoaster"; "Faraway" also kicked up several notches from the recorded version with Janet adding new beats; a careening "Jumpers"; the taut "Everything" - still don't know why this is only a B side; the long but mind-bending jam of "Let's Call It Love" into "Entertain." The Richard & Linda Thompson cover was loud and grungy but still sweet, each of the ladies singing a chorus with Corin proving that she could be a straight torch singer if she ever chose. The encore really came alive during the last two songs - Corin belting out "Words and Guitar" with serious bravado. The crowd was amazing throughout, really into it, and refused to go away until they got a second encore. Carrie came out and dedicated the next song "to Glenn." It was Danzig's "Mother" - so metal, so perfect. You could see each of the ladies smiling at this point. The tune ended with a huge rave-up, Janet bashing the drums at light speed and then holding up her sticks in the shape of a cross, the signal for Carrie to launch into the riff for "Dig Me Out." What more could you ask for?

The setlist - pretty close to proper order:

The Fox
Wilderness
One More Hour
Light Rail Coyote
Sympathy
Modern Girl
Rollercoaster
Everything
What's Mine Is Yours
Faraway
Jumpers
Steep Air
Let's Call It Love
Entertain

1st encore:
Oh!
I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight
Step Aside
Words and Guitar

2nd encore:
Mother
Dig Me Out

Savage Instrumental Stylings.

2005-06-23T13:45:00.000-04:00

Is too much garage rock never enough? Like your music without those pesky words or vocals? Wish every guitarist played as violently as Link Wray? Always think that Dick Dale didn't use enough distortion? Do you enjoy listening to Henry Mancini at ear-splitting volumes? If you're discerning enough to answer affirmatively, then be sure not to miss the upcoming shows from The Howlin' Thurstons.

Savage instrumental rock for people who like their cocktails shaken and stirred, The Thurstons play a mix of high-octane originals and choice covers. For the last several months, they've been a fixture on Bill Kelly's legendary "Teenage Wasteland" show on WFMU. If you make the gigs, be sure to request their jaw-dropping version of the MC5's "Looking At You" and surf-inflected demolition of "Motorhead."

Friday, June 24
Pussycat Lounge
96 Greenwich Street
Show starts 8:00 PM
$10 cover, which includes free admission to the T&A downstairs
With: Repercussions, Baby Shakes, Electric Shadows, and Stalkers.

Thursday, July 28
Lakeside Lounge
162 Avenue B (btwn. 10th and 11th St.)
9:00 PM
FREE

Thursday, August 25
Lakeside Lounge
9:00 PM
FREE

If you can't make the shows, then visit the web site to hear the latest single and pick up the EP. Righteous. And we're not just shilling because we know the singer.

Born to boot.

2005-06-22T17:58:00.000-04:00

One Louder reports on the ATP Festival's "Don't Look Back" series, coming this fall. Various bands have been invited to perform a classic album live, in it's entirety:

8.30 The Stooges - Fun House - Carling Apollo Hammersmith
8.31 Dinosuar Jr. - You're Living... - Koko
9.15 The Lemonheads - It's A Shame About Ray - Shepherd's Bush Empire
9.16 Mudhoney - Superfuzz Bigmuff Plus Early Singles - Koko
9.17 Múm/Cat Power - Yesterday Was Dramatic.../The Covers Album - Barbican Hall
9.21 Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - Orange - Koko
9.24 Gang of Four - Entertainment! - Barbican Hall
9.25 Belle & Sebastian - If You're Feeling Sinister - Barbican Hall
10.04 Melvins - Houdini - Koko
10.05 Dirty Three/Sophia - Ocean Songs/The Infinite Circle - Barbican Hall

That's some odd line-up. If you mapped out the highs and lows graphically it'd look like an EKG of a cardiac arrest.