Meshes of the Afternoon

Playlist for 11/13/08: Ear conditioning (after Makeba) [late]

2008-11-23T23:25:00.003-05:00

· Miriam Makeba - Naughty Little Flea, from Miriam Makeba (RCA, 1960)
· Jackie McLean - Eco, from Right Now! (Blue Note, 1965)
· Sun Ra - Love in Outer Space, from Secrets of the Sun (Atavistic, 1962/2008)
· Junior Byles - Long Way, from Curly Locks (Heartbeat, 1997)
· Marina Rosenfeld - Three, from Joy of Fear (Softl Music, 2005)
· Die Doraus und Die Marinas - Einkauf, from Blumen und Narzissen (Ata Tak, 1981)

· Mike Reed - Wilbur’s Tune, from Proliferation (482 Music, 2008)
· Nancy Wilson - How Glad I Am, from How Glad I Am (Capitol, 1964)
· Count Basie & The Mills Brothers - I Dig Rock’n’Roll, from Board of Directors (Dot, 1967)
· El Guincho - Palmitos Park, from Palmitos Park [45”] (Young Turks, 2008)
· Gert Wilden - Rolf Torring, from I Told You Not to Cry (Crippled Dick Hot Wax, 1996)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 11/13/08.mp3 (160 kbps, 103 mb)

Playlist for 11/6/08: Very nice, very nice [late]

2008-11-23T21:29:00.003-05:00

· Rudresh Mahanthappa - Snake!, from Kinsmen (Pi, 2008)

· Arthur Lipsett - Very Nice, Very Nice (1961), from Soundtracks (Global A, 2004)
· Barton Smith - Play-Gull, from Reelizations 1 & 2 (1980-1982; EM, 2004)
· Eek-a-Mouse - Operation Eradication, from Wa-Do-Dem (Greensleeves, 1981)
· Ja Ja Ja - Katz Rap, from Ja Ja Ja (Ata Tak, 1982)
· Freddie Redd - Music Forever, from Music From The Connection (Blue Note, 1960)

· Martin Rev - Rodeo, from Clouds of Glory (New Rose, 1985)
· Pearl Bailey - Tired, from va - Brown Sugar (CBS, 1981)
· Larry Williams - Just Because, from Bad Boy (Specialty, 1989)
· Rudi Mahall - II, from Quartett (Jazzwerkstatt, 2007)
· Hugh Mundell - False Rumor, from That Little Short Man/False Rumor [45”] (Rockers, ?)

· Der Moderne Man - Nur Die, from Unmodern (No Fun, 1982)
· Oval - Delft, from Wohnton (Ata Tak, 1993)
· Althea - Down Town Thing, from va - Soul Jazz Presents Joe Gibbs Productions (Soul Jazz, 2003)
· Steve Reid - Unity, from Spirit Walk (Soul Jazz, 2005)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 11/6/08.mp3 (103.03 mb)

Playlist for 10/23/08: Who does the better program?

2008-10-28T01:36:00.005-04:00

· Olivier Messiaen – Louange a l’Eternite de Jesus, from Quartet for the End of Time (Angel-EMI, ?)
· Claudine Longet – Un Homme et une Femme, from Claudine (A&M, 1967)
· Tumba Francesca – Muedine Consa, from Afro-Cuban Music From the Roots (Soul Jazz, 2006)
· Steve Coleman – Dizzy Atmosphere, from On the Rising of the 64 Paths (Label Bleu, 2003)
· The Normal – T.V.O.D., from Warm Leatherette [7”] (Mute, 1978)
· Jackie Wilson – Reet Petite, from Jackie Wilson [picture disc] (??)
· Basil Kirchin – Sketch 1, from Charcoal Sketches/States of Mind (Trunk, 2004)

· Tigersmilk – Love Into Earth’s Shadow-Liquid, from Android Love Cry (Family Vineyard, 2007)
· Grauzone – Film 2, from Grauzone (3-Klang, 1981/1991)
· Nigger Kojak & Liza – The Posse, from Showcase (Nigger Kojak, 1978)
· Nancy Wilson – I’m All Smiles, from Broadway—My Way (Capitol, 1963)
· Fieldwork – Pivot Point, from Door (Pi, 2008)
· Sylvia Striplin – You Can’t Turn Me Away, from Give Me Your Love (Charly, 1981)
· Rahsaan Roland Kirk – Prelude Back Home, from Natural Black Inventions: Root Strata (Atlantic, 1971)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 10/23/08.mp3 (128 kbps, 80.72 mb)

Playlists from the past few weeks

2008-10-23T23:48:00.005-04:00

So I've decided to begin posting here again after a long hiatus. In in the interim I seem to have lost the nice template I had set up. Oh well. Fresh beginnings. I've been incredibly busy but people seem to miss the posts so I've decided to give it another go. For starters, here are most of my radio sets from the past 6 weeks. If anything interests you, please let me know and we can try to arrange something. In the future I'll be posting mp3 recordings of the show. Also, if there is something you'd like from the archives that is no longer there, let me know here and I can re-upload it. I had significant problems with file hosting last year so I'm not too optimistic about what's left.

9/18/08

Annea Lockwood – Fridingen, Sheep Shearing/Beuron/Ulm, Blau (Tributary)/Münster Bells [excerpt], from A Sound Map of the Danube (Lovely Music, 2008)

Anonymous – Pampa Hash Ceremonial, from Traditional Music of Peru (Folkways, 1958)
Shadow Ring – Watch the Water, from Hold Onto ID (Siltbreeze, 1997)
Graham Lambkin & Jason Lescalleet – Listen the Snow is Falling, from The Breadwinner (Erstwhile, 2007)
Vijay Iyer – Macaca Please, from Tragicomic (Sunnyside, 2008)
Big Maybelle – Jinny Mule, from The Complete Okeh Sessions 1952-55 (Sony, 1994)
Ray Barretto – El Nuevo Barretto, from Acid (Fania, 1968)

Joe Gibbs – Midnight Movie, from African Dub All-Mighty V. 1 (Lightning, 1978)
Paul Metzger – Geschenk, from Gedanken Splitter (Roaratoria, 2008)
Blind Roosevelt Graves – I’ll Be Rested When the Roll is Called, from American Primitive Vol. 1: Raw Pre-War Gospel 1926-36 (Revenant, 1997)
Jackie Mittoo – Love Life, from Wishbone (Light in the Attic, 1971/2006)
Clyde Borly & His Percussions – Afromania, from Music in 5 Dimensions (Atco, 1966)
Bruce Haack – Death Machine, from Haackula (Omni, 1978/2008)

Suicide – 96 Tears (live), from Suicide (Mute, 1978/2000)

9/25/08

Planet Y – Space Station (excerpt), from Space Station (Public Guilt, 2007)

Cortijo – Maria Teresa, from Cortijo y Su Combo (Tropical, ?)
Six Cylindres en V – Moderne, from Le Dernier Cri (Ayaa, 1984)
Luc Ferrari – Etudes Aux Accidents, from Tautologos and Other Early Electronic Works (EMF, 2002)
Prince Jazzbo – Natty Pass Through Rome, from Ital Corner (Clock Tower, 1976)
Marcus Fjellstrom – Anstice, from Exercises in Estrangement (Lampse, 2005)
Los Hilton’s – Hilton’s Descarga, from Gozalo! Bugalu Tropical, V. 1 (Vampisoul, 2007)

Ornette Coleman – Dedication to Poets and Writers, from Town Hall 1962 (ESP, 1962)
Minny Pops – Dolphin’s Spurt, from Drastic Measures, Drastic Movement (LTM, 1979/2004)
Magik Markers – Taste, from Boss (Ecstatic Peace, 2007)
Barrington Levy – Sister Carol, from Englishman (Greensleeves, 1979/2007)
Alan Sondheim & Ritual All 770 – Untitled 3, from The Songs (Fire Museum, 1967/2005)
Billy Strayhorn – Take the A Train, from The Peaceful Side (United Artists, 1971)

9/25/08

Pierre Bastien – Energy Energy, from Visions of Doing (Western Vinyl, 2008)

Peggy Lee – Black Coffee, from Black Coffee (Jasmine, 1956)
Willie the Lion Smith & Don Ewell – Squeeze Me, from Stride Piano Duets: Live in Toronto 1966 (Delmark, 2008)
Borbetomagus (& Friends) – Improv. 7, from Industrial Strength (Leo, 1983)
The Speakers – Ninos, from En El Maravilloso Mundo De Ingeson (Salgaesoul, 1968)
Sylvia – Pillow Talk, from Pillow Talk [45”] (Platinum, 1973)
Kieran Hebden & Steve Reid – 1st and 1st, from NYC (Domino, 2008)

Silver Apples – Program, from Silver Apples (Kapp, 1968)
Olly Oakley – The Jovial Hunstman (1916), from va – John Peel & Sheila: The Pig’s Big 78s (Trikont, 2007)
Aggrovators, King Tubby & Bunny Lee – Super Larger, from Bionic Dub (Super Larger, 1995)
Jean-Francois Pauvros – Cri de Cour, from Le Grand Amour (Nato, 1985)
Earl Bostic – Steam Whistle Jump, from Blows a Fuse (King, ?)
Pyrolator – Elefantendisco, from Ausland (Ata Tak, 1981)
Candido – Here Comes Candi, from Brujerias de Candido/Candido’s Latin McGuffa’s Dust (Tico, 1971)
Link Wray – Raw Hide

10/2/08

Jackie-O Motherfucker – Black Squirrels, from The Magick Fire Music/Wow! (All Tomorrow’s Parties, 2003)

Lawrence D. Butch Morris – Induction No. 2/1, from Conduction/Induction (Rai Trade, 2008)
The Cardboards – Electrical Generator, from Greatest Hits, Vol. 2 [ep] (Mom’s Records, 1981)
Wolf Eyes & Anthony Braxton – Rationed Rot, from Black Vomit (Victo, 2006)
The Soft Machine – Hibou, Anemone and Bear, from Volume Two (One Way, 1969)

Yehudi Menuhin & Ravi Shankar – Swara-Kakali, from West Meets East (Angel-EMI, 1966)
Alceu Valenca & Geraldo Azevedo – Virgem Virginia, from Alceu Valenca & Geraldo Azevedo (Discos Mariposa, 1972/2006)
Woorden – (Excerpt), from va - Waterpipes & Dykes: Dutch Psychedelic Underground 1966-1972, Vol. 1 (Distortions, 2007)
The Teardrop Explodes – Poppies in the Field, from Kilimanjaro (Mercury, 1979/2000)

10/9/08
Co-hosted with Faith Holland

Teiji Ito – Arabesque for Kenneth Anger, from Music for Maya: The Film Music of Teiji Ito (Tzadik, 2007)

Zacherley – For President, from Spook Along With Zacherley (Collector’s Choice, 1960/2002)
James Tenney – Collage #2 (Blue Suede), from Selected Works 1961-1969 (Artifact, 1992)
Spokes Mashiyane – Banana Ba Rustenburg, from African Jazz’n’Jive (Gallo, 2000)
Dillinger – Cokane in My Brain, from CB 200 (Island, 1976)
Black Dice – Roll Up, from Load Blown (Paw Tracks, 2007)
Parenthetical Girls – Four Words, from Entanglements (Tomlab, 2008)

Larry Williams – Bony Moronie, from va – Cruisin’ 1957 (Increase, 1970)
Radio/Guitar – Thrum, from Thrum (Table of the Elements, 2004)
Woelv – Au Viol!, from Tout Seul dans la Foret en Plein Jour, Avez-Vous Peur? (K, 2007)
Billie Holiday – Autumn in New York
Laura Watling – Perfect Penmanship, from Early Morning Walk (Shelflife, 2001)
Five or Six – This is Not for the Moment, from Four from Five or Six [EP] (Cherry Red, 1982)

Martin Denny – excerpts from Quiet Village (Liberty, 1959)
+
Humphrey Bogart – The Maltese Falcon (excerpt), from va – Hollywood Heroes on the Air (Murray Hill, ?)
Kenneth Patchen – 4 Song Poems, from Reads With Jazz in Canada (Folkways, 1959/Locust, 2004)
Zeena Parkins – D.I. 1, from Pan-Acousticon (Tzadik, 1999)
Dolly Mixture – Welcome to the Perfect Day, from Demonstration Tapes (Dead Good, 1983)

10/16/08
Abbreviated set

Sarah Vaughan – Motherless Child, from Sarah Vaughan Vol. 2 (Everest, 1973)

Pearls Before Swine – Trumpeter Landfrey/Translucent Carriages, from Balaklava (ESP, 1968)
Fred Frith – Impur (excerpt), from Impur (Fred Records, 2006)
Lio – Je Casse Tout Ce Que Je Touche, from Pop Model (Ze, 1986)
Hal Rammel – Like Water Tightly Wound (excerpt), from Like Water Tightly Wound (Crouton, 2007)
Jali Musa Jawara – Soubindoor, from Soubindoor (Mango, 1988)
Julia Vorontsova – One Kitten, from From St. Petersburg With Love (Abaton, 2004)

Back on the air in a new time slot!

2008-02-13T17:37:00.002-05:00

Playlist for December 14, 2007: The year-end roundup

2008-01-08T13:00:00.000-05:00

My cat Esther had five kittens!!!

In other news, here's my last playlist, which I neglected to upload last month. Happy new year, everyone.

In memory of Ike:

· Ike & Tina Turner – River Deep, Mountain High, from va – Phil Spector: Back to Mono (ABKCO, 1991)

Great reissues and compilations of 2007:

· Bootjacks – In the Circle, from va – Searchin’ for Shakes: Swedish Beat, 1965-1968 (Amigo, 1984/2007)
· Orquesta Nunez – La Samaria, from va – Colombia! The Golden Age of Discos Fuentes (Soundway, 2007)
· The Slits – Animal Space/Spacier, from Return of the Giant Slits (Blast First, 1981/2007)
· Ju Suk Reet Meate - #06, from Solo 78/79 (De Stijl, 2007)
· Sonic Youth – Hey Joni [Live], from Daydream Nation: Deluxe (Geffen, 2007)

· Ed Askew – Reasonable Man, from Little Eyes (De Stijl, 2007)
· Fajardo – Charanga, from va – Una Noche en la Habana (Syllart, 2007)
· Lily Greenham – Rrr, from Lingual Music (Paradigm, 2007)
· Barbara Manning – For Pity’s Sake [Live], from Super Scissors (Rainfall, 2007)
· Eduardo Mateo – Por Que?, from Mateo Solo Bien se Lame (Lion, 1972/2007)
· Lee Rockey - #2, from Lee Rockey Music (De Stijl, 2007)

New recordings:

· Ari Brown – Two Gun V, from Live at the Green Mill (Delmark, 2007)
· Signal – Malimo, from Robotron (Raster-Noton, 2007)
· Robert Ashley – The Miracle of Cars [excerpt], from Now Eleanor’s Idea (Lovely Music, 2007)
· Six Ways to Avoid the Evil Eye – Orange Sky, Black Clouds, from Six Ways to Avoid the Evil Eye (Onetree, 2007)
· Mira Calix – The Stockholm Syndrome, from Eyes Set Against the Sun (Warp, 2007)

· Lou Reed – Part One [excerpt], from Metal Machine Music Performed by Zeitkratzer (Asphodel, 2007)

Ten favorites in no particular order:

· Tim Catlin & Jon Mueller - #2, from Plates and Wires (Crouton, 2007)
· Giuseppe Ielasi & Nicola Ratti – IV, from Bellows (Kning, 2007)
· Pekos & Yoro Diallo - #2, from Pekos/Yoro Diallo (Yaala Yaala, 2007)
· Axolotl – Foreclusion, from Memory Theatre (Important, 2007)
· People Like Us & Ergo Phizmiz – Smiling in the Rain Suckling, from Perpetuum Mobile (Soleilmoon, 2007)
· Gudrun Gut – Last Night, from I Put a Record On (Monika, 2007)

· Evan Parker & Ned Rothenberg – Brew for the Birds [excerpt], from Live at Roulette (Animul, 2007)
· Tarab – Keeps, from Wind Keeps Even Dust Away (23five, 2007)
· Fred Frith & Chris Brown – Nothing But Make Me, from Cutter Heads (Intakt, 2007)

· Group Inerane – Ashal Wali Tigeli, from Music of Nigers, Guitars From Agadez (Sublime Frequencies, 2007)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 12-14-07 [Part 1].mp3
Meshes of the Afternoon, 12-14-07 [Part 2].mp3

Playlist for December 4, 2007: The leftovers

2007-12-13T16:53:00.000-05:00

· Tiziano Tononi - We Now Interrupt for a Commercial/Broadway Blues, from Peace Warriors, Vol. 1: Acoustic (Soul Note, 2007)

· Bernard "Pretty" Purdie - Easy, from Lialeh (Light in the Attic, 2005)
· n/a - Untitled Track #3, from Candomble: Bresil Les Eaux D'oxala (Buda Musique, 1982)
· The Slits - Face Place, from Return of the Giant Slits (Blast First, 1981/2007)
· Israel Quellet - Pour Percussions et Saturation, from Oppressum (Sub Rosa, 2007)
· Enrico Rava - The Fearless Five, from Enrico Rava Quartet (ECM, 1978)

· Hal Rammel - On Balance Scattered, from Like Water Tightly Wound (Crouton, 2007)
· Axel Dorner - Zubiel Publikum, from Die Eenttauschung (Crouton, 2006)
· Christina Kubisch - Homage With Minimal Distortion, from Five Electrical Walks (Important, 2007)
· Henri Guedon - Vulcano, from Early Latin and Boogaloo Recordings by the Drum Master (Comet, 2004)

· Coleman Hawkins - S'wonderful, from Coleman Hawkins and the Trumpet Kings (Mercury, 1965)
· Inzucht & Ordnung - Irrenenstalt, from Irrenenstalt [7"] (Zickzack, 1980)
· Frank Pahl - Toy Suit, from Remove the Cork (Demosaurus, 1998)
· Elmer Bernstein - Memories, from The Carpetbaggers (Ava, 1964)
· Tom Dissevelt - Glas, from Musique Concrete Soundtracks to Experimental Short Films, Vol. 1 (New England Electric Music Company, 2003)
· Joe Harriott & Amancio D'Silva, from Hum Dono (EMI, 1969)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 12-4-07.mp3 (128 kbps, 84.3 mb)

Playlist for 11/20/07: The (sort of) Thanksgiving special

2007-11-28T17:50:00.000-05:00

· Steve Lehman – Curse Fraction, from On Meaning (Pi, 2007)

· Fast Forward – Red Dance, from Panhandling (Lovely Music, 1990)
· Basil Kirchin – Concept Suite “Conversation Between Instruments”, from Particles (Trunk, 2007)
· Eddie Condon – The Minor Drag, from Dixieland Jam (Columbia, 1957)
· Marius Cultier – Souskai, from Ouelele… Souskai (Fiesta, 1975)
· Willie Colon y Mon Rivera – Ya Llego, from There Goes the Neighborhood (Fania, 1975/2007)
· The Seegers – Turkey Song, from Animal Folk Songs for Children (Rounder, 1992)
· The Seegers – Shake That Little Foot Dinah-O, from Animal Folk Songs for Children (Rounder, 1992)

· Max Roach – Blues Waltz, from Jazz in 3/4 Time (Mercury, 1956)
· Johnny Marvin – 12th Street Rag, from Legends of Ukulele (Rhino, 1998)
· Fresh Maggots – And When She Laughs, from Fresh Maggots (Fan Club, 1971)
· Konono No. 1 – Nsimba & Nzuzi, from Live at Coleur Café (Crammed, 2007)
· Li Alin – Killing Time, from All In (Asphodel, 2007)
· Maddy Prior – Turkey in the Straw/Whiskey Before Breakfast, from Carols & Capers (Park, 1991)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 11-20-07.mp3 (128 kbps, 86.18 mb)

Playlist for 11/13/07: Murder... by guitar

2007-11-21T19:32:00.000-05:00

· Peter Evans – Tag, from The Peter Evans Quartet (Firehouse12, 2007)

· Yo La Tengo – Some Kinda Fatigue, from May I Sing With Me (Matador, 1992)
· Arthur Bull & Daniel Heikalo – Cobra Skin Necktie, from Concentres et Amalgames (Ambiances Magnetiques, 2006)
· Ellie Pop – Remembering, from Ellie Pop (Mainstream, 1968/2007)
· Piney Brown – Morning Blues, from Hoot & Holler Saturday Night (Delmark, 2002)
· The Victorians – You’re Invited to a Party, from va – Girls Go Zonk! (RPM, 2004)
· Julius Hemphill – Body, from Flat-Out Jump Suite (Black Saint, 1980)

· Crime – Frustration, from San Francisco’s Still Doomed (Swami, 2004)
· Baby Dodds – Shimmy Beat/Press Roll Demonstration, from Talking and Drum Solos (Atavistic, 2003)
· Baby Dodds – Spooky Drums, No. 2, from Talking and Drum Solos (Atavistic, 2003)
· Axolotl – Track 2, from Axolotl (Psych-o-Path, 2004)
· Luc Ferrari – Sea Hole, L’estaque 2002, from Les Anecdotiques (Sub Rosa, 2004)
· Der Plan – Geri Regi, from Geri Reig/Normalette Surprise (Ata Tak, 1996)
· Lol Coxhill & Fred Frith – Limoges 2, from French Gigs (AAA, 1983)
· Hal Blaine – The Invaders, from Drums! Drums! A Go Go (Varese, 1966)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 11-13-07.mp3 (128 kbps, 84 mb)

Playlist for 11/6/07: Exercice de phonométrie populaire

2007-11-16T15:15:00.000-05:00

· Hugh Masekela – Maseru, from The African Connection (Impulse!, 1972)

· Ed Askew – My Love is a Red Red Rose, from Little Eyes (De Stijl, 2007)
· Art Tatum – Begin the Beguine, from The Legendary Art Tatum (Movietone, 1967)
· Bohemian Vendetta – Paradox City, from Bohemian Vendetta (Mainstream, 1968/2007)
· Michel F. Cote – Promenade Papale, from Compil Zouave (Ambiances Magnetiques, 1999)
· Cisco Houston – Bad Lee Brown, from Cisco Houston (Everest/Archive of Folk Music, ?)
· Han Bennink – #4, from Amplified Trio (Treader, 2007)

· Ned Rothenberg/R.U.B. – Work-a-Day, from Are You Be (Animul, 2002)
· Lizzy Mercier Descloux – Hard Boiled Babe, from Press Color (ZE, 1979/2003)
· The Lat-Teens – Los Cojos, from Fuego a la Lata (Cotique, 1969)
· Keenan Lawler – A Universal Rose, from Music for the Bluegrass States (Table of the Elements, 2006)
· Devo – Too Much Paranoias, from Q: Are We Not Men? (Warner Brothers, 1978)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 11-6-07.mp3 (128 kbps, 80.8 mb)

Playlist for October 30, 2007: That's fine, but I can't read music

2007-11-13T12:42:00.000-05:00

Barney Wilen & Diese 440 – Take 7, from Live in Paris 8 Janvier 1983 (Impro, 2007)

Ken Vandermark – Freedom Suite Pt. 2, from Free Jazz Classics Vols. 3 & 4 (Atavistic, 2006)
Dynamic Tints – Be My Lady, from va – Eccentric Soul: Twinight’s Lunar Rotation (Numero, 2007)
Martin Tetreault – Gagarine, USS Enterprise and a Cosmic Peddler, from Snipettes! (Ambiances Magnetiques, 2007)
Hector Rivera – Do it To Me, from At the Party… Plus (Ace, 1966)
Clifford Brown – Ida Red, from The Beginning and the End (Columbia, 1973)
Nick Didkovsky – Ice Cream Time Tango, from Ice Cream Time (New World, 2007)

Sun Ra – Love in Outer Space, from Night of the Purple Moon (Atavistic, 1970/2007)
Otis Rush – Violent Love, from The Classic Cobra Recordings 1956-1958 (Varese Sarabande, 2000)
The Chordettes – When You Were Sweet Sixteen, from Harmony Time, Vol. I (Columbia, 1951)
Kosmonautentraum – Schattenboxen, from Juri Gagarin (Zickzack, 1981)
Group Inerane – Ashal Wali Tigeli, from Music of Niger, Guitars From Agadez (Sublime Frequencies, 2007)
Nana Vasconcelos – Dadao, from Saudades (ECM, 1979)
Lydia Lunch – Spooky, from Queen of Siam (Triple X, 1979)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 10-30-07.mp3 (128 kbps, 88.39 mb)

Playlist for 10/23/07: A disc jockey remembers

2007-11-09T14:51:00.000-05:00

Sorry about the delay with these playlists. After making a rather arduous move across town I've been without regular internet access. I promise to get back in action as soon as my situation is once again stable. In the meantime...

Bobby Hutcherson – Black Circle, from Stick Up! (Blue Note, 1966)

selections from The Story of the Music Box (Book Records, 1952)
Clock DVA – Breakdown, from Advantage (Polydor, 1983)
Lennie Niehaus – Whose Blues?, from Vol. 1: The Quintets (Contemporary, 1956)
Jacques Coursil – Second Fanfare, from Minimal Brass (Tzadik, 2005)
The Mabuses – Cubicles, from The Mabuses (Shimmy Disc, 1991)

Robert Ashley – The Park [excerpt], from Private Parts (Lovely Music, 1977)
Abwarts – Computerstaat, from Computerstaat (Zickzack, 1979)
Ilitch – N.A., from 10 Suicides (Fractal, 1980)
David Rosenboom – Time Arroyo, from Future Travel (New World, 2007)
Edward R. Murrow – Selections from A Reporter Remembers Vol. 1: The War Years (Columbia, 1967)
played together with
David Tudor – Pulsers, from Three Works for Live Electronics (Lovely Music, 1996)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 10/23/07.mp3 (128 kbps, 82.6 mb)

Playlist for 10/16/07: A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose

2007-10-18T22:18:00.000-04:00

· Tarentel - Dreamtigers, from Ghetto Beats on the Surface of the Sun (Temporary Residence, 2007)

· Johnny Dodds - Wolverine Blues, from ...
· Harvey Averne - You're No Good, from Viva Soul (Atlantic, 1968)
· Francisco Aguabella - Nanigo No. 1, from Ay Que Rico! (Fantasy, 1962)
· Holger Hiller - Bacillus Culture, from As Is (Mute, 1991)
· Irene Schweizer & Rudiger Carl - Lokale Beliebtheit, from The Very Centre of Middle Europe (Hat, 1978)
· Anthony Braxton & others - 73° - S. Kelvin, from va - Wildflowers: The New York Loft Jazz Sessions (Knitting Factory, 1976/2000)
· Lora Logic - Wonderful Offer, from Pedigree Charm (Rough Trade, 1982)

· Juan Amalbert's Latin Jazz Quintet - Milestones, from Hot Sauce (Prestige, 1961)
· Roberto Cacciapaglia - Measurable Joys, from Ann Steel (Durium, 1979)
· Victor Jara - Winds of the People, from Vientos del Pueblo (Monitor, 1976)
· Barbara Manning - Mark E. Smith and Brix, from Super Scissors (Rainfall, 2007)
· The Raindrops - I Won't Cry, from The Complete Raindrops (Sequel, 1995)
· Gilberto Gil - Marginalia II, from Gilberto Gil (Mercury, 1968)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 10/16/07.mp3 (128 kbps, 82.57 mb)

Playlist for 10/9/07: Degrees of light

2007-10-17T11:27:00.000-04:00

· Muhal Richard Abrams - My Thoughts are My Future, Now and Forever, from Levels and Degrees of Light (Delmark, 1967)

· David Watson - Tracks 2 + 3, from disc 1 ("Dexter") of Fingering an Idea (XL, 2007)
· The Lea Riders - Dom Kallar Oss Mods, from va - Searchin' for Shakes: Swedish Beat, 1965-1968 (Amigo Musik, 1984/2007)
· Lydia Lunch & Thurston Moore - Done Dun, from The Crumb / Done Dun 12" (Widowspeak, 1988)
· Ju Suk Reet Meate - 09, from Solo 78/79 (De Stijl, 2007)
· Eddie Condon - Love is Just Around the Corner, from va - The Complete Commodore Jazz Recordings, Vol. 1 (Mosaic, ?)

· Cristina - Disco Clone, from Doll in the Box (ZE, 1980/2004)
· Michael Dracula - Please Don't Take This the Wrong Way, from In the Red (ZE, 2007)
· Duke Ellington - Sunswept Sunday, from Anatomy of a Murder (Columbia, 1959)
· The Andrews Sisters - Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree, from 36 Unforgettable Memories: The Natural Collection (Natural, 1996)
· Arsenio Rodriguez - Dame un Cachito Pa'huele, from Tocoloro (Musica Latina, 1999)
· Ludus - Sightseeing, from The Visit/The Seduction (LTM, 2006)
· Keith Fullerton Whitman - track 3a (2waynice), from Playthroughs (Kranky, 2002)

Meshes of the Afternoon - 10/9/07.mp3 (128 kbps, 82.6 mb)

Peter Lemer - Local Colour

2007-10-10T18:59:00.000-04:00

Local Colour is an excellent 1966 album by free jazz pianist Peter Lemer, otherwise known for his work with the Spontaneous Music Ensemble and In Cahoots. Originally released by ESP, the reissue that came out earlier this year has been flying under the radar -- which is unfortunate, considering the quality of this date. The rip seems to come from an earlier cd issue, as the scans that came with it feature a slightly different cover. Aside from Lemer on piano, Local Colour features a number of other well-known players from the UK jazz scene: John Surman on baritone and soprano saxes, Nisar Ahmad Khan on tenor, Tony Reeves playing bass, and John Hiseman on the drums. Full of dark, Dolphy-like themes and elliptical song structures, the quintet strike that rare balance between formal continuity and unfettered freedom. "Ictus" is an amazing take on a Carla Bley composition, beginning with a winding, rapid-fire theme before moving into some spirited group interplay, while "City" finds Surman and Khan spitting out abrupt, razor-sharp horn lines over Lemer's simple, metallic plucking of the piano strings. "In the Out" sports a very Jackie McLean-esque aesthetic, only a bit more unhinged; the explosive combination of Lemer's jabbing chords with Hiseman's tumultuous drums and an uproarious solo by Khan makes one wonder why the British pianist hasn't recorded more often as a leader. And one shouldn't forget the bass work of Reeves, who provides some much-needed foundation throughout the session with a style both ghostly and intense. Feel free to stretch out and enjoy this fine, fine gem from the golden age of British improv.

Peter Lemer - City.mp3 (192 kbps, 11.5 mb)
Peter Lemer - Local Colour (ESP, 1966).zip

Elmer Bernstein - The Carpetbaggers

2007-10-06T13:01:00.000-04:00

Here's a bit of an oddball. Back in June, when I posted Elmer Bernstein's astounding score to The Man With the Golden Arm, user Michael recommended I check out the composer's work for The Carpetbaggers (Dmytryk, 1964). It took a while to find, but here it is, and it's pretty interesting to boot. It has plenty of Bernstein's trademark dark strings, punchy brass sections, pop cultural nods and musical motifs that reappear obsessively throughout the score. As the film is a period piece -- apparently about a wealthy, Howard Hughes-esque Hollywood tycoon -- there are also a few throwaway Dixie tracks, but overall it's a very coherent work. Of particular interest to me are tracks like "Memories" and "The Truth," a kind of synthesis between modern classical and kitschy film music. Definitely worth checking out.

From elmerbernstein.com:

Based on the best-selling Harold Robbins novel, The Carpetbaggers (1964) was Bernstein's next foray into period melodrama, with the composer hired to underscore the rise and self-destructive behavior of a driven, obsessive, womanizing industrialist. Somewhat inspired by Howard Hughes' persona and set during the Roaring Twenties, the film also reunited the composer with Walk on the Wild Side's director, Edward Dmytryk.

Like The Caretakers, Bernstein's Carpetbaggers is a formal orchestral score, and besides a few flapper-tinged source tracks, only the "Main Titles" has a jazzy edge. Unfolding like a locomotive, heavy brass, percussion and saxophone belt out the first bars of Bernstein's tribute to industrialism, and after a brief melodic shift, far lighter in tone, the cue ends with a restatement of the industrial motif.

The soundtrack album (Ava A/AS-45) is significantly different from the score, with Bernstein opting for jazz-rock fusion. The updated arrangements and melodic extensions heavily utilize electric bass and guitar, tambourine, and overt rock rhythms.

"The Carpetbaggers Blues" is the album's only real jazz cut [note: not sure where this track is in the present collection --SW], using a small assembly of saxophones, muted trumpet, string bass, light drums, electric guitar, clarinet and vibes. A subtle rock inflection is evident in a series of intermittent chord progressions from the piano, and it's clear that Bernstein's jazz writing was moving away from the dark landscape of his '50s material. The year 1962 signified a time to lighten up, and after scoring several films with dour subject matter, the composer seemed aware that continuing to score similarly toned films would pigeonhole him as a composer of noirish thrillers, kitchen sink dramas and grand westerns. He never eschewed those rewarding genres, but he was well aware of the dilemma Henry Mancini was facing at the time.

As Bernstein explains, "Hank was Hank, and he invented 'the Mancini Sound,' so to speak, which was a double-edged sword. I mean, Hank was a really terrific composer-he could write anything-but he got so stuck with his own Mancini Sound that it hurt him ultimately."

Elmer Bernstein - Memories.mp3 (192 kbps, 3.8 mb)
Elmer Bernstein - The Carpetbaggers (Ava, 1964).zip

Playlist for 10/2/07: Boot camp

2007-10-06T12:44:00.000-04:00

· Simon Nabatov & Nils Wogram - Movement IV, from Jazz Limbo (Leo, 2007)

· The Fire Engines - Get Up and Use Me, from Hungry Beat (Acute, 2007)
· The Fire Engines - Everything's Roses, from Hungry Beat (Acute, 2007)
· Pyrolator - November Muhlheim, from Inland (Ata Tak, 1979)
· Betty Davis - Shoo-B-Doop and Cop Him, from They Say I'm Different (Light in the Attic, 1974/2007)
· Andreas Dorau - Einsam, from Arger Mit Der Unsterblichkeit (Ata Tak, 1992)

· Muhal Richard Abrams, George Lewis & Roscoe Mitchell - Scrape, from Streaming (Pi, 2006)
· Peter Zummo - Sevenths, from Zummo With an X (New World, 2006)
· Joe Bataan - It's a Good Feeling, from Riot (Fania, 1968)
· Plastic Bertrand - Ca Plane Pour Moi, from An 1 (Sire, 1978)
· Jerzy Milian - Serial Rag, from Bazaar (Polskie Nagrania, 1969)
· Marion Brown - 27 Cooper Square, from Marion Brown (ESP, 1965)
· Panda Bear - Take Pills, from Person Pitch (Paw Tracks, 2007)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 10/2/07.mp3 (128 kbps, 82.8 mb)

Playlist for 7/25/07: Specters of radio

2007-09-27T22:37:00.000-04:00

· Giuseppe Ielasi - Untitled #1, from Giuseppe Ielasi (Hapna, 2006)

· Donald Lambert - When Your Lover Has Gone, from Giant Stride (Solo Art, 2005)
· Betty Wright - Shoorah Shoorah, from Danger: High Voltage (RCA, 1974)
· People Like Us & Ergo Phizmiz - Smiling in the Rain Suckling, from Perpetuum Mobile (Soleilmoon, 2007)
· People Like Us & Ergo Phizmiz - Four Short Blasts on My Whistle, from Perpetuum Mobile (Soleilmoon, 2007)
· Peter Brotzmann - Bierhaus Wendel, from Tschus (FMP, 1975)

· n/a - Untitled #7, from va - Bougouni Yaalali (Yaala Yaala, 2007)
· Palais Schaumburg - Madonna, from Palais Schaumburg (Phonogram, 1981)
· Mira Calix - Poussou, from Skimskitta (Warp, 2003)
· Grace Jones - Feel Up, from Nightclubbing (Island, 1981)
· The Germs - Richie Dagger's Crime, from MIA: The Complete Anthology (Rhino, 2000)

· Urs Leimgruber - Untitled #1, from 13 Pieces for Saxophone (Leo, 2007)
· The Original Dixieland Jazz Band - Tiger Rag, from The Complete Original Dixeland Jazz Band, 1917-1936 (RCA, 1995)
· The Gospel Chandeliers - Honesty is the Best Policy, from va - Cult Cargo: Grand Bahama Goombay (Numero, 2007)
· The Loop Orchestra - Gam, from Not Overtly Orchestral (Quecksilber, 2004)
· Irene Schweizer - Choix Mixed, from Wilde Senoritas/Hexensabbat (Intakt, 1976-1977/2002)

· Shorty Rogers - Los Barbaros/Paradise Found, from Shorty Rogers Meets Tarzan (MGM, 1960)

Meshes of the Afternoon, 9/25/07.mp3 (128 kbps, 81.8 mb)

Jocy de Oliveira + announcements

2007-09-19T00:26:00.000-04:00

[Edit: Fuck! I never posted the link!

Jocy de Oliveira - Estórias Para Voz Instrumentos (Creel Pone, 1981/2006; 67.7 mb, 200 kbps VBR)]

Some of you may be thinking: no posts in over two weeks? Did Meshes kick the bucket? In some ways, yes and no. With all the writing I was doing this summer, I think the blog may have jumped the shark prematurely. Now that I'm pretty settled in back at school, it's quickly becoming apparent that to produce the kind of labored prose here alongside my course work is difficult enough. But I also recently began writing for two of my favorite music zines, Dusted and Signal to Noise, which are collectively sapping my journalistic energies. The King takes all my time; the rest I give to Saint-Cyr, to which I would like to give all... Plus, I'll be making my return to radio in the next few days, so I need to save some of this pedantry for the air.

But, I would very much like to continue the blog in abbreviated form. What I mean is, turning Meshes back into a more standard format of: music files, short descriptions, and descriptive excerpts from other websites. I'll still take time to do features (Then and Now has been a favorite), but for the most part you'll have to start looking elsewhere for the print. I've also had occasion to rethink my blogging ethics after receiving messages from FMP, Ata Tak and De Stijl Records to remove material from the site; which explains part of my absence, as I haven't been sure what is/isn't appropriate to post. I'm going to get things going again with a Creel Pone, mostly without guilt, since that entire operation is founded on pretty shakey legal ground anyhow!

Pre-Maja Ratjke, pre-Jaap Blonk, here's someone who was pushing the limits of the voice within avant-garde music forms back when Fluxus was still in vogue. Originally released in 1981, Jocy de Oliveira's eccentric and amazing collection Estórias Para Voz Instrumentos has been excavated from the detritus of electronic music LPs by the folks over at reissue label Creel Pone. The Sao Paulo-born pianist and composer stretches out for four lengthy and distinct compositions. Grunts, whispers, manic chanting and the like are set alongside concrete sounds and all sorts of oscillator mayhem on "Estória II Para Voz Percussào" (1967): a potent blend that you can still hear in the collaborations of, say, Ikue Mori and Catherine Jauniaux. "Estória IV Para Vozes Violino," recorded a bit later (1978), utilizes Oliveira's voice to create a steady drone off which the side-long piece can build, creating dense soundscapes with vocal multi-tracking and low, extended horn lines. The whole thing would have the quality of a litany or a Gregorian chant if not for Oliveira's introduction of synth tones and other bizarre, vibrant noisemakers before degenerating into sparse tribal rattling. There are two more excellent pieces sandwiched in the middle, "Wave Song Para Piano E Fita" (1977) and "Dimensoes Para Quatro Teclados" (1976), the first an extended drone with shades of Eastern music, the other scored for organ, piano, harpsichord, and various chiming instruments that spiral together dramatically. I'll avoid any culturally reductive statements about how this album injects some Brazilian liveliness into the cold, academic forms of the Western avant-garde, and instead simply say: Brilliant!

Jothan Callins - Winds of Change

2007-09-06T16:16:00.000-04:00

What can I say about Jothan Callins? Not much, to be honest. It’s not that I’m overwhelmed by an over-abundance of material on Callins, but rather the opposite: I know next to nothing about the man. I can only describe how I came to hear his Winds of Change (Triumph, 1975) myself. I was talking with someone on Soulseek who was looking for “spiritual jazz” – our points of reference being the Coltranes (John and Alice), Pharoah Sanders, Mtume, and the renewed interest in Idris Ackamoor’s Pyramids. I threw out my best recommendations, but this stranger had already heard them all. Obviously much more learned in the field than I, he suggested I listen to Jothan Callins’ rare and long-forgotten album before we parted ways.

I’d never heard of it before – never even heard the name Jothan Callins. But perhaps if I was a bigger Sun Ra devotee I would have been familiar, as Callins often provided trumpet for the Arkestra during its long and industrious career. He left behind one LP as a leader, the aforementioned Winds, which is something of a cult item and a very well-kept secret. Scant information is available online, yet it currently sells for £100 or more. Ah, the strange world of record collecting.

Featuring Callins on trumpet and bells, Joseph Bonner on piano and tambourine, Cecil McBee on bass, and the team of Roland Duval and Norman Connors on percussion, Winds of Change is generally compared to the Strata East style of jazz that was gaining force in the ‘70s – not without reason, as the lineup features many of the same characters in regular rotation on that wonderful record label. Joe Bonner, for example, would appear with Magic of Juju the next year, while Cecil McBee had released his own Mutima on Strata East the year prior to Winds. So despite its obscurity, Winds of Change is pretty firmly rooted in a jazz scene that combined free playing with mysticism and Pan-Africanist beliefs. But what exactly does “spiritual” connote? It’s hard to explain, even though the Strata East collective did it so well.

John Coltrane’s “Om” is an obvious example: how could his yogi-like incantations on that record be mistaken for anything but spiritual? But if spiritual jazz is somehow about form and not about content, our definition needs to be broader. I think spiritual jazz is often marked by a certain thematic repetition – unafraid to play the same phrase more than ten times – and that this repetitive thrust induces an ecstatic hypnosis in the listener. On the flipside, so many of these records have their moments of gentle, floating lyricism, filled with shimmery percussive effects and laconic solos. But even in its secularized form, spiritual jazz is far less an object of contemplation than it is a full bodily experience.

Winds of Change does all of those things, at one moment carrying us at the wave’s crest without letting go, then washing over us with its weightless, foamy tendrils. If the music is ambiguous, the cover makes Callins’ intentions clear. The ensemble is entitled “The Sounds of Togetherness,” and the cover shows the trumpet player emerging out of a drawing of Africa. “Prayer for Love and Peace” begins the set, though its tone is more like a ballad than an invocation. Callins and his group sigh their way through the piece, buoyed up by McBee’s full and resonant bass. The rhythms are ethereal, all tambourine and brushwork, with Callins’ trumpet bringing to mind Miles Davis’ or Booker Little’s more melancholic excursions. It’s with the title track, however, that things really get cooking. Duval and Connors brew up fiery polyrhythms in tandem with Bonner’s angular piano. At his most intense, Callins spirals into atonal passages and flights on the upper register; but overall there is something subdued in his playing, very steady and very organic, almost hovering above the ensemble. With spiritual jazz, it’s less as if one is soloing but merely raising the ante.

“Sons and Daughters of the Suns” begins with slow-moving elegance, but at the insistent riff of McBee’s bass the group switches gears to an empowered, gospel-inflected groove. This is really Callins’ piece: he steals the show with his bluesy, knotty playing, never putting the trumpet down until the final cadence. The finale, “Triumph,” opens with a gutbucket theme similar to Archie Shepp’s work around the same time. But the idyll is short-lived, as a spluttering trumpet line leads the group into the sublime vamps we’ve grown so accustomed to hearing from them, those circular, perpetual melodies driving the quintet to greater heights… One should not underestimate the impact of Bonner’s piano with its beautiful, crystalline patterns, nor McBee, who is mainly responsible for atmosphere with his resounding, elastic bass runs. The best “spiritual jazz” is always found at this nexus between personal meditation and militant action, and Jothan Callins’ Winds of Change plays out that paradox with as much brilliance as any of its better-known contemporaries.

Jothan Callins - Winds of Change (Triumph, 1975)
256 kbps, 81.8 mb

Baby Dodds - Talking and Drum Solos

2007-09-04T23:34:00.000-04:00

Who was Baby Dodds?

Warren “Baby” Dodds. Born 1894, died 1959. Younger brother of clarinetist Johnny Dodds. Excellent jazz drummer of the pre-swing era. Played with Louis Armstrong, Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Ory, Freddie Keppard, Bunk Johnson, Joe Oliver. Moved between New Orleans, New York and Chicago. Helped run a taxi cab company in the latter city during the Great Depression. Tragically, in 1949, was paralyzed by a series of strokes resulting in paralysis, hindering his playing in the coming years up until his death.

So?

So this marginal figure in the history of early jazz music left behind one major curiosity: Talking and Drum Solos, the first album of unaccompanied drums in the jazz canon. Originally released by Smithsonian Folkways in 1946 as a 10” record and later, in 2003’s expanded edition, by Atavistic, Talking and Drum Solos joined a tradition of self-descriptive ethnomusicology. The first predecessor was probably Bascom Lamar Lunsford, who provided the origin and history of North Carolina folk songs whilst performing them for the Library of Congress’ archives. Dodds brought Lunsford’s methodology to jazz, though it would take a few years for the style to catch on. Willie “The Lion” Smith would go on to narrate his own album of period songs and recollections dating from World War I and the Harlem Renaissance on The Memoirs of Willie “The Lion” Smith (Koch, 1968/2001), and an aging Eubie Blake soon followed with The Eighty-Six Years of Eubie Blake (Columbia, 1969).

When we listen to an old piece of music, we’re inevitably saddened by our inability to fully inhabit the era from which it came; the poetry of its historicity seems to slip through our fingers. The most we can do is seek out the people who lived through it, the surviving relics of times past who, for one reason or another, seem to have remained frozen in a smoky Harlem nightclub or a backwoods Appalachian village, as if they themselves were documents in an archive. These baroque personalities give the illusion of having an entire epoch condensed into their being, and even the lives they led have become sterling works of art. And as problematic as it sounds, we are lucky to have them. Our modern griots sacrificed their own progress for the sake of transmitting to us what were most likely the best years of their lives.

What does that have to do with the music?

Everything – because it makes manifest the fact that all music is a kind of storytelling, and that things as inert as brass can be made to sing the song of history. Music is a direct and vibrant sort of cultural expression, and it requires a hybrid form like the memoir-album to communicate its power with any degree of truthfulness. What we’re dealing with is not even an oral history, but a sonic one; the history of jazz is made up first and foremost of notes. So Moses Asch tracked down Warren “Baby” Dodds to record Talking and Drum Solos, creating a jazz narrative from an unlikely perspective, the drum: the driving force behind Dixie, yet still its most shadowy figure. There are no grand proclamations in Dodds’ reflections on his career as a drummer, just modest explanations of the techniques used in the field, as well as brief comments on contemporaries and mentors. “That guy could make things on a horn that you wouldn’t think was in it!” we’re told of Joe “King” Oliver. “If he couldn’t sing it out he’d blow it out.”

But underneath Dodds’ banalities, reading between the lines, we can hear the story of jazz being told in his often-blistering solo demonstrations. The militarism of early marches clashes with the improvisatory nature of jazz, and one can hear the movement away from the traditional brass band to the birth of a soloist’s genre. At one point Dodds demonstrates the subtle difference between a three-quarter roll and a four-quarter roll; at others he shifts into completely abstract flourishes without offering explanations. “Careless Love Blues” is a re-creation of the standard one-two marching beat, careful not to deviate from its uptempo, repetitive thrust. Ironically, it is the next composition titled “Rudiments” that is on the far more radical side of jazz drumming. Dodds’ technique is amazing, effortlessly constructing layered rhythms between an insistent bass drum and flights on the high-pitched wooden blocks, cowbells and metallic frames of his kit. Snare rolls are pushed beyond their function as groundwork and made to sing like the best solos of Louis Armstrong, to “talk” with just as much conviction as Dodds’ voice does throughout the record. The title becomes redundant, as we soon realize that Talking and Drum Solos are in reality the same thing. Dodds is a consummate storyteller with percussion as his vehicle, in the same way that drummer Han Bennink would recapitulate jazz history on his own solo record (Nerve Beats: Atavistic, 1973/2000). It’s not for nothing that the Dutch maverick cites Talking as one of his favorite records, even borrowing the title of Dodds’ “Spooky Drums Nos. 1 & 2" for his own performance.

Atavistic’s reissue of Talking also includes “twenty bonus tracks from Folkways Records’ COUNTRY BRASS BANDS OF THE SOUTH, VOLUME ONE collection, recorded by Frederic Ramsey Jr.” Just listening to a handful of these selections makes one appreciate Dodds’ innovations all the more. The drums here are functional at best; wooden, mechanical, and crude at their worst. Yet the horns are no better. Jazz had its roots in the popular army ensemble. It kept the shambling lyricism and turned it into an art of the first caliber. In this sense, Talking and Drum Solos is more than just “a slice of history.” It’s a history in miniature, using a supreme mastery of the drumset to boil a life in music down to a mere ten inches of wax.

Baby Dodds - Spooky Drums No. 2.mp3 (190 kbps VBR, 3.2 mb)
Baby Dodds - Talking and Drum Solos (Folkways, 1946/Atavistic, 2003)

(Unfortunately, "Shimmy Beat/Press Roll" seems to be damaged, and I do not own this album to upload a better copy with.)

Barney Wilen/Dièse 440 - Live in Paris

2007-08-24T20:39:00.000-04:00

Ritualistically, I was shopping for music in New York earlier this summer. I started at Other Music on West 4th, and followed my nose across town to the always-delightful Downtown Music Gallery on Bowery. Walking through the store, I heard this wonderful music playing through the speakers: a bold tenor effortlessly weaving in and out of synth loops and bubbly mellotrons. My curiosity aroused, I asked Bruce Gallanter, DMG’s owner, what he was playing.

I was shocked to see that the album was Barney Wilen & Dièse 440’s Live in Paris, 8 Janvier 1983 (Impro, 1983). Barney Wilen, the French saxophone player who worked with Miles Davis, Bud Powell and Art Blakey in the ‘50s? None other. Little to my knowledge, Wilen has a long history of being an outsider in jazz circles. AMG says that he

began working in a rock-influenced style during the '60s… In the early '70s, Wilen led a failed expedition of filmmakers, musicians, and journalists to travel to Africa to document pygmy music. Later Wilen played in a punk rock band called Moko and founded a French Jazzmobile-type organization that took music to people living in outlying areas.

Three decades is a long time, and by the recording of Live in Paris Wilen was way outside the comfort zone of his early European peers. According to Josephine Pannard’s liner notes, in 1983 Wilen tried to “provoke a duel” with Fela Kuti; he also “played non-stop for twenty-four hours at the MJC Picaud.” With so much strange behavior to his credit, Live in Paris may actually be the least surprising document in Wilen’s late career.

Dièse 440 were a synthesizer trio that Wilen hooked up with for a number of live sessions, comprised of Michele Bertier on mellotron, Guillaume Loizillion on analog synthesizer and tape machines, and Claude Michel on modular synths and sequencers. By themselves, I’m not sure Dièse 440 would be very interesting, though it isn’t difficult to see why Wilen found himself so attracted to their music. The group lays down intricate, endless grooves for him to riff off, his tone huge and strong as ever. On “Jungles,” which begins with concrete gurgling noises and jerky synth runs, you can hear the sax really trying to become a part of this unfamiliar electronic world, hesitantly playing single-note interpolations. But it only takes Wilen a minute to become king of the ensemble, running around his companions with a steady stream of knotty, circular soloing. Dièse 440 tries to keep up, but their leader’s blistering technique leaves them in the dust making ambient washes and the occasional chirp. By the middle of the piece, Wilen is spitting out fiery, noir-esque riffs, forcing his partners to play their synths like jazz piano, bringing them back around to his stomping ground.

Much of Live in Paris is marked by this give-and-take approach, the performers yanking the music between the opposing poles of electronic and acoustic sound. Very rarely do they gel; but when the four manage to strike a balance, as on “Miroirs” or the beginning of “Take Seven,” the result is marvelous. For this reason, Live in Paris lacks the kind of sensitive interplay that marks what we today think of as EAI. It also carries with it a certain tension so often lacking in modern improvised music. Most obvious proof of this is Wilen’s style. For all his risk-taking, he’s still stubbornly rooted in the bop tradition, at the most making a few detours into Coltrane-esque atonality. On the lengthy “Passage,” Wilen seems to realize he’s made a mistake, dropping out of the mix altogether for an extended period of time. In his absence, the group cooks up a dense labyrinth of mellotron grooves, high-pitched knob-twisting and hypnotic synth lines. When the tenor rejoins them, it seems to be internalizing their jerky, repetitive, abrasive motions into the core of its solo. Live in Paris isn’t an entirely successful meeting between these two disparate genres. More than just a historical curiosity, though, it shows the first, necessarily awkward steps toward finding a common ground. Ironically, the turbulent groping of those initial experiments often lends them an idiosyncrasy and a vitality that is lost in the polished form of what one later calls “a new style.”

Barney Wilen & Dièse 440 - Take Seven.mp3 (192 kbps, 9.2 mb)
Barney Wilen & Dièse 440 - Live in Paris, 8 Janvier 1983 (Impro, 1983)

Hermann Nitsch - Sinfonia Punta Campanella

2007-08-24T04:14:00.000-04:00

After posting Requiem für Meine Frau Beate back in June, I'm glad to finally bring the blogosphere more rare Hermann Nitsch!

Released in a private run of 1,000 by the Naples-based art gallery Fondazione Morra, Sinfonia Punta Campanella is one of Hermann Nitsch’s most recent works and one of his most exciting. Performed for the first time under the direction of Andrea Cusamano, the symphony is named after the Naples village of Punta Campanella where it made its debut on September 22, 2004. The difference from Nitsch’s early body of work is vast. While one would be apt to compare the music of the Orgien Misterien Theater/Theater of Orgies and Mysteries (Nitsch’s performance platform since the ‘60s) to the orchestral version of Metal Machine Music, critics have described the work at Punta Campanella as positively Ivesian. Even more shocking is the disparity between this often-fragile music and the revoltingly graphic, Aktionist language Nitsch still uses to describe it. In one of the two essays included in the beautifully rendered liner notes, Nitsch speaks of the “dionysian excess [that] needs sound, wants noise,” the “tearing apart of skinned animal cadavers,” “guttural human screams,” “the noise of war and sexual craving,” finally comparing his music to “slimy, bloody, tepid, warm, soft intestines spilling out of a wound.”1

Not many people still speak of their art in this way. The idea of Gesamtkunswerk, of the total artwork that involves its audience fully and bodily, has fallen out of style in the era of postmodern distance. There’s something nostalgic in Nitsch’s words, harking back to a time when artists still thought it exciting to mutilate their bodies in a search for new depths of experience. Any mention of Nitsch immediately calls to mind his infamous aktions: orgiastic festivals where inebriated participants douse themselves in the blood of animals and re-enact crucifixions, with a band onstage producing a riotous noise that could only be measured in terms of volume and duration. Perhaps the fact that Nitsch’s music would evolve to its current sophistication is proof that the intensity of a human scream can only last for so long before drifting back to the realm of language and representation.

That isn’t to say that Nitsch’s art has weakened. Quite the contrary, it’s only gotten stronger. It has begun to store its primal rage during the music’s narrative only to release energy like bombs at crucial moments. The Sinfonia Punta Campanella begins with steadily elongated strings periodically broken by the cavernous hits of a gong. The music continues to gather force with the addition of flutes, brass, and woodwinds, surging forward with terror and majesty. A caesura opens up with the introduction of chiming percussion effects, surely meant to evoke imagery of church bells and religious ecstasy. But as the strings continue to well in the background, the suite reaches levels of near-impenetrability as the entire Orchestra Xenarmonica del Conservatoria hits the peak of their crescendo. Everything suddenly halts to make way for a group of sinister sounding tubas. Then, almost laughably, Nitsch introduces a sprightly theme straight out of a European marching band. Percussion continues to flail in the background, spluttering aimlessly across floor toms and cymbals, but can’t withstand the maudlin sentimentality of this belated theme that swallows everything around it with trumpeting grandeur. Nothing like this has ever been heard before in Nitsch’s music: a coherent melodic line that is not only allowed to persist above the ensemble’s din, but even guides the piece as its major motif. We hear it in different instrumental constellations, sometimes isolated, at others played simultaneously as the performers phase in and out of tempo. It is stunningly beautiful in its simplicity, its insistent repetition.

Perhaps Nitsch had a tear in his eye as he finally suffered the indignities of premeditated and carefully rehearsed composition. But for all that the scream is still present. It is there in the yearning of the viola and the crashes of the gong. The forty-two piece ensemble seems to be calling out to the listener with bittersweet impotence. Nitsch, of course, gets his revenge. By the symphony’s third movement, the lilting theme is all but abandoned in favor of screeching whistles, dense spectralism, and chaotic masses of detuned strings. The performers seem to be gnashing the melody apart with their teeth, beating it to death with their bows, silencing it like a bad memory with each thundering bass drum. With a brief funerary oration in the fourth movement, Nitsch proclaims that Melody is dead; the allegorical aspect of his music is obvious as the rest of this hour-long suite devotes itself to elongated brass tones played at uncompromising volume, their vibrato like an elephant’s. At this point, though, the perfidious scent of culture is too strong to simply fade back to bestiality. The Sinfonia Punta Campanella is not an umediated wail borne out of animalistic spontaneity. It is the image of this wail: a masterfully composed scream, tempered by an artist’s hand. As Theodor Adorno once wrote: “Talent is perhaps nothing other than successfully sublimated rage.”2

1 Hermann Nitsch, “The O.M. Theatre’s Music,” in liner notes to Sinfonia Punta Campanella.
2 Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia, trans. E.F.N. Jephcott (Verso, 2005), 109.

Hermann Nitsch - Sinfonia Punta Campanella (Fondazione Morra, 2004)
192 kbps, 85.8 mb

Mongo Santamaria - Afro Roots

2007-08-22T19:24:00.000-04:00

A brilliant recording by Cuban percussionist Mongo Santamaria, Afro Roots (Prestige, 1989) collects the Latin jazz hero’s first two albums released on the Fantasy label, 1958’s Yambu and 1959’s Mongo. The music is some of the best the genre has ever produced and shows just how good Santamaria was before making the unfortunate leap to Latin fusion in the late ‘60s. The supporting musicians on these sessions are also impeccable, numbering among them Cal Tjader, Francisco Aguabella, Willie Bobo, Armando Peraza, Emil Richards, and Vince Guaraldi. With most of its songs falling within the four-minute mark and the LP featuring a beautiful black woman on its cover (a style very much of its time), Afro Roots is designed for a popular audience with the aim of making this music enjoyable and accessible. However, these late ‘50s sessions go above and beyond the kitschy exotica of the era with their fresh take on Cuban folk songs, their dedication to cultural authenticity, and the unparalleled quality of their musicianship.

Aside from the standard “Afro Blue,” a Santamaria original recorded here for the first time, most of Afro Roots places itself pretty firmly outside the Latin jazz style. But it’s much more lively than collections of traditional Cuban music I’ve heard (I recommend the Lydia Cabrera & Josefina Tarafa series on Folkways for a good idea), perhaps because the spirit of improvisation lies at its heart. One song is titled “Chano Pozo,” a tribute to the great Cuban percussionist who first brought Afro-Cuban rhythms to the US during his brief stint in Dizzy Gillespie’s 1940s orchestra. And indeed, on “Mazacote,” Santamaria satisfies listeners with a lengthy jam session featuring Tjader on vibes (that is, according to the liner notes – but I hear no vibes, only bass), Guaraldi on piano and Jose Silva on tenor sax. Right from the start, the pianist lays down a repetitive vamp, each chord chiming with that particularly Latin quality before Mongo begins filling the space with his array of congas, bongos, cowbells, and other assorted percussion instruments. It’s a tour-de-force, filled with breathtaking solos and complex polyrhythms.

Songs like “Rezo” and “Onyae” show Mongo’s softer side, with gently trilled flute passages and congas that serve more as ambient, cavernous backdrops than beatmakers; the whole group floats along a steady stream of shakers and rattles, creating an atmosphere of meditation and tranquility. “Ayenye” and “Monte Adentro” hark back to the tradition of son montuno (as it was invented by musical god Arsenio Rodriguez), giving the spotlight over to Jose Gamboa’s beautifully plucked tres guitar and joyous vocals. But aside from these exceptions, most of Afro Roots falls into the realm of fierce percussion workouts, sometimes with vocal singalongs, often not. “Congobel” is a blistering exercise between the group’s conga players and the shimmering triangle wizardry of Pablo Mozo, “an expert in the dexterous use of sticks on any object that will produce a sharp resonance,” according to Ralph Gleason’s liner notes. Bobo, Aguabella, and Santamaria are all legends of Latin music, so to hear the fantastic rhythms they cook up again and again should be no surprise for the seasoned listener. But if songs like “Conga Pa Gozar,” “Che-Que-Re-Que-Che-Que,” and “Timbales y Bongo” don’t get your ass moving or, at the very least, make your head swirl amid a storm of intoxicating grooves… well, your case may be terminal.

Mongo Santamaria - Conga Pa Gozar.mp3 (192 kbps, 5.7 mb)
Mongo Santamaria - Afro-Roots (Prestige, 1989)

Ju Suk Reet Meate (+ bonus James Tenney!)

2007-08-22T02:43:00.000-04:00

Back in 1961, composer James Tenney brought Elvis to the avant-garde. Recorded at Bell Laboratories on Max Matthew’s new digital synthesis program, “Collage #1 (Blue Suede)” is probably the most bizarre tribute to the Texas-born pioneer. Tenney took Elvis’ voice and turned it on its head, flipped it inside out, abstracted it to such a degree that any content was lost; only the voice remained. The sample runs forward and backward, first emerging as a series of growls and gurgles before exploding into clipped guitar phrases and stifled singing. The voice is made to riff like any other instrument in the ensemble, sounding as if the BBC Radiophonic Workshop had staged an invasion of the Sun Records studio.

A little over fifteen years later, Tenney’s piece had become a touchstone of the musique concrete style, which knows no limits as to what can form the building blocks of its compositions. Francoise Bayle regularly utilized crowd murmur, while Christian Marclay turned short phrases into hypnotic mandalas. But perhaps most in line with Tenney’s original vision was Smegma member Ju Suk Reet Meate, whose early recordings have been released on cd for the first time as Solo 78/79 (De Stijl, 2007). The included selections enjoyed minimal exposure when first released in 1980; they remain a relic of a form of working that’s all but lost today. Possibly the only group still carrying the torch of Tenney’s tape-splicing severity is the aptly titled Loop Orchestra.

Flashback to 1978: Ju Suk Reet Meate is an active participant in the Los Angeles Free Music Society, a fringe collective that we still don’t know that much about. Smegma records Glamour Girl 1941 (LAFMS, 1979), a bizarre mixture of avant-jazz, tape experiments, weed jams and Dada-influenced vocalizations. On one of the album’s best cuts, the singer proudly declares: “I… I… I am… I am… I am not Artist! I am not Artist! I am not, no no no no no no!” The song, “I Am Not Artist,” briefly summed up the collective’s radical anti-art position. Refusing to play by established rules, it’s no wonder that Meate’s recordings have been lost until now.

Solo 78/79 is actually much better than a Smegma record. It boils their eccentricity down to nine tightly composed selections that, like James Tenney, revel in the world of popular music and concrete sounds. The first track starts off conventionally enough with a bluesy guitar melody: this could be any garage rock single from the past fifty years. With subtle invention, however, Meate multiplies the riff into a polyphonic series of loops that weave around each other before degenerating into a mess of detuned strings. Track two retains the atonal strumming and matches it with deep, gurgling bass sounds, dialed telephones, and maddeningly repetitive vocal samples. “M-m-m-makin’ a lot of noise,” one can discern in the mix. But most of Meate’s pieces are shockingly subdued, placing themselves as far as possible from the white noise freakouts one would associate with the artists Smegma is normally classified with. The third track is a quiet exploration into the world of the standup bass and the varying cadences it produces when strummed or bowed. I don’t know what Meate’s sources are, but it builds with the same dynamics as any coherent jazz solo.

There’s a lot to be said in favor of restraint. Unlike the hyperactive, cluttered, sample-crazy experiments of Otomo Yoshihide, the tracks on Solo 78/79 opt for a more minimal approach, allowing its motifs to gradually emerge and evolve, fading away and returning almost unnoticed. On track five, the composer lets sustained organ tones fill up the space at their leisure, only accompanied by the squeaky sounds of what could be anything from a door hinge to wet feet on tiled floor. The transitions can be so smooth that you sometimes forget this is tape music at all; they often develop like real songs, with hooks and refrains. We’re only alerted again to the presence of electronic trickery when we hear a voice begin to fracture, echo and repeat, transformed into a stream of stuttering phonemes on track six, which playfully equates magazine adverts and political rhetoric with the meaningless babble emerging from Meate’s tape deck.

The music comes out of a fertile avant-garde tradition where to sample isn’t an act of creative laziness – it fundamentally changes the material one is quoting. There is, however, another reason for the experimental community’s continued interest in rock and roll: mass culture often serves as this kind of smokescreen for the hidden desires, passions, and perversions of an era. In the same way, sample-based music like Meate’s strips popular music of its content to reveal the more basic elements of texture and rhythm at their heart. Call me crazy, but I think Meate is paying direct homage to Tenney on track nine, which replicates “Collage #1” with an initial wave of screeches and groans that soon reveal their origin in hit radio. A short vocal clip is repeated obsessively, sped up, slowed down, and eventually lost again amidst a soup of shifting electronics. As Joan LaBarbara once said, voice is the original instrument. It emerged as the scream and so it is destined to return from whence it came.

Ju Suk Reet Meate - Untitled 9.mp3 (236 kbps, 9.8 mb)
[Album removed at request of De Stijl Records.]

James Tenney - Collage #1 (Blue Suede).mp3 (160 kbps, 4 mb)
James Tenney - Selected Works, 1961-1969 (Artifact, 1992)

Just an update

2007-08-22T00:44:00.000-04:00

I've been re-uploading everything that got deleted after the Divshare fiasco. It's a slow and tedious process. I've worked my way back through all of the July posts, so all of those files should be available again, and I'll start on June's soon enough.

I finished with both of my summer jobs and I'm getting ready for a more leisurely pace at school again, so expect an increase in posts in the future. I'm also working on a new feature tentatively called The Dustbin: a monthly collection of songs/albums, chosen by theme, that don't really warrant their own features. Suggestions and comments welcome.

Y Pants reissue!

2007-08-21T18:49:00.000-04:00

It’s old news that Johnny Rotten once paraded around the streets of London with a shirt that said “I HATE PINK FLOYD.” With the rise of the concept album in the 1970s, from Quadrophenia to The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, rock had reached a fever pitch of self-importance and diluted philosophical meandering. It embraced linearity and coherence; it claimed to offer the solution to lives ruined in the decades prior. Most punk rock didn’t offer those answers – just anger. Rotten has since denied the assertion that Pink Floyd sucks, claiming that it was no more than a joke (or a performance piece – what’s the difference?), and that David Gilmour is really “a great bloke.” As a symbolic statement, though, “I HATE PINK FLOYD” was punk’s way of flying in the face of the mainstream’s pretense, its market values, and its grand narratives.

What replaced the rock epic were simple moments captured in concise lyrics, propelled by extremely basic musical stylings. Moments like New York’s downtown No Wave scene didn’t sophisticate punk so much as reveal the art house leanings at its heart. Fresh as it was, punk was a little late to the party; art movements had been pushing us to the brink of nihilism for nearly six decades, championing the art of marginal groups like children and the insane. This is where the Y Pants come in. They combined the sensationalism of punk with a new emphasis on the everyday. They put the theory into action. Listening to the Y Pants was an event, a minor manifesto, a small explosion in the bedroom.

In 1979, the Y Pants came together out of a few impromptu jam sessions between filmmaker Gail Vachon and No-Wave mainstay Barbara Ess. Ess had previously played with The Static and Theoretical Girls, while Vachon found herself increasingly distracted by the soundtracks to her films. The two soon enlisted the help of Virginia “Verge” Piersol, who, despite never having played drums, would provide the rhythmic groundwork for all of Y Pants’ music. Vachon played a toy grand piano she found on the street, while Ess brought along a thumb drum and a ukulele. Piersol’s first drums were “a Mickey Mouse kit with paper heads, combined with a regular tom-tom.” The Y Pants were born.

Of course, everyone loved them. With their toy instruments and quotations from Emily Dickinson and Brecht set to music, by December of that year they were opening for Glenn Branca and would soon head to the studio with the No-Wave godfather as their producer. Summer of 1980 saw the release of their debut EP on 99 Records, Y Pants, and the trio was regularly playing clubs like CBGBs, Tier 3 and Irving Plaza. They were also big on the gallery scene: gigs at Franklin Furnace, White Columns, etc. The liner notes to Periodic Document’s 1998 discography collection, long out-of-print and now re-pressed for the first time, is filled with quotes from the likes of Kiki Smith and Dan Graham, confirming the fact that everything I know about punk I learned from art history. Graham even placed their “percussive primitivism and girl vocal teasing playfulness” in the same league as The Slits and The Raincoats. But soon after the release of their sole LP, Beat it Down (Neutral, 1982), the Y Pants broke up and quickly faded to obscurity. They weren’t featured on Eno’s No New York, nor did they morph into a new wave hit machine. They simply came and went, leaving some sixteen songs behind them.

The music is beyond reproach – otherwise I wouldn’t have already written so much. A few comments on some of my favorites, though. “Magnetic Attraction” first appeared in an issue of Tellus Magazine in 1982 and is probably the catchiest Y Pants song: quickly strummed ukulele, bass up front and clear in the mix, chanting voices, uptempo and repetitive drums. There are the occasional detours into multi-tracked vocal loops and discordant breakdowns, but on the whole it’s a marvelously crafted pop tune. “Magnetic attraction / you can’t resist / magnetic attraction / you can’t resist / High voltage humans, / high voltage humans.” The Y Pants always had a way of saying a lot in very few words. Here they seem to be poking fun at the militarism of most punk rock, the magnetic attraction that unifies its audience into a crowd of so-called high voltage humans. In a spoken interlude, they tell us: “Doctor doubted the stories he’d been hearing about the young girl’s charge / of high voltage electricity / So he reached out / and took her / by the hand.” Songs like “Beautiful Food” and “Favorite Sweater” took a more modest approach, exploring what Barbara Ess called “small music” by singing about exactly what their titles described. “I washed my favorite sweater tonight / There it is, on the line.” The songs’ toy piano and wonky guitar helped express just how magical those small moments could be.

“Obvious” is another classic. Stripped down to essentials, the song features ratchet-like percussion, watery piano and gently sung vocals, occasionally interrupted by punctuations from Gail’s Casio keyboard and Verge’s crashing cymbals. Author Lynne Tillman guest-wrote the lyrics. “Do the Obvious, it’s so exciting,” they tell us. “Don’t be afraid to be boring.” The Y Pants’ music must have been frustrating; they sported a DIY aesthetic in line with the time, but their music was decidedly undanceable. It didn’t sound like the catalyst for the revolution, just a melancholy ditty with a quirky sense of humor. Perhaps that’s why Y Pants has been left in the dust of history: their music reflects a less inspiring moment than the raw, empowering records of 1977. With Reagan as president, 1982 must have felt rather similar to the disillusion following the failed promises of 1968.

I love the sprightly keyboards of “The Fly,” the gentle lyricism of “Lulu,” the anger of “Beat it Down” that comes through in the music’s shambling, atonal jangle. The songs covered a huge range of emotions with an entirely new syntax; it’s easy to see how the group could capture a generation, if only for a brief moment. For someone like Kiki Smith, “many of their lyrics had become part of my vocabulary… They’re my youth.” It was “girlie punk music” with a hidden bite to it. Just listen to “That’s the Way Boys Are,” a détourned Lesley Gore hit. “When I’m with my guy and he watches all the pretty girls go by / That’s the way boys are / And I feel so hurt deep inside I wish that I could die / That’s the way boys are,” the three chant, a capella, while in the background one can hear a woman’s screams – Smith’s, ironically – that immediately call to mind a murder victim or a rape. It’s terrifying, a bile-filled comment on the sad state of gender politics that persists even today. That was the Y Pants: three girls who saw something wrong with the world and did the most that anyone can do to change it. They made a record.

Y Pants - Obvious.mp3 (192 kbps, 4 mb)
Y Pants - Discography (Periodic Document, 1998/2007)

TIm Catlin/Jon Mueller - Plates & Wires

2007-08-21T15:09:00.000-04:00

Australian guitarist Tim Catlin has been making a bit of a splash lately with his new LP Radio Ghosts (23five, 2007). Milwaukee-based percussionist Jon Mueller I'm less familiar with. The two have teamed up this year for a fantastic release on Mueller's own Crouton imprint titled Plates and Wires. Of course, I owe you a bit of preamble about the album; half the fun of listening to it is understanding how it was made. From the press release:

[Tim Catlin's and Jon Mueller's] approach to their instruments is based on their shared interest in the vibration of material and the changes in sound that result in modifying those vibrations. Over a year in the making, Plates and Wires features a series of different situations involving guitars, gongs, snare drums, and bass drum, and their resonant effect upon one another.

And, of course, details on the album’s presentation:

The recording of Plates and Wires was mastered by James Plotkin (Khanate/Phantomsmasher/Khlyst) and is released in a limited edition of 300 in a 10x10" package featuring artwork from Milwaukee painter Thomas Kovacich. Kovacich's practice of dragging paint with devices over large planks of disused furniture creates a visual cohesion with the layers of milky and gritty sounds heard within the recording.

(Indeed, it’s one of the most beautiful albums I own, striking a happy medium between the convenience of cds and the lush presentation of vinyl. It’s worth snagging a copy – if you can still find one!)

Aquarius Records has aptly described the process behind Plates and Wires as “like a game of Mouse Trap,” with each element seemingly activating the next in an endless harmonic give-and-take. The reviewer there offers another concise and lucid explication: “The amplifier hum rattles the drum head of a snare which in turns vibrates the gong and sets off a resonant frequency on the piece of metal resting on the guitar strings, which in turns rattles the snare again and the cycle repeats itself.” What results is a very organic recording with a dream logic in place, wandering through the speakers in an hour-long musical dérive. You can hear the effect with particular clarity on the fourth untitled composition, as Mueller’s militaristic rolls invite a heavy drone from Catlin, causing Mueller’s snare to rise in volume with the oscillations of his partner’s guitar. As the snare fades out, it’s replaced by shifting electronic textures and heavily processed rhythms. We hear a slow scraping noise begin to emerge, creating perforations in Catlin’s steadily wavering drone, which has become hypnotic and full of subtle reverberations.

All of Plates and Wires has this ominous, forbidding quality to it. Its damaged soundscapes aren’t really fit for meditative purposes; they’re more like lingering snapshots in the back of one’s mind, faded and scratched. The second track begins with a harsh, pulsating guitar line reminiscent of Remko Scha’s work, terrifying in its minimalist purity. It fades away into an extended network of drones, but one feels that these sustained units have somehow internalized that initial distress, obscuring it beneath layers of scratchy snares and metallic rattling, burying it like an evil memory that never quite fades. Each piece evolves in a way that leaves listeners at a loss to describe how they ended up at their destination – as if the piece’s end is never really an end, just an arbitrary limit placed on the music’s flow. No climax, no dénouement. Only drift.

In the process, we lose track of what these two men are even playing; the sounds they produce are so far from what we think of as “guitar” and “drums” that to analyze them in that context is more or less a dead end. Track three sounds closer to synthesizer trickery than anything else, its twittering sine-like oscillations balanced by low-end hum; Mueller’s percussion on this piece takes on the quality of television static, and it almost requires a leap of the imagination to connect it back to anything resembling a rhythm instrument. With their ingenious methodology, Catlin and Mueller turn the most disparate sounds into a complexly woven tapestry, beautiful from a distance but rough to the touch, boiling music down to two of its most distinct elements: texture and movement. Like a game of pong, the ball is bounced back and forth between opposing poles at varying angles and speeds. To complete the metaphor, however, one would have to imagine this ball changing color mid-flight.

Tim Catlin & Jon Mueller - Track Three.mp3 (192 kbps, 8.8 mb)
Tim Catlin & Jon Mueller - Plates & Wires (Crouton, 2007)

Two by Kadri Gopalnath

2007-08-19T22:03:00.000-04:00

Since I really don't know much about Indian music, I'm going to turn the reigns over to Google search for this one. Here's the short version: Kadri Gopalnath is an Indian classical musician who has adapted the saxophone to fit the sound of Carnatic music. The first to do so, he has been crowned the Saxophone Chakravarthy, or "Emperor of the Saxophone." He is usually heard in groups with tabla, Jew's harp, and violin. I was first turned onto Gopalnath's music through a top 5 Keenan Lawler wrote up for Dusted, so my thanks go out to the Louisville guitarist. The two releases here are Pulse Beat (Inreco, 1994) and Gem Tones (Globe Style, 2000), but Gopalnath has many others. Try to ignore their incredibly lame cover art and go right for the music, which is some of the most vibrant and exciting I've heard from India in a while.

The long version, from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln:

Kadri Gopalnath was born in Panemangalore, in Dakshina Kannada district (Karnataka, South India) in 1950. He acquired a taste for music from his father, Thaniappa who was a nagaswaram vidwan. Young Gopalnath once saw the saxophone being played in the Mysore palace band set. Ofcourse, the band set was playing a western tune. Thrilled on hearing the vibrant tone of the saxophone, Gopalnath decided to master it. It took him nearly 20 years for him to conquer the complex western wind instrument and he was eventually crowned as the "Saxophone Chakravarthy". His achievement is especially laudatory, as Gopalnath had to make certain improvisations to the conventional Saxophone instrument in order to play Carnatic music. So perfect has this adaptation been that no less a musician than Shemmangudi Srinivasa Iyer, the doyen of Indian Music, has acknowledged Kadri Gopalnath has a true Carnatic music genius.
Gopalnath learnt playing Carnatic music on the saxophone under Gopalkrishna Iyer of Kalaniketana, Mangalore. His dedication and tireless efforts enabled him to imbibe all the nuances of Carnatic music and the sax. In Madras, Gopalnath came in contact with the versatile mridangist T.V. Gopalkrishnan who identified the youngster’s potential and chiseled him into an internationally famed artist. Gopalnath humbly acknowledges the fact that it is the blessings of his gurus that is responsible for his success.

His maiden performance was for the Chembai Memorial Trust. It was a roaring success. 1980: Jazz festival, Bombay was a turning point for Gopalnath. At the festival was present John Handy, a famous Jazz musician from California. Hearing Gopalnath play, Handy asked if he could go on stage and perform alongside with him. So good did the two artist synchronize on stage, Handy in the Jazz style and Gopalnath in the Carnatic style, that it became an instant hit with the audience. And thus was born, fusion music on the Saxophone! Gopalnath has participated in the Jazz Festival in Prague, Berlin Jazz Festival, International Cervantino Festival in Mexico, Music Halle Festival in Paris, the BBC Promenade concert in 1994 at London and has toured extensively all over the world, performing in all prestigious music venues in India and abroad.

Kadri Gopalnath - Vinayakuni Ninnu (217 kbps VBR, 13.4 mb)
Pulse Beat (Inreco, 1994)
Gem Tones (Globe Style, 2000)

Times New Viking - Dig Yourself

2007-08-19T11:36:00.001-04:00

Fuzz. Distortion. Buried vocals. Sudden skips in volume. A flat plane, that is, one sonic slab without distinguishable levels. In short: lo-fidelity. It’s nothing new, a common trope used in genres ranging from noise to indie rock to hardcore to emo, from Calvin Johnson to Lou Reed to Steve Albini and back again to Lou Barlow. As a production value, it immediately calls attention to its own poverty. Whether or not it’s true, it tells the listener: “We’re poor, we’re dedicated, we’ll release our music no matter how bad it has to sound.” It commands an air of nostalgia, harking back to an era where musicians put out self-released tapes recorded in bedrooms, performing with little to no care if their product ever reached an audience. Above all, it has a warmth generated by our belief that these are real people with ordinary jobs and everyday concerns, who make music in their spare time to escape life’s banality. “What have you done for your freedom? Too busy making love every day?”

That last quote isn’t mine – it’s a line from Times New Viking’s song “We Got Rocket” off their debut LP, Dig Yourself (Siltbreeze, 2005). The Columbus, OH trio are champions of a (hopefully) renewed lo-fi movement. In their brief career they’ve already managed to bring Siltbreeze Records out of its slumber, recalling the label’s heyday when the imprint hosted luminaries like The Dead C, Sebadoh, and Guided By Voices. Indie rock has been on a steady downhill trajectory, moving toward an ever-cleaner sound that has basically erased the boundary between underground and mainstream. The Shins were the smash hit of the Garden State soundtrack, and Belle and Sebastian sound far more natural in the background of a WB soap drama than they do on college radio. Greil Marcus once described the best subversive music as the kind that makes the most noise; that is, the music that confuses and assaults listeners, confounding expectations by somehow eluding language as we know it. This was the achievement of rock’n’roll, punk, free jazz, and later, indie rock. But like its predecessors, “indie” has become a term that’s meaningless aside from its exchange value: a set of predictable styles, an empty shell, a shock without shock value.

Times New Viking make you forget all of that. They come from some kind of golden age where the only concern is how hard you can rock with a hoarse voice and a handful of chords. The album cover, which features a Bob Dylan whose eyes are crossed out, suggests that the music herein is deliberately removed from the sensitive songwriting of someone like Stephin Merritt in favor of huge riffs and militant, cymbal-heavy rhythms. Dig Yourself is an unpretentious collection of eleven lo-fi anthems, the group distilled to vocalist/drummer Adam Elliott, vocalist/keyboardist Beth Murphy, and guitar player Jared Phillips. It’s a fantastic debut destined for instant-classic status, coming through the speakers as a burst of raw energy, earnest and uncompromising. With a second LP released earlier this year, Present the Paisley Reich (Siltbreeze, 2007), already their music has weakened; featuring titles like “Imagine Dead John Lennon” and “Allegory Gets Me Hot,” its self-conscious attitude feels like a step backward from the charming juvenilia of “Fuck Books.” The album is less vibrant, less inspiring. One can only hope that signing to Matador won’t be the final nail in the coffin for this Columbus trio.

I wasn’t entirely convinced by Dig Yourself at first, anyhow. Then, sometime last week, I had a terrible day at work where I almost walked off the job after being yelled at for not activating gift cards correctly. I swallowed my anger, put on headphones and redirected my energy to mopping the floor. For whatever reason, I listened to Times New Viking. I didn’t regret it. Their crunchy garage tunes sounded amazing after an insipid eight-hour shift; they sounded like the best thing in the world. “Lion and Oil” came chugging from the speakers at full speed, with the dual vocal attack of Elliott and Murphy provoking the listener with questions bordering on the perverse. “What kind of pictures do you like to look at?” It doesn’t matter that most of the lyrics are buried beneath layers of tape hiss and guitar fuzz; listeners can fill in the gaps with their own angry thoughts. At its best, though, Dig Yourself is an empowering record. I was walking to the bus recently while “The Statue Pt. II” was blaring in my ears; at 10:00 AM my suburban town was practically deserted, allowing it to become the plaything of the imagination. By the time “Skull Versus Wizard” came on, I was convinced I could tear a hole in the landscape and step through to the other side. It reminded me of a line by Proust, who once said that “the only interest in existence lies in those days when a pinch of magic sand is mixed with the dust of reality.” Communicating across the ages, Times New Viking respond with nihilistic glee:

Every day I make the same mistake,
I wake up and go outside
Walk down the street and say,
“everything will be alright”

It’s vaguely reminiscent of Built to Spill or Cap’n Jazz in its rough idealism, but neither Doug Martsch nor the Kinsellas ever produced anything as good as the wall of sound that regularly emerges from Philips' amp. For best results, listen to Dig Yourself at full volume, with just a dash of self-righteous self-loathing. Soon enough you’ll be singing these songs in your sleep.

Times New Viking - Fashion to Talk About the Moon (163 kbps, 2.9 mb)
Times New Viking - Dig Yourself (Siltbreeze, 2005)

Bennink - Nerve Beats, Amplified Trio

2007-08-15T01:25:00.001-04:00

Then and Now is an ongoing series dedicated to artists with neverending careers, unlimited stamina and age-defying energy. Each installment looks at a particular musician and his or her recent work alongside one of their vintage masterpieces, celebrating the quality and longevity of their art.

This month’s edition of Then and Now looks at the career of virtuoso drummer, Euro-jazz legend and (sometimes) madman, Han Bennink. Looking at Bennink’s discography, it becomes apparent that the Amsterdam-born percussionist has performed far too seldom as a leader. Perhaps it’s typical to look at an artist in terms of his first and last works, but in Bennink’s case those two recordings happen to be two of his best and, ironically, two of his hardest to find. Without further ado, it is my pleasure to present Nerve Beats and Amplified Trio.

Nerve Beats (Atavistic, 1973/2000)

Nerve Beats was unearthed by Atavistic in 2000 as part of their Unheard Music series and is Han Bennink’s first extant solo recording. Recorded in 1973 for Germany’s Radio Bremen, it comes from the same era as Peter Brötzmann’s Live in Berlin ’71: a quartet date on which Bennink, at certain points during that historic concert, revealed himself to be a chameleon with a massive setup composed not only of drums but of exotic percussive and wind instruments, along with what the liner notes could only describe as tins and home-made junk. Two years later, Bennink was still exploring these eclectic rhythmic forms that had their roots in the musics of India and Africa, adapting them to the spirit of free music as it was being created by a group of audacious pan-European youngsters. Many have commented on Bennink’s ability to play quite freely as well as within the confines of tradition, straddling jazz’s old school and its vanguard with equal conviction. “Bumble Rumble” attests to this, with its fluid, militaristic drum rolls interlocking with Bennink’s whistling to create an anthemic overture, telling the audience to make way for the emperor’s arrival. At three minutes, it’s concise, engaging, and entirely unlike what is to follow on the two lengthy tracks that make up the bulk of the concert.

That said, “Spooky Drums” is pure cacophony. Amid a wave of cymbal crashes and furious tom rolls, Bennink spits out volcanic gibberish to his audience’s delight. The growls, howls and spluttering outbursts weave in and out of his rhythms, beginning at the point where the other ends and vice versa. When Bennink picks up a trombone or a clarinet, or one of the other odd items he inevitably has lying around onstage, he plays them with outrageous multiphonic effects, sounding like a Tuvan throat singer crying from the belly of a brass prison. And when he mixes the delicate sound of musical pipes with the thundering punctuations of his drumkit, it sounds like the most natural thing in the world. It is no exaggeration to say that “Spooky Drums” pushes jazz’s rhythmic possibilities to their absolute limit. This is the sound of a man becoming his drum. We’re exhausted from the sheer physicality of it all, but by the time we reach the climactic series of wonderfully muffled snare hits and tittering cymbals, we’re only ten minutes inside the beast! There is yet to follow Bennink’s experiments with pre-recorded orchestral music, drum machines, marimbas, tablas, music boxes, and whatever else is in reach.

The pre-programmed loops that introduce “Nerve Beats” may lead unsuspecting listeners to assume that this is a leftover from the concurrent German electronic/new wave scene. But the dissonant clarinet that hovers throughout the mix makes it obvious that we’re in a very different realm, somewhere between Stockhausen, free jazz, and multi-idiomatic world music. His cymbals ring like alarm clocks, his trombone like Martian war calls. If “Spooky Drums” is an epic journey, “Nerve Beats” is a cartoon soundtrack. Who is this man who plays 5,000 instruments and then deems it appropriate to scream at the top of his lungs? Is he angry or joyful? The audience’s nervous laughter at each of Bennink’s outbursts suggests that they may have asked themselves similar questions. Indeed, this isn’t the pure rage of Brotzmann’s Machine Gun; anyone who listens to that album knows what kind of emotions lie behind it. Machine Gun was a collective call to revolt. Nerve Beats, on the other hand, is a defiantly individualistic approach to improvised music that is all the richer for its humor. The only thing of stability is Bennink’s distinctive roar: a scream which, every time it appears, draws the entirety of its universe into a black hole from which it emerges purified once more.

Han Bennink - Nerve Beats (Atavistic, 1973/2000)
256 kbps, 85.9 mb

Amplified Trio (Treader, 2007)

A whirlwind of percussion, acid-fried guitar, electronics that sound like an animal in its death throes – Bennink’s Amplified Trio comes out the door with both fists swinging. Matched with the duo behind Spring Heel Jack – guitarist John Coxon and sound artist Ashley Wales – the veteran improviser pushes new territory with this striking mixture of free jazz and electronics. The release places itself in an exciting new trend within free music that has its forebears in Trio x 3’s New Jazz Meeting Baden-Baden (Hat, 2003) and the Muhal Abrams/Roscoe Mitchell/George Lewis album Streaming (Pi, 2006). Okay, so perhaps it’s not so radical – Don Cherry, George Lewis, and Freddie Hubbard were doing this kind of thing years ago. But the electro-acoustic idiom has moved beyond the experiments of a few eccentrics to become the playground of many eccentrics. Recorded live in South London on January 21, 2006, Amplified Trio is notable for abandoning the delicacy of these prior endeavors in favor of sheer volume, taking the new hybrid form a step backward into the world of an ESP blowout.

What I find so remarkable about groups like this is the way that each instrument blends into its peers, no matter how disparate they are in sound. Amplified Trio has it a bit easier, since Coxon’s distorted guitar isn’t too far from Wales’ array of electronic manipulations. The first of these seven untitled tracks is the longest and most brutal – even its quietest moments are filled with abrasive and unsettling overtones. After fifteen minutes of dense improvisation, the band hits something akin to a stride with oscillating tones that provide the backbeat for the spiraling fury of the drums and guitar. Bennink sounds fantastic as usual, moving across a variety of rhythmic styles with grace and ease; Coxon provides plenty of squall with his energetic fusion of Jimi Hendrix and Derek Bailey; and Wales is particularly crucial with his subtle loops and washes of sound. Oddly enough, the first track ends with the noise of the ocean, suggesting that what lies beneath is a substructure both placid and filled with the tumult of undulating waves.

The rest of Amplified Trio is understandably more subdued. The third track even finds Bennink abandoning his drumset in favor of ratchety, guiro-like percussion, interacting with Wales’ electronic stutters and butchered vocal samples. The three create a music that is unpredictable, yet deliberate and logical in its own way; in these moments, the trio comes closer to a piece by Francois Bayle or Walter Ruttman than anything related to jazz. Bennink, however, can’t help but swing – and his restless drumming soon leads the group back into the white heat of free improvisation. Bennink’s early work experimented with electronic looping as early as 1973’s Nerve Beats, and one can hear its seeds coming to fruition on Amplified Trio. One can also hear his sound being transferred to Wales’ sonic collages and Coxon’s feedback-drenched excursions, imbued as they are with a vocal quality: a desperate scream that has always made itself felt in the drummer’s career.

“Track 4” is more in line with Spring Heel Jack’s oeuvre, all ambient drones and elliptical guitar scrapes barely bubbling across the surface. Bennink shatters the calm with a well-placed cymbal crash, each subsequent hit of the kit taking on the quality of an eruption. The three improvisers crackle and spit fire at every turn. John Coxon sounds alternately like fireworks and a broken carburetor, Wales swaps Nintendo belches for twittering sine waves and orchestral excerpts. The two adroitly follow their leader, that Dutch maverick whose muscular beats propel the session into such brilliant territory. Even the two-minute “Track 6” is as bewitching and beguiling as anything else on the album, refusing cohesion amid a stream of marching beats, guitar grime and knotty clarinet samples. In this realm beyond syntax, Bennink’s rhythms tap into a language that speaks but does not inform, that calls without regard for its listener, that doubles back on its own communicative poverty. Amplified Trio is the beauty of a voice arrested mid-flight. Let’s stop and take a look at that one again.

Han Bennink - AT 04.mp3 (192 kbps, 12.3 mb)
Han Bennink - Amplified Trio (Treader, 2007; 79.1 mb)

assuaging my guilt

2007-08-13T12:32:00.000-04:00

I realize I've been neglecting the blog lately. Only one post this month! It's really quite embarrassing. In my attempt to soak up the last of the summer rays, I've let Meshes fall to the wayside. But, I swear that I have a number of things in the works I've been dying to post. Patience is a virtue?

Two by Jerzy Milian

2007-08-04T02:53:00.000-04:00

The Magic of Milian

Jerzy Milian is probably the greatest vibraphone player to come out of the Polish jazz scene – or maybe just the only one? What I know for sure, however, is that his work from the late ‘60s and ‘70s is nothing short of incredible. These two records, Bazaar (Polskie Nagrania, 1969/2005) and Ashkhabad Girl: 1967-1972 (Obuh, 2003), are singular statements from a very fruitful period in jazz history. A good friend of Krzyzstof Komeda and a member of Komeda’s sextet of the 1950s, Milian made his name through a series of international performances that stunned concertgoers, which included none other than New York’s John Henry Hammond. The veteran talent scout and record producer called Milian “one of the best vibrophonists who have appeared since the times of Red Norvo.”1 It is unfortunate, then, that Milian’s music should enjoy so little exposure in the U.S. today.

Bazaar is known as Milian’s masterpiece. The Jerzy Milian Trio, made up of Milian on vibes and marimba, Jacek Bednarek on bass, Grzegorz Gierlowski on drums, is joined by singer Ewa Wanat and flutist Janusz Mych for this 1969 date, recorded in June at Warsaw’s Studio 12. Komeda had died just two months prior, and the set begins with a tribute in the form of a song the two bandleaders co-wrote, titled “Memory of Bach”. From its bouncy, classical-cum-jazz theme, though, one would never guess that this was a eulogy. Thankfully, the cheesy melody quickly disintegrates into a modern jazz workout that swings as much as any Blue Note record from the same period; most striking, however, is its quick transition to a rather free bass solo presented in the style of Jackie McLean’s chamber jazz, ending the piece without a return to the major motif.

“Contemporaneousness,” says the liner notes, “is a special quality of Milian's whole road of artistic quest and achievements.”2 Whatever that means, it’s true that Bazaar finds Milian at home on a wide range of styles both traditional and modern -- often both at once. “My Favorite Band” finds him in dialogue with Wanat, who delivers haunting, lyric-less vocals against Milian’s claustrophic vibes and Gierlowski’s tumultuous rhythms, while the trio explore Polish folk forms on “Szkice Ludowe” with a regional stringed instrument called a gidjak. “Serial Rag” conjures up the spirit of Eric Dolphy with its odd rhythms, vibes and bass working in unsettling counterpoint to one another, and could easily be mistaken as an outtake from Out to Lunch, as does the next and final track, “Valse Ex Cathedra”. The difference is that Milian plants his avant-garde detours firmly within the frame of popular music, ready to make the transition from introspective experimentation to traditional structures at the drop of a hat. However, the strangely clipped vibraphone phrasings and purely phonetic vocals that end Bazaar hint at the radicality lying behind all of Milian’s music.

Jerzy Milian - Szkice Ludowe (Folk Sketches).mp3 (320 kbps, 9.4 mb)
Jerzy Milian - Bazaar (Polskie Nagrania, 1969/2005; 75.4 mb)

Though perhaps not quite up to the sophistication of Bazaar, the Milian compilation Ashkhabad Girl makes up for it by being fun as hell. The origin of the tracks on Ashkhabad Girl are unclear, and the description offered by Obuh’s press release offers little consolation:

Jazz beat grooves with touches of Latin, psychedelia and soundtrack from legendary jazz vibraphonist and his band. Living Mono never published (what a shame...) studio recordings from 1967-1972. Plastic Fantastic. For all jazzy, beat, audiophile, the 60's or just opened heads. Limited to 350 numbered copies. Great super solid laminated cover reminding golden years of analogs from the late 50's and early 60's.3

Stylistically, though, it’s not too far off the mark. Judging by the sound of these cuts, it seems like Milian began working in television and film as a session musician. Though some of it is bland and arouses little more than an attraction to kitsch value, Ashkhabad Girl also features some of Milian’s most exciting and interesting work. The noir/thriller quality of Milian’s vibraphone playing is more apparent than ever; it’s almost tempting to label this music as crime jazz, and it certainly shares much in common with the soundtrack to a spy film. Most interesting are the new possibilities opened up for the group by studio manipulation. “Going Out on the Street” is a bizarre musique concrete piece, with the music alternating between orchestral balladry, jazz-funk, and field noises such as car horns. “Dialogue at Midnight” uses a vocal sample as its point of entry – various people saying “Hello” until the word mutates into the form of a desperate question – while Milian directs the sonic content from easy listening to a hardboiled chase theme. Tunes like “Luciano Coxcomb”, “Jerks at the Audience”, and “Pranks of the Lawyer” find Milian at his most devilish, full of blaring horns, elastic basslines and straightforward drumming. The vibes hover about the whole ensemble with color and candor, never saying more than they need to. “Candelabra” again finds Milian playing with European folk forms, but the exoticism of “Ashkhabad Girl” seems to be more successful, with the leader abandoning his vibes for Eastern percussion effects and a toy zither. The compilation seems to sum up the Milian aesthetic very well: ear-catching themes, some fine soloing, a dash of kitsch and a consistent desire to push the boundaries of jazz to unfamiliar territory.

Jerzy Milian - Pranks of the Lawyer.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.2 mb)
Jerzy Milian - Ashkhabad Girl (Obuh, 2003; 57 mb)

1 Liner notes to Bazaar, http://www.polishjazz.com/pjs/17.htm.
2 Ibid.
3 Obuh Records press release, http://strangefortune.com/cd.php?id=2356.

An unfortunate twist

2007-08-01T13:58:00.000-04:00

Divshare has successfully deleted ALL of my uploads, apparently due to the harrassment of FMP's Jost Gebers, who not only refuses to let out of print FMP records circulate among fans but also refuses to provide non-profit, independent radio stations with FMP material to play on the air. Why someone would want to put such a stranglehold on what can only be positive, healthy exposure for their artists' music is beyond me. Here's the e-mail I received last week.

Hi again!

Stop posting FMP releases both, inprint and oop!!

and again too your FMP link is wrong.

Correct is the following URL:

http://www.fmp-label.de

Regards Jost Gebers

It's upsetting to know that the person who manages one of the best and most exciting labels for improvised music has nothing better to do than troll the internet all day, and whose communication skills betray a depressingly bureaucratic personality. In short: what a fucking rotter.

I'll start reuploading things as soon as I can, working my way backwards from the last post. I discourage anyone else from using Divshare in the future, despite its nifty download-counter; you'll probably end up regretting the choice.

Pyrolator - Inland

2007-07-31T13:42:00.001-04:00

The Weird World of Der Pyrolator

Inland (Ata Tak, 1979)

Pyrolator, sometimes referred to as Der Pyrolator, was the solo project of Kurt Dahlke, member of groundbreaking German new wave groups D.A.F. and Der Plan as well as the founder of (and in-house producer for) Ata Tak Records. I’m almost embarrassed to write this, considering my scant knowledge of the Neue Deutsche Welle and of German culture in general. The music is pretty new to me, so maybe it sounds stranger than it should. The gurus over at Mutant Sounds can feel free to correct me on any historical/stylistic faux pas. (And if you don’t read their blog, you should.)

Pyrolator’s Inland (1979) was the second release on the fledgling Ata Tak label, following the first D.A.F. lp and preceding Der Plan’s seminal Geri Reig (Ata Tak, 1980). Ata Tak’s website suggests that Inland was “a protest album,” following that claim with a question mark. It’s a valid query; Inland is entirely instrumental, so the only political conclusions one could draw would have to be from sound content alone. But, the website elaborates,

[Pyrolator’s] musical experimentation was eclipsed by feelings of protest -- the result of strongly politicized times, the 'Deutsche Herbst' (peak of post war anti-establishment activity in Germany) and its resulting build up of arms as well as an increasing conservatism in the liberal-socialist coalition in Germany, highlighting in NATO's resolution to station fire power in Germany, the failed atomic policy with symbolic incidents at Gorleben and Harrisburg as well as increasing worries about an atomic war.

For me, Inland raises the question of whether or not any work from a tumultuous period in history is responsible for presenting an allegory of its era. The album is full of abrasive, uncompromising electronic soundscapes and computerized squelching that would sit comfortably alongside the modern noise experiments of Kevin Drumm and Merzbow. The series of titular tracks are the most concentrated in their assault, with “Inland 1” combining intense high-end tones with scrambled feedback and quasi-industrial rhythms. “Inland 3” lays shifting synth lines over a chainsaw-like drone, while “Inland 4” and “Bärenstrasse” take distorted vocal samples and pound the fuck out of them with noisy squall and rhythms so slow they would make Michael Gira wilt. The opener, “Minimal Tape 1/2.3”, is equally terrifying, its dense electronic mixture interrupted at crucial moments by screeching, guitar-based punctuations.

Inland's dark side isn’t without its counterpoint, however; there are plenty of tracks rooted in post-Suicide dance music, using infectious analog rhythms on “Danger Cruising”, “Minimal Tape 3/7.2”, and “Have a Good Ride”. There are also moments of ambience, whether they be serene (the sustained tones of “Minimal Tape 1/8”) or unnerving (“Nordatlantik” and its vampire organ swirling against the voices of young children). Overall, Inland displays the kind of emotional range one sees in a Fassbinder film from the same era: a paranoid reverie with escapist diversions from the terror of everyday life. The album begins with a field recording of crowd murmur, the voices then cut off abruptly and replaced with Dahlke’s harsh textures. It’s as if Pyrolator is crashing a party, serving up cold electronics in place of the human warmth we’ve lost; even his most danceable tunes sound curiously mechanical, inhuman, as if saying: “Go on and play, but you’ve got problems ahead.” Inland helped set the tone for much of the 1980s, not only for electronic music (ie., the similar work of Asmus Tietchens) but for a whole generation of angst-fueled noisemakers. Someone had to fill the void left by free jazz ten years earlier, showing that as soon as one spirit weakens, an equally virulent one will follow.

Pyrolator - It Always Rains in Wuppertal.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.6 mb)
[I have removed the link to Inland at the polite request of Kurt "Pyrolator" Dahlke. The album is available from Forced Exposure or directly from Ata Tak Records.]

The rerelease of Inland contains six extra tracks, each of them a gem.

Peter Zummo - Zummo With an X

2007-07-30T00:06:00.000-04:00

I'll be honest. I just don't like Arthur Russell's music. Whenever my friends put on World of Echo, I find it uninteresting and often grating. His amplified cello and reverb-drenched vocals never strike an emotional chord with me, and I've outgrown the days since I forced myself to like things based on reputation and prestige alone. Understandably, then, it's annoying that the only reason anyone knows about Peter Zummo's music is because Arthur Russell often performed as his cellist. But it's hard to stay angry at the downtown-NY musician when one hears his beautiful playing on Zummo With an X (New World, 2006), a recent reissue of the rare 1985 lp. Featuring twelve of Zummo's compositions dating from 1980 and 1985, Zummo With an X is sure to be a delight both for those interested in this obscure composer and for those simply hunting down every last scrape left behind by the late cellist.

Zummo, born in 1948, is a Wesleyan graduate who relocated to New York City in 1975. A trumpet player who accidentally took up trombone in order to give lessons at a prep school, Zummo eagerly explored the new instrument and the idiosyncratic possibilities its slide and mouthpiece opened up for him. He began listening assiduously to greats like James Fulkerson and took up studies with free jazz legend Roswell Rudd, who taught Zummo "chromatic improvisation" and "[trombone] cyclonics", as well as "improvising without moving the slide," which would greatly influence Zummo's work with circular breathing and droning forms of composition. "His playing flipped me out," says Zummo. "[He taught me] to make as much music as you can within a severe restriction."1

This is the basis of the Instruments suite (1980) presented here, which uses Zummo on trombone, Russell on cello, Rik Albani on trumpet, and Bill Ruyle on marimba. The idea is fairly straightforward: set phrases within various scale systems are played by the performers at speeds of their own choosing, in free, unmetered time. Far from being a concept that's more fun on paper than heard through speakers, Instruments offers the opposite. It takes a very bland concept that only excites when fed through the individual personalities of the players. Zummo's tone is warm and playful on tunes like "Whole Steps", "Sevenths", and "Chromatic Fourths", melancholy and wistful on "Unisons" and "Four Notes, Large Intervals". The simple lines that phase in and out of each other form beautifully interlocking patterns, reminding the listener that the music you play isn't quite as important as how you play it.

The compositions that make up Lateral Pass (1985) were scored for a dance by Trisha Brown with a set by Nancy Graves that featured "neon-ish blobs that came down from above in different areas." This element of futuristic gaudiness informs the four songs in this brief suite, beginning with Russell's ominous cello and vocals working in unison, before Zummo ghosts in with his Harmon mute to create a wavery, synth-like backdrop. "Slow Heart" involves complex interweavings between Zummo's simple, throaty riffs and the ethereal accordion of Guy Klucevsek, Mustafa Ahmed's shimmery percussion, Russell's bowed phrases, and Ruyle's marimba; it's a case of the sum being more than its parts, as the melody seems to be spaced over a wide range of instruments, each contributing its small part to the larger tapestry. "Song VI" begins with a rather alien-sounding brass effect from Zummo, a distorted oscillation that gives the rest of the ensemble a sense of urgency heard in their surging, stuttering playing. The entire suite could be the soundtrack to a noir film set on Mars, or an alternate score to Jean-Luc Godard's Alphaville.

Lateral Pass concludes with the composition "Song IV", heard for the first time in a previously unreleased quartet version with Zummo, Russell, Ruyle and Klucevsek stretching out for fifteen blissful minutes. Ruyle lays down a steady tabla beat while Russell's voice floats by and Zummo spits out hip trombone lines, Rudd-style -- "This coolness," as Zummo dubs it. Its best moments feature the trombone, marimba and accordion dancing around each other in repetitive, semi-improvised phrases, complementing one member's fiery lick with an appropriate drone or a new rhythmic layer. It finishes beautifully with slow, extended surges of accordion and trombone multiphonics played together. The better-known trio version of "Song IV", which pares the group down to Zummo, Russell and Ruyle, is very similar but achieves a warmth not quite present on the first take, with Russell filling the space with scraped phrases and electronically treated vocals. Those small, beautifully circular trombone melodies, the uncanny effect produced by the tabla/cello rhythm section (blurring together into one sonorous whole), continually stripped to its bare essentials by the piece's end... Zummo's music takes you out of the everyday into a world where notes float by in free time and magical connections are made to create oddly brilliant tone colorings. Because, says the composer, "ultimate discontinuity is not possible within the body. The music comes out organic and will have a flow, no matter what."

1 All quotes taken from an August 24, 2006 interview with Peter Zummo included in "Blue" Gene Tyranny's liner notes to Zummo With an X (available as a PDF on New World's website).

Peter Zummo - Song VI.mp3 (192 kbps, 6.4 mb)
Peter Zummo - Zummo With an X (New World, 2006; 87.6 mb)

Brotzmann: Live in Berlin '71 & Guts

2007-07-25T17:01:00.000-04:00

Live in Berlin '71 (FMP, 1991)

For all their blowing and bellowing, the Peter Brötzmann Trio of the 1970s was a band of great sophistication. No recording shows this better than Live in Berlin ’71, a concert released by FMP and now sadly out of print. The trio of Brötzmann on reeds, Fred Van Hove on piano, and Han Bennink on drums was aided by the multiphonic trombone of one Albert Mangelsdorff. What does that mean? An absolutely killer ensemble that pushed the trademark Brötzmann sound to unprecedented heights, somehow more sensitive yet with just as much energy. As Steve Lake wrote of the seminal Brötzmann work, 1968’s Machine Gun, it was all “gargantuan bloody noise, that landslide of sound… Van Hove… resort[s] to impotent Taylorisms and undefined thrashing. He wouldn’t get caught that way today.”1 And it’s true of the rest of the group. The raw passion and lion’s roars of the Brötzmann octet would lose favor in the coming years to the smaller configurations of the quartet, the trio, and even the duet. Van Hove serves as a useful figure with which to mark the turning point. Speaking of the 1971 concert, Wolfgang Burde has said: “The scene was as yet comparatively unrestrained, the musicians’ desire to scream still uncurbed… What VAN HOVE, however, dared to produce on the piano at the beginning of the 70s - vivacious études reminiscent of Chopin or Liszt’s escapades on the pianoforte… had little more in common with the coarse and colourful cluster technique.”2

Han Bennink, too, would surprise his audience with an array of new percussive devices for this concert, including "homemade junk." It is not Bennink’s drumset that bookends “Elements”, but a beautifully melodic African rhythm instrument akin to a balafon. When Brötzmann’s tenor enters, it isn’t with a scream, but with a soulful, anthemic line gradually increasing and decreasing in volume. Mangelsdorff complements with spluttering trombone and Van Hove remains somewhere in the background with his deranged-classical piano playing. And, soon enough, Bennink returns with his traditionally clamorous kit. The unburdened fury doesn’t last long, though – it soon gives way to a duet between Brötzmann and Van Hove, then a duet between Mangelsdorff and the pianist; Bennink swells behind them, sometimes playing a furious, repetitive backbeat, at others resorting to cymbals, bells, and other assorted percussive trinkets, often dropping out of the mix altogether. It’s one of the most amazing things these men would ever produce in their long and colorful careers. Not a note is wasted, every sound being pushed to its limits with vocal effects and swollen vibrato. The playing is no longer what Lake referred to as “like adverts [saying:] ‘This is what I do. What do you think?’”3 Now it’s more like a desperate plea to be heard: a pitiful, post-’68 howl. We’re not as young as we were, but still angry.

The disc is full of similar excursions into droning, mournful group interplay, with everyone listening to each other and joining in at just the appropriate moment. One can imagine the play of looks between Van Hove and Bennink as they egg each other on during “Wenn Mein Schätzchen Auf Die Pauke Haut”, cajoling each other call-and-response style into flurries of notes, then growing denser, swelling together until Brötzmann interrupts their conversation with a steadily rising whine that seems to say, “Hey, me too…” The music that spans these two discs is so incredibly rich and intricate, filled with conversations between friends that's warm and insular but never alienating. Fury, resignation, wisdom. You can hear Europe calling beyond its narrowing shores.

1 Steve Lake, liner notes to Machine Gun, originally published in The Wire (March, 1985).
2 Wolfgang Burde, liner notes to Live in Berlin '71.
3 Lake, ibid.

[These files have been removed at the request of FMP Records. Fire up your Soulseek engines...]

Recorded live during the Free Music Market by Eberhard Sengpiel on 28 August 1971 [Disc 1] and 29 August 1971 at the Quartier Latin in Berlin [Disc 2]; produced by Jost Gebers.

Cover by Brötzm.

Originally released as three LPs in 1971: FMP 0030: Elements; FMP 0040: The end; and FMP 0050: Couscouss de la Mauresque. Also released as a specially boxed, numbered set with a folded drawing by Peter Brötzmann.

Guts (Okkadisc, 2007)

Guts is part of the series of new Brötzmann releases put out this year by Okkadisk. The group that recorded Tales Out of Time (Hat, 2002) – Brötzmann, Joe McPhee, Kent Kessler, and Michael Zerang, all extracted from Brötzmann’s Chicago Tentet – is back with a new set of tunes recorded live in 2005 at Chicago’s Empty Bottle. It’s dedicated to the memory of sound engineer Malachi Ritscher (1954-2006), who described Brötzmann’s performance thus: “Subtlety, intelligence and generosity, yet for all of that it has balls.”1

It’s an apt description, of course, perhaps with a nod to the classic trio lp Balls (FMP, 1970). Brötzmann’s style of playing hasn’t changed that much in four decades, but the sound of his ensemble has. Michael Zerang and Kent Kessler provide far more coherent rhythmic lines for the saxophonist than the insanity of Bennink. Judging by his collaborations with Hamid Drake and William Parker in their Die Like a Dog Quartet, Brötzmann seems to prefer an element of groove to his music these days. The first, titular track opens with an amazing Zerang drum solo before Kessler’s bass and the twin tenors of Brötzmann and McPhee kick in. Brötzmann emerges to take the first solo with his repetitive, honking style, still fresh after all these years. He’s overtaken by McPhee at a critical moment, whose own solo evolves from crisp to throaty in tone, as if the man is screaming through his horn. At times the two duet in unaccompanied, interlocking lines: one gruff and abrasive, the other lyrical with extended tones -- a formula familiar from Tales Out of Time. The two continue to mimic each other’s phrases, spiraling into the air to the beat of Zerang’s Drake-like playing, always searching but still anchored in the funky drops of his wooden block and cowbell. The piece’s conclusion recalls the good old days, as Herr Brötz hits the highest and lowest points on his main axe, bringing everything around him to a screeching halt.

“Rising Spirits” is double the length of “Guts” and a bit more exploratory. It begins with delicately bowed notes from Kessler’s double bass and Brötzmann in the background on tarogato (a Hungarian instrument similar to a clarinet), recreating the sound of a string instrument with incredible conviction. It’s a bizarre, alienating effect to get things rolling with, but it keeps the music from feeling formulaic. We then have a duet where Brötzmann’s alto begins to mimic McPhee’s trumpet until the two have fully explored their altissimo range. The emphasis is really on the horns; it would be great to see Kessler and Zerang take more risks rather than just provide the rhythmic groundwork, but it does take a strong personality to stand up to these powerful reeds. It’s a less coherent performance than “Guts” and ultimately less satisfying, though it does have its sublime moments, like the return of the major motifs from McPhee’s “Stone Poem No. 1” off of Tales; the two swell together forcefully above Kessler’s bowed bass and Zerang’s cymbals. It’s amazing the way that the two lead soloists wind their way around each other with almost telepathic accuracy; I never realized how remarkably similar they’d become as players until I listened to this record.

At this point, Guts isn’t exactly a new direction in Brötzmann's career. But it shows him still hitting his stride, aided by McPhee’s more melancholy approach to songwriting. And though it lacks the cartoonish, absurdist commentary from the mid-70s peanut gallery of Van Hove and Bennink, it compensates with monster grooves and the closest thing to a Brötzmann ballad. Fine stuff, and worth the price of admission for the title track alone.

1 Malachi Ritscher, quoted in liner notes to Guts.

Peter Brötzmann - Guts (Okkadisc, 2007)
79.98 mb

Crime Jazz: Ellington & Komeda

2007-07-25T00:50:00.000-04:00

Smoke is all there’s been in my life.

Part 2: Once a debtor, now I play that sweet sweet tenor

Ellington

Otto Preminger was instrumental in the creation of “crime jazz”. His films of the late 1950s, city dramas with a touch of noir, provided the perfect setting for modern jazz’s introduction into the world of celluloid. The director obviously loved the music; his films featured jazz because his main characters loved jazz, and his characters loved jazz because they couldn’t help but reflect their creator in some way. Frank Sinatra in The Man With the Golden Arm (1955) wants to abandon his life as an addict and a cardshark to start anew as a jazz drummer; Jimmy Stewart in Anatomy of a Murder (1959) is a straight-laced defense attorney with a predilection for jazz that most of his peers find odd, considering his race and class. And while Elmer Bernstein’s score for the former picture provided enough bluster to create a new kind of film music, Duke Ellington was recruited for Anatomy of a Murder to temper the fire with his trademark elegance.

The debate as to whether or not this is a good or appropriate soundtrack is ongoing. The question of if this is even good Ellington is also unsettled. Nevertheless, I think it’s quite strong and an important link in the short-lived history of crime jazz. It features some of the Duke’s most devoted sidemen: Cat Anderson and Clark Terry on trumpet, Paul Gonsalves, Jimmy Hamilton, and Johnny Hodges on reeds, and Billy Strayhorn on piano; Duke is here strictly as composer and conductor. Of course, everyone knows the theme song: the bluesy, almost lurid horn lines that lead in before bursting into a full band arrangement, with driving sax riffs and punchy brass interpolations, all backing a beautifully muted trumpet and Hamilton’s knotty clarinet solo. The piece begins with a bang but ends with a whisper, as Strayhorn coolly plays his piano until fadeout. In an interview included on the 1999 reissue, Ellington says of the title theme: “It’s ornamental… and it’s real colloquial, homespun, folksy, and, I should say, gutbucket.”

Surprisingly, then, most of Anatomy’s soundtrack is far more subdued, showcasing some of Ellington’s most sensuous writing. “Flirtbird” bristles with sexual energy, a mid-tempo tune with just enough swing to pick your girl up from her chair around three in the morning for one last dance; the brief climax, filled with sweet tenor playing and insistent piano chords, seems to connote a romantic/bedroom victory. Cuts like “Way Early Subtone”, “Grace Valse”, “Polly” and “Low Key Lightly” continue to explore the gentler side of Ellington with voluptuous group passages and lazy rhythms, beautifully weaving tones and subtle counterpoint. Even the most rollicking moments give way to balladeering, as on the closing “Upper and Outest”, which begins with a repetition of the main theme and ends with dispersed trumpet peals played at the very limits of the upper register. Most of the fast-paced numbers come out of narrative necessity, as Duke plays a roadhouse owner named Pie Eye whose group, The Pie Eye Five, provide dance music for Stewart and his colleagues. If not for that, Ellington’s score may as well have been the soundtrack for a New York lullaby.

Duke Ellington - Anatomy of a Murder (Columbia, 1959/1999; 192 kbps, 102.1 mb)

Komeda

Another pioneering work came a few years later with the release of Roman Polanski’s Knife in the Water (1962), scored by Polish jazz maverick and veteran film composer Krzysztof Komeda. The soundtrack featured an early version of the classic Komeda Quartet, comprised of Komeda on piano, Swedish player Bernt Rosengren on tenor sax, Roman Dylag on bass, and drummer Leszek Dudziak. It was the first Polish film to utilize jazz and came to herald a fruitful era for the music in Poland. A tale of sexual jealousy and psychological terror, Knife in the Water was already fairly scandalous based on content alone. With jazz still a symbol of Western-bourgeois decadence in the Eastern bloc, Komeda’s music only helped drive the nail into the coffin. The film was promptly banned by Polish censors upon its release.

The Complete Recordings of Krzysztof Komeda, Vol. 13 -- part of the massive 19-disc set released in 1998 by Polonia Records (now out of print) -- is one of the many installments dedicated to Komeda’s film music and includes his scores for Knife in the Water as well as the Polanski feature Matnia/Cul-de-Sac (1966). (While Polanski moved to France and later to America, Komeda would stay in Poland to keep its nascent jazz scene thriving.) The obvious highlights of this disc are the studio sessions for Knife. “Typish Jazz” begins things with a solid horn line from Rosengren, sounding very much like Coltrane’s work of the late ‘50s. Rosengren has always had a big, fat tone like Dexter Gordon’s, a sensitive player schooled in the bop tradition and equally comfortable in both straightahead and free settings. Komeda’s piano is eminently cool and intelligent, as always. “Crazy Girl” would become one of the composer’s most beloved tunes, with its modal, Herbie Hancock-like phrasings backing some more beautiful tenor flights from Rosengren; but the theme, with its bass notes and fluttering saxophone, lends the piece an ominous character well-tailored to the film. “Ballad for Bernt” is another classic, even more memorable as it’s the song that plays during the credit sequence: we see trees reflected in the windshield of a moving car, obscuring the passengers’ faces from vision… The song has the quality of mist, with soft brush work by Dudziak and gentle playing by Komeda – a shapeshifter, as he now sounds more akin to Bill Evans. We’re already under his spell long before Rosengren enters midway with a repetition of the haunting, melancholy theme. “Chery”, on the other hand, is full of swagger, with the saxophonist’s passionate bursts of eighth notes buoyed up by the powerful rhythm section, leading this all-too-brief suite to its spectacular conclusion.

Unlike American crime jazz, which is mostly derived from big band swing, Komeda’s work springs from the later innovations of Miles Davis, who did his own version of jazz-noir for Louis Malle’s Ascenseur Pour L’echefaud/Elevator to the Gallows (1958). Ellington’s work for Preminger helped meld the lyrical with the fiery, the subdued to the sordid, providing a bridge from Bernstein to the cooler stylings of Komeda; the music’s focus changed from narrative commentary to the creation of a distinct atmosphere, loosening up the strictures of film music with improvised passages. Unfortunately, none of the other material on this disc is quite up to the heights of Knife in the Water, with the exception of “Roman II”, though I’m not sure what film it’s from. It’s the track that comes closest to the ferocity of Komeda’s classic Astigmatic (Polskie Nagrania, 1965), with fantastic solos by Komeda, trumpeter Tomasz Stanko, saxophonist Michal Urbaniak, and bassist Jacek Ostaszewski, periodically bookended by an angular, hardboiled theme and Czeslaw Bartkowski’s insistent drums. The first five tracks, culled from various films (I assume), are mostly forgettable with the exception of “Alea”, which features nice interplay between Komeda’s piano and Andrzej Zielinski’s drums as well as an interesting use of space between phrases. The six tracks that make up Matnia feature a catchy theme that appears in various guises (bass on “Pushing the Car”, vibes on “Dickey’s Death”), but are mostly too kitschy to enjoy. Stick with Knife; you won’t regret it. You’d better not.

Krzysztof Komeda - The Complete Recordings, Vol. 13 (Polonia, 1998; 246 kbps VBR, 81.5 mb)

Related posts: Crime Jazz, Part 1: Bernstein & Mancini

Keenan Lawler - Music for the Bluegrass States

2007-07-22T01:49:00.000-04:00

There's no denying John Fahey's impact on the history of American folk music and on much of America's avant-garde as well; any attempt to combine experimentation with traditional idioms inevitably conjures up his looming figure. 2006 saw a resurgence of interest in Fahey, both the enigmatic folk hero and the cavalier visionary. The release of Mark Fosson's Lost Takoma Sessions (Drag City, 1977/2006) displayed the kind of music one of Fahey's vintage acolytes had produced in his wake, replicating the master's sensitive, melodically complex guitar stylings with loving perfection. In another vein, last year also saw the release of Keenan Lawler's Music for the Bluegrass States (Table of the Elements, 2006). The Louisville-born guitarist highlights a different aspect of Fahey's ouevre: the late Fahey of Womblife, The Epiphany of Glenn Jones, City of Refuge, Red Cross, the radical Fahey in communication with concurrent strains of minimalism, electronics and new ethnic music. While Fosson's music is highly enjoyable -- exuberant, even -- it mostly awakens feelings of nostalgia. More interesting is Lawler's version of the man's legacy, because it feels like a continuation of something that's still fresh and vital.

The title of Music for the Bluegrass States derives from Lawler's choice of instrument: the resonator guitar. Originally designed "to be louder than conventional acoustic guitars which were overwhelmed by horns and percussion instruments in dance orchestras," the resonator guitar is a distinctly American invention, mainly known for its use in bluegrass, folk and blues.1 Lawler has commented on the unavoidability of the guitar's association with these forms and the impossibility of ever divorcing it from its origins.2 But as opposed to his debut long-player, the self-released Ghost of a Plane of Air (Konstant, 1999), Music for the Bluegrass States is focused less on the kind of tradition-free, atonal improv inspired by Derek Bailey and more on the specific gestures of Southern musical vernacular. What emerges from this dense criss-crossing of eras and styles is an album at once raw and accomplished, sublime and haunting, with one eye to the past and one toward the future. The beauty of a burning building is nothing without the structure's discernible outline, somehow rising along with the flames.

This new venture distils the array of extended techniques and erratic stylistic shifts Lawler presented on Ghost into a coherent exploration of raga- and drone-influenced folk; above all, this is music that tells a story over its hour-long running time. It's a tale of the resonator guitar's evolution from the annals of American folk forms to the horizons beyond -- to the hypnotic forms of the East, to the atonality of European improvisation, to the odd harmonics of African music -- absorbing foreign bodies into its pear-shaped frame and adapting to them in an act of autopoesis. In other words: nothing enters Lawler's vocabulary without somehow being changed. "That Train Has Already Left the Station" begins with fragmentary, dissonant chords that make their source unmistakeable. The resonator guitar's amazing capacity for natural reverb is one of Lawler's main points of entry, making every sound hover in the air for ages before vanishing. The ghosted notes seem to compete with those being produced in real-time, with Lawler's finger-picking eventually making the two hard to distinguish. "Wall Climbing Spirit" and "1930" continue in this vein, introducing elements of more traditional folk playing that create an alternating mood of jubilance and sadness -- another of Fahey's greatest talents.

"The Air on Mars is Hard to Breathe, We'll Just Have to Stay in Louisville" is deliberately placed at the album's center as a kind of bridge. At twenty minutes long, it forms the core of Music for the Bluegrass States and sums up the album's aesthetic proposals in miniature. People often reference Tony Conrad when writing about Lawler, but I hear more of Ellen Fullman here, the track's delicately bowed phrases recalling her Long String Instrument's complex harmonic overtones. Surprisingly, however, Lawler plays it fairly straight for the majority of the track's duration, creating dense networks of detuned guitar bows, scrapes, chugs, strums and plucks. Pieces of melody emerge bit by bit from Lawler's sonic weft -- hard to believe this is all produced by one man, as it sounds more like a string quartet on tracks like this and the following "One of These Days". "A Universal Rose" comes the closest to stomping, with the vibrant chords from its fractured theme always resurfacing from the din below. The last three tracks form a trio of ballads that bring the album to its solemn farewell, the understated "Our Prayer". Ayler is there alright, even if this wasn't a cover of the tenorman's classic; you can hear his spirit in those mournful, funereal notes that bend and waver with vocal-like clarity. But let's be done with comparisons; as Lawler shows, it's far better to rewrite the dictionary than fumble for definitions.

1 Wikipedia, "Resonator guitar."
2 Keenan Lawler, "National Steel Guitarist," interview with John Berndt (5/30/01).

Keenan Lawler - A Universal Rose.mp3 (320 kbps, 21.2 mb)
Music for the Bluegrass States (Table of the Elements, 2006)
140.7 mb

Ludus – The Visit/The Seduction

2007-07-19T02:31:00.000-04:00

Begun in 1978 by Manchester mainstay Linder Sterling (real name Linda Mulvey) -- a feminist collage artist in the vein of Hannah Höch -- and future Fall guitarist Arthur Kadmon, Ludus are one of the more obscure bands to emerge from the nascent scene gravitating around Factory Records. A mix of post-punk, jazz, and prog-inflected improvisations, Ludus never fit very comfortably into any crowd. Too weird for the average listener but not severe enough to qualify as avant-garde, no one really knew what to do with Ludus, causing them to follow a productive but turbulent path in their five-year lifespan. The band's name, Latin for "play", implied their dedication to experimentation. It also brought with it a certain violence, as Linder’s gender politics and stage presence was bent on destroying all heteronormative expectations -- throwing cultural values and meanings back into "play" in the Situationist sense of the word. The tensions came to a head during a 1982 concert at the Hacienda, wherein Ludus' management team of Cath Carroll and Liz Naylor decorated the club's tables with stained tampons and cigarettes, and lead vocalist/staunch vegetarian Linder wore a black dress strung up with chicken entrails that hid a huge black dildo underneath. By 1983, under the strain of failing record sales and tensions between Linder and Kadmon's replacement, Ian Devine, the band parted ways and wouldn't significantly communicate again for the next ten years. 1

The Visit/The Seduction (LTM, 2002) is a reissue-compilation of Ludus’ first two important works, the 1980 ep The Visit and the 1982 full-length The Seduction, both released by New Hormones Records. By 1979, the quartet had been finalized to Linder on vocals, Devine on guitar, Willie Trotter on bass, and drummer Philip “Toby” Tomanov, and the four eagerly set to work on recording their debut release. The Visit was a hit, garnering rave reviews and selling 3,500 copies -- the most success the band would ever have. The high-pitched vocal whine of Linder, the angular, churning guitar of Devine, and the stop-start rhythms produced by Trotter and Tomanov could have little prepared listeners for the avant-gardism of The Seduction, but there are hints of it here, especially on the last song, “I Can’t Swim I Have Nightmares”. It begins conventionally enough with a pounding backbeat, popping bass and sharp guitar chords, but quickly drifts into strange improvisatory realms filled with cavernous drums and squealing saxophones, as well as Linder’s haunting, reverb-drenched yelps. It takes the track a while to get back to the ep’s signature sound, climaxing with the repeated cry that “I’m in control!”

In control of what? It’s unclear, but one can assume that Linder isn’t referring to the music. The chaotic opening of “Mother’s Day” which predates The Seduction points to this new direction in Ludus’ music, teetering on the thin line between open structure and unlistenable noise. At two minutes, it’s something of a mini manifesto, filled with irregular rhythms, avant-prog noodling and harsh, tribal screams. It gives way to the quirky “Anatomy is Not Destiny”, a samba-based jam with an extended instrumental interlude, with two improvising and slightly aimless guitars. The title, obviously referring to Linder's radical feminism, could also apply to the group’s sound: that the anatomy of guitar, bass and drums doesn’t necessarily need to add up to another stale indie record. Tomanov had left the band, replaced by drummer Graham Dowdall, and the music definitely reflects his looser, freeform style. Longer tracks like “Unveiled (A Woman’s Travelogue)” and “Herstory” open up plenty of space for spontaneity and unconventional interactions between the already jagged melodies, falling somewhere between The Raincoats and Henry Cow. Devine fills his playing with Frith-like scrapes and echoes, often bringing the music to an anarchic zero hour before suddenly reintroducing the theme at the drop of a hat. At the same time, songs like “My Cherry is in Sherry” and “The Escape Artist” are perfectly crafted pop gems. Like the music, Linder’s lyrics are at turns ferocious and lyrical, quirky and evocative; they capture the inner life and terrifying position occupied by women in the modern world. The effect of her vocal theatrics, as often noted by friend and admirer Stephen Patrick Morrissey, cannot be understated when estimating the importance of Ludus’ music. The aesthetic bastard child of twin movements whose goals were perhaps closer than one would think, Ludus’ music threw a wrench into the sausage-fest of Manchester and dared its listeners, in the words of “See the Keyhole”: “Would you like to unlock me? Won’t you try to unlock me?” Linder provides her own answer: “I have one of many voices, many as I change my tune.”

1 James Nice, "Ludus: Genius and Damage" (2002/2007)

Ludus - Sightseeing.mp3 (192 kbps, 5.6 mb)
Ludus - The Visit/The Seduction (LTM, 2002)

A note on the release from Allmusic:

The Visit was first released as a 12" EP in 1980; later reissues expanded the set to full length with the addition of songs from the subsequent "My Cherry Is In Sherry" 7" and the Pickpocket cassette, but this set cuts it back to the original four tracks... instead of the extended six-minute version of "My Cherry Is In Sherry" on the original double-EP release of The Seduction, the original 2:38 single mix is here. In the other direction, "Herstory" is presented in a previously unreleased extended version. Also, just to be confusing, the set also throws on two bonus tracks somewhere in the middle, the single sides "Mother's Hour" and the Brazilian-influenced "Anatomy is Not Destiny."

More of Linder's artwork can be found here.

Pauline Oliveros - Lion's Eye/Lion's Tale

2007-07-17T03:17:00.001-04:00

It's almost impossible to describe this music. Imagine 5,000 spiralling stars in an elaborately choreographed dance, hurling themselves into various constellations for brief moments before exploding again into 5,000 more tiny splinters that somehow regroup in the space between breaths. Imagine the aural equivelent to one of Norman McLaren's animations, or the capricious patterns produced by a kaleidoscope: fabulously chaotic but organized by an invisible, higher design. Like a Richard Serra sculpture, the crystalline forms derive from a being so immense that its entire structure can never be grasped from one vantage point. Like an old Hollywood film, the beautiful moments vanish as soon as they appear, eclipsed as they are by a velocity that pushes them to ever-greater heights. Except the narrative here is unknown or incomprehensible -- like the crushing weight of time itself.

I first heard "Lion's Tale" during Tony Coulter's show on WFMU a number of months ago, and I've been fascinated with it ever since. The striking mixture of gamelan music with scrambled digital noise immediately caught my ear, but I was surprised to find out that it was a piece by Pauline Oliveros, who I had generally known only for her starkly minimal, drone-oriented pieces -- ie, The Roots of the Moment (Hat, 1988). This music was so frantically busy and so lush that I wasn't sure how to reconcile it with the composer's other work. After tracing it to the new (at the time) release Lion's Eye/Lion's Tale (Deep Listening, 2006), I was even more surprised to find out that it was Pauline's least-known work and that no reviews of it seemed to exist online. How could music this lovely, this magical, this intoxicating go for so long without reaching the audience it deserved? I was baffled. Unpopularity with listeners also equals online scarcity, so, broke as I was during the school year, I had to content myself with the memories I had of "Lion's Tale" and with WFMU's digital archive.

Recently, however, I managed to land a copy of this delicacy, and "Lion's Tale" is only half the story! It's derived from the fourty-five minute "Lion's Eye", which was

commissioned in 1985 by Barbara Benary for Gamelan Son of Lion. Lion's Eye for Synthesizer was commissioned concurrently by Neil Rolnick for iEAR Presents at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Both versions were performed in 1985. The intention to combine both pieces in order to expand the tempo range of the Gamelan was first realized in May of 1989 in performances by the Berkeley Gamelan in Oakland and San Francisco, California under the direction of Daniel Schmidt.

Full of short, repetitive phrases that weave and interlock, it's nearly impossible to tell which parts of "Lion's Eye" are performed live and which are pre-recorded, except for those segments played with a speed obviously beyond that of human hands. The piece shares with traditional gamelan music its complex rhythmic structures, but substitutes its sense of build and climax for perpetual motion. The gamelan ensemble sounds surprisingly comfortable playing alongside its digital counterpart; not sparring, but accepting each other's strengths and weaknesses: the synthesizer providing dazzling runs of notes, the performers adding beautiful acoustic tones and reverberations. "Lion's Tale" (1989) evolved out of Oliveros' programming for "Lion's Eye", which is made up of numerous "polymetrical, polyrhythmical patterns" that are sometimes run "at speeds ranging up to 1800 per minute" (!) The result is an awe-inspiring work filled with abrupt tempo changes and contrapuntal, melodic rhythms. An element of spontaneity is added by the fact that "'Lion's Tale' may be created in a new version every time the program is run." The knowledge that what we are hearing is only one sonic possibility among millions is curiously evocative of Borges' garden of forking paths. Spin the wheel, see where it lands...

Pauline Oliveros - Lion's Eye/Lion's Tale (Deep Listening, 2006)
192 kbps, 59 mb

Special thanks to Panagiotis over at Eat My Art Out for sending me this gem.

People Like Us & Ergo Phizmiz - Perpetuum Mobile

2007-07-15T15:13:00.000-04:00

Perpetuum mobile (Latin), moto perpetuo (Italian), mouvement perpétuel (French), literally meaning "perpetual motion", means two distinct things:

1. pieces of music, or parts of pieces, characterised by a continuous steady stream of notes, usually at a rapid tempo
2. whole pieces, or large parts of pieces, which are to be played repeatedly, often an indefinite number of times.

Perpetuum Mobile (Soleilmoon, 2007), the latest release from UK-based sampleheads People Like Us and Ergo Phizmiz, is proving to be one of the sleeper hits of the year. Now that our hunger for plunderphonics and mashups is running in low drive, it's easy to understand how releases like this could fly under the radar. It may also have to do with the fact that Vicki Bennet, aka People Like Us, hasn't really changed her style in any dramatic way during the past sixteen years, and the 27-year old Ergo seems to be following rather faithfully in her footsteps. Nevertheless, Perpetuum Mobile is an enticing record, rich with materials and compositional nuances. Conceived as an open-source project wherein the two performers uploaded their files to a shared online space for each to edit at their leisure, Perpetuum Mobile is a fresh take on the Girl Talk-style of audio theft, in the sense that guessing what materials are sampled is more than just an interesting thing to do while driving. These are distinctly well-crafted pieces, catchy in a way that eclipses the mere recognizability of the stolen tunes. And as opposed to Girl Talk, the spectrum of popular music on display here reaches much further back than 1980; rather than cashing in on the Now, it's an attempt to revitalize the Past.

Like Christian Marclay, People Like Us and Ergo Phizmiz love to dabble in kitsch. Early popular songs, cartoons, lounge music, and cheesy Latin dance lps provide most of the building blocks. Unlike some of Marclay's music, though, the objet trouvé does not have any significant degree of autonomy here. Any sound, vocal, or melody becomes twisted into Bennett's and Phizmiz's pop songcraft, broken apart and rephrased to fit the new themes, emphasizing the hidden melodic or rhythmic gestures in any fragment of sound. Like the tradition of sampling in other mediums - most notably film - the physicality of so many pop culture items is made apparent; removed from their narrative context, a nod of the head or a turn of the arm takes on a new, often subversive significance. André Breton once said that the Surrealist way to watch a movie involved walking into the cinema mid-way through a screening, watching part of the feature, and then leaving just as unaware of the film's basic plot details. Bennett and Phizmiz hint at their devotion to the Surrealist experience with an opening track called "Ghosts Before Breakfast" after Hans Richter's 1927 film of the same title. Fantasy and non-sequiturs are the name of the game here, and Perpetuum Mobile sounds like so many interrupted conversations strung together into an indefinite stream of unintelligible yet melodious phonemes.

The highlights are numerous, but making its way into my playlist most frequently is the lengthy "Air Hostess", deftly peppered with mambo samples, repetitive piano chords, opera, organs, abbreviated screams, staccato trumpets, classic crooning, Louis Armstrong loops, and a Joseph Beuys imitation. The result is wonderfully frenetic, cluttered and incredibly catchy. While sampling isn't quite the radical technique it used to be, Bennett and Phizmiz do it with such gusto that you'll find yourself simply carried away by their postmodern devilry. "Social Dance Song" combines Hawaiian guitars with a distorted vocal snippet (sung in a Japanese falsetto?), also put to good use on its brief sequel, "High Society Dance", which translates the same melody into a detuned violin/banjo hoe-down. The lush orchestral pop of "Smiling in the Rain Suckling" comes as a surprise, with its hummed theme, bright string arrangements and Cole Porter refrain: "You could have a great career. Only one thing stops you... you're too good." "The Joy of Noise" lives up to its moniker with its furiously stuttered vocals and ratchety tuba/bike horn rhythm, while "Oh No Not Another Cha Cha" sports folky guitar riffs, jazzy interludes and Latin percussion set to charming lyrics like "Throttle him for drinking whiskey, gosh he's feeling mighty frisky!" Collectively, the tracks on Perpetuum Mobile successfully create an air of nostalgia while not sinking too deeply in retro fetishism, falling comfortably between worshipping the vintage item and still being able to dance with these dusty artifacts in new and interesting ways. Is this the future of pop music? Let's hope.

People Like Us & Ergo Phizmiz - Air Hostess.mp3 (192 kbps, 10.2 mb)
People Like Us & Ergo Phizmiz - Perpetuum Mobile (Soleilmoon, 2007)

Bengt Berger - Bitter Funeral Beer

2007-07-12T15:07:00.000-04:00

Bengt Berger’s Bitter Funeral Beer (1981) is an anomaly in the ECM catalogue. The label, normally known for promoting improvised music of the airiest, lightest, driest kind, released this early foray into ethnic-free jazz fusion. The Swedish percussionist made a startling debut with these five cuts, which were and remain a singular statement in the history of jazz. Of course, the exploration and appropriation of world music was nothing new, from Duke Ellington’s exotic suites to the Art Ensemble of Chicago’s African-based themes to the Latin-tinged piano of Jelly Roll Morton. But normally, one can listen to music marked by ethnic fusion and say, “Well, this riff over here is jazz, while this rhythm is distinctively Afro-Caribbean…” Not the case here, and perhaps this is what can truly be gained from ECM’s emphasis on musical space rather than harmony.

The title track offers an ideal example. Beginning with a wavery, incantatory moan that seems to rise ever so gently from the depths of Elsewhere, “Bitter Funeral Beer” is as plodding and dirge-like as its name implies. Anita Livstrand’s looped vocals seem to have their origin in funereal ritual, complementing a slowly emerging xylophone and the sinewy, wailing saxophone of Jorgen Adolfsson, which winds its way with bluesy vibrato through the powerful rhythmic line and possessed chants, eventually joined by Don Cherry’s mournful trumpet. Berger utilizes a kind of African xylophone called the kyo-gil, traditionally played at funerals with a tone both metallic and fuzzy. The kyo-gil carries the piece in place of a traditional rhythm section – we are without drums, piano, or even bass – and the horn players circle around each other steadily, all improvising together in disconnected but sadly lyrical phrases. The weeping soloists surround the never-faltering rhythm laid down by Berger, as if life in the community must go on despite its sentimental eruptions. Ten minutes later, the piece feels totally coherent, yet it is without a clear structure, with no place set aside for the theme or for solos -- more like a tapestry than anything else. “Thin here, thick there,” wrote Gloria Anzaldua. “It is all one.”

The next three pieces offer something of a mini-suite more conventional than the first track. This is most likely due to the addition of a real percussion section. “Blekete” does not even feature jazz elements, moving boldly with complex polyrhythms performed on talking drums and West African bells. “Chetu” reintroduces the horns in the endless repetition of a beautiful Ghanaian folk theme, with Adolfsson’s loping alto and Tord Bengtsson’s sparse, reverb-drenched guitar carrying Cherry along on a stunning trumpet solo – the man has never sounded better, positively soaring into the higher registers with grace and ease. The complex weaving of Berger’s xylophone, the intertwining horns and the axatse rattles provided by Livstrand threaten to eclipse Cherry at any moment, showing this more upbeat composition to be a not-too-distant cousin of the loose, wandering “Bitter Funeral Beer”. “Tongsi” begins with the same rhythms as “Blekete”, this time moving into similar territory as “Chetu”, the transcendent arrangements again hurling Cherry to the top of the mix while never giving up the angular, rhythmic melody line; in what could be considered the piece’s breakdown, Cherry and his counterparts communicate to each other in a call-and-response that has the density of an entire orchestra, propelled as they are by Bengtsson’s fast, unrelenting guitar line.

The epic “Darafo” sounds more like the album’s beginning, with Bengtsson’s violin making its first appearance among the horn section and the kyo-gil. Cherry takes a few short solos in the interstices of the theme, letting his pocket trumpet jump shrilly for a few moments before falling back into the ensemble. Eventually, however, the meat of the piece kicks in, with Adolfsson playing a strong saxophone riff and the band following diligently. Percussion soon reappears, getting the majority of the improvising freedom; it is the horns that surprisingly carry the piece in the iron hold of the melody. The tunes Berger chooses are very simple, sometimes using the repetition of two notes for extended periods of time. It is as if this music saves the performers the time of having to abstract the essentials of the theme, simply crying out to be improvised and riffed off of. One may attribute this to the influence of African music, but I think it actually harkens back more to the earlier days of jazz: listen to something like Bud Powell’s "52nd Street Theme", with the horns honking repetitively over his piano solo. The more redundant the themes, the more intense the solos get, with the group eventually mimicking big band dynamics. The difference is that once one element drops out of the mix, another immediately takes its place to continue the endless groove: trading a sax for a drum, atonality for increased rhythmic counterpoint. The piece really cooks for a good twenty minutes, its labyrinth of small melodies sounding both reckless and incredibly precise. Everyone is communicating so fluently that, given the small number of credits listed by ECM (a total of five performers, only two of which play horns), there surely must have been a fair amount of editing trickery involved: I'm positive I hear multiple saxes played at a time, so unless someone is actually Roland Kirk in disguise... But Miles did it too, so it’s not like overdubbing is antithetical to the jazz tradition or something equally silly. What matters is that it sounds totally organic and natural, with the entire group doubling on melodic and percussive duties in the studio. No wonder the two realms sound so deeply enmeshed, echoing each other with an intensity that makes them entirely indistiguishable.

Bengt Berger - Chetu.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.6 mb)
Bengt Berger - Bitter Funeral Beer (ECM, 1981)

Annea Lockwood - Early Works

2007-07-09T23:43:00.000-04:00

I had started exploring glass sounds as a way of sensitising my ears to very fine sonic detail. But the glass gave me a greater gift: it completely changed my way of composing and of thinking about music itself.

- Annea Lockwood, 2007

Based on a live performance called "The Glass Concert" given periodically between 1968 and 1973 (seventy-six times, to be exact), Annea Lockwood's 1973 lp The Glass World is the composer's most notorious work. The original performances took place in the dark, with most of the sounds being produced offstage and amplified into the concert space. Onstage sonics included "curtains of fine glass tubing; trees of bottles inverted in a spiral pattern; a mobile of large panes of wired glass, surrounded by mirrors." Sound production would occasionally abate as Harvey Matusow's light pieces took the spotlight, and on the occasion that a stage "instrument" was used, light and sound would work together. It sounds like a truly magical experience, and it attracted the attention of audience member Michael Steyn of Tangent Records, who worked with Lockwood to put this odd sonic universe to wax. After two years of painstaking late-night recording sessions -- attempting to eliminate all ambient noise -- The Glass World was brought into circulation and quickly became an avant-garde touchstone. Reissued again on EM Records' 2007 collection Early Works: 1967-1982, this new remastering is accompanied by the piece "Tiger Balm", originally released as part of SOURCE Magazine in 1970.

It's easy to see why Lockwood insisted on a darkened room for the presentation of her glass acoustics -- in her own words, to "focus people totally on the sound - NOW!": in her persistent attempt to listen as deeply as possible to the world around her, Lockwood wanted to dissociate the sounds she produced through glass objects from their normative, associative, everyday characteristics. Who would guess that the strange oscillating tones on this album could be made from an ordinary wine glass? Or the gurgling, steel drum-like rhythms that have their origin in a rod run along a window pane? Or, perhaps most remarkable, the otherworldly whooshing made by a medical breathing machine -- sounding like the melancholy calls of humpback whales accelerated to a state of distress. The fact is, if Lockwood wasn't courteous enough to name these tracks after their object of origin, the listener would have no knowledge with which to approach this music. The Glass World's great achievement is its creation of an entirely new syntax out of the most banal of elements; letting each individual sonic unit stand on its own laurels, sustaining it rather than pushing it aside to make room for more notes -- like Fluxus chairman George Maciunas' concept of the monomorphic structure ("having a single, simple form; exhibiting essentially one structural pattern"). At times ambient and lyrical, at others abrasive and percussive, Lockwood's music is one of those rare conceptual pieces that's both inventive and engaging. (In the vein of "accidental music", The Glass World would appeal to anyone who liked last year's Len Lye collection, Composing Motion [Atoll, 2006].)

Annea Lockwood at the premiere of "Piano Burning", Thames River, London, 1968

"Tiger Balm" was inspired by Lockwood's work with trance and ritual music drawn from the BBC archives. "I was concerned with how our bodies respond to sound," she writes, "and with the concept of sound as a primal energy and nutrient, so the role of music in inducing trance states was of great interest." For anyone who enjoys Terry Fox's "Labyrinth Scored for the Purrs of Eleven Cats", "Tiger Balm" is a real treat. It begins with a recorded tape loop of a tiger's purr, before merging into caressing gamelan tones and the gentle rhythm of what I imagine to be a human heartbeat. A caesura opens midway to allow the entrance of odd, frog-like emanations and the sounds of deep breathing; though I'm not sure how relaxing this is, as the breaths turn into hyperventilated gasps and the ribbit becomes a processed roar, all distorted growl and tape hiss. The relaxing purr of the piece's beginning has become the medium of terror. The sound of an overheard airplane clears the air (hah!), allowing the noises of distress to morph back into the measured pace of the gamelan, whose deep, reverberating notes hover in the air and enmesh the body in their ominous fog. The concept of trance being one of bodily removal and ego suspension, "Tiger Balm" takes the listener through various emotional-psychological states throughout its twenty-minute duration. "You might imagine hearing these sounds in your space, as you listen," suggests the composer.

Annea Lockwood - Breathing Machine.mp3 (192 kbps, 3.6 mb)
Annea Lockwood - Early Works: 1967-1982 (EM, 2007)

Fabulously packaged as usual, EM's collection also includes the visual work "Piano Transplants", a series of performance pieces based around the relocation -- and sometimes destruction -- of pianos. The photographic documentation of works like "Piano Burning", "Piano Drowning", and "Piano Garden" is accompanied by Lockwood's brief scores, instructing the reader on how to stage these events. Much like her glass works, "Piano Transplants" betrays a do-it-yourself, Fluxus-inspired credo: that one should transform everyday life in any way possible.

Latin soul: George Guzman, The Lat-Teens

2007-07-07T10:40:00.000-04:00

For a few years in the late 1960s, Latin soul scorched the barrios of New York City with unparalleled intensity. Combining Latin rhythms and instrumentation with soulful English lyrics and swinging, catchy melodies, Latin soul performers wanted to bring the power of their musical tradition to a larger (Anglophone) audience. It produced the boogaloo and the shing-a-ling (though I dare you to tell me the difference), enduring styles that would influence salsa for years to come. Then, by the early '70s, Latin soul had all but vanished, having exhausted its limited possibilities in record time. Of course, there were truly excellent musicians who wanted to turn Latin soul into a respectable art, and there were swarms of imitators who simply wanted to cash in on what was becoming the most in-demand party music around Spanish Harlem. However, I'd think it a mistake to set up an orthodoxy of taste in any historical situation. It's always worth looking at both ends of the spectrum, from the established classics to the supposed kitsch, which is why it's my pleasure to present both George Guzman's Introducing George Guzman and The Lat-Teens' Buena Gente today.

Released by Fania in 1968 and recently reissued on cd, Introducing was an instant hit, showing Latin soul at its most inspired and refined. Guzman, a conga player, arranged and played on the nine tracks from this debut album, leaning toward a combination of Latin jazz with soul than the more direct party music of Hector Rivera. A song like "Hierba Buena" (Good Weed) really showcases Guzman's strengths as a conguero, even featuring a great piano solo that would make Cal or Eddie proud. Guzman pioneered a much more laid-back approach to Latin soul, as evidenced by titles like "Lazy Boogaloo". The rhythms still groove, but at a relaxed tempo that showed one didn't have to dance to this music, but could recover from last night's hangover as well. "Chant of the Isles" is, hands-down, a beautiful composition with its soft, overlaid vocal choruses and slurred, slowly unfolding horn lines. "Banana Freak Out", by contrast, is an upbeat romp with blaring trumpets and repetitive vocal chants that speak of a man's desire to simply "get high," the justification being that everyone else is doing it: "Listen all you people, this is the modern age! / The fellows are all drinking, the girls cannot stop smoking / so people call me hippie, they ask me how's my day?" Catchy, yes, but lyrical depth was never one of the genre's strong points; and by this point, drug songs had basically become a staple for Latin soul musicians, a new spin that would help market this music to a young, hip crowd. "Lazy Boogaloo" is an absolute classic, with its driving piano riff, great trumpet harmonies and the infectious chorus of "lazy, my baby! she's crazy!" -- perhaps very similar to the opener "Marilu", which goes: "Marilu, boogaloo, bought a new pair of shoes!", but I've never believed in the possibility of having too much of a good thing. From the prototypical salsa of "George's Jala Lala" to the complex, beautifully descending trumpet lines on "Cacumen", Introducing George Guzman is a classic of any Latin subgenre, and it's one of those rare records that's just as good for dancing as it is for romancing, for partying the night away and convalescing the next day.

George Guzman - Introducing George Guzman (Fania, 1968; 192 kbps, 39.8 mb)

Do I know anything about The Lat-Teens? No. Do I care? Not really. I do know, from the liner notes, that the group was led by composer-arranger Carlos Pabon, "a TRUE LAT-TEEN." Issued the same year as Introducing George Guzman, The Lat-Teens' Buena Gente (Cotique, 1968) is decidedly at the lower end of the boogaloo heirarchy. The title, translated as "Good People", seems to make clear what these seven young folks have in mind: enjoyable, good-spirited music for partying and/or smoking pot. Yes, Buena Gente too has its own place set aside for the green leaf with "Almacen de Fumadores" (Smoke Shop), apparently a sequel to the earlier cut "Mary Wanna". And most of this is sung in English by vocalist-conguero Neston Colon Jr., so you just have to submit to the silliness of it all, sigh, and move on. "Oh yeah, this place was out of sight, oh yeah! All that smoke he had, it was everybody's to get high..." Nevertheless, Buena Gente is quite a good record, well-rounded and pleasant. "Tu Eres Mia" (You are Mine) begins the album with a lazy conga groove and the singers' best doo-wop impressions. This music is so polished in the American soul tradition that the calls "to come on and get that Latin beat, you gotta have some Latin soul," almost seem like a formality. "El Amor Que Yo Te Di" begins at a snail's pace before heating up midway, as the gently strummed electric guitar changes its speed from ballad tempo to something appropriate for a full-fledged salsa jam; the horns re-enter, no longer slow and muted but bold and animated. The title track is one of the album's finest, with upbeat vocal harmonies, crisp horn arrangements, and fiercely played timbales and guiros. "Boogaloo!" they cry in earnest before thumping their way to a conclusion. The closer, "El Nuevo Swing", lives up to its title by being the best dancer here, with infectious cowbell rhythms and a slinky guitar riff, topping it all off with an inspired trumpet solo by Gary Aquilon -- a rarity for this record. Okay, so maybe it's not up to Joe Bataan's level of groovy social critique, but it's good, and it's right here for your enjoyment...

The Lat-Teens - Buena Gente (Cotique, 1968; 192 kbps, 59.5 mb)

Pekos/Yoro Diallo

2007-07-05T00:46:00.000-04:00

Yaala Yaala is a new imprint on the Drag City label dedicated to releasing unheard world music of the local, non-commercial, do-it-yourself quality. Still in its infancy, the series has produced three records since the beginning of 2007: Pekos/Yoro Diallo (YY001), va - Bougoni Yaalali (YY002), and Daouda Dembele (YY003). Founder and manager Jack Carneal has written the following in his Yaala Yaala mission statement:

I learned very quickly that there was a huge gulf between what many people out in Bougouni listened to and what was being exported to the West; many local Malians made dismissive sounds with their mouths when I mentioned the above musicians [Oumou Sangare, Ali Farka Toure, Salif Keita, Toumani Diabate, Habib Koite]. Many of the cassette vendors I got to know stared blankly when I asked about certain artists. …

The name Yaala Yaala was taken directly from what many a Bougounian musician would answer when asked “Ca va?” (how’s it going?); “Yaala yaala,” they’d answer. Just wandering. Yaala Yaala Records’ goal is to release this music, in addition to similar music from parts of the world, particularly Mali and West Africa, that you might hear if you were wandering yourself among the cassette stalls in Bougouni, Bamako, Kolondieba, Sikasso, Segou, Fez, Marrakesh, Cairo, Dakar. We’re releasing this music for no other reason than we like it!

Perhaps that last line is part of the problem; much like the Sublime Frequencies label, which releases obscure pop and folk music from neglected areas like Iraq, Sumatra, and Cambodia, Yaala Yaala offers the listener little to no context with which to appreciate these strange and distant sounds packaged for us in nice jewel cases. It betrays an almost childish fascination with the Other; not interpreting, but allowing it to speak for itself in all its strangeness. The records are untitled aside from the performers' names, and the tracks are simply numbered. While unsatisfying to the historicists, the unadorned presentation of this music has its advantages. In some ways, an academic approach would rob this music of its aura, and while I haven't listened to the other releases yet, the Pekos/Yoro Diallo recording contains some of the rawest and most powerful Malian sounds I've ever heard. According to Carneal's liner notes, the two performers were recorded straight to cassette in the nearby village of Kolondieba; Carneal stumbled upon it by chance while walking through Bougouni's premier tape market. Carneal's tone in relating all of this information to us is a refreshing change from the dry descriptions that normally accompany world music made for export. One gets the sense that the label impresario is as clueless as we are, receiving all of his knowledge secondhand from his trusted cassette vendors. "Abdoulaye was able to tell me..."

As for the music, this is truly fascinating stuff. Pekos and Yoro Diallo stretch out over four lengthy duets, performing on electrified ngonis with others adding minimal percussion. Think Toumani Diabate's albums but much less polished, musically and technically. The two players supposedly rigged mics directly to the insides of their ngonis -- hollowed out gourds -- and connected them to a preamp from which this music was put to tape. Thankfully there aren't many instruments in the mix, because the sound is distorted with hisses, fuzz, and screeches. But unless you're a dedicated audiophile, you'll find yourself overlooking the production values as Pekos and Yoro Diallo duel on their African lutes and trade rough vocal yells; as Carneal remarks, the two are most likely "reciting litanies of names... [like] how great Coulibaly is, Sidibe is, what a strong man Traore is, etc."

Generally, one ngoni takes the place of rhythm guitar, creating a simple vamp off of which the second ngoni can create various harmonies and improvisations, plucking furiously to create an abrupt, staccato effect. One can hear this clearly on track two, as a first lute produces a delicate melody carried along by the second's terse bass line. The clattery, metallic percussion -- sounding like some kind of shekere or cabasa -- causes the music to speed up significantly, to the great joy of the audience. On track three, one of the singers urges on his partner, cajoling him to play cascades of notes, arpeggios and frantic two-chord patterns on the ngoni. The instruments on track four sound out of tune, deliberately or not, and play a bluesy riff that would make John Fahey proud. At times the notes fall like repetitive hammer blows, at others the two relish in making their sounds bend and waver. Sprawling out for twenty minutes, the final selection ends with Pekos' and Yoro Diallo's harsh yelps, the playing becoming dirge-like -- perhaps aiming to put the listener into a trance. Just beginning to reach its apex, however, the music ends abruptly, as if the infectious rhythms would continue long after the stereo goes off.

Pekos/Yoro Diallo (Yaala Yaala, 2007; 256 kbps, 97.5 mb)

Famoudou Konate - Guinée...

2007-07-03T11:30:00.000-04:00

Like fellow Guinean Mamady Keïta, Famoudou Konate is a teacher as well as an artist. One of the few official Masters of the Malinké drumming style, Konate travels the world holding drumming workshops in order to help preserve what may be a dying tradition. A fabulously skilled djembe player, Konate was the lead soloist in Les Ballets Africains from 1959 to 1985; since then, he's divided his time between teaching and recording, a living legend who fosters a sense of community in both music and in life -- the greatest achievement of any artist.

Guinée: Percussions et Chants Malinké (Buda Musique, 1998), or Guinea: Malinké Rhythms and Songs, is more than a showcase of Konate's skill; it is a kind of praxis in that it continues the teaching begun elsewhere, taking the listener on a journey through the wide variety of Malinké musical traditions. More impressive, considering Konate's status in world music, is that this is not a simple soloist's showcase. There is not one track on Guineé: Percussion et Chants that is unaided by other musicians, whether they be fellow drummers, singers, or string players. Konate himself abandons his djembe on a number of tracks, preferring to take a more modest position on obscure Malinké instruments like the borokoni and the dönsökoni, content to play one melody throughout in order to give the listener a flavor of these normally-unheard sounds, which also include the kodo-kodo, the bolon, the djabara, and the tumbadoras. (Good luck finding more information on them, however, as the only search results for "dönsökoni" bring up links to this album.) Konate's skill shines through on these elegant chamber pieces as much as on the powerful dance rhythms.

That isn't to say that Guinée: Percussions lacks the power or virtuosity one finds in Keïta's work. There are plenty of spirited dundun pieces here, their deep bass tones providing the perfect rhythmic base for Konate's refined, intensely melodic djembe solos. Also a talented arranger, Konate makes plenty of room for his singers, as on "Dibon II", when he all but drops out of the mix during the chorus sections only to appear again with renewed vigor, building the entire ensemble to climax with his crisp djembe runs and powerful bass punctuations. But all of these dundun pieces couldn't prepare one for the gentleness of "Borokoni", a showcase for the Guinean instrument of the same name -- what Konate describes as a kind of "sorcerer's harp." While the kora is known to be an exceptionally light instrument, the borokoni produces darker, hazier sounds with a great capacity for natural reverb; when played quickly, it seems to produce its own clattery percussion behind it, like a gently played washboard. It is combined here with Konate's narrating voice and the sing-song chanting of the children's chorus. The opposite of a dundun, here the music all but dies with a whisper, the borokoni dropping to a hushed level alongside the fading vocals.

To speak of the West African griot has become something of a cliché; at the same time, this concept of the village storyteller has enormous resonance for communities all over the modern world. From the slums to the prisons, the need to foster a localized language is strong, and music tends to be the most obvious and immediate expression of a primarily oral tradition; what counts is that the listener in some way reciprocates and understands the speaker. In jazz, the great soloist's art, everyone vies for the spotlight while still adhering to the iron grip of the rhythm; Konate, too, rejects an image of the griot as an all-knowing master, preferring to place both women and children in the foreground of his recordings. He makes sure everyone listens to and understands each other, their polyphonic voices held together by the deep power of the dundun.

Famoudou Konate - Borokoni.mp3 (192 kpbs, 8.2 mb)
Famoudou Konate - Guinée: Percussions et Chants Malinké (Buda Musique, 1998; 192 kbps, 100.5 mb)

Information borrowed from Lilian Friedberg, African Studies Quarterly.

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Abrams/Lewis/Mitchell - Streaming

2007-07-01T23:23:00.000-04:00

The delicate electronic waves that introduce us to this world, pulsating together with the elongated phrases of the sax, the trombone -- breathy, gentle, yet fundamentally harsh, sounding like the kind of abrasive tones your music instructor always steered you away from playing, here taking on a new resonance and a new beauty, screeching alongside manipulated samples that threaten to eclipse, to wash away the erratic honking blips that now register as indistinct from the laptop’s synthetic noise. The boundaries are blurred in this electro-acoustic casserole, a homogenized mixture that neither climaxes nor bares its own devices, neither Wagnerian nor Brechtian. Who is working to support who? Which is the background and which is the solo? The wavering tones and the squealing horns, running a race that no one attempts to win and no one can win, as if the contestants were all chained together: where one goes, the other will follow, bubbling and creaking, crackling, whistling, breathing…

“Bound”, the second piece on Streaming (Pi, 2006), sounds very much like the aural equivelent of pianist Muhal Richard Abrams’ rather expressionistic painting featured on the album’s cover, appropriately titled Merging Entities. A stunning performance, especially as it's the first track here to feature the experimental electronic work of trombonist George Lewis. A collaboration between the two aforementioned musicians as well as fellow visionary Roscoe Mitchell, Streaming manages to probe new territory for these seasoned veterans of the avant-garde. As if the opener “Scrape” wasn’t enough: filled with the sparse, economic intensity of Abrams’ piano playing and the dual brass attack of Lewis and Mitchell, occasionally playing a scattered melody but generally resorting to a variety of vocal-oriented approaches, filled with Ayler-like screeches and growls, rejecting any notion of swing once and for all, the height of what we generically know as “vibrato”… “Bound” takes this music a step further, introducing to the acoustic soundscapes the utterly fascinating laptop experimentation of Lewis, whose oscillating tones sparkle with more brilliance than they did years ago on Endless Shout (Tzadik, 2000), which -- dare I say it -- had the awkward tinge of a great artist still getting his bearings. The loss of Abrams’ piano in this piece gives the improvisation a truly ethereal feeling, his subtle interjections of bamboo flute and taxi horn preferring to add texture rather than rhythm.

“Dramaturns” brings us back to more familiar material from these three AACM luminaries, beginning with angular runs by Abrams that skitter across the keys and a veritable flood of notes by Lewis, which ranks as some of the finest trombone work of his career. The two sound like old friends calling to each other in a dialogue that never quite lowers its voice from an initial, ecstatic greeting; when finally out of breath, the two resort to urgent, single-note cries in order to communicate. Lewis soon drops out of the mix entirely, only to reappear in the guise of his laptop. The incredible shimmering noises and distorted vocal samples slide against Abrams’ abrupt chord changes and frantic clusters, a la Fred Van Hove in the trio work with Brötzmann and Bennink -- one could rightly assume that the pianist had been listening to FMP 0130 on repeat, substituting its vocal screams for their modern equivelent: digital noise.

But where is Roscoe Mitchell? He re-enters during “Soundhear”, oddly enough on a drum kit, matching the dark, dungeon-like piano with crisp, bell-like cymbal hits and glass percussion. Lewis is on his computer again, making everything from bird songs to rumbling bass tones and gentle washes of sound. Restless as he is, he soon switches back to his acoustic axe with soft gurgling noises reminiscent of Erstwhile mainstay Axel Dörner, except this music has balls, has life to it. Mitchell tap-tap-taps his way through constantly shifting rhythms, perhaps elaborating on those “little toy compositions” the Art Ensemble made famous, until Abrams’ piano leaves his partners to their ambient twittering, like the cacophony of insects at night. There is no virtuosity in this playing -- impressive as it is -- only a constant attempt to hear the infinite variations of sound.

And the title track, “Streaming”? Roscoe’s back on alto, George on trombone, and Muhal on the keys. It’s a spirited improvisation filled with rapid-fire cascades, vocal note-bending, dense, swirling phrases; the three seem to be circling around each other like a pack of hungry wolves, howling together with the immensity of sound, notes, sound, notes… A sustained, unaccompanied solo by Mitchell helps lead the album to its conclusion among tinkly, clattering percussion and stuttering samples. But, of course, there are some things you just need to hear for yourself.

Muhal Richard Abrams/George Lewis/Roscoe Mitchell - Streaming (Pi Records, 2006; 192 kbps, 100.6 mb)

Cristina - Doll in the Box

2007-06-29T01:38:00.000-04:00

Recently I posted ZE Records' marvelous label anthology Mutant Disco, which features a generous handful of songs by disco diva Cristina Monet, more commonly known as Cristina. As a followup of sorts, I'd like to shift the spotlight now to her debut lp, Cristina (ZE, 1980), reissued here as Doll in the Box (ZE, 2004) with bonus material that expands the original seven tracks to a handsome twelve. The wife of ZE co-founder Michael Zilkha, Monet was a Harvard graduate, a Village Voice critic and a devoted Brechtian who briefly became the shining star of ZE on a whimsical suggestion from her husband. As Kurt B. Reighley notes in his article "Is That All There Is?" (featured on ZE's website):

In 1978, Zilkha was keen on starting a record label that married punk with disco. Towards this end, he had purchased the publishing to "Disco Clone," a ditty by a fellow Harvard undergrad thespian of Cristina's, Ronald Melrose. "When Michael bought 'Disco Clone,' I said, 'That is, without doubt, the worst song I have ever heard,'" recalls Cristina. "'It is so bad that the only way you could record it would be as Brechtian pastiche.' And Michael said, 'Do you want to give it a shot?'"

Following the success of "Disco Clone", Cristina recorded her first lp for ZE, a self-titled album produced by August Darnell, aka Kid Creole. The album was a fabulous mix of soaring orchestral backgrounds, faux-ditzy vocals, and parodic, brazen lyrics. "Disco Clone" boasts over-the-top string arrangements with Cristina's chirpy falsetto, claiming that "I'm a disco clone, disco clone, disco clone, disco clone! / And if you like the way I shake it / and I make you want to make it, / there's plenty just like me to go around! / Now nobody has to spend the night alone." Alternating with Cristina's chorus is a man's deep, sleazy voice that narrates how he entered a club looking for action and was shocked to find a dozen nameless, faceless girls at his disposal; reminiscing about his bedroom success, he laughs the night away while Cristina continues to sing the repetitive refrain, as if she were incapable of articulating anything else. A highly gendered critique, "Disco Clone"'s message would continue on Cristina's next singles: utterly unique covers of The Beatles' "Drive My Car" and Peggy Lee's "Is That All There Is?" that firmly established her persona as a sex-charged, ultra-femme fatale who consistently détourned her own gender stereotypes.

Cristina would follow her debut with Sleep it Off (ZE, 1984), an album produced by Don Was of labelmates Was (Not Was). Three years in the making, Sleep it Off is far more ambitious in its range and, in my opinion, not nearly as good as the music here on Doll in the Box. "Jungle Love" begins the album with Lizzy Descloux-esque tropicalism, while "Don't Be Greedy" defines what was to become the signature ZE sound: thumping beats, jazzy saxophones, polished backing vocals and a dash of punk sass. Sometimes playing the role of the promiscuous disco queen, at others telling tales of weariness and neglect, Cristina uses dance music as a form of internal critique, at the same expanding its artistic possibilities and deepening its message. "Everytime I want a kiss, you put a cigarette between your lips, oh why?" ("Don't Be Greedy"). The epic "La Poupee Qui Fait Non", a Michel Polnareff cover, matches winding horn lines with some solid cowbell and Cristina's best pouty-lipped cooing. A classic breakdown three minutes in makes room for some razor-sharp electric guitar, light synth flourishes, and male-female call-and-response vocals (complete with ever-so-slight moans). Other high points include "Mamma Mia"'s squiggly keyboard- and brass-propelled madness, the dance-downfall narrative of "Blame it on Disco", and the longer version of "Disco Clone" titled "Ballad of Immoral Manufacture" (after Brecht, of course), doubled in length by extended instrumental interludes.

After the financial failure of Sleep it Off, Cristina retired from the music scene entirely, convinced that her talent was a mirage conjured up by her husband Zilkha. However, it's somewhat of a truism that, as time goes on, we forget about the work's content and look only at its form. Thankfully, Cristina's innate musical talent eclipsed what began as a sociological experiment and left us with this utterly wonderful lp, historically fascinating but -- and this is probably more important -- eminently groovy.

Cristina - La Poupee Qui Fait Non.mp3 (220 kbps VBR, 12.1 mb)
Cristina - Doll in the Box (ZE, 2004)

More great album art and information here.

And for those of you who thought I was joking last week: TGIFF

(That means, Thank God it's Feline Friday!)

Vera Watter rests after a long day of knocking things over and attacking her companions

Related posts: Mutant Disco (ZE)

Vision Festival, 6/22/07: Pt. 2

2007-06-28T20:19:00.000-04:00

Continued from Vision Festival, 6/22/07: Pt. 1:

With a concert series as massive as Vision Festival, even a single night takes multiple articles to describe with any pretense of accuracy. Hosted in the Lower East Side's Angel Orensanz Foundation, the inside of the abandoned temple turned cultural center gave the night a sacred aura that must have effected even the strictest non-believers in the crowd. It's no use denying the divine aspect so often noted by seasoned improvisers: the rare ability to communicate almost telepathically with those around you in a spontaneous creative act. The theme of the holy is strong in jazz history, reaching as far back as Louis Armstrong and his trumpet's ability "to make the angels weep."

After the very spiritual music of Roy Campbell's Akhenaten Suite, soaked as it is in the legends of ancient Egypt and with its performers mostly dressed in traditional African garb, it was striking to see the young Matthew Shipp enter the stage in jeans and a t-shirt. But, appearances aside, the pianist quietly sat down to a beautiful Steinway and delivered an uninterrupted 40-minute solo performance of an intensity equal to that of Campbell or anyone else that night. The crowd must have been restless after two hours of music, as almost everyone in our row had left to mill around -- quite annoying, as those of us who couldn't see very well were denied the pleasure of watching Shipp perform from a clear vantage point. Eventually we moved over to borrow the vacant seats, though the low murmur in the crowd still dampened our enthusiasm.

I've never been a huge fan of Matthew Shipp -- as a friend once said, he has incredible technique but often uses it to play far too many meaningless notes. Nonetheless, I didn't remember him having such a muscular sound, and it really came through in the movements of his body. With forehead creased, veins tensed and eyes locked on the keys, Shipp's hands moved to and fro, bringing his torso with them; the fluid movement of the performer's arms resembled that of a drummer much more than a pianist. Really working the lower registers of his instrument, Shipp filled the room with incredibly dense clusters of bass notes and much more delicate excursions on the piano's right side. Melodically, I think the set lacked enough variation to keep the audience spellbound for such a long running time, though it picked up significantly toward the end with the reintroduction of the theme. Shipp's best moments were the ones that displayed the most economy, the somber emotional tone sounding very much like his recent work as Declared Enemy (Salute to 100001 Stars, Rogue Art, 2007). Poet/host David Budbill told the audience that Shipp had spoken to him earlier of his lack of inspiration that night, the feeling that he "had nothing new to say." Perhaps the artistic expression was a bit wandering and confused, but there's no denying that he played with enough fire and passion to keep us in the palms of his hands.

Next came the night's intermission, an extended period including art pieces by Amir Bey, Jo Wood Brown, Katie Martin, Kazuko Miyamoto, Phyllis Bulkin-Lehrer, and Lili White installed around the performance space, as well as a series of performative dance numbers titled "A State of Mind", organized by Patricia Nicholson with backing music by Lewis Barnes, Rob Brown, William Parker, and Hamid Drake. Distracted as I was by the variety of music vendors placed strategically on the same floor as the drinks, I did pay attention to what I could see of the dancing, the highlight of which featured Julia Wilkins straddling the second-floor balcony to the sound of Barnes' trumpet. As for the rest of the performance, I could take it or leave it; I found myself mostly unimpressed by their style of modern, expressive dance, which seemed to me surprisingly lifeless in spite of all the video projections, dangling sculptures and spotlights that accompanied its presentation. An arching of the back here, a twisting of a hand there... I was anxious for Fred Anderson to take the stage soon so that I could see the entirety of his set and still make the 12:10 train up to Poughkeepsie that night.

Fred Anderson & Hamid Drake as seen between the backs of heads (photo by Seth Watter)

Thankfully, the program continued for the most part on schedule, and the Chicago-based Fred Anderson Trio took the stage at 10:30. Composed of Anderson on tenor saxophone, Hamid Drake on drums, and Harrison Bankhead on bass, the group played another lengthy, uninterrupted piece which I believe is called "Timeless" from the trio recording of the same name (Delmark, 2006), but don't quote me on that. No introductions by the band were given, and none were needed. Anderson simply began with a beautiful unaccompanied solo, which wound its way around our ears for three or four minutes before the leader nodded to his bandmates to join in on the fun. Drake and Bankhead enthusiastically responded and the three launched into an improvisation with so much energy than an hour later it was still running on the same steam. Bankhead's propulsive bass and Drake's dazzling, Africa-meets-free jazz drumming kept Anderson good company as he continued to weave knotty, inspiring phrases around his partners in crime.

Eventually, the tenor player took a vow of silence to allow Drake and Bankhead to take their own extended solos; the accomplishment of all three musicians made any question of who was the leader a mere formality. Perhaps the highlight of the night, Bankhead took an incredible bass solo of a power I've never heard before, exploring the entire range of his instrument with lightning-fast plucking, strumming, and bowing that turned this generally rhythmic tool into a singing, breathing, awe-inspiring hydra head. Bankhead gave the signal that he was finished with a single long, reverberating note, but launched into at least two more sections of his solo when prompted by the smiles of his fellow performers and an off-stage voice calling, "Go on ahead, Harrison." Hamid Drake, a powerful drummer who puts almost anyone else to shame, took over from Bankhead with unflagging energy in his trademark style of neverending drum rolls that groove along dazzling cymbal work, before buoying the rest of the group up with his semi-structured, time signature-shifting rhythms. The fabulous group interplay that closed the set dragged out the melody of Anderson's composition to ever-expanding territory, until the point that 10 minutes after the first repetition of the theme the audience was left more exhausted than the barely-sweating musicians seemed to be. Definitely the performance of the night, the crowd exploded into cheers and whistles they had barely kept under control, having previously limited themselves to swaying, head-nodding, and, in one elderly man's case, ridiculous arms-and-legs-in-the-air dancing in the darkened area to the left of the concert space. The unbridled passion exuded by Anderson, well into his 60s, was enough to make anyone feel old that night.

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Vision Festival XII took place on June 19-24, 2007 at the Angel Orensanz Foundation, 172 Norfolk St., Lower East Side, NY.

Julia Wilkins dances with trumpet accompaniment by Lewis Barnes (photo by Faith Holland)

Left to right: Fred Anderson, Hamid Drake, and Harrison Bankhead (photo by Faith Holland)

(Unfortunately, I have no decent pictures of Matthew Shipp.)

Plastic Bertrand - An 1

2007-06-27T23:26:00.000-04:00

Plastic Bertrand, aka Belgian musician Roger Jouret -- though AMG seems to think he was Quebecois -- made it big in 1977 with the international hit single "Ça Plane Pour Moi", the second ever French-language song to crack the Billboard Top 100, peaking at #39 in America and #8 in Europe. Following the massive success of "Ça Plane Pour Moi", and its accompanying lp, An 1 (Sire, 1978), Plastic Bertrand proceeded to fall off the face of the earth until MTV titled him the "Most Wanted Comeback Artist" in 1998. Interest in Plastic Bertrand continued as late as 2006, when a court ruling finally confirmed that Jouret did indeed perform the vocals on all of his songs, as opposed to being ghost sung by producer-songwriter Lou Deprijk. So much for the historical approach.

"Ça Plane Pour Moi" was unique for fusing the energy and simplicity of punk rock with a developing new wave aesthetic, carrying Jouret's childlike lyrics and jaunty vocals with the power of its two- to three-chord approach, with plenty of saxophones and "woo-ooo-ooo"s to round out the mix. The song, thought to be sung mostly in French argot, has been roughly translated here, though one doesn't need to be multilingual to recognize the origin of Bertrand's nickname, "you are the King of the Divan!", which would serve as the title of EMI's 2003 best-of collection. Not interested in the political content of the punk he was absorbing at the time, Jouret's lyrics seem to choose their words based almost entirely on sonority as opposed to meaning -- perhaps what drew him to cover "Sha-La-La-La-Lee" for his next single, though by that time the world market had grown tired of Plastic Bertrand. Even his name was chosen for the sole reason that it sounded funny. Either way, "Ça Plane Pour Moi" (roughly translated as "this life's for me", "I'm on a roll" or "being high works for me") was a far cry from "Rock the Casbah".

Thirty years later, the music here is still quite exciting, bubbly and infectious, from the opening guitar chug of "Le Petit Tortillard" to the rock'n'roll inflected "5-4-3-2-1", from the honking saxophone on "Pognon Pognon" to the lilting reggae rhythm of "Dance Dance", though who could forget the ape and chicken sounds made on "Wha! Wha!" And despite the fact that it's frowned upon to mention Plastic Bertrand in the same breath as The Buzzcocks or The Clash, Jouret's early singles ranked up there with the best of them. Clocking in at barely half an hour, An 1 is an enduring record for two reasons: speed and exuberance. Sometimes, that's all you need to make great music.

Plastic Bertrand - Pognon Pognon.mp3 (160 kbps, 3.5 mb)
Plastic Bertrand - An 1 (Sire, 1978)

He also has an amazing official website.

Donald Lambert - Giant Stride

2007-06-26T23:32:00.000-04:00

Donald Lambert is perhaps the most faceless of all the great stride pianists. Aside from a short period of residence from 1932-1936 in Harlem, Lambert spent most of his life in New Jersey, avoiding the recording studios and avoiding, above all, publicity. Nicknamed "The Lamb," the piano player seemed to be a very modest personality, without the flair of a Willie "The Lion" Smith or a Fats Waller, honing his technique for years in Orange, NJ's High Tavern, "a nice, homey, neighborhood bar, but scarcely a spot for national exposure" (liner notes). However, in the summer of 1960, Rudi Blesh of Solo Art Records managed to convince Lambert to perform with Eubie Blake and The Lion at the Newport Jazz Festival for a stride piano showcase. That recording led to a string of releases in the early '60s before his premature death on May 8, 1962 in Newark, NJ. Those albums include the earlier Harlem Stride Classics (Pumpkin, 1959), Meet the Lamb (IAJRC, 1960), Classics in Stride (Pumpkin, 1960), and Giant Stride: Donald Lambert and His Harlem Piano (Solo Art, 1961), the last of which I'd like to share with you today.

After a year or more of looking for Lambert's work online, I finally gave up and bought Solo Art's 2005 reissue, and I must say it was worth the price. The recording is clear and the playing is brilliant, offering surprises even for seasoned stride listeners. Of course, Giant Stride includes a number of fast-paced, two-fisted stompers ("Trolley Song", "Rose of the Rio Grande"), but Lambert also has a penchant for the slow, the lyrical, the ballad-esque ("Sophisticated Lady", "If I Could Be With You"), often perferring to include both traditions within a single piece ("Linger a While", "Liza"). "When Your Lover Has Gone" is quite unconventional for this style of playing, with its swelling opening notes and tender phrases that conjure up images of lonely late-night reveries, like a scene from Casablanca. The variety of moods show Lambert to be a gentle giant, with a powerful technique in one hand and a serene disposition in the other -- one of that rare breed perfectly content to practice their art in private, for friends, family, and lovers perhaps, past and present.

Donald Lambert - When Your Lover Has Gone.mp3 (192 kbps, 6.2 mb)
Donald Lambert - Giant Stride (Solo Art, 1962)

Related posts: Luckey Roberts & Willie "The Lion" Smith - Harlem Piano

Vision Festival, 6/22/07: Pt. 1

2007-06-26T02:09:00.000-04:00

This past Friday I had the great pleasure of attending night four of the 12th Annual Vision Festival, hosted this year in the Lower East Side's Angel Orensanz Foundation. A renovated synagogue located on 172 Norfolk, the space was an unconventionally beautiful setting for a jazz concert. With much of the original façade intact, the musicians performed in front of what appeared to be a former Holy Ark, bathed in the warmth of blue, purple, green, red, and orange lights. The breathtaking scenery only helped amplify what would have already been a very special night for those present at New York’s great free jazz event. This year’s Vision Festival highlighted the talents of personages no less than William Parker, Joe Morris, Cooper-Moore, Marc Ribot, Henry Grimes, Marilyn Crispell, Joe McPhee, Bill Dixon, Rashied Ali, Tim Berne, Craig Taborn, The Ganelin Trio, and Louis Moholo – to name only a handful from the spectacular week-long program. Based around the memory of the late Revolutionary Ensemble violinist Leroy Jenkins, Friday night began with a tribute titled “50 Violins for Leroy Jenkins” (in actuality only 39, and not all quite violins), organized by Jason Kao Hwang and conducted by fellow string player Billy Bang. The rest of the evening included sets by Roy Campbell’s group, Matthew Shipp’s solo piano, the Fred Anderson Trio, and a “Spindrift for Leroy Jenkins” that I didn’t have time to stay for. An epic show lasting at least five hours, each night of Vision Festival requires a lot of time and patience to be savored – as well as an apartment in New York City or a car with which to help catch those late-night sets, that is, without having to spend the night asleep on a subway bench.

For a group composed of 39 string players, the tribute to Jenkins was far less dissonant than I had imagined. I was expecting some kind of Penderecki-like madness, but the ensemble played through one of Leroy’s compositions fluidly and coherently, with great concentration and unity. Roughly a half-hour long, the performance explored every facet of the violin’s sonic capabilities. Leading without a baton, Billy Bang used a style of conducting that I believe he said was derived from Butch Morris, using the hands to conduct in a more natural, almost colloquial way; a tapping of the head seemed to signal “pick up your instruments,” while the rapid flipping of a pointer finger meant “transition from bowed playing to plucking.” A fantastic conductor to watch, Bang led the group through the knotty turns of Jenkins’ score while allowing room for improvisation, the performers seeming to be at his mercy in the event that he called on them for a solo. At times, Bang would point to a series of as many as four people in a row to play an eighth note each; during another of the movement’s highlights, the conductor pitted the violins against the other half of the stage composed of cellos and standup basses, creating a furious call-and-response dialogue between the band’s two tonal extremes. Above all, with 39 violins at his disposal, one had to admire Bang and co-coordinator Hwang for their restraint in this beautiful eulogy.

Roy Campbell followed up with the debut of his Akhenaten Suite, which apparently derives its style from the culture of ancient Egypt, the Pharoahs and the Nile. An excellent group of musicians including Campbell on trumpet, Billy Bang on violin, Bryan Carrott on vibraharp, Hilliard Greene on bass, and Zen Matsuura on drums, the ensemble got the crowd heated up with fiery solos and wonderful group interplay. Sounding very much like Charles Tolliver’s work of the 1970s, one could say that Campbell’s group was somewhat behind the times, following a tried-and-true style with a long history of success. Generally beginning with the theme, Campbell would take an initial trumpet solo before dropping out of the mix, handing the reins over to Bang’s violin, who also proceeded to sit out while the rhythm section took turns soloing before again returning to the theme; or, occasionally, the group would start out rather minimally before Campbell gave the signal to launch into funkier post-bop territory. The lack of variety in terms of approach gave one the impression that this was fairly conventional for free music, with lingering remnants of bop in the head-solo-head structures. Nonetheless, the performance was truly excellent, each musician accomplished in his own right and taking a number of impressive solos, with Carrott being particularly intense. I also enjoyed the way that Campbell would explore the full range of his instrument, sometimes emitting a shrill, wavery trumpet blast, at others moving closer to the microphone to blow his way through a series of gruff, cavernous notes. Definitely a group to keep an eye on, Campbell will hopefully keep perfecting his new suite before once again making his way to the studio.

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Vision Festival XII took place on June 19-24, 2007 at the Angel Orensanz Foundation, 172 Norfolk St., Lower East Side, NY.

Photographs by Faith Holland, excluding the first image, taken by Seth Watter

Hector Rivera - At the Party

2007-06-25T18:26:00.000-04:00

Hector Rivera made a splash on the burgeoning New York Latin soul scene with this hit, 1966's "At the Party", which was actually something of a crossover success on the R&B top 40. It isn't difficult to see why, as the music on this reissue of At the Party... Plus (Ace, 1966/1994) is some of the tamest salsa you'll ever hear, coming nowhere near the hardhitting, inventive fusion of Pucho & His Latin Soul Brothers or Ray Barretto's Acid (Fania, 1968). Still, if you can get past some of the schmaltzier tunes that populate this lp, you're in for some damn good party music. The title track really swings, with its feel-good piano line, congas, fat horns, and hand claps that sway beneath David Coleman's soulful voice. It's not terribly sophisticated music, but who can resist a hot rhythm and the lyrics: "Bring your records everybody / don't you be late to the party / don't you be late, 'cause I can't wait / 'cause I'm anxious to get started / time's a wasting, so get moving / we'll be dancing, dancing and a-grooving..." And, true enough, Rivera's single was one piece of wax sure to be making the rounds at the city's clubs until its grooves were thoroughly worn out. Ace's reissue features the classic hit as well as the titular album, with the "... Plus" to denote the five bonus tracks included (some of which are early/unfinished cuts from the original sessions).

Online information about Rivera is scant -- though one website seems to think that the name was merely a pseudonym for salsa singer Ray Pollard. A keyboardist and sideman to legends like Johnny Pacheco and Joe Cuba, Rivera here takes on the duties of arranging and conducting his band, which includes in its ensemble the wonderful Cachao on standup bass. While "At the Party" shows Rivera's great pop sensibility, other tracks more fully display his talent as a bandleader, from the classic boogaloo of "Shingaling Baby" and "I Want a Chance at Romance" to "I Got My Eye on You", whose fast-paced female vocals sound very much like the rhythmic, Dixie Cups/New Orleans-derived vocal stylings. Rivera takes from salsa its brass playing, its percussion, and its repetitive, hortatory choruses and combines it with a decidedly American type of singing and Americanized dance patterns.

At the Party could best be described as a soul record with a Latin influence of varying degrees, depending on the song; "Got to Make Up Your Mind" could basically pass for a James Carr single, while the rhythms on "Playing it Cool" betray Rivera's Latin heritage far more obviously. "Asia Minor" is a smoky instrumental with both feet in the Latin Jazz tradition, while "Calypso Number 10" sounds equal parts Harry Belafonte and South African trumpet. The fantastic "Do it to Me" features the best elements of all the above, with the melody handed over mid-way to the joyous sound of children's voices and the frequent punctuations of the rhythm section.

Fracture me up, mess up my mind, do it, do it, do it to me...

Hector Rivera - Do it to Me.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.1 mb)
Hector Rivera - At the Party... Plus (Ace, 1966/1994)

Irene Schweizer & Louis Moholo

2007-06-24T23:42:00.000-04:00

An amazing duo recording by pianist Irene Schweizer and drummer Louis Moholo, this early release on the Intakt label captures the pair at the 1987 Zurich International Jazz Festival. Irene Schweizer and Louis Moholo (Intakt, 1988) is one of those albums you put on out of curiosity, yet you can't get out of your seat until it's finished playing at least once through, if not twice. The infectious rhythms take hold of your body, enrapture you, and hold your attention for fourty minutes by the sheer energy radiated through your speakers. Like Fred Van Hove before her, Schweizer is an incredibly percussive player, using her piano to play dense clusters of notes in intensely repetitive solos. And it's no accident that the pianist would go on to record duo sets with more drummers like Andrew Cyrille, Han Bennink, and Hamid Drake. One can hear her kinship to the drumset from the opening notes of "Free Mandela!", which begins with Moholo's rather militaristic playing and the abbreviated notes coming from Schweizer's piano. In the same way that an extended drum roll is used to heighten the music's tension, Schweizer repeats short phrases in order to make her Schlippenbach-esque flourishes sound all the more breathtaking, increasing in power as Moholo's tempestuous drums carry her from one phrase to the next.

Schweizer is also a very modest player, content to stick to the melody line for extended periods of time in order to let Moholo's drums rise to the surface. One gets so caught up in his clamorous playing that Schweizer's dissonant detours may occasionally go unnoticed. "Mra", a rendition of one of Chris McGregor's best compositions with the Brotherhood of Breath, continues very much in this vein, with Schweizer's antiphonal solos interacting with the swing of Moholo's drums, whose frantic snare rolls build alongside his intense cymbal work. The tune is nearly unrecognizable for four and a half minutes until the pianist launches into the meat of McGregor's theme, confining herself to its beautiful cadences while exploring it at the lowest and highest registers of her instrument. The two reach an ecstatic conclusion to the whistles and cheers of the audience, whose clapping seems to flow organically into a shockingly laid-back rendition of Dudu Pukwana's "Angel".

For a European improviser, Schweizer seems surprisingly at home on these township themes, sounding very much like Abdullah Ibrahim at the height of his powers. However, the real highlight of the session is the final suite, "Exile: Song for Johnny Dyani / Africa Memories / We Will Win the War". The legacy of The Blue Notes runs deep here, especially with Moholo now being the group's only surviving member. Without the guidance of a theme, Schweizer lets her piano run loose, punctuating her wild improvisations with circular melodies and imploring one-note repetitions. The neverending stream of marching themes, which seem to emanate simultaneously from every part of Moholo's kit, gives way to a brief, unaccompanied piano solo whose Aki Takahashi-like phrasings shine with particular brilliance. By the piece's end, the dialogue between these two players is remarkable; they seem to be speaking to each other in constantly evolving phrases, urging each other on to new harmonic territory. Eventually it becomes impossible to say who is playing melodically and who is carrying the rhythm, as Schweizer's frequent reintroduction of the theme allows Moholo to govern the music's direction, while at other moments the drummer's iron rhythms give his partner the freedom to circle around him wildly in new, exciting constellations. Listening to each other, pausing for thought, and responding accordingly.

Irene Schweizer & Louis Moholo (Intakt, 1988; 192 kbps, 53.7 mb)

(Re)new(ed) blogs

2007-06-22T00:55:00.000-04:00

Before taking off for the weekend, I wanted to draw attention to a few fellow-travelers on the blog spectrum.

Conventional Sound, run by John Hinkle, is a recently revived blog focusing on psychedelic rock and folk weirdness, well-documented and with concise descriptions that probably make you wonder why this blog is filled with so much text. Recent updates include:

These Trails - 1973 - These Trails
Bill Fay - 1971 - Time of the Last Persecution
Music Emporium - 1969 - Music Emporium
July - July (1968)
Kaleidoscope - Tangerine Dream

Sun of Latin Music, run by Julian Drago, is a brand-new Latin music journal focusing on "70s Nuyorican salsa to Latin soul to plena to guajira and beyond, all with an admittedly Puerto Rican bias." More than just a dumping-place for albums, Sun of Latin Music also seems to have plenty of room for scattered reflections on Latin music and live videos culled from YouTube. Updates include:

El Cumbanchero (Rafael Hernandez) - a spotlight on variations of the song by folks like Ismael Rivera, Celia Cruz, Xavier Cugat, and more
Javier Vazquez - Javier (1976)
Willie Colon - La Murga (video)

And I'd like to begin a new tradition here on Meshes of the Afternoon, hereby dubbed "Feline Friday."

Esther Watter, in one of her quieter moments, sprawled out on her favorite blanket

Mutant Disco (ZE)

2007-06-21T14:16:00.000-04:00

2003 reissue on ZE of the 1981 compilation that adds an incredible nineteen tracks to the original six, making this not much of a reissue at all but an entirely new release. Subtitled "A Subtle Discolation of the Norm", Mutant Disco plumbs the back catalogue of legendary no-wave / disco / punk-funk label ZE Records, formed in 1978 by Michael Esteban and Michael Zilkha. The French-born Esteban, with his partner in crime Lizzy Mercier Descloux, played a vital part in documenting the early punk scenes of New York and London -- before all those bands signed to major labels, that is. ZE Records was conceived as an independent homebase where dance music and avant-garde leanings could freely cross-pollinate, making its music some of the most vibrant, distinctive, and refreshing of the era.

The most obvious example of this synthesis is James White and the Blacks, who contribute "Contort Yourself" to the collection. With its angular bass, female backing vocals, and James Chance/White's trademark saxophone squealing all rolling over a firm dance beat complete with cowbell and hi-hat, it clearly displays the incestuous relationship that punk and disco had developed by the late '70s. The rest of the music here is more obviously danceable but no less exciting, like Lizzy Descloux's "Funky Stuff" and "Fire", hotblooded disco numbers that create a dense mix of vaguely tropical rhythms, slithery bass lines, sharply picked guitars and Descloux's sexy French accent. Another highlight are the tracks by Cristina, a now-forgotten figure on the disco scene who delivers an incredible version of The Beatles' "Drive My Car" as well as the epic and self-reflexive "Blame it on Disco", whose leisurely horns tell the tale of a wife's neglect while her errant husband dances the night away.

The exuberant silliness continues on excellent cuts like the Aural Exciters' "Spooks in Space," which opens up with a quote from The Shirelles' "Mama Said"; Coati Mundi's Afro-Caribbean and salsa influenced "Que Pasa / Me No Pop I," complete with lyrics about Fred Astaire, James Dean and Lenny Bruce over a popping bass; The Waitresses' new wave classic "I Know What Boys Like"; Garcons' hard and fast rhythms with cries of "dance dance, watch the French boy dance!"; Kid Creole's sultry "I'm a Wonderful Thing Baby"; and Was (Not Was)'s uncategorizable jazzy-disco-percussive weirdness heard at various points during Mutant Disco's running time. (Also featured is Bill Laswell's Material, but, to be honest, I just don't like them.) Overall, this is a collection of some really classic music that offers a history lesson along with its danceability, showing that disco was more than just Saturday Night Fever, ball mirrors and ugly white suits -- it was really good!

Coati Mundi - Que Pasa / Me No Pop I.mp3 (192 kbps, 8.8 mb)
va - Mutant Disco (ZE, 1981/2003) [disc 1]
va - Mutant Disco (ZE, 1981/2003) [disc 2]

Disc 1:

1. Wheel Me Out [Remix Version] - Was (Not Was)
2. Bustin' Out - Material (feat. Nona Hendryx)
3. Drive My Car - Cristina
4. Annie I'm Not Your Daddy [Remix Version] - Kid Creole & the Coconuts
5. Emile (Night Rate) - Aural Exciters
6. Contort Yourself - James White & the Blacks
7. Funky Stuff - Lizzy Mercier Descloux
8. French Boy - Garçons
9. Deputy of Love - Don Armando’s 2nd Avenue Rhumba Band
10. Cowboys & Gansters - Gichi Dan
11. Blame It on Disco - Cristina
12. Encore l'Amore [Italian Version][#] - Garçons

Disc 2:

1. Disco Clone - Cristina
2. Que Pasa/Me No Pop I - Coati Mundi
3. I'm a Wonderful Thing Baby [Remix Version] - Kid Creole & the Coconuts
4. Out Come the Freaks [Remix Version] - Was (Not Was)
5. Fire - Lizzy Mercier Descloux
6. Spooks in Space [Discomix] - Aural Exciters
7. Tell Me That I'm Dreaming - Was (Not Was)
8. Narcissique - Caroline Loeb
9. I Know What Boys Like - The Waitresses
10. Mission Impossible - Lizzy Mercier Descloux
11. Re Bop Electronic - Garçons
12. French Boy Disco Edit - Garçons
13. Faites le Proton - Casino Music

Crime Jazz: Bernstein & Mancini

2007-06-21T02:06:00.000-04:00

Smoke is all there’s been in my life.

Part 1: Keeping time on the scene of the crime

Bernstein

The Man With the Golden Arm (Decca, 1959) is a wonderful 1955 film starring Frank Sinatra and directed by genius Otto Preminger. A controversial film – one of the first to deal openly with heroin addiction – The Man With the Golden Arm is also part of an early string of Hollywood films to feature all-out jazz soundtracks, with Sinatra playing a reformed cardshark fresh out of rehab who wants to begin life anew as a swing drummer. The soundtrack by Elmer Bernstein is one of the finest in the genre of “crime jazz,” sounding very much like the classic Duke Ellington score to Preminger’s Anatomy of a Murder, leading one to believe that the filmmaker always had an ear for some fine horn playing. Some might stop short of calling Bernstein’s music “jazz”, since it features very little room for improvisation, but the prototypically “hot” drum line and hard-hitting horns that open up “Clark Street” make it difficult to place in another genre. The orchestral arrangements on “Zosh” first sound as far removed from the idiom as possible, but halfway through the listener is greeted with a slinky bass line and melancholy trumpet solo that leave no doubt about the dominant style Bernstein is working in. “The Fix” expertly conjures up images of drug addiction with its swirling strings and angular piano line, finding its greatest tension in a sustained organ note and the repetitive, sharp interruptions of the brass section, before the song fully kicks into the soundtrack’s major theme. Part of what makes this music so good is its constant variety, as “Molly” finds Bernstein in a more tender mood, orchestrating the piano, vibes, and flute to play with all the lyricism of a lullaby. “Breakup” begins with a frantic piano line and horns that predict disaster, before a drum roll suddenly changes the music to a typical rock’n’roll dance number. Rollicking through so many genres and moods over the course of his score, Bernstein combines the swing of Count Basie and the tense dynamics of Bernard Hermann into a unique, engaging synthesis.

Mancini

Orson Welles recruited the talents of Henry Mancini a few years later for his epic noir Touch of Evil (Varese Sarabande, 1958). As the film takes place on the Mexican-American border, the focus here is decidedly different than the Chicago-based Man With the Golden Arm. Mancini is much more interested in synthesizing popular music of the era like electric blues, swinging rock’n’roll, Latin jazz, and pianola music (generally associated with Marlene Dietrich’s smoky whorehouse). Percussion is almost always bongos, congas, timbales, carrying the music along with tense rhythms on tracks like “Flashing Nuisance” and “Borderline Montuna”. Since Janet Leigh has a few bad run-ins with a group of doped-up, leatherjacketed teenagers, there’s more than a few cheesy dancin’-to-the-jukebox rockers, dominating the soundtrack’s middle section until the epic “Background to Murder”, which, if you remember from the film, plays while Orson Welles strangles a man under a seedy, flickering lightbulb. The feverish drum-horn lines give way to a gentler duet between bongos and vibes, before the guitar, sax and trumpet re-enter to nudge the music on to its terrifying conclusion. The rhythm section vies for power with the beefed-up brass, whose deep honking washes away any thought of redemption for Welles’ corrupt officer, while the Tijuana trumpet blares and bleats in lamentation. “Barroom Rock” returns to the realm of honky-tonk, while “Pigeon Caged” is a smoky, understated jazz ballad. “Blue Pianola” is the second of two delightful player-piano compositions, a mid-tempo boogie-woogie with a swing that would make Pete Johnson or Jimmy Yancey proud. Overall, Mancini isn’t interested in the kind of hectic genre hopping found in Bernstein's music, preferring instead to relish the flavor of a particular style over the course of a few songs at a time, really digging into the moods and colors each evokes. Had the composer decided to copy the style first laid out by The Man With the Golden Arm, Touch of Evil would not be as fine a contribution as it is to the neglected genre of crime jazz.

Elmer Bernstein - The Fix.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.9 mb)
Elmer Bernstein - The Man With the Golden Arm (Decca, 1959) + Henry Mancini - Touch of Evil (Varese Sarabanda, 1958) -- 134.7 mb total

Luckey Roberts & Willie "The Lion" Smith - Harlem Piano

2007-06-19T21:17:00.000-04:00

Today I want to share with you one of my most cherished albums, Harlem Piano (Good Time Jazz, 1958), which is split equally between two of the absolute giants of stride piano, Luckey Roberts (1887-1968) and Willie "The Lion" Smith (1897-1973). Stride is, of course, a type of playing originated sometime around 1919 by performers like Roberts, Smith, James P. Johnson, Fats Waller, Earl Hines, Eubie Blake and Claude Hopkins, who took the dynamics of ragtime and added improvisation, swing rhythms, and classical flair, turning America's first popular music into a full-fledged jazz idiom. The left hand tends to keep a steady bass line while the right adds melodies, riffs, and improvised runs. Unlike ragtime, which was generally published as written music, stride is entirely performance-based, and the blistering techniques used by most stride pianists prevented composers like Luckey from selling their music. As Tom Roberts recollects in his liner notes to Roberts Plays Roberts (Stomp Off, 1999), when Eubie Blake presented some of his music to publisher Joseph W. Stern, he was told it was absolutely wonderful, but who could play it aside from him, Luckey Roberts, and a few other hopelessly talented musicians?

Due to the spirit of the era and the paucity of its studio technology, many of the greatest early stride performers left little or no recorded music behind. Charles Luckeyeth Roberts was a king, but he has only three dates as a leader to his credit, recording once in 1946 and twice in 1958. Since the early history of stride was primarily an oral one with folks like Roberts passing down their knowledge via live demonstration, and also because the pianist was financially well-off as a long-running bandleader and shrewd real estate owner, there was simply no pressing need to record; if it didn't contribute to your livelihood, why bother? For a man who supposedly taught Duke all he knew, it's truly a shame that he wasn't forced into the studio on a more regular basis, but sometimes the brightest stars fall through the air without giving a damn for posterity.

A large man who reportedly beat off three thugs who attempted to mug him one night in Harlem before dragging their bodies off to the police station, Roberts had enormous hands that could spread to play a fourteenth on the piano, causing some to speculate that he had the webbing of his fingers surgically removed. The man tears into his pieces, as one can hear on the flurry of notes that opens the version of "Nothin'" on this album, while "Railroad Blues" is a vigorous stomper whose left-hand pulse imitates the chugging noises of a locomotive. I've alway thought that Roberts was the most distinctive of the big three -- himself, Smith, and Johnson -- because of his penchant for off-beat melodies, classical themes, and introverted detours. Songs like "Spanish Fandango", "Complainin'", and the seven-minute "Inner Space" veer away from their main themes again and again, a liberty the other stride pianists didn't seem to permit themselves nearly as often. Dainty and powerful, lyrical and ferocious, these six selections are a treasure for anyone who appreciates the early heyday of jazz piano.

Luckey Roberts (left) and Willie "The Lion" Smith (right) stooping on the streets of Harlem

William Henry Joseph Bonaparte Bertholoff Smith, aka Willie "The Lion" Smith, is far better known in the history of jazz, crafting more of a public persona for himself with his omnipresent derby hat and long cigar. A WWI veteran (how he earned his nickname) and the son of black and Jewish parents, Smith was born in Goshen, NY but grew up in Newark before relocating to Harlem to participate in the vibrant jazz scene. He left behind a large body of work, even an album of reminiscences with accompanying renditions of his favorite songs: a living key to the past rather than a name lost to the annals. He was recorded many times by Decca in the '30s and later by Commodore, often with his backing band, The Cubs. That era is capture on The Chronological Willie "The Lion" Smith: 1925-1937 (Classics, 1996), which I suggest you all seek out as the playing on tunes like "There's Gonna Be the Devil to Pay" and "Finger Buster" is absolutely phenomenal.

By the time of the 1958 cuts on this release, Smith had mostly moved away from the Dixieland fire of his early work, here stretching out on six compositions that alternate between the sound of popular rags and more idiosyncratic, Roberts-esque territory. "Tango a la Caprice" has the most classical flair of the session, with lighting-fast improvisations dropped like bombs within the interstices of the melody. "Relaxin'" is true to its title, with a leisurely bass that leaves plenty of room for light, playful melodies in the higher registers, while "Rippling Water" creates tension between a short, repetitive riff and the finger-busting runs that comprise its contrapuntal theme -- it may just be the best track here. Smith also reprises some of his best early work, songs like "Morning Air", "Concentratin'" and "Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea". This is not only the perfect introduction to two masters of stride, but also one of the finest documents of an all-but-dead style that no one will ever convincingly replicate.

Luckey Roberts - Spanish Fandango.mp3 (183 kbps VBR, 6.9 mb)
Luckey Roberts/Willie "The Lion" Smith - Harlem Piano (Good Time Jazz, 1958)

Historical information mostly culled from stridepiano.com, wikipedia, and allmusic -- the amateur writer's best friends.

David Tudor - Three Works for Live Electronics

2007-06-18T20:34:00.000-04:00

Three Works for Live Electronics (Lovely Music, 1996) features a handful of blistering, insane pieces by John Cage’s former right-hand man, pianist David Tudor. This is challenging music that is no easier to describe, as Tudor attempts to create a truly original syntax for electronic sound that does not borrow liberally from other genres or even previous avant-garde visionaries. Getting off to a vigorous start, “Pulsers” lives up to its name with pounding analog rhythms that throb in tandem with their own high-pitched reverberations. Speeding up, slowing down, the jackhammer sounds create their own echo, until those echoes seem to mutate and split apart from their origins to become independent components engaging in a complex polyrhythm. Philip Corner’s “Pulse Polyphony” makes a good point of reference, but this is far less pretty and metallic, almost brutal in its percussive purity. A third of the way through, the aggressive rhythms begin to make room for more abstract soundscapes, sounding like keyboards with an endless potential for reverb -- like Doctor Who meets the locomotive from outer space. The sheer speed of these analog sounds is only a step behind the manic concoctions of today's Venetian Snares.

Composed in 1972, “Untitled” is an extended foray into electronic sound production “without the use of oscillators, tone generators, or recorded natural sound materials" (Lovely Music). Recorded again in 1982 with improvised vocals from Takehisa Kosugi, the harshness of "Untitled" is stunning for this era of electronic music, the only names to come to mind being Robert Ashley or Remko Scha, but this could easily be a piece by modern noise maestros Whitehouse or Merzbow. Shrill tones are thrown through a sonic meat grinder, spitting them back out in stuttering waves with subtler electronic chirping that would sound equally at home on a random Erstwhile release. The wordless vocal accompaniment babbles on in the background with the quality of a religious chant, submerged again and again by the radio-frequencies-gone-wild that spring from Tudor’s deft hands. A hundred dying birds stuck in a frantically skipping turntable.

“Phonemes”, the longest piece here, finds Tudor in a subtler mood, not quite as relentless as he stretches out over the thirty-minute running time. An addition to the original 1984 lp, “Phonemes” begins with some long, drawn out tones that vary radically in pitch, making noises akin to Wily Coyote as he falls off a cliff and descends to the bottom of the canyon. Five minutes in, Tudor gives us hints of strange rumblings making their way to their surface, and by twenty minutes he’s created a full-fledged stew of bubbly, gurgling electronic blips and scrapes, not terribly different from those heard prior on Three Pieces but in a much more subdued, dare I say mature manner. The snarling is still there, but given the consistency of running water as opposed to fiery lava. Deep, chainsaw-like waves help grind the piece to a halt, each new tone becoming increasingly fractured, as if the jaws of Tudor’s machine could not help but inhale its surroundings only to gnash them apart with its teeth. Perhaps because of its length and lack of focus, “Phonemes” is the least immediately appealing of Tudor’s compositions featured on this release, but unhappy listeners can console themselves with the fact that this is, after all, only a bonus track. And these are only the superficial reflections of a first, cursory listen; another difficulty with music this boldly independent, so entirely removed from tradition, is the fact that it requires new emotional states of its listener rather than playing on the strings of the old ones.

David Tudor - Three Works for Live Electronics (Lovely Music, 1996, 240 kbps VBR, 121.5 mb)

Blogger Seth Watter turns 20!

2007-06-18T13:47:00.001-04:00

Happy unbirthday to you, and happy birthday to Seth! To celebrate the day, blog-style, I thought I would post a collection of girl pop songs perfect for a birthday (or if you just lost your boyfriend, or your best friend betrayed you). Growin' Up Too Fast is one of the best girl group collections I've come across. Despite the popularity and enormity (four discs as compared to Growin's two) of Girl Group Sounds: Lost and Found, I think this compilation has better hooks and is more upbeat rather than ballad-y.

The song I've chosen specifically, "Birthday Party" by the Pixies Three, was first featured in Seth's last birthday on an animal-themed mix I made for him (the title of which I'll spare him). The compilation has other birthday and party songs to offer, however, like "442 Glenwood Avenue," "What's So Sweet About Sweet Sixteen" and "Everybody Loves Saturday Night," to name a few. The two-CD set perfectly evokes pin the tail on the donkey, fruit punch, and also crying when you don't get your way.

For the avant-garde heads in the crowd, I apologize for the unabashed pop in this post. However, if you think birthdays are the exclusive realm of the lyrical and melodic, Seth's birthday gift will be to see the Friday night line-up of the 2007 Vision Festival including performances by Matthew Shipp, Fred Anderson Trio, and "50 Violins for Leroy Jenkins." Expect a review to follow!

Happy Birthday, Sethie!

The Pixies Three - "Birthday Party"
Growin' Up Too Fast (Disc 1)
Growin' Up Too Fast (Disc 2)

Michel F. Côté - 63 Apparitions

2007-06-17T22:10:00.000-04:00

An obscure and unfortunately neglected record by key Ambiances Magnétiques player Michel F. Côté, 63 Apparitions (&records, 2004) was originally written as a choreographical piece performed in Montreal. While I have no idea what the visual counterpart may have been or the significance of its title, I do know that this is stunningly beautiful music that deserves to be reappraised. Composed by Bruire frontman Côté and sounding very much like a continuation of his work in Klaxon Gueule, 63 Apparitions also features the playing of Christof Migone and labelmate Martin Tetreault on various objects, as well as the unrecognizable voice of AM staple Diane Labrosse. The fifteen brief tracks here all begin and end quite awkwardly, as if a continuous recording had been separated into pieces and re-shuffled. Côté's main axe is the drum, but you'd be hard-pressed to tell from this strange melange of percussion, electronics, piano, vocal manipulations and orchestral samples. Everything sounds remarkably organic, blending the electronic and the acoustic into a fluid whole.

Tracks 1-8 puff along in a kind of jerky stop-start mode, reaching interesting plateaus but never quite building to a climax. Even with the intrusion of classical music by track 9, there is never the sense of resolution, as what sounds like a melancholy excerpt from one of Gorecki's string quartets -- though I've read only Cage and Satie listed as sources -- is quickly eclipsed by Côté's trademark electronic gurgle and twittering sine waves. A sample is never allowed the freedom to play for more than a few phrases at a time, deferring importance to the insect-like buzzings of Côté's setup. Not a quoter, Côté's use of prerecorded music turns those fragments into dreamlike snippets from elsewhere, fully absorbing them into his own aural narrative. He gradually effaces the sound of strings and woodwinds beneath oscillating tones and rough scrapes; noises equivelent to fireworks (track 1), accordions (track 8) and airplane motors (track 11) prevent the music from reaching a maudlin conclusion. And it is always the orchestra that sounds bland and repetitive, never the "lesser" instruments of the computer and the mixing board.

As I walked around Yonkers, NY's Untermyer Park today, a space I've known intimately for the past fifteen years, I listened to the snatches of melody 63 Apparitions offered up through my headphones. Untermyer is filled with ruined and decaying buildings, overgrown vegetation and crumbling faux-Roman architecture. I couldn't help but thinking that Côté's music provided my stroll with a perfect soundtrack, appearing before me as the fragments of a damaged landscape whose former splendor was now buried beneath layers of grime. Far from robbing the original of its beauty, the new elements accumulating atop it had turned it into something even more beautiful, with so much texture concentrated in each surface that I broke off a piece of the pool's flooring with the heel of my shoe to pocket and take home with me. And I again came to the realization that music is that which helps animate the mute ugliness of the world around us: one view, a thousand notes.

Michel F. Côté - Track 11 (192 kbps, 7.2 mb)
Michel F. Côté - 63 Apparitions (&records, 2004)

Mori & Whitman at Issue Project Room, 6/15/07

2007-06-17T18:43:00.000-04:00

Ikue Mori at her laptop following her performance Friday night

Anyone who was present Friday night down at Brooklyn's Issue Project Room was in for a real delight Located in Carroll Gardens, the venue is housed in an abandoned two-story silo in the former industrial district. Up a flight of stairs in the circular performance space, Ikue Mori and Keith Fullerton Whitman treated a crowd of roughly 100 people to an hour and a half of electronic manipulations, including (but not limited to) beeps, boops, pops, scratches, whirrs, clicks, drones, and the occasional refrain.

The two artists need no introduction. (Let's face it, this isn't a real publication and I know who my audience is.) Disappointingly, the two artists did not collaborate, and from what I could tell it was their first time meeting in person. Each gave a set of approximately 45 minutes, and for once I was thankful for the short running time so I could make the trek back to Midtown and then hop on a bus back to the Jersey suburbs, still arriving home before 1:00. What really made the performance special was the rare opportunity to hear both artists perform within Issue Project Room's new audio setup, featured all of June in a program called "Points in a Circle". Other participating artists this month include Lee Ranaldo, Tim Hecker, Annea Lockwood, Elliot Sharp, and Dion Workman, to name only a few. Issue Project Room will unfortunately be leaving the silo on 400 Carroll St at the end of the month to "embark on a new Brooklyn adventure," as its owner/curator told the audience. So to see Mori and Whitman perform this past Friday was truly a historic experience as well as an aesthetic one.

The goal of "Points in a Circle" is to explore, exploit, and utilize Stephan Moore's innovative sixteen-channel speaker system, suspended throughout the circular space and radiating sound in all directions. For the audience, this means being placed directly within the sonic bed, bombarded on all sides by a dizzying array of multi-directional noises. The darkness of the space and the stillness of the performers invited you to close your eyes and appreciate the concert on a purely aural level, rejecting the spectacle of moving bodies and light shows one becomes accustomed to at major venues. Far from a novelty, the speaker system truly expands what is possible when dissemninating sound and the way an audience can interact with it, perhaps influenced by La Monte Young's and Marian Zazeela's womb-like design for The Dream House. Though Mori and Whitman work within similar musical idioms, their very different styles came through in the radically different ways they inhabited Moore's sonic architecture.

1/4 of Stephan Moore's 16-channel hemisphere speaker system

Mori, silent and demure, played a laptop-only set quite similar in tone to her last few releases for Tzadik, 2001's Labyrinth and 2005's Myrninerest. The former DNA drummer deftly wove a tapestry of small, delicate noises that spluttered their way from speaker to speaker, darting about the room in circular configurations. Mori has a peculiar way of clustering sound together, combining a variety of samples into heavily concentrated units that sound like several melodies being scrambled at once. Her quiet yet manic approach to the laptop is truly unique, bottling up energy and releasing it in short, hyperventilated breaths. Halfway through, the composer introduced what sounded like a sample from an electronic harp, conjuring up the image of Mori's frequent partner in crime, Zeena Parkins. The gentle melody faded and resurfaced again during the continuous 45-minute set, introducing moments of clarity among the general confusion. As the music darted behind your head from ear to ear, one could liken the experience to that of being hunted by a flying snake, whose sudden movements rendered any visual recognition of the attacker impossible. Most amazing is the way that Mori used the space in a way that vision could never hope to replicate. Quite simply, we do not have eyes in the back of our head -- only a speaker system is capable of stimulating us from both the front and behind.

Whitman's approach to the Points in a Circle design was decidedly less intellectual and for this reason the less exciting of the two, but the composer balanced this oversight with sheer sonic beauty. One major difference I saw in his performance was its very physical nature, accomplished through a much higher volume and the use of almost every speaker simultaneously. While Mori used the space as if it were a maze, Whitman saw it as a juggernaut. Bringing his own amp, Whitman also had the advantage of using sounds from the ceiling and the floor. Starting off with some very short, abrasive sounds that punctuated the air like hammer blows, the performance gradually shifted into the ethereal, chiming high tones characteristic of Whitman's Playthroughs (Kranky, 2002), with a dash of the stuttering rhythms one commonly associates with his drill'n'bass moniker, Hrvatski. The setup here was slightly more elaborate than Ikue's, with a mixing board and guitar in addition to the laptop. I most enjoyed the kind of one-two punch offered by the artist's combination of swirling, transcendent sounds emanating from the ceiling with the deep, chest-rattling bass that rose from the floor, as if my body had become a meeting place for the competing forces of heaven and hell. While Mori's music is, for me, a very decentered experience, I find Whitman to be very much in the tradition of the climax, building to impossible heights and letting things quickly ebb before climaxing again. In short, it was a performance both lovely and intense. Though it did not prompt me to ruminate on the three-dimensionality of sound, it made my head swim with its possessive, insistent, trance-like movements.

"Points in a Circle" is the last hurrah for Issue Project Room, and who knows when Moore will again find a performance space as appropriate for his design as the abandoned silo has proven to be. And, though I made the trip there to see the two musicians on display Friday night, Moore is really each concert's unsung hero, the true instigator for this amazing, unique audience experience. It was an exhilerating moment when we all rose from our seats and stepped out into the warm summer air, but a sad one as well, with our knowledge that the space behind us would soon vanish like a stray melody.

Ikue Mori and Keith Fullerton Whitman performed at 8:00 PM on June 15, 2007 at Issue Project Room, 400 Carroll St., Brooklyn, NY.

A break in the road

2007-06-15T01:09:00.001-04:00

My girlfriend is staying with me this weekend, so I'm going to call a hiatus on posting for a few days. However, in the meantime, I'd like to point in the direction of some excellent music I've been listening to lately courtesy of other blogs:

No-Y-Z - Sheer Electronic Din (Azra, 1983)
Maurice Mcintyre - Humility in the Light of the Creator (Delmark, 1969)
Rod Poole - The Death Adder (Win, 1996)

Also, if all goes well, I'll be seeing Keith Whitman and Ikue Mori tomorrow night at Brooklyn's Issue Project Room, so expect some exclusive coverage of the event!

Tony Schwartz - Music in the Streets

2007-06-14T21:01:00.000-04:00

Tony Schwartz: In any city in the world, you'll find music being played in the streets. Whether as a matter of necessity or inclination, or a combination of both, you will find street musicians and their music. At sundown, a lone saxophone player walks the white line down the middle of the street, while a guitar-maker speaks of the tradition of street musicians...

The image is laughably contrived, almost cinematic in nature: a man playing scattered jazz riffs against the setting sun, stumbling around the avenues of the city. Who knows if it's real? Either way, it has that touch of the timeless, the iconic -- like that scene from Manhattan with Woody Allen and Diane Keaton silhouetted on a park bench against the Hudson. And when we stop caring about what's real or fake, true or false, something beautiful emerges: the power of melodrama to transform everyday life.

Guitar-maker: I'd hate to live in a place where no one ever got the idea of going out in the street and singing a song or playing an instrument. There'd be something wrong, basically wrong with that place... but it's a worldwide thing, it seems to be a basic human thing, you know, to want to sing and play songs for the people. So when you can't do it in a commercial machine that regulates the processes that finally get someone in front of the people, you know, to sing or to play music, then you have to do it on your own, you do it in the simplest fashion, you just go out where there are people, where you can reach them, and you sing and you play. If they like it they contribute to your livelihood, if they don't, they don't. But out of it all comes a very, you know, interesting aura around the whole human pattern and especially in the city, it gets very warm and people like it. A few don't, but there are a few who don't like most anything.

The wandering saxophone melody continues to play in the background, mixing with ambient noise from the street and the honking of cars. And thus begins one of the finest pieces of field recording ever put to tape, Tony Schwartz's Music in the Streets (Smithsonian Folkways, 1957).

I've been fascinated with this lp since I happened upon it in our radio station's music library, rifling through piles of records in an attempt to find something interesting for my next show. Intrigued by the title and the cover, I flipped it over and was pleasantly surprised to see the Reverend Gary Davis and Moondog listed as performers. But that was just the icing on the cake: the most amazing music here is by the unknowns and the amateurs, ranging from jazz bands at Italian street festivals to a classically-trained fiddler in front of Carnegie Hall, from a group of young boys in a bongo dance ensemble to the folk staples down at Washington Square, not to mention the mysterious glass bowl player whose kit consists of items bought at the .5 and .10-cent store. Church bells, gospel groups, and the sounds of parades make their way into the limelight as well, and throughout the course of this avenue odyssey the musicians speak of their experiences as street performers, placing more monetary and practical concerns alongside the odder ramblings of Moondog.

Part of the joy of this album is the real love it exudes for city life; it reminds you why you love NYC in addition to the t-shirt you never wear that tells you you love NYC. Schwartz, the man who brought you Sounds of My City (Smithsonian Folkways, 1956) and The New York Taxi Driver (Columbia, '59), narrates the loosely organized sections with his husky voice, painting a portrait of urban splendor and diversity. Marshall Macluhan once called him a paragon of the new media guru, an emerging breed whose use of technology allows greater freedom in the subject-object dialectic involved when documenting modern life. And, as in cinema verité, the speaking subject is allowed a certain degree of control over the proceedings.

The other half of Music in the Streets' charm lies in its editing technique, placing just the right vocal sample against the appropriate musical backdrop to create the most vivid and memorable snapshots of the city. Imagine the sound of a marching band that subtly fades in volume to allow a wide-eyed girl to rise to the foreground, sounding like Shirley Temple as she intones: "When you're at a parade, it seems that you would like to BE in a parade, because when you're RIGHT THERE, it seems as though you could just walk right into the parade!" Schwartz awakens in us the feeling of being a child... or a tourist. I'll be the first to admit it's an incredibly manipulative technique, but then again, who doesn't mind being treated to the right candy? Everyone has a sweet tooth.

Tony Schwartz - Parades, Part 1.mp3 (320 kbps, 4.7 mb)
Tony Schwartz - Music in the Streets (Smithsonian Folkways, 1957)

(I ripped this from the original vinyl; the record clicks and pops its way along, but I'm sure that only adds to the effect. The original didn't really have a tracklisting, divided as it was into four long segments with a list of performers on the back. On top of that, not all of the vignettes are documented, so at times I've had to guess at who or what is being played. This new track division and labelling I've made breaks the movements up into individual pieces based on the original fade-ins and fade-outs.)

Teiji Ito - Tenno

2007-06-14T00:57:00.000-04:00

Teiji Ito all instruments including wooden flutes, ryuteki, hichiriki, shakuhachi, koto, shamisen, taiko, tsutsumi, frame drums, tom toms, ki, woodblocks, bells, rattles, gongs, steel drums, thumb piano, maimbula, log drum, timpani, cymbals, prayer bells, glass bowls, temple blocks, glass bottles, clapping, tambourine, maracas, shakers, sticks, percussion, drum set, trumpet, horns, conch shells, sho, voice, sound effects, turntable, electronics

That's a lot of instruments for one man -- and I don't even know what a good deal of them are -- but composer Teiji Ito (1935-1982) has always been one for the small and obscure. It only seems fair to devote a post to the man and his music, as this blog takes its name from one of the first films he scored, Maya Deren and Alexander Hammid's classic Meshes of the Afternoon (1943). For anyone who's seen the film, one of its most enduring elements is its music, composed after the fact by Ito in 1959. Severe and hypnotic, the score transforms the original silent with its shrill flutes and arrythmic percussion -- sometimes intersecting, sometimes not, but always unsettling.

The Tokyo-born composer led an interesting life, relocating to New York at age 6 and running away from home at age 15, where he met Deren, began scoring her films, and married her in his early 20s following a trip to Haiti. On the downtown music scene, Ito became known for his strange mix of avant-garde genres with traditional Eastern and African music, leading John Zorn to call the 1964 piece Tenno (Tzadik, 2007) a "postmodern masterpiece." I haven't brought myself to finish reading Zorn's overwrought liner notes, but there is indeed something culturally schizophrenic about this music, alternating as it does between harsh electronic soundscapes, Japanese and Voudoo rhythms, and snippets of jazz.

This infinite combination of traditions is felt more fully on Tenno than anywhere else in Ito's catalogue, as the suite sustains itself continuously for nearly an hour. While the film scores are definitely loose, they're marked by a kind of intense economy of sound. Not so on Tenno: with an array of tape machines and electronics, Ito uses the breadth of his musical knowledge to create one giant, meandering hodge-podge of a composition with layers upon layers of instrumentation. To borrow a quote from Edouard Glissant: "there is no clear path, no way forward, in this density."

"Part II" of Tenno begins with the harsh striking of a gong, followed by a variety of rumbling percussive instruments that fade into a recording of what sounds like the sea, before the waves break over a frantically strummed Japanese guitar(?). Once the pre-recorded sound of running water fades, the composer transforms his own materials into a sea-like construct, with each instrument becoming an echoing rivulet that rises and swells in this body of water. While I'm reluctant to throw around the word "postmodern" like a grenade, Ito's complex use of overdubbing and his blurring of the line between live, recorded, acoustic and electronic does bear a striking resemblance to much more recent developments in avant-garde music, rendering any concern for a model-copy relationship completely irrelevant.

Teiji Ito - Tenno (Tzadik, 1964/2007, 192 kbps, 71.3 mb)

Reissued for the first time since 1964, Tenno is the second in Tzadik's retrospective series of Ito's work, following their release of King Ubu (1998) almost ten years ago. I was excited upon buying this album to see that the label plans to release at least two more full cds of Ito's music, prospectively titled Watermill and Music for Maya. The only other current release I know of is Meshes: Music for Films and Theater (What Next, 1997), containing both of Ito's amazing scores for Deren's films (Meshes and her last completed film, 1952's The Very Eye of Night). On that note, it is my pleasure to present Tenno, a lost classic and a testament to the fact that culture-crossing is not always a laughable new age scheme or imperialist rape, but can truly expand the range of what is artistically possible.

Daydream Nation: all dressed up in fancy clothes

2007-06-13T13:43:00.000-04:00

The world is dull, but not today...

Remember the opening chords of "Teenage Riot" and how inspiring they were when you were in high school? Remember how hot Kim Gordon sounded when she made those moaning sounds on "Eliminator Jr."? What about Lee Ranaldo's neo-Beatnik ramblings on "Eric's Trip"? Remember when guitar feedback was just about the best thing since sliced bread? Remember when your parents asked you what the hell those horrible screeching noises coming from your bedroom were? Remember when Sonic Youth were young, and awesome?

Once you got into it, Daydream Nation (Geffen, 1988) really was a perfect album. I remember finding it in my stepfather's cd bin and wondering what it was doing there among Bonnie Raitt and the Eurythmics. I put it on, was amazed by the first song, and then was equally amazed that the rest was unlistenable noise. Up to that point, the only music I was really listening to was classic rock and Radiohead. I shelved it.

A number of months later, I took a long trip to Washington, D.C. for school. The ride was four hours long, and to make the day worthwhile our group left New Jersey at 4 or 5 in the morning. While everyone else slept, I put on Daydream Nation and listened to it from start to finish. Once I gave myself up to its swirling mass of distorted guitars and atonal vocals, I began my conversion to the world of the avant-garde, leading me beyond Pink Floyd to downtown mainstays like Glenn Branca and DNA. The band that I had previously known only as cameos on The Simpsons' Hullabalooza episode became a gateway to a world of the beyond, with their fluid blend of indie rock, art-school pretense and experimental skronk offering a little something to chew on for all sides of my evolving personality.

Nostalgia aside, Geffen Records has finally remastered Daydream Nation for a new deluxe edition, now including an extra disc of live and demo recordings, as well as a handful of unreleased covers -- a real treasure for Sonic Youth fans, especially in light of last year's The Destroyed Room: B-Sides and Rarities (Geffen, 2006). Though surely intended as another big label money-maker, the sound here is excellent -- even on the live cuts -- giving me a reason to finally replace my original copy of the album that my friend damaged beyond repair (the reason I no longer loan things without reservation...) I'm still making my way through the second disc, but I couldn't contain my excitement upon getting a copy of this treat. You know something is good when you aren't afraid to gush over it three, four, five years later. Here's to Thurston, Kim, Lee, and Steve, whose surreal, drug-fueled rendering of downtown NYC still managed to touch a young boy living in the suburbs of New Jersey.

Is posting this going to get me shut down? Let's hope not.

Sonic Youth - Hey Joni [live].mp3 (214 kbps VBR, 5.7 mb)
Sonic Youth - Daydream Nation (Geffen, 1988/2007, 226.1 mb)

Sonic Youth today: they're so old -- does that mean we're getting old too?

Girls at Our Best - Pleasure

2007-06-13T00:27:00.000-04:00

One of the finest groups from the early '80s Leeds scene, Girls at Our Best lived fast and died young, originally formed in 1979 as The Butterflies before breaking up a mere three years later. Short-lived as they were, the group released three singles in 1980 and another in 1981, later compiled with the b-sides on their sole lp, Pleasure (Happy Birthday, 1982). The group's name is misleading as the only female here is vocalist Judy Evans, who spearheads the group with her childish falsetto. The rest of the quartet is filled out by James Alan (guitar), Gerard Swift (bass), a D. Carl Harper (drums), though the latter is preceded by drummer Chris Oldroyd on their breakthrough single "Getting Nowhere Fast" (later covered by fellow Brits The Wedding Present).

Fun and exuberant, the band sounds like a less-kitschy Waitresses or an early inspiration for The Pipettes' brand of buoyant indie pop. The album title gives it away: this is post-punk with an exceptionally light tone, with songs about shopping and having fun around town, picking up girls, and politicians who dance the night away. But the lyrics are not without a sarcastic undertone, betrayed as they are by bouncy synth lines and squiggly clarinets. "Politics" pokes fun at the tradition of globe-trotting baby-kissers, "Go for Gold" paints a picture of middle-class excess, while "It's Fashion" ironically instructs the viewer to follow the band's trend-setting example. "We are your future, and we are fashion!" intones Evans over a churning, angular guitar line. Perhaps it's not a coherent political agenda, but it shows that a critical attitude doesn't need to be matched by an equally sour musical style. The ferocity of three chords gives way to interesting, complex melodies and a refreshing variety of instrumentation.

All of the singles are wonderful, though numerous other highlights abound in GAOB's extant catalogue. Somehow, the original ten songs on Pleasure were expanded to seventeen on the 1994 Vinyl Japan reissue, encompassing the band's entire musical history. The file also includes their posthumously released Peel Session, which languished in the archives for years until Strange Fruit released it in 1987. Just a note: "Getting Nowhere Fast" ends abruptly at 2 minutes, but this is how it was originally and always will be released. That sudden ending has become something of a hallmark, speaking as it does of a generation's nonchalant, don't-care-about-the-future attitude.

Girls at Our Best - Politics.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.6 mb)
Girls at Our Best - Pleasure (Happy Birthday, 1982/Vinyl Japan, 1994) + Peel Session (Strange Fruit, 1987)

From some nice person's website:

Singles

Getting Nowhere Fast/Warm Girls (1980, Record Records)
Politics!/It's Fashion (1980, Record Records)
Go For Gold/I'm Beautiful Now (1981, Happy Birthday Records)
Fast Boyfriends/This Train (1981, Happy Birthday Records)

Albums

Pleasure (1982, Happy Birthday Records)
The Peel Sessions EP (1987, Strange Fruit; recorded in February 1981; contains, among other selections, a medley of three singles)
Pleasure rerelease (1994, Vinyl Japan; contains all singles, A and B sides).

Hop along to Bunnygrunt's Jen-Fi

2007-06-12T00:24:00.000-04:00

Although I have a behind-the-scenes influence (play this! play that!) on what goes over the air for Seth's radio show, the predecessor to this blog, I've rarely gotten to contribute very much. And now that I have the opportunity to share music without confronting my irrational fear of public speaking, I probably still will not contribute all that much.

However, I would like to share Bunnygrunt's best album with you, Jen-Fi. This album, upon first listen, may seem simple but I would be surprised if you weren't still going back to it 6 months later. The nonsensical lyrics and the predilection for fun can lighten any bad mood and consistently serves as a great thing to listen to in the morning.

Jen-Fi distinguishes itself from Bunnygrunt's other albums by an unfortunately fleeting line-up. The band, originally started in 1993 by Matt Harnish and Karen Ried who continue to form the core of the group. However, in the mist of line-up shifts, Jen-Fi was recorded with bassist Jen Wolfe who seemingly brought the sound together from the coarser too-soft to be rock, too-unfinished to be catchy earlier releases to create a pop gem and lent her name to the album's title. Follow up Karen Hater's Club suffers from problems similar to the older albums. Where is pop wonder Jen Wolfe now? Well, not in would-be-Christian-rock band Jenny Wolfe and the Pack. Don't make that mistake as I did!

So, as you slip on your undies, clean your room, or for whatever reason find yourself unpleasantly staying in your parents' house, this is the album you should put on.

Bunnygrunt - "Here Come the Vampires"
Bunnygrunt - Jen-Fi

Image of elusive Jen Wolfe taken moments before departing from Bunnygrunt.

Lou Christie & The Tammys - Egyptian Shumba

2007-06-11T20:58:00.000-04:00

Last night I dreamed I was on the Nile
dancing with you, Egyptian style

It's hard not to love Lou Christie and his remarkably feminine voice, singular as it is in the world of 60s popular music. Armed with a powerful falsetto and an equally shrill backing group, The Tammys, Christie made some of the best and most dynamic pop music of the early to mid '60s, collected here on Egyptian Shumba: The Singles & Rare Recordings, 1962-1964 (RPM, 2001). Peaking many times in the top 40 with hits like "The Gypsy Cried" and "Two Faces Have I", Christie is one of the few singers of the period who actually penned his own tunes, aided as he was by songwriter Twyla Herbert, "a self-described eccentric and mystic who was over twenty years older than Christie, but also shared his love of classical music" (thanks Wikipedia), which may help explain the weird Oriental themes found in a lot of these singles.

Christie excels at both the ballad and upbeat dance numbers, often shifting between both within the course of one song. "Have I Sinned" combines the two particularly well, beginning with melancholy piano chords and the repeated question, "Have I sinned?" before switching gears to The Tammys' fierce chanting of "Shake shake-a-lang, shake shake-a-lang-a-lang, you say get away get away get away get away, go!" Musically, the recordings Lou cut for Roulette and Colpix Records are nothing terribly exciting -- the usual organ, guitar, drums and girl vox -- and the lyrics are a bit funny, even for this kind of music: "I'm in the army and I'm so blue / I can't find no one to take the place of you" ("Too Many Miles"). But the secret of pop really is all in the vocals, and the theatrics here are energetic enough to set Christie's music far apart from anything recorded prior (except maybe Frankie Valli, who he's often compared to). Like the song says: "two faces have I, one to laugh and one to cry," he effortlessly transitions mid-tune from a normal vocal register to his trademark whine for that very special emotional climax that I hereby dub "the Christie effect."

The second half of Egyptian Shumba focuses on music The Tammys recorded without Christie as a leader, collecting their three singles along with the accompanying b-sides, as well as a few unreleased rarities. While not up to the same standards as Christie's work, the material is justified by the absolutely stunning title track, "Egyptian Shumba," often noted for being one of the most eccentric girl group oddities ever put to wax. The single combines a vaguely Middle Eastern clarinet line (sometimes thought to be a distorted guitar) with typical girl group harmonies that, however, frequently mutate into ferocious growls and yelps more reminiscent of Yma Sumac than The Crystals. The clarinet, paired with some strategically placed cymbal hits, propels the music to its heated climax in a frenetic repetition of "I wanna dance, I wanna dance, I wanna dance! dance! dance! dance! dance! dance! dance!" I would be lying if I called the song anything less than inspiring.

The rest of The Tammys material is kind of forgettable, though "Part of Growing Up" and its chirpy vocals is excellent in its mimicry of Christie singles like "Merry-Go-Round". Also included are a pair of tracks from a 1963 record by Ritchie & The Runarounds with Christie on backup vocals, quite similar in tone to the rest of the album and unsurprisingly penned by the Christie-Herbert duo.

Together we build castles in the sand
Together we walk the shore hand in hand
Winter will come
and hide the sun
Make summer last forever
(Neverending, no ending, neverending, no ending, neverending, no ending,
summer's almost over...)

Lou Christie - Outside the Gates of Heaven.mp3 (160 kbps, 2.9 mb)
Lou Christie & The Tammys - Egyptian Shumba: The Singles & Rare Recordings, 1962-1964 (RPM, 2001)

Music of Idris Ackamoor

2007-06-10T13:12:00.000-04:00

There are three kinds of free jazz/improvisation in my mind: the loud and chaotic blowing session (Peter Brotzmann, Frank Lowe); the quiet, meandering type influenced by avant-garde classical (Anthony Braxton, Bill Dixon); and the semi-structured, intensely rhythmic (Joe McPhee, Steve Reid). I would place the music of multi-instrumentalist Idris Ackamoor and his ensemble, The Pyramids, in the last category. It’s a style which I think comes primarily from Africa, where groups like The Blue Notes brought the vibrant rhythms of the township to the energy of free jazz.

It’s no surprise that the Chicago-born Ackamoor and his colleagues spent a year studying music in West and East Africa. Here the percussion is allowed to rise to the fore and carry the soloists along its fluid grooves. And there’s no distinctive break between the soloists and the rhythm section; indeed, the flutes and saxophones incorporate this rhythmic quality into the heart of their solos. This is deeply soulful music that nonetheless allows itself to drift into strange and avant-garde territory. While repetition is crucial, the steady percussion allows for any excursions into free jazz skronk to remain clustered around that rhythmic pulse. Ackamoor’s pre-Pyramids group, The Collective, is a telling name. While free jazz has the tendency to sound like a number of musicians desperately vying for the title of who can play the loudest, the grooves laid down by Ackamoor are certainly a collective product, often sounding as if they had no beginning or end: cosmic, eternal.

Music of Idris Ackamoor, 1971-2004 is a generous compilation put out last year by Japan's premier reissue label, EM Records, bringing together a number of fantastic tracks from the Pyramids' three lps Lalibela (1973), Kings of Kings (1974), and Birth/Speed/Merging (1976), as well as scattered selections from other Ackamoor groups. The 2-disc set comes with extensive liner notes by Ackamoor himself (in Japanese and English), detailing the history of The Pyramids and their travels, along with a wealth of photographs documenting their live performances. Amazing!

The Pyramids - Mohgo Naba.mp3 (242 kbps VBR, 14.9 mb)
Idris Ackamoor - Music of Idris Ackamoor, 1971-2004 (EM, 2006) -- large download, about 240 mb

DAT Politics - Wow Twist

2007-06-08T15:09:00.000-04:00

Keeping in line with the last post...

Let’s be frank: DAT Politics make silly and shallow dance music. But part of the charm lies in their awareness of their own novelty value – embracing kitsch and all its wastefulness, ephemera, and deliberate bad taste, as songs like “Turn My Brain Off” and “My Toshiba is Alive” attest to. This album from the French laptop quartet precedes their second release of 2006 (the surprisingly awful Are Oui Phony? on Tigerbeat6) and marks somewhat of a departure from earlier albums like Plugs Plus (Chicks on Speed, 2002). Now abandoning any pretense of experimentation or subtlety, the music on Wow Twist (Chicks on Speed, 2006) is comprised of high-pitched synth lines, skittering drum machines, vocals manipulated into rhythmic phrases, hints of digital noise, repetitive one-line choruses, and the punk aesthetic of Le Tigre. In short, it has all the qualities that made rock'n'roll so electrifying fifty years ago. Did Little Richard and Huey Smith really mean anything when they sang lyrics like “ha ha ha ha, heeey-oh, gooba gooba gooba gooba, ah-ha ha ha”? Neither do DAT Politics when they chant “ram ram bam bam bam bam oom, zip zip!” I’m willing to bet that these songs won’t leave your head – for better or for worse.

DAT Politics - Viper Eyes.mp3 (192 kbps, 4.6 mb)
DAT Politics - Wow Twist (Chicks on Speed, 2006)

The Jive Bombers - Bad Boy

2007-06-08T01:20:00.000-04:00

When it comes to early rock'n'roll and novelty music, no one has finer taste than Mr. John Waters. Ever since hearing the soundtrack to his 1990 feature Cry Baby (without having seen the film), I've been fascinated by the Jive Bombers' 1957 single, "Bad Boy", originally released by Savoy Records. Their only hit, charting at #36, the song features a bizarrely compelling vocal delivery that I can honestly say I've never heard anywhere else. Hard to describe, it consists of an extension of the phrase "bad boy" into an indefinite series of rapid "yuh-yuh-yuh"s, urgent yet without any real significance. It's not hard to see why it was their only chart-topper -- another song included in Cry Baby, "Cherry", features the same gimmick, only with "boyuh-yuh-yuh-yuh" being replaced by "Cherry-yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh". Either way, the effect it produces when set against a gentle guitar-piano ballad is stunning, making it seem like lead vocalist Clarence Palmer is about to vomit his heart up. It's the very definition of soul: a ferocious outpouring of rootless speech. I also felt it was appropriate to post in light of the rapidly approaching summer, featuring lyrics such as:

The hot blazing sun
won't hurt my head
'cause you'll always find me
right there in the shade
I can see all the folks
they're laughing at me
cause I'm just
naturally
crazy...

I've also included the rest of the Cry Baby soundtrack, featuring more fantastic songs like "Cherry", "Cry Baby" by the Honey Sisters, "Mr. Sandman" by Baldwin & The Wiffles, "The Flirt" by Shirley & Lee, "(My Heart Goes) Piddily Patter, Patter" by Nappy Brown, and "Rubber Biscuit" by The Chips (also used by Scorsese in Mean Streets...) I think it's easy to see what draws John Waters to this kind of music -- its taste for the immediate and the short-lived, its pretense at a structure that eventually disintegrates into meaningless babble ("Tutti frutti, tutti frutti, oh Rudy"), just like the trash-for-trash's sake inherent in the director's own hyperbolic dialogue.

Just listen to it!

The Jive Bombers - Bad Boy.mp3 (320 kbps, 6.6 mb)
va - Cry Baby (MCA, 1990)

(For those of you interested in that short of thing, here is an incrediby detailed history of Jive Bombers singles and pressings.)

Hermann Nitsch - Requiem fur Meine Frau Beate

2007-06-07T20:55:00.000-04:00

For the uninitiated, Hermann Nitsch is mostly remembered as a performance artist of sorts. Now isn’t the time to launch into a discussion of Viennese Actionism, but suffice it to say that the average Nitsch aktion, as they’re called, is a kind of brutal spectacle wherein the performers drink excessively, douse themselves in the blood of dead animals, and re-enact the crucifixion – among other things. The aktionen were generally accompanied by musical performances, though “music” may be the wrong word; Nitsch told his massive ensemble to simply play as hard and loud as possible during the given time frame to create a wall of noise as visceral as the bloodshed onstage. Over time, however, Nitsch’s music became a bit more refined: rather than just “make a racket,” the performers began playing in elongated tone clusters, with different groups organized to punctuate or counterbalance the others.

This particular recording (a reissue of a rare 1977 pressing) was made shortly after Beate Nitsch’s death in 1977, and the quality of a requiem or farewell is certainly present. At its most basic, the piece is composed of a steady bed of shrieking wind instruments, on top of which various brass players intervene in short, often single-note bursts. The music is propelled by a drumming whose style is both drunken and militant. There are no “movements” to the piece, per se, but there is the sense of rising and falling intensity. Somewhere between Coltrane’s Ascension and the aggressive noise of Merzbow, Requiem für Meine Frau Beate is a record both terrifying and transcendent, a dense monolith of sound as impenetrable as a man’s sorrow.

Beginning in 1977, Beate Nitsch was travelling in Schwarzwald. She has been inaugurating a nursery-school and wanted to meet some relatives in Stuttgart when, near Ulm, she had a terrible car accident. Beate had supported her husband's art not only sharing the sentimental part of their life but also actively collaborating to the organization of his work. She organized the purchase of a castle in Prinzendorf, the central place where Nitsch would develop his Orgien Mysterien Theater. For Hermann Nitsch, this loss was a complete collapse. He suddenly felt to be on the opposite side of life, alone and full of despair. In those days, he reached the deepest point of black unhappiness.

...

First time 2CD edition, in tri-folded digipack, reproducing the impossible-to-find 3LP art gallery edition issued in Naples in 1977 for the Radiotaxi series. Including a 12-page folded insert with drawings and directions from the LP boxset original graphics. This edition also includes a 32-page shocking full color photo documentation of the aktion, for the first time available now. (Alga Marghen, via Squidco)

Only for adventurous listeners!

Hermann Nitsch - Requiem für Meine Frau Beate (1977; Alga Marghen, 2006)

Fred Frith - Impur

2007-06-06T18:09:00.000-04:00

British guitarist and composer Fred Frith needs no introduction. An avant-garde legend known for his work in Henry Cow, Massacre, Skeleton Crew, the Art Bears, as well as his groundbreaking solo guitar work, the chameleon-like musician has again managed to step into new territory with his latest record, Impur (ReR Megacorp/Fred Records, 2007). Scored for "100 Musicians, Mobile Audience & Fred Frith," Impur is a conceptual record in the grandest site-specific tradition, documenting an evening's worth of music played simultaneously by six large ensembles. The only precedent that comes to mind is the Globe Unity Orchestra's Jahrmarkt/Local Fair LP (Po Torch, 1976 -- to be posted here soon), where the famous free jazz ensemble performs amidst a local fair with almost every musician in Wuppertal.

Like that record's chaotic mix of jazz, Greek music, brass orchestra and accordion ensemble, Impur is a more meticulously organized (and better mixed) meeting of chamber music, modern classical, jazz, African and Indian percussion, rock, and free improvisation. Fragments of melodies fade in and out, akin to the often-ignored beauty of an orchestra during tune-up; different styles confront each other, vying for prominence in the mix, while soloists emerge only to be eclipsed by another group moments later. The constant flux of Frith's project prevents the music from ever finding a center, constantly destabilizing the proceedings. The rigidity of composed music is challenged by the looseness of improvisation, while the energy of free jazz is tempered by the elegance of classical movements. Here I turn the reigns over to Fred, whose liner notes explain his working method with far more depth and insight than I could ever hope to:

Impur was commissioned by l'Ecole Nationale de Musique de Villeurbanne for the final concert of a two-year composing residency. The concert consisted of an occupation of every room of the music building. Students and teachers were arranged into various groupings and ensembles, some conducted, some not.

Many of the groups were instructed to play specific pieces at specific times, using synchronized stop watches. Others were at liberty to improvise at certain moments, or to play written parts, or sections of their favorite pieces. Sometimes they were playing the same parts at the same time but without being able to hear each other (only the audience could do that). The score was a fifty-five minute time grid mapping out which rooms would be active when, and what material would be played in them. The idea was to involve as many musicians and departments of the school as possible. This included African Drumming, Early Music, Rock, Classical, and so on. Only the Jazz Department was reluctant to participate, but many of their students joined us unofficially.

The audience was free to wander through the building, or to sit outside in the courtyard and listen to the music through the open windows. The performance was supposed to be recorded on four synchronized ADAT machines, a total of thirty-two tracks. Unfortunately, one of them didn't work, so parts of the recording are less clear than they might have been. But the result is not too far from the way it felt on the night.

Two spurs gave rise to this particular piece. The first was my love of roaming the corridors of music schools, especially ones as diverse and exciting as this, soaking up the continually changing set of seemingly random bursts of music played at all imaginable skill levels. L'ENM de Villeurbanne was founded in 1980 by the composer Antoine Duhamel and intended to treat all genres of music equally and without artificial hierarchies, which made it, and still makes it, a unique and wonderful institution. The second was the proximity of the local offices of the Front National, an extreme right wing political party whose hostility to cultural diversity is well known. The local authorities, under pressure from groups like this one, had recently cancelled the city's annual music festival, celebrated for performances featuring all sections of the local community, and replaced it with an exhibition of 18th century French ceramics! Much of the said community took this as a provocation.

There are other antecedents. I love music that hovers at the dividing line between order and chaos, music that's alive and unruly but hints at formal elegance in spite of it. My benchmark for many years was the recording of the New York Town Hall concert of Charles Mingus, during which we hear what happened when someone tried to stop the music in the middle of the session, with the audience's and musicians' responses somehow becoming part of the 'composition'. I've aspired to draw on that energy ever since Tim Hodgkinson gave me the LP in 1968.

This recording is dedicated to Tim, with love

Section leaders
Chamber orchestra: Fred Frith
African percussion: Nasser Saidani
Recorders (flutes a bec baroques): Catherine Guinamard
Ensemble heteroclite (flute, classical guitar, cello, percussion): David Wood
Clarinets: Pascal Pariaud
Flutes: Sophie Dufeutrelle

Performed by students and teachers from l'Ecole Nationale de Musique de Villeurbanne, France on May 30th 1996.

Fred Frith - Impur (ReR Megacorp/Fred Records, 2007).mp3 (192 kbps, 75.5 mb)