A Portrait of Buster and Beckett as sweetly aging men.

Go on, Steamboat Bill.....

SST Records + Canadian punk = The Subhumans' NO WISHES, NO PRAYERS (SST 18)

Right from the beginning, Canada's punk scene was a diverse and interesting one. The Subhumans are a vital part of that history. Their story starts in 1978 with the top notch DEATH TO THE SICKOIDS 7 inch, and the band, along with their British Columbian peers D.O.A., were one of the best examples of impassioned, unhyphenated punk rock energy to burst into the first half of the '80s. For the most part, punk is a genre best presented on the brief and sturdy vessel that is the 7 inch single. Long playing records very often expose the lack of ideas or focus which so many bands working with the slippery simplicity of punk have lingering underneath their admirable ability to conjure up a handful of great songs. Of course, there are enough extant exceptions to ultimately make this thought a general idea and not a rigid rule. Many great punk bands never managed to come anywhere close to the tightrope walk of recklessness and discipline that's needed to pull off the achievement that's a successful full length record, but the ones that did are deserving of high regard. The Subhumans, with their SST record NO WISHES, NO PRAYERS, land squarely in this upper echelon. What's most impressive about this record is how the music, essentially an extension of the melodic Brit-punk sound of the late '70s (going so far as to include a nifty cover of the Menace classic "Screwed Up"), is reverent to its source without sounding tired or irrelevant. By 1983, British Columbia was home to both the hyper speed weirdisms of The Neos and the "jazzy" progressions of Nomeansno, so the very straightforward approach that The Subhumans offered up was at risk of sounding antiqueish. That may seem like an overzealous statement, but five years, in musical terms, is a long time (To illustrate, consider this: A band, in 1969, that sounds like The Beatles in '64. Catch my drift?). That this record still sounds energetic and necessary a full flipping decade into the millennium after it was recorded leads me to the conclusion that it must have sounded positively cathartic in the year of its release. How sweet it would've been to have experienced it firsthand in a raggedy room full of bodies going bonkers with sweat and adrenalin and an obligatory police helicopter circling above the mayhem. The Subhumans were an exceptional blend of speed, snot, seriousness, fun, chops, and distortion, and even though they lack the idiosyncrasies of The Stains or The Dicks, that's no reason to slight them. I tip my cap.

The saga of a punk rockin' Texas drag queen and his snotty bandmates: Thoughts on The Dicks' KILL FROM THE HEART (SST 17)

Unlike the Stains, lots of things went right for The Dicks, one of the most bizarre and incendiary punk bands to ever get captured on magnetic tape. For one thing, they are actually well served by their recordings, which is something many "legendary" punk bands can't claim. Second, The Dicks have retained relevance as a recording unit that non-punk obsessives actually care about in the here-and-now. And last, they stand as a shining example of a successful union of extreme leftist politics and a sound that was anything but by-the-numbers punk motion. I'd easily rate them as one of the best political-punk bands on a world-wide scale, mostly because underneath the flamboyance and confrontation, much of The Dicks' message was one of common sense. Issues of class, racial injustice, and police brutality were the common focus of their songs. When they took on broad subjects like war, the lyrics avoided speculative angles like nuclear annihilation and conspiratorial machinations and instead dealt with plain facts like how the poor were being used again as a pawn to serve rich nation's agendas. The Dicks were more interested in spewing out jagged, bluesy, occasionally funky, and reliably rock solid music and adding lyrical content that seemed like a bastard descendant of folk-protest staples like pre-electric Dylan and early Phil Ochs. Gary Floyd is one of punk's most striking and musically deft vocalists, a huge gay man from a state that's notorious for its close-mindedness, a guy who looked around him and definitely disliked what he saw, his distaste inspiring him to join up with some fellow oddballs (the late Glen Taylor, Buxf Parrot, and Pat Deason, for the record) and make some righteous noise. It's a bummer that KILL FROM THE HEART, the band's Spot produced entry in the SST discography is only partially represented on CD or legal download. The Alternative Tentacles compilation 1980-1986 is a nice attempt to gather tracks from the band into some kind of representative "best of", but I have a hard time getting fully behind a comp of Dicks material the doesn't include the extended caustic funkisms of "Dicks Can't Swim". I think a whopping double disc set would capture everything these lovely wackos ever put to vinyl, and a band of this stature shouldn't have to settle for anything less. If enough people bug Biafra, maybe it'll come to pass.

The Auteur Files #5: Some old notes on Tarkovsky's STALKER

The text below was saved to my hard drive shortly after watching Andrei Tarkovsky's 1979 masterpiece at The National Gallery of Art back in 2007. As an intial insight into the work of this Russian giant, I think my writing falls somewhere in the ballpark of just adequate. Additional viewings would certainly aid in enriching my perspective into this director's unique and sprawling genius. Get cracking, right?

One of the most impressive things about the film is how it proposes a story of the fantastic in such an open, direct way. That is, Tarkovsky presents his images with two of the basics of film form; camera movement and long takes. There is no slight of hand, no reliance on special effects, or rapid fire editing to help ease the skeptical into suspending disbelief. Instead, the camera documents the proceedings in a restrained (yet at times quite beautiful) manner. Certainly Tarkovsky's approach is an aesthetic one, yet it also feels like a matter of ethics. There is honesty in how the film progresses, as if the filmmaker is saying- 'I'm simply going to tell you a story. You can choose to believe in it or not. No smoke and mirrors'.

Long takes and slow pacing of narrative very often go hand in hand, but here the pacing seems to especially infuse the long takes with much of their power. Adding to this is the often subtle, occasionally intense camera movements (in particular the deliberate back and forth that provides the viewer with sustained moments with the three characters heads while they travel on the railcar). Often these movements seem to exist to provide a sense of perspective, of space and surroundings. Other times they seem more overt in their intention to infuse beauty into a landscape that's stricken with desolation, emptiness, and despair. There is mastery in how these three elements- pacing, long takes, and camera movement- are combined. The assurance with which the story unfolds is quite striking.

The scene in the bar that indicates the return of the three men is quite important. Without the presence of the dog, it would be difficult initially to tell if they had actually ever left for the Zone. But they did go, and in the resulting dialogue between the men and the Stalker's wife, there hangs a feeling that little or nothing has changed, that in spite of the surreal atmosphere and science-fictive events the men experienced on their journey, they were still the men they were before. There is no longer any doubt about the trip to the zone; they were there and felt all of its strangeness and pressures. But the return is quite melancholy, and in the subsequent scenes it's hard to shake off the lingering impression that in this particular cinematic world, engagement with the fantastic may be thrilling (and taxing), but doesn't give much of lasting value to the character's lives. The Stalker's despondency over the perceived futility of the trip only heightens this feeling.

The last scene of the film, upon consideration, is simultaneously mysterious and a very direct (re)statement of the filmmaker's position in relation to his characters and also to the mystical, the unexplainable, the paranormal. While the film is a story of the three men, an extended examination of their difficulties, shortcomings, and ultimately their failures, its ending exists as an artist's statement about human potential and the power of things that are beyond our comprehension. The Stalker's daughter, a girl who cannot walk, can move things with her mind. Her unnatural ability, her haunting presence (which to me seems to be infused, upon reflection, with an almost unnerving purity), and her solitude in this last scene appears to ultimately vindicate humankind from the neurosis, the coldness, and the misery which was such an intrinsic part of the film. Tarkovsky is emphatically saying that the aforementioned maladies are not a foregone conclusion, nor are they terminal. Furthermore, his ending is a passionate defense of belief, of what human beings can hypothetically achieve when they are not burdened by the emotional baggage and difficulties of communication which are so frequent in the modern world. Instead of a reactionary response to the harshness of modernity, in the end Tarkovsky posits that human beings are capable of overcoming their current malaise and can move forward, can triumphantly evolve to a new plateau of knowledge and capability

The innocence and alien-ness of one child shows what we can, what we should, hope and strive for.

Some more SST stuff: Stains.

The real worth of some things only becomes apparent over time. This is the case with the sole 45 rpm LP by East-LA's Stains. The record was recorded in '81 but wasn't released until '83. This two year gap certainly contributed to the initial non-reaction that the band received. By the end of the decade, the record was scarce (I tried to find it in some sort of half-assed fashion based on the strength of the song included on SST comp A BLASTING CONCEPT), and the few occasions I asked people about the band they either shrugged their shoulders or thought I was talking about Texas/San Fran outfit M.D.C., who went by the same name early. The record was missing in action, which is a shame in retrospect, because the peculiar and energetic blend of punk and metal that The Stains burp out would have sat very nicely with many of the "crossover" types that populated my particular neck of the 'burbs in the late '80s. Sadly, there just weren't enough copies of this record pressed to cook up a posthumous fan-base so soon. Some more years needed to pass, a couple of bootlegs needed to be released, and the internet had to be invented for this band to really get the appreciation they always deserved. These days, the record goes for big bucks, and the band is revered by many as the should've-been-contenders they definitely were. The icing on this reversal of fortune would be a well designed, strongly mastered reissue, preferably with the two demos (one recorded prior to the LP, one shortly after) that I've heard talk about (these demos are supposedly bootlegged, but they've never graced my ears. They could easily suck, particularly the post-LP recording, but it'd be nice to know for sure). It doesn't look like this is about to happen, so if you want the scoop on the band I suggest navigating the web. The whole record is out there in MP3 land, and short of a deluxe reissue, that's as good a place to hear this throbbing, heaving, spitting mess as any. Vocalist Rudy Navarro sounds wonderfully screwed-up and pissed-off, and the wailing strangeness of Robert Becerra's guitar is drizzled all over the place, helping the band eschew the sameness that was just starting to plague the punk scene during the decade. The rhythm section may not be up to the standards of Watt/Hurley, Dukowski/ROBO, or Lombardo/Stevenson, but it's not far behind. As with many SST recordings from the label's early period, producer Spot is the secret weapon. If these guys had been stuck in a room with some knob-twiddler who didn't know punk rock from pancakes, I'm pretty certain that this record wouldn't be the sought after item it is today. Shit, it's nice to think that something went right for these cats.

The BYG/Actuel Series, Part The First: Paul Bley - RAMBLIN' (Actuel 13)

This is the first in a hopefully eventually complete series of posts devoted to the discography of the amazing French avant-garde jazz/out-rock label BYG/Actuel. As befitting the unruly and disruptive nature of that roster’s collective of searching souls, I’m going to tackle this endeavor not in chronological fashion, but instead with a non-liner approach that I hope will provide an appealing and accurate historical landscape in which to appreciate this massive and still thrilling group of recordings. We start with Actuel 13, Paul Bley’s RAMBLIN'.

I’m not the first to say it, but Paul Bley is a prolific dude. Jazz pianists are often noted for their aptitude at clogging bins with a seemingly endless stream of releases, often with slight variance of personnel, and in addition for zealously examining/interpreting standards in the also seemingly endless pursuit of perfection in the elevation of form as content. Thing is, Bley is quite familiar with both of those modes of operation (thank you very much), but he’s also had other (bigger) (tastier) fish to fry. And quite frankly, I find myself stumped that the guy isn’t held in higher importance when the subject turns to jazz history. Bley’s playing life has spanned well over half a century and includes work with Charlie Parker, Lester Young, Ben Webster, Charles Mingus, Sonny Rollins, Coleman Hawkins, Ornette Coleman, Jimmy Giuffre and a slew of lesser known but equally important figures from what can be roughly categorized as the free/avant era. He was a member of the Jazz Composers Guild, a group that kick started the legendary October Revolution in Jazz back in 1964, along with his then wife Carla, Bill Dixon, Cecil Taylor, Archie Shepp and Sun Ra (amongst others).

The Jazz Compsers Guild

Possibly because he is a pianist that seems to prefer working in trios with advanced yet essentially accessible rhythm sections, Bley has indeed chalked up quite a discography, particularly post 1980, when European labels started getting their hooks into him, sending his list of credits into the stratosphere. All that said, the man still has a (relatively) tidy number of essential recordings, quite a few from the earlier days of his career, and RAMBLIN’ from 1966 is part of that group. In the heavy ranks of the BYG/Actuel roster, a group that includes some of the most uncompromising sets of wailing freedom to ever see commercial release, this slab is often given short shrift by (over)demanding power mongers. But Bley’s never been a scorcher, so slighting him on that count basically lacks a component of insight into just what makes the guy’s music resonate so mightily. RAMBLIN’ does a great job of aural portraiture, showing the pianist subtly straining against an essentially traditional melodic framework in his own playing while interacting with a very lively pair of rhythmic improvisers in bassist Mark Levinson and drummer Barry Altschul. The collective stew can shift from meditative to rollicking to angular to dense in a short span, with the level of percussive/rhythmic abstraction calibrated so that the music never totally loses its loose handle on piano trio classicism. And yet the level of intuitive interplay can be simply striking: on “Both”, the album’s thorny and complex first track, Bley maneuvers shrewdly between tough clusters of notes and periods of relative calm and (perceived) inactivity, leaving his fellow players to gradually build a slow-burn rhythmic back-and-forth that culminates in an explosive percussive display from Altschul. It’s a powerful opening, serving well as a statement of principles for the notably varied sounds that lay ahead. It was composed by Annette Peacock, his partner at the time of this recording, as was the following cut “Albert’s Love Theme”, which provides an extended foray into the minimal sensibility that Bley would expand upon at length in parts of his ‘70s discography.

Paul Bley and Gary Peacock

Certainly sparse, “Albert’s” still holds moments of insistent movement, moments that later efforts sometimes lacked, not necessarily to their detriment. Plus, the cut features some of the most un-brushlike brush work that I’ve ever enjoyed, and Levinson’s bass playing sounds like a giant rubber band being plucked by a love-drunk satyr. Sexy. Carla Bley’s wonderful tune “Ida Lupino” is also given a brilliant examination, the music hovering between a dark tension and an unruly prettiness. If, like their US counterpart ESP Disk, Actuel had elected to release 45 RPM singles, then “Ida” would have been a perfect candidate for the honor. And hell, they could’ve stuffed the diamond-tough classic-trio hyperactivity of the LP’s title track (an Ornette piece) onto the flip side for good measure. Its jagged momentum is quite enticing. “Touching”, another Peacock composition, features a return to spacious, contemplative playing, and the idea really seems to be the opposite of trad-motion. At times the sound just sort of hangs in place, as thick as cold peanut butter. This might bother some ears, but I like the hazy aural density that it conjures just fine. The pianist’s own tune “Mazatalon” closes out the record, with Bley’s thorny up-tempo melodic sense weaving through Levinson and Altschul’s typically strong rhythmic fabric. So, in something reminiscent of a nutshell, RAMBLIN’ is a record of peaks and valleys, with much time devoted to developing fresh variations on classic point A to B movement coupled with excursions into a studied but less familiar minimal approach. These ups and downs come together to form a fine whole. There are still many other sides to the multi-faceted work of this top-flight improviser left for examination, his pair for ESP Disk, numerous ECM releases and the Improvising Artists work in particular, but I feel secure in my prediction that this record, an expansive, disciplined and ultimately concise document of fine rewards, will rank as one of his best.