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Showing posts with label post-rock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label post-rock. Show all posts
Friday, February 10, 2012
Friday, April 29, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Monday, December 29, 2008
The Week in Listening 12/15 - 12/21
12/15/08- The Red Crayola- Parable of Arable Land LP 1967
The Red Crayola- Coconut Hotel LP 1967
The Red Krayola- God Bless The Red Krayola and All Who Sail With It LP 1968
The Paper Chase- Young Bodies Heal Quickly, You Know CD 2000
Milford Graves and Don Pullen- Nommo LP 1967
12/16/08- Milford Graves and Don Pullen- Nommo LP 1967
Silver Jews- Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea- CD 2008
Eddy Current Suppression Ring- Primary Colours CD 2008
This Heat- self titled LP 1978
The Sundowners- Goat Songs EP 1994
Miles Davis- The Complete Live at the Plugged Nickel Disc One 1965
12/17/08- Lee Morgan- Charisma LP 1966
Archie Shepp- The Magic of Ju-Ju LP 1967
John Coltrane- Live Trane: The European Tours CD Disc Two 1961
Sonic Youth- Sister LP 1987
The Chills- Kaleidoscope World LP 1986
12/18/08- Various Artists- Daptone Seven Inch Singles Collection Volume One CD 2006
Shuggie Otis- Inspiration Information CD 1974
Herbie Hancock- Sextant LP 1973
Cat Power- The Greatest CD 2006
Judee Sill- self titled LP 1971
12/19/08- Marvin Gaye- Let’s Get It On Deluxe Edition 2CD
Tony Williams’ Lifetime- Turn It Over LP 1970
Jimmy Giuffre- Free Fall LP 1962
The Jim Hall Trio- Jazz Guitar LP 1957
Marylin Crispell- Labyrinths CD 1987
Animal Collective- Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished 2000 CD
The Great Unwashed- Collection CD 1992
Various Artists- A Million Dollar$ Worth of Doo-Wop Volume 3 CD
12/20/08- David Grubbs- An Optimist Notes the Dusk CD 2008
Tortoise- Mosquito/Onions Wrapped In Rubber b/w Gooseneck 7” 1993
Alan Licht- Plays Well CD 2001
Fugazi- The Argument CD 2001
Palace Music- Lost Blues and Other Songs CD 1997
Calexico- Convict Pool CDEP 2004
Yo La Tengo- Little Honda CDEP 1997
Mogwai- EP+6 CD 2000
Mirah- C’mon Miracle CD 2004
The Microphones- The Glow Pt. 2 CD 2001
James Blackshaw- Celeste CD 2004
Suni McGrath- Seven Stars b/w Fantasia 7” 2008
Beirut- Gulag Orkestar CD 2006
Sun City Girls- You’re Never Alone with a Cigarette: Singles Volume One CD
High Places- self titled CD 2008
Shawn David McMillen- Sampler CD 2008
Mighty Flashlight- self titled CD 2002
The National- Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers CD 2003
East River Pipe- Poor Fricky CD 1995
Mazzy Star- She Hangs Brightly CD 1990
Sufjan Stevens- Illinois CD 2005
12/21/08- Archie Shepp- Blasé LP 1969
Art Ensemble of Chicago- Go Home LP 1970
Joseph Jarman- As if it Were the Seasons LP 1968
Dave Holland- Conference of the Birds LP 1972
Anthony Braxton- Trio and Duet LP 1974
MONDAY 12/15- Mayo Thompson’s Red (C)Krayola is one of the longest running and most enigmatic underground concerns. The band’s earliest material has been a recurring source of inspiration from within the underground over the years, and the reputation of those releases as some of the best outsider expression to arise from the second half of the ‘60s is secure. The thing to remember if you haven’t heard them is that in Texas they do things in the extreme. That’s where Red Crayola were formed, releasing records on International Artists, home of the Thirteenth Floor Elevators and others. They recorded three records during this initial phase, but only two were released at the time. All of them are fantastic and individually unique documents of an era and of Thompson’s beginnings as an artist of major importance.
The first one is most easily integrated into the general psychedelic tendencies of the period. But that doesn’t mean its sound is anything other that singular. It crosses wild freak-outs of collective free-form splatter with a curious and hard to define conceptual aura and in the process comes off like a field recording of a large pack of hippies who drop out of art school and go completely off their nut. The majority of the record’s tracks are bluntly titled just that: Free Form Freak Out. It’s far less about good vibes and more concerned with an explosive exorcism of all that was so oppressive about the decade, hence: "War Sucks", one of the tracks on the album with a distinctive title, which combines with "Hurricane Fighter Plane" and "Transparent Radiation" (covered by New Zealand’s Pin Group and Spacemen 3, respectively) to form a triangle of moments that highlight the extreme territory that was being examined and also shows how influential the record has been since its release. Even though it’s an unabashedly psychedelic recording (the back of my budget reissue states File Under Psychedelia), its extremity has never been integrated into the lore of hippiedom. Instead, its reputation as a high watermark of the oddball ‘60s fringe stands tall, having influenced weirdo punks (Texan's Really Red), indie-rock bands (see above), and young experimentalists (David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke, for two).
The second Red Crayola recording didn’t see release until Drag City brought it out almost thirty years later. Coconut Hotel is so unlike its predecessor that it shouldn’t be surprising that the label refused to release it. Minimal instrumental segments that blend into a soundscape that’s like a thousand miles away from any kind of rock experimentation to see release at the time, it totally eschews even the slightest relationship to the debut or to rock structure in general. Many of the segments are only seconds long, and if you turn to glance at your CD player’s display and find it on track forty-two (like I did) while absorbing the sound as one long occasionally baffling sonic experience (like I did), then perhaps you’ll understand just how off the path and in the deep weeds Thompson and his cohorts were at this point. It’s a head-scratching thing, but it has a weirdly twisted intellectual pull.
God Bless did see release, however. Instead of a return to the sound of the first record, the modus operandi is to apply the unadulterated minimalism of Coconut to a batch of structured songs with lyrics (and some moments of pure experimentation) and in the process land smack dab in the middle of ground zero for a certain strain of art-rock. There is sparseness to the sound and friendliness with the often high concerns of academia on display here that’s different from the expansive qualities of much rock experimentation (and Parable, for that matter); the brevity of the tracks and the direct somewhat poppy structure they sometimes adhere to share an intellectual discipline and a lack of reliance on established norms (genre tropes) that smacks of the atmosphere of the university instead of the rock scene. I’m guessing that this record would please listeners that have a predilection for the music of Robert Wyatt, ‘80s David Thomas (or Pere Ubu in general, actually), David Byrne’s assorted non-Tropicalia inflected solo work, or Jim O’Rourke’s albums of song based material. This is my favorite of these three releases, and it’s maybe the place for the uninitiated to start, since it’s the one that bares the most (loose) resemblance to Thompson’s later work.
The Paper Chase first entered my consciousness as one of many bands on the Kill Rock Stars label. I made a mental note to look into them, but then a good friend hipped me to their first, pre-KRS effort, and I’m quite pleased with that state of affairs. The sound follows a post-rock path into a bruising experimentalism that still retains a songlike center and is dripping with a strung-out emotional intensity that just begs to be played loud. Integrated into the sound is a production based enhancement of dynamics that really increases the weight of the music as it unfolds, deepening the strident down tempo quality and enhancing the tug of its sweetly abrasive angst. The seeds of the record’s success lie in its focused delivery: nothing is sloppy or offhand. This is a slowly boiling study in torment, and I look forward to hearing more.
The Graves/Pullen record is a rare jewel from the guts of free jazz in the ‘60s. Released on LP and never issued on CD, it’s been talked about in hushed tones for about as long as I’ve been clued in to outsider sounds. And since the internet is such a great equalizer, people without the stature of Thurston Moore or John Zorn can actually get to hear this thing. It’s a drum/piano duo that matches the loose and at times explosive rhythmic mastery of Graves with Pullen’s unique approach to avant-piano, full of silence and small abstract gestures only to erupt into sharp note-clusters that defy the explicit forward momentum that’s such a large part of most jazz pianists’ approach (simultaneously sounding distinct from the sound of Cecil Taylor, who plays in a similar fractured style, but which is often specifically ABOUT momentum). Graves is also distinct from his peers in free-drumming, having a sweeping joyous clatter to his style, which is very much in the mode of percussionist, with all kinds of non-typical material is in his arsenal and equally unusual ways of utilizing them (my introduction to his playing was a video clip of a trio with bassist William Parker and horn manic Peter Brotzmann, where Graves was playing a cymbal with his forearms). These guys come together and produce a fine, hard to define spillage of bang and thunk that never sounds tossed-off. Rather, it drips with the interweaving of intense non-linear communication and leaves off plenty of sparks. Having to experience this through download means I can’t read Nat Hentoff’s back cover liner notes while listening, but them’s the breaks.
TUESDAY 12/16- This Heat is one of the only bands to land squarely in the middle ground between prog-rock and post-punk. In the process they’ve been name-checked so many times that for a while, when the records were quite scarce for a suburbanite, the two syllables of their moniker took on a proportion that was almost oppressive. You couldn’t read a goddamned fanzine (or CMJ, for that matter) without some big-city hipster going on and on about This Heat This Heat THIS HEAT. By 1994 I’d found vinyl copies of all kinds of roughly similar (and out of print) material (Wire’s Pink Flag, Pop Group’s Y, the Wanna Buy a Bridge? comp), but this band eluded me for the longest time. Well, those days a long over and I must say that the debut release by This Heat is simply an amazing record. These guys simply don’t sound like anybody else, and because of this the music is just ridiculously contemporary. Scratch that. If this album came out last week it would be hailed as ahead of it’s time. Because of the proggy background of the band (though I can’t think of another prog-rock group that are even in the ballpark of This Heat’s sound) they bring a musically adept approach to the beginnings of the post-punk phenomenon (too wide open to be called a genre, or at least that’s the way I feel today) that contrasts with the more basic (but often refined and quite effective) musicianship which gave so much post-punk it’s appeal. Lots of post-punk groups were influenced by Can, but This Heat is a legitimate extension of that band. And Eno, for that matter. Anybody into those last two as well as Faust, Neu!, or the UK post-punk thing in general that hasn’t heard This Heat needs to get on the ball quick. It’s not just for big-city hipsters anymore.
The Sundowners was a quick spurt of low-fi in the trappings of collaboration between Will Oldham and Bill Callahan (a.k.a. Smog or (Smog) or Chan Marshall’s and Joanna Newsome’s ex) in their younger, less refined days. I’d never heard it until now, and it slid by me so fast I thought I was listening to a homemade cassette that was mail-ordered from an address found in a hand written ad in the back pages of Dagger zine. Which means it slid by me really good. It’s noticeably less damaged than the early Smog stuff I’ve dug, and it finds Oldham much closer to the locus of the home-taper experience than I ever thought I’d find him. What an unexpected turn of events.
Miles at the Plugged Nickel is for some the apex of the guy’s output. After avoiding his work for most of the fist half of my twenties, partly due to Davis’ antagonism to other more avant-garde musicians and also misinformation about the electric period, I borrowed a copy of the original two LP of the Plugged Nickel recordings, and was given a lesson in knee-jerk reactions. It’s often said that this specific moment in Davis’ vast discography is the closest he came to free playing, and regarding the pre-electric stuff that’s probably right. I’m just getting introduced to the extended box set incarnation of this week long engagement, so I’ll have much more to say when more time has been spent. That may take a while, so patience, please.
WEDNESDAY 12/17- Lee Morgan is a cat that I pretty much ignored for a long time. His rep as a Blue Note mainstreamer didn’t call out to me while I was immersed in noisier, less accessible music, whether jazz or no. But he did play (quite well) on one of my favorite Blue Notes, Coltrane’s Blue Train, so I never dismissed him or anything. And in the last 5-6 years, I’ve come to enjoy many of the more inside releases from the Blue Note label, so Morgan’s been getting some playing time around the manor. Charisma finds him with a killer group. Jackie McLean and Hank Mobley on reeds, Cedar Walton on keys, Paul Chambers on bass, and the always dependable Billy Higgins on drums. This was my first play with this one, and it largely served as the soundtrack to dishwashing and floor mopping, so I can’t get too deep into what makes this one special. I do feel confident in describing it as a very inspired date, and it lessened the monotony of my chores. There are still some big gaps in my Morgan education that need filling, but I get the feeling this one will rate highly when I have a more complete picture of his recorded legacy. It’s about as in-the-pocket as contempo jazz gets in this era, but the skill level and imagination on display seems to elevate it above the norm. If this style of jazz speaks to you, then I’m guessing you’d find Charisma to be a good one.
Loose, raw, bluesy, and angry: these are all words that apply to the sax playing of Archie Shepp. He was one of the first players involved in the ‘60s jazz avant-garde that I listened to, after Coltrane and Coleman. Impulse! was fairly attentive to putting out his stuff on CD back then so it was possible to get a handle on his sound up close and personal and in the process come to a better understanding about the free jazz scene of the era he helped to define. The Magic of Ju-Ju was never released stateside to my knowledge, so this record is fairly new to me. It fits solidly into what Shepp was throwing down during this period, however. He had a unique approach; thick with the intertwined history of the music and those who made it and drew inspiration from it, barbed with questions demands and ruminations on the state of racial inequality, and infused with a jagged and exploratory vigor that made him quite a polemical figure in the heady days when he was ramping up to his peak. Unlike Coltrane, there was no middle ground with Shepp. You either were with him or against him, and that seemed to be the way he liked it. This record is a deep plunge into the roots and rhythms of Africa and how they were/are connected to the American phenomena of jazz, and also a lesson in how examining this influence could extend a new direction for the music. The title track is over 18 minutes of prime Shepp, wailing, musing, laying back, pushing forward and interacting with his fellow players. It’s quite a blowout, but it’s not quite at the level of the celebratory groove insanity that was pretty much perfected on the BYG/Actuel records he released not long after this. This is not to infer that it’s something less than great. I haven’t heard a record by Shepp from this era that isn’t still an incendiary document, and any understanding of Fire Music flows directly through his stuff.
The Coltrane material from the live box above, at least what I’ve heard so far is the classic quartet with Eric Dolphy added, and this was really the sound that started it all for me RE: jazz. I bought a cheapy import disc from my local mall called Abstract Blue (I still have it), took it to my apartment and had the top of my head blown clean off. The second disc of this box begins with the exact same brain-flaying burn-through of "Mr. PC" that opened Abstract Blue and it finds Coltrane skronking like a madman, Dolphy running through some fine upper register motion, and Elvin Jones going absolutely apeshit crazy towards the end. It’s like everybody decided (except McCoy Tyner maybe, but he was the default grounding presence in Coltrane’s band) to recast the tune (from the classic Giant Steps) by throttling it and removing any traces of polish or decorum from the piece. It still gasses me how much sheer inventive chutzpah this band had, so much that it created all kinds of controversy over the intrinsic worth of the music. The recordings captured on this box are one substantial part of what’s possibly the most influential and important body of work to come from jazz in the second half of the 20th century. Truly essential.
Sister is a cornerstone record for me, and my discovery of it directly led to my interest in non-rock specific sounds. These guys, along with Minutemen and some of their indie peers weren’t shy about praising various forms of music that fell outside the boundaries covered in the typical fanzine or small-press mag of the time, and I really ate it up. Cynics often dismissed this as mere hipster name dropping, but personally I always thought this bellyaching reeked of a snide laziness or an excuse for narrow-mindedness. It’s not like it was particularly hard to find much of the stuff being referenced. But anyway, this has almost nothing to do with why Sister is such a great record. It is essentially the middle step in the development of the line-up with Shelly on drums into one of the great rock bands of all time. Evol to Sister to Daydream Nation is simply an amazing progression, and the growth on display here is hard to find fault with. It features some of their most perfectly realized songs ("Schizophrenia", "Tuff Gnarl", and "Pacific Coast Highway") while making strides in refining the overall expansionist sound that influenced a few tons of bands over the following decade or so. And it really holds up. There’s so much beauty spread over Daydream Nation that the smoking symmetry of this one is sometimes devalued. If I could only own two of their albums, this one and Daydream would be the easy picks, and certainly nostalgia over their impact on my impressionable mind plays a part in that. But nostalgia is a hard damned thing to avoid. You just need to be sure what you’re being nostalgic about is worth it. This is, and then some.
Regarding the big four of ‘80s Flying Nun/New Zealandic sounds, The Chills were often loved. I can’t deny that the others, The Clean, The Verlaines and Tall Dwarfs, didn’t rank higher in my personal pantheon, though. And this really hasn’t changed. But I can’t deny that The Chills sound better at this point than they did when I was just a young upstart. I’ve really come to terms with the uncut love of the pop muse that figures as the band’s raison d’etre. There was always enough buzzy guitar action in the works at this stage (they later ended up on Slash, where I pretty much lost track of them) that I could swallow them whole without any unpleasant aftertaste, but I was still a few years away from getting turned on to both The Beach Boys and much of the at times lilting pop-psyche that is the core of much of this stuff. The Verlaines did similar things, but had an approach that was more direct while being a little less classicist. All of this is to say that The Chills haven’t lost an ounce of what made them such a thrilling and exotic presence. I’ve just grown into them.
THURSDAY 12/18- The Daptone sound is impossible without the revolutionary funk-science of the most cooking James Brown units, but what’s so essential to why they matter is how it straddles a line between homage/return to basic principles and a living breathing relevance to what’s happening right now. This duality reminds me of both the brute old-school intensity that’s revolved around Billy Childish for almost three decades (a rediscovery of Link Wray/early UK Beat-rock) and the spread-out sweetness of many of the new-ish instrumental folk pickers like Jack Rose (basically descended from Fahey/Kottke/Basho/Lang) In all three cases the parties involved serve as a history lesson while refusing to let the music exist with anything less than a sodden vitality. This collection of singles holds all the ridiculous energy that any single disc assemblage of Brown inspired soul/funk/R & B does, but is injected with the blunt reality that it’s happening RIGHT NOW. This isn’t retro, it’s inspirationally classicist.
Shuggie Otis is/was a guitar wielding weird-meat who never achieved widespread success largely because he was so hard to pin down. He’s known to folks who’re keyed into the folds of deep-hippiedom (playing with both Al Kooper and Zappa) and to soul music scientists. The above album isn’t really a lost record, but it should have been much bigger than it was. His song "Strawberry Letter 23" was a smash hit in cover form for The Brothers Johnson, and anybody who has an interest in ‘70s soul/R & B (particularly in the album format) needs to hear this. The bonus tracks from an earlier record called Freedom Flight are less genre definable, and add a nice coda to the more straight ahead material. Too bad Luaka Bop didn’t give Freedom Flight a stand alone release.
Since time has allowed for a reevaluation of jazz music’s Fusion Era, Sextant can be appreciated for the fine recording it is. But you can also play it between records by Can and Kraftwerk and really feel the unity. In this sense, it serves as a part of the scope of references that refined what Tortoise has done in the post-rock field. Apparently this record wasn’t a big seller, and Hancock subsequently moved into a more commercial direction. This seems to be the fate shared by almost every non-Miles/McLaughlin fusion record that I really enjoy. For every Sextant there are numerous crap albums from Al Di Meola and Spyro Gyra. I remember listening to Hancock’s subsequent record, Headhunters, twice. Once was in a music class in eighth grade, and the other was courtesy of a acquaintance who was much more taken with fusion than I was at the time (or now, for that matter). That was almost fifteen years ago, and my reaction was that of indifference. I’m pretty curious to go back to it now to see if my opinion has changed. My feelings for Sextant are quite high, however. The level of experimentation and the engaging sounds that result is very attractive, and if records like this were more common during the fusion period it’s obvious that the era wouldn’t have such a dodgy rep. It fits well with electric Miles and early Weather Report, and if you are taken with them and haven’t heard this then you know what to do.
Chan Marshall’s progression from a left field uground presence of note in the ‘90’s to her current position smack dab in the middle of the thick of this decade’s indie affairs has been an enjoyable thing to watch develop. Many find her flightiness to be an annoyance or at least a weakness, but that’s not my thinking. As her recordings become more inclusive and welcoming to those with less rarefied interests she’s managed to keep her finger on the pulse of a deep vein of fertile sounds, partially due to her decision to surround herself with such strong musicians (she reminds me a bit of Jeff Tweedy in this regard). The other aspect relates to her own ability as a songwriter, singer, and interpreter of cover material. The Greatest is a very nice, deep listen. It really reveals how strong Marshall’s connection is with older root forms. Maybe I’m way off base, but I can’t help thinking of Dusty Springfield being produced by James Luther Dickenson (which never happened, but should’ve) in relation to this thing. The use of Memphis stalwarts like Teenie Hodges really adds to the late-night ‘70s soul sessions feel that inspires me to make this hypothetical allusion, and this baby has a sweet veneer. And she seems built to last in numerous ways that many current indie flavors (I’m not calling out any names) don’t. I love bumping into her work, and look forward to this happening for some time.
Judee Sill was the first person to release a record on David Geffen’s Asylum records. I was curious upon first hearing about her, but only took the plunge with this listen. I’m glad I did. I wasn’t knocked out of my chair onto the floor, but that’s not what this record is trying to do. It reminded me quite a bit of gradually developing pleasures to be found in the work of Laura Nyro, and one listen made it clear that I’ll be visiting her work many times. Things didn’t go well for Sill’s life and career, and it’s difficult to not take this into account when hearing this record, but the impression that I was given told me that any extra-musical factors were quite minimal in relation to this album’s success. If Nyro and Joni Mitchell are part of your diet, than I think including Judee Sill would complete a nice trifecta.
FRIDAY 12/19- Many prefer Stevie, but I’m an unabashed Marvin man. His ‘60s work is just flipping fantastic, and he stands for me as the one Motown guy who made the deepest and most immediate transition into the next decade. Let’s Get it On, in this expanded and I’m guessing exhaustive double disc incarnation, shows how bold his transformation was. This record is two great things at once: a tightly packed and expertly rendered deep soul slab that can work for solitary listening while also being perfect as the soundtrack for Extended Huggin’ Kissin’ and Lovin’. For me he sits with Al Green at the top of the heap for this sort of thing. I like how this set was assembled, presenting the original record in its entirety on the first disc with a few extras afterwards, and dropping all kinds of extra material on the second. This provides the goods for soul geeks (like me) without disrupting the massive flow of what makes the recording such a big deal. It’s just a fantastic document of a great artist at the peak of his powers.
My little dip into the fusion realm inspired me to think on Tony Williams, and how I’d not spent enough time with his Lifetime material. The band on Turn it On is a monster: John McLaughlin on guitar, Larry Young on organ, Jack Bruce on bass, and of course Williams on drums. It has been so long since I’ve really listened to any Lifetime stuff that it’s hard for me to give it a satisfactory assessment. It makes me want to get reacquainted with the debut Emergency!, and then spend some more time with this one. Turn it On is an unusual record that doesn’t really call to mind any other fusion outfit. Williams’ unusual vocals will be a sticking point for some, but I dug them okay. The addition of Bruce seems to make this a strong candidate for those who are keen on the phenomena of rock band’s dabbling in jazz, instead of the other way around. I’m thinking Soft Machine. McLaughlin just slays on this thing. My interest in William’s has been rekindled by the offhand listen to this record, and he also plays on the Plugged Nickel box, so I see a lot of the man’s playing in my near future.
Jimmy Giuffre and Jim Hall are two extremely interesting players and these two albums, while new to me, are important for a variety of reasons. The Hall record is his debut as a leader, and it has suffered some serious abuse at the hands of a horrid producer who both edited and added overdubs to subsequent reissues of the material, which is bad enough, but the unedited masters no longer exist. This seriously sucks for a variety of reasons. Hall is easily one of the greatest jazz guitarists to appear after bop, and it would be nice to hear the album in its original form. Bassist Red Mitchell and under recorded pianist Carl Perkins suffer most from the editing, which is a crime since Perkins’ is such an interesting musician. The out-of-print CD reissue that I downloaded thankfully doesn’t include the overdubbed drums of Larry Bunker, and it’s hard to chalk up the decision to add them to anything other than hubris, for the music clearly needs nothing, being a warm and deep inspection of familiar tunes with Hall already possessing an assurance in his sound and a maturity in his communicative skills that’s quite striking. Mitchell sounds great as always, and Perkins is unique and completely in the spirit of things, equal to the task at hand. The record’s so good through the flaws of tampering that I can only hope to stumble onto a copy of this original LP in some antique mall that doesn’t know its worth, where I’d snatch it up so fast my physical movements would make the whooshing sounds you hear in cartoons. Yup.
The Giuffre record is a masterpiece of outward bound clarinet playing from a guy who should be much better known. Giuffre’s abstract approach to his instrument on this record is often expressed in solo terms, working through a riveting range of demanding sound ideas in a way that’s quite distinct from any other avant-garde approach that I’ve heard from the period, but he does have the fine contributions of Steve Swallow on bass and Paul Bley on piano, and when they are integrated into the framework the sound becomes a bit more familiar if no less distinct, if that’s not too vague. Free Fall is easily one of the most striking jazz listens I’ve had recently, both in terms of ambition and in simple pleasure. I don’t think it’s currently in print, which is a drag. If your interest is peaked, the music shouldn’t be that hard to find (I found it, after all), so start looking.
The Great Unwashed was a brief flare-shot into the sky above ‘80s New Zealand. Existing initially as a duo of ex-Clean brothers David and Hamish Kilgour then adding another early member of that band in Peter Gutteridge for the final stage of their lifespan, the sound is very much a continuation of The Clean’s sound, though it has even more of that band’s casual, for the hell of it brilliance. I bought this on tape in the early ‘90s (along with a Gordons cassette) and promptly lost track of them (the format was notorious for that sort of thing). It’s cool to get reintroduced to it.
SATURDAY 12/20- This was largely a day for indie rock, though the latest from David Grubbs, like much of his work, is quite experimental in nature. This is not to imply that songs aren’t to be found. It’s just very slippery in its lack of taggable qualities. This also shouldn’t imply that this new record is a cold distant listen. I found it quite satisfying and look forward to further installments.
Tortoise are a band that work best for me in the live setting (which is opposite of Spoon for instance, who appeal to me most on record), but the recordings that I have are all pretty great to varying degrees. The Mosquito 7”, unheard by me until recently, ranks quite highly in the scheme of their studio work. The playing is fantastic (as it always is with this crew) and the sound at this early stage of its conception lacks the refined quality that developed later. I like that refined aspect just fine (sometimes I love it, even) but can’t deny that the lack of it hit a certain special spot. Paradoxically, I’ve spent more time with Standards, TNT, and the recent A Lazarus Taxon collection than the first record by these guys, but this agreeable little missive makes me think that’s been a mistake of oversight on my part.
Alan Licht’s Plays Well is a stone blast, and a great example of low-key experimentalism. It makes me smile, which is something that a lot of roughly analogous work doesn’t do. It drips with some extended Velvety string repetition, and Licht’s guitar playing across the running time of this disc is of very high quality. His wild manipulation of a disco record reminds me of a similar recording from Terry Riley, but the piece is also distinct in its expressive verve. This record is one of the first things I’d play for someone who had the false impression that the realm of the experimental is an exclusively foreboding place.
My personal favorite Fugazi record remains In On the Kill Taker, but all of their recordings give me a charge to differing degrees. I’m generally of the opinion that the band got better with age, with Guy Picciotto’s thorough integration into the weave of the sound. His strong (at times arty) presence seemed to ignite Ian’s songwriting, singing and guitar playing away from his default sweet-spot and into less familiar areas. In the process, they became a band that was less about the delivery and refinement of a certain sound and message and more about taking that sound into unexpected and appealing places. Of course, Lally and Canty are also a part of this turn of events: this band always felt like a collective expression of equality that’s comparable to (but also unique from) groups like Minutemen, Sonic Youth, Mission of Burma, Shellac, or even something like the Godspeed/A Silver Mt. Zion experience. The Argument is very likely the last record we’ll ever see from these four as a unit (barring vault clearing releases), and that’s okay in a bittersweet way, because they’re all involved in quality work in the here and now. This is a strong coda to one hell of a band, so strong that the unavoidable aura of finality that comes with it is lessened significantly by the reality that they went out while still being a vital, inspiring group. That’s a sweet thing to consider.
The whiff of the fumes from this collection of early Will Oldham material always takes me back to a certain time and place. I wasn’t the happiest of people then, but hey, I’m not the happiest of people now. Some things don’t change apparently. But Will Oldham changes like a chameleon. And like that animal, you always know it’s him. The point in my life that this disc takes me to was always improved by the depth and irreverence of his loose and loving application of older musical models, and I can still remember playing "The Ohio Riverboat Song" (on 45) like a dozen consecutive times and being unable to shake its weird pull. It still impresses.
Calexico is a great band. This EP might be my favorite thing from them that I’ve heard, mostly because they do bang-up version of two songs from a couple of my favorite bands, Love ("Alone Again Or") and Minutemen ("Corona"), but also for the gripping emotive qualities of the title track and for the increased effectiveness of it’s brevity. I know some folks who give EPs the short shrift, and that’s as valid a way of approaching things as any, but here’s one that can’t be shrifted shortly. Calexico’s strength, at least here is in how their ability as players allows them to inject the songs with a power that never oversteps into flashiness (in this way they remind me of Lambchop and even Yo La Tengo). It’s about the communicative effect of songs and emotion. I’ve played this one a lot since picking it up and it continues to feel twice as big as it actually is.
Speaking of Yo La Tengo, the Little Honda EP blares so righteously on its title track cover of the reliable chestnut from The Beach Boys that it can’t be ignored either. Ira’s guitar is in typically outstanding form, and his solo on "Little Honda" in particular is a great example of the grandiose simplicity of stun-mode. But this trio is possibly the best vessel of cover-song science currently going. The reading of William DeVaughn’s "Be Thankful for What You Got" is evidence of that. The mode the band is in on this release is like the essence of the greatest oldies-station ever programmed wrapped up in one of Lou Reed’s old sweaty t-shirts. Take a deep breath.
I like Mogwai. Frankly, I don’t pay them as much attention as I should. Instrumental guitar centered post-rock is the name of the game at the point of the above release, and listening to it is a solid diversion. They really don’t fall too heavily into a default sound at this point (don’t know about later, I’ve been bad at keeping up with them), mixing in varied influences and sounding generally inspired. These guys used to catch a lot of guff from hard-asses as being sort of junior league experimentalists, but I think that’s a contrarian way of thinking. They’re not the most earth shattering band to hit the CD racks, but I don’t think that’s their intention. This stuff works on its own terms, and it sounds good to me, and if that’s the case, I think its good enough for a lot of folks. Maybe you’re one of them. I wonder what Joe Dante thinks.
Mirah and The Microphones are two great examples of why pegging the K sound is a mistake. Do people still peg the K sound? If not, it’s true that many once did, and even back then it was a problematic generalization. Mirah sounds closest to what some people think of when they compartmentalize the releases from this label, but it is injected with a sweet veneer of strings and a late night feel (Pink Moon-diggers should like this one, though it doesn’t really sound like Drake, just kind of feels like him to me) that’s unlike anything else I’ve heard from the K imprint. It’s maybe true that Mirah’s voice isn’t all that far from the quality vocalisms of K standby Lois, but that shouldn’t be a big deal.
The surviving members of Sun City Girls (the brothers Rick and Alan Bishop) would surely spit venom if you called them an indie-band, but I think it’s fair that a large chunk of their record sales came from buyers who could roughly be described as consumers of that niche. They’ve been around so long that they predate the indie nomenclature, initially hanging on the wonderfully weirdo fringes of the late punk circus. In those days, they were boosted by Placebo Records (home of skate-punk staples Jody Foster’s Army), and they marched forward from the demise of that label (and the punk scene in general) to land squarely in the thick of the following decades deep underground. Sun City Girls was always a bit hard to pin down, never settling for one specific angle and often displaying an acidic, sardonic humor that perhaps cost them the fandom of more uptight avant-garde types. The fuck you spirit of punk was always a part of their delivery, and the way they psychedelicized and often battered everything from assorted styles of ethnic music to ‘70s soul hits to Fugs covers was always a treat. The above is a collection of work released on singles in the period when they were perfecting a damaged and comely take on Middle Eastern music that’s best absorbed by the Torch of the Mystics LP. The stuff here is nearly as great, however. Sun City Girls are one of the great “rock” trios of all time, while also being one of the most confounding. To put it simply, they never get old.
Speaking of the deep underground, Shawn David McMillen has some strong pedigree in relation to this vague scene, playing with members of Charalambides and in bands such as Warmer Milks and The Abrasion Ensemble. This nifty little four song sampler that Tompkins Square has available shows him to be working within a sun-baked psychedelic acoustic sensibility. The stuff would be downright fantastic as the soundtrack for a loose filmic rumination on ragged and dusty landscape, but I’m not sure if they still make that sort of thing. Shit, cameras are cheap these days (or they will be soon). Maybe we could make our own. We’ll need some plaid shirts (preferably with buttons), a rusted-out stretch car, a boom box, a cowboy hat, a shot gun, a manual typewriter, a case of Whip-Its in the trunk, an Afro-wig, Wayfarer sunglasses, a few packs of Blackjack chewing gum (accept no substitutes), a gallon of cheap tequila, some kazoos, a rattlesnake, and at least six cartons of unfiltered cigarettes. Man, this thing writes itself!
Mike Fellows is essentially the main guy behind Mighty Flashlight, and where ya’ been Mike? If you don’t know, Fellows is quite the musical trooper. He was in the cathartic Dischord Revolution Summer-aries Rites of Spring (as well as Government Issue and Happy Go Licky), the way underrated Teen Beat unit Air Miami with Mark Robinson and Bridget Cross, and has been a valuable sideman for both Will Oldham and Silver Jews. It appears he engineered this years’ quite strong release by faux fat-boy field-rockers Endless Boogie, so he’s not far from the campfire. Mighty Flashlight frankly should have put out more than one album. I don’t want to bum Mike out (Like I know him personally or something. Sheesh) with a reference that’s maybe to obvious or overplayed, but the initial feel to this baby is similar to the bent folkiness of early Beck. A lot of this comes from Fellows’ voice, which is in same sleepy-stoner realm as Mr. Hansen. So much for aging DC punks keeping alive the flame of Straight Edge (joking, people). If Beck never turned you on, I’d still try this baby out. And not to insult Jade Tree (the label that released this), but I think if this record had been released in Drag City or even Matador, it would have a larger fan base. I know without seeing them live, I’d probably never have bought this. Not that Jade Tree isn’t home to some fine bands. But I digress.
I scored this record by The National like four years ago for around three bucks or so, and now their bigger than pizza. They live up to the adulation in my estimation, so this was a steal. In some ways it reminds me of a more rocking American Music Club. At times. A lot of it doesn’t remind me of anything more specific than new manna for the Legions of Leonard, as in Cohen, as in black cardigan sweaters with chapbooks of poetry in the pocket, as in you look like the kind of girl I’d like to date (It’s 4:08 in the morning, and I’m getting a little loose, okay?). Actually, Tindersticks have been mentioned in relation to this band, and that sounds sorta sound. It’s been a long time since Tindersticks has invaded my ear space, but I always liked them (in an era, like right now, where there were a whole lot of bands to like). I missed seeing these guys play in a big dusty field a couple summers back, but I don’t know how they would have gone over. They seem like rock club music to me. A dank, tightly packed rock club full of cardigan sweaters and the people who love them. Where’s my camera?
Where a lot of the capitalized references in the previous paragraph (as well as the main subject, natch) have a take on downtrodden sonics that appropriately adaptable to romanticism (and romancing too, certainly), FM Cornog’s East River Pipe leaps beyond that and into a lyrical murk that festers like a blister of human frailty and ugliness. The hook however is that his songs have an unfettered pop structure that is quite catchy and at times almost sunny sounding. The initial idea seems to be that he’s trying to make the causticity of the words somewhat palatable, and the record does go down at first like a thick sweet slug of cough syrup. What develops over time is the unavoidable friction between the two elements. I don’t know another art form where this kind of dichotomy is really achievable. Slapstick comedy, perhaps? Cornog hints at the depths of despair that Hubert Selby Jr. immersed himself and the reader in through his masterpiece Last Exit to Brooklyn, but the sentiments are surrounded by a sound that’s a bit like the equivalent of a non-techno poppy Magnetic Fields (while often employing the same style of brittle instrumentation). I’ve been gradually falling under the sway of this stuff for a few years now, and it’s proving to have some real staying power.
Since we’re on the subject of staying power, the debut from Mazzy Star has it in spades. She Hangs Brightly takes me back even further than the Palace Music CD. Most people I knew were unaware of the relationship this group shared with Paisley California, namely Opal and Dream Syndicate through guitarist David Roback. Hope Sandoval was the focus point for many, and it’s pretty much impossible to deny her strong presence, but I always dug Roback’s sweet continuation of the Paisley Underground’s examination of the psychedelic west coast. I was doing a passable job at hiding the fact that I was a miserable wretch at the point this record hit the stores, but that doesn’t get me down today. Like Will Oldham, Mazzy Star was a salve to the sores of life. Today it plays like the soundtrack for struggle and survival. We all have our personal greatest hits of endurance, don’t we?
Sufjan Stevens typifies the specific swaggering chutzpah of biting of more than you can chew. If he actually finishes this 50 states thing I’ll eat a sock. Hell, if he completes thirty-five I’ll eat a mitten. I’m confident. But if he only completes five more of the quality of Illinois, he’ll go down as one of the all time greats. I’m just as confident about that estimation. Illinois was simply the best non-jazz record of it’s year. That’s going to make some people huff and puff, but go blow someone else’s house down, will ya? The ridiculous level of invention and imagination that saturates this thing from start to finish just doesn’t decrease over time. I’ve listened to this probably close to fifty times, and on this particular instance, with the lights off and the volume up, it was as revelatory as the tenth. What’s going to be crucial to this baby’s staying power is how particular it sounds. Yeah, Illinois can be somewhat corralled into the place where Jeff Mangum and Colin Meloy strut their conceptual stuff, but he doesn’t really sound like either of them. And the way he folds an influence like Phil Glass into his sound is just spectacular. I’m tempted to say this is a perfect record. It’s only a smidgen less pleasing to me than In An Aeroplane Over the Sea on a personal level, and the thing’s only a few years old. If you’ve spent time with this and feel that my previous sentences bleed with hyperbole, please rest assured that I’m sincere. In fifteen years we can compare notes. Again, I’m confident that I’m not swinging wildly with the pronouncements.
SUNDAY 12/21- Shepp’s Blasé is from his BYG/Actuel period. He was smoking hot at this point, pretty much unrestrained by the decorum of the Impulse! Label, but because his tenure with that company overlaps and post-dates the BYG recordings, this part of his artistic geography often gets underestimated. Where records like Fire Music and the way underrated Live in San Francisco feel like a passionate and disruptive (and righteous and demanding) presence from inside the walls of oppression, the BYG stuff, all recorded outside the US if I’m not mistaken, takes on a bold, at times accusatory, and at other moments unmitigated freedom (not necessarily structural, to be clear) that might be the best way to appreciate the guy. He was a complex ball of ideas that didn’t really run out of gas until the end of the ‘70s, and if you want to hear what Free Europe sounded like in 1969, this is a great place to start. Vocalist Jeanne Lee steals the show, by the way.
The Art Ensemble of Chicago is another essential group of free jazzers who did the expatriate thing along with Shepp and a host of others, and Go Home is an extremely rare nugget from that period that was apparently released on the Galloway label and I don’t think has ever been given a legit CD reissue. I nabbed it from the internet, and it’s a good one. It lacks the gusto of the more lauded releases from their Euro-stay (A Message to Our Folks and A Jackson in Your House in particular), but that’s not really what they were striving for. The AEoC were a versatile unit capable of going outward with force and musing inward with a collective agility, but always displaying an abstraction and commitment to progress that made them unpalatable to finger-snappers and cocktail-sippers. The collective aspect also meant that they were not in the tradition of jazz as defined by musician leaders and soloist expression. Much of free jazz in the first decade of its existence was really a reexamination of the dominant post-bop model, but AEoC really tapped into the unique heart of Coleman’s possibilities and in the process grasp a thread of jazz history that is tied to the early New Orleans experience of Armstrong, Oliver, Ory etc. Go Home is important (featuring some nice work from Fontella Bass), but if you’re new, hit the more bandied about titles first.
Joseph Jarman was a member of the Art Ensemble, and this Delmark release provides a window into the early explorations of avant-Chicago. Windy City staple Muhal Richard Abrams is here, as is a young Fred Anderson, John Stubblefield (later of Miles’ Get Up With It), and Thurman Barker. It’s also the only appearance to my knowledge of vocalist Sherri Scott. There are more moments of ruckus on this record than Go Home, so if you need that sort of thing it’s here. I might prefer it to Go Home at this point as well. It may not be fair to really compare, but it does seem true to me that the general aesthetic principles that came to be associated with the AEoC were getting refined on the earlier recordings by future members of the group. All of this early material is essential to understanding just how expansive and adaptable the loosening strictures of jazz conception were in the period of its initial neglect. This stuff was almost entirely ignored, and that’s a big part of the reason they ended up in France. This isn’t an unusual reaction to greatness, and it’s nice to know in this case that it has a rather appealing ending.
Anthony Braxton is on Conference of the Birds. So is drummer Barry Altschul, the great horn player Sam Rivers, and bassist Dave Holland (it’s his date). Holland appears on Trio and Duet, along with Musica Elettronica Viva member Richard Teitelbaum on synth and percussion and Leo Smith on trumpets. That’s really all I can say at this point. Except that they both sound excellent on one listen. And that Braxton and Holland both smoke.
The Red Crayola- Coconut Hotel LP 1967
The Red Krayola- God Bless The Red Krayola and All Who Sail With It LP 1968
The Paper Chase- Young Bodies Heal Quickly, You Know CD 2000
Milford Graves and Don Pullen- Nommo LP 1967
12/16/08- Milford Graves and Don Pullen- Nommo LP 1967
Silver Jews- Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea- CD 2008
Eddy Current Suppression Ring- Primary Colours CD 2008
This Heat- self titled LP 1978
The Sundowners- Goat Songs EP 1994
Miles Davis- The Complete Live at the Plugged Nickel Disc One 1965
12/17/08- Lee Morgan- Charisma LP 1966
Archie Shepp- The Magic of Ju-Ju LP 1967
John Coltrane- Live Trane: The European Tours CD Disc Two 1961
Sonic Youth- Sister LP 1987
The Chills- Kaleidoscope World LP 1986
12/18/08- Various Artists- Daptone Seven Inch Singles Collection Volume One CD 2006
Shuggie Otis- Inspiration Information CD 1974
Herbie Hancock- Sextant LP 1973
Cat Power- The Greatest CD 2006
Judee Sill- self titled LP 1971
12/19/08- Marvin Gaye- Let’s Get It On Deluxe Edition 2CD
Tony Williams’ Lifetime- Turn It Over LP 1970
Jimmy Giuffre- Free Fall LP 1962
The Jim Hall Trio- Jazz Guitar LP 1957
Marylin Crispell- Labyrinths CD 1987
Animal Collective- Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished 2000 CD
The Great Unwashed- Collection CD 1992
Various Artists- A Million Dollar$ Worth of Doo-Wop Volume 3 CD
12/20/08- David Grubbs- An Optimist Notes the Dusk CD 2008
Tortoise- Mosquito/Onions Wrapped In Rubber b/w Gooseneck 7” 1993
Alan Licht- Plays Well CD 2001
Fugazi- The Argument CD 2001
Palace Music- Lost Blues and Other Songs CD 1997
Calexico- Convict Pool CDEP 2004
Yo La Tengo- Little Honda CDEP 1997
Mogwai- EP+6 CD 2000
Mirah- C’mon Miracle CD 2004
The Microphones- The Glow Pt. 2 CD 2001
James Blackshaw- Celeste CD 2004
Suni McGrath- Seven Stars b/w Fantasia 7” 2008
Beirut- Gulag Orkestar CD 2006
Sun City Girls- You’re Never Alone with a Cigarette: Singles Volume One CD
High Places- self titled CD 2008
Shawn David McMillen- Sampler CD 2008
Mighty Flashlight- self titled CD 2002
The National- Sad Songs For Dirty Lovers CD 2003
East River Pipe- Poor Fricky CD 1995
Mazzy Star- She Hangs Brightly CD 1990
Sufjan Stevens- Illinois CD 2005
12/21/08- Archie Shepp- Blasé LP 1969
Art Ensemble of Chicago- Go Home LP 1970
Joseph Jarman- As if it Were the Seasons LP 1968
Dave Holland- Conference of the Birds LP 1972
Anthony Braxton- Trio and Duet LP 1974
MONDAY 12/15- Mayo Thompson’s Red (C)Krayola is one of the longest running and most enigmatic underground concerns. The band’s earliest material has been a recurring source of inspiration from within the underground over the years, and the reputation of those releases as some of the best outsider expression to arise from the second half of the ‘60s is secure. The thing to remember if you haven’t heard them is that in Texas they do things in the extreme. That’s where Red Crayola were formed, releasing records on International Artists, home of the Thirteenth Floor Elevators and others. They recorded three records during this initial phase, but only two were released at the time. All of them are fantastic and individually unique documents of an era and of Thompson’s beginnings as an artist of major importance.
The first one is most easily integrated into the general psychedelic tendencies of the period. But that doesn’t mean its sound is anything other that singular. It crosses wild freak-outs of collective free-form splatter with a curious and hard to define conceptual aura and in the process comes off like a field recording of a large pack of hippies who drop out of art school and go completely off their nut. The majority of the record’s tracks are bluntly titled just that: Free Form Freak Out. It’s far less about good vibes and more concerned with an explosive exorcism of all that was so oppressive about the decade, hence: "War Sucks", one of the tracks on the album with a distinctive title, which combines with "Hurricane Fighter Plane" and "Transparent Radiation" (covered by New Zealand’s Pin Group and Spacemen 3, respectively) to form a triangle of moments that highlight the extreme territory that was being examined and also shows how influential the record has been since its release. Even though it’s an unabashedly psychedelic recording (the back of my budget reissue states File Under Psychedelia), its extremity has never been integrated into the lore of hippiedom. Instead, its reputation as a high watermark of the oddball ‘60s fringe stands tall, having influenced weirdo punks (Texan's Really Red), indie-rock bands (see above), and young experimentalists (David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke, for two).
The second Red Crayola recording didn’t see release until Drag City brought it out almost thirty years later. Coconut Hotel is so unlike its predecessor that it shouldn’t be surprising that the label refused to release it. Minimal instrumental segments that blend into a soundscape that’s like a thousand miles away from any kind of rock experimentation to see release at the time, it totally eschews even the slightest relationship to the debut or to rock structure in general. Many of the segments are only seconds long, and if you turn to glance at your CD player’s display and find it on track forty-two (like I did) while absorbing the sound as one long occasionally baffling sonic experience (like I did), then perhaps you’ll understand just how off the path and in the deep weeds Thompson and his cohorts were at this point. It’s a head-scratching thing, but it has a weirdly twisted intellectual pull.
God Bless did see release, however. Instead of a return to the sound of the first record, the modus operandi is to apply the unadulterated minimalism of Coconut to a batch of structured songs with lyrics (and some moments of pure experimentation) and in the process land smack dab in the middle of ground zero for a certain strain of art-rock. There is sparseness to the sound and friendliness with the often high concerns of academia on display here that’s different from the expansive qualities of much rock experimentation (and Parable, for that matter); the brevity of the tracks and the direct somewhat poppy structure they sometimes adhere to share an intellectual discipline and a lack of reliance on established norms (genre tropes) that smacks of the atmosphere of the university instead of the rock scene. I’m guessing that this record would please listeners that have a predilection for the music of Robert Wyatt, ‘80s David Thomas (or Pere Ubu in general, actually), David Byrne’s assorted non-Tropicalia inflected solo work, or Jim O’Rourke’s albums of song based material. This is my favorite of these three releases, and it’s maybe the place for the uninitiated to start, since it’s the one that bares the most (loose) resemblance to Thompson’s later work.
The Paper Chase first entered my consciousness as one of many bands on the Kill Rock Stars label. I made a mental note to look into them, but then a good friend hipped me to their first, pre-KRS effort, and I’m quite pleased with that state of affairs. The sound follows a post-rock path into a bruising experimentalism that still retains a songlike center and is dripping with a strung-out emotional intensity that just begs to be played loud. Integrated into the sound is a production based enhancement of dynamics that really increases the weight of the music as it unfolds, deepening the strident down tempo quality and enhancing the tug of its sweetly abrasive angst. The seeds of the record’s success lie in its focused delivery: nothing is sloppy or offhand. This is a slowly boiling study in torment, and I look forward to hearing more.
The Graves/Pullen record is a rare jewel from the guts of free jazz in the ‘60s. Released on LP and never issued on CD, it’s been talked about in hushed tones for about as long as I’ve been clued in to outsider sounds. And since the internet is such a great equalizer, people without the stature of Thurston Moore or John Zorn can actually get to hear this thing. It’s a drum/piano duo that matches the loose and at times explosive rhythmic mastery of Graves with Pullen’s unique approach to avant-piano, full of silence and small abstract gestures only to erupt into sharp note-clusters that defy the explicit forward momentum that’s such a large part of most jazz pianists’ approach (simultaneously sounding distinct from the sound of Cecil Taylor, who plays in a similar fractured style, but which is often specifically ABOUT momentum). Graves is also distinct from his peers in free-drumming, having a sweeping joyous clatter to his style, which is very much in the mode of percussionist, with all kinds of non-typical material is in his arsenal and equally unusual ways of utilizing them (my introduction to his playing was a video clip of a trio with bassist William Parker and horn manic Peter Brotzmann, where Graves was playing a cymbal with his forearms). These guys come together and produce a fine, hard to define spillage of bang and thunk that never sounds tossed-off. Rather, it drips with the interweaving of intense non-linear communication and leaves off plenty of sparks. Having to experience this through download means I can’t read Nat Hentoff’s back cover liner notes while listening, but them’s the breaks.
TUESDAY 12/16- This Heat is one of the only bands to land squarely in the middle ground between prog-rock and post-punk. In the process they’ve been name-checked so many times that for a while, when the records were quite scarce for a suburbanite, the two syllables of their moniker took on a proportion that was almost oppressive. You couldn’t read a goddamned fanzine (or CMJ, for that matter) without some big-city hipster going on and on about This Heat This Heat THIS HEAT. By 1994 I’d found vinyl copies of all kinds of roughly similar (and out of print) material (Wire’s Pink Flag, Pop Group’s Y, the Wanna Buy a Bridge? comp), but this band eluded me for the longest time. Well, those days a long over and I must say that the debut release by This Heat is simply an amazing record. These guys simply don’t sound like anybody else, and because of this the music is just ridiculously contemporary. Scratch that. If this album came out last week it would be hailed as ahead of it’s time. Because of the proggy background of the band (though I can’t think of another prog-rock group that are even in the ballpark of This Heat’s sound) they bring a musically adept approach to the beginnings of the post-punk phenomenon (too wide open to be called a genre, or at least that’s the way I feel today) that contrasts with the more basic (but often refined and quite effective) musicianship which gave so much post-punk it’s appeal. Lots of post-punk groups were influenced by Can, but This Heat is a legitimate extension of that band. And Eno, for that matter. Anybody into those last two as well as Faust, Neu!, or the UK post-punk thing in general that hasn’t heard This Heat needs to get on the ball quick. It’s not just for big-city hipsters anymore.
The Sundowners was a quick spurt of low-fi in the trappings of collaboration between Will Oldham and Bill Callahan (a.k.a. Smog or (Smog) or Chan Marshall’s and Joanna Newsome’s ex) in their younger, less refined days. I’d never heard it until now, and it slid by me so fast I thought I was listening to a homemade cassette that was mail-ordered from an address found in a hand written ad in the back pages of Dagger zine. Which means it slid by me really good. It’s noticeably less damaged than the early Smog stuff I’ve dug, and it finds Oldham much closer to the locus of the home-taper experience than I ever thought I’d find him. What an unexpected turn of events.
Miles at the Plugged Nickel is for some the apex of the guy’s output. After avoiding his work for most of the fist half of my twenties, partly due to Davis’ antagonism to other more avant-garde musicians and also misinformation about the electric period, I borrowed a copy of the original two LP of the Plugged Nickel recordings, and was given a lesson in knee-jerk reactions. It’s often said that this specific moment in Davis’ vast discography is the closest he came to free playing, and regarding the pre-electric stuff that’s probably right. I’m just getting introduced to the extended box set incarnation of this week long engagement, so I’ll have much more to say when more time has been spent. That may take a while, so patience, please.
WEDNESDAY 12/17- Lee Morgan is a cat that I pretty much ignored for a long time. His rep as a Blue Note mainstreamer didn’t call out to me while I was immersed in noisier, less accessible music, whether jazz or no. But he did play (quite well) on one of my favorite Blue Notes, Coltrane’s Blue Train, so I never dismissed him or anything. And in the last 5-6 years, I’ve come to enjoy many of the more inside releases from the Blue Note label, so Morgan’s been getting some playing time around the manor. Charisma finds him with a killer group. Jackie McLean and Hank Mobley on reeds, Cedar Walton on keys, Paul Chambers on bass, and the always dependable Billy Higgins on drums. This was my first play with this one, and it largely served as the soundtrack to dishwashing and floor mopping, so I can’t get too deep into what makes this one special. I do feel confident in describing it as a very inspired date, and it lessened the monotony of my chores. There are still some big gaps in my Morgan education that need filling, but I get the feeling this one will rate highly when I have a more complete picture of his recorded legacy. It’s about as in-the-pocket as contempo jazz gets in this era, but the skill level and imagination on display seems to elevate it above the norm. If this style of jazz speaks to you, then I’m guessing you’d find Charisma to be a good one.
Loose, raw, bluesy, and angry: these are all words that apply to the sax playing of Archie Shepp. He was one of the first players involved in the ‘60s jazz avant-garde that I listened to, after Coltrane and Coleman. Impulse! was fairly attentive to putting out his stuff on CD back then so it was possible to get a handle on his sound up close and personal and in the process come to a better understanding about the free jazz scene of the era he helped to define. The Magic of Ju-Ju was never released stateside to my knowledge, so this record is fairly new to me. It fits solidly into what Shepp was throwing down during this period, however. He had a unique approach; thick with the intertwined history of the music and those who made it and drew inspiration from it, barbed with questions demands and ruminations on the state of racial inequality, and infused with a jagged and exploratory vigor that made him quite a polemical figure in the heady days when he was ramping up to his peak. Unlike Coltrane, there was no middle ground with Shepp. You either were with him or against him, and that seemed to be the way he liked it. This record is a deep plunge into the roots and rhythms of Africa and how they were/are connected to the American phenomena of jazz, and also a lesson in how examining this influence could extend a new direction for the music. The title track is over 18 minutes of prime Shepp, wailing, musing, laying back, pushing forward and interacting with his fellow players. It’s quite a blowout, but it’s not quite at the level of the celebratory groove insanity that was pretty much perfected on the BYG/Actuel records he released not long after this. This is not to infer that it’s something less than great. I haven’t heard a record by Shepp from this era that isn’t still an incendiary document, and any understanding of Fire Music flows directly through his stuff.
The Coltrane material from the live box above, at least what I’ve heard so far is the classic quartet with Eric Dolphy added, and this was really the sound that started it all for me RE: jazz. I bought a cheapy import disc from my local mall called Abstract Blue (I still have it), took it to my apartment and had the top of my head blown clean off. The second disc of this box begins with the exact same brain-flaying burn-through of "Mr. PC" that opened Abstract Blue and it finds Coltrane skronking like a madman, Dolphy running through some fine upper register motion, and Elvin Jones going absolutely apeshit crazy towards the end. It’s like everybody decided (except McCoy Tyner maybe, but he was the default grounding presence in Coltrane’s band) to recast the tune (from the classic Giant Steps) by throttling it and removing any traces of polish or decorum from the piece. It still gasses me how much sheer inventive chutzpah this band had, so much that it created all kinds of controversy over the intrinsic worth of the music. The recordings captured on this box are one substantial part of what’s possibly the most influential and important body of work to come from jazz in the second half of the 20th century. Truly essential.
Sister is a cornerstone record for me, and my discovery of it directly led to my interest in non-rock specific sounds. These guys, along with Minutemen and some of their indie peers weren’t shy about praising various forms of music that fell outside the boundaries covered in the typical fanzine or small-press mag of the time, and I really ate it up. Cynics often dismissed this as mere hipster name dropping, but personally I always thought this bellyaching reeked of a snide laziness or an excuse for narrow-mindedness. It’s not like it was particularly hard to find much of the stuff being referenced. But anyway, this has almost nothing to do with why Sister is such a great record. It is essentially the middle step in the development of the line-up with Shelly on drums into one of the great rock bands of all time. Evol to Sister to Daydream Nation is simply an amazing progression, and the growth on display here is hard to find fault with. It features some of their most perfectly realized songs ("Schizophrenia", "Tuff Gnarl", and "Pacific Coast Highway") while making strides in refining the overall expansionist sound that influenced a few tons of bands over the following decade or so. And it really holds up. There’s so much beauty spread over Daydream Nation that the smoking symmetry of this one is sometimes devalued. If I could only own two of their albums, this one and Daydream would be the easy picks, and certainly nostalgia over their impact on my impressionable mind plays a part in that. But nostalgia is a hard damned thing to avoid. You just need to be sure what you’re being nostalgic about is worth it. This is, and then some.
Regarding the big four of ‘80s Flying Nun/New Zealandic sounds, The Chills were often loved. I can’t deny that the others, The Clean, The Verlaines and Tall Dwarfs, didn’t rank higher in my personal pantheon, though. And this really hasn’t changed. But I can’t deny that The Chills sound better at this point than they did when I was just a young upstart. I’ve really come to terms with the uncut love of the pop muse that figures as the band’s raison d’etre. There was always enough buzzy guitar action in the works at this stage (they later ended up on Slash, where I pretty much lost track of them) that I could swallow them whole without any unpleasant aftertaste, but I was still a few years away from getting turned on to both The Beach Boys and much of the at times lilting pop-psyche that is the core of much of this stuff. The Verlaines did similar things, but had an approach that was more direct while being a little less classicist. All of this is to say that The Chills haven’t lost an ounce of what made them such a thrilling and exotic presence. I’ve just grown into them.
THURSDAY 12/18- The Daptone sound is impossible without the revolutionary funk-science of the most cooking James Brown units, but what’s so essential to why they matter is how it straddles a line between homage/return to basic principles and a living breathing relevance to what’s happening right now. This duality reminds me of both the brute old-school intensity that’s revolved around Billy Childish for almost three decades (a rediscovery of Link Wray/early UK Beat-rock) and the spread-out sweetness of many of the new-ish instrumental folk pickers like Jack Rose (basically descended from Fahey/Kottke/Basho/Lang) In all three cases the parties involved serve as a history lesson while refusing to let the music exist with anything less than a sodden vitality. This collection of singles holds all the ridiculous energy that any single disc assemblage of Brown inspired soul/funk/R & B does, but is injected with the blunt reality that it’s happening RIGHT NOW. This isn’t retro, it’s inspirationally classicist.
Shuggie Otis is/was a guitar wielding weird-meat who never achieved widespread success largely because he was so hard to pin down. He’s known to folks who’re keyed into the folds of deep-hippiedom (playing with both Al Kooper and Zappa) and to soul music scientists. The above album isn’t really a lost record, but it should have been much bigger than it was. His song "Strawberry Letter 23" was a smash hit in cover form for The Brothers Johnson, and anybody who has an interest in ‘70s soul/R & B (particularly in the album format) needs to hear this. The bonus tracks from an earlier record called Freedom Flight are less genre definable, and add a nice coda to the more straight ahead material. Too bad Luaka Bop didn’t give Freedom Flight a stand alone release.
Since time has allowed for a reevaluation of jazz music’s Fusion Era, Sextant can be appreciated for the fine recording it is. But you can also play it between records by Can and Kraftwerk and really feel the unity. In this sense, it serves as a part of the scope of references that refined what Tortoise has done in the post-rock field. Apparently this record wasn’t a big seller, and Hancock subsequently moved into a more commercial direction. This seems to be the fate shared by almost every non-Miles/McLaughlin fusion record that I really enjoy. For every Sextant there are numerous crap albums from Al Di Meola and Spyro Gyra. I remember listening to Hancock’s subsequent record, Headhunters, twice. Once was in a music class in eighth grade, and the other was courtesy of a acquaintance who was much more taken with fusion than I was at the time (or now, for that matter). That was almost fifteen years ago, and my reaction was that of indifference. I’m pretty curious to go back to it now to see if my opinion has changed. My feelings for Sextant are quite high, however. The level of experimentation and the engaging sounds that result is very attractive, and if records like this were more common during the fusion period it’s obvious that the era wouldn’t have such a dodgy rep. It fits well with electric Miles and early Weather Report, and if you are taken with them and haven’t heard this then you know what to do.
Chan Marshall’s progression from a left field uground presence of note in the ‘90’s to her current position smack dab in the middle of the thick of this decade’s indie affairs has been an enjoyable thing to watch develop. Many find her flightiness to be an annoyance or at least a weakness, but that’s not my thinking. As her recordings become more inclusive and welcoming to those with less rarefied interests she’s managed to keep her finger on the pulse of a deep vein of fertile sounds, partially due to her decision to surround herself with such strong musicians (she reminds me a bit of Jeff Tweedy in this regard). The other aspect relates to her own ability as a songwriter, singer, and interpreter of cover material. The Greatest is a very nice, deep listen. It really reveals how strong Marshall’s connection is with older root forms. Maybe I’m way off base, but I can’t help thinking of Dusty Springfield being produced by James Luther Dickenson (which never happened, but should’ve) in relation to this thing. The use of Memphis stalwarts like Teenie Hodges really adds to the late-night ‘70s soul sessions feel that inspires me to make this hypothetical allusion, and this baby has a sweet veneer. And she seems built to last in numerous ways that many current indie flavors (I’m not calling out any names) don’t. I love bumping into her work, and look forward to this happening for some time.
Judee Sill was the first person to release a record on David Geffen’s Asylum records. I was curious upon first hearing about her, but only took the plunge with this listen. I’m glad I did. I wasn’t knocked out of my chair onto the floor, but that’s not what this record is trying to do. It reminded me quite a bit of gradually developing pleasures to be found in the work of Laura Nyro, and one listen made it clear that I’ll be visiting her work many times. Things didn’t go well for Sill’s life and career, and it’s difficult to not take this into account when hearing this record, but the impression that I was given told me that any extra-musical factors were quite minimal in relation to this album’s success. If Nyro and Joni Mitchell are part of your diet, than I think including Judee Sill would complete a nice trifecta.
FRIDAY 12/19- Many prefer Stevie, but I’m an unabashed Marvin man. His ‘60s work is just flipping fantastic, and he stands for me as the one Motown guy who made the deepest and most immediate transition into the next decade. Let’s Get it On, in this expanded and I’m guessing exhaustive double disc incarnation, shows how bold his transformation was. This record is two great things at once: a tightly packed and expertly rendered deep soul slab that can work for solitary listening while also being perfect as the soundtrack for Extended Huggin’ Kissin’ and Lovin’. For me he sits with Al Green at the top of the heap for this sort of thing. I like how this set was assembled, presenting the original record in its entirety on the first disc with a few extras afterwards, and dropping all kinds of extra material on the second. This provides the goods for soul geeks (like me) without disrupting the massive flow of what makes the recording such a big deal. It’s just a fantastic document of a great artist at the peak of his powers.
My little dip into the fusion realm inspired me to think on Tony Williams, and how I’d not spent enough time with his Lifetime material. The band on Turn it On is a monster: John McLaughlin on guitar, Larry Young on organ, Jack Bruce on bass, and of course Williams on drums. It has been so long since I’ve really listened to any Lifetime stuff that it’s hard for me to give it a satisfactory assessment. It makes me want to get reacquainted with the debut Emergency!, and then spend some more time with this one. Turn it On is an unusual record that doesn’t really call to mind any other fusion outfit. Williams’ unusual vocals will be a sticking point for some, but I dug them okay. The addition of Bruce seems to make this a strong candidate for those who are keen on the phenomena of rock band’s dabbling in jazz, instead of the other way around. I’m thinking Soft Machine. McLaughlin just slays on this thing. My interest in William’s has been rekindled by the offhand listen to this record, and he also plays on the Plugged Nickel box, so I see a lot of the man’s playing in my near future.
Jimmy Giuffre and Jim Hall are two extremely interesting players and these two albums, while new to me, are important for a variety of reasons. The Hall record is his debut as a leader, and it has suffered some serious abuse at the hands of a horrid producer who both edited and added overdubs to subsequent reissues of the material, which is bad enough, but the unedited masters no longer exist. This seriously sucks for a variety of reasons. Hall is easily one of the greatest jazz guitarists to appear after bop, and it would be nice to hear the album in its original form. Bassist Red Mitchell and under recorded pianist Carl Perkins suffer most from the editing, which is a crime since Perkins’ is such an interesting musician. The out-of-print CD reissue that I downloaded thankfully doesn’t include the overdubbed drums of Larry Bunker, and it’s hard to chalk up the decision to add them to anything other than hubris, for the music clearly needs nothing, being a warm and deep inspection of familiar tunes with Hall already possessing an assurance in his sound and a maturity in his communicative skills that’s quite striking. Mitchell sounds great as always, and Perkins is unique and completely in the spirit of things, equal to the task at hand. The record’s so good through the flaws of tampering that I can only hope to stumble onto a copy of this original LP in some antique mall that doesn’t know its worth, where I’d snatch it up so fast my physical movements would make the whooshing sounds you hear in cartoons. Yup.
The Giuffre record is a masterpiece of outward bound clarinet playing from a guy who should be much better known. Giuffre’s abstract approach to his instrument on this record is often expressed in solo terms, working through a riveting range of demanding sound ideas in a way that’s quite distinct from any other avant-garde approach that I’ve heard from the period, but he does have the fine contributions of Steve Swallow on bass and Paul Bley on piano, and when they are integrated into the framework the sound becomes a bit more familiar if no less distinct, if that’s not too vague. Free Fall is easily one of the most striking jazz listens I’ve had recently, both in terms of ambition and in simple pleasure. I don’t think it’s currently in print, which is a drag. If your interest is peaked, the music shouldn’t be that hard to find (I found it, after all), so start looking.
The Great Unwashed was a brief flare-shot into the sky above ‘80s New Zealand. Existing initially as a duo of ex-Clean brothers David and Hamish Kilgour then adding another early member of that band in Peter Gutteridge for the final stage of their lifespan, the sound is very much a continuation of The Clean’s sound, though it has even more of that band’s casual, for the hell of it brilliance. I bought this on tape in the early ‘90s (along with a Gordons cassette) and promptly lost track of them (the format was notorious for that sort of thing). It’s cool to get reintroduced to it.
SATURDAY 12/20- This was largely a day for indie rock, though the latest from David Grubbs, like much of his work, is quite experimental in nature. This is not to imply that songs aren’t to be found. It’s just very slippery in its lack of taggable qualities. This also shouldn’t imply that this new record is a cold distant listen. I found it quite satisfying and look forward to further installments.
Tortoise are a band that work best for me in the live setting (which is opposite of Spoon for instance, who appeal to me most on record), but the recordings that I have are all pretty great to varying degrees. The Mosquito 7”, unheard by me until recently, ranks quite highly in the scheme of their studio work. The playing is fantastic (as it always is with this crew) and the sound at this early stage of its conception lacks the refined quality that developed later. I like that refined aspect just fine (sometimes I love it, even) but can’t deny that the lack of it hit a certain special spot. Paradoxically, I’ve spent more time with Standards, TNT, and the recent A Lazarus Taxon collection than the first record by these guys, but this agreeable little missive makes me think that’s been a mistake of oversight on my part.
Alan Licht’s Plays Well is a stone blast, and a great example of low-key experimentalism. It makes me smile, which is something that a lot of roughly analogous work doesn’t do. It drips with some extended Velvety string repetition, and Licht’s guitar playing across the running time of this disc is of very high quality. His wild manipulation of a disco record reminds me of a similar recording from Terry Riley, but the piece is also distinct in its expressive verve. This record is one of the first things I’d play for someone who had the false impression that the realm of the experimental is an exclusively foreboding place.
My personal favorite Fugazi record remains In On the Kill Taker, but all of their recordings give me a charge to differing degrees. I’m generally of the opinion that the band got better with age, with Guy Picciotto’s thorough integration into the weave of the sound. His strong (at times arty) presence seemed to ignite Ian’s songwriting, singing and guitar playing away from his default sweet-spot and into less familiar areas. In the process, they became a band that was less about the delivery and refinement of a certain sound and message and more about taking that sound into unexpected and appealing places. Of course, Lally and Canty are also a part of this turn of events: this band always felt like a collective expression of equality that’s comparable to (but also unique from) groups like Minutemen, Sonic Youth, Mission of Burma, Shellac, or even something like the Godspeed/A Silver Mt. Zion experience. The Argument is very likely the last record we’ll ever see from these four as a unit (barring vault clearing releases), and that’s okay in a bittersweet way, because they’re all involved in quality work in the here and now. This is a strong coda to one hell of a band, so strong that the unavoidable aura of finality that comes with it is lessened significantly by the reality that they went out while still being a vital, inspiring group. That’s a sweet thing to consider.
The whiff of the fumes from this collection of early Will Oldham material always takes me back to a certain time and place. I wasn’t the happiest of people then, but hey, I’m not the happiest of people now. Some things don’t change apparently. But Will Oldham changes like a chameleon. And like that animal, you always know it’s him. The point in my life that this disc takes me to was always improved by the depth and irreverence of his loose and loving application of older musical models, and I can still remember playing "The Ohio Riverboat Song" (on 45) like a dozen consecutive times and being unable to shake its weird pull. It still impresses.
Calexico is a great band. This EP might be my favorite thing from them that I’ve heard, mostly because they do bang-up version of two songs from a couple of my favorite bands, Love ("Alone Again Or") and Minutemen ("Corona"), but also for the gripping emotive qualities of the title track and for the increased effectiveness of it’s brevity. I know some folks who give EPs the short shrift, and that’s as valid a way of approaching things as any, but here’s one that can’t be shrifted shortly. Calexico’s strength, at least here is in how their ability as players allows them to inject the songs with a power that never oversteps into flashiness (in this way they remind me of Lambchop and even Yo La Tengo). It’s about the communicative effect of songs and emotion. I’ve played this one a lot since picking it up and it continues to feel twice as big as it actually is.
Speaking of Yo La Tengo, the Little Honda EP blares so righteously on its title track cover of the reliable chestnut from The Beach Boys that it can’t be ignored either. Ira’s guitar is in typically outstanding form, and his solo on "Little Honda" in particular is a great example of the grandiose simplicity of stun-mode. But this trio is possibly the best vessel of cover-song science currently going. The reading of William DeVaughn’s "Be Thankful for What You Got" is evidence of that. The mode the band is in on this release is like the essence of the greatest oldies-station ever programmed wrapped up in one of Lou Reed’s old sweaty t-shirts. Take a deep breath.
I like Mogwai. Frankly, I don’t pay them as much attention as I should. Instrumental guitar centered post-rock is the name of the game at the point of the above release, and listening to it is a solid diversion. They really don’t fall too heavily into a default sound at this point (don’t know about later, I’ve been bad at keeping up with them), mixing in varied influences and sounding generally inspired. These guys used to catch a lot of guff from hard-asses as being sort of junior league experimentalists, but I think that’s a contrarian way of thinking. They’re not the most earth shattering band to hit the CD racks, but I don’t think that’s their intention. This stuff works on its own terms, and it sounds good to me, and if that’s the case, I think its good enough for a lot of folks. Maybe you’re one of them. I wonder what Joe Dante thinks.
Mirah and The Microphones are two great examples of why pegging the K sound is a mistake. Do people still peg the K sound? If not, it’s true that many once did, and even back then it was a problematic generalization. Mirah sounds closest to what some people think of when they compartmentalize the releases from this label, but it is injected with a sweet veneer of strings and a late night feel (Pink Moon-diggers should like this one, though it doesn’t really sound like Drake, just kind of feels like him to me) that’s unlike anything else I’ve heard from the K imprint. It’s maybe true that Mirah’s voice isn’t all that far from the quality vocalisms of K standby Lois, but that shouldn’t be a big deal.
The Microphones are a seriously different proposition, while still having sympathetic ties to what Calvin Johnson is continuing to refine with his label. I’m really just beginning to listen to this rolling project of Phil Elvrum’s in earnest. Previously, I’d listened enough to know I liked it, but hadn’t tread much further. The Glow Pt. 2 is considered by many to be his best work, and it gives off an aura (a glow, if you will) that makes it clear why it’s so revered by fans of the Neutral Milk Hotel/early Decemberists’ axis of sound. And I’m a fan of that and then some, so it looks like I need to get cracking. This also has a good late night allure, but also feels like it would sound great in the first hour of sharp early summer sunlight after a judiciously experienced all-nighter. I need to try that sometime.
James Blackshaw is a newbie to me. I can’t imagine that anybody who finds the thrust of prime Fahey dipped in a mildly psychedelic mixture an attractive experience would not groove to this one. I’m going to be downloading more on the strength of this record, and I’ll add that the quality control displayed thus far by the Tompkins Square label is nothing short of exceptional. The ease and lack of expense with which you can hear their stuff (EMusic plug) is also admirable. Blackshaw is a main mover in the new acoustic movement that’s partially defined by Tompkins Square’s Imaginational Anthem compilation series, and it’s like an explosive rebirth of the serious heft from the best years of Fahey’s Takoma label. I’m psyched.
Suni McGrath is also on Tompkins Square, is also squarely in the wheelhouse of new as old as new acoustic spillage, and is also recent discovery for me. Unlike James Blackshaw, he stretches back to the ‘60s as a recording artist, recording for the Adelphi label, and I’m quite intrigued. Like the Frank Fairfield release I’ve written on recently, this is a 7” release with available downloads, and I’m happy as a clam that this stuff is getting documented on an actual tangible format. The two songs here spurt by pretty quickly but leave a nice impression and the tangle and weave of these recent acoustic developments is likely going to take years to fully appreciate.
I might be a little late to the game, but I really like the debut release by Zack Condon’s Beirut. Largely inspired by Balkan folk music, the sound is thick with old world instrumentation (horns, accordions, various acoustic strings) and a morose atmosphere that escapes any flirtation with pretense by including such touches as drum machines and an engagement with contemporary song craft and production. I’m still getting a handle on it, but it has an appealing slow burn that I’ll have more to say about later.
James Blackshaw is a newbie to me. I can’t imagine that anybody who finds the thrust of prime Fahey dipped in a mildly psychedelic mixture an attractive experience would not groove to this one. I’m going to be downloading more on the strength of this record, and I’ll add that the quality control displayed thus far by the Tompkins Square label is nothing short of exceptional. The ease and lack of expense with which you can hear their stuff (EMusic plug) is also admirable. Blackshaw is a main mover in the new acoustic movement that’s partially defined by Tompkins Square’s Imaginational Anthem compilation series, and it’s like an explosive rebirth of the serious heft from the best years of Fahey’s Takoma label. I’m psyched.
Suni McGrath is also on Tompkins Square, is also squarely in the wheelhouse of new as old as new acoustic spillage, and is also recent discovery for me. Unlike James Blackshaw, he stretches back to the ‘60s as a recording artist, recording for the Adelphi label, and I’m quite intrigued. Like the Frank Fairfield release I’ve written on recently, this is a 7” release with available downloads, and I’m happy as a clam that this stuff is getting documented on an actual tangible format. The two songs here spurt by pretty quickly but leave a nice impression and the tangle and weave of these recent acoustic developments is likely going to take years to fully appreciate.
I might be a little late to the game, but I really like the debut release by Zack Condon’s Beirut. Largely inspired by Balkan folk music, the sound is thick with old world instrumentation (horns, accordions, various acoustic strings) and a morose atmosphere that escapes any flirtation with pretense by including such touches as drum machines and an engagement with contemporary song craft and production. I’m still getting a handle on it, but it has an appealing slow burn that I’ll have more to say about later.
The surviving members of Sun City Girls (the brothers Rick and Alan Bishop) would surely spit venom if you called them an indie-band, but I think it’s fair that a large chunk of their record sales came from buyers who could roughly be described as consumers of that niche. They’ve been around so long that they predate the indie nomenclature, initially hanging on the wonderfully weirdo fringes of the late punk circus. In those days, they were boosted by Placebo Records (home of skate-punk staples Jody Foster’s Army), and they marched forward from the demise of that label (and the punk scene in general) to land squarely in the thick of the following decades deep underground. Sun City Girls was always a bit hard to pin down, never settling for one specific angle and often displaying an acidic, sardonic humor that perhaps cost them the fandom of more uptight avant-garde types. The fuck you spirit of punk was always a part of their delivery, and the way they psychedelicized and often battered everything from assorted styles of ethnic music to ‘70s soul hits to Fugs covers was always a treat. The above is a collection of work released on singles in the period when they were perfecting a damaged and comely take on Middle Eastern music that’s best absorbed by the Torch of the Mystics LP. The stuff here is nearly as great, however. Sun City Girls are one of the great “rock” trios of all time, while also being one of the most confounding. To put it simply, they never get old.
Speaking of the deep underground, Shawn David McMillen has some strong pedigree in relation to this vague scene, playing with members of Charalambides and in bands such as Warmer Milks and The Abrasion Ensemble. This nifty little four song sampler that Tompkins Square has available shows him to be working within a sun-baked psychedelic acoustic sensibility. The stuff would be downright fantastic as the soundtrack for a loose filmic rumination on ragged and dusty landscape, but I’m not sure if they still make that sort of thing. Shit, cameras are cheap these days (or they will be soon). Maybe we could make our own. We’ll need some plaid shirts (preferably with buttons), a rusted-out stretch car, a boom box, a cowboy hat, a shot gun, a manual typewriter, a case of Whip-Its in the trunk, an Afro-wig, Wayfarer sunglasses, a few packs of Blackjack chewing gum (accept no substitutes), a gallon of cheap tequila, some kazoos, a rattlesnake, and at least six cartons of unfiltered cigarettes. Man, this thing writes itself!
Mike Fellows is essentially the main guy behind Mighty Flashlight, and where ya’ been Mike? If you don’t know, Fellows is quite the musical trooper. He was in the cathartic Dischord Revolution Summer-aries Rites of Spring (as well as Government Issue and Happy Go Licky), the way underrated Teen Beat unit Air Miami with Mark Robinson and Bridget Cross, and has been a valuable sideman for both Will Oldham and Silver Jews. It appears he engineered this years’ quite strong release by faux fat-boy field-rockers Endless Boogie, so he’s not far from the campfire. Mighty Flashlight frankly should have put out more than one album. I don’t want to bum Mike out (Like I know him personally or something. Sheesh) with a reference that’s maybe to obvious or overplayed, but the initial feel to this baby is similar to the bent folkiness of early Beck. A lot of this comes from Fellows’ voice, which is in same sleepy-stoner realm as Mr. Hansen. So much for aging DC punks keeping alive the flame of Straight Edge (joking, people). If Beck never turned you on, I’d still try this baby out. And not to insult Jade Tree (the label that released this), but I think if this record had been released in Drag City or even Matador, it would have a larger fan base. I know without seeing them live, I’d probably never have bought this. Not that Jade Tree isn’t home to some fine bands. But I digress.
I scored this record by The National like four years ago for around three bucks or so, and now their bigger than pizza. They live up to the adulation in my estimation, so this was a steal. In some ways it reminds me of a more rocking American Music Club. At times. A lot of it doesn’t remind me of anything more specific than new manna for the Legions of Leonard, as in Cohen, as in black cardigan sweaters with chapbooks of poetry in the pocket, as in you look like the kind of girl I’d like to date (It’s 4:08 in the morning, and I’m getting a little loose, okay?). Actually, Tindersticks have been mentioned in relation to this band, and that sounds sorta sound. It’s been a long time since Tindersticks has invaded my ear space, but I always liked them (in an era, like right now, where there were a whole lot of bands to like). I missed seeing these guys play in a big dusty field a couple summers back, but I don’t know how they would have gone over. They seem like rock club music to me. A dank, tightly packed rock club full of cardigan sweaters and the people who love them. Where’s my camera?
Where a lot of the capitalized references in the previous paragraph (as well as the main subject, natch) have a take on downtrodden sonics that appropriately adaptable to romanticism (and romancing too, certainly), FM Cornog’s East River Pipe leaps beyond that and into a lyrical murk that festers like a blister of human frailty and ugliness. The hook however is that his songs have an unfettered pop structure that is quite catchy and at times almost sunny sounding. The initial idea seems to be that he’s trying to make the causticity of the words somewhat palatable, and the record does go down at first like a thick sweet slug of cough syrup. What develops over time is the unavoidable friction between the two elements. I don’t know another art form where this kind of dichotomy is really achievable. Slapstick comedy, perhaps? Cornog hints at the depths of despair that Hubert Selby Jr. immersed himself and the reader in through his masterpiece Last Exit to Brooklyn, but the sentiments are surrounded by a sound that’s a bit like the equivalent of a non-techno poppy Magnetic Fields (while often employing the same style of brittle instrumentation). I’ve been gradually falling under the sway of this stuff for a few years now, and it’s proving to have some real staying power.
Since we’re on the subject of staying power, the debut from Mazzy Star has it in spades. She Hangs Brightly takes me back even further than the Palace Music CD. Most people I knew were unaware of the relationship this group shared with Paisley California, namely Opal and Dream Syndicate through guitarist David Roback. Hope Sandoval was the focus point for many, and it’s pretty much impossible to deny her strong presence, but I always dug Roback’s sweet continuation of the Paisley Underground’s examination of the psychedelic west coast. I was doing a passable job at hiding the fact that I was a miserable wretch at the point this record hit the stores, but that doesn’t get me down today. Like Will Oldham, Mazzy Star was a salve to the sores of life. Today it plays like the soundtrack for struggle and survival. We all have our personal greatest hits of endurance, don’t we?
Sufjan Stevens typifies the specific swaggering chutzpah of biting of more than you can chew. If he actually finishes this 50 states thing I’ll eat a sock. Hell, if he completes thirty-five I’ll eat a mitten. I’m confident. But if he only completes five more of the quality of Illinois, he’ll go down as one of the all time greats. I’m just as confident about that estimation. Illinois was simply the best non-jazz record of it’s year. That’s going to make some people huff and puff, but go blow someone else’s house down, will ya? The ridiculous level of invention and imagination that saturates this thing from start to finish just doesn’t decrease over time. I’ve listened to this probably close to fifty times, and on this particular instance, with the lights off and the volume up, it was as revelatory as the tenth. What’s going to be crucial to this baby’s staying power is how particular it sounds. Yeah, Illinois can be somewhat corralled into the place where Jeff Mangum and Colin Meloy strut their conceptual stuff, but he doesn’t really sound like either of them. And the way he folds an influence like Phil Glass into his sound is just spectacular. I’m tempted to say this is a perfect record. It’s only a smidgen less pleasing to me than In An Aeroplane Over the Sea on a personal level, and the thing’s only a few years old. If you’ve spent time with this and feel that my previous sentences bleed with hyperbole, please rest assured that I’m sincere. In fifteen years we can compare notes. Again, I’m confident that I’m not swinging wildly with the pronouncements.
SUNDAY 12/21- Shepp’s Blasé is from his BYG/Actuel period. He was smoking hot at this point, pretty much unrestrained by the decorum of the Impulse! Label, but because his tenure with that company overlaps and post-dates the BYG recordings, this part of his artistic geography often gets underestimated. Where records like Fire Music and the way underrated Live in San Francisco feel like a passionate and disruptive (and righteous and demanding) presence from inside the walls of oppression, the BYG stuff, all recorded outside the US if I’m not mistaken, takes on a bold, at times accusatory, and at other moments unmitigated freedom (not necessarily structural, to be clear) that might be the best way to appreciate the guy. He was a complex ball of ideas that didn’t really run out of gas until the end of the ‘70s, and if you want to hear what Free Europe sounded like in 1969, this is a great place to start. Vocalist Jeanne Lee steals the show, by the way.
The Art Ensemble of Chicago is another essential group of free jazzers who did the expatriate thing along with Shepp and a host of others, and Go Home is an extremely rare nugget from that period that was apparently released on the Galloway label and I don’t think has ever been given a legit CD reissue. I nabbed it from the internet, and it’s a good one. It lacks the gusto of the more lauded releases from their Euro-stay (A Message to Our Folks and A Jackson in Your House in particular), but that’s not really what they were striving for. The AEoC were a versatile unit capable of going outward with force and musing inward with a collective agility, but always displaying an abstraction and commitment to progress that made them unpalatable to finger-snappers and cocktail-sippers. The collective aspect also meant that they were not in the tradition of jazz as defined by musician leaders and soloist expression. Much of free jazz in the first decade of its existence was really a reexamination of the dominant post-bop model, but AEoC really tapped into the unique heart of Coleman’s possibilities and in the process grasp a thread of jazz history that is tied to the early New Orleans experience of Armstrong, Oliver, Ory etc. Go Home is important (featuring some nice work from Fontella Bass), but if you’re new, hit the more bandied about titles first.
Joseph Jarman was a member of the Art Ensemble, and this Delmark release provides a window into the early explorations of avant-Chicago. Windy City staple Muhal Richard Abrams is here, as is a young Fred Anderson, John Stubblefield (later of Miles’ Get Up With It), and Thurman Barker. It’s also the only appearance to my knowledge of vocalist Sherri Scott. There are more moments of ruckus on this record than Go Home, so if you need that sort of thing it’s here. I might prefer it to Go Home at this point as well. It may not be fair to really compare, but it does seem true to me that the general aesthetic principles that came to be associated with the AEoC were getting refined on the earlier recordings by future members of the group. All of this early material is essential to understanding just how expansive and adaptable the loosening strictures of jazz conception were in the period of its initial neglect. This stuff was almost entirely ignored, and that’s a big part of the reason they ended up in France. This isn’t an unusual reaction to greatness, and it’s nice to know in this case that it has a rather appealing ending.
Anthony Braxton is on Conference of the Birds. So is drummer Barry Altschul, the great horn player Sam Rivers, and bassist Dave Holland (it’s his date). Holland appears on Trio and Duet, along with Musica Elettronica Viva member Richard Teitelbaum on synth and percussion and Leo Smith on trumpets. That’s really all I can say at this point. Except that they both sound excellent on one listen. And that Braxton and Holland both smoke.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Week in Listening 12/1 - 12/7
12/1/08- Various Artists- A Million Dollars Worth of Doo-Wop Volume One
Al Grey- Snap Your Fingers LP 1962
Various Artists- Free Jazz in der DDR- Musik in der DDR 1950-2000 CD
Anthony Braxton- Five Pieces LP 1975
12/2/08- Vic Chesnutt Elf Power and the Anonymous Strums- Dark Developments CD 2008
Bon Iver- For Emma, Forever Ago CD 2007
Animal Collective- Sung Tongs CD 2004
Conner Oberst- self titled CD 2008
Bob Dylan- A Tree with Roots Volume 1 CD
12/3/08- The Feelies- Crazy Rhythms LP 1980
Mercury Rev- Deserter’s Songs CD 1998
Wire- Chairs Missing LP 1978
Wire- 41°N 93°W b/w Go Ahead 7” 1979
Wire- Swimmer b/w Midnight Bahnhof Café 7” 1981
The Jam- In the City b/w Takin’ My love 7” 1977
Yo La Tengo- President Yo La Tengo-New Wave Hot Dogs CD
Slovenly- Thinking of Empire LP 1986
Dr. Janet- Ten Years Gone b/w Starry Eyes 7” 1990
Radar Bros- The Fallen Leaf Pages CD 2005
12/4/08- Mississippi John Hurt- Avalon Blues: The Complete 1928 Okeh Recordings CD
High Places- 03_07 – 09_07 CD 2007
Wye Oak- If Children CD 2008
Yo La Tengo- Mr. Tough b/w I’m Your Puppet 7” 2006
Harry Nilsson- Nilsson Sings Newman LP 1970
Jake Holmes- The Above Ground Sound of Jake Holmes LP 1967
Iron and Wine- The Creek Drank the Cradle CD 2002
Igor Wakhevitch- Logos (Rituel Sonore) LP 1970
Human Hands- Hereafter LP 1988
Randy Newman- The Randy Newman Songbook Volume 1 CD 2003
12/5/08- Crystal Stilts- self titled EMusic EP 2008
Peter Bjorn and John- Writer’s Block CD 2006
No Age- Weirdo Rippers 2007 CD
The Decemberists- The Tain CDEP 2004
Sonic Youth- Rather Ripped CD 2006
Jim O’Rourke- Long Night 2CD 2008
12/6/08- Redd Kross- Teen Babes from Monsanto 12” EP 1984
Scars- Adult-ery b/w Horrorshow 7” 1979
Various Artists- Bloodstains Across California bootleg LP
Savage Republic- Tragic Figure b/w The Empty Quarter/The Ivory Coast 7” 1984
The Better Beatles- I’m Down b/w Penny Lane 7” 1982
Rema Rema- self titled 12” EP 1980
Afflicted Man- Afflicted Man’s Musical Bag LP 1979
Tales of Terror- self titled LP 1984
Bikini Kill- The CD Version of the First Two Records CD 1994
Raincoats- self titled LP 1979
Will Oldham- Seafarer’s Music CDEP 2004
Guided By Voices- Devil Between My Toes LP 1987
Petra Haden- The Who Sell Out CD 2005
Kev Hopper- Whispering Foils CD 2000
Silver Jews- The Natural Bridge LP 1996
Silver Jews- American Water LP 1998
Smog- Dongs of Sevotion CD 2000
The Gordons- self titled LP 1981
The Verlaines- Doomsday b/w New Kinda Hero 7” 1985
Various Artists- Killing Capitalism with Kindness- An Xpressway Records Compilation CD 1992
Anthony Braxton- For Alto LP 1968
Derek Bailey- Ballads CD 2002
12/7/08- Blind Willie McTell- 1927-1935 CD
Muddy Waters- Muddy Waters at Newport 1960 LP
Various Artists- The Secret Museum of Mankind Volume 1 Ethnic Music Classics 1925-1948 CD
Michael Hurley- National Weedgrowers Association b/w Slippery Rag 7" 1993
Dos- The Bob Lawton EP 7” 1991
Dadamah- Scratch Sun b/w Radio Brain 7” 1991
Mantis- Drülerrb/w Travellin’ Fist 7” 1993
Strapping Fieldhands- Albacore Heart b/w Neptune’s World 7” 1995
Table- Gag Box b/w Unwind 7” 1993
Labradford- Everlast b/w Preserve the Sound Outside 7” 1991
Matthew Shipp/Harry Bertoia/Loren MazzaCane Connors- split 7” 1996
Tortoise- Mosquito b/w Onions Wrapped in Rubber/Gooseneck 7” 1993
Atavin- Modern Gang Reader b/w Larkin 7” 1996
M/Monade- Vol de Nuit b/w Witchazel/Ode to a Keyring 7” 1996
Sun City Girls- Eye Mohini/Gum Arabic/Lemur’s Urine b/w Kal El Lazi Kad Ham 7” 1993
Truman’s Water- Hey Fish/Mr. E b/w Empty Queen II 7” 1993
Sugartime- Awestruck b/w Gemini Enemy 7” 1992
Gastr del Sol/Tony Conrad- The Japanese Room at La Pagode b/w May split 7” (with bonus 7” featuring excerpt from Conrad’s Ten Years Alive On the Infinite Plan performed by Conrad, David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke)
David Grubbs- Rickets & Scurvy CD 2002
Weird War- Illuminated By the Light CD 2005
Lungfish- Pass and Stow CD 1994
Unrest- Malcolm X Park LP 1988
New Order- Low Life LP 1985
The Psychedelic Furs- self titled LP 1980
MONDAY 12/1- There are twenty installments in the A Million Dollar$ Worth of Doo Wop Series, thirty tracks a volume, and just listening to one of them is a hard lesson in form as content. None of these songs were hits (hence the title of the series), but that doesn’t mean a whole bunch of them won’t sound familiar. The doo-wop formula (if you will) was fairly strict, and since it was essentially a bunch of guys (sometimes girls) mixing/melding vocal chords into the soundtrack for make-out/dry-hump (amongst other activities, sure), originality wasn’t really the point. This is a huge part of doo-wop’s appeal.
I’d never heard of Al Grey before downloading this out-of print LP on a Chess Record’s subsidiary label. The fact that he recorded for Argo (and not Blue Note, for instance) is probably a big part of why I didn’t know him; another reason is his instrument, the trombone. Hey, I love the ‘bone. But it wasn’t a very popular axe in ‘60’s mainstream jazz circles. That didn’t stop Donald Byrd, Herbie Hancock, or Bobby Hutcherson from playing on the record. It’s a good one.
The German free jazz comp is a great one, with a mix of familiar and new names and a hunk of music that, while not as ragingly out as might be expected (considering that Germany is the homeland of Peter Brotzmann), is still quite engaging and complex.
Braxton’s LP from ’75 is part of Mosaic Records limited edition doozy of a box set collecting all the Arista recordings of an amazing mind. A box set I can’t afford. Oh, well. Braxton combines abstraction and direct forward motion like it’s nobody’s business. He’s an incredible collaborator, his compositions are wickedly complex, and he’s a freakin’ genius.
TUESDAY 12/2- The new Vic collab isn’t as great as his last one with the Constellation crew, but that’s okay. For one thing, it’s a little more psych and notably less dark (though it’s still plenty acerbic). It’s a grower, I think. I’m sure I’ll have more to say later.
The Bon Iver release is a fine slice of slightly bent folkishness. It’s maybe somewhere between a scaled down Sufjan Stevens and a more muscular early Iron and Wine, but those are only parameters. This largely has its own glow. New EP coming soon or maybe it’s out already.
If Animal Collective doesn’t somehow fuck the pooch, they’re going down as one of the best half dozen indie bands of this decade. Yeah, you probably didn’t hear it here first.
The new Oberst is a really good listen. Okay, it’s a great listen. It nicely shuffles between more boisterous material and his expected down-in-the-mouth gush. Wish he’d get that collab with M. Ward and Jim James out like yesterday.
Dylan’s Basement Tapes are as deep as a Bergman flick, but way more funky. Not Bootsy Collins funky. Like Warren Oates in an ascot and yellow sweater, driving a GTO funky. Sue me, I’m not Greil Marcus. Yet.
WEDNESDAY 12/3- Crazy Rhythms is a monster of post-Velvets riff construction sans any pose whatsoever. For a long while, the Feelies were the coolest nerds in Hoboken. A stone classic.
Mercury Rev happen to be a really great band that I’ve sort of lost track of these last few years. Deserter’s Songs is likely in my top five albums of the ‘90s, a record that is eclectic yet accessible, melodic yet meandering, while Van Dyke Parks (hopefully) smiles and nods in approval.
Wire’s classic second LP, followed by a single from the equally amazing third record (154), and another one from shortly before they went on hiatus. It’s quite astounding how well the early Wire material still holds up. It’s all amazing stuff.
The Jam’s In the City is my favorite song from them. I think it’s perfect in its righteous pissed-off brevity. Sure they inspired tons of adults to play dress-up, but that’s better than working in an office somewhere.
Matador’s doubling up some early Yo La Tengo records on disc is a pretty swank move. I’m most familiar with New Wave Hot Dogs (I wore out a cassette of it). It’s another fine example of Jersey VU adulation.
Slovenly were (are) one of the great lost SST bands. Thinking of Empire isn’t their earliest stuff, but it is the first thing I heard. The whole thing absorbs such great influences as Pere Ubu, MX-80 Sound, and even Television and makes it sound like no other band before or since. Quite an achievement, I’d say. Too bad almost nobody cared. Dr. Janet was a super group of sorts. I say of sorts because they only released one single, and didn’t get much attention. Grant Lee Conner of the pre-shit Screaming Trees, Matt Sweeney of too many goddamned bands, Lyle Hysen of Das Damen, and Yo La’s Ira Kaplan on bass! How’s that for ye olde bait and switch? They throw down a cover of The Record’s power-pop chestnut Starry Eyes, and if that song were a woman, I’d kiss her. Many times.
Radar Bros are one of indie-dom’s best kept secrets, which is weird because they release on one of the biggest indie labels around, Merge. The Fallen Leaf Pages is a great entry point to what they do, which is down-tempo, almost psychedelic trio dynamics that really rely on expert playing and production smarts. It’s like all the great parts of post-Meddle Pink Floyd, except instead of fucking them up like Floyd almost always did in that era, these guys manage to stretch and bend and craft it into something sustained and stellar. Top notch, I tell you.
THURSDAY 12/4- I’m tempted to say that Mississippi John Hurt goes down like great whiskey. Thing is, I don’t drink the stuff. I simply can’t abide it, honestly. I’m more of a beer and wine man. If the spirits come a calling, I prefer the clear stuff, or I might go south of the border. So instead I’ll declare that Mississippi John Hurt is BETTER than whiskey. Hell, he’s better than doughnuts. Or Coney Island hot dogs, for that matter. He was nimble and deceptive, often delivering dark messages with smooth warmth, and his sound is as addictive as pure heroin.
High Places are in a somewhat post-Animal Collective bag, but they bring some gal-presence into it, which ends up making the whole affair sorta K Records like. At times. I really dig them, and recommend their stuff to people on the search for cool current sounds.
The Yo La single is an album cut from the I’m Not Afraid… album with a super ‘60s soul cover on the flip. Tasty.
I can’t say I’m a big Harry Nilsson fan, but he does a very good job singing Randy Newman. Not as good as Newman himself, but I’ll get to that in a minute. The version of Vine Street that opens up Nilsson Sings Newman is quite choice, and the rest is as slick as something or other.
Jake Holmes wrote Dazed and Confused. It’s on The Above Ground…LP but it is quite different from Zeppelin’s behemoth, and frankly his record fights with a datedness that it really doesn’t conquer until its last three tracks. I mean, the only band I can think of that could not make me wince at a song titled Genuine Imitation Life is the Lovin’ Spoonful. It’s is a good record, though. At this point I can’t take the plunge and call it great.
The debut by Iron and Wine is a great record, however. Fragile folk of this stripe is perfect wintertime music, so Sam Beam is likely to get some considerable play in the upcoming months.
The best way to briefly describe Igor Wakhevitch is as psych-classical. He rubbed elbows with rock musicians, and parts of his debut sound like the more out moments that occurred on many psych and prog records from the same era. Logos (Rituel Sonore) is a wild listen, what people used to call head music. It wasn’t your grandparent’s classical music, that’s for sure. Fine stuff.
The Human Hands’ posthumous LP is one of my favorites. They recorded in the early ‘80s, and were a great example of punk energy filtered through a focus on more mature songwriting that harkened back to early Roxy Music and also integrated arty touches that rubbed elbows with the Los Angeles Free Music Society and The Residents. They had many flashes of brilliance and should be better known.
Randy Newman is a guy that some people think should be lesser known, what with all those movie soundtracks, but his early stuff is some of the finest satirical songwriting this country (this globe) has ever seen. He’s complex and surprising while also being incredibly catchy. The above CD is him solo in the ‘90s, which is far later than I’d ever ventured into his work before, and boy I’m glad I took the chance. The recording of I Think It’s Going to Rain Today that’s included here is just devastating. The whole thing is a treat, and it’s almost enough to make me forgive that Toy Story song. He has a new album. I haven’t heard it. Stephen King loves it. I guess that’s something.
FRIDAY 12/5- Crystal Stilts and Peter Bjorn and John work in roughly the same territory, but the former are proudly low-fi, and the later use contemporary studio sheen to flesh out a more varied sound. PB & J can excel at downtrodden style guitar-pop riffing with lyrics to match that’s descended from the fertile British ‘80s, and they can also pull off some quirky dance-pop moves that actually work. The Stilts on the other hand are more single-minded. They seem more concerned with doing one thing as well as possible. If somebody had played their EP for me and said it was a lost album from some forgotten Manchester band from ’81 that played one gig opening for The Fall, I’d have bought the lie and tried to buy the record.
The Tain is The Decemberists’ most oddball release thus far. I use that qualifier because they have a self-described rock-opera coming out. On this brief one they steer into a heavy rock playground, at times almost Zep-like, and combined with all their other resources (excellent musicianship, sweet vocalizing, lofty concepts, and a collective tendency to self-edit just when you think they’re not) it’s a very nice eighteen minutes or so.
Rather Ripped is Sonic Youth in fantastic form. Kim has never sounded better, at times almost Nico-ish, and the band can pull off moments of substantial group interplay that’s just achingly beautiful. What a band.
Jim O’Rourke left Sonic Youth a while back to focus on other things, and a bunch of his experimental pre-SY, pre-Drag City solo stuff is getting unleashed for public consumption. Long Night is a double CD drone piece, a little over two and a half hours of the kind of sustained minimalist sonic head-fucking that people either take a bath in or avoid like the clap. I happen to think it’s fascinating and very approachable stuff if the expectations are not set to receive sound that moves from point A to point B with a lot of inescapable variant activity happening along the way (i. e. drummers drumming, singers singing, pluckers plucking). People will remark that nothing happens in this music, but a whole fuck of a lot DOES happen, it’s just not as immediately tangible. The activity CAN be graspable if the focus is instead on the variety of little sounds that are going on simultaneously, often repeating or sustaining and making up the total palate, and when that happens, IF you are drawn in, then it can often be startling when a step back is taken and it’s discovered that a perceptible change, a major shift, has occurred. Movement. Drones, baby. Over two and a half hours. Sweet.
SATURDAY 12/6- When it’s frigid, it’s a good idea to stay indoors.
The 1984 record by Redd Kross has never been reissued. As bad as these guys ended up, once upon a time they were a big punk rock deal. Teen Babes is six covers and one original song, and it’s not as on the money as Born Innocent, but it’s still worthy.
Scars were an obscure Brit group that released on Fast Product, the label that was home to Gang of Four and the early Human League. Adult-ery is a prime example of aggressive, arty punk. The singer is stressed, the guitars throb and wind and motor along, and the drums provide a consistent spark.
Bloodstains across California is one installment in a legendary bootleg series that helped to spread the word about the wealth of amazing underground punk singles released before the movement basically dissolved in the first half of the ‘80s. I’d heard some of this already via (viva!) the internet, but most was new to me. Known entities like Agent Orange (who basically named the series), The Plugz and The Gears rub elbows with new names (maybe you’ve heard of Silver Chalice or Destry Hampton?), and my favorites are probably The Child Molesters’ I’m Gonna Punch You (In the Face) and the Injections’ maddeningly low-fi Prison Walls. If you are at all interested in punk rock, this stuff is essential.
Savage Republic brings some vital art-clang, and they’re a band that I’ve frankly neglected over the years. Every time I hear them, I feel like a dummy for not spending more time acquainting myself with their sound. This 7” was quite early in their existence, and I’d imagine that anybody who gets excited over the heaviness of the first few Swans records (that’s me) should like this stuff as well (I do).
The Better Beatles are another internet discovery. They have a full retrospective release out that I really need to catch up with, but this single is something special. Two reinterpretations of Beatles tunes that I’m tempted to describe as genius, particularly the b-side. THIS is one of the first things I’d play for someone who wanted proof of the fertility of the u-ground imagination in the dark early days of Reagan. It was basically a forgotten single until one guy found a copy for sale cheap and went on a mad quest to unearth the story. How many more artifacts of this quality are out there, aging in boxes in attics and in the back of dying record shops?
Rema Rema put out this EP on 4AD. They’re championed by folks who have a strong affinity for England’s post-punk era, particularly those who are seriously stroked by the more abrasive/less mersh sub-scenes that popped up like toadstools on a cow-flop. This record is a nice one, I just wish there was more of it.
Afflicted Man was far more prolific than Rema Rema. The mastermind behind this shambling, stretched-out, oddball post-punk almost bordering on psych project was Steve Hall and this was the first of three LPs that were offered up in the bleak Anglo-80s. The others are supposedly even stranger. I can hardly wait.
Tales of Terror were a slightly off-kilter skate punk band from Sacramento. Partly because the record has yet to (and likely won’t) be reissued, it’s become somewhat legendary to those with a nose for this sort of thing. It’s a pretty happening affair, especially if you love the odd nooks and crannies of the punk-era’s tail end, but it’s maybe not as amazing as some have hyped it as. Green River aficionados will definitely find it of interest.
For me, Bikini Kill stands as one of the real highlights of the ‘90s. The band’s earliest stuff is infused with such manic energy and righteous desperation that they still manage to make the hair stand up on my arms while listening. This band’s very existence has so profoundly affected the shape of the current indie music scene that a case could be made that they were the most important (if not the best) band of their decade. If I had a dollar for every person who overcame the manacles of inadequacy due to this band’s clarion call, I’d buy myself an island.
The Raincoats were a precedent of sorts for Bikini Kill and the whole Riot Grrl experience. But where a lot of that movement was about tapping into the galvanizing fury of the punk form as a means to stomp on ingrained societal sexism, The Raincoats were more exploratory in nature (to the same means, natch). Their debut album stands as one of the greatest of all post-punk recordings, mostly because it didn’t neglect either side of the hyphen. Cathartic stuff, to this day.
Will Oldham is a prolific man. So much music has been released with his name on top of it that I can’t help letting certain things fall by the way. But that’s alright. For those neglected odds and ends are perfect on cold weekend evenings. This EP scoots by and leaves a rather elusive impression, which I think is the point. I like it.
First LP Bob Pollard, the beginning of the GBV juggernaut, and between then and now he’s drank more than you, me, and six alcoholics combined. The rudiments of what they were in their heyday are certainly here, but it’s nice to get a taste of Pollard still grappling with where he wanted to go. I’m not the first to say it, but there is even some REM influence at this early point. Just check out Discussing Wallace Chambers.
Petra Haden’s track by track cover of the Who’s classic album is made up of nothing but vocal sounds. It’s flat-out fucking lovely. Petra’s quietly involved herself in so many high quality projects that it’s going to take decades to fully assess the total scheme of her thing. Maybe if she didn’t hop around so much, she’d be better known. But then she wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.
Kev Hopper was in a kooky British band called Stump. In the ‘80s they had a few hours of hoopla surround them regarding their potential as a college-rock conduit to things Beefheartian. It was somewhat of a stretch, and the band was really up to something else, anyway. I’ve only listened to this a few times, but it’s intriguing. It lacks the humor/quirk that was one aspect of Stump, but it shares the aversion for rockist trappings. Stump was a lot of fun, great fun at times, but this record seems inclined to something deeper. I’ll be back.
Silver Jews, of the vintage represented by the two albums above, were one of the few bands of that (or any) period to do three things equally well. That is: songwriting, musical delivery, and lyrics. The last is the hardest, and it’s the easiest to forgive when the words aren’t up to snuff. But Berman is a smithing linguist of the highest caliber, and the sound of his voice gives his thoughts an added power. Two classic albums that are going to age extremely well, since they steer so clear of the standard reference points of the era in which they were spawned.
The Gordons are proof positive that there were precursors to the kind of progressions that early Sonic Youth were doling out. They share the heaviness, the thickness, and the dynamic sensibility, but they also sound like their own thing, which was markedly different from anything going on in their home country of New Zealand at the time. They eventually morphed into Bailter Space, an early Matador band that didn’t get enough love. Oh well.
New Zealand’s The Verlaines were rather well liked in their day, but I kind of think they should have been a much bigger deal. Doomsday is just staggering in its scope and in its defiant pop sensibility. Slop, noise, and amateurishness were rampant when this single was released, but The Verlaines flaunt a seamlessly crafted tune that is irresistible in is largeness. They had a batch of classic songs, but this one might be the best.
On the other hand, there is the Xpressway label. Any history of the indie low-fi era that doesn’t devote scads of time to this New Zealand concern’s massive imprint on that movement is an incomplete and rather fucked history. This comp is a big piece of what they did so well. Sandra Bell, David Mitchell, David Kilgour, Alastair Galbraith, and the sublime This Kind of Punishment are all well represented (amongst others), and I’ve yet to hear a peep from this label that was anything less than great. As interesting as American style low-fi was, almost all of its most celebrated practitioners ended up elsewhere. The Xpressway scene, possibly because so few people championed it (other than often insufferable fanzine dudes), or maybe because the root of what they were getting at was less definable and exploitable, never crossed over. They just kept on keeping on. Many are still around today (though Xpressway is long defunct), toiling in the underground.
Braxton’s For Alto was his second record, and it’s just him and his instrument. All of the pieces are dedications to musicians and artists, and the sound pushes into all sorts of directions. Dedicated to John Cage features some of the most furiously blown saxophone that I’ve ever heard. Its joyousness is simply mind blowing. The man’s music has traveled through so much development since the late ‘60s in Chicago that hearing him at this early stage is really striking. It’s also essential to the full picture of his artistry. Unlike musicians who served in more anonymous capacities in the bands of others, gathering chops and ideas along the way but not really revealing much of themselves, Braxton jumped with full force into the maelstrom. He was mulling over the greats, breathing in the fumes from his Chicago cohorts (AACM, Art Ensemble, Muhal Richard Abrams, etc), and working on the basis of ideas that continue to grow into the present day. For Alto is uncompromising record. Anyone interested in free jazz needs to hear it.
The late Derek Bailey is one of the few guitarists that can be described as having his own musical language without risking exaggeration. His free-improv style fully embraced abstraction, and he played in so many different contexts (solo, duo, small group, large group, collabs with dancers, turntablists, electronic artists etc) that it could be hard for more casual listeners to get a handle on his eclecticism. Ballads is Bailey examining traditional songs and traversing through recognizable structure, so while it’s certainly going to be more accessible to those who know little about avant-garde music, it still stands in the scheme of his overall work as an anomaly. But what a fascinating anomaly it is. Bailey’s general style was always so out there that know-nothings would be inspired to carp that he didn’t know how to play. This record will live for all time as a rigorous shutdown to the philistines. But it’s no compromise. It stands as a beautiful work and another surprise from a guy who was full of them.
SUNDAY 12/7- Blind Willie McTell was both an entertainer and an artist of considerable depth. The recordings on the above Yazoo CD really spotlight how versatile, rambunctious, and humorous he could be. Pre-war blues is an extremely varied genre, ranging from uptown and slick to down home and ragged, in addition to the more outlandish documents from guys like Skip James and Blind Willie Johnson. McTell’s music lacks the desperate, anguished aura that sits on the outer limits of early blues; instead it’s direct and approachable but still drenched in a rural sensibility, lacking the urbanite’s polish. Where some blues greats are best listened to a few songs at a time, McTell can successfully stretch over the length of a full CD and leave me wanting more. What a wizard.
This Muddy Waters’ show from Newport is a strong (though brief) one, showcasing the dense but streamlined sound of the post-Little Walter bands. He was going through a transition, declining as a charting singles artist and emerging on the folk scene, later to be a cause célèbre for scads of rock bands. As the show progresses the fire kicks up, and by the end they’re really cooking. Not the first Muddy record that a person should hear (the single disc Chess Best Of is where newbies should start), but it’s still a very worthwhile addition to his sizeable shelf.
One of the best aspects of listening to music made in the early years of sound recording is that so much of it was untainted by outside commercial interference. There was pop music, certainly. But the sellers had yet to really meddle into the affairs of the musician, since they were basically clueless as to what would sell and what would stiff. Therefore, all kinds of things were recorded. The Secret Museum series documents this unbridled lack of market savvy from the perspective of Ethnic music, which was still thriving in the first half of the century. This baby is loaded with beautiful sounds. And weird! Fiorassio by Effisio Melis (from Sardinia) creates a winding progression with the launeddas, an ancient triple pipe, that is sonically comparable to the sort of wiggy, wiggly sounds found in the experimental wing of last century’s six, seventh and eighth decades. The whole disc is a tour of a world that no longer exists. We can thank entrepreneurial cluelessness for at least allowing us to listen to part of it.
A whole bunch of vinyl 7 inch records were released in the ‘90s. I didn’t buy all of them. So thank the internet and the generosity of my fellow human beings for allowing me to hear some of those I missed. Starting with Michael Hurley and ending with the Gastr del Sol/Tony Conrad split was a nice way to bookend a tour through a batch of small platters that basically hang around in the fertile ‘90s underground. Much of this scene rubbed elbows with the larger indie/alternative crowd that flourished and struggled in the wake of Nirvana’s explosion. The u-ground of this period was spectacularly varied. In addition to post-rock (Tortoise, David Pajo’s M, Lebradford, Monade, Table, Atavin), which was one of the most prominent sounds of the era, there was low-fi (Dadamah, Strapping Fieldhands), free-jazz (Matthew Shipp), full on experimentalism (Conrad, Bertoia, Gastr del Sol), clattering noise spill (Truman’s Water), shades of more or less direct indie rocking (Sugartime, Mantis), and a batch of older hands entering the fray (Dos, Hurley, MazzaCane Connors, Sun City Girls). This open ended nature of this scene, taking in so many different types of sounds as well as having a deep interest in older music, makes it hard to define and encapsulate into a movement. Unlike the indie scene of the ‘80s, it’s doubtful that a book will ever be published about its importance. Too bad.
Weird War is a hell of a lot of fun. I’ve yet to encounter a project from Ian Svenonius that didn’t make me smile in reaction to the sheer conceptual grandiosity. The kicker is that everything he’s been involved in is cloaked in a tug of war between strident jabs of flamboyant originality and a deeply tweaked prolonged hommage. It’s often impossible to decipher what is sincere and what is tongue in cheek, and this deliberate muddying of the waters drives some people up the wall. Not me, though. Out of all the bands he’s fronted, this one is the most versatile, with an equality of ability spread across the membership. The real gist of the group is a celebratory nonconformity, funky as hell and letting it all hang out.
Lungfish are one of the best live rock bands I’ve ever stood in front of. They could bear down into transcendent repetition until it seemed like it was impossible for the music to get any more intense, and then it would. And then again. Live units of this quality almost always suffer in the translation to record. These guys are certainly not as explosive on disc, but they do a bang-up job trying. The records succeed in part because they differ so little from what they do on stage, lacking any kind of production embellishment that won’t translate while playing live. I have a bunch of art-books upstairs, and one thing I’ve noticed is that as great as a painting can look in reproduction, it’s nothing compared to what the real piece communicates while I stand and absorb it. This is no great revelation, I know. The painting on the page is a representation of the artwork to the closest detail: other than the obvious concessions, nothing about the subject is changed or enhanced to deepen the aesthetic response of sitting at home and staring into a book of photographs and this is how it should be. It is how Lungfish chose (chooses? Are they still an active band?) to document their music, the full essence of which can’t be encoded into plastic (this isn’t always true of ALL music, though. A lot of hip-hop, certain types of electronic music, some dub, and possibly even modern classical seem to be best experienced through recordings instead of in the flesh, though this is certainly a case-by-case thing). Instead of trying to embellish what they do, they just get it down on tape and let the chips fall where they may.
Unrest is one of the few examples of a band that has two easily defined eras that I dig equally. In most cases I find myself drawn to certain specific periods in the histories of groups that had significant personnel changes or shifts in sound: Velvets, Sonic Youth, Grateful Dead, Black Flag, and don’t get me started on the jazz end of things with Miles, Mingus, and Coltrane. Unrest’s lifespan is usually divided into two parts. The first, where Mark Robinson and Phil Krauth worked with a slew of other musicians to perfect a slippery sound that roved all over the place while keeping a loose grasp on group focus, was a perfect fit in the indie landscape of the second half of the ‘80s. The second, often described as the Bridget Cross-era, saw the music tightening its influences, refining its sound and thriving on the input of all three members, in the process crafting some of the best guitar pop (with art touches) I’ve ever heard. Malcolm X Park is from the first era, and it’s a mess of wildly divergent inspirations: DC hardcore, Kiss covers, Kenneth Anger, Brit post-punk and indie-pop, Henry Cow style art rock, goofus Elvis covers with fake sitar solos and more. While I do truly love the entirety of Unrest equally (their last record Perfect Teeth might just be my favorite, and I almost never say that about bands), I do wish more people were hep to this album. It’s been out of print for years, and when it finally does get reissued it deserves a whole new following, because it’s a raggedy masterpiece.
Good old New Order. Here’s the thing, people: When I was just a young lad Love Vigilantes was often derided by purple-haired ponces as being beneath consideration perhaps due to its unadulterated classic guitar pop sensibility combined with a modern delivery and its lack of the characteristic qualities that made the band such a big thing. This was to be expected, I guess. But the song wasn’t even released as a single. It was an efficient little detour that should have been embraced at the time, but was instead used as fodder for eye-rolling at neophytes who couldn’t help but by gassed by its grooves. HOGWASH, I tell you. Eye-rolling is a necessary activity, but should not be engaged in indiscriminately. Love Vigilantes, at this late date, sounds like one of the more shrewd stabs of its period. The rest of the record is a treat also, and this has not a damn thing to do with a stroll down nostalgia lane.
By the time I was really clued in, The Psychedelic Furs’ best days were over. They were running on the fumes of being appropriated as a major element in John Hughes’ most successful film, but the consensus was the band’s moment had passed. I never really had much opinion on them at this point, but flash forward about five years and some phantom figure at a party opines through the smoke that the Furs’ first album was a classic. I didn’t know if he was putting me on or what, so I just gave him one of those nods that can mean anything or nothing. Somebody started jawing about something else, and the topic never resurfaced. Except in my head later, after the smoke cleared. Was he serious or not? I asked numerous cats if they had the record, but nobody did or they wouldn’t ‘fess up. I was stuck. I couldn’t just run to my computer and download the thing for free, this was 1992. I tried to forget about it. Then a used copy turned up at my local record shack. For two dollars. Naturally I snatched it up. With a price that cheap it didn’t matter if he was jiving me. If it sucked, I could just file it, and if anybody decided to pull some classic shenanigans in my house, I could just pluck it from the stacks and say You mean this record? Well, turns out it didn’t suck. I don’t think it rates as classic, but I could see what he was driving at. Maybe if I’d heard it when he did, I’d feel the same way. I do pull it off the shelf occasionally, and I’m sure I will again. Shit you hear at parties, man.
Al Grey- Snap Your Fingers LP 1962
Various Artists- Free Jazz in der DDR- Musik in der DDR 1950-2000 CD
Anthony Braxton- Five Pieces LP 1975
12/2/08- Vic Chesnutt Elf Power and the Anonymous Strums- Dark Developments CD 2008
Bon Iver- For Emma, Forever Ago CD 2007
Animal Collective- Sung Tongs CD 2004
Conner Oberst- self titled CD 2008
Bob Dylan- A Tree with Roots Volume 1 CD
12/3/08- The Feelies- Crazy Rhythms LP 1980
Mercury Rev- Deserter’s Songs CD 1998
Wire- Chairs Missing LP 1978
Wire- 41°N 93°W b/w Go Ahead 7” 1979
Wire- Swimmer b/w Midnight Bahnhof Café 7” 1981
The Jam- In the City b/w Takin’ My love 7” 1977
Yo La Tengo- President Yo La Tengo-New Wave Hot Dogs CD
Slovenly- Thinking of Empire LP 1986
Dr. Janet- Ten Years Gone b/w Starry Eyes 7” 1990
Radar Bros- The Fallen Leaf Pages CD 2005
12/4/08- Mississippi John Hurt- Avalon Blues: The Complete 1928 Okeh Recordings CD
High Places- 03_07 – 09_07 CD 2007
Wye Oak- If Children CD 2008
Yo La Tengo- Mr. Tough b/w I’m Your Puppet 7” 2006
Harry Nilsson- Nilsson Sings Newman LP 1970
Jake Holmes- The Above Ground Sound of Jake Holmes LP 1967
Iron and Wine- The Creek Drank the Cradle CD 2002
Igor Wakhevitch- Logos (Rituel Sonore) LP 1970
Human Hands- Hereafter LP 1988
Randy Newman- The Randy Newman Songbook Volume 1 CD 2003
12/5/08- Crystal Stilts- self titled EMusic EP 2008
Peter Bjorn and John- Writer’s Block CD 2006
No Age- Weirdo Rippers 2007 CD
The Decemberists- The Tain CDEP 2004
Sonic Youth- Rather Ripped CD 2006
Jim O’Rourke- Long Night 2CD 2008
12/6/08- Redd Kross- Teen Babes from Monsanto 12” EP 1984
Scars- Adult-ery b/w Horrorshow 7” 1979
Various Artists- Bloodstains Across California bootleg LP
Savage Republic- Tragic Figure b/w The Empty Quarter/The Ivory Coast 7” 1984
The Better Beatles- I’m Down b/w Penny Lane 7” 1982
Rema Rema- self titled 12” EP 1980
Afflicted Man- Afflicted Man’s Musical Bag LP 1979
Tales of Terror- self titled LP 1984
Bikini Kill- The CD Version of the First Two Records CD 1994
Raincoats- self titled LP 1979
Will Oldham- Seafarer’s Music CDEP 2004
Guided By Voices- Devil Between My Toes LP 1987
Petra Haden- The Who Sell Out CD 2005
Kev Hopper- Whispering Foils CD 2000
Silver Jews- The Natural Bridge LP 1996
Silver Jews- American Water LP 1998
Smog- Dongs of Sevotion CD 2000
The Gordons- self titled LP 1981
The Verlaines- Doomsday b/w New Kinda Hero 7” 1985
Various Artists- Killing Capitalism with Kindness- An Xpressway Records Compilation CD 1992
Anthony Braxton- For Alto LP 1968
Derek Bailey- Ballads CD 2002
12/7/08- Blind Willie McTell- 1927-1935 CD
Muddy Waters- Muddy Waters at Newport 1960 LP
Various Artists- The Secret Museum of Mankind Volume 1 Ethnic Music Classics 1925-1948 CD
Michael Hurley- National Weedgrowers Association b/w Slippery Rag 7" 1993
Dos- The Bob Lawton EP 7” 1991
Dadamah- Scratch Sun b/w Radio Brain 7” 1991
Mantis- Drülerrb/w Travellin’ Fist 7” 1993
Strapping Fieldhands- Albacore Heart b/w Neptune’s World 7” 1995
Table- Gag Box b/w Unwind 7” 1993
Labradford- Everlast b/w Preserve the Sound Outside 7” 1991
Matthew Shipp/Harry Bertoia/Loren MazzaCane Connors- split 7” 1996
Tortoise- Mosquito b/w Onions Wrapped in Rubber/Gooseneck 7” 1993
Atavin- Modern Gang Reader b/w Larkin 7” 1996
M/Monade- Vol de Nuit b/w Witchazel/Ode to a Keyring 7” 1996
Sun City Girls- Eye Mohini/Gum Arabic/Lemur’s Urine b/w Kal El Lazi Kad Ham 7” 1993
Truman’s Water- Hey Fish/Mr. E b/w Empty Queen II 7” 1993
Sugartime- Awestruck b/w Gemini Enemy 7” 1992
Gastr del Sol/Tony Conrad- The Japanese Room at La Pagode b/w May split 7” (with bonus 7” featuring excerpt from Conrad’s Ten Years Alive On the Infinite Plan performed by Conrad, David Grubbs and Jim O’Rourke)
David Grubbs- Rickets & Scurvy CD 2002
Weird War- Illuminated By the Light CD 2005
Lungfish- Pass and Stow CD 1994
Unrest- Malcolm X Park LP 1988
New Order- Low Life LP 1985
The Psychedelic Furs- self titled LP 1980
MONDAY 12/1- There are twenty installments in the A Million Dollar$ Worth of Doo Wop Series, thirty tracks a volume, and just listening to one of them is a hard lesson in form as content. None of these songs were hits (hence the title of the series), but that doesn’t mean a whole bunch of them won’t sound familiar. The doo-wop formula (if you will) was fairly strict, and since it was essentially a bunch of guys (sometimes girls) mixing/melding vocal chords into the soundtrack for make-out/dry-hump (amongst other activities, sure), originality wasn’t really the point. This is a huge part of doo-wop’s appeal.
I’d never heard of Al Grey before downloading this out-of print LP on a Chess Record’s subsidiary label. The fact that he recorded for Argo (and not Blue Note, for instance) is probably a big part of why I didn’t know him; another reason is his instrument, the trombone. Hey, I love the ‘bone. But it wasn’t a very popular axe in ‘60’s mainstream jazz circles. That didn’t stop Donald Byrd, Herbie Hancock, or Bobby Hutcherson from playing on the record. It’s a good one.
The German free jazz comp is a great one, with a mix of familiar and new names and a hunk of music that, while not as ragingly out as might be expected (considering that Germany is the homeland of Peter Brotzmann), is still quite engaging and complex.
Braxton’s LP from ’75 is part of Mosaic Records limited edition doozy of a box set collecting all the Arista recordings of an amazing mind. A box set I can’t afford. Oh, well. Braxton combines abstraction and direct forward motion like it’s nobody’s business. He’s an incredible collaborator, his compositions are wickedly complex, and he’s a freakin’ genius.
TUESDAY 12/2- The new Vic collab isn’t as great as his last one with the Constellation crew, but that’s okay. For one thing, it’s a little more psych and notably less dark (though it’s still plenty acerbic). It’s a grower, I think. I’m sure I’ll have more to say later.
The Bon Iver release is a fine slice of slightly bent folkishness. It’s maybe somewhere between a scaled down Sufjan Stevens and a more muscular early Iron and Wine, but those are only parameters. This largely has its own glow. New EP coming soon or maybe it’s out already.
If Animal Collective doesn’t somehow fuck the pooch, they’re going down as one of the best half dozen indie bands of this decade. Yeah, you probably didn’t hear it here first.
The new Oberst is a really good listen. Okay, it’s a great listen. It nicely shuffles between more boisterous material and his expected down-in-the-mouth gush. Wish he’d get that collab with M. Ward and Jim James out like yesterday.
Dylan’s Basement Tapes are as deep as a Bergman flick, but way more funky. Not Bootsy Collins funky. Like Warren Oates in an ascot and yellow sweater, driving a GTO funky. Sue me, I’m not Greil Marcus. Yet.
WEDNESDAY 12/3- Crazy Rhythms is a monster of post-Velvets riff construction sans any pose whatsoever. For a long while, the Feelies were the coolest nerds in Hoboken. A stone classic.
Mercury Rev happen to be a really great band that I’ve sort of lost track of these last few years. Deserter’s Songs is likely in my top five albums of the ‘90s, a record that is eclectic yet accessible, melodic yet meandering, while Van Dyke Parks (hopefully) smiles and nods in approval.
Wire’s classic second LP, followed by a single from the equally amazing third record (154), and another one from shortly before they went on hiatus. It’s quite astounding how well the early Wire material still holds up. It’s all amazing stuff.
The Jam’s In the City is my favorite song from them. I think it’s perfect in its righteous pissed-off brevity. Sure they inspired tons of adults to play dress-up, but that’s better than working in an office somewhere.
Matador’s doubling up some early Yo La Tengo records on disc is a pretty swank move. I’m most familiar with New Wave Hot Dogs (I wore out a cassette of it). It’s another fine example of Jersey VU adulation.
Slovenly were (are) one of the great lost SST bands. Thinking of Empire isn’t their earliest stuff, but it is the first thing I heard. The whole thing absorbs such great influences as Pere Ubu, MX-80 Sound, and even Television and makes it sound like no other band before or since. Quite an achievement, I’d say. Too bad almost nobody cared. Dr. Janet was a super group of sorts. I say of sorts because they only released one single, and didn’t get much attention. Grant Lee Conner of the pre-shit Screaming Trees, Matt Sweeney of too many goddamned bands, Lyle Hysen of Das Damen, and Yo La’s Ira Kaplan on bass! How’s that for ye olde bait and switch? They throw down a cover of The Record’s power-pop chestnut Starry Eyes, and if that song were a woman, I’d kiss her. Many times.
Radar Bros are one of indie-dom’s best kept secrets, which is weird because they release on one of the biggest indie labels around, Merge. The Fallen Leaf Pages is a great entry point to what they do, which is down-tempo, almost psychedelic trio dynamics that really rely on expert playing and production smarts. It’s like all the great parts of post-Meddle Pink Floyd, except instead of fucking them up like Floyd almost always did in that era, these guys manage to stretch and bend and craft it into something sustained and stellar. Top notch, I tell you.
THURSDAY 12/4- I’m tempted to say that Mississippi John Hurt goes down like great whiskey. Thing is, I don’t drink the stuff. I simply can’t abide it, honestly. I’m more of a beer and wine man. If the spirits come a calling, I prefer the clear stuff, or I might go south of the border. So instead I’ll declare that Mississippi John Hurt is BETTER than whiskey. Hell, he’s better than doughnuts. Or Coney Island hot dogs, for that matter. He was nimble and deceptive, often delivering dark messages with smooth warmth, and his sound is as addictive as pure heroin.
High Places are in a somewhat post-Animal Collective bag, but they bring some gal-presence into it, which ends up making the whole affair sorta K Records like. At times. I really dig them, and recommend their stuff to people on the search for cool current sounds.
The Yo La single is an album cut from the I’m Not Afraid… album with a super ‘60s soul cover on the flip. Tasty.
I can’t say I’m a big Harry Nilsson fan, but he does a very good job singing Randy Newman. Not as good as Newman himself, but I’ll get to that in a minute. The version of Vine Street that opens up Nilsson Sings Newman is quite choice, and the rest is as slick as something or other.
Jake Holmes wrote Dazed and Confused. It’s on The Above Ground…LP but it is quite different from Zeppelin’s behemoth, and frankly his record fights with a datedness that it really doesn’t conquer until its last three tracks. I mean, the only band I can think of that could not make me wince at a song titled Genuine Imitation Life is the Lovin’ Spoonful. It’s is a good record, though. At this point I can’t take the plunge and call it great.
The debut by Iron and Wine is a great record, however. Fragile folk of this stripe is perfect wintertime music, so Sam Beam is likely to get some considerable play in the upcoming months.
The best way to briefly describe Igor Wakhevitch is as psych-classical. He rubbed elbows with rock musicians, and parts of his debut sound like the more out moments that occurred on many psych and prog records from the same era. Logos (Rituel Sonore) is a wild listen, what people used to call head music. It wasn’t your grandparent’s classical music, that’s for sure. Fine stuff.
The Human Hands’ posthumous LP is one of my favorites. They recorded in the early ‘80s, and were a great example of punk energy filtered through a focus on more mature songwriting that harkened back to early Roxy Music and also integrated arty touches that rubbed elbows with the Los Angeles Free Music Society and The Residents. They had many flashes of brilliance and should be better known.
Randy Newman is a guy that some people think should be lesser known, what with all those movie soundtracks, but his early stuff is some of the finest satirical songwriting this country (this globe) has ever seen. He’s complex and surprising while also being incredibly catchy. The above CD is him solo in the ‘90s, which is far later than I’d ever ventured into his work before, and boy I’m glad I took the chance. The recording of I Think It’s Going to Rain Today that’s included here is just devastating. The whole thing is a treat, and it’s almost enough to make me forgive that Toy Story song. He has a new album. I haven’t heard it. Stephen King loves it. I guess that’s something.
FRIDAY 12/5- Crystal Stilts and Peter Bjorn and John work in roughly the same territory, but the former are proudly low-fi, and the later use contemporary studio sheen to flesh out a more varied sound. PB & J can excel at downtrodden style guitar-pop riffing with lyrics to match that’s descended from the fertile British ‘80s, and they can also pull off some quirky dance-pop moves that actually work. The Stilts on the other hand are more single-minded. They seem more concerned with doing one thing as well as possible. If somebody had played their EP for me and said it was a lost album from some forgotten Manchester band from ’81 that played one gig opening for The Fall, I’d have bought the lie and tried to buy the record.
The Tain is The Decemberists’ most oddball release thus far. I use that qualifier because they have a self-described rock-opera coming out. On this brief one they steer into a heavy rock playground, at times almost Zep-like, and combined with all their other resources (excellent musicianship, sweet vocalizing, lofty concepts, and a collective tendency to self-edit just when you think they’re not) it’s a very nice eighteen minutes or so.
Rather Ripped is Sonic Youth in fantastic form. Kim has never sounded better, at times almost Nico-ish, and the band can pull off moments of substantial group interplay that’s just achingly beautiful. What a band.
Jim O’Rourke left Sonic Youth a while back to focus on other things, and a bunch of his experimental pre-SY, pre-Drag City solo stuff is getting unleashed for public consumption. Long Night is a double CD drone piece, a little over two and a half hours of the kind of sustained minimalist sonic head-fucking that people either take a bath in or avoid like the clap. I happen to think it’s fascinating and very approachable stuff if the expectations are not set to receive sound that moves from point A to point B with a lot of inescapable variant activity happening along the way (i. e. drummers drumming, singers singing, pluckers plucking). People will remark that nothing happens in this music, but a whole fuck of a lot DOES happen, it’s just not as immediately tangible. The activity CAN be graspable if the focus is instead on the variety of little sounds that are going on simultaneously, often repeating or sustaining and making up the total palate, and when that happens, IF you are drawn in, then it can often be startling when a step back is taken and it’s discovered that a perceptible change, a major shift, has occurred. Movement. Drones, baby. Over two and a half hours. Sweet.
SATURDAY 12/6- When it’s frigid, it’s a good idea to stay indoors.
The 1984 record by Redd Kross has never been reissued. As bad as these guys ended up, once upon a time they were a big punk rock deal. Teen Babes is six covers and one original song, and it’s not as on the money as Born Innocent, but it’s still worthy.
Scars were an obscure Brit group that released on Fast Product, the label that was home to Gang of Four and the early Human League. Adult-ery is a prime example of aggressive, arty punk. The singer is stressed, the guitars throb and wind and motor along, and the drums provide a consistent spark.
Bloodstains across California is one installment in a legendary bootleg series that helped to spread the word about the wealth of amazing underground punk singles released before the movement basically dissolved in the first half of the ‘80s. I’d heard some of this already via (viva!) the internet, but most was new to me. Known entities like Agent Orange (who basically named the series), The Plugz and The Gears rub elbows with new names (maybe you’ve heard of Silver Chalice or Destry Hampton?), and my favorites are probably The Child Molesters’ I’m Gonna Punch You (In the Face) and the Injections’ maddeningly low-fi Prison Walls. If you are at all interested in punk rock, this stuff is essential.
Savage Republic brings some vital art-clang, and they’re a band that I’ve frankly neglected over the years. Every time I hear them, I feel like a dummy for not spending more time acquainting myself with their sound. This 7” was quite early in their existence, and I’d imagine that anybody who gets excited over the heaviness of the first few Swans records (that’s me) should like this stuff as well (I do).
The Better Beatles are another internet discovery. They have a full retrospective release out that I really need to catch up with, but this single is something special. Two reinterpretations of Beatles tunes that I’m tempted to describe as genius, particularly the b-side. THIS is one of the first things I’d play for someone who wanted proof of the fertility of the u-ground imagination in the dark early days of Reagan. It was basically a forgotten single until one guy found a copy for sale cheap and went on a mad quest to unearth the story. How many more artifacts of this quality are out there, aging in boxes in attics and in the back of dying record shops?
Rema Rema put out this EP on 4AD. They’re championed by folks who have a strong affinity for England’s post-punk era, particularly those who are seriously stroked by the more abrasive/less mersh sub-scenes that popped up like toadstools on a cow-flop. This record is a nice one, I just wish there was more of it.
Afflicted Man was far more prolific than Rema Rema. The mastermind behind this shambling, stretched-out, oddball post-punk almost bordering on psych project was Steve Hall and this was the first of three LPs that were offered up in the bleak Anglo-80s. The others are supposedly even stranger. I can hardly wait.
Tales of Terror were a slightly off-kilter skate punk band from Sacramento. Partly because the record has yet to (and likely won’t) be reissued, it’s become somewhat legendary to those with a nose for this sort of thing. It’s a pretty happening affair, especially if you love the odd nooks and crannies of the punk-era’s tail end, but it’s maybe not as amazing as some have hyped it as. Green River aficionados will definitely find it of interest.
For me, Bikini Kill stands as one of the real highlights of the ‘90s. The band’s earliest stuff is infused with such manic energy and righteous desperation that they still manage to make the hair stand up on my arms while listening. This band’s very existence has so profoundly affected the shape of the current indie music scene that a case could be made that they were the most important (if not the best) band of their decade. If I had a dollar for every person who overcame the manacles of inadequacy due to this band’s clarion call, I’d buy myself an island.
The Raincoats were a precedent of sorts for Bikini Kill and the whole Riot Grrl experience. But where a lot of that movement was about tapping into the galvanizing fury of the punk form as a means to stomp on ingrained societal sexism, The Raincoats were more exploratory in nature (to the same means, natch). Their debut album stands as one of the greatest of all post-punk recordings, mostly because it didn’t neglect either side of the hyphen. Cathartic stuff, to this day.
Will Oldham is a prolific man. So much music has been released with his name on top of it that I can’t help letting certain things fall by the way. But that’s alright. For those neglected odds and ends are perfect on cold weekend evenings. This EP scoots by and leaves a rather elusive impression, which I think is the point. I like it.
First LP Bob Pollard, the beginning of the GBV juggernaut, and between then and now he’s drank more than you, me, and six alcoholics combined. The rudiments of what they were in their heyday are certainly here, but it’s nice to get a taste of Pollard still grappling with where he wanted to go. I’m not the first to say it, but there is even some REM influence at this early point. Just check out Discussing Wallace Chambers.
Petra Haden’s track by track cover of the Who’s classic album is made up of nothing but vocal sounds. It’s flat-out fucking lovely. Petra’s quietly involved herself in so many high quality projects that it’s going to take decades to fully assess the total scheme of her thing. Maybe if she didn’t hop around so much, she’d be better known. But then she wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.
Kev Hopper was in a kooky British band called Stump. In the ‘80s they had a few hours of hoopla surround them regarding their potential as a college-rock conduit to things Beefheartian. It was somewhat of a stretch, and the band was really up to something else, anyway. I’ve only listened to this a few times, but it’s intriguing. It lacks the humor/quirk that was one aspect of Stump, but it shares the aversion for rockist trappings. Stump was a lot of fun, great fun at times, but this record seems inclined to something deeper. I’ll be back.
Silver Jews, of the vintage represented by the two albums above, were one of the few bands of that (or any) period to do three things equally well. That is: songwriting, musical delivery, and lyrics. The last is the hardest, and it’s the easiest to forgive when the words aren’t up to snuff. But Berman is a smithing linguist of the highest caliber, and the sound of his voice gives his thoughts an added power. Two classic albums that are going to age extremely well, since they steer so clear of the standard reference points of the era in which they were spawned.
The Gordons are proof positive that there were precursors to the kind of progressions that early Sonic Youth were doling out. They share the heaviness, the thickness, and the dynamic sensibility, but they also sound like their own thing, which was markedly different from anything going on in their home country of New Zealand at the time. They eventually morphed into Bailter Space, an early Matador band that didn’t get enough love. Oh well.
New Zealand’s The Verlaines were rather well liked in their day, but I kind of think they should have been a much bigger deal. Doomsday is just staggering in its scope and in its defiant pop sensibility. Slop, noise, and amateurishness were rampant when this single was released, but The Verlaines flaunt a seamlessly crafted tune that is irresistible in is largeness. They had a batch of classic songs, but this one might be the best.
On the other hand, there is the Xpressway label. Any history of the indie low-fi era that doesn’t devote scads of time to this New Zealand concern’s massive imprint on that movement is an incomplete and rather fucked history. This comp is a big piece of what they did so well. Sandra Bell, David Mitchell, David Kilgour, Alastair Galbraith, and the sublime This Kind of Punishment are all well represented (amongst others), and I’ve yet to hear a peep from this label that was anything less than great. As interesting as American style low-fi was, almost all of its most celebrated practitioners ended up elsewhere. The Xpressway scene, possibly because so few people championed it (other than often insufferable fanzine dudes), or maybe because the root of what they were getting at was less definable and exploitable, never crossed over. They just kept on keeping on. Many are still around today (though Xpressway is long defunct), toiling in the underground.
Braxton’s For Alto was his second record, and it’s just him and his instrument. All of the pieces are dedications to musicians and artists, and the sound pushes into all sorts of directions. Dedicated to John Cage features some of the most furiously blown saxophone that I’ve ever heard. Its joyousness is simply mind blowing. The man’s music has traveled through so much development since the late ‘60s in Chicago that hearing him at this early stage is really striking. It’s also essential to the full picture of his artistry. Unlike musicians who served in more anonymous capacities in the bands of others, gathering chops and ideas along the way but not really revealing much of themselves, Braxton jumped with full force into the maelstrom. He was mulling over the greats, breathing in the fumes from his Chicago cohorts (AACM, Art Ensemble, Muhal Richard Abrams, etc), and working on the basis of ideas that continue to grow into the present day. For Alto is uncompromising record. Anyone interested in free jazz needs to hear it.
The late Derek Bailey is one of the few guitarists that can be described as having his own musical language without risking exaggeration. His free-improv style fully embraced abstraction, and he played in so many different contexts (solo, duo, small group, large group, collabs with dancers, turntablists, electronic artists etc) that it could be hard for more casual listeners to get a handle on his eclecticism. Ballads is Bailey examining traditional songs and traversing through recognizable structure, so while it’s certainly going to be more accessible to those who know little about avant-garde music, it still stands in the scheme of his overall work as an anomaly. But what a fascinating anomaly it is. Bailey’s general style was always so out there that know-nothings would be inspired to carp that he didn’t know how to play. This record will live for all time as a rigorous shutdown to the philistines. But it’s no compromise. It stands as a beautiful work and another surprise from a guy who was full of them.
SUNDAY 12/7- Blind Willie McTell was both an entertainer and an artist of considerable depth. The recordings on the above Yazoo CD really spotlight how versatile, rambunctious, and humorous he could be. Pre-war blues is an extremely varied genre, ranging from uptown and slick to down home and ragged, in addition to the more outlandish documents from guys like Skip James and Blind Willie Johnson. McTell’s music lacks the desperate, anguished aura that sits on the outer limits of early blues; instead it’s direct and approachable but still drenched in a rural sensibility, lacking the urbanite’s polish. Where some blues greats are best listened to a few songs at a time, McTell can successfully stretch over the length of a full CD and leave me wanting more. What a wizard.
This Muddy Waters’ show from Newport is a strong (though brief) one, showcasing the dense but streamlined sound of the post-Little Walter bands. He was going through a transition, declining as a charting singles artist and emerging on the folk scene, later to be a cause célèbre for scads of rock bands. As the show progresses the fire kicks up, and by the end they’re really cooking. Not the first Muddy record that a person should hear (the single disc Chess Best Of is where newbies should start), but it’s still a very worthwhile addition to his sizeable shelf.
One of the best aspects of listening to music made in the early years of sound recording is that so much of it was untainted by outside commercial interference. There was pop music, certainly. But the sellers had yet to really meddle into the affairs of the musician, since they were basically clueless as to what would sell and what would stiff. Therefore, all kinds of things were recorded. The Secret Museum series documents this unbridled lack of market savvy from the perspective of Ethnic music, which was still thriving in the first half of the century. This baby is loaded with beautiful sounds. And weird! Fiorassio by Effisio Melis (from Sardinia) creates a winding progression with the launeddas, an ancient triple pipe, that is sonically comparable to the sort of wiggy, wiggly sounds found in the experimental wing of last century’s six, seventh and eighth decades. The whole disc is a tour of a world that no longer exists. We can thank entrepreneurial cluelessness for at least allowing us to listen to part of it.
A whole bunch of vinyl 7 inch records were released in the ‘90s. I didn’t buy all of them. So thank the internet and the generosity of my fellow human beings for allowing me to hear some of those I missed. Starting with Michael Hurley and ending with the Gastr del Sol/Tony Conrad split was a nice way to bookend a tour through a batch of small platters that basically hang around in the fertile ‘90s underground. Much of this scene rubbed elbows with the larger indie/alternative crowd that flourished and struggled in the wake of Nirvana’s explosion. The u-ground of this period was spectacularly varied. In addition to post-rock (Tortoise, David Pajo’s M, Lebradford, Monade, Table, Atavin), which was one of the most prominent sounds of the era, there was low-fi (Dadamah, Strapping Fieldhands), free-jazz (Matthew Shipp), full on experimentalism (Conrad, Bertoia, Gastr del Sol), clattering noise spill (Truman’s Water), shades of more or less direct indie rocking (Sugartime, Mantis), and a batch of older hands entering the fray (Dos, Hurley, MazzaCane Connors, Sun City Girls). This open ended nature of this scene, taking in so many different types of sounds as well as having a deep interest in older music, makes it hard to define and encapsulate into a movement. Unlike the indie scene of the ‘80s, it’s doubtful that a book will ever be published about its importance. Too bad.
Weird War is a hell of a lot of fun. I’ve yet to encounter a project from Ian Svenonius that didn’t make me smile in reaction to the sheer conceptual grandiosity. The kicker is that everything he’s been involved in is cloaked in a tug of war between strident jabs of flamboyant originality and a deeply tweaked prolonged hommage. It’s often impossible to decipher what is sincere and what is tongue in cheek, and this deliberate muddying of the waters drives some people up the wall. Not me, though. Out of all the bands he’s fronted, this one is the most versatile, with an equality of ability spread across the membership. The real gist of the group is a celebratory nonconformity, funky as hell and letting it all hang out.
Lungfish are one of the best live rock bands I’ve ever stood in front of. They could bear down into transcendent repetition until it seemed like it was impossible for the music to get any more intense, and then it would. And then again. Live units of this quality almost always suffer in the translation to record. These guys are certainly not as explosive on disc, but they do a bang-up job trying. The records succeed in part because they differ so little from what they do on stage, lacking any kind of production embellishment that won’t translate while playing live. I have a bunch of art-books upstairs, and one thing I’ve noticed is that as great as a painting can look in reproduction, it’s nothing compared to what the real piece communicates while I stand and absorb it. This is no great revelation, I know. The painting on the page is a representation of the artwork to the closest detail: other than the obvious concessions, nothing about the subject is changed or enhanced to deepen the aesthetic response of sitting at home and staring into a book of photographs and this is how it should be. It is how Lungfish chose (chooses? Are they still an active band?) to document their music, the full essence of which can’t be encoded into plastic (this isn’t always true of ALL music, though. A lot of hip-hop, certain types of electronic music, some dub, and possibly even modern classical seem to be best experienced through recordings instead of in the flesh, though this is certainly a case-by-case thing). Instead of trying to embellish what they do, they just get it down on tape and let the chips fall where they may.
Unrest is one of the few examples of a band that has two easily defined eras that I dig equally. In most cases I find myself drawn to certain specific periods in the histories of groups that had significant personnel changes or shifts in sound: Velvets, Sonic Youth, Grateful Dead, Black Flag, and don’t get me started on the jazz end of things with Miles, Mingus, and Coltrane. Unrest’s lifespan is usually divided into two parts. The first, where Mark Robinson and Phil Krauth worked with a slew of other musicians to perfect a slippery sound that roved all over the place while keeping a loose grasp on group focus, was a perfect fit in the indie landscape of the second half of the ‘80s. The second, often described as the Bridget Cross-era, saw the music tightening its influences, refining its sound and thriving on the input of all three members, in the process crafting some of the best guitar pop (with art touches) I’ve ever heard. Malcolm X Park is from the first era, and it’s a mess of wildly divergent inspirations: DC hardcore, Kiss covers, Kenneth Anger, Brit post-punk and indie-pop, Henry Cow style art rock, goofus Elvis covers with fake sitar solos and more. While I do truly love the entirety of Unrest equally (their last record Perfect Teeth might just be my favorite, and I almost never say that about bands), I do wish more people were hep to this album. It’s been out of print for years, and when it finally does get reissued it deserves a whole new following, because it’s a raggedy masterpiece.
Good old New Order. Here’s the thing, people: When I was just a young lad Love Vigilantes was often derided by purple-haired ponces as being beneath consideration perhaps due to its unadulterated classic guitar pop sensibility combined with a modern delivery and its lack of the characteristic qualities that made the band such a big thing. This was to be expected, I guess. But the song wasn’t even released as a single. It was an efficient little detour that should have been embraced at the time, but was instead used as fodder for eye-rolling at neophytes who couldn’t help but by gassed by its grooves. HOGWASH, I tell you. Eye-rolling is a necessary activity, but should not be engaged in indiscriminately. Love Vigilantes, at this late date, sounds like one of the more shrewd stabs of its period. The rest of the record is a treat also, and this has not a damn thing to do with a stroll down nostalgia lane.
By the time I was really clued in, The Psychedelic Furs’ best days were over. They were running on the fumes of being appropriated as a major element in John Hughes’ most successful film, but the consensus was the band’s moment had passed. I never really had much opinion on them at this point, but flash forward about five years and some phantom figure at a party opines through the smoke that the Furs’ first album was a classic. I didn’t know if he was putting me on or what, so I just gave him one of those nods that can mean anything or nothing. Somebody started jawing about something else, and the topic never resurfaced. Except in my head later, after the smoke cleared. Was he serious or not? I asked numerous cats if they had the record, but nobody did or they wouldn’t ‘fess up. I was stuck. I couldn’t just run to my computer and download the thing for free, this was 1992. I tried to forget about it. Then a used copy turned up at my local record shack. For two dollars. Naturally I snatched it up. With a price that cheap it didn’t matter if he was jiving me. If it sucked, I could just file it, and if anybody decided to pull some classic shenanigans in my house, I could just pluck it from the stacks and say You mean this record? Well, turns out it didn’t suck. I don’t think it rates as classic, but I could see what he was driving at. Maybe if I’d heard it when he did, I’d feel the same way. I do pull it off the shelf occasionally, and I’m sure I will again. Shit you hear at parties, man.
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