Monday, March 18, 2024

Box Set Review: Charles Mingus - Mingus Takes Manhattan- The Complete Birdland Dates 1961-1962


Charles Mingus
Mingus Takes Manhattan- The Complete Birdland Dates 1961-1962

Stories have been told over the years, many probably growing in mythology over time, of the way Charles Mingus treated people in his band. His Jazz Workshop gigs would function more like a rehearsal than a live performance, with songs being stopped suddenly if the sound didn't meet Mingus' exacting standards. He would chew out musicians on stage. Eric Dolphy and Ted Curson, according to one story, left the legendary 1960 Mingus quartet because they couldn't take the verbal abuse - and lack of pay - anymore. A Pittsburgh musician once told me that during a residency at the Crawford Grill, Mingus fired his band on the first night, smashed his bass and played piano the rest of the week.

Nothing resembling that kind of volatility comes across on Mingus Takes Manhattan: The Complete Birdland Dates 1961-1962, a four-record limited edition (1,000) box set. Perhaps knowing that the performances were being broadcast on the radio live from Birdland, Mingus kept his cool. Or maybe he was afraid of drawing the wrath of club management or MC Symphony Sid's radio bosses. Or maybe Mingus and his crew, which changes a bit during each broadcast, felt really inspired each night. That's how they come across - capturing the fire that Mingus craved in his music.

Several legitimate live Mingus sets have surfaced in recent years, with many focusing on 1964-65, which encompassed Dolphy's final months with the band and later, when the bassist began working with larger ensembles. The 1964 European tour has been documented extensively, which makes sense as it was Dolphy's last and included a stellar band. If they have any setbacks (which might be a sacrilege to say), it relates to the limited repertoire of those albums.

These performances zero in on a period that might be considered a transitional for the bass-cum-pianist. He had just recorded Oh Yeah, a gutbucket bluesy album where he sat at the piano bench for the whole session. Tunes from that album, rarely heard in other Mingus live recordings, factor heavily into the programs. "Eat That Chicken," a rollicking number inspired by Fats Waller, serves as the band's sign-off at the end of the set and appears a total of seven times throughout the box. 

The October 21, 1961 set opens the box audaciously. A month prior to the Oh Yeah sessions, the group includes Roland Kirk (tenor sax, manzello, stritch), Yusef Lateef (credited with flute, though he seems to play tenor some, if not all, of the time) and devotee Jimmy Knepper (trombone). Mingus plays piano the whole time so Doug Watkins handles bass, as he would in the studio. Drum duties, like all but one set here, come from long-time partner Dannie Richmond. 

The first October track is titled "Nouroog," though it's not the older song with that title (which later became the final movement of "Open Letter to Duke") and though Mingus announces it as "Blue Cee," it's also not the composition of that title he recorded. Instead it's a complex new piece with some interesting tempo shifts. "Ecclusiastics" follows, sounding a little more pronounced than the studio version. Unfortunately a rollicking version of the vampy "Hog Callin' Blues" fades out just as things were starting to get wild. (Apparently the source tape ran out during this song.) At least we get to hear Lateef paraphrase "Wade in the Water." 

By March 1962, the lineup had changed. Mingus was back on bass, with Toshiko Akiyoshi at the keys, where she would stay until the fall. Booker Ervin (tenor saxophone), Charles McPherson (alto saxophone) and Richard Williams (trumpet) filled the horn duties. Like most sides of the set, it features two lengthy pieces plus a short "Eat That Chicken." With that, it delivers quite a contrast in moods: a driving "Take the A Train" (which includes a bowed bass solo) and "Fables of Faubus." None of these sets give Mingus a vocal mike so the biting lyrics of the latter song aren't clear. What becomes clear is Richmond bellowing his responses to the boss's questions in the lyrics. It's a clear case of feeling the words while not hearing them.

The other broadcasts have some song overlaps (aside from "Eat That Chicken," which gets stretched out into a fuller song at least once). "Monk, Funk Or Vice Versa," which never made it into the studio, appears four times. While the March 31 reading goes on a bit too far with the trades between trumpeter Williams and Ervin,  the October versions streamline that trick and benefit from pianist Jaki Byard adding some rather Monk-like accents to his solos.

Speaking of the October broadcasts, Brian Priestly points out in his notes that one of the shows comes a week after Mingus' infamous Town Hall concert. That event is widely considered a low point in Mingus' career, as he attempted to lead a 30-piece ensemble through an extended piece (later known as "Epitaph") that was barely even transcribed, under-rehearsed and abruptly shut down by the stage crew before things were completed. If that disaster did indeed devastate Mingus, it didn't come across when he returned to Birdland seven days later. 

More intrigue comes when bassist Henry Grimes sits in with the band, allowing Mingus to jump over to the piano or create a bigger sound with two low-end instruments. Though it's not always easy to detect when both men are on bass, their dual sound is audible on "Tijuana Table Dance," which later became "Ysabel's Table Dance" when it was released around the time of these performances on Tijuana Moods. Considering that studio version was created through several splices, hearing the multi-part piece executed live adds some gravity to the set. "O.P.," an homage to bassist Oscar Pettiford which was also never recorded in the studio, sounds pretty fast for the ears, but not for the band, who seems comfortable at a bebop tempo.

The live tapes come from the estate of Boris Rose, who fanatically recorded many such live broadcasts over the years. (The Mingus estate gave its blessing to this set too.) A few dates did not come from the original reels and their sound quality is a bit muddy. (Edward Armour's trumpet distorts a little) But even the slightly lo-fi sounds are overridden by the power of the band. Richmond deserves a lot of credit for kicking things along, though even the session where he is absent (and no one sits in) still ranks high, bringing out the sonorities of Mingus' scope. MCs Symphony Sid and, on the first side, Pee Wee Marquette pop up regularly but thankfully their chatter is kept to a minimum. 

Like any good box set, Mingus Takes Manhattan comes with a deluxe booklet (40 pages) that includes performance details, an interview with McPherson and intro by Christian McBride. The short bios on all the players might not have been necessary but the background on Rose and the Birdland broadcasts is illuminating. 

While this set is a pricey undertaking, even by normal jazz box set standards these days, the music provides a valuable snapshot of one of jazz's most original voices. Most significantly it moves away from the legend and mythology to show what listeners might have heard on a "regular" night from him during an overlooked period of a prolific life. 

Saturday, March 16, 2024

Mary Timony and youbet Rock the Andy Warhol Museum

Just kind of a quick post about a show, but with more thoughts that your typical social media post:


Everything that's been written about Mary Timony's skills as a guitarist are true. Sure Rolling Stone ranked her as 95 out of the 250 Greatest Guitarists of All Time. It's cool that somebody in their hallowed halls is paying attention, but those lists don't really say anything. They only really exist to sell special edition magazines and piss off fans of Page, Zappa and Hendrix, who haven't heard a new guitarist in decades. More appropriate, perhaps, was the quote from Carrie Brownstein, the Sleater-Kinney guitarist who played in Wild Flag with Timony, who referred to her as "Mary Shelley with a guitar." She's a groundbreaker. 

Proof of all this came this past Wednesday night at the Andy Warhol Museum when Timony played a set that drew heavily from her brand new album Untame the Tiger (Merge). Her guitar playing isn't brash, noisy or flashy, but it exudes a dynamic style that really lifts her songwriting. Starting with the not-always-chordal strumming that sort of defines the best indie rock, Timony added stinging leads, and long drones (courtesy of her e-bow) that indicated an understated mastery of her instrument. 

Her voice has a startling quality, like she's confiding secrets while singing, and she has always weaved some great stories with her words. Having seen her in the early '00s, primarily playing keyboards if ther memory serves (a friend once saw her another time playing viola while singing), the Warhol show was very much a rock show, in the best sense - full of grooves, harmonies and hooks.

Betsy Wright (who, in researching this post, I realized was the same singer who came to town last year in Bat Fangs, opening for Quasi) added the perfect foil as second guitarist and vocal harmonizer. Chad Molter (bass) and Job Cain (drums) completed the lineup. (One-time Fairport Convention drummer Dave Mattacks plays on the album but he didn't tour with the band.)


Opening acts can often get shortchanged if the audience decides to arrive just before the headliner, or if they stand around and talk, ignoring the band's set. On Wednesday, the crowd in the Warhol's entrance way, where the stage was set up, seemed so intrigued by openers youbet that the band assured everyone between songs that it was okay to talk to one another.


The Brooklyn trio also played a sharp brand of indie pop that had its share of rhythm nuances, bolstered a bit by guitarist/vocalist Nick Llobet's [sic] occasional retunings, that seemed to take things in expanded melodic directions. The band's newest album won't be released until May (on the Hardly Art label) but I couldn't resist the temptation of getting one of their shirts at the merch table, along with a copy of Untame the Tiger, which I hadn't heard in its entirety prior to the show. 


 Keep an eye out for youbet's next album, Way to Be. 

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

CD Review: Angelica Sanchez Nonet - Nighttime Creatures

Angelica Sanchez Nonet
Nighttime Creatures
(Pyroclastic) 

Angelica Sanchez says she composed the music on Nighttime Creatures for the eight musicians that join her on the album and it definitely sounds that way. There are many tracks where the musicians seem to play their personalities. In the multi-part "Astral Lights of Alarid," everyone is used for distinct voicings in the theme, after they create a series of diminished chords with Sanchez's piano. The title track begins with a series of crescendos where half the horns answer the other half as the melody connects. Michaël Attias (alto saxophone), Ben Goldberg (contra alto clarinet) and Chris Speed (tenor saxophone, clarinet) stand out distinctly in one channel while Thomas Heberer (quarter-tone trumpet) and Kenny Warren (cornet) respond in the other channel. If anything is hard to discern, it might be the difference between the two brass instruments.

Even if Sanchez issn't exactly pulling a Duke Ellington, building her parts around specific musicians, the scope of her writing still has unique ebbs and flows to it. "Wrong Door For Rocket Fuel" begins with a three-way melody from Attias, Goldberg and either Heberer or Warren. The way they layer on each other still provides plenty of space to keep their parts distinct. "Land Here" starts free, with everyone waking up to the sound of Sanchez's jaunty playing. This continues for over three and a half minutes until a tight theme takes shape. Once again, they trade off, half of them playing sustained notes to shorter ones from the other half. 

Throughout the album Goldberg and Attias get a big cut of the solo space. Highlights include the former weaving around Sanchez's chords in the title track, and the latter engaging drummer Sam Ospovat in a duet during "Ringleader." Guitarist Oscar Tamez straddles incisive comp parts and quick solo space. Bassist John Hébert gets some room for double stops during a reworked version of "Tristeza," a piece by Chilean composer Armando Carvajal.

With Sanchez's skill at writing for specific players, it comes as a surprise that her interpretation of Duke Ellington's "Lady of the Lavendar Mist" comes up a bit short. While nothing feels wrong about it, and she again scores it well, the tune, which dates back to Duke's late '40s era, feels a little tranquil compared to the rest of the album. 

Nevertheless, Nighttime Creatures presents a strong evidence of how Sanchez's writing skills are creating a unique body of work.

Monday, February 19, 2024

CD Review: Jeremy Udden - Wishing Flower


Jeremy Udden
Wishing Flower

Saxophonist Jeremy Udden's albums, with groups like Plainville, seem to might have taken inspiration from both jazz and post-rock. The alto saxophonist clearly brings the melodic and improvisational perspective to his work from the former category. From there, he has often rendered his ideas in spare, very deliberate songs, which recall the slow-core bands of the past two decades. Space is often left wide-open in the rhythm section and even in Udden's own alto work; sometimes his minimal choice of notes and use of middle and lower range of his horn might make it hard to tell if he plays alto or tenor. 

The simplicity of the arrangements have frequently created some enchanting music. Much of the Plainville catalog could double as soundtracks for films of travels down long Americana highways. Udden skillfully imples that the destination plays second fiddle to the actual journey. 

Wishing Flower continues in that vein, although the inspiration to this album is decidedly urban. The music was inspired by walks with his daughters through their neighborhood of Brooklyn, taking in site of dandelions growing through sidewalk cracks, earning them the designation of "wishing flowers." While Plainville included guitarist/banjoist Brandon Seabrook and keyboardist Pete Rende, this album features a different quartet of longtime friends: Ben Monder (guitar), Ziv Ravitz (drums) and Jorge Roeder (bass).  

The production of Wishing Flower is very dry, with no echo or sustain. This benefits the band in most cases. Ben Monder never needs excessive volume to state his case. In "Pendulum," he sets fire from his corner of the room, as the rest of the band interacts in a vamp that might have gotten lost in a heavier production. The gentle "Lullaby" feels like a Paul Motian piece, moving gently in a free time.  

In addition to his alto, Udden switches to Lyricon for a few tracks. This 1970s electronic wind instrument is associated with recordings by Steely Dan, Michael Jackson and Weather Report, which should give an idea of how it sounds: sometimes intriguing (it frequently takes a moment to realize it's not an effects-heavy guitar), a little dated and something of a novelty. It fits in the funky lilt of "1971" in which Udden pulls a weird solo out of it. In "Car Radio" the instrument plays into the song's laidback feel perhaps a bit too much. Here, the production hampers the delivery a little; Ravitz seems to be laying down a groove by bashing away but the overall hit doesn't quite come across.

To close the album, Udden picks a tune far removed from his genre, though not from his mood: "Fade Into You," the 1993 dreamy, psych-folk hit by Mazzy Star. Already a slow song, Roeder plays the four-chord vamp at tempo that's barely awake. His bandmates take liberties around him, so Mazzy Star fans might only recognize the tune through close scrutiny. Udden plays the melody on Lyricon. Monder starts out sounding like cars hissing past on a highway and ends up stealing the show by the second verse. Eventually, the Lyricon transforms into something like an ornery clavinet, rising up without exactly disturbing the languid core of the tune. It's a successful and rather bold interpretation, though it can leave you wondering what might have happened had Udden switched over to alto at some point. 

Although some tracks on Wishing Flower could have benefited from a little more spring in the step, Jeremy Udden continues to create sonic landscapes that can motivate listeners to stop and appreciate things in the cracks like the dandelions. Why he hasn't been pulled into the world of film soundtracks is anyone's guess.

Monday, January 29, 2024

LP Review: Joseph Branciforte & Theo Bleckmann - LP2


Joseph Branciforte & Theo Bleckmann
LP 2
(Greyfade) www.greyfade.com

The cover of LP2 recalls the stark artwork on records from Factory, the UK label whose heyday occurred around the late '70s/early '80s with bands like Joy Division or A Certain Ratio. A band of one-inch lines in various colors runs the length of the cover, towards the left; the catalog number and release date appear on the front in the lower right corner, next to what looks like a UPC code but is actually a set of bars with Greyfade website beneath it. The album title appears sideways, opposite the bands of color.

The label might share a sense of independence with Factory, but Greyfade is no post-punk imprint. It specializes in "processed-based music, electronic & acoustic minimalism, alternate tuning systems and algorithmic composition." Vocalist Theo Bleckmann has become known in jazz circles with  performances that can be either soothing or unsettling as a leader and collaborator (with groups like the brass quartet Westerlies, drummer John Hollenbeck and composer Meredith Monk among others). Joseph Branciforte has worked as an engineer and producer for numerous musicians (Tim Berne, Ben Monder, Steve Lehman) in addition to recording his own music. LP2 is the second effort by this duo, following LP1 (2019). 

While their previous collaboration was purely spontaneous, the duo took liberties in the studio this time, utilizing "prompts" to guide the music, and overdubbing more instruments. The preparation serves to blur lines between improvisation and composition, which gets further extended by the works themselves when heard in analogue form. The record is pressed on clear vinyl, making it hard to discern the breaks between tracks. All eight have numerical titles ("1.13," "10.11.5") with no time durations listed for any of them. The point, seemingly: forget typical conventions and just listen.

Branciforte and Bleckmann immediately create a rich sound on "1.13" with vocals that feel awash in subterranean reverberations, like an angel singing at the far end of a subway platform. While this happens, the sounds of the city (actually Branciforte) provide a soothing backdrop to the voice. At other times, Branciforte's modular keyboards fold in so well with Bleckmann's voice that distinguishing one from the other can be a challenge. The ten-minute "11.15" unfolds like a dream soundtrack with several voices, high and low, adding to the non-verbal conversation while the toll of an electronic bell sets a gentle tempo.

The second side of the album brings to mind some David Bowie-Brian Eno collaborations, specifically the second half of the "Heroes" album, in which the music unfolds slowly, setting a scene. Different textures pop up, with voices coming and going. It can also feel like Bleckmann's different parts have all been part of the soundscape the entire time, and just coming into clarity at various moments. Therein lies the depth of this music. 

Along with the longer tracks, the album includes a few pieces that last just over a minute, offering quick bites of static, choirs of voices or percussive clatter. A few even add what amounts to surface noise, in case the pristine vinyl might need it. The brevity of these pieces doesn't give the music time to get too abrasive; it acts more like an interlude between the bigger works. 


Thursday, January 25, 2024

LP Review: The Human Hearts - Viable

Another album I've been meaning to write about for a few months.


The Human Hearts
Viable

Nothing Painted Blue's Emotional Discipline (Scat, 1997) could be considered as the indie rock equivalent of  Buzzcocks' Singles Going Steady. Like the British band's collection of eight 7" releases, the Upland, CA group compiled singles that appeared on a variety of different labels, profiling a group that could deliver graduate school-level post-punk lyrics while rocking out at the same time. With more music on it than the Buzzcocks' release, the tidal wave of hits keep coming for about an hour. Why that album isn't recognized in tandem with all the other oft-lauded albums from that period is beyond me. 

Now Franklin Bruno, the voice and wit from ∅PB, has undertaken a similar effort with his current band, the Human Hearts. Viable commits previously released material to vinyl, some for the first time, with a handful of singles, a digital EP and a few solo songs that were available through a Kickstarter campaign; all 14 tracks came out between 2011 and 2015. In addition to proving that Bruno is still a songwriter with a skill at great couplets, the seemingly random assortment of tracks reveal the wide range of his writing skills.

Songs like the darkly humorous "Flag Pin" and driving "Art Books" play to his skillful rock tendencies. At the same time, "Last Words of Her Lover," with lyrics taken from a poem by Helen Adam and sung by Bruno's wife Bree Benton, wouldn't sound out of place in a current musical or pithy supper club setting. Accompanied by some lonely piano chords and melancholy violas, Bruno himself sings "Nick Cave" with a certain in-the-spotlight pathos usually reserved for the theater (which, naturally, he counters with the song's wry tale of fan worship aimed at the subject). 

Among the rotating group of  bandmates, Bruno's longtime friend Jenny Toomey (Tsunami, Simple Machines Records) handles the vocals on a couple songs. The tradition continues in covering a song by a peer, in this case the band Wckr Spgt's odd and somewhat unsettling "Terrible Criminal" gets the Bruno treatment. "June Is As Cold As December" originally done by the Everly Brothers, also gets a faithful rendition, complete with some harmonies from longtime Human Hearts drummer Matt Houser.

Last summer, Bruno suffered a heart attack while vacationing in France. Thanks largely to the health care system in that country, the singer/guitarist was able to receive immediate treatment and was performing again before the year was out. As a fan and something of an acquaintance of Mr. B, it was scary to imagine someone so gifted being taken from us like that. I'm glad that he's better and hope that the new Human Hearts album will be in our hands before too long. 

Finally, the cover of Viable presents another homage - a hat tip to the new wave-era colors and cover art that were prevalent around 1980, specifically Epic Records' Nu-Disk series. 


Friday, January 19, 2024

You Won't Enjoy Fugazi On As Many Levels As I Do

Back during my college days, when the WPTS-FM office was my second home, I went to a party at an apartment where I used to live with a few guys from the station. At one point, a bunch of dudes standing around the keg starting hollering along with the song that was blasting from the stereo: "It's the End of the World As We Know It." These guys weren't bros in the way we think of "bros" in 2024. They were just some guys who had had a few beers and were trying to keep up with the rapid-fire lyrics of the song. (And I believe they did pretty well.)

I had already jumped off the REM bandwagon a few years earlier, in part because their more recent stuff had bored and in part because their audience soured me on them after the crowd booed Camper Van Beethoven when they opened for the Athens guys. I was at that age where things like that meant too much to me. 

Deep down, I knew "It's the End of the World" was a good song. (These days hits me heart in a special place, in fact.) But back then it was NOT THE KIND OF THING YOU SING DRUNKENLY WHILE YOU'RE STANDING AROUND A BEER KEG. That's not how you appreciate a song like this. You just.... you just... stop. Just stop, dammit. Do you even really appreciate the song, dudes?! I said that in my head, not out loud. I just rolled my eyes.

I thought of this scene recently and laughed at myself for being such a tight ass, recalling Professor Frink in that episode of The Simpsons when he scientifically explains the way a kindergarten toy works. One of the tykes asks if she can play with it. "No, you can't play with it," he snaps. "You won't enjoy it on as many levels as I do." 

There was no reason to get so bugged. After all, they were just having a good time. No, they weren't listening to Big Dipper but they weren't treating "We Didn't Start the Fire" or "I'll Be Lovin' You (Forever)" with the same enthusiasm either. Let the dudes have their fun, my current self thinks.

The reason I was taken back to this time (aside from a memory for things like this) has to do with a video I saw on Instagram earlier this week. It was a 45-second clip of kids from the Cleveland School of Rock performing live. Specifically, it was a group of teenagers, mostly young women, singing the Fugazi song "Waiting Room." These weren't serious looking straight edge kids either. These were all American looking girls in sundresses with spaghetti straps jumping all over the stage. In other words, not the types of kids you'd expect to be singing Fugazi. 

But they sounded really good. The music was tight, with the right amount of staccato buzz in the guitars. (Not sure if the kid on the cowbell was really necessary but why leave anyone out?) The singers were barking out the words with the same kind of urgency that you'd expect from Ian MacKaye. They did their homework.

But go the comments, and people were NOT happy. "Punk is dead." Random comments about suburban kids having the gall to sing Fugazi songs. There were probably more about the group of predominantly young ladies performing the song and how wrong that is. (Even though the bassist was playing a Rickenbacker! Salute!) 

I realize people love going on social media and pissing on the parade. When 20 people have talked about how much they like an album, there's got to be one schlub who say it sucks. Even though EVERYBODY ALREADY KNOW IT, it's important to remind readers how awful Morrissey's politics are. Or how John Lydon supports Donald Trmpf (which I still have trouble believing, seriously.) 

Social media allows us to legitimize these ornery positions too. Which classic songs do you hate? What music do you intentionally ignore? The latter category - which, granted is rare - is one that gets under my skin and gets to the heart of this situation. "I've heard it done before - and much better." Why are these things always a competition? Why does one song/band/version have to be evaluated next to another one? I used to hear this from musicians. "We can play it better than the original." In a lot of situations, that wasn't the case, having been the person doing the singing (and hearing live recordings on which me and the correct pitch were across the room from each other.) Just because a group of musicians has more chops than, say, the Adverts, does that mean their version of "Gary Gilmore's Eyes" will sound better? If Toto played "God Save the Queen" how would it sound? It's not a competition.

A lot of times a band that is accused of trying to "rip off" some predecessor isn't doing that either. Maybe I'm naive, but it seems like homage or inspiration is at work more than "oh, they're just trying to sound like [pick a band]." There are only 12 notes in the Western scale. If a band is banging an E chord than a G chord, maybe there's a good chance their trying to rewrite the Stooges' "1970" but maybe they just stumbled upon an easy, raunchy sounding progression on their own. Listen to how they play, and how they might look as they're playing it. Does they seemed charged up? That's what matters. Those Cleveland kids were ripping into "Waiting Room" like they had just seen Fugazi. They weren't ripping them off. Maybe they weren't as dead serious as Ian and Guy and the band was, but let them have their fun. Maybe they will change the world for the better, if not with music with their actions.

In doing further investigation, I found out that clip is several years old and has passed around IG a few times. (Chances are, someone has already written this exact post about it.) The posted version that caught my eye earlier this week, with all the grouchy comments, can't be found. If the one I just found is the same post, all but a few comments have been taken down, including one I made. I paraphrased a song by MacKaye's previous band, Minor Threat. "At least they're trying... what the f*** have you done?!"

Years after rolling my eyes at my college brethen for singing REM, I had two chances to play that song live. One came at a Halloween-time show where I played in a pick-up group doing REM tunes. The other one I ended up missing because I was sidelined with COVID: the band at the Unitarian-Universalist Church that I attend played it as part of a sermon. (They found a fill-in.)

Yeah, the 22-year old me would have said the latter one was cheesy, but he needs to shut up.