Monday, September 28, 2015

CD Review: Mike Reed's People, Places & Things - A New Kind of Dance


Mike Reed's People Places & Things
A New Kind of Dance
(482) www.482music.com

"...[A]ll the music I assembled for this recording was intended to inspire or allude to dancing; albeit maybe an abstract style," says drummer Mike Reed in the liner notes to A New Kind of Dance.

Sure enough, Reed launches the title track and the sixth People, Places & Things album with a swinging, syncopated-funk backbeat. It won't be mistaken for an attempt at mainstream jazz, though, since the tune also has pianist Matthew Shipp sitting in with the Chicago group, stretching and rolling over his keys. In fact it takes a few measures to find the One in Reed's groove. Right as that happens, saxophonists Greg Ward (alto) and Tim Haldeman (tenor) fire the staccato theme of the head and disappear just as quickly, letting Shipp take the first solo.

I've only heard half of PP&T's discography, but if conclusions can be drawn from that amount of exposure, they are one of the most exciting groups in a city overcrowded with exciting bands. Reed started the band to pay tribute to overlooked Chicago jazz players like John Jenkins, Wilbur Ware and Frank Strozier. 2010's Stories and Negotiations even brought veterans Art Hoyle, Ira Sullivan and Julian Priester into the fold. (Reviews of those PPT albums and one other Reed project can be found here.)

Shipp and trumpeter Marquis Hill each join the quartet (which includes bassist Jason Roebke) on a set that splits evenly between Reed compositions and a few well-picked covers that reach beyond the group's original source of inspiration. The results yield a set that shifts gears on every track without letting the energy or focus wane. It indeed can inspire dancing, if only in your head.

The group follows the opener with "Markovsko Horo," a traditional Bulgarian folk dance that sounds like rubato klezmer music. Hill adds color to the music that recalls Don Cherry's tartness. Rather than opening it up for solos, Reed ingeniously cuts it short, wrapping up after the theme and an accelerando that gives the horns a few quick moments to blow. The music goes to South Africa for the bright "Kwela for Taylor," written by reedist Michael Moore (of ICP, Clusone Trio and others). The late South African musician Sean Bergin is remembered with his "AKA Reib Letsma," where the backbeat gets even more pronounced and the saxophonists blow in unison and in shrieks of joy that dance around each other. The only problem with this track comes with the abrupt ending, right as Roebke and Reed seemed to be getting into a heavy breakdown.

Before they get to that number, they also do some serious business to "Fear Not of Men," originally done by the rapper Mos Def, and "Star Crossed Lovers," an Ellington/Strayhorn number in which Ward, Haldeman and Hill are left on their own for two minutes, largely playing off the theme, with gentle backing from Roebke.

As good as the interpretations sound, Reed's own writing should not be overlooked. "Candyland," Ornette-ish in both the theme's delivery and brevity, brings out the best of the quartet with some blowing that sounds like a throwback to the original era of the New Thing - complete with new excitement. Both do the same on the free-wheeling "Wonderland." Shipp gets his Andrew Hill on in "Jackie's Tune," stopping you in your tracks to consider where these great ideas are coming from.

To make a short story long, there isn't a dud on this album. Far from it.

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Television in Pittsburgh

Yesterday afternoon, a co-worker asked me how the Love Letters' show went this past Wednesday at Arsenal Lanes. Really well, I recalled, although there were a few big goof-ups. We stopped one song a few bars into it and had to restart it. "Oooh," my friend replied. "You can't do that. You gotta keep it going!" I agreed, clarifying that it wasn't me that did it.

A few hours later, Tom Verlaine did the same thing during Television's show at the Carnegie Music Hall. Granted his situation was different. He didn't realize they were playing "Venus" next and he had retuned for a different song. In this case, there's no way of faking your way through a song, or retuning as you're playing, unless you have some super skill - and a good tuning pedal. The point is, if he can do it, I guess we can too.

But that's only a minor quibble that I had, and it's a more appropriate opening thought that doesn't give away the big feeling I had during the band's set, which I will mention in a moment.

Taking in the opulence of the Carnegie Music Hall, with a stage that was alternately bathed in blue or what felt like pink lights, my co-hort mentioned that this was a long way from CBGB, which the band helped put on the map and vice versa. The stage was huge, with plenty of room for all four members, who walked out casually, giving a wave or a nod to the audience. And then they tuned.

After a swirling, almost soundcheck/stage volume check intro, Tom Verlaine hit the opening riff of "See No Evil." Everything feel into place. Jimmy Rip, who has played in Verlaine's solo band since the early 1980s, played the countermelody precisely. As the evening continued, he would replicate all of Richard Lloyd's solos, as if he transcribed them and committed them to memory. It's not a criticism, just an observation.

Television stuck with songs from their landmark Marquee Moon album, going in a running order different than the album, without adding any other songs to the set as they proceeded. Each break between songs brought suspense with it. What would be next? Will it sound as great as the last song? "Friction" contained one of the best guitar solos of the evening, with Verlaine skronking up the fretwork rapidly, making it look like it was easy.

After "Guiding Light," there was only one song left from the album - the 10-minute title track. Verlaine and Rip dropped tuned. (The tuning breaks threatened to kill momentum a couple times and made me think of my brother saying how a bandmate of his did it incessantly. Glad he missed that part of the evening.) Then that plink-plink intro of "Marquee Moon" started. And the crowd went wild.

And then I saw God.

Let me back up a little. Although said brother bought Marquee Moon when it came out, I didn't hear and appreciate it until five years later. That started to happen when I heard the title track on the radio, and I got so lost in it that I was calling WRCT everyday for about a week because I needed to hear it on a daily basis.

After the third verse, right before Verlaine launches his guitar solo and Richard Lloyd is banging out that riff, I always had this feeling of Here it comes, the magic is about to start. Like the way I feel when the Jack Rabbit pulls out of the station and around the corner at Kennywood.

Verlaine started the solo in a very similar manner to the record, low and casual, fiddling with his volume with his left hand as his right hand picked away. Then he threw in some wild harmonics that kicked it up a few notches. Then it happened. I don't know exactly what, and I'm not going to try and explain it theoretically or viscerally but the sounds he was pulling out of that guitar hit me like no other show I've ever seen. I've heard people say that they've felt like they've seen God at a show and maybe that was the result of a chemically altered brain, but mine had no alterations. Just a typical amount of caffeine and not quite enough dinner. But it was perfect. It was the built-up hope of how you want to hear a song after hearing at home for over 30 years, knowing how you want it to sound, and HAVING IT SOUND EVEN BETTER THAN THAT.

When the band walked offstage following that song, they had only played about an hour, and I would've been satisfied at that point. I wondered if they were going to do an intermission, come back and play all of Adventure, wrapping that set up with "Little Johnny Jewel."

But they came back on and hit right away with "Little Johnny Jewel," which was taut, though not quite as frantic as the original single. That was followed by a ballad of sorts that could have been a '50s love song, though it was a little too Verlaine-ish for that. A version of Count Five's "Psychotic Reaction" followed, with a rave up in the middle that left both Count Five and the Yardbirds (the song's original inspiration) in the dust. A strange coda was slow and trippy, almost a stand-alone different song, butit linked to the preceding tune by Verlaine repeating the lyrics.

I was cool with that. Hell, I had seen God. Or Coltrane.


Monday, September 21, 2015

CD Review: Wes Montgomery - In the Beginning


Wes Montgomery
In the Beginning
(Resonance) resonancerecords.org

This one has been out for a while, but it's worth another go-around because it shouldn't be missed.

There have been early recordings of Wes Montgomery performing in his hometown of Indianapolis. And there are live recordings by other artists where the historical impact sometimes outweighs the sonic aspects. This is definitely the former, but not the latter. The history is there and so is the sound quality. And the sound will  make a casual Wes Montgomery fan, with just a working knowledge of his recordings, want to go out and dive into all of them. Even the latter day more commercial ones, for completion.

Most of In the Beginning dates back to 1955 and 1956. Wes's guitar is heard in a quintet with his brothers Monk (bass) and Buddy (piano), with tenor saxophonist Albert "Pookie" Johnson and drummer Sonny Johnson. The Johnsons were not related but they sound like it, due to the way they blend with the Brothers Montgomery. The guitar, tenor and piano harmonize in a rapid and  incredibly rich intro to "Fascinating Rhythm," where the piano almost sounds like an organ when it combines with the other two instruments. In this setting, Wes's tone starts out sounding round and smooth, but there are moments where he cuts loose and sounds like he's shooting sparks, with the wild tone he gets from his guitar. What's even more of a shock is a lot of this magic happened at the Turf Club, a venue that would allow the Montgomery-Johnson Quintet to play but would only admit white patrons, at least initially. It's hard to imagine such inspiration coming from a rather oppressive space.

The quintet recorded five songs in New York City around that same time, with Quincy Jones producing the session for the fledgling Epic label. All five are included on the second disc, all of them showing the group to be as tight in the studio as they were onstage. Some of it could have easily made its way on to Blue Note, but only "Love for Sale" has been previously released (on a 1983 album of unreleased tracks from the Columbia vaults).

Also included is a reading of Benny Goodman's "Soft Winds" where Wes stretches out, as does Mel Rhyne, on piano rather than his trademark B3 organ. A recording made at Wes' sister's house finds her brother picking up the bass for "Ralph's New Blues," a spotlight for Buddy's vibes. Three long-lost 78s by a group called Gene Morris & the Hamptones also appear, dating back to 1949, two of them coming through travels that took Resonance's Zev Feldman to Austria to find them.

Being a Resonance package, In the Beginning is festooned with a 56-page booklet that overflows with: track-by-track credits; observations by Bill Milkowski and Ashley Kahn; and interviews with Quincy Jones, bassist Dr. Larry Ridley and photojournalist Duncan Schiedt, the latter two who lived in Indianapolis. An excerpt from Buddy Montgomery's unpublished book offers further insight into the rapport among the Montgomery family members. If that wasn't enough, Pete Townshend penned a touching essay about the significance of Wes Montgomery's music to both the pre-Who guitarist and his father. While contributions like this often rest on their star power, Townshend hits the emotional nerve directly, doing Montgomery a great service while talking largely about the guitarist's impact.

The sense of history with the set is almost overpowering. It's tempting to get existential about the whole thing and ponder what would have happened if the Montgomerys never strayed beyond their hometown, etc. etc. Rather than take that route, just put the music on and get lost in it, which is easy to do, especially during moments when the crowd goes wild during a "Night in Tunisia" guitar solo that includes a sideways quote from another tune. Soak up the music and then remember to support your local musicians because if this group could make musical history in the mid-'50s in front of a select few, that means you might be hearing history today. And it's important not to miss anything.

PS Resonance is going to be releasing package by the late organist Larry Young before too long. I can't wait!


Sunday, September 20, 2015

Last Night's Dr. Lonnie Smith Show, in which Donny meets Dr. Lonnie

I took Donovan with me last night to see Dr. Lonnie Smith. It felt like a risk because the kid is not really a jazz fan, at least not yet. And the last time I took him to a jazz show, he got pretty restless halfway through, when the snacks ran out.

But the previous show didn't involve a Hammond B3 organ, which I somehow managed to get him interested in. And Dr. Lonnie Smith is probably the last of the prime B3 masters so Donny needed to see this. Someday, he'll thank me.

The New Hazlett Theater, on the North Side, piqued Donny's interest immediately. He remembered being there for Ben Opie's large scale performance in the spring of 2014, and he ran up to the building pretty excitedly. He wanted to sit on the upper level, so we sat stage right, which was perfect because we could look down and see Dr. Lonnie's whole arsenal clearly: the B3 keys, pedals, TWO Leslie cabinets, plus a sampler that had a huge circle and the sound of a conga. He also had two small (like vintage Casio size) keyboards on top of his organ and a Yamaha Motif XF8. These keys had pre-programmed sounds, the former two sounding like an Enchanted forest noises, while the XF8 had percussive loops. It seemed like we had the perfect spot.

We did. The good Doctor made his entrance, with guitarist Jonathan Kreisberg and drummer Kendrick Scott, decked out in a long flowing white outfit and his trademark turban. As he got his bearings he mentioned the Hurricane Lounge - the long gone Hill District club that featured organ players in the '50s and '60s - and naturally he got a rise out of the audience. After a quick talk about owner Birdie Dunlap and about Smith's hookup with George Benson, they dug into the music.

"Back Track" began with slow suspense, Smith hitting the conga trigger, Scott scraping a stick on a cymbal and Kreisberg using a wah effect. The lengthy theme hit a roaring climax near the end of the chorus, which Kreisberg and Smith used with skill to wow the audience.

I've noticed that a number of B3 organists let their sideman solo first, which lets the organ have the final say without being followed by anyone. Smith was no exception, giving Kreisberg the first solo most of the time, then tearing things up. Early on, he showed a visceral, rhythmic approach that went beyond the keyboard: playing, clapping, hitting the conga trigger and - most significantly - singing along with what he was playing. We were treated to some standard B3 sounds - a lot of runs up and down the keyboard, along with some extended trilling - which never sounded routine. It was all placed skillfully and exciting to see and hear live. "Mellow Mood," a Jimmy Smith tune, sounded like a Latin boogaloo, with a fast, boppish line.

Smith knew how to put on a show, from the way he played to the way he talked between sets. That made total sense, as he had family and some old friends in the audience. At one point, he flubbed the name of a song, which led to jokes about his old age, and pretending to forget where he was. So he repeatedly joked, "I don't know the name of this song, but you don't either," which in turn became more of a joke when the song in question was "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," naturally a showcase for Scott in the introduction. And don't laugh, because the break in that song serves as a good blowing vehicle for the guitar and organ.

But while he acted as a showman, Smith also worked adventure into the second set of the evening. A version of Thelonious Monk's "Straight No Chaser" superimposed the melody line (peeled off rapidly by Kreisberg) over a organ swirl that sounded like Miles Davis' "It's About that Time." Smith proved that the blues doesn't have to sound the same each time.

"My Favorite Things" has been done by many jazz musicians since John Coltrane gave it some jazz cred, but the trio took it further than most. They gave it the kind of intensity one would expect from Trane. Smith's organ lines even seemed to go for Trane-like vocabulary, as Scott pushed the intensity up further than further. When they reached the song's coda and held it furiously, it felt like we had reached lift-off.

There were a few more tunes after that. What looked like Smith's metal walking stick became a diddly bo in Smith's hands, an instrument that emitted low - and sub-basement low - sounds when Smith whacked it with his thumb. Walking around the stage, pausing to hit a stomp box for distortion and imitate Jimi Hendrix (his words), he eventually made his way back to the organ for one more tune. But that "My Favorite Things" coda wasn't going to be topped.

During intermission, Donny decided he wanted to try to meet Dr. Lonnie. We didn't get close to him then, because he was sitting at a table signing CDs and shaking hands. But after the second set, we headed back to the table quickly and I helped ease the boy up to the good doctor, who gracefully shook his hand. Both seemed to be impressed with one another. You have to admire a guy in his 70s who can play that intensely and then get deluged by fans immediately after a set. What a trooper.


Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Television and Dr. Lonnie Smith - Here in Pittsburgh

I have two articles in Pittsburgh City Paper this week: a feature on Television, who are coming to town next week, on September 25; and a short Q&A with Dr. Lonnie Smith, whose B3 organ skills will be happening at the Hazlett Theater this coming Saturday. There is a longer version of our conversation online, and it can be found here.

Monday, September 14, 2015

CD Review: Duke Ellington & His Orchestra - The Conny Plank Session


Duke Ellington & His Orchestra 
The Conny Plank Session
(Gr├Ânland)

Worlds are colliding here. 

Conny Plank, the German studio producer/engineer who would later work with Kraftwerk, Scorpions, Ultravox and Killing Joke, crossed paths with Duke Ellington when the esteemed bandleader was in Germany during 1970. How it happened isn't exactly clear, but it seems as if Duke wanted to rent out a studio space for rehearsal and/or wanted to record the session for future reference. Plank got the gig most likely through his connection to Wolfgang Hirschmann, the main engineer for Westdeutscher Rundfunk (WDR) big band. 


What came from the session probably won't offer major revelations or speculations about the meeting. Band lineup is sketchy to everyone except Ellington experts, who probably know the whole chronology of his bands. The session only contains three takes each of two different Ellington compositions, totaling about 30 minutes of music. (Two of them have even been released previously, according to lore.) But by and large, each one offers differences that show the Ellington mind at work.

"Alerado" is a bright, uptempo number that spotlights organist Wild Bill Davis, who answers the melody line played by the horns. He gets solo space, as does a trumpeter identified in the press kit as Cat Anderson, though the buttery brass almost sounds like a flugelhorn, suggesting it could be Clark Terry. A tenor saxophone comes up in the coda too.

The first two takes sound like they were only considered as reference recordings. Take 1 cuts off abruptly, though close to what would be the end of the tune. Take 2 has some microphone noise in, like a stand is being adjusted or someone's shuffling past it. Take 3 moves at a slower tempo with an alto solo.

Fine as that one sounds, "Afrique" is the more intriguing tune. Built on a tom-tom riff, it's the sound of Ellington updating his take on cinematic music. No stranger to soundtracks, Duke creates what could be chase music from a then-current film. Low brass answers high reeds, plunger mutes abound, and counter-rhythms skate on top of the tom beat, not always completely in sync with it. Take One is a two minutes longer than the other two, stopping before the end. Two and three add fast upper register bass strums and make it to the final minor chord blast (imagine the end of a climactic chase!), following a tenor cadenza that might 45 years later, builds a bridge to Archie Shepp's trio version of "Sophisticated Lady."

The wildest moment of the disc comes in Take Three of "Afrique," which adds an unidentified soprano vocalist. Speculation has suggested that the pipes might belong to Plank's wife or a "Scandinavian mistress of Duke's" but whomever it is, she possesses a range like Yma Sumac with a delivery that blends that artist with the fervor of Diamanda Galas. She doesn't really add to the performance, but in this context - rife with pure discovery and speculation - it feels entertaining.

[Weird things that happened while writing this review. For one thing, I tried to find out some more info about the lineup of the Ellington Orchestra on this disc, to no avail. Usually I don't like going in half-informed, because I'm sure there's someone out there now, who can rattle off everyone's name. So be it.

Second, while trying to find a link to a website for Gr├Ânland Records, I feel like I very nearly got hacked, with an annoying beep like an alarm clock blaring at a high pitch, and a blue screen coming up with a warning to call a 1-866 number. Normally I encourage purchases directly from the label, but this really freaked me out, so buyers should have a record store order it for them instead, if you ask me.)

Sunday, September 06, 2015

Prepping for Dr. Lonnie Smith, two weeks of catching up, estate sales

Right now I'm listening to/sort of watching a live performance of Dr. Lonnie Smith on youtube. I'm interviewing the good doctor in a few hours for City Paper since he's coming to town later this month. Then I am leaving town for the day to visit family in Ohio.

I felt like I was on a roll last month, trying to listen to more music and write about it here. That unfortunately lasted just a couple weeks. What happened? One thing was I got bit by the estate sale bug again. I had a couple Saturdays off of work and decided to venture out to a few sales in hopes of finding some vinyl. The first couple excursions were a bust. Then one Sunday morning - when I did have to go straight into work afterwards - I wandered into a sale. I had gone the day before, because I read the paper wrong, and wondered why there was no line waiting to get in.

The next morning was completely different. The line snaked past the next house and down around the corner. I queued up behind two dudes with mullets and the thickest Pittsburghese accents I've heard in ages. Despite Dude #2's misgivings, they did let us all in at once, but two of the guys at the front of the line - WHO BROUGHT THEIR OWN BOXES WITH THEM - were already filling said boxes with vinyl by the time I made it into the garage. Frantically I ran to the first floor because the sellers said there were more records upstairs. I only found CDs, though there was some good ones, including Sonny Rollins' Way Out West and Charles Mingus' The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady. I never owned, or even heard the former, and I have the latter in a vinyl reissue that doesn't include the extensive liner notes. So at $2 a pop, I figured I better get them.

When the box dudes made it upstairs, I decided to head back down. Somehow they missed a nice mono copy of the Stones' December's Children and Meet the Beatles. There were also some really perfect-looking Sinatra albums, that were flawed only by the fact that there were dates written on the back in pen in the upper left corner. Judging from the condition, they must have been dates when the records were played. There were also some Nat King Cole albums and some Verve-era Ella Fitzgerald discs.Then I came across a box of 78s, but they were all in albums and there was nothing of note. My friend Jay also found them and I figured I'd leave them to him. I grabbed what amounted to about 15 albums and got in line to pay.

A guy behind me was eyeballing both December's Children and Meet the Beatles. I hadn't really had the chance to check the condition on all of them, and I offered Meet the Beatles to him. Figured it was good record karma, and that he would give it a better home.

On the way out, this guy told me how the guys with the boxes always get to sales before him. Except for the time he went out to a "1000s of records" estate sale in Zelienople and got in line at 4 a.m. He beat them.

And there were 1000s of records, sure.

All by the likes of Ray Conniff.

So this excursion has gotten me back into auctioning albums, a rather masochistic thing when all is said and done because of all the hoops you have to jump through in order to do it. But sometimes the payoff seems like it's worth it. And I've had some luck lately.

In other news, the Love Letters finally got back on stage this past Friday, at the Bayardstown Social Club, down in the Strip District. A little rain fell on this outdoor space, but there are tents which cover the picnic table areas and they put one up over the sound system. And the rain only lasted about 15-20 minutes.

It was kind of a weird-feeling set, because the stage was pretty small and it being outside, the sound just wafted away, without there being time for it sink in.

The Accidentals, from Michigan, headlined, and at first I thought it wasn't going to be the best pairing. They're fronted by a couple of 18/19-year old ladies who play a bunch of different instruments (violin, electric bodyless cello, bass and acoustic guitars) and play them all really well. And they're more in the singer-songwriter vein than we are.

But they were great. Very tight. Their drummer, Michael Dause (spelled differently but same name as our drummer's late father, who was also a drummer) had a kit that consisted of a kick drum, cymbals and a drum that I think is called a cajon, which you sit on. He used that where most people would use a snare and it sounded great.

Normally their stuff might not be my cup of tea - the regular introduction of band members following a solo was a little Vegas; and beatboxing just seems kind of quaint to me - they were all really nice and engaging. Glad we played with them.