The Public Image of Record Store Day

Record Store Day edition of Public Image Ltd's "First Issue" on my kitchen table

I've opined about Record Store Day many times, over many years. At this point in time, my approach to the day and the releases goes something like this: Let everyone have their fun. If someone gets excited over an Emerson, Lake and Palmer picture disc, fine. If there is yet another live set by Bill Evans coming out and that interests people, good. If someone shopping for RSD releases wanders over to the non-RSD crates and buys something on impulse because it looks intriguing, that means RSD is doing its job. 

This past Saturday, I finished off an article for JazzTimes on Ingrid Laubrock (which you can read here if you're interested - and you should be) and I had a few hours before I had to go to work. So going out and trying to check out RSD releases seemed like a good way to reward myself after completing an assignment. Plus, there was one album that I would snag if I saw it.

After a trip to Government Center, where I picked up the new Destroyer album Dan's Boogie (because I have to have every new Destroyer album) and the anniversary reissue of Belly's King album, I cruised past the Attic, where the line stretched down the street and headed to Rosie's Records in Lawrenceville (originally called Long Play Cafe before they moved down Butler Street). 

In the shop, I held up Public Image Ltd's First Issue, with the first ever release of the US mix that never came out, and Brian the owner got very excited. He said that was the only thing he ordered that he himself thought was really cool. So both of us were happy.

The story goes that PiL was told that they didn't enough material to fill their debut album. To remedy the situation, John Lydon and Jah Wobble went into the studio and cranked out "Fodderstompf," nearly eight minutes of a repetitive bass line and drum machine, over which the two repeated variations on the line "We only wanted to be loved" in falsetto, not unlike the cast of Monty Python when they dressed as women. At one point, Wobble rapidly spews, "We only wanted to finish the album with a minimum of effort, which we are now doing successfully." Towards the end, he also starts shooting off a fire extinguisher. 

After all that, "Fodderstompf" does not appear on the new edition of First Issue. Neither does the spoken piece "Religion I" or the version that adds a heavy groove to it, "Religion II." In place of the former track, we get "Swan Lake," which was released as a single under the name "Death Disco" and also appeared on Metal Box, the band's second album. In lieu of "Religion," "Annalisa," the song that ends Side One,  now clocks in at ten minutes, making it longer than the album's opening salvo-cum-endurance-test "Theme." However, the extra four minutes are not an extended jam but a track of noodling piano and moaning vocals. It's a little funny.

The big difference, though, is the sound of the album. First Issue was originally mixed with a thunderous bass sound, like the dub reggae that the PiL's loved. It had a round sound where the attack of Jah Wobble's bass was not as prominent as the way it resonated after the note was struck. A year ago, I found a used copy of the original album and when I told my brother - who bought it when it came out in 1978 - that "Theme" skipped a few times, he replied, "They all did." Perhaps the pummel of Wobble and drummer Jim Walker were too much for US turntables. (I've been meaning to increase the weight on my tone arm to see if it would help, but really I don't mind if a few skips skim a little time off the nine-minute track.) 

The new issue, which claims on the hype sticker to be the mix that was slated for release in the US during the fall of 1979, has a mix more like a rock album. The bass is still loud in "Theme," but the sub-woofer feel isn't quite there. Walker's snare has more gated echo on it before Lydon starts moaning, so the crack of the beat sounds like an explosion. Instead of sounding like he's moaning from across the room, little John is front and center now. Levene's steady caterwauling guitar now plays second fiddle to him, which is too bad since his playing is more interested than the overwrought lyrics.

It's funny how Lydon and Levene, when they appeared on Tom Snyder's Tomorrow, talked about how boring rock and roll had become, when their opening salvo had some close contact with a slow blues rock. Of course, the guitarist's final electric shriek wasn't something one would hear on a Led Zeppelin album at that time.

"Annalisa" puts more focus on Walker's drums, in particular the high-hat and snare, rather than the thump of his whole kit. The same goes for the song "Public Image," which also tames the guitar a little bit. It also ends with a different echo on Lydon's "goodbye." Conversely, the guitar tames down the vocals on "Low Life" and "Attack." The latter originally sounded like it was coming out of a transistor radio and it now sports a better vocal mix. The two songs now segue in a delay loop that could have happened in '78 but sounds a little modern. 

"Swan Lake," the one non-original track, gives Wobble a slightly more more clarity this time. Instead of fading in a loop of the last line ("Words cannot express"), it meanders on for a few extra minutes, perhaps proving that the original band knew when to edit, "Fodderstompf" not withstanding.

One further observation: The inner sleeve, like the cover featured headshots of Levene and Walker on each side, in keeping with the magazine-style theme of the cover. The reissue comes in a plain black die-cut sleeve, with an insert that reproduces the Levene photo. The flip of it has new album credits but no picture of the departed drummer. Of course, there is no instrumentation listed anywhere either. 

In the end, it was worth it. The whole trip, the camaraderie of record buying folks, the excitement felt by the seller as well as the buyer. Not to mention the fact that I actually found what I was looking for. 

Magnetic Fields Brings The Book of Love Back to the Stage

This may be a given to all people that are in the know, but it's worth putting on record: Stephin Merritt, in addition to being a songwriter with wit and rhyming skills akin to no less than Cole Porter, is also an amazing crooner. When his deep voice croaks out tunes like "I Shatter," accentuated by some distortion, his pipes might seem novel at first. But when he unfurls one of his beautiful ballads like "The Book of Love," he knows exactly where your heartstring lie and he gives them a gentle tug. Even if he's wearing a faded t-shirt with the band Yes' logo on it, you still might be tempted to slip him your phone number.

The feeling became clear just a few songs into the first of Magnetic Fields' two-night stay at the Carnegie Lecture Hall, the space connected to the Carnegie Library in Pittsburgh's Oakland neighborhood. Last Saturday and Sunday, Merritt and his crew played all 69 of the tunes on their revered 69 Love Songs album, which turned 25 years old last fall.  The magnum opus, which spreads across three CDs (and has appeared on six 10" vinyl records) changes sonically from track to track so playing the whole thing is a bit of a herculean task. But the five-piece lineup of the band arranged the songs in a manner that retained the initial feel of each tune, adding different elements where they were needed. And the played the whole thing in order.

The second picture here shows the stage set-up, taken before Saturday's set. Merritt can be a little particular about things onstage. (Years ago, a friend saw him throw a bottle of water at a chatty couple during a New York show, leaving the room silent for the rest of the set.) So I wasn't sure if snapping a photo mid-set would be tolerated, and if nothing else, a layout of their instrumentation seemed warranted. When the band came out, they consisted of Shirley Simms (ukelele, vocals), Chris Ewen (keyboards), Sam Davol (cello), Anthony Kaczynski (guitar, vocals) and Merritt (who played some sort of sampler/keyboard, in addition to singing).

Surprise re-arrangements came immediately. Opener "Absolutely Cuckoo," normally fast and in a slightly jumpier time signature, felt relaxed in a steady 4/4. When Ewen delivered a banjo sample during the melancholic "All My Little Words," the fear started that the night be more like Magnetic Fields karaoke, but my skepticism was wiped away within a few songs. Merritt added some counterpoint vocals to Simms' lead in "Come Back From San Francisco." "Punk Love," one of the more jokey interludes on the album where the title is repeated as the tempo accelerates, sounded more anthemic in real life. To summarize the less-than-happy feeling about our nation's capital, the usually bouncy "Washington, D.C." was delivered at a slower tempo, with finger snaps that captured the mood.

Merritt, as a front man, has the amazing skill of being deadpan and hilarious at the same time. He dryly noted that the album has several types of songs ("Love is Like..." songs, animal songs, and even dead animal songs). Like Thelonious Monk, he can slay with just a few words. He cut loose during the goofy "Love Is Like Jazz," copping a French beatnik feel and playing with one of those toys that moos like a cow and a spring echo tube. Davol took things further, walking offstage and coming back with toy dinosaurs for each band member to use. (The Natural History Museum is connected to the Lecture Hall, for those out-of-town readers.) Speaking of Monk, I could be wrong but it seemed like Kaczynski quoted the pianist's great "Crepiscule With Nellie" before things were through. Bonus points in my book.

The guitarist also wrapped up Night #1 with a dramatic performance of "Promises of Eternity." Merritt sings it on the album but he deserved a rest after the evening's big workout. It didn't seem like a coincidence that the song playing over the p.a. as we walked out was the Monkees' "Tommorow's Gonna Be Another Day." We still had 34 more songs to hear.

Night #2 put another idea in my head. While there are numerous tracks on 69 Love Songs that play in my head, randomly triggered by things having nothing to do with the band, there are still a wealth of them that I just know in passing. And there are plenty of gems among them. "The Death of Ferdinand de Saissure," with Merritt, Simms and Kaczynski harmonizing together, was one.

69 Love Songs doesn't exactly go out with a band on "Zebra," though it does have a laugh. Merritt prefaced the song with the warning, "After this song, there will be a 25-year intermission," riffing on his announcement of the show's real intermission earlier. But when the final song was done, there was a wave from the band, once again Ewen took a photo from the stage, and they were off.

Yes, it was all we could ask for. They had played 69 songs, with nary a flub throughout both nights. But after my big musical weekend (see the previous post), it was also a bit of a letdown, knowing that reality would be back the following morning.

But that's just me.  

Ida Still Knows About Me, Tsunami Still Mows You Down

Last Friday, March 28, I traveled to Philadelphia, via King of Prussia (where my brother lives) to see Ida and Tsunami, who were in the midst of their Coin Toss tour. Both bands were active in the late '90s/ early '00s. Ida was probably one of my favorite bands around that time, combining indie rock sensibilities with some of the most exquisite harmonies ever heard in that vein of music or any other for that matter. I wasn't the type to go on road trips to see bands back then, but I once journeyed on a Monday night to Cleveland to see them, in a car with my wife and friend Leslie, with whom I was starting the band Up the Sandbox. (We didn't really sound like Ida at all but we probably tried to create a mood similar to their work. But maybe that's idealized revisionism.)

I always wanted to get into Tsunami because they had their own label (Simple Machines) who put out a lot of cool music, which showed greater support for the independent scene in general. Plus they were fronted by two women, and having spent nine years in a band with two women who did a lot of writing and singing, it was clear that they were cool.  But me with my limited record buying funds just never got around to them. They came to Pittsburgh once (at least) and played the upstairs room of the Oakland Beehive, but somehow I missed that show. (A current co-worker of mine recently unearthed some photos of that night.) I was probably working. 

So Friday was a night to catch up and to reminisce. 

The name of the tour comes from the fact that the order of performers is not determined until the show starts. (I had forgotten this timing detail and felt shamed when I asked the merch guy the order, thinking that it was determined during soundcheck. Oops.) Both bands came out onstage as "Also Sprach Zarathustra" played over the p.a. Everyone looked deadly serious, which is funny since they're all pretty charming. Franklin Bruno (did I mention the great songwriter of the Inland Empire was sitting in with Tsunami?) gave someone in Ida the "you're going down" look which was especially hilarious. The coin - which seemed to be designed for this tour - was flipped and Ida went on first. As they took their places, Bruno offered to take three questions. One dealt with the nickname on everyone's jacket, his being "Pudding." He offered that it might not be a term of endearment from his wife, but it would fit. Alas, I forgot my scoop pad, so I didn't scribble down any info about the other two questions, or the music that followed.

Suffice to say, Ida was everything I had hoped. The core lineup of Dan Littleton and Elizabeth Mitchell (guitars, pictured above), bassist Karla Schickele (bass, below) and Michael "Miggy" Littleton (drums) were augmented by violinist Jean Cook, who has played with them before. She also offered between-song banter while everyone returned. As I had suspected, the (relatively) younger woman playing keyboards and guitar with them was Dan and Liz's daughter Storey. 

After all this time, and numerous albums, the big question was what would make it into the setlist. All stuff from their Simple Machines releases? How much from Will You Find Me, their magnum opus? How much later material, when the group was augmented by several more players. (I wore my Malarkies t-shirt that night, in homage to that duo, who appeared on some later Ida albums and with Schickele's band k. My Ida t-shirt is one of the few band shirts that I wore out, it seems.)

"Maybelle," the slow, unfolding piece from Will You Find Me, came early in the set, with Mitchell and Schickele harmonizing together beautifully. Everyone in the room seemed to hang on every note, especially when Littleton joined them on the chorus. "Requator," one of the songs where the band really rocks out and Mitchell really breathes fire, was an exciting surprise in the set.  I was also really happy to hear two of Schickele's songs, "Poor Dumb Bird" and "This Water."

When the group played New York, Mitchell said Thalia Zedek gave them a hard time for not letting Storey have a solo spot, so she had her moment center stage with "At a Diner" an original that shows that she learned some good lessons from Mom and Pop.

Each night of the tour has had special guests and tonight was no exception. Mary Lou Lord joined Ida for a cover of Bevis Frond's "He'd Be a Diamond" and Susie Ulrey came up for the band's "Downtown."

The bands must have figured that their audience does not want to stay out too too late these days, even on a Friday. There was no official break between bands. In fact, as soon as Ida was done, Tsunami's Jenny Toomey joined Dan onstage to play a song that they two had done in their project Liquorice. Being the great storyteller he is, Dan had to preface the song with a long, convoluted tall tale about the cover of the band's album on 4AD. 

Then the rest of Tsunami took the stage. Along with Jenny Toomey (left, above) and Kristen Thomson (right), the group was rounded out by Bruno, Rob Christiansen (bass) and Luther Gray (drums). The rhythm section was new to the fold, with an impressive background. Christiansen had played in a few bands from that era, including Eggs, and Gray also maintains a double-life as a free jazz drummer with people like Joe Morris. Bruno is a personal favorite for his work with Nothing Painted Blue and his more recent band, the Human Hearts. 

The evening made me want to pick up the recently released Tsunami box set to rediscover their whole catalog. Their set was a wide range of sound - rocking out, getting a little more melodic at times and never letting the high energy slow down. Richard Baluyut of the band Versus was their guest toward the end of the set. For encores, members of Ida joined them for covers of Lungfish's "Put Your Halo On" and a rousing version of Mission of Burma's "Academy Fight Song." (A few nights earlier, Clint Conley, who wrote and sang the Burma song, joined the band onstage in Somerville, MA.)

I overheard conversations in the audience where people talked about seeing the bands years ago, or putting one of them up for the night when they came to town. Upon running into one friend who I knew in Pittsburgh, a bit removed from the indie rock scene, I quickly met a friend of hers who had been in a band with Dan Littleton, pre-Ida. "Oh, you were in the hardcore band," I asked, remembering only a fragment of Littleton's past. But I guessed right. 

There was a time when it was easy for me to roll my eyes at 50-something people who seemed so invested in the music of their youth. As time goes on, you get a little more diplomatic about it. (In fact, I wouldn't think twice if I was asked to join a band play 1960s covers.) Now that I'm at this age, going wild at hearing songs live again, I can understand why the past can stir you up. At this same time, bands like Ida and Tsunami staked out their spot by going against the grain, or at the very least, setting their own standards for what they would do. Having hits wasn't the point, doing your own thing was the point. 

When you combine that with the feeling I still have, post-pandemic, that seeing a band live feels even more life-affirming that it did six years ago, it explains the energy that I felt last week. Keep that fire lit.

Trying to Catch Up/ Loving the Embarrassment

Here it is, the final days of February and the first blog post in over a month. Usually, January finds me pretty energized and prolific here, especially in the wake of Winter Jazz Fest. The entries usually stay fairly consistent until the spring, or even summer. Not this year. You'd think The Man came and took me away.

Not quite, thankfully. The good news is that my lack of blog posts can be attributed to being busy in other places. With JazzTimes back, online only at this point, I've been busy working on assignments for them. In addition to my dispatch on the Manhattan Marathon of Winter Jazz Fest (see previous blog post for a link), I've contributed three pieces this month:

Bassist Joe Sanders, a Milwaukee native who now resides in France and recently released his album Parallels

My Overdue Ovation on bassist Steve Tintweiss, a piece which was overdue itself, having been slated to run in JazzTimes around this time two years ago, right before the magazine was sold and the new owner (who has since sold it) got rid of all of us "gatekeepers."  That piece appeared on this site but the version in the link has been tightened up and updated. 

Trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire, whose latest album, honey from a winter stone, recently came out on Nonesuch Records. 

It's great being back in the JzzTimes fold, as my first entry into the magazine happened just over 22 years ago, when I profiled Marshall Allen not long after he had taken the helm of the Sun Ra Arkestra. (Marshall recently turned 100 and just released an album as a leader of a smaller group.) Plus, some of the writers from JT's prime are back too - including editor David Adler and contributors like Morgan Enos, Geoffrey Himes and Allen Morrison. Please check it out. David is posting new stuff almost every day and I need to catch up. Don't begrudge the ads that are there. We have to generate some revenue in order to survive. 

Along with those pieces, I also have a review in the February issue of the New York City Jazz Record of the latest album by cellist Christopher Hoffman. This link goes to the whole issue, which can be read and downloaded, which I recommend. There are a lot of good features this month - and a little bit of me. 

*

A few days ago, I finally watched We Were Famous, You Don't Remember: The Embarrassment, a great documentary on the great, unsung Wichita, Kansas band the Embarrassment. (I've very, very slow with getting to films.) They existed from the late '70s into the early '80s, causing quite a stir in their hometown, which created a ripple effect that touched people far beyond in other cities. They did it without releasing more than a couple EPs and a few single, all on their own. They're one of those bands that is not widely known, but the people who do know them are absolutely fanatical about them. With good reason.

Through some stroke of luck, filmmakers Daniel Fetherston and Danny Szlauderbach uncovered a bunch of live footage of the band, much of which had decent-to-good sound quality. The four-piece band was clearly one of those groups that took a smattering of musical knowledge and combined that with youthful enthusiasm to make things up in their own. Watching them tear it up at a basement party, I felt like I was there because I was bopping around on the couch picking up on their energy. 

When you watch a film with the subtitles on (like I do), it gives you an extra perspective on the band's lyrics, since they often flash up on the screen. I knew the band was clever to begin with, but singer John Nichols really slayed me when I caught when he was singing in "Celebrity Art Party." 

The main reason it struck such a chord with me - aside from relating to the band's excitement and the idea of writing songs about wild topics that might have been discussed in a college class right before practice - probably had something to do with that period of time being long gone. Granted it might be easier now for a band like the Embarrassment to get the word out about what they do, to make connections and get to more cities. But at that time, there was no real standards set, especially in literal Middle America. You did what you felt because it felt right. 

And in conjunction with all of that, the end of it bummed me out a little bit. I know that's the basic story arc of these things. They didn't have a tragic ending like some bands. They had just had enough. But the stories from people they knew back then about how crushed they felt - I think that's the part that got me. A small flock of people felt really invested in this band. They believed in them because they had this "thing" that made the hearts beat faster. I'm getting overly poetic about it but it again harkens back to a more innocent time when bands could really felt like something more than just a band. 

Of course, Embarrassment guitarist Bill Goffrier would soon more to Boston and get into Big Dipper, who rocked the next breed of music geeks like me, making the whole life of putting out records on a small label and traveling in a van seem like the greatest life there was. So there is that happy epilogue. (About a year ago, I found out that the Embarrassment played Pittsburgh's fabled Electric Banana once. Bill said he mentioned it the first time they came here which is probably true but I was too wound up that night to remember that.) 

We Were Famous (whose title comes from a song lyrics) is streaming on Tubi, so you should watch it there. Or go to the official site for it and find out how to watch it. 

Winter Jazz Fest Hits Brooklyn + Seeing Old Indie Rock Friends

On Saturday, January 11, the Winter Jazz Fest moved over a borough for the second night of multiple acts at nine different venues. The Brooklyn Marathon was a night that the dance card filled up quickly and even tougher choices had to be made about who to see and who would be missed. As my JazzTimes colleague Martin Johnson pointed out in his report on the evening, there were many places where it was a challenge to get through the door. After succeeding in getting in, it felt better to simply park oneself and not move. (Glad it wasn't just me that felt this way.) 

However, before the jazz, I had to check out an indie rock show in the neighborhood. Back in the early '00s, the Naysayer landed in my sphere and stayed there. Anna Padgett fronted the band with a cast of friends that included Cynthia Nelson (also of Ruby Falls, Retsin), Karla Schickele (Ida, Beekeeper) and others. The songs blended dry wit of her lyrics and her semi-stark music that often sounded like mutant country. My band the Mofones opened for the Naysayer on one visit to Pittsburgh and the band stayed at my house. Aside from being social media friends, we hadn't talked since then. 

So I was really excited to see the Naysayer was playing Pete's Candy Shop in Brooklyn, opening for Mascott, another band I fell hard for around that time. The nom de stage of Kendall Jane Meade,  that band played elaborately layered pop songs on albums like Dreamer's Book, which is still pull out every few months. Saturday night was the release show for Mascott's new album.

Anna Padgett of the Naysayer

The back room at Pete's Candy Shop feels about as big as half of a subway car. It's also similar to what I imagine the Cavern felt like when the Beatles were playing there: brick walls, with a slightly raised stage at one end. A glass door sits at the opposite end but it stays shut during performances. One must walk around the hallway to get it. 

When I arrived, the Naysayer were doing their soundcheck. Anna looked at me with a faint sense of recognition. I asked if she remembered staying at my house 20-plus years ago. "Yeah. 'Cat Butler,' right?" she asked, remember a notorious Mofones song. "I love that song!" It took me a moment to realize the bassist was Schickele. When I did, I realized she was playing the same bass that she had back in the day, with a right-hand technique that always impressed me, seeming to barely touch the strings but still delivering a big sound. 

The Naysayer's set was a trip down memory lane. Early faves like the unsettling "Currency," "Ring Ring Ring" and the raunchy but sweet "Pure Beauty" all played into that, with killer harmonies from Schickele. I was hoping to hear my fave of her softer songs, "Kitten Time," but since I felt like I had already crashed someone else's party, I kept quiet. I had to slip out before Mascott's set but I'm hoping to pick up the new album somewhere online. 

Had I known what awaited me down around the corner in Williamsburg, I might have stayed at Pete's a little longer. I figured I'd probably only catch half a set by Vijay Iyer's Trio + 1 but that would still be satisfying enough. Winter Jazz Fest is all about taking in as much as you can in a short time. But when I walked up to National Sawdust, where Iyer was presumably already deep into his set, the line was out the door and around the corner. Only about seven people were in the VIP line so, although it wasn't my night to be an official press guy, I figured I'd play that card. I gave up after hearing someone come up to a person in front of me saying, "We're going someplace else. They won't even let [such-and-such] in, and he's playing!" 

Loove Labs, a sort of gallery and performance space just down the block on N. 6th Street, wasn't turning folks away. The front area was equally crowded with people hoping to get into the back room, where the music was happening. Though it wasn't ideal,  I really wanted to see the sets by both Darius Jones and the Matthew Shipp Trio, so as pianist Paul Cornish played his set, I joined the throng that slowly made their way up to the doorway and into the room. Pianist Cornish (who hails from Los Angeles, again keeping the plight of that city in our hearts) sounded a bit more straightahead than the acts that would follow him, but he had a fleet, sharp skill on the piano which made me want to check out his Blue Note debut when it drops later this year.

Darius Jones

Something happened to me during Darius Jones' set. It was a feeling of elation that one always hopes to experience at a live show, but that occurs only rarely. Alto saxophonist Jones, bassist Chris Lightcap (who hails from Latrobe, PA) and drummer Jason Nazary ended their set with "No More My Lord," a piece based on an Alan Lomax recording of prison workers singing this hymn. The trio took it out of tempo, with Lightcap bowing a heavy drone. After stating the melody, Jones used his huge tone (which is probably similar to Albert Ayler in terms of how he can project volume) to unleash a series of big overtones, honks and growls. Things were building when Nazary took things up a notch, moving from cymbal rolls and taps across his kit, into heavy whacks. 

BANG! It felt like I had reached liftoff. Like I had been pushed off a cliff and could suddenly fly. The last time I remember feeling this elated happened when I heard Television play "Marquee Moon" live and Tom Verlaine's solo opened my third eye. Last week, I was sitting in my chair, swaying back and forth like some church lady feeling the spirit. Part of me wanted to yell my enthusiasm at the band, but the other half of my head still had it together to know that no one wants to hear some yutz making it all about them. After the set, I told Jones what I felt like doing and he assured me that it's okay to scream something like that at his gig. Maybe next time. 

Matthew Shipp

Matthew Shipp's trio - Shipp on piano, Michael Bisio on bass, Newman Taylor Baker on drums - have been playing together for a decade as of this year. Bisio has been with the pianist for another five years prior. That kind of longevity has solidified into a strong rapport that makes the title of their last album, New Concepts in Piano Trio Jazz, not hyperbole or a joke but a strong fact. 

Baker provides a fascinating role in that group because he really doesn't play his kit like one might expect. He provides commentary rather than keeping the tempo or, alternately, playing free. While using brushes, he ran the opposite sides of them over the kit - the wire loops - gentle tapping the skins. There were moments when it seemed like he might be playing a melody while Shipp was providing the rhythm. During a proper solo, he ran his hands over the snare drum, moving the rhythm onto his chest and legs while keeping the movement flowing.

 

Michael Bisio

Bisio also took on the melody tasks at times. An unaccompanied solo seemed to start with a hymn at the foundation, before his bow made a splatter of notes fall over one another. Just when things seemed totally free at different points during the set, you noticed the four-note pattern or a walking line ("The Function") that held things together and liberated his bandmates.

Shipp plays in a manner that seems to be in deep communication with the other two. The set began gently with "Primal Poem" and kept flowing until the end. (I lost track of time so I can't recall how long they actually played.) His personal style includes hitting a staccato chord and moving the damper pedal simultaneously to increase the accent and that popped up a few times during the set. Following Bisio's unaccompanied solo, Shipp knew exactly when to jump back in with a left hand jab. 

Towards the end of their set, Baker finally cut loose with some loud bashes to spur Shipp's playing. I can't recall the exact reason but my notes conclude with the phrase "those Steely Dan 'Josie' chords." The exact memory is a bit fuzzy but it might refer to what's played in that song's intro, which even a non-Dan fan like me can appreciate. Especially when it comes from Shipp.

After chatting with Shipp and a few other writers, it was about midnight. I joked with the pianist about whether he was going to go and sit in with the Sun Ra Arkestra, who were at Brooklyn Bowl, five blocks away. Of course they were probably marching offstage by that time anyway, as Pedro Martins was slated to perform at 12:15.  

Zoh Amba

Back at National Sawdust, the staff was taking in the stanchions that kept the outside hopefuls in line a few hours earlier. Inside, tenor saxophonist Zoh Amba was covered in sweat as she emitted some hair-rising overtones from her horn. The 24-year old saxophonist has drawn comparisons to Albert Ayler for the way she plays, but with her Sun Ensemble that night, her brute force put my ears in mind of another ESP forefather - Frank Lowe. 

Amba definitely plays with loads of energy, but the later portion of her set came off like a rushed indie rock show, especially since it came at the end of a weekend of carefully-staged events. After finishing a blast of energy music with her quartet - Kanoa Mendenhall (bass), Lex Corton (piano), Miguel Marcel Russell (drums) - Amba switched her tenor for an amplified acoustic guitar - which needed to be tuned first. She chatted casually to the audience though she didn't use the microphone which stood close by. Her guitar songs, both built on energetic two-chord riffs, provided a nice respite from the fire though they also kind of seemed at odds to someone who had just stumbled into the high-ceiling space. 

The last tune of the evening was a rollicking version of the Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog." Having been performed by Sonic Youth and the Sun Ra Arkestra once on the great Night Music show, this version was not without precedence. But the song's subtle changes in the chorus were blown off by the band, who stuck with the main riff. (I know this is quibbling, but that twist adds to the song's kick.) When Amba switched back to tenor mid-song, she picked up where she left off earlier. Viscerally, it fit with the mood, but it would have been cool to hear her blow something that used that descending riff as a jumping-off point. 

Winter Jazz Fest continued several days into this past week. Sunday night, as I jostled in a seat on what was supposed to be a Megabus but was really just a Coachways or something similar (Megabus as it was five years ago doesn't seem to exist anymore), Ravi Coltrane was guiding a group of high-profile players in a show that marked the 60th anniversary of the release of his father's album A Love Supreme. A few days later, (Le) Poisson Rouge hosted Strata-East Rising, a tribute to that independent label, which included label founder Charles Tolliver and players who recorded for it such as Cecil McBee. 

As I type this a week later, it occurs to me that, with all the history that was presented last week, and all the camaraderie, love and support felt for those dealing with big losses on the West Coast, the final excursion of my trip - Zoh Amba's Sun Ensemble - also pointed towards the future of this music. Although the set's execution could have been a little tighter, the forthright presentation gives one hope for new music on the horizon. 

Journeying to Winter Jazz Fest & Thursday Night's Happenings

I haven't been to NYC Winter Jazz Fest since 2020. In 2022, it seemed like it was going to rebound, post-pandemic. Then a surge cancelled in-person performances yet again a few weeks ahead of the date. Last year, with JazzTimes gone and having only contributed a few short album reviews to The New York City Jazz Record, I didn't feel right going. 

This year, things felt different. I'd been away too long, so why not make the journey. On top of that, it was announced in December that JazzTimes was coming back from the grave - for a second time - so it seemed like the moment to immerse myself in the music. If that wasn't enough motivation, a few days before leaving Pittsburgh, I was given the assignment of writing about NYCWJF's Manhattan Marathon, which took place last Friday on stages around town. 

With the California fires raging at the same time, it was hard to fully rejoice in my good fortune. Many musicians were losing everything at that time. But the entire weekend left me a good sense of community - people that care for one another and always have the thoughts of others close at heart, especially while they were playing.

My dispatch on the Manhattan Marathon can be found here. I have included some other photos from those shows below as well. 

But Thursday comes first. 

Another thing I haven't done - in over a decade - is ride the Amtrak train from Pittsburgh to New York. After flying once or twice, I opted for the Megabus for most of my trips to Winter Jazz Fest. It was comfortable - especially if I reserved the front seat on the upper level - and affordable. These days, Megabus is a shell of its former self (details forthcoming in the next post). The only bus leaving Pittsburgh leaves at Christ O'clock in the morning, too early for me to check in at my hotel. So the train it was. It takes all day to get there but the scenery is great. 

Winter Jazz Fest officially began on Thursday, January 9 with four stand-alone shows at three different venues. My stop was (Le) Poisson Rouge, to catch Fay Victor with her Herbie Nichols SUNG project, in which she takes the compositions of unsung Blue Note pianist Nichols and adds lyrics to them. Their album, Life Is Funny That Way, came out on TAO Forms last year. 

Jazz vocalists are often a tough sell for my ears, including ones who dabble more in avant-garde circles, taking sonic ideas from free jazz players and adapting them to voice. But Victor was magnetic onstage, commanding everyone's attention. Her performance plunged into the power of the lyrics and what they meant. "That was a journey, wasn't it," she asked after the band finished "The Culprit is You," an adaptation of Nichols' "2300 Skidoo," after a taking us on such a trek. The observation couldn't have been more accurate, especially in light of the country at this moment. 

Victor's band included Michael Attias (alto and baritone saxophone), Tom Rainey (drums), Ratzo Harris (bass) and Anthony Coleman (piano), all of whom played on the album. Attias was an especially good foil for Victor, in terms of soloing. "Lady Sings The Blues," the Nichols/Billie Holiday co-written song, was played rubato, with everyone stretching out and digging into the space provided by that arrangement. The quintet also provided that they knew how to swing hard, with Victor ending the set with some solid scatting with Attias picking up from there.

I caught a little of Sophye Soliveau's set before heading to my next destination. Brandee Younger isn't the only jazz harpist, as Soliveau commanded the huge instrument, singing while playing. The opening tunes of her set seemed rooted as much in R&B as jazz, which the audience dug.

As I looked around the room, fully feeling like the small town guy in the big city, I recalled that the room once was the Village Gate, where one of my earliest favorite recordings was made: Herbie Mann's "Coming Home Baby." My dad had it on a pre-recorded, coverless cassette that was like an EP (that song on one side, three shorter tunes on the other) and I used to try an imagine what the room looked like where the group was playing. Although when I was three, I didn't fully grasp it was a live recording (the only applause comes after Hagood Hardy's vibes solo), let alone that it was at the Village Gate. Thursday wasn't my first time in the room, but my first time making the connection.
 

The Village Vanguard was not a venue that took part in the festival, but having only been there once, I made a point, while still at home, to see if I should check it out . As luck would have it, pianist Kris Davis was there all week, so I bought a ticket online to make sure I'd get in. (In 2020, there was quite the line to see Julian Lage, though I did finally get a table.)

When people say there are no bad seats at the Vanguard, they're right. But my stars were lining up that night because the picture below was taken from my seat.

Yes - I was right in front of the piano. I could have touched Kris Davis. But that would be rude. So would the act of trying to take a picture during her set. The Vanguard specifically frowns on such things and I may be a tourist but I'm not an ugly tourist. The phone stayed closed. All I needed was a scoop pad.

Robert Hurst (bass) and Johnathan Blake (drums), who also appeared on Davis' Run the Gauntlet album, joined her for the week's residency. The pianist took the stage with focus and a commanding presence, reaching into her instrument to hold the piano strings as she struck the opening notes of what I believe was "Knotweek." Blake, who sets up his kit with each drum at the same height, astounded with a skill that often took jerky passages and gradually reshaped them into funky 4/4 grooves. Hurst skillfully locked in with Davis' left hand during a version of Steve Lacy's "The Flame." He continued to drone and slide during that tune, while the piano splashed over him. 

This was followed by an interlude with a delicate flow that recalled Paul Motian's compositions. It turns out, it was "Beauty Beneath the Rubble," which was written by Blake. The set ended with "Run the Gauntlet" the title track to the trio's 2024 release. Hurst's wild arco solo led to some hammered left hand chords from Davis, as Blake thundered away on his kit. Interestingly, as loud as Blake was, the set-up of the room insured that he never drowned out the piano or bass. 

Note: The Vanguard has a one drink minimum, but considering the mood that night, and that my signature gin and soda was only $10, I bought two. 

FRIDAY NIGHT PHOTO HIGHLIGHTS

Violinist Jenny Scheinman's All Species Parade kicked off the Friday night Manhattan Marathon. 

Dancer Julianna Cressman joined Scheinman's group, playing up the lyrical qualities of the music with her movement.

Vijay Iyer and Wadada Leo Smith, played a rich, flowing set at Performance Space NY.

Saxophonist Josh Johnson, who played on Saturday with the group SML and has played with Jeff Parker, performed a solo set with electronics that turned his horn into a whole section.

I only caught a few minutes of the Air Legacy Trio - l to r, Marty Ehrlich, Hillard Greene and Pheeroan akLaff.