CD Review: Chris Potter Underground

Chris Potter Underground
Ultrahang
(ArtistShare)

Stephen Byram's cover art is pretty distinctive. It often has a work-in-progress look to it, like some random sketches - squiggles even - has been randomly thrown onto a canvas. Or else someone's canvas has been taken by someone else, who scribbled over it.

In my mind, his work is closely associated with Tim Berne, since he's designed numerous - if not all- the covers for the saxophonist's albums and CDs since the late '80s/early '90s. So it's funny that Byram designed the cover to the latest Chris Potter Underground CD Ultrahang because it too bares something of a resemblance to Berne's work with his Science Friction and Big Satan outfits. Neither group employs a bassist, and Science Friction (if they're even still together; it's hard to keep up with Berne sometimes) uses a similar saxophone/guitar/keyboards/drums instrumentation as Underground. Not so coincidentally, the keyboardist in both bands is Craig Taborn. (Big Satan foregoes the keys.)

Although both groups operate in the settings of herky-jerky melodies that take listeners on long bumpy rides, Chris Potter's writing is nowhere near as convoluted (in the positive sense) as that of Tim Berne. In fact, Ultrahang is almost a funk album. Not funk as in laying down badass grooves created strictly for dancefloor enjoyment and what comes later, but music that has funk at its core. Adam Rogers frequently pops his strings like a funk bassist, adding emphasis behind Potter's tenor. He also bends and slides around some metallic notes during the title track, as if to say he could fill in for Marc Ducret in Berne's band if he felt like it.

The funk also becomes evident during the solo passages of tracks like "Rumples" and "Facing East" when the band kicks into a vamp that can get pretty vicious between Nate Smith's drums and the Taborn/Rogers axis. "Rumples" in fact comes closest to a straight theme with sprays of 16th notes over a 4/4 groove. Compared to the other tracks, it's almost conventional, and worth nothing that it's one of the few tracks not written by Potter but by Rogers.

Potter continues to astound, not only as a bandleader (or catalyst, really) but as a writer and soloist. Before the multi-leveled "Interstellar Signals" closes out the program with a blend of ballad and free improvisation, the saxophonist excels with intense workouts like "Boots" and "Times Arrow," the latter marked by a fast, staccato flurry of tongued notes during a solo that he ends with a honk. After blowing a tenor solo in "Facing East," he returns after Rogers' solo with the bass clarinet to adjust to the more pensive mood which the song takes at that point.

On previous Underground albums, the band has covered songs by Radiohead and the Beatles, transforming them into things that work in the context of a progressive jazz group. This time around, it's Bob Dylan's "It Ain't Me Babe" that gets the treatment. The biggest hook of the song might be Potter's intro to the tune, but the languid, almost country feeling they give to this classic sounds beautiful here.

Music like this proves why Potter has been called one of the most studied (and copied) saxophonists on the planet.

What do the Dagons think?

Last week I bought the Vivian Girls' latest album Everything Goes Wrong. I've read a lot about them, and they even came to the Warhol Museum a few weeks prior. (I missed the show.) Before buying the album, the one song I heard by them online sounded pretty raw and a little noisy, not exactly Blonde Redhead or Deerhoof, but within shouting distance of either of those bands.

The new album is pretty straightforward. Compared to what I expected, it's really straightforward. The sound pretty garage-y and simple: a lot of barre chords drenched in echo with sleepy vocals on top. Guitar solos consist of one string played really quickly.

And they sound almost exactly like the Dagons - a female-fronted band from San Francisco that's been around for about 10 years now. I discovered them when I was putting out my fanzine Discourse in the '90s. They sent me a 7" and kept me on their mailing list from then on. It was the kind of music that was basic, in terms of riffs, but how they executed it made all the difference. Karie Jacobson had a great voice that was like the Shangri-Las on a major "Past Present Future" bender. Or Courtney Love if she calmed the hell down. The music had some serious weight to it. Similar in spirit to Scrawl, who wrote the book on less being more.

As far as I know, the Dagons aren't too well known on a national level (unless you count guys like me who've tracked their history). But they ought to be. So it kind of detracted from the first half of the Vivian Girls album that they have been one of the biggest indie buzz bands for the past 18 months or so when what they do is... fun and good, but not exactly innovative. The preview for their show in a local weekly seemed almost apologetically positive about them, as if to say, "Yeah there's nothing great about them, but they do this simple thing really well." It also pondered why they've gotten so much attention. I'll tell you why: they have good publicists. I get a a lot of emails about them.

Anyhow, by the time I got to the end of the CD, I did like it. It is pretty good and there's a good chance I'll play it more often. But I do wonder whether the Dagons resent them, dig them or don't care.

Most expensive record ever?

Ok, brothers and sisters, explain this to me. Click on the link to eBay here.

http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=250496657516&ssPageName=STRK:MEWAX:IT

$1744 for a freakin' 45? What's the story?! This record isn't even in the Goldmine book. How many dollars is that per inch of vinyl?

And I thought I was crazy for thinking of paying a high price for a Blue Note album or Mosaic box.

Detroit International Jazz Festival- Day Four

Playing right now: Sonny Clark - Sonny's Crib
(The 1990 CD issue. I just noticed a lot of hiss during Clark's piano solo during "With a Song In My Heart." I wonder if that's been eliminated on new editions.)

There was a full day of Jazz Festival activities on Labor Day, but I woke up knowing that things were winding down, so there was a certain bittersweetness to the morning. That and it was starting to look like rain for the first time all weekend. I woke up early because I wanted to take one last look around the vast Marriott at Renaissance Center where I was staying. I walked down to the river to look at the water and the piped in radio was playing Billy Joel's Greatest Hits. It served as a reminder to me that said, "All this great jazz isn't going to last forever, kid. Pretty soon, it's back to Pittsburgh where it's going to be a lot of classic rock and not much else."

Most of my day was going to be taken up by panel talks. But before all that happened, there was the question of breakfast. Jordy wasn't answering his phone so I ran into Dr. Jazz in the lobby, who offered to drive me to a good diner he knew of. The trip ended up being something of a guided tour of Detroit because, with the Labor Day Parade going on, a lot of the streets were blocked off, so getting around proved a challenge. And it being Labor Day, the place where we wanted to go was closed. But the good Doctor pointed out a lot of the sites to me - the Public Library, the Institute of Art, the football and baseball stadiums - many of which were gorgeous and again, made me wish the architect had come to Pittsburgh. Eventually we found a greasy spoon with a killer omelette.

Back at the Pepsi Jazz Tent, Ashley Kahn and Bob Porter discussed the Detroit-New York Connection, talking about and playing music by Thad Jones and Yusef Lateef. Turns out Ashley's writing a book about Blue Note too. Geez, the man is unstoppable.

Across the way, Sean Jones was participating in a recreation of Donald Byrd's A New Perspective album, which had included a vocal choir and a pretty heavy gospel influence. Bassist Rodney Whitaker was leading the group. I think it was happening at the same time as the Detroit-New York talk, so I didn't make it. Wish I had, because the talk about Donald Byrd later in the afternoon dragged on a little long due to the fact that there were too many qualified voices onstage: Sean Jones, Jimmy Heath, Ashley Kahn, Gerald Wilson, to name few. Bob Porter has a great voice but sometimes his matter-of-fact delivery made some strong statements sound a little bland. And when we have this many people onstage, the snippets of music should be just that - snippets. I mean, all of us love the music but we're here at the discussion to hear talk about it. Jimmy Heath's stories about musicians and they're various cars kept things lively though. ("All Sonny Red wanted was to be able to buy a used car. A used car!")

Early in the evening Stefon Harris and Blackout were playing at Carhartt. By that time, a lot of the seats were wet from the rain, so the security guys were wiping them down for people. Beyond that, people didn't seem to mind the weather. We were all trying to get our last kicks out of the festival.

When I sat down, the group was in the middle of a Buster Williams tune called "Christina." Saxophonist Casey Benjamin was wearing one of those strap-on keyboard things that makes one think of Toto, and he was doing the vocoder thing on his voice. It dragged on a little too long and seemed more like a novelty. But after awhile the group kicked in and it sounded pretty cool. Since Black Moth Super Rainbow relies heavily on vocoder, I had to reevaluate my thoughts on the thing. I have the Harris & Blackout album, so I'll have to check out the song.

Harris himself was a wonder to watch, playing so fast that his arms looked like they were performing ballet. "Shake It For Me" had a great choppy feeling that was similar to Monk's "Evidence." During "Tanktified," which was written by drummer Terreon Gully, the group went through some rigourous rhythm shifts and Benjamin was up to his tricks again, this time putting a harmonizer on his horn so he sounded like two saxes soloing in harmony. This group was a good choice for the last day because they really offered a good example of "where the music is going."

In my review of the fest for JazzTimes, I said TS Monk's version "Off Minor" gave me goosebumps. That's not entirely accurate; I actually got a little misty-eyed when they played it. The combination of End-of-the-Festival feelings, the spitting rain and the fact that I was seeing Monk play his dad's stuff...... it was a little much. Plus the arrangement of "Off Minor" from the Town Hall Concert is pretty special to me. That's one of the first Monk albums I bought and I loved the surge of the band in that tune.

The band is technically called Monk on Monk, lead by Thelonious' drum playing son TS. And like his dad, TS isn't trying to fake it here. ("I can't jive or else my father will slap me when I get to the other side," he said between tunes.) He did his homework, making sure that the arrangements were either true to the originals, or updating them in ways that keeps their essence there but takes it to a new level. Case in point for the latter: "'Round Midnight." Everybody has done that song. It's easy to make it just a ballad. Monk "cleared it" with Max Roach and his late mother, and made it upbeat after the slow intro, using the classic code more in the arrangement, enabling the soloist to get back into a chorus for a solo. (This one was done as sextet as opposed to the big band for the rest.)

As far as good example of keeping with the original, they played the version of "Little Rootie Tootie" (which was inspired by young TS) where the whole group played a scored version of Monk's piano solo that he played in original version, released on Prestige.

Later that night in the hotel bar, I approached Monk because I had to tell him how much I dug the set. He was a gracious guy, who is clearly passionate about his father's work. In fact he sat down at a table and kind of gave a sermon to me and one other guy about the whole scope of Monk - how the critics took years to understand him but people took to him immediately; about how jazz is always boxed into different genres unlike rock; etc. It got to a point where I wondered if I was going to be listening to him all night. He only went on for a few minutes and was off with his sax player Willie Williams (like TS, an r&b player first who moved into jazz). It was a good way to finish out my trip, and worth only have three and half hours of sleep before my 5 a.m. lobby call.

Again the shuttle was on time and I got to the airport easily. Thanks, Detroit.

Detroit International Jazz Festival- Day Three

Playing right now: Fred Anderson Trio - Live at the Velvet Lounge

Typically I'd say that only a fool would leave a brunch early, after just one pass through the table of eats. But hearing Wayne Shorter talk is one of the few reasons to cut out early, which is just what I did on Sunday morning. Dr. Jazz presented a nice spread, and there were a number of people there who I would have loved to chat with for a bit, but duty and legend called.

Shorter was doing a talk with Michelle Mercer, who wrote the book Footsteps: The Life and Work of Wayne Shorter. (She and I had crossed paths in the elevator at the hotel the night before and she seemed like a good egg.) I had been warned that he has a habit of talking in tangents and not making much sense, and on this morning, he poured on a lot of metaphor but it all connected and made sense to me. He did mention a number of writers and scientists from James Patterson to Tesla and Stephen Hawking, but he also talked about Bud Powell too. And John Wayne. I forget if it was actually a line that Miles Davis liked or Wayne liked, but there's some western picture where a guy tell the Duke that his brother shoots really fast. And Mr. Wayne counters, "Just how fast IS THAT?!" (Read out loud and stress the last two words to get the full effect.) "That's what you do when you play," Shorter explained.

When it came time for Q&A, I asked him how he felt being approached by someone wanting to write a book about him. He stared at me for about five seconds before he spoke, which was a little intimidating. Then he told me to think about something in my life, a very significant event, something that changed my life and presented me with greater responsibilities. That was his reaction to the book idea.

As he was saying this I thought, he's talking about Donovan. He knows exactly where to get me. Damn, Wayne Shorter, you're that perceptive. Sure he was being general and I was thinking specific, but for a moment I felt kind of connected. Maybe there's more to those novels he reads than I want to believe. Regardless, I decided to ask for his autograph when the session was over, something I rarely do.

Other good Wayne quotes: "To me, the word jazz means, 'I dare you.' The idea of jazz is to dare."
"I try to take the best of the past and use it as a flashlight for the unknown. ....Uh oh [Sounds like] Star Trek!" "The greatest present we can give is to give something back."

I saw James and Julia, a couple that were on the Motown Tour, at the talk and we took some time to check out some of the local architecture, including an art deco building that now houses the First National Bank. Then we rode the People Mover, basically a sky bus that goes in a circle around the downtown area. It's pretty cool looking down, even if half the view is abandoned parking lots and boarded up buildings.

Then off to Carhartt Amphitheater to hear trumpeter Marcus Belgrave. Another Detroit veteran - maybe guru would be a better term, due to all the people he's nurtured - he had Geri Allen on piano with him, along with drummer Karriem Riggins, bassist Bob Hurst and tenor saxophonist DeSean Jones. It was a killing band, in large part because of the way Riggins was driving things, throwing out weird times that sounded like four-over-five, or vice versa, on one song. He also stirred up some thunder on his toms. One of Allen's tunes, which may or may not be called "My Graduation Song," had a 32-bar structure with an unending line of notes, like post-modern bebop. Jones was pretty impressive too. I want to find an album by this band.

Then ideas were flowing in a never-ending stream from tenor saxophonist Ernie Krivda over at Mack Avenue Records Pyramid Stage, which was like another amphitheater built into the ground with a stage set up on it. (Why didn't that architect come to Pittsburgh and try to build this kind of park for us?) I only caught about 45 minutes of Krivda's set and he had only played three tunes up that point, and even though at least two of them were warhorses ("A Night in Tunisia" and "'Round Midnight") what he played kept them new and vital. And I'm usually one to say, "Oh geez" when I hear "'Round Midnight." (Especially when the word "About" gets thrown in the title. That's the Miles album, people.) Kudos to pianist Claude Black, bassist Marion Hayden and drummer Renell Gonsalves, known with Krivda as the Detroit Connection. All of them got space to stretch out and they used it well.

In checking out these two sets, I missed out on Charles McPherson, a great sax player who worked with Mingus at one time. There weren't two many times where I had to make tough choices at the Festival, but this was one of them.

The reason I caught only 45 minutes of Krivda was that Gerald Wilson was premiering his Detroit suite that afternoon back at Carhartt. Mr. Wilson might be 91 years old, but he proved his strength and focus during the first tune, when he pushed his music stand off to the side, conducting the big band without any need for charts. Various sections of the piece reminded me of other tunes when I listened to an advance of the studio recording, but it appears that was intentional. Wilson mentioned Benny Golson before doing a section that sounds like "Along Came Betty." "Ms. Gretchen" - an homage to Gretchen Valade - really sounds like a Mingus tune with its swinging A section, and slow thoughtful B section. (Can't remember which Mingus piece, though.) During "Great Detroit River" four of the five trumpets alternated choruses, then traded fours, then twos; and the baritone saxes had a great duel. No wonder Gerald had to scream during the climax.

Before the Wayne Shorter Quartet's performance a few hours later, there was a sense of eager anticipation in the air. Seats were at a premium, even in the VIP section, where they were checking and double-checking badges (and later asking the photogs to move so everyone could see). The band hadn't played together in three months after Danilo Perez injured a tendon in his foot.

They came out onstage, pretty matter of factly and Perez started off with some thunder in the low end of the piano. At first, drummer Brian Blade, armed with mallets, looked like he was in pain, but that look shifted to joy after about ten minutes, and it stayed that way for the next 80 . In fact Blade seemed to be having the time of his life.

His drum cracks sounded like they were bouncing from the p.a. speakers to the stone walls, and the whole quartet was starting to sound louder than the whole Gerald Wilson big band. (I had a bit of a headache coming into this. But I told myself to ignore it since this is a very rare experience and to not let a headache ruin it for me. It kind of worked.)

For about the first 20 minutes (according to my time checks), Shorter played sparingly. In fact he initially seemed like he was ready to jump in, but held off, sensing things were still taking shape, and the time wasn't right. Eventually he really took off, still with some minimal quality to the situation, but proving that sometimes all you need are a few well-placed notes.

Speaking of notes, I stopped taking them after awhile. On one page, I drew a diagram that I thought might help me remember a tune. I recognized a few melodies (definitely "Go," maybe "Schizophrenia," maybe "Sanctuary") but don't hold me to them. I will freely admit that I'm not totally up on all my Shorter material. But it made me want to pull out Beyond the Sound Barrier again and just sit with it and listen, uninterrupted.

When the set was over - about 90 minutes later, with no real breaks between songs - I had to get away from live music for a bit, as did a few other people who I talked to afterwards. That group put a lot out there for us to absorb and it was still sinking in.

Back at the hotel bar, Jordy and I hooked up and he had to look for Danilo, who had been signed to Mack Avenue that night. We looked around the room and there was Mr. Perez sitting in a booth chatting with Ashley Kahn. So we joined them. Instant Party. And the young lions jamming that night weren't half bad either.

Conley talks, Love Letters debut

Yesterday was quite the music day for me. First of all, I got to interview Mission of Burma bassist Clint Conley, for an article that I'm writing for Blurt. As I most likely stated somewhere on this blog at least once since it began, Mr. Conley is part of the reason I'm playing bass. The day I picked out the changes to "This Is Not a Photograph," I decided the four-string was the instrument I should try to play in a band. Although that wasn't a Conley-written tune, I liked most of his songs best in the band.

None of this was mentioned in the interview yesterday. (I always give myself a "Don't Gush" talk before I start. And if there's an opportunity to gush politely, it comes at the end.) This was a smart move because it very likely might have made Clint uncomfortable or at most, he would've offered a polite, "Gee thanks." He probably gets it from enough guys like me on a regular basis.

The interview went really well. He's a great talker and has a good perspective on the Burma "legacy," if you will. Not that I'm going to give anything away now, in hopes that you'll read the piece when it runs (sometime around the release of their new album on October 6). But it kind of blows my mind to think that a guy who was in such a seminal band is very casual about the whole thing. But maybe that says more about me than him.

A few hours after the interview, the Love Letters debuted at the Harvest Party that my workplace sponsored. The funny thing about this show is that it kind of served as a catalyst in getting the band to evolve. After our first practice (which went extremely well, and we barrelled through four songs) I mentioned it to our store's marketing director, to which she suggested that maybe we should play at the party. It was a bit of an effort but we cobbled together eight songs in the weeks leading up to the show. Things were a little sloppy at some points, with a blown chord change here and microphones going in and out, but people didn't seem to notice. We got a pretty enthusiastic response from the audience, many of whom came up to us afterwards to tell us how much they liked it.

As I was setting up my bass, I started playing the riff to "Peking Spring" by Burma. And after we played, the head of my store said he noticed up on it. It's a relatively obscure to so that was impressive that anyone picked up on it.

I'm not at home now (at work early; hopefully car comes back today) so I don't have my scoop pad w/notes from Detroit, so I can't give you Day Three yet. BUT IT'S COMING REALLY. I STILL REMEMBER WHAT WENT DOWN. WHEN YOU READ IT YOU'LL KNOW WHY.

Detroit International Jazz Festival- Day Two

After checking out a panel discussion on Elvin Jones, it was time to check out another Jones - Sean. I've seen him play numerous times in Pittsburgh and wrote about him for City Paper but this was the first time I've seen the trumpeter with his regular group, with Orrin Evans (piano), Brian Hogans (alto sax), Vincente Archer (bass) and Josh Davis (drums). They played a lot of tunes from his latest album The Search Within, but they also played a version of "Resolution" from Coltrane's A Love Supreme, that was astounding. Everyone was firing on all cylinders. Jones was wailing, Hogans went on such an extended tear that the rhythm section dropped out, just like McCoy Tyner and Jimmy Garrison did for Trane.

Jones likes to go into the upper register during solos, sometimes bending those notes with his lips. But he never uses those high notes to show off. They're connected to a greater idea in his solos.

I had to cut out a few minutes before the end of their set because Dave Brubeck was playing at the Carhartt Amphitheatre. And these shows were all starting right on time, so I didn't want to be late. However I was still late because Brubeck started a few minutes early.

Dave and the band were sight to see: four older cats all with silver hair, all wearing shades. Alto saxophonist Bobby Militello had a bit of a Santa Claus look going (with the recent passing on Joe Maneri, the world needs another saxophonist who could pass for St. Nick), a jolly and plump fella blowin' a horn. Dave looked pretty good for a guy who had to cancel shows earlier this year because of illness. And his hands were flying over that piano, doing that patented Brubeck time changing thing (is it 3 over 4?) during solos, getting audience members to yell, "My man!" during a blues solo, and opening "Yesterdays" with a dramatic rubato that really seemed to come from the heart.

I've seen him play "Take Five" before but never "Blue Rondo a la Turk." So I got goosebumps when the band - which by then included Dave's sons Chris (trombone) and Danny (drums) and their bandmates - kick into that bouncy riff. During his solo in that tune, Dave quoted "Button Up Your Overcoat." That guy is still sharp.

Later that night I kept turning around and seeing Chris Brubeck at the bar and was tempted to talk to him. I didn't, because anything I said would come out sounding like, "Your dad is soooooooo cool." And I had only caught the last couple minutes of the Brubeck Brothers' set before Sean Jones came on, so I felt funny about that.

I think it was at the Brubeck show that I caught up with my friends Mike and Shaunna, he of the Tribune Review and she of WDUQ. They don't have cellphones so it could've been hard to find them, but like most of the weekend, everything came together.

Later that night we wound up going to see Bennie Maupin's Dolphyana. He played the omnipresent bass clarinet on Bitches Brew and worked as a sideman with Horace Silver and Lee Morgan, before joining Herbie Hancock for a number of albums that include Headhunters. His group tonight had him on bass clarinet and tenor, Nestor Torres (flute), Jay Hogarth (vibes, marimba) Billy Hart (drums) and Darek Oles (bass).

They played a couple Dolphy tunes including: "Out To Lunch," which sounded great and obtuse; "245" which wasn't as dirty as the original but just as good; the equally abstract "The Madrig Speaks the Panther Walks." The original Maupin works were also pretty fascinating, especially the closing "Prophet's Motifs" which was Dolphyesque but also morphed through different rhythms including a funk beat. That was the closing tune and the only one, unfortunately, where the sound seemed perfectly balanced. A guy who I met on the Motown tour told me he agreed that the mix was really unbalanced, with the flute sounding distorted and that it seemed like Maupin was doing most of the mixing himself.

Back at the hotel bar, bedlam ensued. People were cutting in front of people who had been waiting 10 minutes for a drink. And musicians who looked like they were 13 years old were playing at the jam session. It was loud there. After two drinks, I went back to my room, tried to go to sleep but not before watching a Law and Order:SVU rerun and almost staying up until 4 a.m. watching American Graffiti.

Detroit- The Motown Museum

It didn't hit me until we were in the makeshift theater that I was actually sitting in the building where all the classic Motown singles were made. The room was clearly a converted recording studio room, with walls built specifically to accentuate or deflect sound bouncing around the room. So who knows who once stood where I was sitting?

On Saturday morning, Dr. Jazz, a Detroit jazz promoter affiliated with the Detroit International Jazz Festival, charted a van for anyone who wanted to get the tour of the Motown Museum, which is located at 2648 West Grand Boulevard - the same place where the music was recorded. The neighborhood looks like a regular residential area that just happens to have a building with "Home of the Hits" written in script above its front windows. The guys who were giving the tour were really good, too, offering a lot of information without bogging it down with long lists of names or song titles, or just zapping the life out of the history. They really did a good job of letting you know how Berry Gordy started this enterprise, how he kept it going and how the music sounded so good. In other words, they let you know why you should care.

Studio A was the last stop on the tour, which makes sense because that's the most compelling place in the building. That's where all the recordings were done. And there are nearly lifesize pictures on the wall of Stevie Wonder and the Supremes at sessions, so naturally the tour guide (somehow "docent" doesn't seem appropriate at this museum) made some of the ladies do a Supremes formation, some of the guys do the Temps and one of the kids do a Stevie Wonder head wave right in the spots where the originals did it. Group participation usually isn't cool on a tour, but again, there's no tour like this one.

Best line of the tour: Q: What do you call a singer who can't do the Temptations dance? A: A Four Top.

Among the people on this tour, along with me and Jordy, was Ashley Kahn, who among other things wrote the book A Love Supreme: The Story of John Coltrane's Signature Album. And a book about Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. And one about Impulse Records. And he writes for JazzTimes. This is the man I want to be.

Of course I didn't tell him that when I introduced myself. Or any other time over the weekend. I tried to play it cool. So the cat's out of the bag if he finds this.

He was nice enough to take my picture a couple times in front of the museum. I foolishly didn't bring my camera so all I had was my cellphone. I thought the lint that's all over the lense created that Penthouse look, but I actually think it's the sun coming over the building. The second one looks better. After he took this one below, Ashley deadpanned, "You know you're five minutes late for work." Mr. Gordy's gonna whup me.
Then it was back to the hotel and back to the festival.

Intermission

The upcoming posts will focus more on the music, I promise.

Detroit International Jazz Festival- Day One

It's been eight days since my adventure at the Detroit International Jazz Festival began, but it's taken that long for all the thoughts in my brain to settle, so that I can tell you what happened. (Actually I didn't have time to start blogging until my write-up for JazzTimes was finished, but the first thing sounded better.)


JazzTimes picked me to be the writer who would cover the festival for the magazine. Marking its 30th year, it was a pretty collasal event, with music going almost non-stop.

As I sat in the Pittsburgh airport with two hours to kill before my plane left (who'd'a thunk I'd get through security that quickly?), I realized that this would only be my fourth trip on a plane. I'm more of a train kind of guy, but that takes a long time and the cost of my flight was taken care of for me.



When I finally touched down in Detroit, I wasn't exactly sure where to go because there was supposed to be a driver ready to pick me up. But no one working in the airport knew where the Jazz Festival shuttle was. It was at that point that I got a call from one of the media guys saying that "they're looking for you at the airport." Me?! They know who I am? Oh yeah, I am a published writer and I know something about the music so that amounts to something. The guy in the call directed me to Passenger Pickup, where I could find the shuttle, and when the other person who was getting a ride showed up, we were whisked off to the hotel.



The swell festival volunteer directed me to where I was to check in with the hotel and with the festival itself, and I found out I had a VIP badge and a press badge so I could go upfront at all the shows. I also met my new friend Jordy who would be my running buddy for most of the weekend.



After hanging out in my room for a bit, looking at Caesar's Palace across the Detroit River in Windsor, trying to catch a bit of a nap (not possible after all the coffee I had that morning), I headed to the Pepsi Jazz Talk Tent where Hank Jones was appearing. Now the theme of the festival was "Keepin' Up with the Joneses," meaning Hank and his brothers Elvin and Thad. So his lineage and his age (91) made Hank a worthy honoree. With all that he's done, you'd hope that the person interviewing him would ask some good leading questions. Maybe "What was Charlie Parker really like at that Verve session" might not sound good, but I bet the answers would be. Instead, a lot of the queries were pretty general and phrased like yes-or-no questions.



Later I went to a VIP event where I met a writer who grew up about three blocks from me in Pittsburgh. That could only happen to someone from my town too. Gary Graff is about 7 years older than me (I know because he graduated from high school the same year as my brother Pete) and a good egg. He knows a lot about music but he's not high and mighty about it. No more sarcastic than I am, which I like. He took me and Jordy to the Dirty Dog, a restaurant that had a tent set up near the Chase Main Stage where Hank Jones was playing that night. We waiting forever for our server to take our orders and then waiting forever and a day for the food to come.

While all this was going on, the festival was starting and Hank Jones was getting a proclamation from the mayor of Detroit. Gretchen Valade, the grand dame or fairy godmother of the festival (and I mean that in a good way, in case you're reading this Gretchen; you're the tops) told Hank, "You're playing is so elegant and spiritual, it makes me cry. And I think everyone agrees." When Hank started playing it became clear that Gretchen was right on. His touch was so precise, with the right amount of subtlety and thunder, it was astounding. One of the tunes he played with Wes Montgomery's "Twisted Blues," which has a pretty complex melody. And Hank chewed up it. A couple people thought Hank was being held back because his regular drummer, Willie Jones III wasn't with him, replaced by Carl Allen. But I thought they all swung like hell, with bassist George Mraz in between them.

I kind of lost track of Jordy and Gary in a quest for coffee and a bathroom (not necessarily in that order). Chick Corea was up next, with Stanley Clarke and Lenny White joining him. I guess you could call them Return to Almost Forever, since all that was missing from the RTF equation was Al Di Meola. And electric instruments. Chick stuck to acoustic piano and Stanley played upright bass.

Someone in the audience yelled out "500 Miles High" and that RTF tune kicked off the set, coincidentally. The soundperson was getting a lot of feedback from one of the instruments and I was afraid Chick was going to rip their head off. He did walk over and talk to the person working sound, but he seemed cool about it. In fact he and Stanley were doing a lot of smiling while they played. Stanley seemed to pick up on the vibe of "I Mean You," doing his own kind of Monk-like solo. Of course it wasn't long before he started doing that double-time slapping thing he likes to do. Chick also got some Monk-isms going in a later tune that sounded like it could've been "Evidence" or "Straight No Chaser." They were definitely tight and swinging, but overall I couldn't get completely into them. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that was catching up with me.

As I walked through the blocked off streets by the stage, it astounded me that so many people had come out for the show. It was the equivalent of Pittsburghers coming to Point State Park for Fourth of July fireworks. For the ones who couldn't see the stage, there was a huge jumbotron held high over the stage for everyone else to see.

I went back to the hotel after they were over, and the jam session was in full effect. I didn't see anyone I knew (musician or writer or publicist), so rather than getting a drink and falling asleep in it, I decided it was time to hit the hay. After all, I had to get up early for the tour of the Motown Museum. More on that next time.

Detroit International Jazz Festival

Just got back today from Detroit. Too much to say and one post won't cut it. But I'll start with one of the final moments. Ran into TS Monk in the hotel bar last night. His group had played "Off Minor," using the big band charts from the Town Hall Concert, which is my favorite version of that tune. It got me right here and I had to tell him that. The younger Monk proceeded to testify on the power of his father's music and the simplicity of it. So much so that I wasn't sure I was going to get away from him without an hour-long oration.
Not to say that I didn't enjoy hearing it. The guy is cool.
So it made three hours of sleep and a 5 a.m. lobby call worth it.

Yes, you read correctly......

In case you missed the off-hand reference in the last posting, I am finally playing in a band again. And not just as a support player, like I was in Amoeba Knievel. This is probably the post-Mofones band that I hoped to start four years ago. Aimee DeFoe and I have tried with varying degrees of success to try to get something together since then, with schedules and babies getting in the way. But now, we're playing with Buck Knauer (guitar) and Erin Dawes (drums) and it looks like we're called the Love Letters. (Aimee plays keyboards, I'm on bass.) Buck has been playing in bands as long as I have. When I was 18 he was 16 or 17 playing in Cousin It, one of my favorite local bands of that era. More recently he's been in Liverball who have also made a comeback with their heavy sound. Erin works with me and I never heard her play drums until we got together. But she has great tastes in music and played drums in high school, so I figured she was a natural. I was right. At practices we've had moments where all four of us sing at once. It's exciting.
We're debuting at a work-related party in a couple weeks (eek!) and at the Thunderbird in October. More details to come.

Number One Cup - an appreciation

The only way I am going to be productive, I've decided, is get to bed early and get up early before everyone else, and do things like blog entries first thing.

A few days ago, I woke up with a song by Number One Cup in my head. And I'm not completely sure why that happened. They were a Chicago band in the 1990s who put out a few pretty good albums and one amazing, should've-been-on-every-smart-critic's-year-end list album before breaking up. I came across them when a guy put their song "Dive Bomb" on a tape for me. It was sort of a Pavement-y, catchy simple sound with the hook coming from the way they used a keyboard with one of those whammy bars to bend the pitch. And they used it on every chorus to simulate the dive bomb effect. Since the sound was more whiney than catastrophic, it was pretty funny and made me think these guys have something going for themselves.

In 1999, I bought Number One Cup's album People People Why are We Fighting? which is a pretty brilliant album name (coming from Mick Jagger's comment at Altamont after the stabbing). I always forget it came out a year earlier and I always want to put it on my "Last great albums of the millennium" list, beside Olivia Tremor Control's Black Foliage (which never seems to get its due) and Neutral Milk Hotel's In an Aeroplane Over the Sea (which does). It was a purchase based on what I read on a press release about the band and it ended up being a smart buy. Their first two albums were mixed bags (as I'd find out when I worked my way backwards in the discography), but People really comes off as a strong diverse album. The songs all sound pretty different but they work together to create a complete project.

Three out of the four guys take turns singing lead. Drummer Michael Lenzi, who does a lot of it, has a voice like a cross between Big Dipper's Bill Goffrier and the Cure's Robert Smith. He sounds really tense on some songs which goes along with the loud power chords and simple but perfect one string leads ("Low Sparks"). After he gets you all riled up, Patrick O'Connell shifts vocal gears and calms things down (in "Ice Melts Around My Battery," for example). "Canada Disappears" is a two-minute piece that quietly rises up at the end of the first half of the album (I don't know if it appeared on vinyl, but this was the logical place for Side One to end). Later on, "Caught on the Crown," another soft, piano driven piece, emerges out of an extended coda of metallic noodling in the previous song, all low-register, haunting minor key vocals, providing a good contrast to the high vocals and counter melodies you just heard. The title track is a six-minute sound sculpture, for lack of a better word that begins with a rainstorm and piano meanderings and climaxes with some really loud sounds from a noise generator.

I think what put Number One Cup in my subconscious had to do with "Remote Control," my favorite song on the album. In it, Patrick sings in Michael's register over a simple three chord riff that gets overlaid with "doo doo doo" harmonies, a great countermelody and a vague lyric that could be the thoughts of a spy. (It has the "metallic noodling" coda mentioned above.) This is one of those times that proves how simplicity can be irresistible if it has the right amount of enthusiasm behind it.

I've always had this song figured as a cover and I'm in a new band that has a show coming up and our set is still coming together. So maybe I was thinking in my sleep that we should learn "Remote Control."

On September, 10, 2001 I wrote the band a letter which was returned a few weeks later. I tracked them down via email a little while later. They had disbanded by then, with some moving on to another band, Fire Show was the name.

Flydaddy Records released People People and they went under a few years later. So finding the album is probably impossible now. But it's worth the search. And if you see it on vinyl, somewhere let me know.





PS In searching for an image of the album cover I came across this, http://www.magnetmagazine.com/2009/02/24/lost-classics-number-one-cups-wrecked-by-lions/ a rather back-handed after-the-fact shoutout to the band's second album, followed by a comment from Seth Kim-Cohen from the band.

Snorings, and pictures of those Fiery Furnaces

It's Saturday night and I........... am falling forward at the computer. I have things to say but I'll tell you more later.

In the meantime, go to http://www.blurt-online.com/concert_reviews/view/183/ and read my review of the Fiery Furnaces show in Pittsburgh a few weeks ago. Blurt put it up this past week.

Since they didn't run my pictures of the Friedbergers, here's an exclusive for you.

CD Review: Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins

Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins - The Classic Prestige Sessions, 1951-1956 (Prestige/Concord)

It's hard to think of Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins as just another couple of guys (cats, as it were) working on finding their own unique voices in a still developing genre of music. But in 1951, that's not too far removed from how they were on the earliest of these recordings.

Continuing to mark the 60th anniversary of Prestige Records, Concord Music - who now owns the label that Bob Weinstock started - has compiled the 25 tracks that these giants-in-the-making recorded together over a period of five years. Granted Davis and Rollins were at the head of their classes on tenor and trumpet, but much of the first disc has a tentative feeling to it.

That's not to say this isn't good listening. John Lewis's "Morpheus" opens things at a clipped tempo with some fast lines not normally heard from Davis. A version of "Conception," with Jackie McLean joining the frontline, updates the sound that originated with the fabled Birth of the Cool sessions. The rest of that session, released on the album Dig, has some fine blowing but not a whole lot of band chemistry. This was McLean's first session and he sounds like an able soloist, but the rhythm section doesn't seem to drive the band. Part of this could be the sound quality itself, which is especially echoey on "Dig," like fake stereo is being used. Beyond that, one of the more remarkable things is the appearance on "Bluing" of Davis' voice, pre-rasp, heard when Art Blakey keeps playing after everyone else has stopped: "Play the endin', man. You know the arrangement." (Dig is probably the only Miles album I bought and later sold when money was tight.)

Disc two is a different story. These sessions later appeared on the albums Collector's Items and Bags' Groove capture Miles and Sonny really digging into the music. The first session includes Charlie Parker (credited as Charlie Chan originally, due to contractual obligations) on second tenor sax, giving Rollins a run for his money. The next includes Horace Silver, Percy Heath and Kenny Clarke, as well as the debuts of several tunes that have gone on to become stalwarts of jam sessions - and recording sessions - everywhere: "Airegin," "Oleo" and "Doxy," all written by Rollins. Supposedly Sonny just whipped these out for the session, and whether or not that's true, the players respond with the enthusiasm of a group digging into a tune for the first time knowing they're onto something big. The final session includes a Brubeck tune Miles would redo soon after with Coltrane, oddly enough at the same session where the tune caled "Vierd Blues" would be rechristened "Coltrane's Blues."

Ira Gitler provides liner notes that recount the history of these players' affiliation, along with some personal recollections from the sessions. (Gitler wrote liner notes and occasionally acted as something of a producer for Prestige.) The best story comes from the Parker session where Bird was the first to show up for the recording (a rarity, if not a first) and chugged the bottle of gin and Miles nearly walked out after Gitler came down to hard on him.

If you don't already have the two albums on disc two, you ought to go out and by the whole thing.

If It Sounds Too Good to Be True, There's No Gig

Playing right now: John Surman - Brewster's Rooster (ECM)
Yes, a very ECM-sounding ECM album. I have only a little bit of saxophonist Surman so when it was offered as a review item, I thought, why not.

At the start of the summer I got an email about a national tour by a few psych bands, with the connection being that they all got their big start in 1966. Indeed - these weren't third or fourth generation bands but the progenitors, if you don't mind the $9 college word. The tour consisted of the Electric Prunes, Sky Saxon and Love "featuring Johnny Echols" (in other words original Love guitarist Echols along with the band that backed Arthur Lee in his last days, Baby Lemonade).

Then Sky died about a month ago. I kept wondering if the tour was still happening but never actively combed through my email to find the publicist's name to ask and find out. Then on Sunday night, I came across an email dated August 3 that said the tour now included Jerry Miller from Moby Grape, taking the spot vacated by Mr. Saxon. My heart skipped a beat. I love Moby Grape, and immediately set about trying to make plans to make it to the show and get a chance to review it.

Well, if it sounds to good to be true it probably is. Or let's put it this way: If you haven't heard anything about a show beyond two emails, it's probably cancelled.

Monday afternoon, as I walked into the Three Bears' house at Storybook Forest with Jennie and Donovan, my phone rang. It was a guy involved with the tour who said the Pittsburgh show was cancelled because the venue did bupkis to publicize it. Somehow I knew that was going to happen. I guess I won't be touching the sleeve of a Moby Grape member any time soon.

My favorite band and my big break = incompatible

I'm going to the 30th Annual Detroit International Jazz Festival on Labor Day weekend! This is the first time I've covered something outside of Pittsburgh for JazzTimes. And the first time I've been to any big jazz festivals. The list of performers includes Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea, Hank Jones and our hometown hero Sean Jones.

It's almost a shame that Mission of Burma is coming to town while I'll be up therein Detroit. I've only waited, oh, 29 years to see them in Pittsburgh. And they're playing Club Cafe, which ought to be an unusual venue since they're so freaking loud and liable to shatter the windows that are right behind the stage.

In case I never said it here, I was listening to Mission of Burma when I decided that I wanted to seriously try to start a band playing bass. During the summer of 1985, I was obsessed with the Minutemen and Mission of Burma and noodled away on the bass hoping that something would happen than would put my fingers on the right frets and know what to play. That happened while listening to Burma's "This is Not a Photograph." It all fell into place and I wanted to be Clint Conley, via Mike Watt.

It will be a shame to miss them but, then again, [copping a mock-haughty voice] I've already seen them twice since they got back together. I know they'll rock.

Remember Rashied Ali

I came home from work tonight and after Jennie and I talked about our respective days and about the kid, she said she heard that Rashied Ali had died. What can I say that I haven't said previously when blogging about a jazz great dying. "It's a damn shame"? "Not again"? How about this: It's bad enough that we lost Les Paul...

(Although I have to say it always made me feel good that Les lasted as long as he did, playing until almost the very end.)

So now, only two people who played with John Coltrane during his seminal quartet/quintet years are still alive: McCoy Tyner and Pharoah Sanders. A lot of people (non-free jazz fans, that is) might put Ali down because of his loose, wild style of playing, but the guy knew what he was doing. You talk about a flowing sound - that's what he did on the kit. I have two CDs he did as a leader, one with Leroy Jenkins and the other w/a quintet that included James Blood Ulmer. I'll have to get them out tonight.

Bird and the heat

I'd really love to sit around all day, drinking iced coffee and listening to live Charlie Parker records. But I have a feeling this heat is going to be too much for me and I'm going to hightail it to an airconditioned coffee joint and try to weed through some promos. My brow is getting wet as I type.

What's up with the Dirty Projectors?

I started reading about the Dirty Projectors about a month ago when their Bitte Orca album came out. They seemed like the new critic's fave band: write-ups in Sunday New York Times, Rolling Stone (which I only caught because I got a free copy at work).... And somebody somewhere along the way started asking me about them. I can't remember who though, although I feel like it was someone from work. If it was you, speak up.

So anyhow, I saw that Bitte Orca was available on vinyl, which made them even more appealing to me and someone I put on my mental music list. I wound up getting the CD anyway last Monday. (A few bucks less and I was able to walk out with two items instead of one.) I was writing reviews all week, so I didn't get to listen to it until last night.

What's the story with these folks?! Don't get me wrong, I'm really into getting my senses challenged by new music these days. For instance, St. Vincent's latest is really intriguing for reasons that I still can't pinpoint. Plus it reminds me of Lida Husik a little (another Shimmy-Disc vet whose name I meant to drop in a previous entry).

But these Projector peoples seem to have taken the math rock thing and fused it to a chamber pop aesthetic. (I guess it was only a matter of time.) My wife said some of it reminded her of Shellyan Orphan and I'll take it further and say that if you cross that band with the Fiery Furnaces, you'd be dead on. I'm a Furnaces follower and feel like there's always a pop song at the core of what they're doing. With the Dirty Projectors, I'm not sure. Sometimes it seems like they just slapped some off kilter twist onto a steady 4/4 type background to see how it works. I can appreciate that, but I'm not sure how often I'll reach for that CD.

But I'm not ready to pass judgement yet. I need at least one more listen.

CD Review: Warren Smith Composers Workshop Ensemble

Warren Smith Composers Workshop Ensemble

Old News Borrowed Blues (Engine)

Drummer/percussionist/composer Warren Smith brought together 14 musicians plus himself to record these five brilliant pieces. Five saxes, four brass, guitar, African percussion and two drummers sound like the next generation of the Sun Ra Arkestra, although their influences stick with the various inhabitants of Planet Earth, rather than pulling more inspiration from the cosmos.

"Rivers State Suite" consists of a three-part tone poem inspired by villages Smith visited in Nigeria and the songs griots sang there about their cities. Vibes set up a dreamy mood over reggae groove in the first part before the lower horns come in with a folk-like melody. The laid-back feeling shifts into a more urgent tempo for part two, where the harmonies go to church. The third movement is built on an equally simplistic riff, but the way the percussion kicks it along and the way Smith layers the horns keep it exciting.

"The Hungarian Gypsy Song" also sounds true to its name, with haunting diminished chords, some gypsy guitar strumming and those dreamy vibes again. "Lock the Toilet Door" presents the group playing no nonsense hard bop, with a strong trumpet solo and a lot of fire from Smith and second drummer Lloyd Haber. "One More Like for Harold Vick," recently saluted by Sonny Rollins, pays tribute to the late tenor player with a theme that seems more like an emotional rendering than an attempt to emulate his style. Sounding a bit like a Mingus piece at times, it feels as if Smith is trying to explain the tragedy that Vick wasn't heard by more people.

Smith explains in the notes that "Free Forms 1-4" comes from a set of ten interconnected compositions that utilize free improvisation. Each is marked by a sketch of a theme, followed by free blowing, that eventually cues in a vamp. The final section features Smith, presumably, reading a poem over a slow waltz with Craig Rivers' soprano and the vibes moving behind him, with the rest of the ensemble adding some dark chords and a few well-placed honks and blats. Jazz poetry can be a scary (read - bad) idea, but Smith avoids speaking in the cliched poet cadence and the text ("a love song, sort of") sketches a thoughtful image that feels appropriate after the frenzy that came before it.

The only setback with Old News Borrowed Blues is that individual soloists aren't singled out. While the recycled chipboard cover includes notes from Smith on the music, it's not clear which drummer plays vibes (or if they take turns) or whether Cecil Bridgewater or John Carlton take the trumpet solos. Ultimately, that can be chalked up to nitpicking, though. With soloists that include Claire Daly (baritone sax) and Craig Rivers (soprano sax), and recent Art Ensemble of Chicago bassist Jeribu Shahid as part of the group, this is definitely one of the strongest releases of the year and needs to be heard.

Moving the albums; remembering Kramer's Guilt Trip

Playing right now: Donovan's various renditions of the ABC song/Baa Baa Black Sheep/Twinkle Twinkle Little Star - none of which ever get finished. They're emanating from the next room.

Last week I began the arduous task of moving our albums into the den (we call it the Skinny Room due to its 35' X 10' dimensions) from the small storage room behind it (we call it the Mistress Room, since the sliding mirrored doors are the perfect place to house your backdoor dame). The Mistress Room has been sort of damp since the big flood of '04 and when rain came in last month during a particularly heavy downpour, enough was enough. Some of the CDs were getting musty already, and a couple of the walls are showing signs of must. Luckily the records were against the dry wall, but still it's only a matter of time.

We have one of those IKEA shelves w/five sections across and five down. And to move that heavy thing I had to take all the records out, carry most of them to the front room and pile them up. Getting them back in was pretty easy, but I still have a bunch that have never even been on that shelf. So there's been a lot of reorganizing. At first, I left some space open in the M's because that always seems the tightest. That way, if more room was needed on either end of that grouping, they could be adjusted accordingly. Of course that lasted about a day. It's all very tight around there now. Now the major slack can be found around the Horace Silver section. We'll see how long that lasts.

It's always funny to see what artists sit side by side. Allan Sherman is still sharing company with Archie Shepp. But that's not nearly as funny as seeing Phil Ochs next to Ted Nugent.

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Kramer's 3-record deluge The Guilt Trip was sitting out since it's better to keep it off the shelf due to the amount space that it swallows up. That album came out in 1993 and it was one of the most anticipated albums for me at that time. For about three years, up until then, I was a Kramer fanatic, buying all the Bongwater albums and checking out every release on his Shimmy-Disc label. When he called me back for an interview for my fanzineonce, I about died.

So after the crushing break-up of Bongwater, I eagerly awaited this humongous solo project box. (It came out about a year later.) There's something about a new release spread over three records that makes it a must have. I remember buying it on a Friday and taking it to Jennie's place that night. We only got through maybe two sides of it before it became clear that we couldn't listen to it and have a conversation.

Today it sounds... okay. I mean sonically it sounds great. Kramer's swirly, psychedelic production is what made his early work so good, and also what made his post-1993 work so lacking. He started to abandon his trademark sound around that time. (Only a few of the songs on Bone of Contention's Kramer-produced Fun CD have his telltale trimmings, which really bummed me out when someone mentioned that to me.)

But I'm digressing. The Guilt Trip is loaded with instrumentals. Some sound pretty good on their own. The opening couple minutes of the album ("Overture")sound absolutely mind-blowing, for instance. It's like the intro to Sergeant Pepper played by Blue Cheer and looped. Some tracks sound like they were ready for Ann Magnuson to add her parts. In fact all the Kramer harmonies on "Wisdom Sits" (he was always very skilled at singing all of them) make it sound like a Bongwater outtake. But other wordless tracks sound like unfinished sketches with layers of overdubs to cover up the riff-not-necessarily-a-song quality of them.

The vocal tracks are great though. It occurred to me that "Welcome Home" might be sung from the perspective of his baby (at the time) daughter, since it's being sung to a mother who has come home and is begged to "forget that awful day." Plus, there's a snippet of a squawking baby in the background before the guitar solo. The trippy vocal on "Stupid Summer" (who's he sound like? Donovan? Syd?) sounds better than it did 16 years ago. And I almost forgot about the sped-up vocal on "I'm Your Fan" (which at the time could've been about me). I might have to get out record three and play that.

Still, the best example of Kramer's post-Bongwater work from that era has to be Who's Afraid, his first Shimmy album with Daevid Allen. It's consistent from beginning to end with all the trippiness and noodly qualities reined in by conventional song structures.

I wonder where his daughter Tess is now. She's probably about 17.

CD Review: Fred Anderson

Engine is a New York based label that recently landed a distribution deal with ESP. A couple of their discs showed up with the latest batch of ESP items. On initial inspection, what's interesting about Engine is their econo packaging: a 10"X 5" piece of recycled chip board with the album cover artwork and info printed on it. (Very similar to what the early Screwgun discs were wrapped in, only a little more basic.) The disc itself stays in place courtesy of a piece of foam that's glued on good and tight. Unless you try to rip it out, or compulsively put the CD on and off, that little pad won't fall off. Smart packaging.

I just looked at the Engine site, hoping find some background info or label history. While I agree with much of what founder Steven Walcott says (I'm assuming it's him) about getting press, the tone is rather grouchy. I mean I know it's hard to get reviews when you're a small label and that most of the people who end up reading your website will be "with you," but damn, brother, do you have to an us v. them thing? Why not talk about how great your CDs are?

Oh, I guess that's where I come in.

Fred Anderson
Staying In the Game (Engine)

On the credits to this CD, tenor saxophonist Fred Anderson "thanks God for keeping him here so he can play jazz." Whether or not you're a believer in a higher power, we should all give Fred an amen on that. In fact, let's hope the 80-year old Chicago veteran never dies because he still has an unending font of ideas to drawn on.

Staying in the Game is a trio session with bassist Harrison Bankhead and drummer Tim Daisy. Recorded last November in Chicago, these six tracks sound like spontaneous inventions. The 24-minute "Sunday Afternoon" opens the album, with Anderson working on a "Giant Steps"-like idea, while his conspirators play a walking waltz underneath. The dynamic level doesn't vary a whole lot, which means it stays at a similar volume throughout the duration. Even when things get free, the trio doesn't resort to crazy blowing. But the way Anderson brings out a series of melodic tricks -rather than going for the easy wail, for instance - will win over discerning listeners.

"The Elephant and the Bee" describes the combination of tenor and bass in duet, although it's hard to tell which instrument represents which creature. Bankhead's rich bowing, with its scraping harmonics, could symbolize the lumbering elephant. Then again, his fleet plucking moves like a bee too. Anderson seems to play on a parallel line, but he's clearly in tune with the bassist's movement. As the track ends, one of them - probably Bankhead since he finishes last - is heard marveling at the performance, out of breath, and it's easy to agree with the sentiment.

In "Springing Water," Daisy gets his chance to play alone with Anderson. Together they create a sound that evokes the track's title, ebbing and flowing in a stream of ideas. Then the album climaxes with "Changes and Bodies and Tones" full of rolling cymbals, arco bass (is he using two bows?) and tenor sax lines that ring out like deep thoughts. It's off-the-cuff and loose but it's also a textbook example of how this music should sound.

Check it out at http://www.engine-studios.com/

Next up, Warren Smith's Composers Workshop Ensemble - Old New Borrowed Blues (also on Engine).

Almost a Sonic Youth review

Playing right now: Burt Bacharach - Make It Easy On Yourself (Wanted to hear the version of "Do You Know Way to San Jose" because it's top-shelf exquisite pop, but man, even the slow poke title track and Burt's "rumpled baritone" sound good right now.)

Having said that...

I've had Sonic Youth on the brain for the past couple of weeks, in anticipation of getting their new album. We were talking about them at work a few weeks back, and discussing how their last few albums haven't exactly knocked it out the park like they used to. I remember liking Rather Ripped when I bought it, but it's been quite awhile since I played it. My friend Toby said that Washing Machine was one of his favorites, to which I said I bypassed that one completely at the time, due to a combination of lack of funds to buy it and feedback from friends that it wasn't very good. Toby loaned it to me and I listened to it in the car for a few days while driving around. It's not as lackluster as I heard, but it wasn't great. And it seemed like Kim Gordon hardly played bass on it at all.

Then a few nights ago, I decided to dig out Rather Ripped to check it out again. (I bought The Eternal in the meantime, but I'll get to that shortly.) While going through the Sonic Youth section of my CDs I came across Sonic Nurse. "What the hell is this," I thought when I saw the spine. When I looked at the cover I recognized it, but I had absolutely no recollection of what is on it or when I bought it. It came out in 2004, which was the year that Pulp shut down so it might've come as a promo to the paper or maybe I bought it during the time I was out of work. (For an unemployed person, I bought a fair share of records and CDs that summer.) But as far as the songs on it, the only thing that rang a bell was the title "Kim Gordon and the Arthur Doyle Hand Cream," because Kim was interviewed in Bust and she explained that saxophonist Doyle had given Thurston some hand cream at a show.

I listened to about half of it last night while picking up in the kitchen. Not bad, but not exactly memorable either. Sounds like every song is in D, just like most SY albums. I'll probably keep it since I have just about all of SY's "rock" albums. (I can't do without the improv stuff.) It's good to have for reference, I suppose.

But this brings up a subject I've been thinking about for quite awhile - what's more important: between owning an album or CD or simply hearing what's on it? This question started to congeal in my head about a month ago when I went to Carnegie Library and checked out the Mosaic box of Hank Mobley's '50s Blue Note sessions. I have about 1/3 of the set already on vinyl, having been obsessed with those early, valuable Blue Note albums. My intention was to burn copies of the rest of the stuff so I'd flush from my system the desire to keep searching eBay in hopes of finding copies of the other albums for a reasonable price. (Ain't gonna happen; it's a waste of time.) I know I could find just about all of that stuff on individual CDs too, but that runs into money, time, etc...

And when I did that, I realized it wasn't so much that I wanted to possess copies of all this music (although a Blue Note album with the W. 63rd Street address would make a nice addition to the collection), but to simply hear all of it. It's not as if I have time to just sit and listen to records like I once did. Look at the time I had the chance to listen to Sonic Nurse.

I really like buying CDs and records and I want to keep up with different artists since I write about music, but I'm looking at the Revenant Albert Ayler box and wondering when I'll get back to that. The most recent St. Vincent album is on the desk in front of me. I definitely bought that because she's gotten good press and I felt like I better check her out. And she's good but how often will I putting it on? I'll be lucky if I get to know that album intimately before I have to review something or buy the next "I should check this out" disc.

And those Mobley discs? I think I've listened to one since I burned them. Just in case anyone from Blue Note is reading, don't bust my chops about copying the discs. Yeah, it's wrong, but it's not as if I would've gone out and bought Peckin' Time anyway.

But back to Sonic Youth's new album The Eternal. After about two decades (say it with me: Jeez-oh-pete!) they're back on an independent label - Matador, one of the best. Not only that, they're rocking like they haven't in a long time. On a Goo or Dirty level. With Pavement's Mark Ibold joining the fold, things sound really inspired. If the album hadn't been $15 more than the CD, I probably would've sprung for it. I just hope I'm not missing out on any bonus, vinyl-only tracks

I think I'm going to replay some of that Bacharach album. 'Scuse me.

CD Review: Talibam!

Talibam!
Boogie in the Breeze Blocks (ESP)

To call Matthew Mottel and Kevin Shea irreverent would be stating the obvious. They named their musical project Talibam!, after all. But aside from that, there’s the cover shot on Boogie in the Breeze Blocks, where their tousled-but-styling looks could help them pass for a couple of hip New York DJs. And then there’s the program on this release, which numbers somewhere around number 12 in a discography of CDs, CDrs, singles and 10”s, and has already been followed by a new release.
Boogie has a recurring bit that casts Mottel (numerous keyboards) and Shea (drums, “detritus”) as either ambulance drivers or cops. They receive radio dispatches, which sound like samples of real thing, and respond to them with zany comments (“Oh! That’s a strange thing!”) before the sound of motorcycles and sirens segue into the next blast of spazz jazz. Sometimes the group goes for pure noise (“Predetermined to the Master Plan”), sometimes they get downright funky (“Not Just Any Kind of Vegetable”) and sometimes they do all that and more (“Nike Rim Johb,” which includes some growling horns and bird field recordings).
Like with most of his work, Shea’s drumming often sounds like he’s dismantling his kit, throwing down a flight of stairs and making it sound good. Mottel who plays everything from piano to Rhodes to Roland, is the perfect co-conspirator for the drummer, being able to jump into any style at a moment’s notice. (If John Zorn every wants to get a new Naked City together, he should recruit these two.)
Thirteen guests show up on various tracks, including all of Shea’s bandmates from the jazz quartet Mostly Other People Do The Killing. Tim Dahl’s bass gives seven of the tracks some much needed bottom. Danielle Kuhlmann adds some chanteuse-y moments to various tracks, which is the perfect foil for the chaos of “Predetermined.”
I’ve only heard one other Talibam! disc, which was admirable for its focus but got a little tiring after numerous splattering, free form assaults, even as different musical guests moved in and out of the fold. Boogie in the Breeze Blocks has one track that goes over the top with spastic screaming in the not-so-background. But for the most part, the disc maintains interest because it keeps changing shape; some songs even sound like two different tracks fused together. Plus the crazy personas that keep popping up add some much levity.

(In case you haven't read my interview with ESP founder Bernard Stollman, here’s the first part and here’s part two.)

JazzTimes is back!

For the past month or so, I've been seriously thinking that music journalism as a whole is being systematically killed, jazz journalism in particular. Then, 20 minutes ago, I got an email from Lee Mergner, JazzTimes' editor, saying the magazine has been bought.

It's a Christmas miracle!

And it ain't even Christmas.

Here's the straight dope if you want to know. http://jazztimes.com/articles/24943-jazztimes-to-resume-print-and-online-publishing

And by the way, my CD reviews of the Cline Brothers (Alex and Nels) and Charlie Kohlhase have been removed from this blog because they're going to run in JT after all. Go out and buy it. You'll be glad you did.

Monday afternoon news

Playing right now: John Vanderslice - Romanian Names (only because I haven't played it since he was in town, not because I'm that obsessed with him. [http://www.blurt-online.com/concert_reviews/view/167/]

New Fiery Furnaces disc showed up in the mail today. Ohboyohboyohboy! And it's good. But I'll refrain from commenting until I review it for Blurt.

Last night's Harlan Twins show

Last night I went to the Harlan Twins' CD release show at the Brillobox. We almost didn't get in because the show had sold out. Imagine that - a local band that's still in the picking-up-speed phase selling out their release show. It's a good sign of things to come.

If you'd like to hear my professional opinion on them go here: http://www.pittsburghcitypaper.ws/gyrobase/Content?oid=oid%3A65602

If you'd like to hear my sitting-at-the-bar opinion, here IT is: this band ought to be huge. At least as big as the Modey Lemon. Some people might say that's not all that big, but I'm thinking that way after having seen umpteen local bands put out albums, get a lot of buzz going and either squander it or give up prematurely. I remember when Shopping broke up, I ran into their guitarist Nick (now of Centipede E'est) at Gooski's and yelling at him that the band should've stayed together because they were so good, etc. etc.

Anyhow, the Harlans have such a great sound and seeing them live, it's clear that all five of them are in sync with each other, and that they all belong together in this band. I told their guitarist James that if anyone wants to quit, he should pull a Charles Mingus and punch them in the mouth to discourage any quitters. I don't advocate violence but this is serious stuff.

I'm so bleeding happy

After months of wondering and fruitlessly searching throughout Blogger, I finally figured out how to change my template and add a list of blogs that I like. And now I'm able to allow peeps to subscribe to the blog. Believe me, it was often frustrating, but now I'm happy that it's there. I felt like I was really blogging off in the background, where no one could ever hope to find me.

Sky Saxon too??!

Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, Gale Storm, Bob Bogle (of the Ventures), Karl Malden...... SKY SAXON too? Apparently the frontman of the Seeds died the same day as Farrah and Michael, which of course meant, we're only finding out about it now. (I saw it this morning on AllMusic.)

Jiminy crap - who's next?

On a brighter note, I just filed a story on the Pittsburgh band the Harlan Twins, who are releasing their debut CD next week. The band is amazing. If you're in Pittsburgh on July 10, go see them. I mean it.

Don't Stop Till You Get Enough

Playing right now: Talibam! - Ordination of the Globetrotting Conscripts (Whacked out improv featuring Kevin Shea. I hope to write about their new album in this spot during the coming week.)

Everybody's sounding off about Michael Jackson's death, so I feel like I'm entitled to add my two cents to the forum. For starters, it shocked and bummed me out a lot more than I expected. It probably had something to do with the fact that I get weird feelings about any musician that I like or liked passing away. (See posts on Andrew Hill and Bud Shank.) Having a kid can do that to you too, changing your perspective on the whole life and death thing.

And Michael did have a profound impact on my life when I was about 5 or 6. Before I discovered the Beatles, the Jackson 5 were it. (There was another group of family singers I liked at that time too, but we don't need to do the full disclosure thing here.) "I Want You Back" and "ABC" were little pieces of magic to me. Literally little pieces in my case: I got those songs on records that came on boxes of Alpha-Bits cereal. And when I first heard "Never Can Say Goodbye" on their Greatest Hits album, it was the first time I ever got knocked over by a real bonafide hook. I'm referring to the chorus, where the music does a descending riff while Michael sings the title line and the group ends up with those "no no no"s. Damn. I made my friend Eric play that over and over and over.

Years later I'd discover that the tight arrangements at Motown had a lot to do with what made the songs so memorable, but Michael's voice was part of that, standing front and center. At the time, Tito was my favorite member of the group because he was the guitar player and that was what I wanted to play. But I knew Michael's voice was leading the group. Somehow Eric and I convinced ourselves that everyone in the band also played an instrument and sang, and we thought Michael was the drummer.

In some ways, Michael is probably responsible for paving the way for the current spate of glitzy performances where singers have five dancers with them onstage, where the spectacle has become more important than the song their singing. But for Michael, it was all about the song and making come across the best you can. Those early Jackson 5 records planted the seed in his head and - if a press release I read this morning had any truth to it - when the Jacksons worked with Gamble & Huff in the late '70s, Michael picked up a lot from them about the nuts and bolts needed to make a song good. Of course, he worked with Quincy Jones too, who knew all about arrangements from his big band days. Their collaborations weren't about jumping on the latest trend to make a cheap buck. They were setting standards, coming up with songs that would withstand the test of time. That's why "Billie Jean" might be a corny song, yes, but I'll be doggone if that bassline isn't catchy. Or, ask Michael would say, "It's smelly."

So maybe it's the old mindframe about having respect for the dead, but rather than focus on all the freaky things from the last 15 years of his life, I think it's much healthier to remember the early things that prove that he was at one time a consumate performer.

JazzTimes in suspense

So I just received an email (actually it arrived last night) informing me that JazzTimes has "suspended publication of the magazine and furloughed its staff while it finalizes the sale of its assets." That's a direct quote from the website, so I'm not speaking out of turn. (I can't hyperlink where I am now, but you can find it at www.jazztimes.com.)

That's just beautiful. Not just another magazine on the chopping block, but one that's devoted to jazz and that writes very well about it. And I'm not talking about my writing by any means. Evan Haga, Bill Milkowski, our beloved guru Nat Hentoff, as well as the occasional sharp and witty two cents from editor Lee Mergner - it made me glad to be part of the publication. The magazine also proved that while jazz has a rich past, it has an equally important future that people need to know about. (And how. You know how hard it was to get a Mosaic review in there if your name wasn't Scott Yanov? No offense, Scott, you're the tops too. I did get to review a few Mosaics.)

I'm getting ahead of myself. The magazine's not defunct yet. I'm just worried. It's just that I've been through this before, you know.

Go out and buy the May issue of JazzTimes while you can. It has a great interview with John Zorn, who's on the cover. And when you go to the counter, slam it down and say, "I'm mad as all-get-out, and I'm not going to take it anymore."

If only that would happen on some sort of scale, maybe we could start a revolution.

SST Weekend - Grant Hart returns!

It was an SST weekend in Pittsburgh. Friday night the Meat Puppets played, although I didn't make it to that show. Last night, Grant Hart - the once and forever drummer/vocalist of Husker Du - played at Howler's. Opening the show was none other than Ed fROMOHIO, the once and forever vocalist/guitarist of fIREHOSE. Ed has lived in Pittsburgh for a couple years now, but, other than an appearance at the Who Tribute show earlier this year, this is the first time I saw him play a set. I think his arrival coincided with Donovan's arrival into this world.
Funny thing, the Meat Puppets' original drummer, Derrick Bostrom, didn't join the reunited band. He's working for the same company I work for, although he's in Tuscon and I'm in Pittsburgh. What are the odds? (Answer: not all that unusual).
Anyhow, the evening at Howler's began after the Penguins got crushed 5-0. (I'm tired of hockey [sorry, everyone] but even I know that was AWFUL.) Then Moonlight Motel played, which features one of my bff's Mike Moran (vocals), along with Steve Seel (bass), Steve Morrison (acoustic guitar), Sam Matthews (mandolin) and Kip Ruefle (hand percussion). Mike has an amazing voice and it's great to hear him in this context, which not only brings together guys of different musical backgrounds, but puts them in a context that could appeal to acoustic fans without loosing people who know them from the noisier settings. One of the songs was called "The Ballad of Edward Moran," which is about Mike's grandfather, and I swear in one verse he sang in a brogue and it sounded really natural.
I loved fIREHOSE and saw them nearly every time they played Pittsburgh in the '80s. Mike Watt was my bass hero but I always thought Ed was a great player and singer too. One song into his set, he had me wanting to pound my table to show my enthusiasm for his band. They were catchy and edgey with all kinds of chord changes that you didn't expect. He pulled out a couple of fIREHOSE tunes that took me back and he even did a spirited version of the Minutemen's "Corona," which also did my heart good.
Then a few minutes after Ed and his crew wrapped up, a thin guy dressed in a cap, with a guitar got up onstage and plugged in. "So that's him," I asked my friend John. "Yep," was the reply. Of course a lot of years have passed since Grant Hart had long ratty hair and was a little pudgy. Still it took me by surprise to see him, and when John kidded me, "Maybe it's a scam. Maybe it's not really him," I did wonder for a second. It could be his twin brother Brant. Or maybe someone named Harte Grant. However, his voice was pretty unmistakable so I knew it was really him.
The other surprise came with his set. John and I were kidding that we should yell out Husker song titles, thinking that if we did, we'd get our asses kicked. But sure enough, he played "The Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill," [note the verb tense there, Post-Gazette] a couple songs in - right when I was at the bar trying to get a drink. Then, he started asking, "Anything you want to hear?"; "Any requests?" A couple times I yelled "Now That You Know Me" from Intolerance, but when that went unheeded, I yelled "Keep Hanging On" which I still find to be one of the most inspirational punk songs ever (if you've heard the version on Flip Your Wig you know why). His delivery last night wasn't as frantic as in the original, but it still got me feeling a tad ferklempt.
Other highlights included "Terms of Psychic Warfare," "2541" and one newer, almost torch song number, during which he stopped and asked a loud talker, "Am I interrupting anything?" After that one, he asked us, "Ok, who paid $16 to get in here tonight?" Silence. "Who paid $24?" Silence. "Who paid $32?" Silence. "OK, well let's have a little respect for the people who paid $8." He added some subtle-but-cutting comment about how it's always the hipsters who disrupt things. Whoever had been talking then shut-up.
Afterwards we were talking to him a little and without any prodding, he started trashing Bob Mould. I don't think it's telling tales out of school to mention this because he wasn't revealing any big secrets, and besides Bob's no angel. Some guy talking to him said it sounded like there'd be no Husker Du reunion and I wanted to smack him and say, "DUH!" That band fueled mostly by aggression anyway and the hostility that exists between the two of them wouldn't be a good way to run a band now anyway. Grant just said that it would be a shell of what it once was.
I asked him how it came together that he and Bob played a benefit for the late bass player of Soul Asylum. He said Bob called him about it and used it as a way to one-up Paul Westerberg, who also played the show. Notice he just kind of skipped over "Bob called me" to get to a rant about Westerberg. What was the call like? What was it like going onstage? Was it fun? At all?
By that time, I figured I needed to go home anyhow, so I left it at that. If I get to interview him when he comes through next time (he has an album coming out), maybe I'll follow up with him about it.