CD Review: Gigi Gryce - Doin' the Gigi

Gigi Gryce

Doin' the Gigi

(Uptown) http://www.uptownrecords.net/

In the final, live portion of this CD, announcer MC Hugh Downs (yes, that Hugh Downs) describes Gigi Gryce's set as the music that "musicians have good reason to believe will outlast rock and roll music or any other kind of fad music that comes and goes. Maybe everybody thinks that except teenagers." That probably seemed believable in those days pre-Beatles days of 1957, yet it sounds terribly ironic when considering both the stature of that rock and roll music in the 21st century, and the stature of alto saxophonist/composer/publisher Gigi Gryce in the history of jazz. Most hard bop fans know his tunes like "Minority" and "Nica's Tempo," which have both been covered by musicians with discriminating tastes for years. He also played an active role on albums by no less than Lee Morgan and Clifford Brown for Blue Note.

But in his lifetime, Gryce was one the extremely talented but struggling musicians that fell through the cracks. He had lofty goals to run a publishing company that would get musicians the royalties they deserved, and to start his own record label. His good intentions burned him out and by the early '60s he kissed the jazz life goodbye and became a school teacher.

Doin' the Gigi uncovers some valuable radio broadcasts and unreleased sessions that offer some glimpses into the world of this alto saxophonist, who managed to hold a band together, get them tight and play music that was both innovative and accessible enough to gain fans. A close parallel can be seen with his friends Benny Golson and Art Farmer, who both played with Gryce before they started their Jazztet, which stressed the melodic swing over the frenzy of bebop.

The set moves in reverse chronological order, starting with a 1961 radio broadcast from Birdland, for better or worse with Symphony Sid announcing some of the four tracks. Richard Williams (trumpet), Eddie Costa (vibes), Richard Wyands (piano), Julian Euell (bass) and Mickey Roker (drums) join the saxophonist for a solid set that exceeds expectations of such a frontline. The original "A Premonition of You (aka Baby G)" has a structure similar to "Lover Man," although the closing phrase doesn't have the chord shift that gives the latter its hook. For "A Night In Tunisia," Gryce has Costa play the theme over a 6/4 rhythm, switching to the standard 4/4 to end the phrase. If that wasn't unique enough, the tag at the end of the chorus is taken in 7/4, clipping off a beat while adding to the urgency. Gryce has a tone like Charlie Parker, although he was less interested in drawing on bebop licks than establishing his own personality. The same group appears in two studio tracks for what seems to be plans for a self-released single. "Blues in Bloom," which lasted 11 minutes at Birdland, is limited to three here but still sounds tight.

Another session, found on a demo disc dated 1960, has Gryce, Williams, Wyands and an unknown rhythm section in an odd selection of tunes. Curtis Fuller's "Down Home," (another inclusion from the Birdland set) appears with "Stompin' at the Savoy," and "Take the A Train." All of them, especially the Strayhorn perennial, sound contemporary, by '50s standards, thanks to Gryce's arranging skills.

Back in 1957, Gryce was involved with the short-lived Signal label. Among his contributions was a quartet session with Thelonious Monk which included the pianist's rarely played tunes "Shuffle Boil" and "Gallop's Gallop." (Why the otherwise detailed booklet reduces that session to a passing phrase seems odd.) In June of that year, the label held a release party that was broadcast on tv, and is released here. This time the band includes Cecil Payne (baritone sax), Duke Jordan (piano), Wendell Marshall (bass) and Art Taylor (drums). Five tracks range from "All the Things You Are" to the Jordan-Payne "Man of Moods" (which sounds a lot like Charlie Parker's "Segment") and "Blues Walk," another much-contested melody that had been recorded by Clifford Brown, but is said to have originated with saxophonist Chris Woods.

All of these tracks last less than three minutes and commentary from Downs and Al "Jazzbo" Collins seem a little quaint all these years later. And while the liners make the argument that the brevity didn't give the quintet enough time to make an impression - thus contributing to Gryce's fate - it overlooks the fact that a lot of jazz back then was probably in the single format. So we jazz fans might dig an 11-minute workout more, but John Q. Public might get hitched on songs that come in short spurts on his television screen.

Taken together, it provides a nice profile on Gryce and makes me want to dig out the albums he did with Lee Morgan or hunt down the Prestige albums done under his own leadership.

The man with the best job in the world

Michael Cuscuna spoke tonight at Pitt as part of the university's Jazz Seminar. (The print version of my Q&A with him in City Paper is pretty short but you can find the whole, uncut interview, full of all kinds of jazz geek anecdotes, right here.)

When I got the William Pitt Union tonight, I saw Mr. C towards the front of the auditorium, talking to another guy. I got a chance to chat with him and found that he was as warm a guy in person as he was on the phone. He spoke for about 45 minutes, all killer, no filler. And when it came time for questions, I was actually first, asking how many Mosaic projects were charted for the future. (Answer - it all depends on when the label licenses the albums to him. Right now there are 2 in progress, and 8 on paper.) Someone asked about Andrew Hill, which I was glad to hear because the world needs more Andrew Hill champions. I really wanted to ask him who was more of a challenge to work with, Cecil Taylor or Andrew. But I didn't get the chance. After the talk, he had what seemed like an interview or something going on with some other fellow.

And now Michael has my card, so if he decides he needs a second banana to hang out with him while combing through the latest batch of tapes for his next project, and no one else picks up when he calls, then once pigs start flying, then he'll give me a call.

Sebadoh, Morty and Me

Tuesday night, Sebadoh played at the Brillobox. This has been a much-anticipated show for me, in part because it was 20 years ago this month that I first saw them at the Upstage Lounge, besides the fact that I really liked the band. A group called Mazes opened up, a trio that was also into the catchy-but-noisy approach. They reminded me a little of what Pale Saints sounded like on their first album, underneath all the dreamy reverb and glitter.

Before the show Jason Loewenstein (also known as "Jake"), was milling around the room (for those who don't know, Brillobox is pretty small, upstairs where the bands play) and I talked to him for a little bit. I've met him several times when he's come to town playing with the Fiery Furnaces and he actually seemed to remember me this time. Me and guy from another band were both kind of politely geeking out while we talked and Jake seemed geniunely flattered and amused that we remembered so many details of shows and albums (like his solo album Sixes and Sevens that I talked up to the other guy).

The last time I saw Sebadoh was probably around 1997 or '98 and they took so damn long between songs that it killed the momentum. That's all changed. Now the band - which is completely by Bob D'Amico (also in the Furnaces) on drums - is tight. The only time things slowed between songs was when they either talked to the audience or when Lou Barlow and Loewenstein switched instruments.

Sebadoh's songs were always powerful because the subject matter often dealt with personal issues that I really related to, and the delivery also made it pretty real, whether it was a quiet solo Barlow song, or a loud raging one. To his credit, Loewenstein seemed to show a vulnerable but tough side on Bakesale too. Hearing those songs again all these years later, they still have the same emotional and visceral impact that they did originally, which proves the band's strength - that this wasn't just some musical drama that everyone goes through in their 20s. This is still great music that gets you right here. Hopefully that makes sense.

I went home after Sebadoh and got to bed around 1 a.m. At 5 a.m. I woke up and started writing an article on a Morton Feldman mini-festival/symposium that's happening in Pittsburgh next week. I kind of felt like that particularly yoke was around my neck for the past 10 days or so, since it took almost that long to get some interviews set up. Plus there was also the issue of getting schooled in his music before I wrote the piece. But me and Morty have completed our work.

With all that work done, I just dawdled last night. There were some things I should've done, and actually thought I would but I nodded off in front of the laptop, but this time I didn't beat myself up over it. I only four hours of sleep, so I was well within my rights. Then I hit the hay a little before midnight.

CD Review: The Spanish Donkey - XYX

The Spanish Donkey

XYX

(Northern Spy) http://www.northern-spy.com/

Let Joe Morris go a few weeks without a shave, put him together with two rough looking bearded dudes, and - wham - he can pass for a metal dude.

Actually, that's not really true, nor fair. But seeing the liner photo where Morris is flanked by Mike Pride (drums) and Jamie Saft (keyboards, bass), the trio known here as the Spanish Donkey looks like it could be the latest entry in progressive death metal. As it turns out, the legend on the back cover ("File under: avant-metal jazz") is pretty much on the money.

Morris is no stranger to free improvisation or any kind of adventurous jazz, but his own releases have never gone this far in terms of heaviness. Saft has played keyboards with John Zorn (who's never been afraid to mix metal or any kind of noise like that with a jazz sense) and he also plays in a duo with drummer Bobby Previte. It's clear that Saft has a deadly combination: a desire to create heavy, ugly music and utilize some serious chops to pull it off. With Pride along to help shape some contours of the music, things fall into place.

XYX consists of two tracks, one 37 minutes long, the other 23 minutes. Make no mistake, this is brutal, heavy and ugly, but in the best way possible. And these guys play with their ears turned to their bandmates, to ensure that it doesn't sound like an endless wall of noise or noodling. Pride plays a key role in "Mid-Evil" for when he pulls back off the trap kit, it gives the music a chance to take on a different shape. The first five minutes create a ruckus of Morris's guitar and Saft's low-end keyboards dancing around over Pride's free clatter. When he stops, the guitar lapses into would might be a metal spaghetti western theme. One quality that also makes this session more compelling is Morris' clean tone. Where some old might be tempted to play through a bank of pedals, Morris plays absolutely clean, putting all of his melodic and technical skills to work.

Around the 13 minute mark, a change comes as Saft holds down some bass synthesizer notes that lead to some percussive, high notes that howl over Morris's skronk. Later on, some actual chords emanate from one of Saft's battery of keys, sounding for a moment like Rick Wright's performance on Pink Floyd's "A Saucerful of Secrets."

Although there's a clear break between "Mid-Evil" and "XYX," it could easily be one that was inserted in post-production so the listener would have a breather. The second track continues in the same spirit as the first, although the second half of it does actual become more of a long wave of sound that doesn't offer any dynamic shifts and just pummels away. But if you've made it that far into the set, you clearly have the stamina for such a mind numbing sound.

If you're still left wanting more after an hour of this stuff, the CD contains download code for a bonus track that can be found on the Northern Spy website.

Work. Sort of.

It's turning out to be a week of phone interviews. On Monday I talked to Lou Barlow, which - as you might have deduced if you checked out the entries from a few years back about Sebadoh III - was quite a thrill. Not only that, Lou was a great interview: very laidback and forthcoming about his songwriting. And quotable, which was what really made me happy. I didn't get to preview Sebadoh's upcoming Pittsburgh show for City Paper but Blurt is interested in something.

Then tonight I got to talk to the guy with the best job in the world. No, not Ashley Kahn. I mean Michael Cuscuna. In case the name doesn't ring a bell, there's a good chance his work might. Michael has been involved with pretty much every Blue Note reissue since the CD age began. Plus he's worked for other labels too. And (put your hand on your heart) he created the Mosaic label in the early 1980s, which has set the standard for deluxe reissues in all that time since. Talk about music as works of art. Look here.

Then tomorrow night I'm talking to a guy who's coming to Pittsburgh to perform at a mini-festival honoring the late composer Morton Feldman. And on Monday night (fresh back in town from a trip to Ohio) I'm interviewing this guy's daughter, who teaches at Pitt and it putting this thing together.

In other news, I saw Ned Rothenberg last night at Frick Fine Arts. He performed a piece with a string quartet that was released on the Tzadik label. It wasn't quite what I had hoped for - I know he's played alto in the past, but last night he was playing clarinet. Still it was a good show, at least the parts that I stayed awake for. Nothing against Rothenberg or his band, but between the pain in my back and my general feelings when I need to sit still, there was much nodding off happening last night. I can't tell, but I think I got some dirty looks.

Social Climbers - Vintage No wave you might like

Also Blurt ran my review of a CD reissue by the Social Climbers, a band sort of affiliated with the no wave scene of late '70s/early '80s New York. This one has music too! So check it out.

Review from JazzTimes website

JazzTimes posted my review of the Starlicker show right here. Check it out.

Interview with Rob Mazurek

Last week to preview Starlicker's show at the Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh City Paper ran a very short Q&A that I did with Rob Mazurek, the band's cornetist and main composer. Mazurek preferred to do the interview by email, which was fine with me. No need to schedule a phone call or transcribe the interview afterwards. After reading what he had to say, I was kind of glad too, because I might've missed some of the subtleties of what he had to say.

Here's the transcribed interview in its entirety. (I didn't post it sooner because I thought CP was going to do that on their website.)

Q: You've played in both large bands like Exploding Star Orchestra to duos like Chicago Underground Duo. Do those two settings present different musical challenges to you, or do you see it as all part of one big musical picture?

Mazurek: Composing sound for me is like is like watching stillness grow into enormous wings. Exploding Star Orchestra has had up to 19 people in the group and as little as four, while the Chicago Underground Duo is Chad Taylor and myself sometimes manipulating up to 13 different sound sources. The idea is to project a sound that that has the potential for psychedelic illumination, or what I like to call PSYCHEDELIC ILLUMINATION DRONES. The different musical challenges that you are speaking of are all inherent in the way in which you move the sound in the mind, on paper, in the room... and what kind of palette you are dealing with as far as what instruments or non-instruments people are actually playing.

Q: In the liner notes to Starlicker’s Double Demon, you're quoted as saying, "I feel like I've been looking for this sound for 20 years." What is "this sound" in this case? Why has it been so hard to find?

Mazurek: I have always been searching for this sound that happens above the head. A sound which has nothing to do with genre, hip lines, denigrating the past. I have been searching for a way to illuminate sound, so it just hangs there in the clouds, like a cloud, like a complex cloud of power and sweetness. Maybe it has been so hard to find because of the confusion of mass media/political feeding frenzy that tries at all costs to penetrate your natural creative life force and kill it.

Q: Again, according to the liner notes, you wrote the tunes for the album in a day and a half. How did they come out so quickly - pressure or inspiration? Were they based on things you already had in mind?

Mazurek: I put together a group a few years back called the Rob Mazurek Quintet where we made a record for Delmark records called Sound Is. This idea for the group came out of my desire to find a way to create these PSYCHEDELIC ILLUMINATION DRONES. The first rehearsal of this idea was with John Herndon on drums, Jason Adasiewicz on vibraphone and myself on cornet. I did not quite find the sound I was looking for and in the meantime created a book of songs that needed two bass players to project the idea in the best of ways. After time and more writing and thinking, the sound came to me in a wave and I wrote the six compositions on Double Demon. Not pressure as much as inspiration, especially from the illuminating sound of John and Jason.

Q: Aside from instrumentation, what else is different about this set-up as compared to other groups you have?

Mazurek: For some reason I feel incredibly free within the confines of the structures. All the instruments sing in a very peculiar way that is beyond words. Perhaps a distilled sound that takes into account specific frequencies from limited sound sources to create the illumination that seems so important to me at this time.

Q: How did you settle on Starlicker as a band name?

Mazurek: I enjoy the idea of evolution and the fact that we have no idea where we came from and where we go after this life. New galaxies are being found daily and it is an interesting thing to ponder. I like to reach as far as I can and attempt to discover things on my own terms, in my own way with like minded people. I am not interested in rehashing endlessly what has happened before. Whether for good or bad I want to stretch the tongue out, split the sky, and taste the furthest star.

Q: Both this band name and Exploding Star Orchestra seem to have a connection with outer space. Does that factor into the way you write, and/or is it part of a philosophy in your life?

Mazurek: I would like to send out to the world and worlds beyond PSYCHEDELIC ILLUMINATION DRONES for healing and learning and respecting everything that IS and IS NOT in hopes of ultimate communication that might not even make a sound. We live in a world that loves to kill. Killing the spirit, killing the hope, killing the creative in all things. The connection to outer space is the connection to inner space and all else that is seen and not seen. The philosophy is to live a creative life with the idea of cracking the shell of this absolutely conservative/corporate imposed existence and peer into the un-known/known in order to learn something that was never there before and has always been there.

Q: In Chicago, do forward-thinking bands like yours get respect from a larger audience that might reach into the "straight" jazz community too, or are you more of a fringe group?

Mazurek: Last year I released the Exploding Star Orchestra record Stars Have Shapes which I believe was an attempt to really push the boundaries of what is at least a little bit possible in my mind to project in the realm of electro-acoustic sound making. If you look what was said in my own home town of Chicago about the music and what was said in other parts of the world, it was almost an opposite response. It was record of the year on Italian National Radio3, you could hear the crickets in Chicago. On the other hand Exploding Star Orchestra will play two nights at the Green Mill in Chicago or four nights at the Whistler and there is a line out the block. You play festivals in Europe and Brazil and the listeners are ecstatic and many. Starlicker is getting ready to tour France, Italy and Poland this month. Exploding Star Orchestra just played Sardinia!

Although there are plenty of folks looking for there "angle" on how to make music or how to conduct their life, I prefer to just make sound and let it fall where it may. From my observations there certainly could be a little more boundary pushing in Chicago, but this is a tricky thing. There are certainly a few people making nice records with nice songs done in a nice way and perhaps this is enough for some people, but it's just not for me. There are a few people trying to crack the egg as well and this is exciting for me. I am in no way trying to say the way I make or project music is good or bad, but it is honest and I am desperately reaching for something else.

Birthday Weekend in Review

Playing right now: Jason Adasiewicz - Rolldown (482 Music)

Not to be confused with Varmint by Jason Adasiewicz's Rolldown, which I reviewed some time early last year. This is an album I picked up on Saturday when the vibist played at the Warhol Museum in the trio Starlicker. Rob Mazurek (cornet) and John Herndon (drums) make up the rest of the band.

I was eagerly anticipating this show for several months. I'm familiar with Mazurek's various projects, and I like him a lot, but I really like Adasiewicz. He's appeared on a lot of albums, most of which I had forgotten about when I saw him. But if I had remembered, there's a good chance I would've turned into Fan Boy and started humping his leg. (Jason, don't worry, that's just metaphor.) They had vinyl, and everything was only $10 a pop so I couldn't resist getting Rolldown as well as the new Sao Paulo Underground LP that includes Mazurek.

I'm holding off on details of Starlicker's performance because I'm going to write a review for the JazzTimes website. I'll link it here when it runs.

It was a good weekend for bold jazz around these parts. I know the VIA fest was going on, but I was out of town during some crucial shows that were part of that event, on Thursday night. On Friday, my birthday I might add, Ben Opie played a double-set of sorts. First, Thoth Trio played, followed by Opie's new group Flexure. Thoth was great to see, since it's been awhile since I've made it to one of their shows, and they don't get to play all that often (although this month they have an unprecedented three shows!). Ben played "a birthday song" for me, which he didn't announce by title. It was Monk's "We See," which I recognized but couldn't remember the name of that night. (I did remember in my mind which Columbia and Prestige albums it appears on, though.)

Flexure is inspired by electric period Miles Davis, and it features guitar, trumpet, percussion, drums and bass guitar, along with Ben's alto. They were pretty hot - straddling freedom and grooves. But, man, at 44 I can't stay awake at a show past 12:30. I was nodding off again. But too committed to leave until the set was done. I probably should've just ordered a water to go with my drink.

An appreciation: Lovin' Spoonful - Everything Playing

A few weeks ago when we had a yard sale, I combed through the record collection I bought over the summer, pulling out things that were worth more than $1, or that I just didn't want to sell. Shoved in with a bunch of classical albums, I found a few gems including Lovin' Spoonful's Daydream album. This was a cool discovery because during my junior high school years, I was really into '60s bands and this group ranked high on the list. I found a sealed copy of Daydream back then, and played it a lot until I sold either because of money or because I felt like I had outgrown it. Listening to it again, I decided this one was going to stay.

Lovin' Spoonful is something of an unsung act, I think. They get dismissed as a group that played lighter pop, largely because of "Do You Believe In Magic," which has been used endlessly in commercials which have really sanitized the song. (To extend that thought, a former bandmate of mine used to play "You Didn't Have to Be So Nice" and switch out the words for equally sugary, bland phrases to poke fun at them.) "Summer in the City" proved that they was a hard edge to them, due to its driving riff. But to really find out what the band could do, check out the instrumental "Night Owl Blues" from their first album. I haven't actually heard the song in over two decades but I can still hear John Sebastian's searing harmonica intro.

Daydream has a lot going for it, like the sharply worded "Jug Band Music," another great instrumental called "Big Noise from Speonk" and "You Didn't Have to..." which actually sounds pretty solid thanks to a great guitar riff and electric piano accompaniment. But right now I want to present an appreciation of Spoonful album number four, Everything Playing. Released in 1968, it had to catch up with the new direction in which Sgt. Pepper had pushed pop music, and the band was also recovering from the departure of guitarist Zal Yanovsky. (Although the liner notes to one CD reissued stated that Yanovsky was still a presence at least in the studio while the album was being made.) Regardless of the situation, Everything Playing stands up as a strong album that offers plenty of AM radio-friendly hooks, which get balanced out with more sophisticated studio arrangements. For that reason, it should be considered an overlooked gem that should be ranked along with revered albums like Pet Sounds and S.F. Sorrow. Hopefully I will prove my point.

The cover art was a departure from the previous three albums, which typically pictured Sebastian, Yanovsky, bassist Steve Boone and drummer Joe Butler in poses where they were hamming it up. Sebastian drew the front of Everything Playing which depicts the band playing on the beach with various animals and sea urchins. He drew himself in a very Lennon-esque way, and Yanovsky's successor Jerry Yester looks pretty stoned. The band photo on the back replaces the group's wide smiles with a more saturnine look, especially Sebastian himself, who doesn't smile and has swapped his trademark Granny glasses for something a little more styling. Boone looks like a hip college professor, or Match Game era Richard Dawson, in a turtleneck with a jacket over it. Yester, the only one smiling, and Butler both wear suit jackets and white ties. Below them, the song titles are written in various colors and sizes and scripts, looking very random.

"She Is Still a Mystery," one of the singles from the album, kicks things off with a smarter-than-your-average-pop-song structure from Sebastian, which gets a boost from the use of horns and possibly strings (arrangement credited to Yester). It has a dreamlike quality to it but it doesn't lack any of the band's spot-on harmonies, which come through in the chorus. There's almost a Van Dyke Parks feel to the song.

From there, the group could go anywhere and they cover all their bases. Boone gets his first and last lead vocal in "Priscilla Millionaira" which is a little frayed but it suits the goofball quality of the song, which has a little bit of a garage rock sound to it. The lead break seems to wander away towards another key, and then suddenly it snaps back for the last verse. "Six O'clock" another single, proves how strong of a rock band the Spoonful could be. It starts out with an overdriven organ, pounding out the rhythm, and Sebastian again proves how skills with lyrics and melody. In the coda, the slashing guitar and drums sound like the band channels the Who - and pulls it off. As a total contrast, side one ends with a Boone instrumental called "Forever," which features the session horn players as much as the group. At best, there are some Bacharach colors to the changes; at worst, it's smack dab in Easy Listening territory. What's the back story on that one, I'd like to know.

Speaking of Sebastian's gift with words, "Younger Generation" might sound a little dated and maybe a little cutesy, but it really nails the feeling of impending fatherhood as seen through the eyes of a guy trying to maintain the open mindedness that he thought his parents lacked. If only Sebastian were better known for his performance of this song at Woodstock, he might be regarded as a great lyrcist now.

Butler and Yester get some songwriting credit mid-way through this side. The drummer's "Old Folks" probably didn't endear him to any listeners moving into the counterculture, what with his sympathies for the titular people. Not exactly on the same level as Paul Simon's "Old Friends." His collaboration with Yester, "Only Pretty, What a Pity" is a gem, which was the b-side to the "Mystery" single. Beginning with a galloping snare roll, it yet again brings up Who references (Butler comes across as an underrated drummer throughout the album). Yester's strong folk vocal gets a little buried in the verses but the band all joins in for the breaks, sounding like a bunch of choir boys. The weird part comes in the middle, where the vocal sounds like its run through the vocal devise Peter Frampton would use 10 years later. It makes the lyrics indecipherable, though and I only discovered what they were a few nights ago when I finally found them online. (A search a couple years ago was fruitless.)

After Sebastian's somewhat soulful "Try a Little Bit," Yester returns to the spotlight for "Close Your Eyes," an odd but suitable ending for the album. It foreshadows, melodically, what he'd do with Judy Henske on Farewell Aldebaran, with a minor key and high vocal by him that gets more impassioned with each verse. The strings in the break really push it towards dissonance, evoking a feeling of darkness. By the time he repeats the last verse, he's dueling with them to be heard.

Then the song goes into a coda that reminds us what band this is: an instrumental riff lead by Sebastian's autoharp. And more of those thunderous Butler drums. It feels as if Lovin' Spoonful went through a transformation from happy jugband to something else and came out intact. Then it fades.

This was the last album that the band released. (One more featured Butler and session musicians.) After a career known for lighter fare and a lighter delivery, Everything Playing indicates that they could get heavy if they felt like it.

CD Review: Ernie Krivda - Blues for Pekar

Ernie Krivda

Blues for Pekar

(Capri) http://www.caprirecords.com/

Some albums try to recreate a moment in time, a certain sound and/or style. Others sound like they could have just as easily been pulled from a previous decade and time-traveled into the 21st century, sounding fresh all along. Ernie Krivda's Blues for Pekar falls into the latter category.

In a way this is no surprise, at least to these ears. I saw the tenor saxophonist pull out a series of warhorses at the Detroit Jazz Festival in 2009 - the likes of which make me so "oh, not that one" despite the strength of the material - and blow the hell out of them. It's rare that "A Night in Tunisia" does that to me, outside of a jam session. A few months later, he released a solid disc for CIMP of solo saxophone performances (November Man). Suffice to say that Mr. Krivda's full of melodic creativity and sounds comfortable in all kinds of settings.

Still when he and trumpeter Dominick Farinacci fly out of the gate blowing an upbeat version of "The End of a Love Affair," they impress, sounding like some lost frontline from the Jazz Messengers. The rhythm section billed as the Detroit Connection (pianist Claude Black, bassist Marion Hayden and drummer Renell Gonsalves) respond to that high-raised bar too. Krivda unleashes an endless stream of melodic ideas over several choruses and Farinacci evokes Clifford Brown with his crisp and clear, tongued flurry of notes. Yes, it may sound be rooted in a 50-year old approach, but it has a lot of fire.

None of the seven tracks on Blues for Pekar last any less than eight minutes, so there's plenty of room for blowing. On three of those tracks, Krivda is the only horn and he sounds comfortable by himself. Sean Jones joins him on Dexter Gordon's "Fried Bananas" and Sonny Rollins' "Valse Hot," the latter which featured Clifford Brown in its original version. The head to "Valse Hot" is the one rare place on the disc that seems a little clunky. While the original featured both horns in a waltzy swing, Krivda and Jones play it almost staccato which makes the theme sound a little stiff, especially when going into the out-chorus. In between, though, there's plenty of bright moments. Krivda, who sounds a bit like Rollins in some of the other tracks, adds some vibrato to his phrases here so he won't sound too close to the original. This approach also works well in "More than You Know," where he evokes a smoky feeling, slyly quoting "Softly As In a Morning Sunrise" like he created the line.

Among other highlights, Krivda and Hayden duet on the theme to "One for Willie," an original based on the changes of "Out of Nowhere," a melodic structure that always sends me. "Blues for Pekar" is indeed dedicated to Harvey Pekar, the late jazz aficionado who was better known for his ornery comics, which reflected his personality. The track doesn't attempt to evoke the man, instead offering another strong blues performance, with Farinacci again matching wits with Krivda.

Where've I been?

Playing right now: The Oil Tasters -s/t and only album.
On CD no less! Yes, I found out used at Paul's and had to snatch it up. Turns out there are only three non-LP tracks on it. I, for some reason, thought there were almost the same amount of bonuses as there were original tracks. Oh well, I need these songs. This band was a big inspiration to me during high school. Tenor saxophone, bass and drums with a singer who sounds all nasal whine and snarl. A band like this wouldn't exist today in such an unself-conscious way. "We lived on speed, whisky and doritos," bassist/singer Richard LaValliere says in the all-too-brief liner notes.
Richard, if you come across this blog, write to me, brother. I was in what might have been the only band to cover the Oil Tasters. And I'd do it again.
I will say, I think I can tell what the remastering has done to change the sound a little. (Keep in mind I listened to this album a lot after buying it.) The sound is kind of wide and expansive where it was once all close and claustrophobic. I sort of prefer the album. But now I have both.

The roll of steady blog entries really died this month, eh? Somehow about two weeks ago, I lost my drive to keep it going. Now that I've looked at how long it's been, I think that'll be a good thing to recharge me. I want to make sure that I end the year with more entries than last year, by a significant upgrade.

Part of the delay could probably be attributed to the yard sale that we had last week. I went through the 30+ crates of records from the summer collection and tried to pull out what I thought I'd want to keep or sell for more than $1/each (the price I was asking at the yard sale). Then Jennie went out of town at the start of this week and it was just me and the kid until Thursday, when we drove down to Elyria to pick her up and visit her mum. On the way down, I said, "I think we need a little traveling music."

He replied, "Like Herb Alpert."

"That's my boy," I thought. (Yes, he knew we had packed Herb for the trip, but I didn't prompt him to say that. We had to listen to Going Places by Herb twice on the way down, and once on the way back. Lest you think I'm abusing myself or him, that album was a daily listening ritual when I was his age, and I'm just so amused that he likes it.)

The week before last, his uncle in Denver sent him his first phonograph, along with some records to play on it - a different Herb album, Snoopy & the Royal Guardsmen and a Spike Jones 78 of Old MacDonald. I'm doing my damndest to not micro-manage his listening experience. He can hold the record whereever he wants, even on the playing surface. As long as he stays away from my records (or ones that I give him), he can do whatever he wants.

The Week in Review

Oh, what a week it's been! Everyday there was some writing project going on.

Monday - Tweaked an interview with Will Cullen Hart of Olivia Tremor Control for Blurt. Transcribed an interview with In One Wind leader Angelo Spagnolo (graduate of Pittsburgh CAPA). Interviewed Ben Opie, his former teacher. Nodded off at the laptop.

Tuesday - Woke up early, finished transcribing (always a good feeling; writing an article never has the same burden as transcribing). Had Love Letters practice for the first time in a month. We sounded pretty good for a band who hasn't practiced in that long. Started writing the In One Wind article for City Paper. Nodded off again at the laptop, but not before making some good progress.

Wednesday - Woke up around 5:15 and finished article. Went to baseball game with a bunch of people from work. Good times, bad game. Wrote a CD review for JazzTimes.

Thursday - Wrote another review for JazzTimes. Started getting pissy that I hadn't gotten replies to a set of emailed questions submitted to Kathryn Calder (New Pornographers keyboardist who makes great solo albums). I KNOW she's on tour in Europe, but my deadline is tomorrow, mannnnnn. Went to the Olivia Tremor Control show. Woooooooooooooo! (Specifics to come.)

Friday - Scrambled to write an intro for the Olivia Tremor Control piece for Blurt. Still went over the word count, though not by much. Received Kathryn's answers via email by mid-day, while on break at work. Read them at night. Nodded off while listening to Azita (nothing personal). Listened to it again after waking up.

Saturday - Woke up at 6, and banged out the Calder piece. Worked. Nodded off while listening to St. Vincent, came to a few songs later, wondering, "What CD is on now? What was I listening to before this?" (Note: I was listening to the vinyl version of the album.)

Still have three CD reviews due to Blurt, which I'll work on tomorrow morning before work.

Olivia Tremor Control was awesome. Much like my memory of seeing them in 1999, they played these amazing pop songs that always seemed to be on the brink of collapsing into chaos, under the weight of having eight, and occasionally nine, guys onstage at once. Three guitars (tho Will didn't seen to be playing chords a lot of the time), good ol' Julian Koster bowing a banjo and making it sound like a gypsy violin, keys, drums and trumpet. There was one moment where a song fell apart, but by and large they were pretty tight. And nice guys. On the way out, Peter Erchik spied my newly purchased Dusk at Cubist Castle 2LP under my arm and thanked me for coming, adding how great he thought the turnout was. That was swell. So's the record.

The last day of the Festival

Playing right now: St. Vincent - Strange Mercy (arrived yesterday in the mail. I pre-ordered it because it was only $13 from the label, plus shipping. White vinyl too!)

After I got back from the Festival, I was back into the world of deadlines for articles, the day job, the family life, and how-am-I-going-to-get-this-done-and-sleep-too? My condensed, overarching piece for JazzTimes is on their website now right here. I also wrote a preview for the Olivia Tremor Control show that's happening at the Hazlett on Thursday. So I never got to blog about the last day of the Detroit Jazz Festival until now.

Before I talk about the acts on Labor Day, I need to go back to Saturday. Before all the chaos of the rain and the wildness of the performance by the Dave Holland Octet, I saw the Sean Jones Quintet play in the afternoon and they were truly one of the best acts of the whole event. I sincerely hope that their set is one that most people will talk about when rattling off their favorite moments from the weekend. And believe me, this isn't local bias for a Pittsburgh artist coming through. (He's from Youngstown, but he lives here, or at least he did until recently.) The band was amazingly tight in a way that happens when you've played together for a long time and get to know each other and trust the music.

When I got to the Carharrt stage, they were into the first tune, "Look and See," and Brian Hogans was flying through an alto solo. When Jones took his solo, he did that thing I always notice that he does when I've heard him at the Ava jam sessions: The band pulls back and gets quiet and reserved and he starts that way too. As time goes on, he slowly ratchets up the mood until he's finally wailing and screaming. It's not a formula. It works every time. When I asked him about it, he compared it to a preacher doing a sermon.

Jones spoke after every song, explaining the idea behind the songs, since they all came from his No Need for Words album, which all deal with some dynamic involving love. His mood was relaxed as the band joked with him and audience members casually yelled back at the stage. At one point he stopped in his introduction and said, "Y'all don't wanna hear me talk!" But he kept going anyway. The whole band was great. Obed Calvaire used his whole kit constantly. Luques Curtis' bass was like a rock. And Orrin Evans show a whole range of styles and feelings throughout the set, banging piano keys with his forearm if the mood called for it, getting funky or playing off of the rhythm section. Boy, were they good.

I got to their set late because I was checking out Curtis Fuller across the way. He has a really unique trombone tone, which avoids the classic bright, brassy sound you might expect for something a little darker. He's still very fast with his slide, blowing fast lines on his own "The Clan" and Freddie Hubbard's "Up Jumped Spring." The young looking tenor playing with his band was pretty astounding. Then they announced that it was Eric Alexander, and I thought, well no wonder. That guy's hot.

Speaking of hot, oy was it bad at that time of day. I have that written on my notebook somewhere between those two sets. That wouldn't last.

On to Monday. There's something about the last day of the festival that makes me feel a little melancholy. The feeling that there's just a few hours left before we go back to reality. The chill in the air didn't help much. Then after going back and forth, I decided to skip trying to stop by People's Records. I had talked to the owner the day before and he said he might be open that day. But it was too far of a walk and I would've spent the whole time wondering if I'd be back in time for music.

The New Gary Burton Quartet played that afternoon and while I've never really kept up with the vibist, I want to check out more of his stuff now. His new album The Common Ground has some really great blend of his four-mallet approach and Julian Lage's guitar, so I wanted to hear it live. Lage plays a hollow-body which was both amped and miked, giving it a sound that was very clean but also very bassy.

Back Downtown, Karriem Riggins played a show that got out the younger, not-necessarily-jazz-crowd because the rapper Common was with him. Maybe it was the wild wind getting to me as I waited for them to start, but the set was kind of disappointing. Before Common came out, Riggins' group played a couple tunes, the opener being a piece that Gene Perla played with Elvin Jones. What I thought might have been something from wild Blue Note albums that Jones did, actually turned out to be more like '70s soul fusion, with no trace of Jones until Riggins took a solo to segue into the next tune. Guitarist Perry Hughes sounded good, doing the Wes Montgomery style of finger picking, but the band couldn't seem to really cut loose from the grooves. Common sounded great, bringing some good energy to the set, although the dj's sampled overpowered the band in the mix.

Back over at Mack Avenue stage, pianist Helen Sung was wailing the hell out of some boppish tune when I got there. Turns out it was "In Walked Bud," and though her trio missed some of the subtleties of the theme as played the closing head, it was still a good time. Then she invited vocalist Carolyn Leonhardt to join them for the "Helen Sung with Words" portion of the set. This began with a version of "It Don't Mean A Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing," which was everything bad about modern jazz vocals, with all the goofy note bends and interval leaps. They got better next with a poem by former NEA chairman Dana Gioia. The music was thoughful and the lyrics had a sense of optimism that didn't get saccharine. The closing Wayne Shorter piece, "When You Dream," had Leonhardt asking the audience to "la la la" along with her, and it made me think it was time to go home.

Walking back across the park, Terri Pontremoli was on the Carharrt stage giving an impassioned thank you to the audience, preparing to bring on the final performance of the festival, the Detroit Jazz Festival Orchestra. Sitting down with a lamb gyro, I checked this set out and was glad I did because it was pretty triumphant. First they played a series of arrangements that Christian McBride wrote of his pieces, on which they all wailed. Then vocalist Ernie Andrews came out and proved that you can still slay a crowd with an Ellington medley at age 83. A guy sitting in front of me, who saw my notebook, said, "He wants you to believe that it's still 1945," and he was right. While I get bothered by younger cats who get caught up in paying tribute to the older material, there's something about seeing someone from that era singing that does take you back there. Ernie is a treasure.

For the very last piece, "Detroit Chanson," violinist Regina Carter and clarinetist Anat Cohen joined the group, McBride and Rodney Whitaker traded bass solos and in the most triumphant moment, the University of Michigan Trombone Ensemble played from the back of the amphitheatre with the orchestra, finally joining them in front of the stage. That's the way to send us home.

That, and a cup of coffee (which I finally found at one of the vending booths that afternoon!) blew away my end-of-the-festival blues.

Well, that and the party at the hotel bar that night.

Comin' down..... comin' down...

I got home from Detroit at about noon today and while I was waiting for my anti-virus software to get installed (long story, but it's okay), I had a craving for the Monkees. I've listened to two of them in a row.

Maybe I needed a break from jazz.

Recap of Monday will be up sometime tonight.

Recap of Sunday

This morning I went out for breakfast to a diner around the corner from the hotel. Walking back, I had to wait to cross the street due to the Labor Day parade that was marching down one of my cross streets. Then when I got to the hotel, two cops, one after another, made me show my room card at the driveway of the hotel before they'd let me pass. Obama is speaking at a rally just down the road from here. I wish I had packed my coat with me because I would've taken the extra time to find a record store that's up the road from here. Oh well.

Yesterday, I went to a brunch where I met a few cool guys who are involved in internet radio and jazz media. They were all really great guys who are passionate about what they do and love the music, which was encouragement I need to keep doing this thing.

I had that in-between feeling yesterday because I couldn't figure out what to do with myself in the early afternoon. There were shows to see but not until a little later in the afternoon. So I got on the people mover, which is what us Pittsburghers might call a skybus or what Simpsons fans might call a monorail, and rode it in a complete circle.

Jeff "Tain" Watts played a set with the Michigan State University Jazz Band. They did a pretty hot take on Oliver Nelson's "Down by the Riverside," which featured all five of the trumpets taking a short solo. A lot of them entered seamlessly, picking up on the last guys' idea and running with it. It started raining during the last tune, Herbie Hancock's "Eye of the Hurricane," and I walked back behind the stage for shelter. Unfortunately I missed seeing who took the alto solo because whoever it was had some Dolphy influence going on. That's not something you hear very often in this context. I mean the band was strong and tight, but I wish some of these bands would get a little more adventurous with their repetoire and try to some Mingus charts, or maybe Hall Overton's arrangements for Monk. Or maybe even some Sun Ra. Some of his grooves would get the audience moving. Nevertheless, Tain set this band on fire.

Speaking of big bands, there was a tribute to the late drummer J.C. Heard on the same stage a little bit later. I only got to see a couple songs before running off to another stage, but Walt Szymanski, who played with Heard, had that band swinging really hard and he also blew some delicate flugelhorn solos.

Wish I would've stuck around to see more of them because Anat Cohen was late getting started. By the time I thought about it, I was already situated in a spot out of the rain and didn't feel like getting up.

Anat was worth the wait. "Anat's Dance" opened the set almost sounding like an early '60s Miles Davis tune with clarinet in the place of his horn. She was using space to create suspense, and threw in a couple fast chromatic runs. That piece was written by her pianist Jason Lindner, but several of the tunes she played were by Brazilian composers like Milton Nascimento (whose tune almost sounded like a soul number) and Ernesto Lecuona. But the way the band played didn't adhere to any strict Brazilian style, good or otherwise. They were straight ahead and looking forward.
Drummer Daniel Freedman pushed the songs in all different directions, making "Anat's Dance" a little elastic and taking a ballad into stronger territory. Cohen was smiling the whole time, dancing around the stage to the music, or else she was having trouble balancing on those heels. Either way she was graceful.

It was interesting seeing the Jeff "Tain" Watts 4 back to back with the Vijay Iyer Trio. Both groups were astounding but in completely different ways. In fact at the end of the night I started wondering if I knew how to write about music anymore, since most of my adjectives seemed to be overused in my notepad.

After playing all weekend, it's safe to say that Watts was all fired up and ready to go to town in his own quartet. With Christian McBride on bass, how could he not? Plus he had Marcus Strickland on tenor and soprano and Lawrence Fields on piano. It seems like an easy comparison to describe a tenor-and-rhythm lineup to John Coltrane's classic quartet. But with the fire power coming off the stage last night, these guys rank as players with the same level of skill and passion. Although you'd never imagine Elvin Jones making a joke about the show being a celebration only to have his bassist launch into the Kool and the Gang song of the same name. Yes, there was good humor mixed in with the band. Tain had the quartet play their take on "May 15, 2011," the ballad he premiered with his Drum Club on Friday night. It wasn't as much of a ballad with this group, meaning it hit a little harder, but it still sounded strong. "Attainment," which begins like the best transition period Trane tunes with a rubato theme, brought the house down thanks to Tain's thunderous mallet work and Strickland's screams in the climax of his solo.

Then there's Vijay. The music from the Carharrt Amphitheatre was echoing up to his stage, and there was some river boat on the water about 50 feet away that kept booming calls of "Work it out!" and "Come on!" thorough a tinny p.a. periodically through the set. I couldn't tell if it was a gambling boat or an exercise cruise. But I didn't let it bug me and neither did the trio.

Iyer has a distinct touch on the piano. As he played I realized that he's the only player outside of maybe Monk or Cecil Taylor that I think I could identify easily. Of all the offbeat song choices he often digs out, he threw in a song by the '70s R&B band Heatwave. Not "Boogie Nights" or "Always and Forever" (though I could hear him doing something swell to the latter tune) but "The Star Of a Story." It was hard to tell where that one started and the one prior ended but the group was tinkering with where they were playing in relation to the beat. Drummer Marcus Gilmore was playing straight 4, Iyer was getting choppy and Stephan Crump was bowing his bass, making his trademark (?) weird faces and singing along with what he was playing. The way that guy plays in the context of this band seems so innovative. He doesn't just support the trio, he becomes another lead voice along with Iyer. Later on in a tune Iyer said they call "Lude," since it's not a pre- or a post-lude, I thought I was hearing the downbeat in one place, until the drums dropped out and Iyer just followed Crump with his right hand. It made me think the center had shifted. Or maybe I shifted.

I did have a couple moments last night in Iyer's and Watts' set where I couldn't keep track of the beat. Now that I recall it harder, I think it was Watts' version of Bjork's "107 Steps" that really did it for me. McBride and Fields were holding down the riff while Watts played like he was trying his best to throw those two off, with a torrent of crashes and fills and beautiful clatter all over the drums. It didn't confuse his bandmates, but it convinced me to stop counting and listen.

The guy sitting next to me during Iyer's set kept asking about him and, being the supporter that I am, I kept feeding him info about Iyer's albums. Hopefully he'll pick them up.

I was hoping Iyer and crew would pop by the hotel bar after the set but I didn't see them. I did get to talk to Stephan about the review I wrote here of the album he did with Steve Lehman though.

CD Review: Seabrook Power Plant - Seabrook Power Plant II

Seabrook Power Plant

Seabrook Power Plant II

(Loyal Label) http://www.loyallabel.com/

Brandon Seabrook's banjo technique sounds astounding. He plucks the strings so rapidly that sometimes it has the sound of a harp glissando. At other times his attack sounds like he's playing a percussion instrument. When your instrument has little in the way of sustain, you do what you can to work beyond those limitations. He's carving out a whole new niche.

The problem with the first Seabrook Power Plant album (reviewed here back in December 2009) is that the tunes didn't match up with the level of playing on the album. A lot of them sounded like riffs or simple irreverance. Or to be diplomatic, Seabrook (whose band includes his brother Jared on drums and Tom Blancarte on bass) were still figuring out where to take the band. Seabrooke Power Plant II indicates that they're on their way.

The album is just as wild and wooly as its predecessor but this time it seems like there is less done for mere yuks. It's still a little unnerving. "Lamborghini Helicopter" has double-tracked string boxes flailing away in what would probably be thrash metal if it was played on guitar (more on that instrument later). Halfway through the song vocalist Judith Berkson adds some soprano whoops and ahs, which cut in and out like they were random notes struck on a keyboard. Where SBB started their last album off with an idea (a tribute to Pete Townshend that amounted to a few minutes of raked banjo) this is complete concept that rocks.

Seabrook gets his guitar out for "The Night Shift," playing some dramtic minor chords for about a minute, before he launches into what sounds like Zoot Horn Rollo playing a Beefheart lick on 78. This quality, where a song never exactly sticks with one idea, shows how the group has evolved as a unit and how Seabrook has evolved as a composer. And while metal, especially progressive metal, might be an influence on the trio, they execute it in a way that makes sure it rocks hard.

I have to admit I was a little hesitant to put this disc on after the previous one, but I'm glad I did.

We Jazz Econo

So after posting the previous entry, I figured it was time to definitely find out if the rain had shut everything down and, if so, it was time to start drinking. I asked a couple people here around the lobby if anything was happening outside and the answer was, "No, but the guy was going to play such-and-such is going to play in hotel lounge." Who could it be? Jason Moran? Mandrill?

After returning my laptop to the room I came down and saw Jordy and Don sitting in what I like to call a Sinatra booth (a semi-circle booth that rises up in the back) with Sammy Figueroa, with Joe Lovano leaning over the back of it.

A few minutes later Terri Pontremoli, one of the key festival organizers, was running around telling everyone that, yes, there was going to be music here in the bar, which was already getting crowded. First it was going to be Jason Moran, followed by the Dave Holland Octet, then the Deacon Jones Blues Band.

The room started filling up and they had to move a lot of equipment around, and it made me think of when punk bands couldn't get regular clubs dates or got shut down and they'd just set up wherever they could and play. This was especially apparent when the Holland Octet was setting up. It turns out Jason Moran "didn't feel comfortable" playing there. I can understand that. It was a crazy spot and the emcee kept stressing that we needed to be respectful and not talk throughout the sets tonight.

I staked out a spot with a good view of the stage and stood there for about an hour (seemed like it) while the band set up. The other DIY/jam econo aspect to the evening is seeing Dave Holland take his bass out of the case and set it up himself while we all watch. There's always something that adds to the excitement of the music when you see that. I think it takes me back to seeing Sonic Youth in the '80s at the Electric Banana, tuning up a dozen guitars before they started their set. Last night especially, it proved that these guys really wanted to play more than anything else. Holland - who while we're on the subject of DIY guys, looks a bit like an older mellower Mike Watt - said as much: "My friends and I said we ain't leaving town till we play some music."

The sound was a little ramshackle. Gary Smulyan's baritone sax got a little lost during his solo on "Pathways" and there were times when the vibes and bass were coming close to drowning out the saxes in general, but ultimately it was a tight amazing set. The intimacy of the evening really seemed to charge things up.

After standing still that long, I felt spent for the rest of the night. Apologies to the Deacon Jones Blues Band, who sounded pretty tight in their first couple songs.

Making my way to the elevator, I saw Marshall Allen from the Sun Ra Arkestra. Considering he was first break into JazzTimes after I interviewed him nine years ago, I had to say hi. I heard the group tried to play as the rain started, but I missed them and expressed my regrets. Mellow sage that he is, he told me that you just have to roll with whatever happens because you can't control something like the weather. Or something like that. With that, it was off to bed.

Rain is stronger than Jazz, alas

Here's a word of advice: When the wind is almost knocking you over as you walk toward a jazz festival, and hordes of people are walking towards you (i.e. away from the festival), follow their lead. Because it's very likely that a. the heavy wind has postponed the performances and b. that ran is about to come and you're going to get soaked if you try to keep going.

Right now I'm in the lobby, missing the Sun Ra Arkestra and God knows what else. They were supposed to go on at 7 p.m.

That was some serious wind, I'll tell you what. I did feel like it could've knocked me over if it had been just a tad faster. And when the rain comes, there's nothing worse than blowing rain.

First night in Detroit

I’m sitting in my room as I write, although when you read this I will in the lobby of the Marriot since there is free wireless there, but not in the room. Who knows maybe I’ll splurge for the $12/day DSL in my room. It’s a little pricey, but think of the freedom.

Anyhow, with that out of the way…things are off to a good start in the ol’ Motor City. The flight was fine, no major hassles at the airport. It was a little bit of a challenge hooking up with the shuttle but it happened eventually. Met up with my press pal Jordy, got into my room and went to check out the opening VIP reception. I found out one of my musical journalist role models is not coming this year [name withdrawn to avoid embarrassment on my part and uncomfortable feeling for him if ever saw this blog]. But I did hook up with Gary Graff, a writer who lives in Detroit but grew up just a few blocks from me in Squirrel Hill. He writes about all manner of music so we ended talking less about jazz and more about things as remote as the Guess Who and Bachman-Turner Overdrive.

Just around the corner, in the middle of Downtown, stands the JP Morgan Chase Main Stage where Jeff “Tain” Watts (the Artist in Residence of the festival) was leading his Drum Club. What a club that was! Susie Ibarra moving from percussion to trap kit, Joe Locke on vibes, Horacio “El Negro” Hernandez on trap kit, Pedro Martinez on congas and, for the last couple tunes, Tony Allen the former co-hort of Fela Kuti. Bassist Robert Hudson [not totally sure if that name is accurate at presstime] anchored the sound.

And then there’s Tain. I mention him last because what was interesting is that he almost took a backseat to his bandmates, literally. I was sitting stage left and his trap kit was in the back corner, so when he was back there it was hard to see him. I feel like that said something about him as a leader: that he doesn’t have to be in the spotlight the whole time. He was also playing tympani early in the set too.

Joe Locke really seemed to be in the solo spotlight a lot of the time. That makes sense since he had one of the few fully melodic instruments on stage. His double-mallet work was pretty astounding. Saxophonist Rafael Stanton [not totally sure on him either; factchecking in progress] blew some pretty strong solos, on soprano, alto and tenor. On “May 15, 2011” (which Tain said was a working title and invited anyone to offer a better one) his soprano sounded kind of Wayne Shorter-like. But his alto on “Coolie Blue” was really strong, with a gruff tone. Allen joined the group on that tune, which definitely had a different feel to groove, although he seemed to be holding back a little. Maybe that’s part of his mystique though: doing a lot when it looks like you’re doing the minimum. It was definitely solid. That tune wrapped up with a quote from Charlie Parker’s “Cool Blues” over what was now a funk beat, hence the title.

My quest for coffee made me lose my seat and while I met up with another good friend of mine briefly, I never did find that elusive cup of joe. But I did wind up in the very first row for Sing the Truth!, the collaborative unit of singers Dianne Reeves, Angelique Kidjo and Lizz Wright. (Their backing band featured Geri Allen on Rhodes and piano, and Teri Lynn Carrington on drums.) It’s almost intimidating being that close to these three dynamic women, who throw everything into the performance and leave a crowd screaming. They did a few songs together but mostly each one had a solo, while the other two looked on in awe and/or sang harmonies. They were fun, but the looooooooooong, stretched out treatment of “From Both Sides Now,” was something I could’ve done without. They did it well but it wasn’t my thing. Plus, the whole audience participation thing, complete with “C’mon, I know you can do better than that” ain’t my bag either. In fact I feel lucky that Kidjo didn’t catch me nodding off in the front row. She might’ve made an example out of me.

I headed back to the hotel bar to beat the crowd, but before I did, the Sing the Truth! set was the moment when I knew that I had really arrived in Detroit.

Today is chock full of shows including the Sun Ra Arkestra, Dave Holland, Jason Moran and the band Mandrill who I’ve been told is not a show to miss.

24 hours till takeoff

Tomorrow, I leave for Detroit, to check out the city's 32nd Annual Jazz Festival. (I'll be getting on an airplane for about the sixth or seventh time in my life.) It's going to be a great event. Among the people I'm going to see are Vijay Iyer, the Sun Ra Arkestra and Dave Holland. Not to mention Sean Jones and Artist-in-Residence and Pittsburgh native Jeff "Tain" Watts. I'll be there straight through until till the end, Monday night. Flying back the next morning.

This time, I'll have a laptop with me, so I'm hoping.....really hoping that I'll have some discipline and get some writing done in the mornings when I wake up. I have two assignments due for City Paper on the day I get back. One is a review that I might write tomorrow when I wake up before I leave. But of course there are more albums I'd like to review here. Plus there's the whole concept of gin-infused blog entries the night after each set of shows.

I've been off work all week to spend more time with the kid (who's between the end of summer camp and the start of school) and actually did a preliminary packing job last night! That's a first. Now I just have to figure out what CDs I'm taking with me and when I'll listen to them. (This sounds anal, but it's true because if I don't have it mapped out, I'll just end up listening to Charlie Parker the whole time.)

Speaking of the kid, yesterday I gave him a crash course in open chords on the guitar. He wanted to bang away on my old Kay acoustic so first I tuned it to an open D chord. He put me on the organ while he went crazy on the strings, so we had a raga going on. After a quick change to an open G (his favorite chord) I went back to an open E and showed him how to play bottleneck slide with an empty Bombay gin bottle. Don't tell CYS.

Free to Be... You and Me: Next Generation

A few nights ago, Donovan was in his bed, not going to sleep right away, but singing happily as he often does. Usually his song choices include "London Bridge," "Skip to My Lou" (sometimes with new words) or the blessing he learned at summer camp.

But on this particular night, I heard something way different. He was singing the chorus of a song from Free To Be... You and Me. I don't normally disturb this bedtime ritual, but I went upstairs and asked what he was singing. He was coy as usual. When I mentioned the song "Glad to Have a Friend Like You," he nodded.

"I have that song on a record downstairs."

"I would like to hear it."

It became clear that he learned the song at Waldorf and not from a secret excursion into the record stacks. But gee whiz, it blows the mind to hear your kid singing a song that you've thought you'd turn him on to, some day in the future. Free to Be... You and Me was a big album in our house. Actually, my mother got the book first for me and my sister. Then we used to check the album out of the library all the time. "My Dog is a Plumber" is a simple poem about a serious subject that can really get young minds to think with humor. Rosey Grier's calming philosophy that "It's Alright To Cry" make me do just that in appreciation.

The next morning, as he was having a waffle, I played "Glad to Have a Friend Like You" for Donovan. He seemed quietly entertained. I got choked up because I'm a sap and felt like we were bonding a bit. Pressing my luck I played him "My Dog is a Plumber." (Dick Cavett was the perfect person to read this, by the way.) He was more interested in knowing who the dog was that barked in the background.

I took a chance on thinking that he'd like Carol Channing's recitation of "Housework," with its rapid list of cleaners that keep popping up in the text. He left the room.

Save that for next year.

CD Review - Steve Coleman and Five Elements - The Mancy of Sound

Steve Coleman and Five Elements

The Mancy of Sound

(Pi) http://www.pirecordings.com/

Steve Coleman's Harvest Semblances and Affinities was one of last year's most complex and spellbinding releases, but The Mancy of Sound might be an even stronger set. Once again the alto saxophonist has created compositions with the inspiration of a non-musical sources - in this case, the philosophical system of West Africa's Yoruba, which is represented by a series of dots (in the four-part "Odu Ifa" suite). Two pieces ("Jan. 18" and "Noctiluca (Jan. 11)") are also based on eight lunar phases "as viewed from a specific place at a specific time." The eight musicians in the band frequently sound like they're operating on their own musical plains but the music comes together without sounding crowded or too ambitious.

Drummer Tyshawn Sorey is joined this time by fellow trap player Marcus Gilmore and percussionist Ramon Garcia Perez. The three blend together to the point that it's more of a challenge to try and single out Sorey and Gilmore than to just follow the music. Perez chants on some of the "Odu Ifa" movements, creating overlapping voices and rhythms in "Earth-Idi" and doing what sound like comments on vocalist Jen Shyu's performance "Water-Oyeku."

Shyu continues to evolve as a performer, her voice fully integrated into the blend of horns on an equal level. In the past, she sounded like she was just singing wordless lines, but this time clear English lyrics come to the surface the lunar tracks, including such observations as "Nature calls for progression." The line that closes the album - "None should overflow" - could refer to either the swirl of the music or something nature-based. Either way, it will hopefully inspire Coleman to include a lyric sheet in future releases.

The leader's own performance places his unique alto in the ensemble just as often, if not more, than it does in a solo spotlight. Three minutes into "Jan. 18" he emits some fast, short phrases that are pure Coleman. "Formation 1" and "Formation 2" both jettison the rhythm section for recreations of a piece originally written for saxophone and orchestra. It gets busy once trumpet and trombone (again Jonathan Finlayson and Tim Albright respectively) join him, along with Shyu, but no one ever gets lost.

The Mancy of Sound is one of those albums where the John Coltrane approach to album listening is probably best utilized: focus solely on the saxophone one time, trombone the second, etc. That's not an academic way of listening, but a way to fully appreciate some heavy music.

Big show of October

I found out this week that the Warhol Museum is bringing Starlicker to town. That's the trio of Rob Mazurek, Jason Adasiewicz and John Herndon, all three heavyweights on the Chicago jazz scene. Rob leads a number of groups, including the Exploding Star Orchestra and Chicago Underground Duo. Do a search of Jason's name on this sight and you'll find out all about him. (The New York Times recently wrote about him too.) John also plays in a number of bands, including one called Tortoise.

If this show wasn't cool enough, it's happening the day after my birthday, October 8. And I ran into Ben Opie a few days ago, who told me his new project is debuting ON my birthday. That's going to be a crazy week because I have to go out of town for work on the 5th and 6th.

It'll be worth it since I'm seeing Starlicker.

CD Review: Allen Lowe - Blues and the Empirical Truth

Allen Lowe
Blues and the Empirical Truth
(Music and Arts) http://www.musicandarts.com/

Ah, music critics. Ask them a yes or no question about an album and you'll get an oratory. Ask for a compilation and you might get... a nine-disc anthology.
That's just what Allen Lowe compiled in the recent past. The descriptively-titled American Pop: An Audio History - From Minstrel to Mojo: On Record 1893-1946 contained nine discs. Then he outdid himself with That Devilin' Tune: A Jazz History 1895-1950, which contained a whopping 36 pieces of plastic. And you probably don't believe that much music was even recorded during that period. In addition to compiling the music, Lowe also wrote extensive texts to go along with each of these productions. Some might call it crazy, but it makes Lowe a man after my own heart.

In addition to being an extensive musical commentator ("critic" seems like a limiting word here) Lowe is also a musician himself, another trait to which I can relate and admire. To add a personal note on that subject before I take myself out of this story, I feel a certain a kinship in his alto saxophone playing because his tone reminds me of what I aspired to sound like years ago when I thought I had a future on the horn: a clean tone with raw edges, and a searching quality that's equally ready to blow straight or scream at a moment's notice. (Personally I never got past the aspiration part to the actual execution of such a sound, but that's another story.)

Lowe the musician is gifted on the alto, but also picks up the C-melody and tenor horns, in addition to being extremely fluent on guitar. For his own music project Blues and the Empirical Truth (a witty play on Oliver Nelson's Blues and the Abstract Truth) he has produced no less that three discs of music. One volume lasts 66 minutes while the other two creep close to 80 minutes each. True to his other calling, Lowe offers track by track analysis. Some of this comes in quick phrases or a few sentences. One goes on for a whole paragraph - or is it sentence - which includes a parenthetical statement that on its own could be a short paragraph in itself. The set-up reminds me of philosophy tomes that I read in college. The comparison makes sense since the subject is empirical truth. Besides, music is a more interesting subject that existentialism anyway.

Three discs is a pretty serious listening commitment and speaks to an artist's confidence in his output, but truth be told there's very little filler on this whole set, save for the occasional track that noodles a little with multiple solos happening at once. Lowe is joined by a pretty heavy group of friends including veteran trombonist Roswell Rudd, guitarist Marc Ribot, pianist Matthew Shipp (who also plays Farfisa!) and pianist Lewis Porter, among others. The blues can be a limiting structure, but this is nothing like an attempt to chronicle all the various styles of blues and present them for consumption. Sometimes it feels like a blues set, other times it's a jazz set, and with his references to Richard Hell and the Velvet Underground in his notes, inspirations comes to Lowe from beyond even these immediate sources. Titles like "(Bull Connor Sees) Darkies on the Delta" and "Pauli Murray, at the Back of the Bus, Suddenly Realize She Has the Blues" prove that Lowe also has a handle on the social issues that informed a lot of the music from its earliest days. Out of context - meaning right here - the titles might seem glib, but don't believe it. They come out of empathy or understanding.

More so than my previous description, Lowe's alto playing sounds a bit like Ornette Coleman if the latter had straightened up and flown right. Clear and sometimes plaintive, it also has a combative quality somewhat like Archie Shepp on "Blues and Transfiguration" which has a Mingus mood in the composition. Anyone who can hold his own in a wild exchanges with Rudd really knows his stuff anyway, and "Entrance, No Exit" and the several installments of "Ras Speaks" prove that. They also show Shipp in a very subdued state, holding down chords on an organ with a tone that seems to thin for a heavyweight like him, while the two horns have all the fun. (Although Shipp's volume changes in one gets a little trippy.)

Guitarist Ray Suhy appears frequently throughout the set, with a skillful approach that varies his sound from straight blues to something a little wilder, depending on the setting. Ribot is his usual spiky self, and speaking of that adjective, a gentleman named Spike Sikes also plays alto, which gives Lowe a chance to play his other instruments. His guitar recalls Black Flag's Greg Ginn, a remote comparison true, but both have a tendency to get so manic during a solo that tempo gets overlooked in favor of passion. Maybe it's just my limited blues knowledge showing, but he also plays with the adventurous scope of Zoot Horn Rollo's best moments with Captain Beefheart. (Now there's someone to draft for the next session.)

The only odd element to the whole set is Jake Millet's use of electronic drums. On the first disc, they sound appropriate - sounding like little more than a battered ride cymbal that holds things together. As time goes on, it almost feels like Sunny Murray has dropped by, agreeing not to do his usual thing, but never completely settling into a straight tempo. The decaying sound of the cymbal sounds fun, like a delay pedal was accidentally bumped. But by the last disc, the thin sound has one wondering why a real trap kit wasn't used.

If there's any justice in this world Blues and the Empirical Truth should win an award for its packaging alone. Along with all the music, the three-panel cover includes a booklet not only of Lowe's thoughts (which are equally deep, fiery and humorous), but an introductory essay by Village Voice columnist Francis Davis. Hopefully Lowe doesn't take that as an oversight of the music (like Mingus did when he won Best Liner Notes for Let My Children Hear Music).

But there I go, dropping music trivia like a music scribe who knows too much. This isn't an item designed just for the likes of Lowe and Davis and lower-totem-pole music geek/scribes like me. This is music for people who still get excited about music, and relish the size of packages like this.

CD Review - Aram Bajakian's Kef

Aram Bajakian's Kef

(Tzadik) http://www.tzadik.com/

Without a drummer to anchor the tempo, it can be a bit of a challenge to avoid rushing the beat. Factor in some exotic tempos - like weird combinations of beats that add up to 9/8 or 7/8 - and suddenly a whole lot of thinking is required. Guitarist Aram Bajakian's trio Kef features him on electric and acoustic guitars; Shanir Blumenkranz on acoustic and electric basses, oud and gimbri; and Tom Swafford on violin. Their songs have roots in traditional Armenian music but Bajakian spices it up with some searing modern and post-modern rock, which makes the trio kick out some serious jams. Not once do they fumble through a dizzying melody or rush the tempo.

Bajakian, who just wrapped up a tour in Lou Reed's latest band, boasts a track record that includes work with Can vocalist Malcolm Mooney, Yusef Lateef and Marc Ribot. His tone on the guitar has the similar kind of irrascible twang of Mr. Ribot. After opening with the solo acoustic "Pear Tree," he switches to electric for "Sepastasia" which leaves the gate in a wail of noise that evokes another guitar renegade: Eugene Chadbourne (who, much like Bajakian, has numerous, diverse influences factoring into his work). With a little bit of Hendrix influence weaved in throughout the album, Bajakian does a good job combining rock and world influences.

His bandmates do an admirable job in developing the sound too. Wofford plucks so percussively on "Sumlinian" that he sounds like either a bongo drum or a banjo at first. Blumenkranz usually has the challenging job of riffing behind his bandmates in order to hold things together, though he gets to break away from his role as an anchor.

Among the highlights, "Wroclaw" has a middle section that sounds an awful lot like a Camper Van Beethoven instrumental from their early, East-meets-West days ("Four Year Plan" from the album II & III). The tunes where guitar and violin play the same melody tend to make me restless (bad memories of Mahvishnu). However the line in "Raki" is so rapid and twisty that the strings pull it off sounding more astounding than indulgent. Besides, the track starts off like a Middle Eastern version of Cream's "Swlabr" and has some great power chords between choruses, and a great use of a delay pedal during Bajakian's solo.

It also bears mention that these guys don't feel in any way inhibited by the odd time signatures during their solos. They let 'em rip like it's second nature. Probably because it is.

Here's what I've done for you lately

Playing right now: Starlicker - Double Demon (Delmark)

It's 6:05 a.m., I've got coffee in hand and I could be watching a rerun of Dobie Gillis right now. I actually have something of a soft spot for that show, as much as it seems to rely on a formulaic style of comedy. Bob Denver's role as beatnik pal Maynard is a much better gig that his more famous role as Gilligan.

But anyhow if I'm up this early, I want to use my time more productively and I told myself before I hit the hay last night that I'd post links to recent reviews and things that I've done.

Last week, I went to Club Cafe to check out Wye Oak. Here's a review of that show, done for Blurt. Wye Oak's last album was the first one I'd heard so I was looking forward to Civilian, their newest one. It didn't get into my hands, though, until the day before the show because of my unending desire to have it on vinyl and find it locally instead of ordering it from the label, since the price tag would've taken over the line of dollars that I'm comfortable spending when compared to the price on CD.

The same day that I bought the Wye Oak album, I picked up a copy of Eleanor Friedberger's album, despite already having a download I had to listen to for a review of it that can be found here. Why did I buy it? Two reasons: downloads aren't as much fun and because the cover art reminds me of a Francoise Hardy album, and why wouldn't I want that? Besides, the download didn't have a lyric sheet.

Going back a few weeks, there was the reissue on Drag City of a '70s folkie named Carol Kleyn as well as a rather tepid tribute to Billie Holiday.

There's a new issue of JazzTimes on the streets now, the September issue which has Ella Fitzgerald on the cover. But for anyone who'd like the luxury of clicking a link to go right to the page and read some stuff, here's my page with links to virtually everything I've done for them lately. Everything prior to the current issue, that is. The next time you're out at a place that sells magazines, does me a favor and buy one. I saw it Barnes and Noble on Sunday and, a few weeks ago, at an independent store in Lawrenceville... was it Time Bomb?

Speaking of JazzTimes I get to represent the magazine again this year at the Detroit International Jazz Festival! It's happening Labor Day weekend and while leaving the family for four days is going to be hard, I'm looking forward to seeing and hearing a lot of music. And hopefully blogging. Last time I went, in 2009, I had just bought this laptop and the shlubs at Big Box mislead me on what I could do with it after they set it up for me. Also, they put the wrong power chord in the box with it.

Maybe I'll post new, drunken updates each night from my hotel room. We'll see.

CD Review: Stephan Crump & Steve Lehman - Kaleidescope & Collage

Stephan Crump/Steve Lehman

Kaleidoscope & Collage

(Intakt) http://www.intaktrec.ch/

It's no critical hyperbole to say that Stephan Crump and Steve Lehman should be considered among the ranks of jazz's most exciting musicians. Crump's bass work with Vijay Iyer's trio adds a new depth to the way the bass can operate in the trio setting, going beyond accompaniment while adding some intense foundation work at the same time. Lehman's alto saxophone also cuts a new swath in groups like Fieldwork (which includes Iyer) and his own unit, which recorded one of 2009's most astounding releases Travail, Transformation and Flow.

This meeting of the minds doesn't consist of written works, but it's also more than just two mutually compatible friends blowing freely. Crump and Lehman recorded together five times between February 2008 and December 2009. The fruits of those sessions have been diced up to create the two tracks on Kaleidoscope and Collage. So in a way, it's a combination of spontaneous improvisation and some cut-and-paste composition after the fact.

It's likely that the original sessions would have been pretty interesting on their own, but this presentation keeps things moving forward, keeping some moments quick, letting others draw out a bit and occasionally cutting ideas off mid-thought, leaving you to wonder if your disc player decided to stick.

The 22-minute "Terroir" introduces the duo's individual traits: Crump's rich tone and brawny bowing technique, Lehman's dry, occasionally rough tone, which sounds like it can be especially loud and edgy in person. Like his peer and occasional collaborator Rudresh Mahanthappa, Lehman has the tendency to unleash rapid sheets of complex melodies as if they were major scales. This piece finds Crump locking into riffs several times, albeit ones in odd time signatures. For one of them, he uses the body of his bass percussively, tapping out the beat. This doesn't make the track into groove music, especially since Lehman often charges against the ostinato, playing off of it rather than with it. While things get frenzied at various points, this never turns into a shrieking and slapping improv. The duo also stays on the more pensive side of freedom.

"Voyages" runs a bit shorter, at 16 minutes. It's a little less dynamic but still has many fine moments. It opens with a minute or so of Lehman and Crump making it hard to distinguish who's bowing and who's growling into their horn. Instead of grooves, droning tone poems pop up a couple times, with one sounding like it could break into "In a Silent Way" at any point. When Lehman gently tongues one note over and over, while Crump plucks out a melody, it really does sound like a conversation, in this case one that feels like the opening stages of an argument. Although the edits are fairly easy to discern throughout the album, the cut after this particular moment is particularly prominent since this argumentative exchange suddenly stops and refocuses on Crump, now scraping his bow on the strings as Lehman emits some quick yelps. The end of "Voyages" feels like a written conclusion, which is also understated but feels like a bridge to bigger things. In some ways, it feels disappointing when it fades away, but that's also the sign of a good album. Besides, you must admire to improvisers who have the discipline to keep an album under 40 minutes, when they had twice that much time at their disposal.

CD Review - Bebop Trio

Bebop Trio

(Creative Nation Music) http://www.compro.com/

The name of this trio is fairly deceptive. They aren't blowing traditional versions of "Salt Peanuts" or "Hot House." Nor are they playing irreverant takes on bop standards, as clarinetist Ben Goldberg did with the nearly thrash versions of Bird and Diz on his Junk Genius album. Letteris Kordis (piano), Alec Spiegelman (clarinet) and Thor Thorvaldsson (drums) play something rather deep cut bop compositions - bop might not even be an operative word when discussing Lennie Tristano and Duke Ellington - which they perform them as a whole suite and link together with improvised interludes. I almost used the word "ironic" to describe them, but that doesn't fit.

In addition to Tristano and Ellington, the Trio meditates on Bud Powell's "Celia," Elmo Hope's "Boa," and Herbie Nichols' "Change of Season." In a way it doesn't seem right to merely compare these versions of the tunes to the originals and judge them accordingly. It's clear that Kordis, Spiegelman and Thorvaldsson know the contours of this music. (Spiegelman recalls his college days in the liner notes, when he played Monk themes 10 to 20 times through with Kordis "until we could not play them wrong.") Yet sometimes this conservatory approach to the music seems to work against them, making it sound too studied or wrapped up in technical approach.

"Celia" comes right out of their three-minute "Prelude" and the segue is easy to miss if not paying attention. Thorvaldsson almost plays the tune as straight swing, and his comrades state the melody almost like a canon, suspending chord changes until their halfway through the piece. The arrangement motivated me to investigate Powell's original piece to find out exactly what they're using as a springboard, which goes against what I said earlier but it helped appreciate the group's arrangement. The piece gets a full length reprise at the end of the album, by which time the trio is fired up and cutting loose. However the first version serves as an interesting exposition of what's to come.

Hope's "Boa" has interesting moments, with some deceptive use of the beat, and a section that sounds like the coda of "Round Midnight." This may or may not be an intentional borrow from the standard of this genre, or perhaps Hope actually borrowed the motif from his longtime friend (or vice-versa). Either way, it works. Monk also shows up - in my mind at least - during Tristano's "317 East 32nd" with the way Thorvaldsson plays a beat similar to the way Art Blakey played "Bye-Ya" with the pianist. This track begins with some striking free exploration from the group.

"Change of Season"(by Nichols) is a piece that seems most disconnected from its original source and it's also a bit unsatisfying. Spiegelman, who has an impeccable tone and can shift from a crisp note to a nice growl in a moment, plays the melody with gentleness, but Kordis approaches it with a classical feel during the theme that detracts from the piece, and Thorvaldsson never seems to get a good feel for whether he should add color or play time.

"Postlude" ends the album with 68 seconds of what sounds like toy whistles and clarinet tweets. They're not meant as a wild, noisy conclusion to the set. In fact they sound like they're just off-mike, and are more like a playful wrap-up to a fun performance. This sense of joie de vivre could have been more visible in conjunction with the technical approach throughout the album, but Bebop Trio still has some strong elements going for it. Better to just sit back and listen to the album as a whole than try to figure out where one piece ends and what tune the next improvisation cues in.

Did Video Really Kill the Radio Star?

Playing right now: Fruit Bats - Tripper (Sub Pop)
(Working on a review for Blurt.)

Yesterday I heard a story on the radio about this being MTV's 30th anniversary. I also came across a headline online a few days ago. It's kind of funny because everyone's talking about how much of a cultural impact MTV had in the '80s and now it seems pretty behind the times. Or else it's just another cable station now because they gave up on the regular rotations of music videos a long time ago. Meanwhile the institution of the music video is alive and well. Even artists like the Sun Drops and Katherine Calder have videos for their last albums.

But I'm not here this morning to defend and bury MTV. I'm hear to talk about something else.

At the end of the story on the radio yesterday, NPR faded out by playing - what else - "Video Killed the Radio Star" by the Buggles. This of course was the first video to be played on MTV in 1981. By today's standards, it looks pretty quaint, what with the tween girl listening to a big wooden radio and all sorts of washed out images of the Buggles superimposed over it. And there wasn't anything all that polemic about the song. Really, it was just catchy.

That got me to thinking that when the Buggles wrote the song, they surely didn't know what they were getting into. They couldn't have possibly known about the video craze that was just around the corner. The title might've just been a line they dreamed up, and said, "Hmm, that's clever. Let's write a song around it." Their album also included a very of-its-time noo wave song called "Living in the Plastic Age," which ironically was on WDVE's playlist briefly while "Video" was not. And of course Trevor Horne and Geoffrey Downes, the two Buggles, went on to join Yes for Drama, replacing the big shoes of Jon Anderson and Rick Wakeman.

However, they were right on. 30 years later, radio stars are pretty much dead. Not "stars" like Jim Krenn and Randy Baumann, who are a big part of my morning (although not right at this moment) but the medium of radio doesn't break musical acts like it used to. It's been relegated to background music or a motivating factor to get us out of bed in the morning with commentary and songs we know to assure us that things will be okay.

Not only that, video has been killed by the Internet. In a way that's fine with me, because that medium always put the image before the song.

But yesterday I started wondering where we'd be now if "Video Killed the Radio Star" wouldn't have been such a well-crafted song. Or if the MTV programmers thought, "No, that song is, like, too weird. Roll the Mike Nesmith video."

*********

The "I Heart Radio" ad campaign has been going pretty hot and heavy on commercial radio as of late, which to me sounds like an act of desperation. To deal with the exodus of listeners to digital, one-format radio stations, this program has sprouted up allowing you to listen to radio stations around the country (good thing, especially if you're homesick or nostalgic for bygone days [I have no problem with that on a limited basis, and relate to it, in fact.]) or coming soon, the ads say, you can create your own Pandora-like programs with the application. You mean, just like we do with our iPods now? Or just like we do with Pandora, which we do since we gave up on listening to radio in the first place? I don't see the point in creating a program that'll do something that a lot of listeners already do on their own.


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In other news, one of the reasons I haven't posted lately is due to the fact that a couple weeks ago, a friend dropped off 50 crates of albums and I'm trying to make my way through them all. Four crates immediately went to the curb due to a high concentration of mold. It's never a good thing when you have to peel covers off of each other. It's even more heartbreaking to find Nina Simone albums on Colpix that are in good shape butin covers that have been eaten away by dampness. I also found doubles of some Barbara Streisand and Englebert Humperdinck among them. (They're at the South Side Goodwill in case you're interested. )

But there are some nice items in there. I'm just trying to figure out what they are, and where to put them so we can walk about the house without obstructing any major paths.