CD Review- Pharoah Sanders - In the Beginning 1963-1964

Pharoah Sanders
In the Beginning 1963-1964
(ESP-Disk) www.espdisk.com

Before Mosaic started their three-disc Mosaic Select series, they released a few boxsets that pushed the limits of what belonged in a deluxe set. Combining Lennie Tristano sessions with those by his students Lee Konitz and Warne Marsh kind of made sense, as did the Vee Jay sessions by Lee Morgan and Wayne Shorter (which only intersected on one album). Peggy Lee and June Christie seemed to be a set of convenience: "Two girl singers, both on Capitol!"

ESP's retrospective of pre-Impulse! works by tenor saxophonist Pharoah Sanders contains an interesting batch of music, as well as some interview snippets throughout. But most of the music in the box has been readily available in reissued form for quite some time - mostly by the reactivated label itself. Considering that half the four-disc collection is taken up by performances by the Sun Ra Arkestra (which included Sanders) and that many of the interviews don't deal with this boxset's main subject, it has a rather thrown-together feeling. And while it provides a great introduction to both the saxophonist and the Saturn expatriate for whom he played, a set like this is geared more towards the longtime collectors than the novices.

Sanders is best known for his searing tenor work that came to fruition during his time with John Coltrane's quintet, from 1965 until Coltrane's death two years later. But Sanders was far from one-dimensional as the early sessions with Don Cherry and Paul Bley reveal on the first disc. A brief interview with Sanders (like all the interviews, no date is given) begins the set, setting the scene for his arrival in New York. The Cherry session comes from 1963 (possibly a year later) and includes bassist David Izenzon (who would soon join Cherry's former bandleader Ornette Coleman), drummer J.C. Moses (who played with the cornetist in the New York Contemporary Five) and pianist Joe Scianni.

The music feels loose with simple composed structures, much like Coleman and also like the compositions Cherry recorded with Blue Note (and that have appeared on live discs released after the fact by ESP). Sanders had yet to tap into the frenzy of his later work and favors a tone very much like Coltrane, though his melodic choices don't make him a copycat. Only three different compositions come from this set, two have alternate takes which vary from each other. Another track credited as Thelonious Monk medley finds Cherry nooldling at the piano on four Monk melodies. Considering that Izenzon rambles softly on top of them, it's likely this track came from during downtime between takes while the tape was rolling.

The session is followed by four minutes of an interview with Don Cherry talking about... Ornette Coleman. Pianist Paul Bley follows with a few minutes of discussion of his instrument's changing role as the avant garde movement took root. Yes, these are both interesting interviews but this has nothing to do with Pharoah Sanders or his work with either of these musicians.

The 1964 Bley session also features just three compositions (all by Carla Bley), again with two alternate takes. With Paul Motian on drums and Izenzon in the bass chair again, it presents an interesting take on this music, Sanders virtually predicting a direction that his future leader would be taking over the next year. It would have been interesting if this quartet had released a whole album. Instead, Bley would re-record two of these a few months later in a session that included Marshall Allen from the Sun Ra Arkestra.

Pharoah's First, Sanders' debut and sole release on ESP during their original run, makes up the bulk of disc two. The two 20-plus minute tracks have been maligned for placing the wild tenor in a more straightforward setting, but the saxophonist doesn't exactly sound confined. If anything he might have been better off skimming a few minutes of solos off both tracks. Still, this album can be found in the ESP catalog on its own.

Three years ago, ESP released Sun Ra featuring Pharoah Sanders and Black Harold, a recording from the Four Days in December concert series staged by the Jazz Composers Orchestra in the final days of 1964 which featured many of the musicians moving in a newer, freer direction. Half the album had been released by Ra's Saturn label, while the first five tracks were new to the public on that release. In the Beginning clarifies that the unreleased tracks actually came from the December 30 performance, while the remainder were recorded the next day, along with an additional 25 minutes of outer space wildness.

The sound quality on both discs is on the quiet side - which is not the case with the 2009 release - and not just because one set is mono and the other stereo. While there are numerous live recordings of the Arkestra, this one might not have much appeal beyond the diehard collector. Sanders, who supposedly made the transition from birthname Farrell to "Pharoah" courtesy of Sun Ra, can be heard blowing his trademark overtones but he doesn't get a lot of solo space.

Disc four is bookended by more interviews, this time with Sun Ra himself as well as Sanders. The latter begins that disc with a dissertation about how major labels neglected him, which may be more entertaining than accurate. He later adds a recollection of John Coltrane, though nothing about Sanders. The saxophonist closes his disc, sounding relaxed and willing to talk about meeting Coltrane, which draws a chuckle from the normally staid Sanders. Here, as he has in the various interview segments, he speaks about his music not as a revolutionary but as someone who would interesting in expressing beauty and art in his work.

Considering how much of this music is in print in other formats, it might have been more interesting to release the music on disc one in tandem with the unedited interviews. As it stands In the Beginning loses some focus and comes off as a bit of a shoddy collection.

Love Letters, Will Simmons & the Bundt Cake Bunch, Paul Labrise

Last night the Love Letters played at Hambone's, along with Paul Labrise and Will Simmons & the Bundt Cake Bunch (who were listed incorrectly as "the Bundt Cake Gang" on the flyer; my bad). Things got off to an auspicious start because the Bundt Cake Dudes actually showed up with real bundt cakes. Two in fact: one chocolate and one carrot cake. The latter was the winner in my book with a great consistancy and that delicious cream cheese icing that could've been a tad thicker but really was just fine as it was. The chocolate was equally good, but a bit rich and a bit heavy for that heat. Jo, the angel that books the shows there, set me up with a cup of coffee which was the perfect compliment to the pre-gig snacks. (When we play last I really try to go light on the booze, since gin kills what little vocal range I have.)

Paul was originally going to play with a bass player but said four-string guy was unable to make it so it was just Mr. Labrise and his acoustic guitar. He's a really great guitarist and a pretty clever songwriter so he put on a solid set of his own - catchy, pithy, good blend of chords that were picked and strummed with a few little lead-y things in there.

The audience size was fairly thin at that point and I felt it starting to bother me towards the end of Paul's set. One of my friends from work showed up, although she showed up in part because she's friends with Bill from the BCB. And two other friends texted that they wouldn't be able to make it.

But Will & the Gang snapped the mood into a postive groove from song one. He, bassist Greg and trombonist Bill used to play together in the Hope-Harveys and now they're bolstered by the addition of Red Bob, my former bandmate in Amoeba Knievel (with whom he still plays). Will was playing a Telecaster through a Fender twin, which really took me back to LA circa 1968 (key psychedelic era is what I was thinking of). But when they did one of his instrumentals that has a polka kind of feel, it took me to Redlands, CA circa '85, i.e. Camper Van Beethoven territory. Light-hearted and good timey but definitely not joke rock. Plus, they covered the great Al Hirt/New Orleans chestnut "Java."

Then us Love Letters took the stage. I felt like it was a good night. By then the lack of a larger audience didn't bother me too much. I was there to play. And we were pretty together from the start. Sandwiched between Aimee and Buck, I was getting a good dose of both organ and guitar. I was actually having a hard time hearing the snare drum, though. So there was one song where I think the tempo was a little slippery at first - but that's because there aren't any drums in it just yet. The show centerpiece, again, was "As We Go Along," the Monkees deep cut from Head sung by our drummer Erin. It was pretty exciting. Then I had to follow that, since I was singing the next song. In a move that could never have been planned for real, Erin lost a drum stick and it hit my leg during the next song. Luckily things didn't fall apart.

We have another show coming up on July 28, this time at Gooski's. Hopefully we'll get a better turnout for that.

Read these articles, too.

Whenever I end up getting some writing assignments, my posted output slows down. Last week I had the cover story in City Paper on the Beagle Brothers, my first ever cover for them. Then on Tuesday, Blurt posted my Man Forever piece. I also got an assignment from JazzTimes to write about the band Positive Catastrophe, which includes Taylor Ho Bynum, who I spoke with last week.

After finally publishing the Alexander Tucker piece (right below this post), I'm feeling really productive and wish I had a couple more hours, because I'd happily bang out another review. But today's a work day. And the dishes are staring me down in the kitchen. Maybe tomorrow morning.

Oh wait - the Love Letters have a show tonight so I should probably sleep that off in the a.m.

In the meantime, check out the links above, if you haven't already.

CD Review: Alexander Tucker - Third Mouth

Alexander Tucker
Third Mouth
(Thrill Jockey) www.thrilljockey.com

When I reviewed Alexander Tucker's album Dorwytch nearly a year ago (see post on July 6, 2011), it struck me not only because I was expecting something a little more along the lines of, uh, traditional warped pop, but also because what he actually created was a very dense, churning sound often built around simple vamps. That latter point ultimately created some interesting textures but often brought the music down because too many of the songs sounded undeveloped, with instruments just piled onto a spare framework. (Tucker has been doing this rather prolifically since the early '00s, but this was my first introduction to him.)

On Third Mouth this English bard for the new millenium sounds more focused. Things are as spacey as ever, but there's more direction to these tracks. As a vocalist, Tucker evokes Robert Wyatt, with a high tenor that has a lot of impact even if the words aren't immediately discernable. Acoustic guitars provide the foundation of many tracks with cellos and keyboards filling things out, with backwards electric guitars and other effects added for finishing touches.

The combination makes a song like "The Glass Axe" sound like a subdued prog rock, playing for the first few minutes on a haunting droney riff, only to shift midway into a different section where guitar, keys and vocals move together on the melody. "Window Sill" also has a lot of  strings and accented acoustic guitar picking, before it collapses into a sound collage of droning keyboards and found sounds that might be clocks, dripping water and chimes. Later on "Amon Hen," he branches out into territory that recalls Tom Waits, courtesy of some scraping guitar noise and saxophones that don't comfortably fit with the surroundings but still manage to complement them.

"Andromeon" follows "Window Sill," turning up the volume a bit to make things a bit more dynamic. Like a couple previous tracks, Tucker begins playing a slow waltz, this time with wall of droning guitars (electric, this time) and cellos. The vocals get doubled with two voices singing within an octave of each other, again sounding like Wyatt in his prime prog era. Rather than giving in to the temptation to let the music rise like tidal wave and slowly ebb, the song lasts just over three minutes, hitting hard and stopping before it can wear out its welcome.

That is probably the strongest qualities on Third Mouth. Tucker never lets things carry on too long. "Amon Hen" and "Sitting on a Bardo Pond" (the latter a tongue-in-cheek homage to that band) are under two minutes, acting more as interludes. Most of the songs last somewhere between three and four minutes and when "The Glass Axe" does push seven, it's with good reason as it has two distinct parts. The closing "Rh" also lasts as long but it's going for a loopy, trance feel anyway so it serves its purpose. This sense of economy departs from Dorwytch which seems to take its time getting to where it wanted to go. Dreamscapes can be cool but it feels like Tucker realized that he doesn't need to stop and survey everything as he rolls along, and the album is all the better for it.

Make it Look Like a Tux

This morning, my wife banged on the bathroom door pretty urgently and when I opened up, she was holding the section of the paper with the obits in it. "I thought you should see this." My beloved godfather/piano teacher and bandmate of my Dad, Teddy Zee as he was known professionally, died on Sunday. He was 87.

Teddy had a larger than life personality that impacted our whole family. I'm not sure exactly when Pop met him, but by the time I came around, they were playing gigs on what seemed like every weekend, usually at Churchill Valley Country Club, or just "Churchill," as we called it in our house. It was just part of the family life - Pop was "going to play," and often me or one of my brothers shined his shoes for him and/or loaded his bass and amp into the car while he was getting ready. If the band's suits had to look especially spiffy, the order from Teddy was to "make it look like tux."

At the club, they'd play a continuous set, seguing one song into another. I mentioned this once to a sax player I met who had played with Teddy and he referred to the band's groove as "the businessman's bounce," where the tempo stayed the same but the melodies would change. It's a tradition that dates back to the lavish clubs in New York, like the El Morroco. (We have an album where the band does just this - going from one song to the next.) Years later it occurred to me how there's a skill that the band needs to keep this music swinging and not make it just bland background music. These cats had it going on.

One of the things that kept it lively was Teddy. My dad has tapes from the gigs and you can hear Teddy makes cracks mid-song, keeping the music lively, cheering on dancers and simply creating a festive atmosphere. He was like that offstage, too, lighting up a room when he came in. His laugh became part of the repetoire with me and my brother Tom, a two-syllable "huh-HUH!" that was sort of like an Ed Norton chuckle.

Because of that spirit, I remember always feeling like I should be cutting up when I had piano lessons with him. I was always looking for a joke and feeling hyper - something I see in Donovan when he takes forever between songs as he practices the piano. Teddy once recorded a piano lesson (there was always a tape recorder around) where I was especially wound up, and Tom and I listened to it a lot. We were especially amused with a section where I stood up and pointed at the metronome. "SIT DOWN," Teddy barked. "You're not going to use the metronome for quite a bit." [It's all in the delivery. I can still hear it in my head.]

He later bought me a metronome. He also gave me a lot of albums, including a Mongo Santamaria album and a Gerry Mulligan 10" which I still own.

When one of my cousins got married in 1998, the reception was at Churchill and Teddy played solo during the dinner. He was walked through the room before his set started, Pop stopped him and I talked to him. It was the first time I had seen him in over a decade, and the band with Pop had broken up about that long ago.  Later we made eye contact as I walked past the piano and he stopped the tune he was playing and launched into "The Way We Were" with a big smile on his face.

I later asked him if he could play "La Vie en Rose," which had been one of the songs at my wedding. "How'zat go," he asked. After I hummed about six notes, he said, "oh yeah," and launched into it.

His wife, who our family always referred to as "Chip" back in the day, passed away about two months ago and I stopped by the funeral home to pay respects. He seemed pretty lost without her and he wasn't in the best of health. But the thing that I took away from that was that he still encouraged me to sit down and the piano and run scales to keep my chops up. A few days later I did, and I'm glad because it wasn't as easy as I thought.

That's how I'll remember him.

Another Hit from the Folks' Record Cabinet

On Sunday, we went to my folks' house for Father's Day and I asked to borrow the Four Freshman album In a Class by Themselves. This is another one of those albums that played a big roll in my childhood. There was a period of time, probably only about a week or two but it felt like longer, when I needed to hear this album every night before bed, as my sister and I had our glass of Quik.

My folks were both very big Four Freshman fans, to the point that I wonder if I would be here right now typing about this if the group hadn't been around. Once, when they came to town, Mum met them after the show and invited them to a party at her house (she still lived at home, but there were always parties there) and two of them showed up. A few years ago, she retold the story and said that it was only years later that she wondered if they showed up hoping to get lucky. (They didn't, by the way.)

Anyhow, this album came out at a time when the vocal group was attempting to remain current amidst the pop music boom of the '60s. Their vocal arrangements were really unique and were a huge influence on the Beach Boys, who were now supplanting them. So this album includes standards like "Canadian Sunset" and "Girl Talk," as well as dubious choices like Donovan's "Hurdy Gurdy Man" and the New Vaudeville Band's "Winchester Cathedral." It was the latter two songs that really stood out to my ears as a kid, especially "Winchester Cathedral," because Ross Barbour delivers it in what was known as his "Leroy" voice, something akin to Donald Duck. And ironically the delivery makes it pretty impossible to make out the words.

That song comes at the end of side one, and follows an absolutely eerie take on Paul Simon's "Old Friends." The latter number is done fairly rubato with a lot of a cappella sequences, interspersed with some sawing strings, similar to Psycho though not as shrill. In short, it really goes a long way towards capturing the song's underlying messasge about the fear of growing old, especially when one of the guys, with a lower voice, practically whispers, "How terribly strange to be 70." (In what seems like a connection, the liner notes mention the fact that the band was 40 years old at the time of the recording). I'm sure someone at Liberty Records insisted they needed to really lighten things up following that song.

The cover of the album always puzzled me. A dame in feather boas, laying on a table next to a pile of grapes and a bucket of champagne. At the top of the hill behind her sat a Mercedes. How is she going to get to her car, I used to wonder. Where are the steps?

Yes, I looked at this cover a lot. It's a miracle the record still plays. Along with the Fifth Dimension's Greatest Hits, Equinox by Sergio Mendes and a couple Herb Alpert albums, this was probably one of the albums that gave me ideas about how melodies and harmonies should sound - prior to discovering and being smitten by the Beatles and Alice Cooper.

The Latest

Playing right now: Aram Shelton Quartet - Everything for Somebody (Singlespeed)
I don't think it's out yet, so maybe I shouldn't say anything about it. Except that I'm digging it and it might get in the way of writing because I'd rather pay attention to it.

It was a good week for CD arrivals. A good 10 days actually. I got two Singlespeed CDs, a Pharoah Sanders set on ESP, three other ESP releases which I have to review for JazzTimes (which I hadn't realized were sitting here), another Don Cherry reissue, plus the Beagle Brothers CD. The latter isn't jazz but a local country-type band that I have to write about for City Paper, which leads me to what else has been going this week. And why I haven't been able to completely delve into all this music...

I interviewed the Beagle Brothers on Wednesday night for the upcoming article. I called them "country-type" in the previous paragraph because they don't comfortably fit in that genre. They're not "new country" like the tripe you see on that country music video channel. Nor are they ironic punks playing country.

So I went there straight from work, talked to the boys for about an hour, then ran home for what we still call baby duty at the house, even though the baby in this case is a five-year-old. To everyone else this might be called "bed-time duty."

Then it was off to Gooski's, where Man Forever was playing. You remember Man Forever, right? I wrote about them in this very space a few months ago, after I saw them in the very same venue where they played on Wednesday. This time, I'm approaching it as a guy who's writing a story about the band, or actually about their leader/driving force/one solid member among hired guys - Kid Millions (aka John Colpitts). Also, I knew what to expect this time out.

The performance consisted of the same "piece," "Surface Patterns" (FYI, I guessed incorrectly at the title in the previous piece). This time it was just Kid and one other drummer both playing on one snare drum instead of four drummers. Single stroke rolls (pronounced "budda budda budda budda" in quick succesion) for 30 minutes while the rest of the band slowly came in and played slowly. It was kind of cool hearing the vibrations in the sound slow down and speed up. I timed it, in part to take notes that I'd consult for the article.

When I discovered that they were 29 minutes into it, I knew the end was coming and I also knew how he cued the rest of the band to stop. So when he raised his sticks briefly and making them crash down on the snare, I was so into it that I screamed.

But now I have to write about him and write about the Beagle Brothers, and I haven't even transcribed their interview yet. I have the next two days off of work, so there will be sometime in there. Although tomorrow I might be reunited with my long lost first friend, after not seeing him for 30 years.

CD Review: Mike Reed's People, Places & Things - Clean on the Corner

Mike Reed's People, Places & Things
Clean on the Corner
(482 Music) www.482music.com

I have often said that I allow myself one or two moments a year to get hyperbolic in print. Consider this one of them because Clean on the Corner should be considered 2012's album of the year. Mike Reed is a busy guy that leads two ensembles (Loose Assembly being the other) plays with a handful of others (including Jason Adasiewicz's Sun Rooms to name but one) and still finds to time to organize events in Chicago like the Hungry Brain's Sunday Transmission Series, which he co-hosts with cornetist Josh Berman. He's also a director of the Pitchfork Music Festival.

With all those irons in the fire, he still finds time to compose creatively and lead a group that, like many others from Chicago, is not afraid of the musical past but still insists on being firmly rooted in the now. With alto saxophonist Greg Ward, tenor saxophonist Tim Haldeman and bassist Jason Roebke - and two guest spots each by Berman and pianist Craig Taborn - PP&T plays in a forceful manner that at times creates a feeling of elation, due to their rapport and their individual power.

"The Lady Has a Bomb" begins with a rubato theme that has sort of a playful Ornette Coleman quality to the theme, which Reed punctuates with press rolls. Once they make the opening statement though, he kicks them into a 4/4 tempo that swings fiercely. Ward's alto solo is especially compelling in the way he plays behind and around the beat. He and Haldeman both rasp and tweet comments during Roebke's solo in "Old," a Roscoe Mitchell tune that has the feeling of a Monk blues.

Reed also writes compelling ballads. The brief "December?" sounds like a free ballad, save for some scraping noises from Roebke. It's followed by the slow, long-toned "Where the Story Ends," which seems to earn its title from the way it never settles down in one place. "House of Three Smiles" touches on Ellington richness thanks to the way the two saxes get a rich sound with the addition of Berman's cornet. The latter plays a solo that manages to start buttery and conclude with a more plucky tone. Reed wrote the piece based on a solo his other bandmate Adasiewicz takes in one of the vibe maestro's own pieces.

PP&T's 2010 album Stories and Negotiations paid tribute to unsung Chicago composers while bringing a few surviving Windy City vets into the fold (look for a review on this blog from early 2011). Here, they again revisit the work of the late alto saxophonist John Jenkins with "Sharon." Taborn joins in and the group takes off in a way that could potentially start a Jenkins revival. The piece is an odd slab of bop that switches from minor to major, never settling into a predictable head-solo-head format. By the end, as they're trading fours, it has the aggressive quality of the Sun Ra Arkestra or Charles Mingus' similar excursions that pushed the bop envelope.

When some musicians spread themselves over different efforts, it can result in music that also gets a little thin. That's far from the case here. Reed sounds like he's just getting warmed up, and what he's doing is not to be missed.

Blood Sweat & Tears - Not Really an Appreciation, But Maybe

A week ago I mentioned listening to the first Blood, Sweat & Tears album, Child is the Father to Man and how I felt a greater appreciation for it than I originally had when I first heard it years ago. The next night I got out the group's second, self-titled album. That's the one with all the big hits: "Spinning Wheel," "You've Made Me So Very Happy," "And When I Die" and a slew of other AM hits.

That album looms large in my musical history because it was one of the first records I remember listening to as a kid, right up there with Herb Alpert. I actually have a distinct memory of being left alone in front of the stereo listening to it and getting to flip it over and play it all by myself. I recall this in part because I used to begin with Side Two, probably because "Spinning Wheel" kicks off that side. Also this means their versions of the Erik Satie theme came back to back instead of at the beginning and end.

That album would probably qualify in my case as a guilty pleasure. While there are a number of elements with the album that are pretty progressive and unique, it also contains a lot of things that are kind of hokey. Number one being David Clayton-Thomas, the band's vocalist. After Al Kooper's white boy blues on Child I guess the CBS brass wanted to make sure the band got someone with soul, but Clayton-Thomas is closer to Vegas than the Apollo in his execution. In my memory, I feel like I associate him more with my parents' Four Freshman albums than I would with my brothers' Janis Joplin or Beatles records, meaning he sounded to me less like a rock guy than an adult contemporary guy.

While I was away this weekend, I kept getting snippets of the album stuck in my head. Most of the time it was "Blues Pt. 2," the 11-minute opus made up of solos by different band members. As a kid, I found Dick Halligan's organ solo both eerie and fascinating. It rises and falls in dynamics, implying scariness and wild imagery, the latter especially when the Leslie speakers start rotating towards the end. It always made me think of some clump of dark clouds floating in the sky. Jim Fielder's bass solo is fast and impressive and Bobby Columby's drum solo is full of chops. Fred Lipsius' alto always sounded to my young ears like a human voice. It almost like he's running through modes as Fielder plays a one-note octave vamp. There's one point where it always sounded like crying to me.

Listening to it now, I'm curious how the whole thing happened in the studio. Was it one take or did they edit it all together? Did producer Jim Guercio have to make something out of a mish-mash of solos, and was that the idea?

Regardless, the track goes to pot after Lipsius winds down. Things get very quiet before the group launches into a brief, extremely lumbering riff from "Sunshine of Your Live" followed by guitarist Steve Katz briefly quoting "Spoonful." Sorry guys, I know you have the chops but it sounds too stiff. Sometimes rock and jazz don't mix.

With another fanfare, Clayton-Thomas enters testifying about the women in his life. Nothing against the singer - who looked a little like Jonathan Winters and Roy Clark to my young eyes - but he doesn't convince me that he's a stud. Things eventually build up into a vamp that recalls the coda of "Try a Little Tenderness" with our hero begging his woman to give him the affection he deserves, wailing as the song fades out. That freaked me out as a kid. The proceedings end calmly with a flute and acoustic guitar redux of the Satie piece, almost as if to assure the three-year olds in the audience that the scary man is gone.

Damn, I can't believe I've said this much without even touching on the first side. There's the awful rendition of "God Bless the Child," which nevertheless has a great blowing breakdown in the middle, with some great trombone (Jerry Hyman), trumpet (Lew Soloff) and sax (Lipsius) solos. Their funky take on Traffic's "Smiling Phases," which still sounds a little unconvincing, although the piano solo  in the middle must've blown minds at the time, especially after coming right after the psychedelic re-voicing of Satie that opened the album. How many college student jazz heads saw their future open up for them upon hearing that? (Apparently Sammy Davis, Jr. liked their take on "Smiling Phases" so much that he lifted the whole arrangement for himself.)

Back to Side Two for a moment: Their arrangement of "You Made Me So Very Happy" is a little slick but it's also very well done, with all the horn punctuation and the dual piano and organ in the coda. That's Al Kooper's work, it should be noted. With all their ducks in order, they have the cohesion of a soul band.

I started looking around youtube for some vintage BS&T footage, hoping to come across them stretching out and blowing over some blues changes or "Cherokee" or something. There was one high-quality performance of "Spinning Wheel"  from some t.v. show, where they play the edited, single version of the song, sans Soloff's trumpet break. Upfront there's ol' Dave smiling like a pro, with the rest of the band looking stoic (something that always drew me to the inside design of the album). There was also some grainy live footage of the band that only focused on Dave's face, with cuts to the horns and to Columby's hands.

I ran into a trombone-playing friend of mine last week and we were cracking up, thinking about a later BS&T song "Lucretia Mac Evil" which beats all the above songs in terms of corniness. That same album (BS&T 3 - not to be confused with Chicago III; very creative Columbia marketing peeps) has a medley called "Symphony for the Devil/Sympathy for the Devil" which, after a quick thought, might be worth a purchase for a few bucks if two friends can get a big laugh out of it.

Then there's "Go Down Gamblin'" from BS&T 4 (c'mon guys, you're killing them!) which IS actually pretty badass.

I'll stop now.

Remembering Chuck Austin

Ben Opie just posted in Facebook that Pittsburgh trumpeter Chuck Austin passed away Saturday morning at 5 a.m. I'm not sure how old Chuck was, but he had seen a lot of history on the local jazz scene, which included playing with soul singer Lloyd Price after "Personality" became a big hit. Also - he was in a group called The Band years before Robbie Robertson, and this band was remembered in the Teenie Harris exhibit, which featured Chuck in an interview talking about them.

I'm not in a position to give you an accurate obit on Chuck's life. But I did see him play numerous times with Opek, and I interviewed him for a Pulp article about jazz in the city. He was the president of the African-American Jazz Preservation Society of Pittsburgh, who worked to ensure that the history of the Black Musicians Union would not be forgotten. He was an absolute gentleman, the type you rarely meet these days, who was always willing to share his history with you, but never let that be where his legacy ended. He was there right up until the end, pushing music forward, blowing Sun Ra with Opek until he couldn't do it anymore. He was a frank speaker, but didn't want to ruffle any feathers. And, if all that isn't cool enough, he used to hang out with Horace Parlan, long before that pianist pulled up his roots in town and left to play with Charles Mingus and to eventually move to Europe.

There were times in recent years that I've gone to Opek shows and wanted to reintroduce myself but Chuck was either already involved in a conversation, or else I just felt too bashful to step up. I wish I could've talked to him more. Knowing what little I do about Chuck, he probably wouldn't have minded.

CD Review: Ches Smith's Cong for Brums - Psycho Predictions

Ches Smith's Cong for Brums
Psycho Predictions
(88) http://www.chessmith.com/

Psycho Predictions is all Ches Smith, but it shouldn't be considered a solo drum album, or a solo percussion album either. Smith does use his trap kit, along with some percussive devices and the vibes, but he also incorporates electronics into the mix, jumping quickly from one of these instruments to another, sometimes before there is a chance to adjust to the mix, while at other times the transition offers a welcome relief from abrasive noise.

It's best to listen to this album (a vinyl-only release, with a digital download) and imagine a live performance. Think of it that way, and this idiosyncratic performance gets really engaging. The opening segment, "Death Chart," begins moving quickly in a manner that must be totally engaging when it happens a few feet from your seat. Any listener who uses their cellphones as an alarm, or who's used to jumping up from their desk when receiving an email alert, should prepare to be spooked in the first few minutes. Without so much as a break, Smith kicks off on the traps with a loopy beat that provides respite from the electronics. These jarring noises are probably the hardest thing to take throughout the three-part piece, simply because they're so shrill and loud.

Psycho Predictions was recorded without any overdubs so the imagine-the-performance focus gives a greater perspective to Smith's dexterity. If there are any silent moments, they exist intentionally to provide pause. Otherwise things flow from one section to another or build upon an initial idea until you have to wonder if the vibes were live or triggered by a sample, and if the electronic countermelody was preplanned or not. By the time Smith starts playing the toms around the middle of "Conclusion: That's Life," he makes you listen with a completely different perspective on the trap kit. It's not merely a fill or some random hits that he's playing. It sounds like a melody. This section concludes with a real frenzied drum solo which also feels too brief after the journey we've traveled.

Smith has played with everyone from Tim Berne to Terry Riley to indie rockers Xiu Xiu. That diversity has really opened his mind to all kinds of musical possibilities for his instruments of choice. While there are moments on Psycho Predictions that could've progressed a little faster, the whole thing comes across as a solid effort.

Addendum 1/6/13: For some reason this review has attracted a lot of spam. For that reason, I'm disabling the comment section.

Random Leftovers

I remembered the third thing I wanted to talk about in the Saturday entry I wrote. On the way home from work, I turned on NPR a few minutes before six o'clock, right when they usually interview a musician. The guy talking to the interviewer (at this point I didn't hear names) was explaining how he reacted when he first had success and popularity. He was talking about comedy and jumping into the story mid-way, it almost sounded like he was a musician that dabbled in stand-up, or vice versa.

He started explaining at length that he suddenly had all of this attention on him - being interviewed for Rolling Stone, for example -  and he was worried he had nothing to say, so he created this persona so that nobody would think he was boring. It took him a long time to realize that he wasn't doing himself any favors and that he was lucky to have this success and he should've appreciated it more.

The thing is, he was speaking as if it wasn't this realization gave him some newfound modesty or served as a wake-up call. He sounded as if he was operating with the same level of self-importance that he had initially when his big-head brought him success.

And this is the edited version.

I was hanging on for dear life wondering how the hell this windbag was. They cut to a song in the middle of the story, which sounded kind of bland - and then they finally reintroduced him and  I knew why I was loathing this subject. It was John Mayer. A man for whom every movement is GRAND GESTURE. Every lyric is a statement. Even when it's something vapid like "I'm going out west with my earbuds on." That could only mean something big is happening, or your searching for something. Yeah right.

Please note that I usually go online and fact check info while I'm writing, but this time I did not. There's a slight chance that I'm a little off with some details but the whole sentiment of this windbag is pretty much on the money. Besides I have other things to talk about.


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I borrowed a stack of albums from a friend of mine a few weeks ago, which included Blood, Sweat & Tears' debut album Child is the Father To Man. That album has always received high praise as something of a high water mark of adventure and experimentation for a band that quickly went on to play it safe and head for the middle of the road. I heard it back when I was about 20, and couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. So I figured it was time for a reexamination.

Time has helped me appreciate it more. Turns out BS&T - at the time helmed by Al Kooper, pre-David Clayton-Thomas - was a pretty interesting band, as long as Kooper wasn't trying to be a blues belter. There is some interesting arrangements that take pop music to a more elaborate level. But it's incredible that a band could be on Columbia Records - home of Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk at the time - and that the horns could sound so thin. I'm presuming they worked in the label's legendary 30th Street Studios, but things sound really tinny like they didn't get a good sound level.

******************

In listening to the discs by Jason Stein's Locksmith Isidore that I got from Clean Feed last week, I found it pretty impressive that Stein actually blows some sounds on the album that honestly sound like no other bass clarinetist out there. I mean every horn player begins sounding a little like their predecessors if nothing else because they're playing the same instrument. From there, everyone has some new spin on the vocabulary. But Stein emits some pops and growls that sound break new ground.

CD Review: Hank Mobley - Newark 1953

Hank Mobley
Newark 1953
(Uptown) www.uptownrecords.net

Let us take a moment to figure out where the pioneers of bebop were at the time of this recording and where this cast of musicians was coming from - and where they were headed. Charlie Parker still walked the earth in 1953, and four months prior to the concert, he played at Toronto's Massey Hall in what would later be considered (at least in one reissue) the greatest jazz concert ever. Bird's worthy constituent at the performance (if you've heard the album, you get the reference) Dizzy Gillespie would hire Hank Mobley a year later for his quintet, along with drummer Charli Persip (who still had the "e" at the end of his first name).

That same year Hank Mobley and pianist Walter Davis, Jr. had recorded with Max Roach on Debut (which first released the Massey Hall show) and the tenor saxophonist was often touring with rhythm and blues bands. Which means that he was on a fast track at that time of this recording, less than two years away from joining Horace Silver in what would later become the Jazz Messengers.

Newark's Picadilly Club was were this double-disc set was recorded, on a Monday night no less. Comedian Redd Foxx booked the band (Mobley, Davis, Persip and bassist Jimmy Schenck), who would bring in a touring soloist to join them each week. On September 28, that guest came in the form of trombonist Bennie Green, who would also go on to record for Blue Note, as well as several other labels.

Being a club date, the musicians stretch in their solos without worrying about the length of the tune, a rarity of course on records but also on the few live recordings made at that time. The two sets last just a few minutes under an hour, and they play five and six pieces respectively. In "Pennies from Heaven," something of a show piece for Green, the quintet goes on for a full 16 minutes, none of it excessive. In fact the only bit of excess on the whole set is the perpetual goading from either the m.c. (not Foxx, according to the notes) or an audience member, who regularly yells, "Blowblowblow," or quotes a Mobley phrase back to him, mid-solo. As far as sound quality goes, the disc is pretty solid. The horns come through loud and clear, while Davis and Schenck require some leaning in to the speakers to fully pick up on what they're doing.

Mobley's reputation seems to get stronger and stronger with each passing year (which wasn't the case during his lifetime), and it's clear in these sessions that even if he didn't have the wind power to create a tone on the level of Sonny Rollins, he possessed an amazing mind, capable of executing long, fully-developed lines in his solos. At the time, putting quotes into solos was de riguer and he goes whole hog in Gillespie's "Ow," throwing in "Irish Washerwoman" and a brilliant wedge of "Tico Tico" in the middle eight. When Green finally hands over the spotlight to him in "Pennies from Heaven," the tenor saxophonist blows with a rare aggression, as if he's been chomping at the bit as he waited his turn.

Green puts on a strong showing as well, combining a smoothness that comes out of a swing past which he combines with bop ideas that players like J.J. Johnson were patenting at the time. Speaking of swing, Persip definitely drives the band, but its interesting to hear his heavy emphasis on a straight 4/4, which is also close to a swing drummer rather than what was coming down the pike from the likes of Blakey and Roach. (Persip would soon quit this gig to join Gillespie, later bringing Mobley and, two years later Davis, with him.)

Uptown as usual includes a thick booklet with this album, loaded with photos, many of them covers of albums that featured the players, as well as promo shots of the artists from later in their careers. Some of the LPs are interesting, like the Joe Gordon album on EmArcy which features the unsung Schenck's face. But other more common covers, as well as a page of matchboxes from other Newark clubs, seems like filler.

No matter, because the music is historically significant and sonically hot.

This Nearly Was Mine

Playing right now: Jason Stein's Locksmith Isidore - A Calculus of Loss (Clean Feed)
(Finally got my Clean Feed package that I ordered at the end of April, at the tail end of their sale. Looked at the sale items and two Locksmith Isidore things were what jumped out at me. This album is freer and looser than the other one I heard, but pretty hot so far. Bass clarinet squonking along with dirty, double-stopped cello - which makes me think of Abdul Wadud with Julius Hemphill - and splattery drums.)

The June issue of JazzTimes showed up yesterday. The cover story is the Top 50 Greatest Tenor Saxophone Albums of all time, with Sonny Rollins on the cover. Several months ago I got a mass email from the brass at JT asking for suggestions on the Tenor list. First I thought that I'd come back to it later (classic thought when I go through emails). Then the deadline came and I thought, well I just don't know. Well, I do, but it's all the obvious stuff: A Love Supreme, Fire Music, Sonny Rollins Live at the Village Vanguard, Coltrane at the Vanguard. Hell, I could devote half the list to John Coltrane.

But I blew it off.

So yesterday, I'm thumbing through the list, when suddenly it hits me: Rip, Rig & Panic by Roland Kirk (pre-Rahsaan).  Sure, Kirk plays two other saxes on the album, but it revolves around tenor and he's monstrous on that album. That should've been on the list, but it's not there. And I would've been the one writing about it.

There's also a story on Tim Berne. A big honking feature on him. I've been wishing I could write about him for years. You know how long I've been following him? 24 years. I remember because I heard Sanctified Dreams in 1988, a few months before turning 21. That album didn't get mentioned in the sidebar, which instead featured the album that included Bill Frisell.

I'm not slighting the magazine. It's best to have a cat in New York write about Berne, since you can see him play on a semi-regular basis and hang out, probably in some Brooklyn coffee shop. But still.

And there was some other jazz-related (not exactly a) gripe I had, with myself most likely. But I can't remember it now. Probably not as important.

CD Review: Hush Arbors/Arbouretum - Aureola

Hush Arbors /Arbouretum
Aureola
(Thrill Jockey) http://www.thrilljockey.com/

It's hard to explain why some bands can play one riff and it betrays a lack of imagination, while the same riff in someone else's hands can rock you to the core of your soul. Play an A chord, with a bounce down to G every four bars and it can either be a strong statement or a holding pattern until a real idea comes along.

Aureola, a collaboration between the bands Hush Arbors (aka Keith Wood) and Arbouretum never gets too complex, chugging on riffs ranging in size from one to three chords. I didn't fact check this, but most of them seem to be built around A, which sounds really great when it's either finger-picked or strummed, especially when there's some fuzz behind it. Maybe the difference is that these guys realize that when playing music as basic as this, you have to make it count, either with dynamics, extra musical trimmings or vocals. (Of course if they just got too baked to care, there's something to be said about the lack of inhibitions that comes with mind-altering substances, but that's not for me to say.)

Wood sings the first five songs and Arbouretum's Dave Heumann handles the remaining three. Wood has forged a prolific career under the Hush Arbors moniker and as a member of Six Organs of Admittance and Thurston Moore's touring band. His voice possesses something of a high warble but not in a self-conscious indie rocker sort of way. He sounds very self-assurred and that makes a strong opening with "Lowly Ghost." The bass has a non-sustaining (meaning "percussive") groove which goes well with the finger-picked acoustic guitar that establishes the foundation of the tune. "Prayer of Forgetfulness" follows with a bright, upbeat groove that gets this album off and running towards greatness. A strain of country filters into his other tracks, including a guitar riff straight out of Dylan's "I Want You," before Wood wraps up his side of the disc with some gothic folk.

This is when the vinyl format helps to play up the contrast (and compatability) between the two bands.

Considering that Arbouretum's three songs drone on longer than any that preceded it, the split between the acts can still be considered even. The distorted power chords come out in full force, with Heumann's vocals leading the way, not quite as fragile as Wood but gentle enough when necessary. A song like "Black Sun" might be simple in terms of its building blocks, but it's not really repetitive because subtle changes pop up as it moves along. The band gradually builds from a start of picked chords and gradually adds slow drums and fuzz bass that's impressive in its restrain. "St. Anthony's Fire" has the end-of-the-album blowout quality to it, and the frenzied guitar solos bear this out.

File this one under Sleeper of the Year. It snuck up on me and now I can't get it out of my mind.

Two Nights on Penn Avenue

Hospitality came back to the Brillobox last night. When they played there back in February their debut album on Merge hadn't been released yet. (It dropped at the end of that month.) Now that it's out they've been touring almost non-stop, and it showed from the opening seconds of their first song. Their sound was pure cohesion - all bright chords and catchy hooks. Tight guitars and bass, not a lot of sustain to the rhythm but that's okay because it created kind of a dancey feeling. The drumming was really propulsive too. The first few songs came in a quick flow without much break between them. That's something I can get behind.

While they headlined the show in February, last night the bill was topped by Here We Go Magic.  This was the first I'd ever heard them, and although I was in the back of the room chatting for most of their set, I still managed to pick up on the songs and dug them. They also had a poppish vibe going on but it seemed to add some Velvet Underground-via-kraut-rock drone to it. Their set and the individual songs were pretty long, but they never got dull.

This was the second time in a week I went to a show at Brillobox. Last Friday, I walked in as Carousel was playing their unironic take on '70s hard rock, complete with harmonized guitar melodies. Holy freakin' crap were they loud. That room is small as it is, so there's really no reason to mike all those guitar and drums. But they were, and during one song, Dave Wheeler was singing so strongly (the guy can belt), that I started to get dizzy. Boca Chica played next, which was a real study in contrasts, as they are a female-fronted, country-inspired electric folk act, with pedal steel. You couldn't really hear the pedal steel guitar though.

I broke my bad habit of nodding off during a Harlan Twins set due to the lateness of the evening and the work of beverages. Meaning, those factors usually leave this ol' man sleepy at that time of night. Not so on Friday, so I caught the whole Harlans set. And it was good. Only one song sounded completely familiar to me. The rest were relatively new.

It would be soooooo nice to go back to sleep now. Can't understand why I can't get into my groove. I did go to bed late and didn't get as much sleep as I'd like, but I also did not get real juiced last night at the show. I'm trying to watch that.

CD Review: David Bindman Ensemble - Sunset Park Polyphony

David Bindman Ensemble
Sunset Park Polyphony
(Self-released) www.davidbindman.com

Sunset Park Polyphony incorporates a number of disparate influences. The 17-minute title track alone attempts to recreate the layers of sound heard in that Brooklyn park - different languages spoken there, children's voices, not to mention the general atmospheric bird and traffic noises. Elsewhere he reminisces about his youth in New Jersey and yet another piece functions as a suite about a fictional character named, uh, Eyepod who "rises to great heights... while turning a blind eye to resulting injustice and environmental devastation." (More on that later. Stick with me.)

Musically, the tenor saxophonist borrows a lot from traditional Indian music, basing pieces on unusual groups of notes or pulses, (6 1/2, 15, 23, 31) which accelerate or slow down at his discretion. West African rhythms are used in another piece, which makes drummer royal hartigan sound like two players.

The double-disc set has a fair amount of text for each piece, but the music doesn't necessarily need an explanation to make the listener appreciate what Bindman is trying to accomplish. It does add a further perspective to what inspired the work, but the music also stands on its own. Although the album might be considered an entry into the world music category, it's better to call it a new forceful strain of jazz.

There are moments in "Sunset Park Polyphony" (the piece) that sound like Bindman is coming out of a Coltrane Quartet style, playing over a drone, shaping and reshaping a phrase. Then towards the end of his solo, which is only the opening section, his choice of notes take a more Eastern European dynamic. Of course Coltrane drew on a lot of these influences in his work, so it's less a case of Bindman trying to evoke his forefather and more of him going to the original source. Here, hartigan seems to play with speed, accelerating and slowing down during his solo.

In several pieces, the Bindman ensemble creates a pregnant pause between sections, which always adds a bit of suspense to the piece. It happens in at least three tracks and always works well. "Landings Suite," the story of Eyepod, a modern day Icarus, begins with "The Transient" where a 31-pulse cycle has all three horns (Bindman, trombonist Reut Regev, trumpeter Frank London) playing around each other, with all of them moving forward and not losing any focus. The other five sections of the suite continue with wide-ranging textures, which sometimes sound like some of Gil Evans' scoring on Sketches of Spain, other times incorporating a piece Bindman wrote for a dramatization of Billy Budd. The final movement, "Recurring Dream" has a ska/reggae feel which is grouped in pulses based on African drum calls. This isn't simply a good time groove, it's something deeper.

Bindman, whose rap sheet includes work with Wadada Leo Smith, Anthony Braxton and the Brooklyn Sax Quartet (which he co-founded), might not be working out of the same concept as Dave Holland, but he achieves something that Holland has done while working in odd time signatures. He doesn't let listeners get bogged down in the rigidness of them. And the band - which is completed by pianist Art Hirahara and bassist Wes Brown - makes it sound as natural as if they were swinging a 4/4 groove. I counted out the 23-note phrase of "Robeson House Echoes," (a piece dedicated to the late Bill Dixon, who would like this album) and the feeling was just as exciting.

CD Review: Nordeson Shelton - Incline

Nordeson Shelton
Incline
(Single Speed Music) www.singlespeedmusic.org

Some drums-and-saxophone duos make listeners forget that there isn't a rhythm section or additional lead instruments buttressing the music. (That's a verb not used enough in writing like this.) Through dynamics or sheer brute force, there's usually enough sound taking place so that anything more would be excessive.

Kjell Nordeson (drums) and Aram Shelton (alto saxophone) might not have attempted to go in the opposite direction, but there are several moments in Incline where the stripped-down sound ("minimalism" isn't really fitting) is in plain view. "Slope," the eight-minute closing track, forgoes an end-of-the-album blowout in favor of droning notes and streams of air from the horn and subdued percussives from wood blocks and metal. As he does in other tracks during the album, Shelton ruminates on his alto, playing simple figures which he hangs in the air and casually reshapes and restates. Long notes morph into buzzes or high squeals, while Nordeson imitates a ticking clock to cue the ending. "Slope" actually comes off more like a comedown after "Soles," the penultimate track that also begins gently but takes off after two minutes into a roll of driving percussion and expansive alto lines.

Nordeson's multi-directional approach to his kit has been noticeable up to this point - and compelling in the way it's panned between the two channels. But what isn't clear at first is that he doesn't play the trap kit in the typical free manner of press rolls and thundering toms. There are bass drum explosions but the wood and metal mentioned earlier, along with splash cymbals, shape most of his performance. The whole thing has a jittery sound to it, but it also makes him the focal point or the shaper of these nine tracks, and contributes to the overall bare sound of the performance.

Shelton, who is also a gifted composer and bandleader with his quartet and in the Chicago-based Fast Citizens (where he lived before relocating to California), gets some unique tonal qualities out of his horn too. In "Village" his growl has a metallic sound that evokes a guitarist like Marc Ribot. "Tower" offers a guessing game where it's hard to tell if you're hearing bowed cymbals or quiet saxophone notes and/or the pads of the alto being shut rapidly or gentle sticks or rims.

Nordeson and Shelton also play together in the quartet Cylinder in addition to this setting, which they've kept together since 2008. Nordeson came to San Francisco two years prior after numerous projects in his native Sweden, among them the AALY Trio with Mats Gustafsson. Few of the tracks on Incline last more than five minutes, and perhaps due to that, Shelton doesn't take opportunities to cut loose as much as his accomplice. While the album might not be as consistant as Cylinder's self-titled 2011 disc on Clean Feed, these guys should spark the interest of free improv fans.

Hunting Vinyl on Melwood Avenue

As I mentioned last week, I didn't hit the streets for National Record Store Day. But on this past Saturday, the Pittsburgh Vinyl Convention took place in, of all places, the galleries of Pittsburgh Filmmakers on Melwood Avenue. I hadn't been to a record show like this in a while so it seemed like a good time to get back on that horse.

I felt like even if I didn't buy one thing, it would be cool to look around and see what was there. The event was spread out over three rooms of the gallery and hallway, in a manner that made me realize I never knew how the building was laid out. (Of course, I think it's been renovated since I was last there too.)

It was about 5:30 by the time I got there, which sounds late, but the whole shindig ran from noon until 8, so it was still a fairly prime time. A seller in the first room made me wonder what I was in for, though when I saw a copy of Nina Simone's I Put a Spell on You marked at $80. Come on, brother, what the crap? I didn't look at it, but even if it was brand spanking new, with vinyl that shone like a star, how can you justify pricing something that high? He also had a copy of the live Pharoah Sanders album on Impulse, which I used to see at Jerry's back in the late '80s and never bought because for some reason I got it in my head that it was a double album that was missing a record. It's not. Hmm, maybe this will be my first purchase of the day.

Not for $40. Everything at that table seemed to be priced according to what it went for on eBay. Not the best way to go if you ask me. Maybe the guy expected people to haggle a little and talk him down, but I wasn't in the mood.

One other guy had a copy of Coltrane's Ascension, original mono, priced at $40, which is something I can understand. My inner geek started coming out because I have a copy of the second version of that album and started thinking that maybe I should have Version One as well. (I have both on cassette dub too, but that doesn't really count - even though it gives you a chance to hear the whole thing without a fade out in the middle.) But I was smart - sort of - in that I only brought about $40 and didn't feel right blowing it all at once.

In the end, I picked up The Max Roach 4 Plays Charlie Parker on Mercury, in part because it had two magic words on it: Hank Mobley. I have an ongoing fascination with Mr. Round Sound. It didn't have a price tag, but the seller quoted me $20, which was actually less than I thought so I felt like I couldn't pass it up. The same guy also had a Muhal Richard Abrams album I've seen for years, and when he told me that would be $5, I decided I shouldn't live without it any longer.

With those bought, I ambled around a little more, flipping past all kinds of racks, seeing a stash of jazz albums that were all priced high, some justifiably. My dilemma is that the things that I want are pretty high ticket items, so if I can just spend carelessly, I won't get totally satiated.

On the way out, I decided I needed the sealed $5 David Murray album I saw there, which I haven't listened to yet. Since today is a day off, it might be the day for it.

I wonder if the guy with Ascension sold it, because if he didn't, I'd give $30 for it now.

CD Review: Jessica Lurie Ensemble - Megaphone Heart

Jessica Lurie Ensemble
Megaphone Heart
(Zipa! Music) www.jessicalurie.com

Jessica Lurie's name showed up on my radar in the mid '90s when she played in the Billy Tipton Memorial Saxophone Quartet. Named for a band leader whose true gender was only discovered upon death (she has lived most of her live as a man, which allowed her to lead bands at that time when it was virtually impossible to be a female band leader) the group that honored her played pieces that spanned danceable ethnic styles to freer pieces and tone poems. Lurie, who plays alto, tenor and baritone saxophones as well as flute, continues in a newer version of that group now known simply as the Tiptons Saxophone Quartet, and has performed with everyone from Bill Frisell to Chuck D and the Indigo Girls.

Still, it was surprise to hear vocals taking the focus on the opening songs of Megaphone Heart. Not that she's a slack in the pipes department, but with all those horns listed next to her name in the credits, one might think this is going to be more of a saxophone album.

Lurie has a bit of the singer-songwriter bug in her too, and it keeps the expectations surprised as she makes her way through the album. Brandon Seabrook adds his guitar and banjo to the music, offering necessary roughness when needed or adding some frenetic banjo strums that bridge the gap between traditional Eastern European colors and modern skronk. Keyboardist Erik Deutsch plays electric and acoustic pianos and organ, the latter making a delightfully weird partner with Seabrook in the Balkan-flavored "Boot Heels," where cheesy organ and distorted axe trade licks. Bassist Todd Sickafoose (who also co-produces) and drummer Allison Miller round the group in a tight manner, and cellist Marika Hughes adds extra depth on three tracks.

The opening sequence of the 58-second "Steady Drum" into the full-blown "A Million Pieces All in One" bears a sound that makes the group sound like they could back up Tom Waits on a current tour. Lurie's sings without any rasp, of course, but her mid-range voice has a striking quality here, especially when it's punctuated by the horns. The pensive title track has more ethereal power too, capturing the longing expressed in the lyrics, and the musicians build to an extended, noisy coda that's worth every second.

The whole disc alternates vocal tracks and instrumentals. Some of the former don't quite measure up to the above entries. The bluesy "Maps" and the meditative "Once" are fine songs although they rely a little much on lyrical metaphors often heard in songs dealing with relationships and changes in the landscape. Her inspirations for "Once" -  a flood in Iowa and memories of how Lurie's parents planted corn in their Seattle yard to block out their neighbors - sounds more interesting than the song, which gets marred a little further by some Joni-esque trills toward the end.

Although she plays three saxes, Lurie's alto seems to be her main instrument, taking leads while the others embellish more. Her tone is strong and diverse, crisp and direct in some places, gruff and growling in others. She and Hughes create a strong texture in "Zasto" and the leader gets some good time to stretch out in the jaunty "Bells."

Megaphone Heart comes across as one of those albums that doesn't fit comfortably into one style. It's the kind of album that, for better or worse, some scribes will celebrate because it's "a little bit jazz, a little bit songwriter, a little bit Eastern European," etc. CBS Sunday Morning could have a field day with her. [That's not a criticism either, people. I'm giving you ideas.]

Unlike some albums that dabble in varieties like that - and despite what I said about a couple of the songs - Lurie can pull off all those styles without seeming like a dilettante. So much so that when on the second listen to the album, it made me think how challenging it can be to promote an album like this effectively.

Then I thought if Lurie really bothered herself with issues like that, she might never make this album. Better to encourage her to do her thing and hope the people with open ears will find it.

CD Review: Eyvind Opsvik - Overseas IV

Eivind Opsvik
Overseas IV
(Loyal Label) www.loyallabel.com

Norwegian bassist Eivind Opsvik resides in New York City, playing with a cast of musicians that has included Paul Motian, Skuli Sverrisson and Tony Malaby. He has also released several albums as a co-leader (with Aaron Jennings) and leader, of which this one comes as the fourth in a series that seems loosely tied to history and closely aligned with the goal of blending jazz with progressive rock, classical and ambient musics. Opsvik has referred to this album as "experimental cinematic music," and in that regard, he's hugely successful. The scoring of the music, coupled with haunting melodies that often rely on sustained notes and steady beats, implies that some visual imagery should go with it. It doesn't hurt that the cover photo of the bassist looks like it could have been taken in some historical mansion/museum, but that's a personal bias.

The 1700s and 1800s provided the inspiration for Overseas IV and to that end, keyboardist Jacob Sacks takes us to that era by playing harpsichord just as much as he plays piano and Farfisa organ. The old instrument provides an ingenious contrast throughout the album with Brandon Seabrook's electric guitar, which often gets noisy and scratchy. Together with Kenny Wolleson's tympani, Sacks create something of an opening overture with "They Will Hear the Drums - and They Will Answer." Malaby, Opsvik's frequent leader, lends his tenor saxophone to the proceedings, although much of his work on the album creates textures with simple figures.

By continually shifting the melodic focus of the pieces to unexpected instruments or by delaying what might be a "theme," the album can be a bit disorienting initially, requiring some extra scrutiny to fully discover where it's going and where it's been. "1786" (so named because it predated "great upheavels") begins with a drum and harpsichord duet that morphs into a churning groove that lets Malaby sit on the stovetop and gradually come to a boil, in one of the album's few sax solos. It's an abrasive nine minutes, but the way it unfolds is not. In a brilliant sequencing move, Opsvik follows this track with "Silkweavers' Song" where the harpsichord joins up with bowed bass (sounding like a cello at first) and Wolleson's vibes for the ambience of chamber music.

Like a film with an oblique plotline, Overseas IV can perplex you if your mind wanders. "Robbers and Fairground Folk" sounds like a four-note sax lick over a rock rhythm section, until it becomes clear that the direction comes from Seabrook, whose caterwauling, post-Ribot fretwork solos seem to get stronger with each new session he plays. He also brings energy to the spy surf feel of "Michelle Marie," when the repetitive Farfisa starts to sound too clever.

Opsvik also seems to act as the main voice in a couple tunes, which is easy to miss because his bass sometimes lacks the presence or volume it needs in the mix. He leads the way in the pensive "White Armour," over droning chords. In the closing "Youth Hopeth All Things, Believeth All Things" he gets a chance to stand front and center and take off. The setting is just as significant to the overall sound, though: the rhythm evokes prison chain gangs with what sounds like claps from hands and pieces of wood (presumably the "marching machine" for which Wolleson receives credit) and the rest of the band plays slow, ugly chords, closing the album with a long, keyboard drone, not unlike something from vintage Soft Machine.

Moments occur during this album where the band seems to wander or plod along. But by reserving judgement until a track has played through, you're likely to admire the way Opsvik creates rich soundscapes out of what initially sounds like simple harmonic material. Together with players like saxophonist/composer Jeremy Udden (who has used some of these guys in his bands), Eyvind Opsvik is charting a new course for this music that is more accurately described for the images that it can evoke than for what kind of category it belongs to.

There Was a Lot Happening Over the Last 48 Hours

Playing right now: Neighbours debut single, on Get Hip - RED VINYL!

Neighbours played a single release show last night at Gooski's, and damn was it good. I don't think it was the hooch talking last night. (In fact the drink in my head seemed kind of unnecessary by the time the lads went on.) I've described them as mod pop in the past, and they've even progressed further  so that they're not merely emulating a style. Ross' guitar playing recreates that unsustained, hopped-up Jam sound but he's not afraid to make some good noise during a guitar solo or a chorus. Joe's bass playing is really melodic, uses vibrato well and since he's playing some sort of Precision copy [I think] it had a bit of a dirty sound to it. Andy's the most in-the-pocket drummer I've heard in ages, and of course Michael... well he slayed me ages ago as Mr. White Soul Belter.

The night before, I was late yet again  for a show I really wanted to see. Cornetist Josh Berman and cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm were playing at the Shop with tenor saxophonist/bass clarinetist Christoph Erb. [A quick Google search revealed that the trio is going by the name Bererberg.] I got there for the last 10 minutes of their wild free improv, which sounded great. Each guy really had something going on: Josh with his amazing range and great tone; Fred with his skillful use of effects on his instrument; Christoph switching between horns and doing some fine, percussive slap tonguing.

I bought a CD from Fred of his trio with Jason Roebke and Frank Rosaly, called Other Valentines. I've always enjoyed his work, but last night I listened to it and was really loving it. His tone is really strong and emotional, with maybe a touch of vibrato. In addition to originals, he covers Sun Ra, Pink Floyd ("Arnold Layne"!) and Gil Scott-Heron.

No Record Store Day shenanigans for me yesterday. I was tempted to wake up early, as I usually do, and take a trip across the river to the Attic, since they opened at midnight on Saturday morning/Friday night. Last year, they had a line snaking around the corner before they even opened, which made the narrow aisles impossible to negotiate inside. By 6 a.m., I figured there probably wouldn't be a huge crowd there so that would be an ideal time to go. But I was lucky I got up when I did, considering what a few highballs at the Brillobox did to me the night before.

I'll say it right now: I don't need to buy any new records at the moment.

[Note the qualifier there.]

PS On the walk home from Gooski's, I heard that Benny Golson played at the August Wilson Center. What the hay? Where was the publicity for that? Nobody told me!

Last night (Thursday) and tonight (Friday)

Hmmm, I was worried the day would come when the template for the blog would be revamped. I guess it's here. And it's off-putting.

Last night I got to Garfield Artworks 20 minutes into Chris Corsano's set. I could've left the house earlier and caught it all, but nooooooooooo. Anyhow what I saw was astounding. And I don't use that word loosely. Corsano has an amazing technique and a wealth of ideas. He had two mallets in his right hand, one was hitting the ride cymbal and the other was hitting the floor tom. Then he did what looked like a magic trick - one of the mallets disappeared! And with the greatest of ease, he switched out that mallet for a stick.

Not only that - the guy can circular breathe! He started blowing on some plastic hose thing but I didn't realize he was going without breathing until he picked up some instrument with a sax mouthpiece on it and looked like either an Eastern reed instrument [I won't try to approximate the spelling of it] or some toy horn and pressed it to the head of the floor tom. The final piece also involved some device made of metal keys and a pick-up mike which he alternately held in his mouth and wedged in the high hat, getting some overdriven, metallic groove to the music. After melting my brain with that, he drove it home with an amazing solo all over his kit.

Around seven years ago, Corsano left an impression on me when I saw him with saxophonist Paul Flaherty. Last night reminded me that all the memories I have of his crazy technique are still accurate.

Late last night I got a message that Josh Berman and Fred Lonberg-Holm are playing at the Shop here in town. While I wish I had known sooner - in order to tell more people - I'm glad I know. If you're in Pittsburgh and reading this, check this out!

CD Review: Pete Robbins Transatlantic Quartet - Live In Basel

Pete Robbins Transatlantic Quartet
Live in Basel
(Hate Laugh Music) www.peterobbins.com

In the first track of Live in Basel Pete Robbins' alto has that "dry as a martini" tone. Not that he's a Paul Desmond disciple, but he has that no-nonsense sound that doesn't hide behind any sweet vibrato. He uses an adventurous vocabulary that keeps your surprised. It's not exactly the Steve Coleman-esque mathematical complexity, but he probably appreciates that style as well as a Desmond attack.

Still, he's going somewhere else with his own work.

This album seems to be something of a digression for the New York-based saxophonist, as he typically plays in the freer Unnamed Quartet and siLENT Z, and has hung with the likes of John Zorn, Craig Taborn and Mark Dresser. The Transatlantic Quartet includes guitarist Mikkel Ploug, bassist Simon Jermyn and drummer Kevin Brow, a mix of Europeans living in the U.S. and Americans living abroad.

Not knowing Robbins' back story, this set - recorded at the end of a 2010 tour in Switzerland - comes off a bit like a band wrestling with edgy arrangements and the urge to smooth things out. Ploug's guitar sounds clean with a little bit of bite one moment, then chorus-y and a little too devoted to atmospheric a few tracks later. "Hope Tober" which closes the album, relies a little too much on a simple rhythmic displacement as a hook that plays over an anthemic progression.

However, deeper investigation proves that the shortcomings might just be due to the way the band was recorded (i.e. just a tad too far on the clean side). The quartet has a lot of spark under the surface. "Eliotsong" starts things off with a kick, mainly due to the way Brow adds an extra shuffle to the beat he plays on the snare. Jermyn takes the first solo here, an unusual start which works and sets the scene for Ploug and Robbins. "There There" almost feels like a ballad but the group keeps kicking up a gentle storm, Robbins especially as he throws all kinds of moving lines into his solo. Jermyn's intro sounds especially fluid on this track, tossing off cascades of notes with the ease of a guitar. And when Ploug enters, their instruments blend beautifully.

Live in Basel might front-loaded with stronger material, but the energy never wavers and keeps you coming back. It makes these ears want to hear more of this alto player and wonder why I haven't yet.

Matthew Shipp Storms Pittsburgh

I was happily surprised on Saturday night when I walked into the gallery at the First Unitarian Church and saw the sizable crowd for the Matthew Shipp show. Meaning there was close to 50 people there. That might not sound like much but when you compare it to the crowd for a typical free/avant garde show, which you can often count on one hand, this was a success.

I had been geeked and eagerly awaiting this show since I heard about it a few months ago. (Not to toot my own horn but I feel like I was something of a catalyst because I got Matt in touch with Manny who booked it, since the pianist had lost his phone number.) But seeing a sea of faces - both young and older - in the audience was encouraging. It made me wish I had printed up handbills about this blog to get some sort of a network going.

Honestly I've heard nearly all of Shipp's recent albums but can't connect titles with tunes precisely, so this is going to be something of an overview of the evening. Perhaps, I should just say this:

It was a really, really good show. Trust me.

That's probably not even funny as you're reading it, so.... onward...(to borrow a Mort Sahl-ism).

The trio made their way to the stage and immediately launched into a tune that had a boppish feel to the melody even though the tempo was free and floating. For most of the evening, drummer Whit Dickey was staring down towards his snare drum, without needing to look at his arms or the rest of his kit. A few times he started swaying his head, though, getting caught up in the music. What he played never turned into excessive free clatter, but kept it flowing and taut. Bassist Michael Bisio periodically took a whack at his open strings. He was sometimes hard to hear clearly, so this could have been done out of frustration or plain old punctuation. Hard to tell. There were several times throughout the night where he leaned his bass back at an angle and struck the strings that way. I think he was being miked, so another thought is that he didn't want to overdrive the p.a.

And then there was Mr. Shipp. His arms move at the piano in a way that it looks like they're slipping off the keys, like he's brushing off dust. It's a look that contrasts with the rich sound he produces, that has really come to encompass all manner of styles - Monk-like angularity, the bop phrasing, an almost classical sense of melody (which makes perfect sense because that's what he played before jazz). Briefly, he dug into a piano melody that had a strong vocal quality to it, meaning it sounded like an actual voice.

The trio played two sets, each one about 45 minutes. Both included a few minutes where the free flowing sound got a little noodly, but both times, it didn't last too long and they snapped back into something tight. In the first set, Bisio did an amazing bowed solo, moving all over the instrument, including some great metallic squeaks that came from bowing the tail piece. That set also included snatches of "On Green Dolphin Street" and "Someday My Prince Will Come," though I have to admit, I only thought I heard the former and completely missed the latter. (I don't doubt it though because Shipp has recorded "Prince.")

The second set was even more charged up, with the dense and driving "The New Fact" kicking things off. Dickey took a solo during a later piece that had the approach similar to Rashied Ali, going in multiple directions, with snare rolls and cymbal crashes intersecting with power from the rest of his kit. Shipp's minor, doomy take on "Frere Jacques" was pulled out too, which sounds stronger in person than it has on disc, most likely because it doesn't put as much attention on the source material. There was an adolescent boy in the audience who was clearly grooving during this set - which offers proof that this music is accessible to listeners who keep their minds and ears open.

Shipp's 2009 album Harmonic Disorder ends with a track called "When the Curtain Falls on the Jazz Theatre" which I recall has a pretty heavy series of pounding chords (making it a bold and somewhat satirical statement together with the title). Can't say for sure since my copy of Harmonic is buried in a pile somewhere, but that might have been the final piece the trio played. And they received a standing ovation for the whole performance. I hope to see more of these appreciative clappers at other shows like this. Shoot - I want to see more shows like this!

Diamond Terrfier & Patrick Higgins in town

I had an attack of panic last night because this here laptop was moving really slow and was in limbo between going into sleep mode, with a dark screen, and not really going into sleep mode. So it was stuck. Until I woke up this morning and thought about disconnecting the battery and the AC adaptor. It all started when I looked at Judy Henske's website. I think she messed me up. Never thought that woman would do me wrong. So far, everything works.

Now that that's out of the way, I can talk about the Diamond Terrifier show last night at Garfield Artworks. This is the solo saxophone project of Sam Hillner of the Zs. He was on the bill with solo guitarist Patrick Higgins and a handful of local hip hop MCs. Go figure. That's the way things roll at Garfield Artworks. Not that the acts were really compatible. Plus Sam and Patrick were off grabbing dinner or something before the show, which inspired one of the MCs to talk smack on how they weren't cool because they weren't hanging out, and how they're acting like rock stars. I buried my nose in an issue of The Wire while waiting for the rapping to be done. Not that it was bad. It seemed pretty together, and the guys all had tight control over the samples, and their songs were seguing together smoothly.

Higgins took the stage with a small acoustic guitar and an armful of effects pedals. It was clear from the way he was playing his instrument that he had genuine technique. He wasn't just some noise maker. But he did get some good racket going right away, with some dreamy loops and a lot of delay. I thought I had read that he was playing works by Bach and he did make some comment early on about how he was playing "really old shit." Then all of a sudden I recognized ol' Johann Sebastian's "Bouree." (Which I admit I know of thanks to Jethro Tull.) With all the effects on his guitar, it sounded like the music was being transmitted from a satellite and sent around the earth twice before it was broadcast to my ears. It gave a really new creative spin to some old tunes. Before he was done, he also played "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" with all sorts of loops and warped notes weaving through it. Combined with the fact that he kept his set to about 20 minutes - or maybe less - it was a pretty excellent production.

Then Mr. Diamond Terrifier hit the stage. (If you're wondering about the name, you can check out my piece about him in City Paper right here. Actually, he hit the floor, because he set up his line of effects pedals on the floor in front of the stage, putting a microphone in the bell of his tenor and plugging it into said pedals. He began by turning up one of the boxes, which had a loop of a split-second of sound creating a drone, over which he started blowing long tones. Things gradually built in energy, escalating into a flurry of notes, with harmonies and short lines coming through. The collective sound of his tenor and the added pitches from the boxes gave the set a feeling of both beauty and impending doom.

When he started blowing in the low register of his horn, it sounded like a storm was on the horizon. The loop changed from a calm drone to something that sounded like plinking strings or keyboard sounds. Suddenly it was all high tenor shrieks, and the pitches got bent through the pedals, giving it an other worldly sound. The drone gradually shifted again to more of a guitar sound with bent notes. By now, DT was playing a two-note theme, built on low notes from the horn. He went on to embellish the idea, stopping back to revisit it every so often. It was pretty hypnotic. I tried to follow how long the whole performance, but I lost track of time and just listened. Crazy.

I Should Buy This Album Because....um, it's on sale

Playing right now: John Coltrane - Standard Coltrane

Yesterday was the last day of Paul's CDs. The landmark music store is closing, but Paul's employee Karl Hendricks is carrying the tradition on in the same storefront on Liberty Avenue with Sound Cat Music. In fact, both "stores" have been running concurrently since January. Don't ask how or why, it just did, and it worked.

Paul gradually marked down his inventory further and further until it was down to 60% about a week ago, where it stayed through yesterday. I combed through the racks several times over the past couple months, especially when he went down to 40- and 50%. So yesterday with the shelves looking bare in the jazz section, I felt like grabbing anything that looked of interest to me. I had hoped I might be able to get a recent Miles Davis box set, and when I found out that it was gone, I started to examine the one remaining Miles set - Seven Steps to Heaven. I don't even have that album, and this one also including the live albums from that in-between era. I also picked up the Roscoe Mitchell solo saxophone album. And FMP's Cecil Taylor and Han Bennink duet album.

After awhile I reached saturation point. And reality kicked in - am I really interested in all of this stuff in my huge pile? When will I get time to listen to all of it? By listening to it, as I've said ad nauseum here, that means getting to know the music, becoming familiar with the solos or the hooks or the running order - and the song titles. I want to hear all of it. But hearing things is different, slightly, than owning it, and putting it on the pile of other albums that cause you to feel really baffled and ultimately frustrating when you wake up in the morning and want to play something but can't decide what. And in the case of the Miles set, 60% of $106 is still over $40 - a lot of eggs in one basket.

So I narrowed my pile down to 10 things that I needed. The CD playing now was one of them. Then:
John Coltrane - Dakar
Andrew Hill - Dusk
Roland Kirk - Kirk in Copenhagen
Archie Shepp & Roswell Rudd - Live in New York
Bonzo Dog Band - Gorilla (because my vinyl is severely warped)
Mary Celeste - Our Guernica (Local band I missed out on in the mid-'00s; only $6 originally so I couldn't say no any longer)
Louis Armstrong - Hot Fives and Sevens Vols. 1 and 2.
Bo Diddley - Gold (with the family in mind)

Looking at it now, my choices of non-jazz are pretty arbitrary. Oh well, as I said, there was a point where I reached saturation and couldn't take the digging through the racks any longer. I had initially thought of purchasing a couple box sets and flipping them online, but then common sense reminded me that I'd be pretty pissed if they didn't sell.

Coltrane's done so I have to decide what's next.