CD Review : Dave Douglas Quintet - Brazen Heart

Dave Douglas Quintet
Brazen Heart
(Greenleaf) www.greenleafmusic.com

It wasn't too long ago that Dave Douglas released High Risk, an album that placed his trumpet in the company of electronic musicians from the bands Ghostly International and Groove Collective. (The mix of company worked really well too. My review can be found here.) Now, the trumpeter has returned less than six months later with the third release from his quintet, with Matt Mitchell (piano), Linda Oh (bass), Jon Irabagon (tenor saxophone) and Rudy Royston (drums).

On first blush, it might sound a little...standard, especially after the last one. Douglas and Irabagon play a few melodies together that Wayne Shorter might have written in the '60s. A line similar to one by Thelonious Monk begins one piece - before moving off into more unique waters. At that point, a closer listen becomes mandatory and it reveals a wealth of original playing and writing.

The unexpected moments give Brazen Heart much of its staying power. "Miracle Gro" starts off with a backbeat, which Douglas digs into. Out of nowhere, the group shifts into a rubato interlude making everything come to a pensive halt. Then it's back to the changes for an Irabagon solo that uses the tenor's whole range, with a shriek or two for added emphasis. Royston, here and throughout, pushes his bandmates hard, never quite overplaying, but definitely starting fires. 

"Inure Phase" (say it out loud), is based on a Steve Reich concept where everyone plays in a different time signature. It gives the tune an anxious quality that makes it sound like it could pull apart at any minute. Yet everyone solos over changes so everything remains in focus, again bolstered by Royston.

Special mention should be made of Linda Oh's work on the album. A solid accompanist to be sure, her lines frequently grab the ear for the inventive way they serve the music and add more color. She, like the equally bold Matt Mitchell, gets a fair amount of solo space throughout the album.

Some of the music on Brazen Heart was inspired by personal loss. Readings of the traditional "Deep River" and "There Is a Balm in Gilead" convey a sense of reflection too. But without digging into the background, the album comes off with a sense of excitement rather than sorrow. The rapid-fire "Wake Up Claire" ends the set and drives this point home.

Paul, George, Yoko and...Clifford + Zakir Hussain + Palindromes at Space Exchange

Playing right now: Josh Berman's new CD A Dance and a Hop on Delmark. Just him on cornet, with Jason Roebke (bass) and Frank Rosaly (drums).

I saw three shows at three different venues last night.

I needed to talk to bassist Paul Thompson for a column I'm writing and it just so happens that he was leading a quartet at the Backstage Bar downtown for the Jazz Happy Hour thingy. Inspiring the title of this entry, the group also included George Heid III (drums), Yoko Suzuki (alto saxophone) and Clifford Barnes (keyboard).

Paul is a man for all seasons, able to fit in with everyone from Ben Opie to Maynard Ferguson (yeah, he's played with both). The group was straight forward, nothing too wild for this crowd, mixing some well-known classics like "Autumn Leaves" and "Cherokee" in with a Sade cover and a couple pieces by bassist Paul Chambers. Suzuki has a really strong tone which made her pretty distinctive. There were a couple tunes where her long tones were astounding. On an old warhorse like "Cherokee" she was pushing herself too. Barnes stretched out impressively as well, evoking Errol Garner at one point with his attack, which sounded cool. Heid, whose dad is a Pittsburgh jazz veteran, swung with authority. And of course Paul was solid as a rock, especially when he was plucking out those rapid Chambers themes.

From there, it was down to the Byham Theater. A friend said he had an extra ticket to the Zakir Hussain show. Dave Holland was playing bass with him, and I wanted to try and check it out, so I couldn't say no. I only really know Hussain's name in passing so I wasn't sure what I was in for.

Hussain came out onstage first, talking about how jazz musicians took a lot of influence from Indian music, but prior to that, Indians were inspired by jazz music that was around in the '20s and '30s. At some point during the show, he added that the music they were playing couldn't simply be called jazz or Indian classical music. It had a little of each.

But before that happened, Holland had to mark the birthday of Pittsburgh native and jazz bass pioneer Ray Brown. Dave claimed that it was the sound of Brown's bass on an Oscar Peterson record that made him decide to switch from bass guitar to upright and start playing jazz. So he treated us to a solo version of "Things Ain't What They Used to Be," complete with some rich double-stops.

Had the concert lasted about 90 minutes, I would've been happy. Instead it lasted about 2 hours and 10 minutes. Don't get me wrong, Hussain was totally amazing on the tablas, getting slides out of town, playing melodies and just being percussive. There was also one drum that resonated like a kick drum and filled out the band's sound. Vocalist Shankar Mahadevan was also a great performer too, singing what amounted to a blend of Western blue tones and traditional Indian scales. The first song he performed was slow and dreamy and extended. Pianist Louiz Banks and guitarist Sanjay Divecha really added to highlights like this. It was really interesting to hear the audience, largely Indian, roar with approval when Mahadevan starting singing a song they knew. My friend Daryl and I both wondered what it was, and found it interesting to be out of the loop.

But some of the evening seemed to digress into grandstanding, with Hussain doing on his instruments what metal guitarists do on their axes. Okay, maybe that's a little harsh, but it was showy. And while the cohesion in that band was astounding when they made all those tricky time changes together, I got really restless with all the tacka-tacka-deeka-DEEka-tacka vocalizations. Forgive me if it sounds ethnocentric. I respect it. I'm just not feeling it.

Plus I hadn't had a proper dinner yet....

Off I went to the Thunderbird for Space Exchange. This week, bassist Matt Booth was calling the set with Palindrones, which consisted of Space Exchange curators Ben Opie (saxophones) and Dave Throckmorton (drums), Space-Exchange-ex-pat-but-still-here-when-he-can guitarist Chris Parker and tenor saxophonist John Petrucelli. (Matt now lives in New Orleans but makes it back every so often too.) The first set was over when I got there and they were getting ready for the second.

It might have been the gin hitting my overly caffeinated body (I had a lot of joe at the Backstage Bar, knowing it'd be a long night), but these guys were astounding. They started out with a Paul Motian tune (can't recall the title) that was loud as hell and just as visceral. Throckmorton does an amazing job on Motian tunes anyway but Opie set himself on fire, and Petrucelli knew just how to enter after him - soft and fluttering, and building up gradually. Parker got louder as the set went on but I was loving the grooves he was banging out.

A few people commented on the small crowd for the evening but as the band played (and I dug into a couple pulled pork sliders), a few more interested people started crowding around and checking out the band. Maybe not the full crowd they would have liked, but it did expand a little.

Hopefully they'll all turn out next week when Lina Allemano, who you might have read about here, comes back to town, this time with her regular quartet. It's a free show, people! Give her the Pittsburgh welcome, because there's a chance she won't be back again - or at least not for a looooooooooong time.

CD Review: Liberty Ellman - Radiate

Liberty Ellman
Radiate
(Pi) wwwpirecordings.com

In a way, it comes as kind of a surprise that guitarist Liberty Ellman hasn't released an album under his own name in nine years. But on further thought, he's so busy popping up in other places as a support player that he might not have the time.

Ellman's best-known connection is a nearly 15-year tenure with Henry Threadgill's band Zooid, the longest lasting band of the reedist/composer's career. But Ellman's guitar has also been heard on albums by Stephan Crump's Rosetta Trio, on Steve Lehman and Rudresh Mahanthappa's Dual Identity album and performances with everyone from Butch Morris to Joe Lovano. As a mixing engineer, his name seems even more ubiquitous, having turned knobs for Steve Coleman, Vijay Iyer & Mike Ladd and Gregory Porter just to name a few.

For his first album since 2006's Ophiuchus Butterfly, Ellman cashed in his chips and assembled an A-list group of friends. Lehman and Crump are here, as well as Zooid bandmate Jose Davila (tuba, trombone), Five Elements' Jonathan Finlayson (trumpet) and man about town Damion Reid (drums).

Not to downplay the skills at work in this ensemble - who mesh incredibly in these intricate pieces - but Ellman is the kind of guitarist that could pull off something just as enthralling with only the rhythm section to back him. His plays using vocabulary that's just off\kilter enough and delivers it with one of the most enchanting tones since Bill Frisell patented his signature volume pedal-fueled attack. "Moment Twice" almost acts like a tease, with guitar, bass and drums playing a theme statement for just under two minutes. "Furthermore" has a rubato rolling accompaniment from Crump and Reid, which Ellman uses to produce a dream soundtrack, picking clean lines that speed up and slow down at will. The horns eventually join him, but only to add color in the background. The focus remains on the guitar.

Ellman's writing gets rather knotty, with patterns that morph just when Reid's snare hits start to make it easy to find the structure. Threadgill might be an influence but a comparison could be made to Steve Coleman's angular writing, though Ellman stays closer to the groove end of things. The horns never sound constricted by the time signature. Davila's role alternates between rhythm section member ("Supercell') and soloist ("Rhinocerisms," where the low horn fits the name, and "A Motive," where he switches to trombone).

Lehman's rapid technique is put to good use, most notably in "Vibrograph," where he fires off some descending lines, throwing off clusters of five, almost as a passing thought. Between that song and the preceding "Skeletope," Crump plays a bass solo that, conversely, offers open space for reflection, similar to Charlie Haden in its pensiveness.

For the closing "Enigmatic Runner" Ellman gives himself the chance to cut loose. Storming in like a distorted, progressive rocker, he tears through a rugged, extended line that is either one of the best guitar solos of the year or one of the most astounding through-composed sections in longer. On cue, Finlayson and Lehman come in right as Ellman concludes his statement.

Will this group ever perform live and, if so, will it ever happen beyond the borders of New York? Probably not, considering all the schedules that come into play. In the meantime, grab this and get lost in it.

CD Review: Jon Irabagon - Behind the Sky & Inaction Is an Action

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Jon Irabagon
Behind the Sky

Jon Irabagon
Inaction is An Action
(Irabbagast)
www.jonirabagon.com

Jon Irabagon has released two vastly divergent albums simultaneously before. 2013 saw the releases of Unhinged, by the saxophonist's slightly more conventional group Outright, while I Don't Hear Nothing But the Blues Volume 2 featured a rather abrasive 40-minute free improvisation with guitarist Mick Barr and drummer Mike Pride.

But when talking about polar opposites, go no further than these two discs. Behind the Sky is the long awaited followup to The Observer, a straightahead album that Irabagon made for Concord Records following his victory at the 2008 Thelonious Monk Saxophone Competition. Inaction Is An Action presents the Mostly Other People Do the Killing band member playing eight tracks of solo saxophone - on the rarely heard sopranino horn. There are musicians who can play it straight and fit just as comfortably in free settings, but most of them choose one over the other as a career move. Irabagon might be the first to take both paths without apologies to either, and he brings the same amount of conviction to each setting.

The group on Behind the Sky features the rhythm section of Luis Perdomo (piano), Yasushi Nakamara (bass) and Rudy Royston (drums). Tom Harrell joins them on three tracks, adding trumpet and flugelhorn. Irabagon, who has played various saxophones with his bands, plays tenor and a bit of soprano, and, on the quartet pieces, he moves in a Coltrane direction. "100 Summers" bears this out, since the rhythm section flows over him, Royston rolling and crashing with mallets in hand and Irabagon starting his solo with cells of notes that he shapes and reshapes before moving onto the next cluster.

"Cost of Modern Living" also gives Royston the chance to thunder away, especially when the group locks into a riff on the coda. Prior to that, Irabagon plays a solo that proves he isn't here to simply pay homage. He unleashes a series of complex lines that go into double-time and, as this is the second song of the album, keeps the bar high for the rest of the album.

Harrell, a straightahead but always dynamic player, proves to be a good frontline partner who is capable of thriving outside of his usual comfort zone. After an intriguing entrance on "Still Water" where his tone has a unique quiver to it, he digs into the song's changes with series of short but direct lines. The haunting "Obelisk" is marked by some dissonant intervals, to which Perdomo adds some great color, before the horns improvise collectively. "Eternal Springs" opens with one of the most muscular-sounding soprano saxophone solos to come down the pike in a long time. It sets the standard for the 6/8 groove that follows with Perdomo and Harrell delivering strong work.

Behind the Sky was inspired by the deaths of loved ones and mentors and when that is considered, a reflective quality can be noticed throughout the album, and not just when Irabagon and Perdomo duet on "Lost Ship at the Edge of the Sea." While musicians can't depend on tragedies to fuel their music, in this case, Irabagon seems to have taken a bad situation as a mandate to push himself to a higher level. So even if he does take cues from Coltrane, he's putting his unique stamp on it. This album features 11 tracks, a big number of a jazz album, and all of them should be heard.

A recent review of Behind the Sky in a big jazz publication put the album at the front of the section, but it didn't review it in tandem with Inaction is an Action. (It might have mentioned it in the article, but I try not to read reviews of things I've about to review.) Why? Because it's not an easy album to digest, to put it mildly. The term "extended technique" was invented for albums like this. Here, our maestro shows all the different ways to emit sounds with this pee-wee instrument. Putting lips on the mouthpiece and blowing is only the beginning.

The opening sound of the album comes closer to synthesizer noise, sort of a moan which may or may not be the end result of blowing into the bell, or blowing without a mouthpiece. This track, appropriately entitled "Revvvv," also creates the sound of flowing water courtesy of the rapid closing of the saxophone pads. As the album goes on, Irabagon evokes guttural stomach noises, bends and twists long tones and hits upper register squeals that make volume knob adjustments necessary. He also blows some intriguing melodies and even uses the acoustics of the Chicago's Lakeview Presbyterian Church (where it was recorded) to impact the sound, as he walks away from the microphone.

Yes, it's a challenging listen, not something you put on while doing the dishes. (More likely it's the thing to put on to clear the party of the last few stragglers.) But it's a strong work and a groundbreaking one, considering few saxophonists outside of Roscoe Mitchell, Joseph Jarman and Ravi Coltrane regularly blow the sopranino.

And this dual release helps to present a deep profile of Jon Irabagon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Television in Pittsburgh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then I saw God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CD Review: Wes Montgomery - In the Beginning

Wes Montgomery
In the Beginning
(Resonance) resonancerecords.org

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Television and Dr. Lonnie Smith - Here in Pittsburgh

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

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

Duke Ellington & His Orchestra 

The Conny Plank Session

(Grönland)

Worlds are colliding here. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there were 1000s of records, sure.

All by the likes of Ray Conniff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CD Review: Kris Davis Infrasound - Save Your Breath

Kris Davis Infrasound
Save Your Breath
(Clean Feed) www.cleanfeed-records.com

The cover of Save Your Breath features an underwater diver standing at the bottom of a body of water, bubbles emanating from their helmet, looking a bit like smoke. The image offers a rather sly take on the title, which in this case acts as a suggestion to the person in the diving suit.

The album's title track, which closes the program, last nearly 15 minutes, with the first two-thirds of it recreating the natural sounds that might be heard by the person in the picture. Long notes flow along in waves, gently and quietly, coming from Gary Versace's organ and Nate Radley's guitar. It could easily pass for a release on the space rock/post-rock imprint Kranky Records. Davis's piano and Infrasound's clarinet section slowly make their entrance at the halfway mark, with no one disturbing the waves. Like a few other tracks, this one requires a quick use of the volume knob. With three minutes to go, a sleepy rubato theme floats to the surface (sorry I couldn't resist), played by the clarinets.

While the setup sounds interesting, "Save Your Breath" is actually something of a letdown after a strong set of compositions from an equally strong, unique band. At the same time it doesn't detract from the rest of it, since the four preceding tracks all come in around 10 minutes a piece, holding up the rest of the album. And then there's the subject of who's playing here, which gives Infrasound a lot of its heft.

Ben Goldberg, Oscar Noreiga, Joachim Badenhorst and Andrew Bishop all play B-flat clarinet on the album. Bishop doubles on contrabass clarinet, while the other three double on bass clarinet and Goldberg also adds contra alto clarinet. Along with Davis, Versace and Radley, Jim Black's drums round out the group. The album was mixed by Ron Saint Germain, who works with rock bands and had a hand in albums by Sonic Youth and Bad Brains. His work adds a more visceral quality to the music. Without a bassist, Versace's organ pedals handle the low end and they can pass for a real bassist. The clarinets have an added muscle as well, whether Bishop is roaring through his massive contrabass contraption or Noriega is wailing on the much smaller B-flat cousin.

Two of the tracks were originally recorded by Davis on different trio sessions. "Union Forever" begins quietly, serving almost as an introduction to the octet, which rises into an anthemic theme before closing out the way it began, with a quick snaky line. The other remake, "Whirly Swirly," also has a snaky quality, in its bass line, over which Radley plunks out lines that recall punk-jazz guitarist Joe Baiza, while the rhythm stops and starts in wild fits.

Like a few of the pieces "Whirly Swirly" almost seems like a self-contained suite, which goes through slightly structured  sections and free sections. In this case, Badenhorst leads the pack with a growling clarinet solo. Beneath him, some ominous organ and contrabass clarinet image of the Loch Ness Monster waking up. (When that image popped up, I hadn't thought about continuing the underwater theme. It just fit. But Davis has described this album as the sound of a "living, breathing animal," so I'm not too far off.) A slow, written melody takes shape after five minutes, getting heavier and more dissonant as it moves to a climax, amidst more bass clarinet shrieks.

"The Ghost of Your Previous Fuckup" has a similar free-blowing-to-structure-to-crescendo direction to it, this one being the sole piece in which Davis gets to take her own solo. While her spotlight may be comparatively brief, her shots up the keyboard, combined with the leadership on this whole album, are enough to leave a strong impression. The final track might not be as rewarding as what preceded it, but maybe it can act more as a comedown.

CD Review: Jon Lundbom's Big Five Chord - Jeremiah

Jon Lundbom and Big Five Chord
Jeremiah
(Hot Cup) www.hotcuprecords.com

Another in a continuing list of albums that have been sitting around for several months that I've been meaning to write about because you need to hear them.....

By now, guitarist Jon Lundbom should be getting more extensive attention. I've reviewed two of his Big Five Chord albums on this blog, but was pleasantly surprised to find out that Jeremiah is actually his seventh album with the band, which dates back to 2003. (Not only was I late to the party. A few slipped past me in between those that I've heard.) That doesn't even take into account his other projects of various styles and shapes, which can be found on the Hot Cup website.

Lundbom plays and writes like a guy who's digested a lot of different styles and can draw on them easily without being too obvious or referential with them. Big Five Chord again includes Mostly Other People Do the Killing's Jon Irabagon (strictly on soprano saxophone this time) and Moppa Elliot (bass) along with Bryan Murray (tenor and balto! saxophones) and drummer Dan Monaghan. Several tracks also add Justin Wood (alto saxophone, flute) and Sam Kulik (trombone). All of these players fit into Lundbom's vision where strong post-bop melodies and rich voicings co-mingle with solos that aren't afraid to kick up a cloud of dust.

This time around, Lundbom the leader cedes a lot of the solo space to his bandmates rather that building the songs around himself. There are notable exceptions, the biggest coming in opener "The Bottle," where his warm tone floats counter to Monaghan's loose pulse. Lundbom's solo also offers contrast after a theme that sounds a bit Dolphy-esque due to the sharp blend of the tenor and soprano saxes. It's one of those fascinating solos in which the guitar unleashes a long series of ideas without pausing for nearly a minute. But the guitar solo is a brief calm before Murray's solo on the balto! sax, an alto furnished with a baritone sax mouthpiece that gives certain notes a squall like an angry bird. (If you're curious to found out what it's all about, Murray provides insight in this video.)

Big Five Chord can play it loud and wild but they have a lush quality as well. Wood and Kulik each contribute an arrangement of a tradition Wiccan song. "First Harvest" (arranged by Wood) sounds like a ballad and wonders how would Ellington handle such a challenge. He and Murray each turn in smart, uncharted solos that elevate the music, the latter with the other horns supporting him.

Kulik's "Wiccan Prayer Song Medley" lives up to its name, as all the horns layer different prayer melodies on top of one other. It begins with Monaghan and Murray playing a melody in repetition, joined by Kulik and eventually the rest of the band. It sounds dense but never busy, some of the best moments coming when Irabagon and Lundbom skirt around the rest of the band. Elliot gets a chance for a solo that contains some vicious double-stop strums that ultimately lead back into the themes.

Jeremiah includes plenty of wilder moments too. Most notable is Kulik's three-minute solo that begins "Lick Skillet." Someday it will be revered a study in the nuances of "extended technique," as it begins softly like a helicopter off in the distance, building to impressively long growls and some flatulent (why not?) gasps. Wood also gets a chance to show off his flute skills, playing with a tone that can only be described as muscular, which also needs to be heard more often.

A jazz pundit (I honestly don't remember who) once said that Kind of Blue is a great place to start listening to jazz not only because of the program, but because everyone who played on that album went on to different things on their own, making it easy to discover more about jazz. The same thing can be said about all of the names on Jeremiah. Some of them are already pretty well known (Irabagon, Elliot) while others should be. Everyone here is cutting new paths for modern improvisation. They aren't bowing down to the past, but they aren't ignoring it either. If the conservatories churn out more wide-eyed musicians like these guys, who are able to release albums on their own labels, the future of this music will be in really good shape.

Or maybe it's just that Lundbom is a really dynamic leader and catalyst. In either case, his time has come. Jump on this bandwagon.

Remember Going to Estate Sales? or Things Ain't Like They Used to Be

When I started this blog nine years ago (geez oh pete), I was heavily into getting up early and checking out estate sales for records. I got lucky a few times so I kept it up for awhile, pushing myself to get rise up, on the off chance that there was some golden treasure waiting for me in Upper St. Clair, or Fox Chapel. Or even West Mifflin.

I've pretty much gotten out of the estate sale/record hunting racket over the past few years. I'm not saying I'm not as greedy as the next guy when it comes to this stuff, but there was one time when I got to a sale 15 minutes before it opened and overheard three guys at the head of the line offering tales from the trenches. They seemed to have more of an obsessive streak to their tone,a hardcore devotion that I wasn't ready to adopt. Plus I had the feeling that between the three of them, they'd pick over whatever I might want before I even found the room with the records. It kind of took the fun out of the hunt.

Not only that, I acquired a collection about four years ago that I'm only now pretty close to paring down to the bare essentials.

But every so often something comes up that makes me thing, yeah I have to go check it out. A couple weeks ago at work, my friend Linda introduced me to a friend who was having a moving sale that was part of a bigger, neighborhood house sale, and mentioned there were records involved. I was casually piqued. A few texts to a wrong number (reply: "Stop texting me") and some Facebook messages later, I arranged to check out the records the night before the sale. Don't hate me for that, folks. I have to work almost every Saturday so I miss out on the good stuff.

She had a small pile in the living room and said there was another box in the basement that was pretty water damaged but it might have some good new wave stuff. Fair enough. Upstairs I found Julie London's Calendar Girl, Jimmy Nelson's Instant Ventriloquism (which was sampled on a Nothing Painted Blue record, and which I had as a kid, leading to a long-standing in-joke with my siblings), a Billy May album and a handful of 45s. Nothing great, but not too shabby.

Downstairs was pay dirt, though. Yes there was dirt. Yes, there were records that made that sticky sound when you tried to peel them off one another. But those were the classical records. Within the dusty crate I found Au Pairs' Playing with a Different Sex, two James White & the Blacks albums, two Talking Heads albums, a Billie Holiday Verve compilation and a World Saxophone Quartet album which I figured I needed in spite of the musty cover.

Yesterday was Saturday and it was also the annual birthday party that my son attends for his friend Lucy and her three siblings, who all have birthdays during the summer. It takes place out on the way to the suburbs, so I always end up taking off work for it, which means my morning is free. So I decided to check out a couple estate sales in the early morning, driving 20 minutes out to Bridgeville to a place that listed records in their classified ad.

Seeing "records" in the ad usually means they're worthless, and so far that theory holds true. Several Richard Clayderman albums, Kenny Rogers, some Christmas albums and a Beatles knockoff album on Wyncote Records - the latter priced at $10. You gotta be kidding me.

There were two more sales closer to home and an additional one that I saw signs for, while driving to one. At one, the guy said he had some "old" Spanish records, which he brought out - eight 78s, wrapped in a plastic bag, with a few records sporting some chips and several looking cracked. At another, one of the guys said he had some late 70s/early 80s r&b at his home (it wasn't his house), but he could send pictures if I was interested in Earth, Wind & Fire. I politely declined.

At least I had some time to listen to a whole CD while driving around. And the suspense was kind of fun.

My Band Sucks or Your Band Could Be My Band

"Punk ain't no religious cult/ punk means thinking for yourself."

It was during the winter of 1992-1993. Maybe the early months of the latter. My friend Ian, my friend Mike and I got together in Ian's basement to try and play music.(We would never call it "jamming," because we couldn't do that.) Mike was always scheming to start a project with me, usually something that involved his skronky guitar and my primitive saxophone wailings. But this time, I was going to be playing bass. Ian had played drums in a trio and would later shift to guitar, but I think he was between bands at this point.

Ian and I had messed around with just the two of us a few weeks prior. We toyed with a math-y groove where we started out playing in 5/4 and he switched to 4/4. With Mike in tow, we were going to try to recreate that riff. Before we started, Ian said, mainly to me, "And remember, don't look at each other and smile if it comes together." I can't recall his exact words, but it was clear he found that "cheesy." And even when he backpedaled and said he was kidding, I still felt like he was partially serious.

Things went downhill from there. I felt like the hard bopper trying to hang with musicians high on Albert Ayler. (They are two to three years younger than me, which mattered more at the time.) Mike skronked for sure, and it didn't seem to matter what we were playing. There was no connection between us. Plus he was bugged that I was playing a modal/bastardized 12-bar structure on the bass.

That memory came back to me while reading Your Band Sucks: What I Saw at Indie Rock's Failed Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear), by Jon Fine. He was the guitarist and founding member of Bitch Magnet, who released albums in the late '80s and early '90s, and reunited recently for tours in the US, Europe and Asia.

It wasn't the part about the lack of compatibility that I remembered first, but the part about not smiling. Fine devotes a whole chapter to the reasons why he didn't smile during a Bitch Magnet show. Along the way, he recalls a more recent reunion show where he felt appalled to see a woman in the audience essentially rocking out to one of the catchier Bitch Magnet songs. "I immediately thought, Shit, ugh, failure. Pop songs - songs that ingratiate - elicit this blandly pleasant side-to-side bop. Songs that hit harder make an audience snap heads up and down: the headbanger's response. That's what I wanted to see."

Never mind that she might have actually liked the song. She didn't like it in the right way. Or she didn't have the right reaction to that particular part of the Bitch Magnet canon.

From what I can tell Fine and I are the same age, give or take a year. I too look back on that era fondly, because there were so much new stuff happening in music, which could only be discovered through college radio, trips to the independent record store, all ages shows (which were usually hardcore gigs) and conversations with people in between. Luckily for me, I dipped into that during my freshman year of high school. Fine didn't discover it until he attended college at Oberlin which, if we did graduate the same year as me, means that it was just a few months before D. Boon died,  and Husker Du signed with Warner Brothers. (You do the man, folks.)

And like Fine, I treasured the idea of being in a band more than having a girlfriend. (Though I wanted both, to be honest.) So his stories of how this wild new punk music shaped him, and the excitement of seeing bands in cramped, non-traditional live spaces on Oberlin's campus all strike a chord with me. When he recreates those moments that you feel when you know you're band is actually coming together, the feeling is infectious. Fine is a sharp writer, able to revisit the physical space and his mental space from that era.

What also comes across is how rigid his parameters are, and how pissed off he still seems about it 30 years on. It's fine to be a self-righteous 19-year-old. We all were. But one thing that becomes clear with time is that the world isn't really black and white, with people divided into two camps: those who understand your music and the rest of the world. Yes, there are a lot of squares out there, but if you give people the opportunity to try and understand what you were doing, maybe - just maybe - they'd see things differently. Or maybe people in Pittsburgh are, god forbid, a little more open-minded about this than people in New York.

One of the liberating things about the early days of punk rock was that there wasn't supposed to be a rule book. Anything could happen. It eventually lead to indie rock, a term which didn't really become viable until after Sebadoh released the satirical "Gimme Indie Rock" in 1991. (Humor doesn't factor into Fine's worldview unless it's of the screwed-up kind.) He takes great issue with a song by Tsunami that states, "You say punk rock means asshole/ I say punk rock means cuddle." "Actually: no, not at all," he counters. "Punk rock means - pick one - self-determined or self-sufficient or individual or steadfast in the face of opposition, not asshole and definitely not cuddle. But you already knew that, right?"

Sure, I find the word "cuddle," a little insipid too. But I did like the band Tiger Trap. And having been dissed by a skinhead dude because he thought I was Jewish, I can relate to the former.

By making his statement, Fine overlooks the idea that maybe there were other perspectives on punk rock, ones that aren't all meek dude finally proves that he's tough. I'd also say that any of those positives apply to Jenny Toomey and Kristen Thomson of Tsunami and the Simple Machines label too. One of the more appalling parts of the book comes when Fine recalls a reunion show when his slide falls off the stage and a woman hands it back to him between songs. "Yeah. Obedient," he says. He might not like Frank Zappa, but he certainly thinks like him. By the way, there's no, "C'mon...it's a joke," following that statement, not that it would excuse it. When he rants about the mid '90s indie rockers who don't rock and don't seem to care, he just sounds bitter. (Of course he already dismissed two of my favorite bands at the start of the book, Salem 66 and Big Dipper, so what do I know?)

Image is a big thing too. Without his long hair flying from side to side as he plays, Fine says he practiced not thrashing his head back and forth, thinking that when a balding guy does that, it looks bad. (Answer: if I like your band and you're pouring your heart into your music, it doesn't matter how you look.) Later in the book he talks about attending a wedding where an awkward looking guy talks about being unpopular in high school, and later starting a band. Fine's perspective on this dork changes when he realizes he's not someone from Oingo Boingo, but East Bay Ray of the Dead Kennedys.

I guess I kept waiting for the moment where Fine threw himself under the bus, took himself down a few notches and/or got a little sentimental about it. Maybe he felt the whole book was sentimental that it comes through a filter of whining a lot of the time. (The long stories about live in New York during the years between bands ramble on a bit.) He always seems on the defensive about things, stopping himself from talking romantically about his experiences because, well, there's a certain breed of indie rocker that takes this very seriously and would make fun of you for getting too excited. I've been derisively laughed when I've gotten too excited about music, myself.

But Fine delivers. On the last page. And actually, he set it all up in the introduction too, which I reread before writing this blog. So it makes a good read, about one guy's perspective on music.

CD Review: Henry Threadgill Zooid - In for a Penny, In for a Pound

Henry Threadgill Zooid
In for a Penny, In for a Pound
(Pi Recordings) www.pirecordings.com

In Ashley Kahn's book A Love Supreme: The Making of John Coltrane's Signature Album, one of Coltrane's peers talks about how the saxophonist told him to listen to an album. Focus on a different musician each time you play it, Trane said. Listen to, for instance, the saxophonist, first. Then go back and listen to the bassist, then the pianist, etc.

If I personally gleaned any wisdom from Coltrane that I could use, that was it. Not that I listen to every album that way, but I attempt it because it can give you a greater understanding of the music, especially if the music is dense and packed with information. And if any album fit that description, it's In for a Penny, In for a Pound.

This two-disc album consists of a four-movement "epic," as Threadgill calls it, along with an opening piece and an exordium, which comes in the middle of it, i e. at the start of disc two. Each movement was written to feature a different member of Zooid: "Ceroepic" features drummer Elliot Humberto Kavee; "Dosepic" features cellist Christopher Hoffman; "Tresepic" for both Jose Davila's tuba and trombone; and "Unoepic" for guitarist Liberty Ellman.

Not the pieces and their soloists are clearly defined. Everybody plays throughout each section, moving in and out, and occasionally playing in harmony with one or two other bandmates. "Unoepic" features as many solo drum interludes - where Kavee executes a fill and lets the drums resonate before continuing - as his own "Ceroepic." Threadgill uses a cue that has each soloist utilize a predetermined three-note interval as their launching point, but that isn't easily discernible either as it's hard to tell when the "soloist" actually enters and when they're playing an ensemble piece.

The best thing to do is throw out the manual, figuratively, and dive in. Threadgill (who selflessly didn't include a piece to focus on himself) provides an interesting focal point, with his alto saxophone, flute and bass flute. He often moves in short phrases, while the background players employ long lines or phrases. This album feels like it has the most alto work from him in quite awhile. His tart tone sounds like a throwback not to his days with Air, but goes back even further to an earlier era when the instrument had more of a comical side. Threadgill once lead a band called Very Very Circus and his tone seems to fit right in with that kind of music, especially when Davila's tuba is walking - sauntering, actually - behind him.

Kavee provides a lot of direction to the music, setting a pace that holds everything together even when it seems like guitar and cello are playing solos on top of one another. While there's usually a lot happening at once, things never get too busy and no one steps on anyone else's feet. The four movements average around 17 minutes each, with tempos and textures shifting at a moment's notice. Threadgill uses dynamics a lot to emphasize this, not to mention pregnant pauses within the sections. The final "Uneopic" has many of these stops and shifts and it ends with little fanfare rather than bringing things to any kind of roaring climax.

In for a Penny makes for a sprawling listen, and one that's best taken all at once. The members of Zooid have worked with Threadgill long enough to fully understand his approach and bring energy to his music. Taking the time to single them out and listening closely to their parts  might be asking a bit, but it's the best way to fully appreciate this composer.

Choices

I'm torn between trying to write a CD review tonight and trying to finish reading Your Band Sucks by Jon Fine. I think I'm going to read the book and listen to music.

Or else take out the garbage.

Banal stuff, but that's where I'm at tonight.

Reviews of Miles Davis, Dave Douglas & Eleventh Dream Day on Blurt

Today (by the time you read this) is supposed to be the official release date of the next installment of the Miles Davis Bootleg Series, this one collecting all of his appearances at the Newport Jazz Festival and Newport-related appearances. This week, Blurt posted my review of the set, in tandem with a new album by Dave Douglas. Follow this link to check them both out.

And if you're curious as to what the new Eleventh Dream Day album sounds like, here's your chance to read my two cents on it. 

CD Review: Atomic - Lucidity

Atomic
Lucidity
(Jazzland) www.jazzlandrec.com

The Scandinavian quintet Atomic comes on like a forward-thinking chamber group, all tranquil and calm, only to unleash a torrent of wild blowing on the unsuspecting listener. They're willing to pull back just as quickly and restate the calm as they are to keep it untethered, or, more likely, to journey off to a different place altogether.

It's no surprise that a track appears on Lucidity, their eleventh record, called "Start/Stop," as the music does just that. Quick blasts from Fredrik Ljungkvist's clarinet and Magnus Broo's trumpet recall similar interjections from the Art Ensemble, The title track offers a bit of a contradiction. Broo blows gruffly in the beginning, over an odd-time ostinato. Ljunkvist, now on tenor, has pianist Hävard Wiik joining him, with bassist Ingebrigt Haker Flåten's bass lingering in the background. By the end, the entire quintet reconvenes for a roaring climax.

As detailed as the pieces (written by either Ljunkvist or Wiik), the group is also capable of playing it simple. When "A MacGuffin's Tale" opens up for solos,  Flåten holds it together with a one-note vamp. Earlier in the album, on "A New Junction," he plucks a bass solo with an aggression that tests the strength of his strings, to the accompaniment of woodblocks.

In the past Atomic has come off sounding a little closer to a rollicking modern jazz unit similar to the ones blazing out of Chicago. That approach probably explains their close association with the Vandermark 5, with whom they toured the US in the early '00s. (Original Atomic drummer Paal Nilssen-Love also played in a few Vandermark projects.) The current band - with Hans Hulbœkmo replacing Nilssen-Love - has moved into a musical realm that's not as easy to define, but it piques the interest in a way that keeps you coming back again to figure out what's going on, whether motifs in "Laterna Interfruit" reocurr at the end or if they're just a passing memory.

The In-Between Post

I'm in the midst of writing a feature for JazzTimes and while I could very possibly come up with a full length post about something else, I don't think I have it in me right now.

The best time of the morning for me to write is between the hours of 5:30 and 7:00, before the rest of the house is up. Twice this week, I set my alarm for 5:00, knowing I'd hit the snooze button at least twice. With the coffee pot all programmed to go, it proved to be pretty efficient. As long as I didn't start scrolling up and down Facebook.

Today I don't have to be at work until noon, so there should be time for some serious transcribing, possibly followed by a few minutes of getting an outline together.

Blurt has a couple new reviews in the can from me. So far this is one that ran most recently. Yes, a little off the Shanley track, but it was sent to me, so why not review it?

The Day After Deutschtown

Coming down off of the Deutschtown Music Festival, which happened all day yesterday in the Deutschtown neighborhood on the North Side. Before I go any further, I want to make sure that folks know that I am appreciative that the Love Letters were able to play the event. There were about 125 bands that performed yesterday, and it was cool to be part of that. It was also nice that there was a "green room" set up in one of the venues where the bands were fed. And fed mighty well.

That being said, it feels frustrating when the band that immediately precedes you draws such a big crowd that you can't even see them (in a tiny venue) and as soon as they're done, the majority of those people standing there are gone, gone, gone like roaches in the light. I mean, sure some of them are going to leave. But don't a handful of them want to see what the next band is like? Catch a few of their songs?

We had just 15 minutes between bands for the last group to break down and for us to set up. Grand Piano - the group that played the great set before us - was off stage in record time and we were ready to jump on and hit the downbeat right at 3:00 pm. The set went pretty well, although Mike broke a string in the middle of his song that has a pretty significant guitar showcase. Then he accidentally restrung it with the wrong string and had to redo it. But things flowed pretty well.

There were a few who hung around to see us. A few of Erin's Timbeleza bandmates showed up too. And the owner of the James Street Gastropub, where we played, complimented me after our set, and seemed genuine about it. But it would have been cool to have a person or two from the audience ask about the record or when we were playing next.

It's hard with a festival set-up like this. All these bands, all these venues, spread throughout the neighborhood. There were a few outdoor stages but most of the shows were inside, in our case on the bottom floor of the venue, which was actually a great idea because it felt in a way like playing a basement party, to me tha'ts sort of the ideal setting in which to see a band.

The band took off in different directions after our set. We kind of hung around to see the next band, the John Tremaine Show, who were pretty cool. But then we had to get our equipment out of there and it only made sense to take it back home.

Later that night, I returned to the North Side to check out City Steps, who had Pam Hanlin from Dumplings as a guest bassist filling in for regular guy, Ross.

The Modern Cafe (or was it Cafe Modern) wasn't  really built for live music. Tile floors, high ceilings for the sound to bounce off of. And three big screen tvs to flank the band, on those walls alone. But they played a spirited set, Pam playing like she's been in the band for months. Michael was animated too. Apparently, Weird Paul's set earlier in the evening didn't go over well. He was told he was too loud, which was surprising because the band right before City Steps was REALLY LOUD. Thank God for my earplugs.

Today it's back to reality. And work.

Mudhoney in Pittsburgh

I didn't expect Mudhoney to play all the songs that I knew and loved from 25 years ago, but they did. Well they didn't play "This Gift," but about three times they played something that sounded a helluva lot like it. So between that, and getting to hear "Touch Me I'm Sick," "Sweet Young Thing Ain't Sweet No More" and the favorite of my household in 1989/1990, "You Got It," it was a great night. The band came to Mr. Small's Theatre last night, with locals the Cynics and the Nox Boys opening for them.

Personally, Mudhoney always personified all that was good and wild about music coming out of the Pacific Northwest. Most of it came down to Mark Arm's off-the-rails vocals, which were always at the brink of hysteria, without sounding like a metal screamer. Then there were those power chords, which the blending with hot riffs, like the lick to "You Got It" or the tremolo in "This Gift." After all these years, one can't expect most bands from a quarter-century ago to maintain a wild-eyed visage without looking like either a bunch of screw-ups or dudes who don't realize the Peter Pan frame of mind isn't fooling any of us. Just age, and then rock.

I mention all this because Arm and guitarist Steve Turner looked relatively clean cut from where I was standing. In fact, they looked they could've been in Big Star, circa 1973. Shorter hair, white guy 'fro. They had it. It was strange to see, but I think there was something in the gin last night.

Their set stretched on to about 90 minutes, encores included, and when you consider most of their songs last about three minutes, that makes for a dense set. They hit the stage with the same fury they put out back in the day, kicking off with "Suck You Dry" and it stayed at a high level.

The Cynics played right before them, getting kudos from the headliners, who reminisced about seeing our hometown garage heroes back in their hometown way back when. Our locals also took us way back, opening the set with "Blue Train Station" the title track to their 1986 album. They went on to kick out "No Way" and another number of two from the '80s. But unlike memories of days gone by, they rocked these oldies to prove they were still relevant. After falling off the stage at a show in another city, vocalist Michael Kastelic looked fine and played as if nothing had happened.

The evening began with young Get Hip labelmates the Nox Boys opening the show. Vocalist Zack Keim's guitar was pretty buried in the mix, so it was hard to fully get into the hooks of their songs. But Bob Powers' slide guitar added a lot to the music, and the band sounded really tight. Things sounded catchy.

Thumbscrew was here. Did you know?

Last night Thumbscrew played a show to cap off their two-week residency in Pittsburgh. The group consists of Michael Formanek (bass), Tomas Fujiwara (drums) and Mary Halvorson (guitar). It's a cooperative group where all three of them bring in compositions. They put out an album on Cuneiform, which I reviewed in JazzTimes last year. As part of their residency here, they wrote music for a new album and recorded it at Smalls studio (which is not located in the same building as Mr. Small's Theatre anymore, but in the former site of Audiomation on the North Side.)

If you're a Pittsburgher who didn't know about the show, I'm guessing you're not alone. I suppose, as the main voice of jazz for Pittsburgh City Paper (I'm not trying to brag; I don't know if anyone else picks up the slack), maybe it was partially my fault. I knew they were coming to town, but forgot exactly when it was happening. Coming off about three weeks of Monday deadlines for CP and JT, not to mention some new work for Blurt, I felt like I needed a day where I wasn't either working the dayjob or scrambling for a deadline or hustling a story. So I didn't start chasing the info right away. Nor had anyone contacted me in advance.

By the time I reached out to Halvorson via email they were already here, scouting studios and trying to get on with the business. As it turns out, they were also doing seminars while they were here. That I didn't know about. A few days later I heard from City of Asylum, who was sponsoring the event, along with BNY Mellon. But by then, the deadline to preview the concert had pretty much passed.

The FREE SHOW happened last night on Sampsonia Way, just down the street from the Mattress Factory and from City of Asylum HQ. That's right, free free free. How much do you have to pay to see Michael Formanek - he who has received not one but TWO five-star album reviews in downbeat for his last two albums as a leader? Tomas Fujiwara is also a mother of a drummer, attacking back beats and freedom with the same level of enthusiasm. And anyone who has read anything on this blog knows how I feel about Mary Halvorson. (For you first-time visitors, I think she's extremely inventive as a musician and composer.)

I was getting back into town after visiting family yesterday, so I missed the first 30 minutes of the set. The good news is, I saw the remaining 90 minutes.

Formanek introduced a new piece which he called "Danse en Sense," (I think) asking for any French-speaking audience members to help with the correct pronunciation, having taken it from Google translate. The idea he was going for meant "nonsense dance," and true to the title, the trio played independent lines that were wild yet still worked together, especially Fujiwara's woodblocks, strategically placed on his snare and floor tom. I had half a mind to ask him if his part was written out or if he was just following an idea. But I never got around to it.

Having listened to their debut, it was more exciting seeing them in action, watching the various parts intersect in the music, from more rock-oriented foundations to freedom. The audience seemed to dig it too, giving them a standing ovation. It was great to see so many people out for an adventurous show. I wish they would intersect with the jazz audience at shows when Lina Allemano or William Parker come to town. Or even at the weekly Tuesday night Space Exchange shows at the Thunderbird. The latter events are free shows too.

I'd be curious to know what got people out to this particular event. The 6pm start time? The lack of a cover charge? Getting email blasts about it? This inquiring mind would like to know.

How many people read this blog and thought, wow, I would've gone had I know about it.

It's the Fourth of July

Playing right now: the new Exploding Star Orchestra album
I've been asked to write about Rob Mazurek, the leader of ESO, so I'm digging into this mammoth new release by them.

It's the Fourth of July and I'm working today. Just for a few hours, though. First time I've ever done that. And I figure since my dayjob involves retail, and I like the people I work with, I should help out. Then it's off to Ohio for a day.

In other news, the band Thumbscrew (Michael Formanek, Mary Halvorson, Tomas Fujiwara) have been in Pittsburgh for over a week, doing a residency at City of Asylum and tomorrow evening is their free show over on the North Side. Here's info on it, for the benefit of anyone who is in town tomorrow and wants to go.  I'm hoping to make it back in time.

So much music going on around here. Of course there was Ginger Baker a few weeks ago. I took copious notes but never got to report on the show. Here's the feature. I found out a few days before the show that no one else in Pittsburgh got to interview him, and I got a bit of a head rush. Then at the show, Ginger mentioned he had been sidelined two weeks prior to the show with pneumonia, and was in the hospital. I did the math quickly and figure it must have happened right after we talked. That might also explain why no one else did.

Considering his frail state, it was impressive that he made it to the show at all. It was a good night. Not spellbinding, but definitely tight. He and percusssionist Abass Dodoo definitely have a strong rapport and are locked in tight together. Ironically, while Ginger was swinging hard with his band, just about a mile across the river, his mate Charlie Watts was playing with the Rolling Stones, who by all accounts really rose to the occasion that night.

The incessant rain and, again, work kept me from checking out more of the Pittsburgh JazzLive Festival which went on all weekend downtown. But as I walked to Penn Avenue from the parking garage to the Byham Theater, Joey DeFrancesco was tearing it up on the B3 on one of the stages. A little rain will never slow down a B3.

Will Ornette Get to Hang with Bird?

I should have written about Ornette Coleman's passing, but in the blogosphere, that's probably yesterday's news by now. Besides, what can I possibly say about Ornette that a million people haven't said already? I haven't even read the myriad links to NPR articles on him. I saw one that included a pic of the saxophonist with a mischievous smile on his face, and it kind of broke my heart. Talk about leaving an empty space in this world!

Being raised Catholic, but now being Unitarian Universalist - well, at least I attend the latter church - I spend a lot of time contemplating the afterlife, whether it exists and what's there. OK, I'll just say it: Heaven. I think about Heaven. Especially since my dad died last fall. It made me wonder if Pop met up with Charlie Haden and if they got into a deep discussion of the bass. Charlie kind of reminded me a little of Pop, or vice versa. Although Pop was never one to say, "Solid!" on a regular basis. But they seem like two guys who could talk about deeper things.

So now, I couldn't help wondering if Ornette finally got to sit down with Charlie Parker and talk music. What would that be like? It could be a play, maybe. It should be: Bird's down home demeanor meets Ornette's obtuse but deep philosophy.

You can read all you want about musicians but you never really know what they were like. With all the hangers-on and the worshippers and the naysayers, a lot of people cultivated a personality out of the need to survive. Factor in some baser instincts that take over when you really do know better, and maybe you really do care about a person's feelings.... how many layers does that put on top of person's true personality? Will we ever know the real Bird, or the real Ornette? The latter, probably. I'm sure his son Denardo know what he was like.

The other reason I didn't get to all this last week was there was a lot of music going on. TWO LOVE LETTERS SHOWS IN ONE WEEK! We played the Arts Festival last Wednesday, which was a blast. Beautiful weather. An hour-long set. Great sound. Great sound people. Plus my sister got into town less than an hour before it started, and got to see the whole thing, along with my mom, wife and son. Plus various friends filtered in. And a stranger took photos of us and blogged about it. Thanks!

Then we played at Howler's on Friday night. It started out as kind of a slow night, but by the time we started playing, things felt really electric. Buck, who normally looks restrained, was on fire, using chopsticks a la early Sonic Youth, and jumping around the stage. Erin was pounding hard. Mike (Prosser, not me) was exquisite. I think we turned a major corner. Or hit a new plateau. Or something.

It was so much of a blast that, the next day, after working, I didn't have it in me to see Neko Case at the Arts Festival. Or check out my old high school buddy Sean "Spike" Slawson at the 31st Street Pub.