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. 

How to Interview Ginger Baker and How Not to Interview Wire

It's been a crazy couple of weeks with a lot of activity geared toward writing. First and foremost, I suppose, was that last week I got to interview Ginger Baker by phone. He's coming to town for the Pittsburgh JazzLive Festival in mid-June, so if there was any chance of talking to him, I was going to take it. 

Last year, when John Lydon was scheduled to come here as part of a production of Jesus Christ Superstar, I was determined to interview him. And at the time I thought the two hardest people to interview in music are probably Lydon and Ginger (who, not surprisingly, worked together). So I pipe dreamed about talking to both. Of course, JCS was cancelled, so no Lydon. Then, at the time, I thought, Well there's no chance I'll talk to Ginger because where would the opportunity be? It's not like he'd come to Pittsburgh....

I guess the universe called my bluff. 

It came together quickly too. I had been thinking about it, and when I emailed the JazzLive organizer, I got an email hours later from Ginger's English publicist trying to figure out a time for an interview. We settled on a Friday morning at 7 a.m. EST (in England, that's noon). Fine with me because my work schedule prevents me from doing interviews during normal business hours. I'm typically up at that time anyway.

The Love Letters had a show the night before, but no problem. I was up at 6:30 putting questions together, and kind of panicking. One thing: I WASN'T going to ask him  - Cream questions. I really believe that one of the reasons Ginger is such a rough interview is that people ask him freeze-dried, dumb questions. Plus, these people never seem to have taken Journalism 101, wherein it is taught that you don't ask Yes/No questions if you want your subject to open up. I went to pains to phrase questions with "How" and "Why" at the start. On top of all that, he's coming here with a jazz group. He's not coming to play some permutation of Cream music.

At 7, I dialed up the number and heard that unique British ring. Then I heard a voicemail. With a woman's voice on it. Did I dial the right number? Am I being stood up?

I waited five minutes and called back. Same thing. Quick - email the publicist. A few exchanges and we're rescheduled for 9 a.m. This time he does pick up. His voice is low, a bit gruff. At this point I should mention the big thing the publicist mentioned that really had me worried about the call: Ginger is hard of hearing. Like many 70+-year old men, he also had the tv going in the background. 

But it went.... smoothly. He didn't yell at me. He spoke. Not a whole lot. He even mentioned towards the end, with a chuckle, that he's not much of a conversationalist. "I just play," was repeated a lot too. I haven't transcribed the interview yet, but I'll need to get on that soon. Then I'll see how much I really have to work with. 

After that call, I felt like I could climb Mt. Everest. But that was shot down a few days later. While I was trying to get the Ginger interview set up, I also needed to land an interview with somebody in Wire, who are also coming to town. It finally came together on a Sunday night at 9 pm. I know their first three albums really well and I received a copy of their most recent album, Wire, which is pretty good. I'm set, right?

Not exactly. Ten minutes into the conversation, what started out with some career-spanning, over-arching questions had narrowed down into a talk just about the old days. Then Colin Newman asked if I only knew the '70s Wire albums. The real answer is that's what I know best. Working knowledge of their '80s ones, plus a few spins on the new one.

I wasn't trying to sound like one of the "boring" people that, as Newman mentioned, dismiss everything but Pink Flag. Hell, I was surprised that the band even revisits that stuff, or talks about it at all. I thought they didn't look back. But he told me I was the first interviewer on this tour that only really knew the early stuff. He doesn't mind talking about it, but he doesn't want someone to read the article and think they're going to just hear greatest hits. Apparently there are a lot of books about it to use as reference. Though, as a reporter, who's going to quote from a book when you have the real thing?

It made for a few uncomfortable moments, but it just so happened that I was about to go into some questions about new guitarist Matthew Simms and the making of the new album. By the end we made peace. Not that there was really a war there. It's just that I'm rarely in the situation and when it does, it feels quite uncomfortable. (I didn't know a whole lot of David Torn's career and we had a great conversation a few weeks ago.) 

By the end, we were on good terms, though. He spoke at length about the Drill Festival that they've done in various cities, including one coming up in Chicago on this tour. It was unfortunate that I only had 500 words to devote to the article, so the scope was narrowed. They're here next Sunday and I'm looking forward to it. Stay tuned for a link to it.

While I'm here, I might as well link the article about David Torn - who's playing Club Cafe tonight - and William Parker, who played this past Thursday at the Thunderbird. Click here. 

CD Review: Myra Melford - Snowy Egret

Myra Melford
Snowy Egret
(enja/Yellowbird) www.jazzrecords.com/enja

Myra Melford took inspiration from the Persian poet Rumi in her previous quintet, Be Bread, using the words and subject matter to shape the music. Snowy Egret, made with an entirely different band, draws on another literary source, that of Uruguayan author Eduardo Galeano and his Memory of Fire trilogy, which tells a history of the Americas through indigenous myths. Galeano's way of writing was idiosyncratic - with some chapters being only a paragraph long - was as much an inspiration as the text itself. As a result, pianist Melford has come up with another set of highly unique, intriguing material that rewards repeated listens.

Snowy Egret draws on melodic ideas that aren't merely sourced from jazz (free or grounded) nor do they attempt to fuse jazz with music that might be connected to Galeano's writing. Although the references to both of these elements can be felt in the pianist's writing, Ron Miles (cornet), Liberty Ellman (guitar), Stomu Takeishi (bass) and Tyshawn Sorey (drums) are equally responsible for what happens in the music.

At times the structure is more minimal, like "Language" which is built largely on one suspended chord.  The piano, guitar, bass and cornet play it together, sounding like an even more angular version of Monk's "Thelonious" riff, before switching to a B section that still involves parallel movement. Variations on the structure come during solos by Ellman and an especially warm passage by Miles.

"The Kitchen," by contrast goes through various permutations. After Sorey (one of the most melodic and rhythmically inventive drummers around) unleashes a tidal wave of tom thunder and snare rolls, the quintet plays a brief stop-start melody, interrupted by free statements by Miles and Ellman. They finally lock in on an off-centered bluesy vamp that allows Melford to pound chords and fire off rapid melody lines, pushing the group away from structure until the finally return home to the staccato theme.

Free excursions also happen in "Little Pockets/Everybody Pays Taxes," in which Takeishi holds things together while everyone around him goes wild. But Melford also writes with sensitive lyricism: "Times of Sleep and Fate" follows "The Kitchen" with a rubato melody brought to life by guitar, piano and muted cornet. "The Virgin of Guadalupe" also begins as a gently as a ballad, with the rhythm section gradually rising in the background behind Miles. The opening bars of album closer "The Strawberry" has gospel voicings in the piano, though it doesn't sound like Melford is trying to take us to church, as it switches to something a little more Latin based after less than 60 seconds.

Writing about Melford's albums tends to be a challenge. They often have so much happening that the risk is wanting to dissect every song or to try to offer a simple overview of the album. The latter never seems to get the ideas out directly. Suffice to say, mere words can't describe the depth of Snowy Egret. Find it and use your own ears make the decision.

Seeing Lina Allemano's Titanium Riot & ATS' 30th Anniversary

Lina Allemano came to town about a year and a half ago, playing one of the Space Exchange shows, the Tuesday night jazz/experimental/what-not night that's normally hosted by a few different local musicians at the Thunderbird Cafe. At the time, she was with her quartet (trumpet, sax, bass, drums), who played it straight but solid. Last week, her return was a little different. Known as Lina Allemano's Titanium Riot, the group includes drummer Nick Fraser (who was also in the quartet), bass guitarist Rob Clutton and keyboardist Ryan Driver.

The group was free all the way (so was the admission charge, so if you missed it, shame on ya). Allemano was blowing rapid clusters of lines, never really digressing into guttural smears or high splats, but definitely locking into flurries of notes. Fraser was a study in restraint, rarely looking at his kit straight on. He seemed to have his eyes closed most of the time, with an expression that meant he was listening attentively to where the music was going.

Clutton was sometimes hard to hear, plunking on a classic Fender but often getting lost in a wave of sounds from Allemano and Driver. The latter was the wild card of the night. He was playing a Realistic keyboard. Yes, Realistic as in the kind that Radio Shack used to sell. I can recall noodling around on one of those (and getting yelled at) in a Radio Shack about 35 years ago. It might not be the same exact model, because Driver seemed to be hitting more than one note at a time, while I think my version was monophonic. But he was doing a lot of knob twisting too.

For the second set, saxophonist Ben Opie (who helped bring Allemano back) sat in with the group. The addition added another level of excitement to the music. Things were still free but the conversation seemed to deepen a bit. If, by some chance, you're reading this entry because you googled Lina Allemano's Titanium Riot since they're coming to your town, be sure to check them out. And buy some CDs too. Their Kiss the Brain disc is really solid.

Around this time 30 years ago, I was going through some sort of existential crisis (although I didn't know it at the time because I had no idea what that meant) because I was a senior in high school and not sure what I was doing once I graduated. At that same time, Pittsburgh newcomer Josh Arnson was teaming up with local underground music stalwarts Evan Knauer, Mike Marcinko and Steve Heineman, and formed a band they dubbed ATS. This was the age of initial bands: DRI, GBH, NSFU, TSOL; though none of those bands have anything to do with ATS' music. That was also the age of cow-punk which ATS was somewhat-incorrectly described as, at the time. Jazz, Minutemen-style punk, real country and anything else they were listening to - it all got thrown in to the blend at some point.

The band marked their 30th anniversary this past Saturday, by playing a characteristically loooooooooong set at Howler's. Arnson and Heineman, if you don't know, left the band 25-28 years ago. Kip Ruefle replaced Heineman, and once guitarist Arnson left, they soldiered on as a trio, save for the occasional auxiliary horn player or extra guitarist that just showed up.

I've seen ATS umpteen times in all those years. Hell, the Love Letters played the band's 25th and 27th anniversary shows at the same venue. But I felt like I had to check this one out again too. The Full Counts opened the night, playing LOUD garage rock, fueled by a lot of power chords. Bassist Eric Vermillion (once of Gumball nationally and locally part of the Steel Miners, FOOD and a few others) fronts the band. While Mr. V has a gift for a raspy garage-band scream, the songs I caught proved that he can sing just as well. Mark Urbano, who played with Heineman decades ago in White Wreackage (and several others) also plays in the band, along with drummer Mike Quinlan (another scene vet who played in Da Shunts with Knauer; as well as FOOD). (Apologies to guitarist #1, whose name I didn't get.)

The core ATS trio of Knauer, Marcinko and Ruefle was expanded with Heineman on keys (that guy can play anything and do it well), saxophonist Tim Pollock and trumpeter Downtown Steve Brown. The joke about ATS' early days is that all of the sets were the same. You could set your watch to the cymbal introduction to "Helsinki Town" as the evening got started, never letting up until "Song for Alice" at the end.

A lot has changed in 30 years. The first two-thirds of the set were new songs, relatively speaking. Knauer even made some quips about "new" meaning they were written in the past six years. Time has done nothing to slow these guys down in terms of songwriting or performance. In fact the noodling that was part and parcel of some of those early shows has really been streamlined in recent years. And by the time they got around to riff-based "classics" like "Sepco and "Louise" at the end of the set, I was kind of craving them. Prior to that, the newer ones sounded as strong as the oldies.

Of course, by the end, I was nearly falling asleep on my feet. I stayed until the end, but it was trying, after that third drink.

CD Review: Chris Potter Underground Orchestra - Imaginary Cities

Chris Potter Underground Orchestra
Imaginary Cities
(ECM) www.ecmrecords.com

Chris Potter didn't set out to do a concept album about the state of the urban landscape. But in some ways the music on Imaginary Cities does come off like a musical assessment of it. Any given piece of real estate, be it rural or urban, comes with many layers to it, geologically and historically speaking. The suburban sprawl that we see while driving, crammed to the gills with billboards, fast food establishments and the occasional Mom and Pop store - what did it look like half a century ago? Inner city communities still have buildings that was constructed in a period prior,  with storefronts commingling with houses, in various states of repair, still echoing a time when neighborhoods were self-sufficient and there was no need to hop on a bus or get in a car to go and do your shopping.

Where does it go from here? Was it better back then, or is it better to keep move forward? Maybe it's neither of the above, and better to just stare out at the vast sky and soak in the scope of it.

These visuals spring to mind on the tenor saxophonist's new album, which takes his Underground quartet (pianist Craig Taborn, guitarist Adam Rogers, drummer Nate Smith) and adds two bassists (upright player Scott Colley and bass guitarist Fima Ephron), a string quartet and vibraphonist/marimbaist Steve Nelson to it. They create a rich sound, especially during the different sections of the four-part "Imaginary Cities" suite, "Compassion," "Dualities," "Disintegration" and "Rebuilding."

The names, when taken together with the music, conjure up images of various aspects of city life.  "Dualities" seems to depict the contrast between the minor strings and the bright sounding marimba. "Distintegration" is especially telling, where Potter's soprano and the strings move rather freely over a mix of acoustic guitar and basses, creating some eerie tension. Some of it sounds completely composed, while other sections give everyone space to move freely. Finally, to read more into the whole concept, Potter aptly ends by proposing solutions, not merely bringing up issues. "Rebulding" begins with Smith laying down a odd-time groove that Potter (back on tenor) and Nelson use to great advantage. The 11-minute piece goes through various shapes, holding down the groove before switching in the final quarter into a more midtempo section.

But that's only half of the album. "Lament," which precedes the title suite, features Potter's tenor playing over a yearning two-chord vamp towards the end which still has plenty of fire brewing, the strings giving the music a more expansive sound, never acting as a sweetener. The quartet gets as much frontline room as Potter on "Shadow Self," which is inspired by Bela Bartok. The closing "Sky" acts something like a final statement to the whole city concept of the album. The music is vast and expansive, as if trying to encompass the surroundings, again bolstered by the arrangement of 11-piece group.

Strings and jazz can make strange bedfellows. Even the way the strings are recorded can impact the impact of the music. Potter uses them in his music to alternately create tension and reinforce the beauty of his music. In doing so, new things are discovered with each listen, from the shape of melodies to subtle colors that Craig Taborn uses to add drama. It's a work that gets more meaningful with time.

RIP Bernard Stollman, ESP-Disk's founder

One of the most dramatic scenes in It's a Wonderful Life comes in the part where George Bailey has no identity and he sees his widowed mother running a boarding house. Frank Capra really plays up the pathos, filming half of Jimmy Stewart's shocked face at close view. Behind him, Clarence the angel says, "Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

I thought about Clarence's observation when I heard that Bernard Stollman, the eccentric found of ESP-Disk records passed away yesterday at the age of 85. He lost a battle with colon cancer that had spread to his spine.

ESP was the first American label to give Albert Ayler due recognition. Even though Broadside initially issued the Fugs' debut album, ESP later reissued it and brought it to more people, and released their self-titled second album (which is arguably their best one). Pearls Before Swine. The Godz. Paul Bley. Patty Waters. The list goes on and on. And on. And it includes albums that maybe should not have been released. But they were. The world is a little stranger for it, in a good way. Who knows how many outsider artists were motivated to make music based on what they heard on that label?

It all comes back to Stollman's eccentric vision. He started the label because of his commitment to promoting the Esperanto language. (That's what the label's name represented.) The first album was Ni Kantu en Esperanto, an album of insipid traditional songs sung in Esperanto. I once talked to an ESP act and expressed a desire to hear it. He responded, "No, you don't."

It could have stopped there. But Stollman heard Ayler and put his support behind him, thus providing the first serious platform for what would be called free jazz. He released what was Henry Grimes' only solo album for decades. Giuseppi Logan. Marion Brown. Sunny Murray. Oh wait - I'm getting carried away again.

Stollman might not have been the best businessman, but I'm not here to discuss that. I'm here to give thanks to one man's crazy idea that inspired countless others in its wake. And to encourage others to do the same. You never know how many people you're going to reach when you put a piece of art out there. No, that's not the point, but it can be a significant side effect. So, thanks, Bernard, wherever you are. Ripozi en paco.

Rob Mazurek, Geri Allen, Kathryn Calder, Vanilla Fudge

Right now I'm listening to music that I have to review so I can't post anything new. But I have written things in other places to let you know what I've been up to.

Here's a review of both the Rob Mazurek & Black Cube SP show at the Andy Warhol Museum, and Geri Allen & TimeLine at the Kelly Strayhorn Theater. You might need to scroll down through a few stories to read it.

Today, Kathryn Calder - keyboardist and vocalist of the New Pornographers - releases her third solo album under her own name. It's self-titled too. My review of it appears on the Blurt website right here.

Finally, weeks after the fact, here's my Vanilla Fudge piece, also on Blurt.