However....

I feel like I should say that I find Earwig, Blake Babies' first album, to be very good set of songs.

Oh, boy, Shanley's cranky again

After I posted the previous entry, I wrote a few reviews for Blurt as promised. One was the latest Juliana Hatfield album, How to Walk Away. I'm not going to go into my thoughts on the album because that would defeat the purpose of the Blurt review. And I want you to go online and check it out. (It's not up there yet, but my Modey Lemon review is.)

While writing the review, I did the usual things I do to make the process take forever: listen to the songs over and over. Which I must say was a bit of a challenge because - as the industry trend goes these days - I guess I contacted the p.r. folks too late to get a tangible copy of the disc, so I got, um, special access to a streamed copy. This wasn't your average "Download here so you can make a CD-R and listen to it while you're doing dishes or driving or changing the baby" stream. Hoo noo. This was a "click here and go to the page with one song on it, which will always be cranked up really loud before it starts, so brace yourself for loud opening chords, or else keep your earbuds out of your ears before the song starts, so you'll have time to turn it down."

So in addition to each song being loud as hell, each song was on a separate webpage, so there's no way to get a good feel for how things flow as an album. "Use your imagination, you lowlife hacks," is the message it sends. "We'd rather have you do that than take a chance on you letting your friends listen to this CD and decide they don't like so they won't buy it." Tell ya what they ought to do. Buy some old shellacs and an old record cutter and press up promo copies and mail that out to us. We music critics love everything on vinyl, so you'd be doing yourself a big favor. (Yeah, I know the last part is ridiculous and stupid. I just don't feel like deleting it all now.)

But I didn't start this entry to opine about that.

I started because as I was looking stuff up on the web, I came across the allmusic.com entry for Juliana's band Blake Babies' second album, Sunburn. I was thinking as the review came together in my head that Juliana became a much better songwriter post-Blake Babies, at least as far as hooks were concerned. "Super Model" and "My Sister" seemed infinitely more catchy to me than anything on side two ("the second half" to all of you who never owned on vinyl) of Sunburn. In fact, most of that album seems pretty dull to me; verses without chorus, or if they have a real chorus it has the same quiet-to-a-loud-E major chord transition. (That in turn reminds me of another irritating and extremely overrated band from that same time period - Slint. But I'll talk about the green light they gave to inarticulate indie elite boys some other time.)

So imagine my incredulous surprise when the allmusic guy says that not only was Sunburn the best Blake Babies album, but the last great college radio album, leading up to Nevermind. Geez, now I know what so many people my age don't mind blandness. WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? DON'T YOU KNOW HALF-BAKED WHEN YOU HEAR IT?

Okay, "Out There" is a great song. And it really hits an emotional chord with me since it deals with that coming-to-grips-with-disillusionment feeling. And a few of the other songs on side one are good too. But that stupid "Girl in a Box" song, oy. "Gimme Some Mirth" has the same climax as "Sanctify" on the other side.

I hear a lot of songs at work on satellite radio by people who probably came of age when that album came out, as well as other nice, safe but unadventurous college radio bands. And these bands don't have a hook or a clever lyric to save their lives. And they owe it to bands like that.

...and another thing, you goddam kids stay outta my yard. (Figured I should end on a lighter note before I start going off about everything that's wrong with music.

Make It Rain

Jennie and I went to see Tom Waits in Columbus on Saturday night. We didn't realize until we got to our seats that we WERE IN THE FIRST ROW. That's right - orchestra pit, three feet from a speaker on the edge of the stage. We could see all of his wrinkles and sweat.

It was a great show too. By tomorrow, my review of it should be visible on Blurt's website, http://www.blurt-online.com. I'll stop talking and you can check out what I really thought of the show there.

Gotta go review a few CDs for them now.

Rambling thoughts

Playing right now: David Murray Black Saint Quartet - Sacred Ground

In keeping with my tradition of buying new albums six months after their release, I picked this David Murray album up today, along with last year's Clap Your Hands Say Yeah album. Of all the band with high-pitched, somewhat whiney singers - Arcade Fire, Shins - I think CYHS ranks pretty high. Well at least I liked their sophomore effort more than the Arcade Fire's album last year, which were pretty strong but not exactly Woh my god, this is amazing (the Shins do that to me sometimes). CYHS's Some Loud Thunder reminds me of Neutral Milk Hotel and Olivia Tremor Control at times, which in my book really takes the cake.

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They were playing bad nu country at work yesterday. Things really reached the bottom of the moonshine bucket when they played a twang version of the reggae classic "The Harder They Come." Whose stupid idea was that? Yeah, they thought, it fits the sentiment of a country singer's style, so just strip away what makes it unique and give it backbeat that appeals to people who drink too much. Wham. I can see the numbers adding up.

I was also inspired to come up with a country parody for the next time my friend John and I have a session with our made up band the Wayback Machine: "I Like Music When I Don't Have To think." None of the songs I heard have one iota of creativity behind them, a buttload of annoying melodies and they probably won't be remembered 9 months from now.

Re: that song title: it'll probably require some tweaking to get the thought to be concise. But you get the idea, right?

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I haven't heard the song "Me and You and a Dog Named Boo" in at least 30 years. (I had it on a record of '70s hits by some no-name cover band, which was a birthday present at age 7.) I've heard the original version - by soft rocker Lobo - about three times in the past month.

Thanks WJAS. You're going down the drain.

More Gogi Grant please.

Kawasaki............

Yesterday, I finally remembered to check youtube to see if there was a posting of the classic '70s commercial for Kawasaki with the "Let the Good Times Roll" jingle in it.

They have it. Here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NbgkkvIvswU

I can't get that song out of my head. It was written by Bob Thompson, a guy who one of the cheesier of the cheesy lounge music bandleaders in the '50s. He did have one classic album cover, though, with a broad reclining in a giant martini glass.

I spent about 10 minutes trying to find out his name before writing this posting, which took about 2 minutes.

Hope you're impressed. Hope you let the good times roll.

(Holla to Kirsten.)

Baby D Digs Braxton, sort of

This past Sunday, my son Donovan went to his first live music performance. It was a unique one to be sure, at a unique venue. He and I went to the National Aviary to see Anthony Braxton perform with a local group called the Syrinx Ensemble. And the birds were part of the performance too, as their songs and squacks and sounds shaped the music. It's crazy being at a gig/show where everyone sound becomes part of said performance and shapes the direction of it. That's a rather John Cage way of thinking of it, but nobody probably thinks about shows that way anymore.

I was worried that things might get too shrill for Donovan's 13-month old ears, but Ben Opie (who was a catalyst in the slew of Braxton Plays Pittsburgh Plays Braxton events for the weekend) assured me otherwise. He was right. About 30 minutes in, Ben and Braxton were building up a low drone on their contrabass clarinets. As the sound started bubbling I looked at Baby D to see what he thought.

He was asleep.

I don't think that's a bad thing at all. From someone who falls asleep to music each night, that's probably a compliment.

I don't like that message. It's too scary.

Playing right now: "One Less Bell To Answer"

(Maybe he wouldn't've left if she served something other than fried eggs once in a while.

Him: Hey, baby, what'd you make for us?

Her: Fried eggs.

Him: Again?! Dammit, woman, I'm outta here.)



Something at work triggered the memory of Christmas' 1989 album Ultraprophets of Thee Psykick Revolution so I got it out the other night. I was reminded of how brilliant this album is and how great and unsung a band Christmas was. I don't know if they meant for this to be a concept album, but it holds together like one, expressing all the horrible things that were festering as the '80s drew to a close (the threat of nuclear annihilation; AIDS; the fact that the world should be blown up because everyone is so awful; and the need to put on a smiley face and act like everything is fine). Rather than handling it all Dischord-style, Michael Cudahy (guitar), his brother Nicholas (bass) and Liz Cox (drums) proved that they were top-shelf practitioners of post-punk pop with a stinging lyrical approach whose closest touchstone was probably their neighbor Peter Prescott of the Volcano Suns. (He had been in Mission of Burma, but his writing really blossomed with the Suns.)

Michael and Liz handled lead singing duties and acted as great foils for one another: Liz singing in a sweet soprano - maybe mezzo-soprano - as the straight member of the band, with Michael going back and forth from the equally straight one to the off-the-wall zany one.

Musically, they could go from chunky, college radio pop ("Stupid Kids") to heavy riffs that sounded like a twist on Led Zeppelin's "Custard Pie" ("Punch and Judy") to drop-tuned even-heavier riffage ("Royal Klutch Tattoo"). Sometimes they fire on all cylinders, acting bold enough to write a song called "Richard Nixon" that discusses the shamed ex-prez in a talk-speak rant that I'm sure many college music directors called "quirky" in 1989, and they segue the verse into a chorus of Liz chirping "Richard Nixon sees you/ Richard Nixon sees through you," with some ooh-la-la backing vocals behind it. It might sound ridiculous in print, and it is ---- but it works.

"Human Chain" tackles the issue of AIDS, but only in an off-hand way. Over a programmed cowbell and drumbeat, Michael bangs out another meaty riff (see - you can take your classic rock roots and use them for good) while the band sings cryptic lyrics like, "Lovers say that love is strange/ Sleep with me your life will change." After about a minute, the distorted guitar changes to a sweet acoustic that cues some even sweeter backing vocals. The lyrics here include "Here's a token of my infection/ pass it on to your connection." The contrast between sweet and dark is what makes this one hit hard, which gets driven home in the coda when the harmonies are muddied by screaming in the back of the mix. And the song gets cut off abruptly, mid-phrase.

Michael told me in an interview years after this came out that "Warhog" was about something to the effect that we should all die in a war because humankind isn't smart enough anyway. I forget exactlywhat it was he said and for 18 years, I can't make out most of the lyrics to the song. Michael, if you're reading this, a lyric sheet would be appreciated. Perhaps knowing what they had just said, the group ends the song with a friend's phone message excerpt: "I don't like that message, it's too scary." Before things get to that point, they've won me over with the harmonies and the guitar work.

Most of the lyrical fodder seems to have been birthed from the rise of the Republican regime, but it kind of serves as snapshot of where we are now as well. Maybe that's also what I'm reacting to now, the relevancy. When the album came out, I remember seeing a review in Rolling Stone that gave it one-and-a-half stars, which proves how out of touch mainstream music media still was at that time. It's not like these guys were Pere Ubu. In fact, there's probably a closer link with Christmas and REM, other than the fact that they were on the same label. The entry in allmusic.com says the album was misunderstood and that some reviews were "downright hostile." I guess the band was right.

"Hymn" ends the album with a sombre string trio alternating with a wobbly farfisa. (Another brilliant musical idea.) The first line of the song, sung by our heroes in a dark drone is "As sure as eggs is eggs/ life is good." They can't be serious. Right?

Right now, "Royal Klutch Tattoo" is playing in my ears and it's one of the fattest, most bad-ass riffs ever. I've always wanted to cover it. Though "My Operator" which follows is equally as good a cover. But I can't decipher those lyrics.

I should write one of those 33 1/3 books about this album.

Buy this record. Now. Or make me dub it for you.

Post-script: Michael, Liz and Nicholas escaped their misanthropic ways and went on to form Combustible Edison, the authentic and always happening lounge band, in the mid-'90s.

Hey La, hey la, hey la, hey laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

I wondered if I would lose it when the New Pornographers hit that rousing coda in "The Bleeding Heart Show" on Saturday at the Carnegie Music Hall. Just talking about that song makes me think of the wall of voices roaring out of the speakers. When I interviewed NPs bassist John Collins, I could feel myself getting a little misty. (Some songs have a way of tapping the tearducts for me; can't explain it.)

The Music Hall's bad acoustics gave me some doubt at the start of the evening. The room is really echoey and some things get lost. Like in-between-song banter. I couldn't figure out what Neko Case and Carl Newman were saying half the time. OK, I figured, the song will be fun but it won't be the emotional release that I pondered.

But, as the song - the last in the set proper - started to build up in dynamics, it felt like riding the Jack Rabbit at Kennywood Park (sorry if the metaphor is lost on you non-Pittsburghers). It pulls out of the station and slowly rounds the corner and you start to think, "Ooooooooooh boy! The first dip coming up real soon." Just a few miles down the road from Kennywood, Carl and Neko and the gang were making me feel the same way. Six out of eight of them starting wailing on that coda and while I didn't get misty, I certainly whipped my head around like I was having a paulsey. Goddam, it felt good. I don't think I'll ever get sick of that song. Or grow weary of expounding on it.

As stated in the previous blog entry, the NPs had a lot to live up to in my head, after the stellar John Vanderslice performance on Friday. The show was excellent. The sound kind of buried the guitars, mainly the lead work, but that served to boost the vocals. With Carl, Neko and keyboardist Katherine all chiming together that was definitely a good thing. The set really crossed over all of their albums, even including a couple from Mass Romantic towards the end of the set.

For an encore, they played ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down" and, naturally nailed the harmonies, making it sound as full as a Jeff Lynne production.

Okkervil River opened the show. I'm not up on their music but I thought they put on a pretty good show. Several friends of mine absolutely hated them. Despised them, even. Oh well.

Dispatch on the John Vanderslice show

Playing right now: a slightly hissy (surface noise) 10" by Clifford Brown and Max Roach, "Daahoud" specifically

Last night was the John Vanderslice show at the Andy Warhol Museum. Sometimes you build something up in your to such a high degree that it's impossible for the real thing to meet your expectations.

That wasn't the case last night.

I've listened to John's albums a lot, the last three especially. Hearing these songs in person was totally mind-blowing. The full (four-piece) band really brought them to life and emphasized subtleties that the albums only hint at. The albums really came together in the studio from what I gather, instead of the studio replicating a live performance. I was thinking how the tunes acts sort of as inner shots of John's head, and now they're so much more in person.

He didn't play "Coming and Going On Easy Terms" which is one of my favorite Vanderslice songs. That's not an easy song to call for from the audience either, so I couldn't do an obnoxious request. But the set offered a good cross-section of songs from almost all of his albums so it was a real treat.

Dave, his drummer, played about half the songs with one hand doing moog bass parts while the other played the beat. And bassist Daniel spent half the set playing violin and singing while he bowed. He had a great effect on his fiddle that turned a steady, bowed noted into 16th notes that really kicked. When Ian the keyboardist had some technical difficulty, Daniel did a HI-larious imitation of Michael McDonald playing "Little Wing." This was especially funny for me and my friend Brendan, for whom Michael Mc is a running joke.

The show ended with an encore of about four songs performed in the entrace gallery with the audience surrounding the band. Ian played concertina, Dave played floor tom and xylophone and Daniel stuck with the fiddle. And boy can that young man harmonize!

It should be mentioned that there was a really good crowd there. I didn't think that many people knew about John, based on all those years of playing shows with out of town bands who I thought would appeal to more people, but who sadly didn't draw very well. This exceeded my expectations, and on top of that, I only knew one person there besides Brendan.

All I can say is the New Pornographers have a tough act to follow.

Ain't nothing but a lot of music goin' on

Two more days 'till John Vanderslice plays at the Warhol.

Three more days 'till the New Pornographers rawk Munhall.

If only I had my druthers, I'd make it a three-tiered weekend and drive to Buffalo to see Marilyn Crispell on Sunday. But my druthers are at the cleaners, so for now I'm staying in town.

However, I did get to interview Marilyn last week for Art Voice, Buffalo's alt-weekly. (Her new CD on ECM, Vignettes, is really good by the way. It drops on April 22.) Later that same day, I interviewed John Collins of the New Pornographers. Thus began a week of writing, which was sidelined at several points by a teething young son with a fever and a bad disposition. Yesterday, it finally ended. I had to turn in the Marilyn article as well as three CD reviews for JazzTimes. Once I had the time to devote to writing, it wasn't too much of a challenge, but there's always that part of me that worries that the time will vanish and it won't get done. Or else I won't have any idea what I'm talking about.

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Lately I've been fixated on Clifford Brown. I've been trying to win some of his EmArcy records with Max Roach. I had one slip through my fingers at the last minute last week. But I also got really lucky and won a 10" by them! For $22, no less. Ha cha!

I've also started digging out Beatles records. Last week I had a hankering for A Hard Day's Night. It was the first one I ever heard because my oldest brother had the soundtrack when I was a wee thing. Then a few days later I pulled out Meet the Beatles. It's easy to forgot how tight they were at that point in time. Even the throw-away songs had something to them. You can't hear any of the instruments in "Little Child" but it still rocks. So does "I Wanna Be Your Man." Part of it is extra percussion they added. And "It Won't Be Long"? Man, what a killer song. I'd've been screaming for them too if I heard that live.

Harp is gone. Read all about it.

Playing right now: a Classical mix to help Baby D sleep

I got an email on Friday that Harp - the magazine that straddled the line between independent, geek-centric music and all other forms of rock and pop that were smart enough to be covered - has gone the way of Creem. In other words, it has ceased publication. This hurts me especially because I was a freelancer for the magazine.
The reasoning was the one you'd expect, it wasn't solvent enough to keep it running any longer. (This is no industry secret, lest you wonder. The word is being made official as I type.) Besides, if I'm writing for a publication, it's destined to go under before too long. InPittsburgh? It died less than two years after I became a staff writer. Pulp? Took about two years and four months for that critter to get the rug pulled out from under it. If there's any lesson to be learned it, it's that good things never last.
Sorry I don't mean to be so bitter. And I don't mean to make it all about me.
Well, wait......this is my blog, so it IS all about me, at least for the moment, right? And I'm not about to bite any hands out there that have fed me, anyway. Harp was very good to me. You know what it's like reading people like Fred Mills for years and then have him become your editor? It makes you feel like you've climbed up another rung in the music journalism ladder. Gillian A. Gaar's name was usually just a few pages away from mine. And I got to sound off on a Barbara Manning box set in a major publication. You know how many years I've had to practice that? And it didn't look like a gush fest either. It teaches you something when you only have 200 words in which to do that too.
So thanks, Scott Crawford for founding the magazine. Thanks, Fred for everything. Thanks, Randy Harward for letting me move beyond just CD reviews.
I've never met any of them. Yet. Only communicated through email. It's ironic: I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I got more ambitious this year and took on more freelancing that more opportunities might open up and I'd be able to get myself to South by Southwest next year. (This year's installment just wrapped up over the weekend.) Then I might get to meet all those guys, since Harp has been involved in the festival the past couple years. Or at least they've had a lot of parties and written about it.
Not only is that not going to happen, but all those guys probably got word of what was going on right as SXSW was kicking into high gear. That must have been really demoralizing. Or the best reason to stay snockered all weekend. Or both.
There is something that I feel is at the root of Harp's demise that I do need to sound off about, and that's the fact that nobody reads magazines anymore. Nobody cares enough to shell out a few bucks to buy a magazine to keep music journalism alive. That's a bit of a stretch between two points, but it's true. Everything these days is electronic. And that's fine to a degree because there's so much information out there. But where are the tactile experiences of everyday life going? You don't read the paper because you get the information online. You don't need CDs because you've got the songs in the little chewing-gum wrapper sized thing or on your goddamed cellphone.
Sure, I know, we're older and we're too damn busy to take the time for a lot of these things. (I, for one, should be listening to a couple CDs of 50- and 70-minute jazz pieces that I should be reviewing) And it's easier to read this way, or listen this way. But we're missing out on a lot. I know vinyl will never come back the way it should, but there were so many tactile discoveries that went along with the playing of the album that added to it: "Oooh, that song's pretty long. That one's short. Wait, there are six tracks here and only five are listed." You can make those time discoveries with CDs - if they list them - but it's not the same. And a lot just washes over you when you just put on a disc and let it go. Now with iPods, you have your music everywhere, but you don't CD booklets to go through as your listening to add to the experience. Your visuals for Cat Power are the same as the ones for the Black Sabbath cut you have on it.
The same is happening with print media. Maybe the Sunday New York Times is the only thing that will survive the fallout. If it's lucky. Sunday is the one day that people find time to sit and read something. (On a tangent, I wonder how Mort Sahl and Lenny Bruce's performances would have gone had they had all the headlines at their fingertips for easy access, rather than needing to spread newspapers out across the hotel bed and read the basic info of each relevant article.)
It all has me wondering what things will be like when my son is in high school. What kind of magazines will be around by then? Will I be waxing nostalgic about buying Double Nickels on the Dime my senior year and ranting about the decline of magazines and sounding like some out of touch old man? Will I be right - to anyone besides myself?
On the other hand, it was really hard to find a copy of Harp in Pittsburgh up until about two or three years ago. It's a real tragedy that it didn't make a bigger name for itself. I think it had everything it needed to do it: irreverance; love for music without being either smug or fawning; good layout; good sections that went beyond the typical rock mag standards.
Anyhow, I urge you all to go out and by a copy of the final issue of Harp. The cover has Dave Grohl on the front announcing his run for presidency. Yeah, you read right. What a great way to go out.
Cue the closing credits. If there was a song that would set the scene here, it would be Angst's "Some Things I Can't Get Used To" (from 1986's Mending Wall on SST).

You never know who you'll meet....

Playing right now: a musicbox that plays "Swan Lake" in the nursery

In the previous entry here, there was a posting from Joy, the keyboardist of Stony Brook People, who I wrote about on January 3. Then I scrolled down to that entry and saw that another member of the band posted a comment.

I hardly ever get comments and to hear from two people in the band....well don't that just beat all.

We are Time....and the time I'm thinking of is 1984

I've always sneered at the idea of listening to nothing but music from a certain bygone period of your life. I mean, that mindframe seems reserved for the people who don't really like music; they're not listening because of the music, they're listening because of the images from the past that get conjured by the music. (If I'm being vague, let me give an example: somebody who would buy one of those 20th Century Masters compilations of Fleetwood Mac at Best Buy. And before you get on me about the band - everything in that scenario has to be in place: the particular disc, the [type of] artist/band and the location. There is at least one of those discs in our house, but they came from Paul's CDs.)

Anyhow.........I set that scenario up to knock it down, and take me with it.

A couple weeks ago, I won a copy of the Pop Group's album Y in an auction. They were a particularly polemic and abrasive British punk band, who added elements of funk and free jazz into their music, over which singer Mark Stewart often ranted and raved about politics and social issues. The album came out in 1979, long before the days of "in your face" approaches in music or art or commercials. Y came with a huge poster/lyric sheet that featured a collage of pretty disturbing images, including but not limited to a crowd looking on at a corpse while a young kid pisses on it; two nuns getting ready to bury a casket that clearly shows a young child or baby in it; a crowd of soldiers that seems to be firing on a crowd. Anyway, brutal stuff.

I had this album in high school; bought in 1984. At that time I was really into the punk-jazz group Rip, Rig and Panic which included two ex-Pop Group members, so I went back to the original source. Selling that album (sometime between high school graduation and college) has always been a big regret. Reissues of it are hard to find and usually overpriced, as are the original copies, which don't always have the poster anyway.

So I won the album (in one of those "I shouldn't've bid that high; I hope I'm outbid" moments) and when I got it and threw it on the turntable...............suddenly it was 1984 again. I remember the type of day when I bought it. It was early 1984, a Friday when we only had half a day of school, so I was planning on picking up that album at the Record Recycler (it was on hold), and then taking a girl back to my house to show her how to play the bass. (True story: she had casually said she'd be up for playing bass and I took her seriously, borrowed my brother's Rickenbacker and pretty much threw it at her.) Except she blew me off and I went home alone with the record. Since no one else was home I played it on the living room stereo while I made lunch.

All the songs came back to me right away last week. In fact, a lot of them were burned into my brain and have stayed there for 20+ years. The last time I saw Mike Watt, about four years ago, he encored with "We Are Time," the song I always thought closed the album. (Apparently I was flipped the a- and b-sides since neither were marked as such.) "Blood Money" is a free piece where slow bass and drums keep shifting in and out, with some sort of horn occasionally bubbling to the surface, while Stewart wails under a sea of echo. I remembered most of it. The opening of side two (or one) - a heartbeat, following by Stewart yelling, "Scream of my heart....BEAT" as the band comes in, sort of sloppy. Then there's "Don't Sell Your Dreams" a spare, quiet piece that explodes a couple times when Stewart bellows the title. Yeah, abrasive, but for all the right reasons.

The time period all came back to me: Thinking I might start a band with this girl, who might have been a crush or not depending on how I felt, and might've ended up being a real girlfriend if I would've had the confidence to pursue her and if I would've stopped talking about another girl that had dumped me a few months prior. I was listening to Rip Rig and Panic, playing sax in the marching band at school, and trying to figure out how I could do something as bold as RR+P. It wouldn't happen for two more years. I soon discovered the Minutemen, who I can really tell now, took a lot of cues from the Pop Group.

So anyway, now I know why people will latch on to some album from their past and not let go of it. Not that 1984 was a golden period of my life. It was actually filled with a lot of longing and wishing for things that either wouldn't happen or didn't happen for a couple years. But when you have all that free time to sit in your room and just listen to records and pine and read Henry Miller when no one's looking, and you're only job obligation is delivering the Post-Gazette and collecting payment for it once a week - things might not be too bad.

Post-script: During the '90s, I'd occasionally see the aforementioned girl (now a woman) out with a boyfriend and I always wanted to thank her because if it hadn't been for her flip "sure I'll play the bass" comment, I never would've borrowed my brother's bass, learned how to play it and started a band. I was always too shy and worried that she wouldn't remember me. I wonder where she is now.

Peter Cetera wants to kill me

I'm sitting at work, getting ready to start the day and I'm hearing Chicago for the THIRD time this morning. As I was moving around the radio dial in the car today, I heard the closing of "If You Leave Me Now," switched to another station and heard "Feeling Stronger Every Day" and now, it's "Beginnings."
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
(I thought they were going to play the percussion breakdown at the end of the latter song, but no dice.)

A good shoe to gaze at

Of all the bands that either played music that paved the way for shoegazer, and of all the bands on 4AD not to achieve some level of iconic status, the Pale Saints qualify as a really overlooked band. I should qualify that statement by admitting that I only own their debut album, The Comforts of Madness, but I've played it a lot in the 18 years since it came out. And it's one of those albums that stays near the turntable for about a week when it gets pulled out. Plus it has a kitty on the cover, as you can see here.
They were quite a bit more rock than many bands of that period on 4AD, but they had those pretty choir boy vocals over top of the charging wall of guitars. I also like the fact that almost all the songs segued together and that many had interludes of noisy chaos between the dreamy hooks. The best one comes after "Insubstantial," or as I like to think of it, "the first song on side two." It's an upbeat little number that melts into noise marked by a particularly abrasive caterwaul from the guitar that whines and whines and whines and gets under your skin. Then the slow bass line intros "A Deep Sleep for Steven" which is all shimmery guitars and voices, with the only percussion appearing on every fourth beat in the shape of a loud thudding drum.
The album also includes a cover of "Fell From the Sun" which I think Kendra Smith wrote for her pre-Opal band Clay Allison. It too has some great picked chords with lots of echo, and it climaxes in an echoey sea of Ian Masters's voice again.
Comforts of Madness was one of those albums where the song titles were never listed in the order that they ran, so there are still some songs whose titles I always forget, at least at first.

Playing right now: Marshall Allen with Lou Grassi's PoBand - Bird Symphony
This is a 32-minute free improv blow-out which, if I remember correctly, gets a little busy at times, with four horns, bass and drums getting totally out. I had to pull it out again and listen to it, because there's something I like about very long pieces like this.

This disc is on CIMP, a label lthat prints a statement on the back of all their discs about how the CD shouldn't be played as background music, but as if there's a concert going on in front of you which you should give your undivided attention. I can sort of understand what they're getting at, because free jazz shouldn't be for casual listening. I wonder what they'd think about my thought that it's easier for me to pay attention to music while I'm driving than it often is when I'm at home.

Regardless, I'm playing this CD and I'll be damned if I can remember what I want to talk about.

I had kind of been hoping to spend my Christmas money on the Mosaic box of Miles at the Blackhawk, which is the vinyl edition of the CD set of his quintet with Hank Mobley when they played at that club. Then in January, Mosaic sent out a message that they were running low on that Miles box. I didn't take any action right away, and now it's gone. Out of print. Sure I could buy it on CD, but there's something about owning a six-record Mosaic set. It's kind of the same appeal as a 32-minute free jazz excursion: monumental and entertaining.

Be still my beating heart

Playing right now: something on satellite radio (i'm at work but haven't clocked in yet)

A couple weeks ago I found that John Vanderslice is coming to the Warhol on April 11. And I was ecstatic. He hasn't been here since about 1996 when MK Ultra played with the Pundits at Luciano's. I've been anxiously awaiting John's return since I got completely immersed with his solo career around the release of Cellar Door (I had some catching up to do).

Then, I found out last night that the New Pornographers are coming to town.......ON THE NEXT NIGHT?!?!? Could this really be true? My little head is going to explode! What's next, Big Dipper will decide to drop by Pittsburgh for brunch on Sunday?

Big Dipper is getting back together for a few shows in late April to mark the release of Supercluster, a collection of their Homestead releases and some later, solid, unreleased stuff. I interviewed Gary Waleik from the band on Monday night. Me and him go way back. 20 years in fact. When Dipper came to the Decade in 1987, I was one of about seven people in the audience and I put them up for the night. That was about 2 months into life in my first apartment, and one month into a relationship with a new hipster girlfriend. The relationship died two months later, as did the fun of the living situation, but Big Dipper never let me down.

Print Jazz

Playing right now: Stephen Gauci's Basso Continuo
(I'm reviewing this for JazzTimes so I won't comment on it here. Read it in print in a few months. Buy JazzTimes.)

I finished reading Ben Ratliff's book Coltrane: The story of a sound. It was an interesting read and an interesting angle to take on a book about someone who's been analyzed a lot. The idea was to focus on how Trane developed the sound of his playing, what influenced it, how it was received etc. Ratliff certainly knows how to write, but there were times when I questioned his somewhat flowery comparisons. Why use an Oscar Wilde quotation to discuss Coltrane's artistry, especially if you're going to disprove what Wilde says?

Plus there were some points that seemed clear to me that he didn't address. He keeps pondering why Coltrane got so immersed in free jazz in the end of his career, and why didn't the reaction to it impact his approach. Welllllll, it seems obvious to me that many artists, of different media, are so wrapped in what they're doing that they can't take a step back and attempt an objective look at what they're doing. This seems especially true of Coltrane. His music was so consuming and he was so obsessive about what he did. And, as Ratliff himself points out, he was never satisfied with what he did. And even though Coltrane's recorded encounter with Cecil Taylor was less than successful, it should have been mentioned for historical purposes and described in a way that says why it didn't work.

Besides that, he also uses the timely phrase "Oh no you didn't" in one section. Funny, but in 10 years it'll look silly.

In reading that book and the liner notes of a recent reissue of Lee Morgan's Tom Cat, which I bought a couple weeks ago, I started feeling like there might actually be a point where you can learn too much about jazz. I mean, when you can pinpoint where Lee Morgan, Coltrane and Miles Davis were and what they were probably doing at a given time of a given year.........you know too much minutiae about these people.

Tom Cat was recorded around the same time as The Sidewinder, Morgan's smash hit that took hard bop into the pop charts and changed the way Blue Note and bop were treated. The album wasn't released for about 15 years because Blue Note shelved it in favor of material more similar to The Sidewinder, which is odd because this album is still in keeping with that one. In reading about that in Tom Cat's liner notes, and how it fits in with Lee's first stint for Blue Note, his return to Philadelphia to kick heroin, his return, The Sidewinder.........it just made me feel like, damn I read to much of this stuff and it's overshadowing the music. At the time I thought that Ben Ratliff was leading me on a guided analysis of what was going on in Trane's brain so I was really overloaded with the back stories.

Then again, I just complained a few paragraphs ago about how Ratliff should've talked about the Cecil Taylor/Trane session, so maybe I am a glutton for selective jazz overanalysis.

The music of my life, chapter 53

I woke up on New Year's Day with a strange craving for Englebert Humperdinck. I was slightly hungover and had either "After the Loving" or "The Last Waltz" going through my head. I have a cheapo Best of comp that I could have listened to, but at that point, getting up, going into the other room where the records are, crouching down near the cement floor to look for it and rooting it out seemed like too much trouble.

On New Year's Eve, I got a single in the mail by a '60s band called Stony Brook People. When I was a young kid my brothers and I got a bunch of promo 45s from our uncle, who was in local radio. I wish we had all of them: Kak, Little Richard on Okeh ("Lucille" b/w "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin on" which I FINALLY found on an album a few years ago after searching for that version of "Lucille" for ages), the Tremeloes. And there was this female vocalist leading these Stony Brook People through a passionate version of "Easy To Be Hard." It was the same song on both sides, though I'm not sure if it was a mono/stereo flip. I always kind of liked their version of "Easy to Be Hard" better than 3 Dog Night's. SBP's singer really tears into the song, especially at the end. Chuck Negron seems to be going for compassion; this gal is laying her heart out.

I still have a copy of the 45, but it's beat to crap. So when a stock copy with a B-side popped up on eBay for 99 cents, I said SOLD. The b-side isn't bad either. It's more rocked up with some punchy brass backing the singer, who sounds like she's doing more of a Grace Slick type of performance there. (Funny, when I was a kid, I pictured her more like Shirley Jones in the Partridge Family although that might be because they were the only band with a female singer that I knew of back then.)

Here's a link to a publicity photo of them. Aside from the Shirley Jones thing, this is probably how I envisioned the rest of them. I wonder if they performed in an off-off-off Broadway production of Hair.

http://groups.msn.com/PSPOT/general.msnw?action=get_message&mview=0&ID_Message=508

Holiday music of a different kind

The wife and I got some time to go out tonight without the kid so we went to Gooski's. Might sound like a squandered night out to some people, but we had a great time.

Among the songs we played on the jukebox while we were there, having drinks and eating wings, I played "Out From Blown Speakers" by the New Pornographers and "Little Johnny Jewel" by Television. Talk about a couple of songs that'll get your heart pumping. I didn't realize that LJJ was the uncut full version of the song, without a fadeout in the middle. I love that song anyway, but when the second guitar solo kicks off, man, it goes into outer space. I think that's Verlane soloing there and there's that moment where he gets locked into a string-bend and it's like he's really trying to channel Coltrane. Maybe he doesn't actually get there, but the fact that he takes a shot at it and has no inhibitions or delusions of grandeur - you can FEEL it in the way he plays - makes it so powerful. Plus the rhythm section is really grooving too.

"Out from Blown Speakers" is from the second Pornographers album The Electric Version. Stop me if you've heard this one before, but when that came out in 2003 or so, I thought it was going to save the world. I hadn't heard their first album but this one hit me over the head with a seventh chord. That's the way pop music in the new millenium should sound, it seemed to tell me. I was working at Pulp at that time, and I remember saying something in print about how I only allow myself to get hyperbolic two or three times a year, and that album was one of those times. It was so good to hear it tonight. So good without making me feel bad about those days of my life being over. (One of my ex-Pulp co-horts was sitting with me at the time too, coincidentally.)

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Every Christmas Eve, I think back on certain Christmas Eves past and where I was. This year, I remembered 1981 in particular. That year, I was a freshman in high school. My great-aunt had just died a month prior, thus closing the door on that generation of the Cordic family to me. (My grandparents on that side had died before I was born.)
My brother John came over to spend Christmas Eve at the house and he brought with him a stack of vinyl by a bunch of bands I was largely unfamiliar with: okay, I knew Killing Joke but not their "Turned to Red" EP; Rip Rig & Panic's God was weird because it had a picture on the cover that appeared in Life, some band called the Birthday Party and an album called Prayers on Fire, which I thought had a song called "200 Music Girl" until I looked at the cover and realized it was "ZOO Music Girl."
There were probably a few others but those were the ones I remembered best. John played the solo piano track from RR+P in the living room and later we were in my room - me, Bre'r John, Tom and maybe young sister Claire - checking out the records. My piddly phonograph didn't have any bass signal which pissed John off.
It was a watershed time for me because I was just starting to realize that, yes, this punk rock stuff that John listens to is really speaking to me and this is what I'm into and besides if kids in school are going to ostracize me, well I ought to give them a good reason to ostracize me.
That same day, I got a package I mail ordered from a record store in California: I got a used copy of Moby Grape's Grape Jam (oy.......) and a new copy of Talking Heads '77 (hmmm, what's this herky jerky stuff all about?). That was the crossroads for me: '60s fanaticism giving way to more modern music. The next morning, Tom would give me a copy of King Crimson's Discipline.
And a few days later, I would venture into Heads Together and buy the copy of Still by Joy Division because John recommended it and because they covered "Sister Ray."
I had absolutely no reference point for dark music like that at that point. The cover of "Sister Ray" was the closest thing to a reference point, but that was only one track on a double album by a band that couldn't be bothered to list their band members' names.
But I kept playing it.