I swear, I seem to require my whole day to be rigidly organized just so I will be forced to schedule a post, which, my regular readers (I might be able to field a basketball starting lineup) may remember, I have vowed to wrote every day. Also, the lazy unfolding of the teacher off-season day doesn’t seem to lend itself to narrative, either, so here’s another random blow-by-blow:
Morning Earworms
Why did I awaken with this in my ear…
…which then handed me off to this?
No, I wasn’t dreaming about TP–if I were gay or a woman I’d be more than happy to!–nor have I been knocked out of love commission. Nicole and I did have a splendid day (including a fart war), so maybe that was it.
Reading Accoutrement
I am love-love-loving Wu-Tang Clan member U-God’s memoir Raw, but I’d never checked his rap rekkids. I listened to his debut–he doesn’t have mad skillz, but he’s got heart, he goes light on the misogyny, he’s got production, and his persona matches the book (which you should read, too):
Research
I take Pitchfork with a grain of salt, but I don’t have any other journalistic sources for electronic music, which they occasionally review if it’s somehow attention getting. I have loved a few of Music from Memory’s other releases, so I sampled this new Kuniyuki Takahashi comp. I’m rather ignorant about the genre, but I know what I like, and I like the moodiness, dynamics, and touches of Japanese folk music here; the vocals, not so much:
Afternoon Chill-Out and Reading Accompaniment
What better for focused, intense reading than the light, graceful, swinging and surprising musical steps of MJQ? And were they ever better live than here?
Nicole and I went on a seven-mile trail walk today, but I still squeezed in multiple records and there’s still time. In the colossally self-righteous words of Ian Mackaye, “What have you done?” (Wait…was there a cuss word in there? Oh yeah–profanity was pure enough for him!)
So, I will attempt to address each of those platters with a one-liner precise enough to tempt you to try them if you haven’t.
Dr. Michael White: Tricentennial Rag
I confess, I’m a fool for NOLA trad, and here the reigning clarinet master and his not-that-mouldy henchman go back so far, several tracks on this new release kick in with a marching band drum cadence–and he ends with a teasing “Saints.” (No YouTube yet; here’s an Apple Music link.)
Preservation Hall Jazz Band: So It Is
On the other hand, if you need something smokin’ hot, deliriously catchy, and stretching from Africa to Cuba to the Crescent City, get with 2017’s best jazz album immediately.
Ty Segall: Slaughterhouse
This totally rips, but Segall has a touch of Stooges Disease: he tends to find a way to derail his best efforts, here with quonset hut production values that make one wanna beg for a remix.
Wes Montgomery: In Paris
If you’ve never been convinced of the man from Indiana’s greatness on guit, he’s on fiya on this typically stellar Resonance dig, the best such rekkid so far in ’18.
Die Like a Dog Quartet: fragments of music, life, and death of Albert Ayler
Worthy of the named master without being too reverent–also, featuring surprisingly subtle Brotzmann fury, and surprisingly irreverent electronics and brass from Toshinori Kondo, who almost steals the thing.
Bettye LaVette: Things Have Changed
Perhaps I am repeating myself, but this sucker’s a AOTY contender, and ten listens have elevated it in my esteem from flawed but ambitious diamond to a deep masterpiece–never count a soul queen out!
I’ve been a Dylan freak since I was 15, and I’ll die one. I’m probably going too far here, but without him the best things in my adult life (teaching, the woman I chose for my wife, this life-long quest for knowledge) would never have materialized. I know I’d have been less happy in my alternate lives. The guy aggravates the crap out of me as well–I’m convinced that he’s the least annoying naked emperor around–but that’s just because he’s taught me not to accept bullshit. I bring this up because today I was finally able to dive a little more deeply into unsung reedman Michael Moore’s three successful attempts to prove Dylan’s music has modern jazz applications, one of which I’ve owned in a digital version for awhile, but all of which I just bought from separate Discogs vendors because I sense I may have few chances later. See, I told you I was a freak: Dylan? Jazz? YEAH! What Moore, bassist Lindsay Horner, and percussionist Michael Vatcher do is gamely improvise structures around snatches of melodies from the likes of “Dear Landlord,” “Highway 61 Revisited,” “Blind Willie McTell,” and “Boots of Spanish Leather,” then pretty consistently replicate the mood suggested by the songs’ lyrics when they cut loose within the structures. Moore, on clarinets, saxes, and bells, is the main soloist, evoking klezmer, British Isles folk, Arabia, and the blues. The commitment of the musicians to the concept pays off over and over again, and even when they don’t quite hit the mark, they sound like they’re making a gauzy B+ ECM record–no shame in that. Most important, they honor Dylan’s achievement and even make a case for extending it–when’s the last time you heard anyone raving about the man’s melodies, or nominating him for a spot in jazz’s standard repertoire?
Of the three the first, 2000’s The Music of Bob Dylan, is the best, taking the most chances with song selection (even covering a Dylan cover) and varying the attack more frequently. The third, Ships with Tattooed Sails (2003), with outstanding guest work by guitarist Bill Frissell, is next, and Floater, also from 2000, a bit too often lives up to its name but is still strong. For those of you who are free jazz shy, first, note my mention of structure above, and second, the songs’ duration seldom extend beyond five minutes–this unit’s focused beyond the standard. Also, Dylanophiles can amuse themselves by listening without the track list and trying to identify the songs; it’s not hard, but it’s not always easy–and it’s rewarding. The trio takes the original material and makes something new, and moving, out of it.
A sample:
You can also listen to the entirety of the group’s first record:
Speaking of making something new out of Dylanology, Nicole and I thrilled to these great new live performances by Bettye LaVette of songs from her new album of Bob interps, Things Have Changed:
We spent much of this week on vacation–our prime time for listening together, which is a whole different thing that I very much love. As such, much of this playlist is music that is also played at home on a very frequent basis. Dominant: meditative Ethiopian pianistics and roots reggae from the golden age.
This week’s Living to Listen Awards:
Plucked from History’s Dustbin (best recent purchase of an old record): Jewels and Binoculars’ unthinkably great Dylan-goes-modern jazz trilogy, Floater, Ships with Tattooed Sails, and The Music of Bob Dylan. Now, I need to find time to listen to the two I don’t know that well up close.
Grower, Not a Shower (old record I already owned that’s risen in my esteem): Phineas Newborn’s Fabulous Phineas, with Brother Calvin on point. Modern jazz, Memphis-style.
Encore, Encore!(album I played at least twice this week): The aptly-titled The Power of The Trinity–Great Moments in Reggae Harmony. I played it three times–I bet you can’t play it just once.
Through the Cracks (sweet record I forgot to write about): Neil Young’s Time Fades Away.
Sunday’s Children / Today’s Sounds: Believe it or not, I haven’t listened to anything but the last of half of Serengeti’s Dennehy. I promise I’ll get it in gear.
I’ve spent the afternoon luxuriating in the music of two brothers from Whiteville, Tennessee (and always associated with Memphis), pianist Phineas (pronounced FINE-us by his family but eventurally FIN-ee-us by the artist) Newborn Jr. and guitarist Calvin Newborn. The elder brother’s command, invention, precision, and speed on the 88s was such that critics still battle, as they’ve done with other keyboardists, over whether he was a purveyor of mere (mere?) technical facility or an artist of abiding soulfulness–the latter requiring a treacherous, possibly arrogant and presumptuous leap for the listener to make. As much as I’ve listened to music, I’m not at all convinced that I listener can accurately gauge “soul”; I mean, I can say for certain how it makes me feel, but if soulfulness exists in the musician as he plays, how would I ever know, and precisely what aspects of the recorded evidence indicates whether it did or not–and why do they? As for the younger Newborn, one has to dig a little to hear him in his exuberant youth, then in his prime, as he was usually an accompanist, and versatile and flexible enough to thrive in any setting, especially (maybe) when he was asked to play a discreet musical role. Only some thirty years after the advent of his recording career did he become a solo artist, and by then his best work may well have been past him. Suffice it all to say that he was one of jazz’s most underrated guitarists of the ’50s and ’60s.
You can think about both questions–of Phineas’ soulfulness and Calvin’s unjust obscurity–on the records I listened to today, combined on one CD by Jazz Beat Records: 1956’s Here is Phineas–The Piano Artistry of Phineas Newborn, on Atlantic, and 1958’s Fabulous Phineas, on RCA. The brothers play together on both releases (more so on the later) and furnish plenty of evidence to support my claims that the feeling, knowledge, and ideas behind Phineas’ playing = soulfulness, and that Calvin, coming out of Memphis blues and southwest jazz, was a force to be compared with the likes of Pee Wee Crayton and even (lightly, hoss) Wes Montgomery–particularly in his ability, honed through sibling battles and the oversight of their drummer father, to stick with Phineas even at his fleetest and highest.
As a bonus, enjoy the masterly rhythm sections on both, the Atlantic session featuring Kenny “Klook” Clarke and Oscar Pettiford, the RCA Denzil Best and the Newborns’ childhood friend and long-time musical cohort, George Joyner (each pairing, drums and bass, respectively).
Short-shrift Division:
I mentioned this a few pieces back, but if you love the above, you’ll want to try this very, very, very unsung set from the same basic period, as it features a mess of smokin’ Memphis players, most of him are from the Newborns’ cohort.
Up for some very entertaining and enlightening music lit you’ll have to search, then pay for?
I suggest this. (Price range on three used copies currently for sale on Amazon: $125-150–I didn’t pay half that much, so you might set your bobber out on the pond, if you know what I mean.)
‘xcuse me while I plagiarize my Goodreads review:
This hard-to-find book is a classic of Memphis culture. Newborn and his brother Phineas Jr., both skilled multi-instrumentalists–the latter one of the greatest jazz pianists of the latter half of the 20th century–rise up through the Memphis’ rich musical soul, then ride a rollercoaster through regional and national tours, professional recording sessions, the Armed Forces, night life in New York and Los Angeles, and struggles with substance abuse.
Note: the book is not particularly professionally assembled. Misspellings and typos abound, a chapter number is skipped, three blank pages leave the reader in a state of mystery, the index is in alphabetical order by first letter ONLY, and the photo section is slopped together at the very end of the book. HOWEVER, it is also chock-full of great stories, the author’s mischievous wit, insights into mid-century African-American life in a very complicated city, charming candor, delightful idiosyncrasies of narrative…and the slopped-together photos are GREAT. I paid a pretty penny for a copy, and I do not regret it in the least (though I would like to know if EVERY copy has the blank pages).
Time for my end-of-the-month update of records that fly in the face of the commonly heard assumption/argument/untested hypothesis that all the good music’s already been made. Based solely on what I’ve heard–much, but I know ears that have taken in far more–this calendar year’s produced 85 records I’d give a B+ or better to (I’m a teacher–as much as I think grades are institutionalized violence), it’s what I’ve got. By the way, they are ranked in order of most powerful in their effects upon me to least–but even #76 reaches me.
It’s a damn great year, in particular, for creative, outspoken women (no surprise), improvising musicians, artists of color and guitar bands (how ’bout that?). And, as always, plenty of old digs are proving they still got game–including one of the very oldest, and very best.
You’ve got the power at your fingertips to stream any of these, so dig in; do what I made my students do, and just pick 5-10 you’ve never heard of and try two-three tracks from each. But do keep an open mind, and remember what millennium you’re traipsing around in.
Tracy Thorn: Record
Nona Hendryx and Gary Lucas: The World of Captain Beefheart
Berry: Everything, Compromised
CupcaKe: Ephorize
Mary Gauthier and Songwriting with Soldier: Rifles and Rosary Beads
Sons of Kemet: Your Queen is a Reptile
Janelle Monae: Dirty Computer
Bettye LaVette: Things Have Changed
Joe McPhee: Imaginary Numbers
Chloe x Halle: The Kids are Alright
Superchunk: What A Time to Be Alive
Young Fathers: Cocoa Sugar
Jinx Lennon: Grow a Pair
Parquet Courts: Wide Awake!
Sly & Robbie and Nils Petter Molvaer: Nordub
Orquesta Akokan: Orquesta Akokan
Sidi Toure: Toubalbero
Quelle Chris & Jean Grae: Everything’s Fine
Grupo Mono Blanco: ¡Fandango! Sones Jarochos from Veracruz
John Prine: The Tree of Forgiveness
Evan Parker, Barry Guy, and Paul Lytton: Music for David Mossman
Jonghyun: Poet / Artist
Halu Mergia: Lalu Balu
Jeffrey Lewis: Works by Tuli Kupferberg
Willie Nelson: Last Man Standing
Bombino: Deran
Idris Ackamoor & The Pyramids: An Angel Fell
Rapsody: Laila’s Wisdom
Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel
Peter Brotzmann and Fred Lonberg-Holm: Ouroboros
Toni Braxton: Sex & Cigarettes
Car Seat Headrest: Twin Fantasy
Salim Washington: Dogon Revisited
Angelika Niescier: The Berlin Concert
Charge It to The Game: House with a Pool
JPEGMAFIA: Veteran
Various Artists: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun…and Rights!!!
Wussy: What Heaven is Like
No Age: Snares Like a Haircut
Marc Sinan & Oğuz Büyükberber: White
Meshell Ndegeocello: Ventriloquism
Cardi B: Invasion of Privacy
Shopping: The Official Body
The Thing: Again
Ebo Taylor: Yen Ara
Alice Bag: Blue Print
Dana Murray: Negro Manifesto
David Murray (featuring Saul Williams): Blues for Memo
Pusha T: Daytona
Shame: Songs of Praise
Henry Threadgill: Dirt..and More Dirt
Hot Snakes: Jericho Sirens
Ceramic Dog: YRU Still Here?
Van Morrison & Joey DeFrancesco: You’re Driving Me Crazy
Various Artists/Sahel Sounds: Field Recordings
Kendrick Lamar, et al: Black Panther—Music from and Inspired by the Film
MC Paul Barman: Echo Chamber
Kris Davis and Craig Taborn: Octopus
Tal National: Tantabara
Rodrigo Amado (with Joe McPhee): History of Nothing
Rich Krueger: Life Ain’t That Long
MAST: Thelonious Sphere Monk
Tallawit Timbouctou: Takamba WhatsApp 2018
Amy Rigby: The Old Guys
Migos: Culture II
Parliament: Medicaid Fraud Dogg
Apolo: Live in Stockholm
Yo La Tengo: There’s a Riot Goin’ On
The Del McCoury Band: Del McCoury Still Sings Bluegrass
Superorganism: Superorganism
Laurie Anderson and Kronos Quartet: Landfall
Sleep: The Sciences
Ibibio Sound Machine: Eyio
Various Artists: I Only Listen to The Mountain Goats
Afternoon Freak: The Blind Strut
Princess Nokia: A Girl Cried Red
OLD MUSIC NICELY REPACKAGED
Sonny Rollins: Way Out West (Deluxe Reissue)
Neil Young: Roxy—Tonight’s the Night
Gary Stewart: “Baby I Need Your Loving” / “Yester-Me, Yester-You, Yester-Day”
The Revelators: In which the Revelators perform live renditions of selections from the Billy Childish songbook
Against All Logic: 2012-2017
Entourage: Ceremony of Dreams—Studio Sessions & Outtakes 1972-1977
Camarao: The Imaginary Soundtrack to a Brazilian Western Movie
Various Artists: Africa Scream Contest, Volume 2
Wussy: Getting Better
Short-shrift Division:
Nicole and sailed home from our vacation on the vibraphone mastery of the great Milt Jackson. I put five albums together on a playlist, but these two made leaving Excelsior Springs a shade less painless:
Little to say other than, to my ear, we chose well today when needing some music behind our morning reading, our multiple hands of Canasta, and our lollygagging around during our final vacation day at the historic (and inexpensive) Elms Hotel.
Morning: I told Nicole she could pick any great album ever released and I could probably find it and stream it from my phone. Her response?
“Too much pressure! You always do this to me when I’m trying to practice my Spanish!”
“Yeah, but you always wanna be asked before I play something!”
“Dammit, you’re right–something Colombian, then–”
Afternoon: we decided to resume our Canastathon. I had briefly assumed a lead, but, partially due to my enthusiasm for playing wild cards and her tendency to hold them back, she has dominated throughout. This time, she had an immediate answer when I made a soundtrack request:
I piggybacked on that with this:
Evening: after some swimming and poolside lounging and reading, we returned to the room for a maple syrup Old Fashioned (her) and a Main Root ginger beer and bourbon (me), and four hands of Canasta. Nicole’s defenses were weakened so I took matters into my own hands with possibly the greatest record of all-time, and two reasonable follow-ups:
Unfortunately, the above didn’t help my luck (I’m 2000 points down), but they certainly established a mood.
I thought I was gonna take a few days off, as we are ensconced at the above OG resort hotel, and yesterday’s post wasn’t shit other than celebrating a scary narcissistic value-free asshole’s political meltdown–here’s the moment I learned Missouri’s “governor” resigned:
But turns out you can’t stop the music. Imagine that! We’ve had a wonderful morning playing Canasta (learn it, if you knows what’s good for ya) and being centered by a) an Ethiopian nun who’s piano playing searches into the most uncertain corners of your being…
…and a long-gone pianistic genius from Memphis who played splintered shards of light and rapid-fire sparks of rhythm:
Also, in the early morning hours (we party late and rise early), I ate up brother Calvin Newborn’s hard-to-find memoir of growing up Memphis and living with and observing Brother Phineas. Seek it out if you wanna be electrofied by a mid-20th century account of being black and mid-South.
Short-shrift Division:
We also listened to a dude named Charlie Parker (35 minutes away from the city where he caught fire) while Nicole dealt caliente upon me as we played cards (3180 – 2650).
I’m takin’ a vacation ’til Saturday. Right now I’m sitting in an historic hotel, with my lady and a glass of Four Roses, celebrating the fall of a state politician who redefined the word “creep”–and that doesn’t even count the BDSM.
Rock on, readers! We’ll see if I can be dormant for the rest of the week!
Update: We did listen to music during our travels and after our arrival. A trip to Brazil to revisit one of the greatest post-Tropicalia ever waxed–play it if you don’t believe me:
And a couple trips to Addis Ababa to sip at the deep, dark, and spiritually refreshing well of Ethiopian jazz:
For the past three days, I’ve had my nose in Neil Young’s 2013 memoir/journal/autobiography. I wish I’d read it when it emerged, but when you read backwards and forwards like I do, you have to leave some stuff on the shelf. On Saturday and Sunday, I repeat-played Neil’s still-classic first-decade sum-up Decade as a soundtrack (no wonder the studio version of “Like a Hurricane” sounds a little stiff and shaky–it’s the goddam run-through!). Today, I created an Apple Music playlist called Decades–First Extension, which picks up some goodies the original comp missed and moves Young’s musical story into the mid-Nineties. It was Memorial Day, and though I created it without the intention, the playlist made me think about it plenty: “Shots,” “Powderfinger,” “Cortez the Killer,” “Captain Kennedy”–those are just a few. Also, the playlist spans several hours, during no second of which was I bored (I was reading, too, of course, but I would have skipped a track). As as he testifies repeatedly in Waging Heavy Peace, Neil’s never needed a push to try new things (musical or otherwise), and though his patented wailing stomp-rock and his strangely otherworldly acoustic meditations will always ring my bell, his experiments from “Broken Arrow” to “Transformer Man” keep my attention as well–maybe it’s his way with the ol’ hummables.
So that’s the listening–what about the book? Should you read it? I’m “reviewing” it five years, several albums, and a third divorce later, but if you’re interested, three things:
1) It takes awhile to shake loose. I was kind of annoyed across the first 100 pages at his rich-guy tendency to talk on and on and on about all his stuff. The dude’s happily acquisitive, and he says straight-out that he loves capitalism, but that shit’s boring as hell to me. Fortunately, though, the book recovers.
2) How does it recover? Through Young’s committed, droll, and reflective treatment of some engaging other themes: loyalty, family, resiliency (the health issues!), technology, hedonism, the creative process, individualism, and–no surprise, but voiced in some surprising ways–primitivism. I must confess to have wanted to skim the sections on Lincvolt (electric cars), PureTone/Pono (audio files), and his film adventures, but one can’t help but admire his enthusiastic inventiveness and restless mind. Plus, he seldom lingers long on those topics (he circles back intermittently) and his self-effacement is redeeming.
3) Structurally, Young goes where he wants, when he wants to. Can you imagine that? How very Neil of him! Not only does he jump with little transition from topic to topic, from theme to theme, from musical phase to musical phase, from life event to life event, he doesn’t arrange those spheres chronologically. But it doesn’t matter. As I’ve said, he keeps chapters brief, and his matter-of-factness helps the reader stay organized. But ignore what I said; the late great David Carr wrote of it that it’s “a journal of self-appraisal,” and that it is. The form and style, I think, are also an expression of Young’s attraction to a unique primitive aesthetic, and it works for me here as a reader as “Cinnamon Girl” works for me as a listener.
Check it out.
Short-shrift Division:
Serengeti: Dennehy–The sui generis Chicago rapper’s now-decade-old record really holds up. And it’s not just the halo effect provided by this timeless classic:
Living To Listen 