A trio of Saintsfan Lovers of the Blues (or da' S~L~O~B) from Louisiana, Alabama and a trailer park somewhere in Texas.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
One Track Mind: Death Cab for Cutie, "Summer Skin" (2005)
NICK DERISO: A remarkably complex song, full of very adult emotion and haunting insight, from a band with such a frankly ridiculous name. "Summer Skin," in fact, might just be all the more powerful for the lowered expectations that come from a group actually called Death Cab for Cutie.
I don't care if they were a staple on the soundtrack to popular teen drama "The O.C." I hate the name.
But, with just that much conviction, I love this tune. (This has happened before.)
The narrative begins as a series of summertime's childhood delights are recalled through Ben Gibbard's delicately constructed lyrics. But from those stimulating, if safe, environs -- peeling sunburns, squeaky swings, tall grass and friendship -- grows a complex realization about the passage of time, and the changing of hearts over that time.
I don't recall a single care, Gibbard sings in a fragile, almost elliptical falsetto
Just greenery and humid air Then Labor day came and went And we shed what was left of our summer skin
There is, by the track's end, a sweetly recalled childhood memory, one of timeless innocence, but also a mature melancholy. This is a story told from the vista of adulthood. "Summer Skin" is keenly aware that seasons change. It's a song about youth, but really it's all about growing up.
I was surprised, when reading a review of DCFC's new release -- "Narrow Stairs," which debuted this week on the top of the album charts behind the powerful eight-and-a-half-minute single "I Will Possess Your Heart" -- that it has already been three years since I first heard "Summer Skin."
It still packs a dense wallop. The melodic yet staccato sound bed works as another counterpoint -- and a still deeper dimension: This little-drummer-boy beat propels "Summer Skin," but a sinewy bass line and elegiac piano signature actually accomplish the more emotional punctuation.
That provides conflict to match the subject -- and is in keeping with the style of, say, the best Lennon/McCartney collaborations. Later, I decided that its tone is more in keeping with 1970s-era Elton John.
Over time, "Summer Skin," meaningful and idiosyncratic, just continues to find new ways to illuminate.
Ken Burns' epic PBS documentary on jazz spent nearly all its time on the history up to 1960 and little afterwards. The implication was that jazz stopped becoming revolutionary and more evolutionary after Ornette Coleman ushered in the "new thing" at the beginning of the sixties. Thus, there was little time spent on notable jazz musicians of today. One of the few who got the spotlight, however, was James Carter.
As someone who is proficient in a wide variety of saxophones and other wind instruments while possessing a tone that is distinctive but derivative of the past, Carter earned all those accolades heaped on him. There are few artists out there who can expertly bring a fresh take on trad jazz, and the vocabulary he brings to nearly every song he plays is wider than the wingspan of Howard Hughes' Spruce Goose. It's the product of his voracious appetite for soaking in vintage jazz records during his childhood.
When you hear Carter play the saxophone, it's pretty unmistakable that it's him: he's got the soul of Lester Young, the grit of Eddie Harris and the technical proficiency of John Coltrane. He sounds like someone from a couple of generations earlier than his time, yet he would have been considered a revolutionary had he existed and played like that back then. That's because musically, he exists in no particular era; he pushes ahead to avant garde while glancing back at the old masters for driving directions.
Throughout Carter's recording career, many facets of his influences and styles have been revealed, tackling classic tunes on Jurassic Classics, organ jazz on In Carterian Fashion to free funk in Layin' In The Cut. Since most of his records center on a theme of some sort, one had to listen to much of his discography to get a good grasp of what he's capable of. While Carter's first record as a leader came out way back in 1993 (JC on the Set), the release of Present Tense this past Tuesday finally provides the proper introduction to his music.
Encouraged by the well-regarded producer Michael Cuscuna, Carter used the occasion of his inaugural Verve release to place a heaping cross-section of his many facets within a small combo format on one disc. While it might lack in the coherency of a typical Carter album, it more than makes up by the breathtaking mastery of styles on display in a single collection.
The wide array of styles shown here is helped along by also playing a wide array of instruments. On Present Tense, Carter at various times hauls out a soprano, tenor and bartione sax. He also throws in flute and bass clarinet. Think of a Rahsaan Roland Kirk record being played one instrument at a time.
For the first track "Rapid Shave," Carter chose a lightly covered hot bop tune Stanley Turrentine did with his wife, organist Shirley Scott. D.D. Jackson is trouncing on his piano like as if he's inhibited by the ghost of Don Pullen. Carter himself replaces Turrentine's tenor with a righteous baritone.
It's only fitting that Carter employs a bass clarinet to salute Eric Dolphy, as he does on his own "Bro. Dolphy," which straddles the thin line between atonal and harmonious just the way the late legend would have done it.
"Pour Que Ma Vie Demeure" is another lesser-known tune from a better known name; this time, from French guitar giant Django Reinhardt (who never recorded it himself). For this sweetly romantic tune, Carter plays an equally romantic but sassy soprano sax. Carter switches back to tenor for his original gentle Cuban-flavored bossa nova "Sussa Nita", sounding as emphatic as mid-period Gato Barbieri and getting some good support from guitarist Rodney Jones.
Carter undertakes an unusual treatment for "Song Of Delilah," setting it to a hip-hop groove and dubbing over his sax in spots. Dwight Adams is still given ample room to shine on his trumpet.
James picks up the flute for Dodo Marmarosa's "Dodo's Bounce" and coupled with Adams' muted horn, makes for a lightly nimble rendition. "Shadowy Sands," written by Jimmy Jones, is inspired by Duke Ellington's use of it to highlight Harry Carney's bass clarinet skills. Carter borrowed that idea to highlight his own graceful bass clarinet playing.
Gigi Gryce's classic "Hymn Of The Orient" is played kinetically at double time with Carter's baritone leading the charge. Carter turns to another bossa, his own "JC Bossa," before wrapping it up with an elegant depiction of "Tenderly."
When another documentary on the history of jazz is done fifty years from now, a few of the names Ken Burns glossed over toward the end might get more prominent coverage then. I'd bet that James Carter will be one of those guys. With Present Tense, his legacy continues to grow.
NICK DERISO: As Mac Rebbenack, aka Dr. John the Night Tripper, says: He's done "whatever I had to do to get the job did."
Over the years, this amounts to a list of jobs including, but not limited to, snot-nosed duck-tailed rocker, record producer, songwriter, way-out psychedelic pop star, reliable recording-session sideman and, at this point, a comfortable late-career existence of laurel-riding as a jazz and soul pioneer.
Rhino's two-disc retrospective, like Dr. John's recorded output itself through the early 1990s, seemed to point to a career and creative retrenchment. (The good news is, he pulled out of that -- but that's a Rebennack blog for another day.)
"Mos' Scocious" moves from tough, late-1950s rock 'n' roll -- when Mac was writing and playing in a group called, no lie, Ronnie and the Delinquents -- to the tripped-out bliss of 1968's "Gris Gris" recording, with all its Mardi Gras mambo beats and dim, sweaty melodies.
Next comes the hip pop successes of 1973's "In the Right Place" (embedded below) and the solo joys of "Dr. John Plays Mac Rebbenack," where he takes a curious, yet very rewarding step backward -- covering his hero Professor Longhair, for instance -- during an odd period when he wasn't signed to any major label.
Finally, there are the smooth, if not exactly adventurous, jazz stylings of "In a Sentimental Mood," the 1989 Warner Bros. release.
Mac got his start in music as an A&R man for the Ace label in New Orleans. This entailed quite a bit of standing around at recording sessions, and even a little bit of sitting in for players who didn't show.
By he time he was in his 20s, Rebbenack had played with all the local greats -- Huey Smith (whose work Dr. John paid tribute to on a 1972 single that shows up on Disc 2), sax man Alvin "Red" Tyler and the brilliant Earl King (whose "Let's Make a Better World," included here, was recorded by Mac in 1974.) He also took cues from hometown geniuses like arranger Allen Toussaint,who would later work closely with Dr. John in the early 1970s.
And, like Fat Tuesday throws in a big plastic cup, Rebennack let all of his childhood influences mix and mingle.
Dr. John does the best job on "Mos' Scocious," to my ear, with the solo stuff and those recordings from his voodoo period, songs in which he thrillingly blends rock, funk, Dixieland and Jelly Roll's Spanish tinges. As stately as those late-80s big-band recordings no doubt are, they somehow lack the danger and passion of his earlier work.
James Hunter, with Allen Toussaint, "The Hard Way" (2008)
Photo credit: Chris Ramirez
NICK DERISO: Rock Roll Hall of Famer Allen Toussaint brought me to James Hunter's "The Hard Way," produced by Liam Watson of the White Stripes and set for June 10 release on Hear Music.
But Hunter -- a remarkably soulful presence in the style of Jackie Wilson, Van Morrison, Ray Charles and (primarily) Sam Cooke -- kept me glued in front of the speakers.
He's refreshingly retro, not in the sense of simply recalling the familiar but of taking those expectations to a new place.
Tightly edited solos, both on guitar and organ, and bright blasting horn arrangements illustrate a command of the depth and nuance found in many pre-rock chart toppers. Yet each song, rather than falling back on tried-and-true hits from the past, is instead an original composition.
That makes "The Hard Way," cut at London's Toe Rag Studios (where the White Stripes recorded "Elephant"), a signature breakthrough for an emerging British artist who first made waves as a sideman with Morrison and then as a leader in 2006 with the Grammy-nominated "People Gonna Talk."
In many ways, despite their disparity in age, Hunter has much in common with Toussaint -- another guy who spent decades working to become an overnight success. (Thus the title of this record.) Toussaint flew overseas only to find a performer in keeping with the ones he grew up around in Louisiana, making music live to capture its true nature.
Toussaint sits in at the piano and provides harmony vocals on the title track, sparks the rumba "Believe Me Baby," then switches to electric piano on the groovy "'Til The End."
The two first met in 2006 at the Americana Music Association Awards, where Hunter appeared as a performer and nominee in the "New/Emerging Artist" category. Then, at the Grammys in 2007, Hunter and Toussaint reconnected -- leaving with a promise to work together.
Along the way, Hunter has opened for Etta James, Boz Scaggs, Los Lonely Boys, and Aretha Franklin, while reaching No. 1 on Billboard's Blues chart. Even so, the Toussaint connection might just be his most sympathetic. After all, Hunter says: "He wrote every song I like."
Listen closely, and you hear a similar facility for settling into the groove -- for luxuriating in the natural ebb and flow of this music. That's all the more impressive when you consider that Hunter was once known for a straight-ahead blues-based feel.
Hunter still retains his occasionally frenetic fretwork (something that strongly recalls the under-recognized stylings of Ike Turner), yet is brave enough to conclude with the delicate "Strange But True," a first for Hunter with just vocals and guitar.
It shows how far he has come in polishing his work into an effortless-sounding and essentially timeless reinterpretation of the R&B aesthetic. Strange, but still true, Hunter is a genuine throwback with little of the kitsch typically associated with such things.
His path may indeed have been hard, but Hunter has learned to smooth the edges along the way. That makes loving this one easy.
Derrick Gardner And The Jazz Prophets - A Ride To The Other Side (2008)
by Pico
The title A Ride To The Other Side isn't intended to mean anything deep, but nevertheless the music is a thrill ride to the side of that soulful funky acoustic jazz of the sixties. Trumpet player Derrick Gardner is firmly behind the wheel driving that bus.
Derrick Gardner, the forty-two year-old son of accomplished musicians with PhD's, earned his stripes playing in ensembles such as the Count Basie Orchestra, Frank Foster's Loud Minority Band and Harry Connick Jr.'s Big Band. For the last seventeen years, Gardner has led a band of his own, a septet he christened The Jazz Prophets.
While the piano, bass and drum chairs have changed over the years, the trumpet-sax-trombone horn section has always respectively consisted of Gardner, Rob Dixon, and Derrick's brother Vincent. Nowadays, Anthony Wonsey mans the piano, Rodney Whitaker holds down the bass and Donald Edwards handles the drums (Kevin Kaiser helps out on percussion when needed).
Despite The Jazz Prophets being such a long-running going concern, they didn't record an album until 2005's Slim Goodie. A mere three years later comes their second effort, A Ride To The Other Side, from the nascent Owl Studios label.
From the first listen, though, it sounds more like the Blue Note label---and I mean the old Blue Note label--- where even on an average day, hot blowing, memorable jazz was being laid to wax with regularity. Gardner and his crew bring that spirit alive again on A Ride To The Other Side. With nine out of ten tracks composed by band members and no standards at all, the album sounds fresh even as it hewns closely to tradition. It's roughly akin to a long lost Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers record being discovered in Blue Note's vaults; one recorded with the classic Shorter/Fuller/Hubbard lineup. Horace Silver and Cannonball Adderley also figure in prominently in their funky, no-nonsense sound.
With every tune possessing a unique character and striking a perfect balance between groove and gritty technique, it's nearly everything you can ask for. Having not forgotten his stint in Basie's Orchestra (or Connick's) Gardner and his Jazz Prophets swing and swing hard.
These guys don't let up on their mission from beginning to end, and each song has something worth highlighting, but three tunes provides a good sampling of the Prophets' deep bag of tricks:
The opener "Funky Straight" delivers their own jazz message with a high-tempo, Latin-tinged groover. The Gardner composition is tightly constructed with a nice hook or two and after the horn section play through them effortlessly, each of the blowers takes turns soloing. Gardner goes first and while his big, fat tone combines elements of Clifford Brown and Freddie Hubbard, he has an intelligence in the way he picks and smears his notes that's all his own. His brother Vincent picks up where he left off and also improvises well. Dixon follows nicely and Wonsey wraps it up with a sizzler of a solo.
Gardner's "Mac Daddy Grip" is a classic Blakey strut and as the longest tune, stretches out the most. The improvising is punctuated with riffs from other bandmembers, including a clever "Love Supreme" quote snuck in for the unsuspecting.
"God's Gift," a Dixon tribute to his daughter Sidney, is soulful, introspective, and played with much feel. Paced by seven-note bass line, the composer plays around it effectively using blues notes that convey a somber, wistful mood. The other horn players follow suit with equally affecting solos, ending with Wonsey's well-paced runs and ruminations.
As a full-time professor of jazz trumpet at Michigan State University (where Whitaker runs the entire Jazz Studies program), Derrick Gardner packed at least a whole semester within a single disc. Jazz was always meant to be vibrant and fun to listen to. Sometimes we need guys like Derrick Gardner to remind us of that.
One Track Mind: John Lennon, "I Don't Wanna Face It" (1984)
NICK DERISO: A still-resonant tune with biting introspection, John Lennon's "I Don't Wanna Face It" begins with the smeared sound of a tape machine engaging -- this powerful reminder that "Milk and Honey" includes the incomplete, posthumous recordings a murdered genius.
Even so, you'll find that all of the parts are still there, though they are scattered about, in this half-chiseled monument to creative rebirth for Lennon: He works in antithesis, throws away a bit of ageless wisdom, acts a little silly. All inside of "I Don't Wanna Face It."
Most remember the posthumous hit single "Nobody Told Me" from the same record -- with its familiar, call-and-response "there's always something happening, but nothing going on ... everybody's smoking but no one's getting high." No surprise, really, that a song that so strongly recalled the sharp wit and word-play whimsy of Lennon's late Beatles period shot into the Top 20. But it wasn't the best tune, to me, on "Milk and Honey."
From the first, "I Don't Wanna Face It," is prototypical Lennon, beginning with an intro that is this dazzling absurdity, Lennon at his wackadoo best: He counts off, in made-up gibberish melding Old World-sounding language with a drunken Lewis Carroll: "Un, deux, eins-zwei-hickel-pickel!"
There follows a grinding guitar and, despite that jokey turn to start, ample evidence that Lennon's illuminatingly personal lyricism was still in tact, despite five years away as a househusband: "You're looking for some peace and love, a leader of a big old band; you want to save humanity, but it's people that you just can't stand."
That very disassociative, brutally honest, toss-off attitude -- found in "Milk and Honey" in general, and "I Don't Wanna Face It" in particular -- has ultimately made it more memorably in keeping with Lennon's uneven solo career, to me, than did the sometimes too-slick "Double Fantasy" from four years before.
Lennon always had the ability to raise our sights, while frustrating our desires -- and his time away from the Beatles was poorer selling for it. He was brilliantly incisive ("Plastic Ono Band") and sometimes too stringent ("Sometime in New York City"), bravely utopian ("Imagine") and recklessly self-indulgent ("Walls and Bridges") and, it's no surprise, the last of the Fabs to score a No. 1 hit.
Even here, the song's ending is transitional, and probably needed one more take. That works, too, in its way: This is another searing reminder of the fate that lay just around the corner for Lennon on a New York City street.
In the meantime, he rocked a little. We're richer for this moment, only half varnished, unrepentant and very real. I really don't think Lennon, who once put out a series of albums called "Unfinished Music," would have had it any other way.
NICK DERISO: To put it bluntly, you need to get hip to Linkchain -- a player/singer gone too soon, but not before leaving one final blast of brilliance.
"Airbusters," which included his final recordings, jumped off with a rocking barrelhouse number. (Of course, it did: That was 'Barrelhouse Chuck' on piano!) It was just the beginning, though, of a stomp-down good time. The groove on this one was so deep you could have lost a Cadillac in it -- even while Hip Linkchain proved to be as serious as he was fun loving.
Make a beeline, then, to "I Had A Dream," with its hilarious vocal turns and perfectly graduated guitar solo. Meanwhile, you've got serious compositions like Muddy Waters' "Blow Wind Blow" and B.B. King's "Gambler's Blues," but also an unforgettable track called "Take Out Your False Teeth."
Linkchain could work this bipolar boogie because he played it like he lived it: One part big-city Chicago, and another part lower Delta, where Linkchain initially moved at age nine before his family headed north. There, Linkchain went on to play with more established figures like Little Walter, Lester Davenport, Junior Wells, Jimmy Rogers, Magic Sam (a key influence) and Willie Foster beginning in the late 1950s, and then led a group called the Chicago Twisters that included on vocals a young Tyrone Davis, later a staple on the blues chitlin circuit.
Linkchain's recording career, unfortunately, was sporadic -- though he managed hits with the single "Millionaire Blues" (featuring Eddie Taylor) on the Lola label and the album "Change My Blues" in 1981. That, in turn, also adds additional weight to the moments found on "Airbusters," because Linkchain (birth name: Willie Richard) died too soon, the victim of cancer.
This record, originally made for the Dutch Black Magic label, shows just how important he could have been, though.
One Track Mind: Walter Becker "Door Number Two" (2008)
Photo: Danny Clinch
by Pico
Sometimes, it actually pays to sign up for e-mail distribution lists. A couple of years ago I did just that for Walter Becker's website so I could get updates on the progress of his upcoming solo project. The other day I get an e-mail informing me that this long-awaited album, to be called Circus Money, was about to unleash. Best of all, a link was provided to pre-order the CD to ship five days before the official release date, along with an immediate free download mp3 of a track from said CD. Such a deal.
Walter Becker, as some may not know, is the "silent" guy of the Steely Dan duo. He's actually much more than that, but for time being, this is what we'll run with. When I get my hands on the disc a few weeks from now, there will be a full review forthcoming and I'll fill you all in on the details about this man of music then for those who weren't apprised.
However, I've got one song, "Door Number Two," in my possession right now. I've got first impressions and this here blog as a pulpit. Might as well tell everyone what I think about it at this moment.
So how is it?
Ehhh.....
To be sure, it's got all the classic Steely Dan touchstones on it: a sultry, four-strong female vocal chorus handling the refrain; a snarky view at society's moral excesses (in this instance, our gambling addiction); jazzy chord progressions; and most importantly, studio preciseness. Those things, plus Chris Potter's sax on the instrumental break and a tight, reggae groove save this from being a bad song. To make a bad song, Becker would really have to be trying, but then again, I'm a little biased when it comes to Steely Dan.
On the other hand, my biases still can't shield me from realizing that this is a mediocre song.
The lyrics are ok but just not up to Becker's usual standard of deftly employing obscure literary references and subtle, crafty quips. Maybe sharing the songwriting duties with Larry Klein had something to do with that. The production, provided by Klein---the same genius who did wonders on Herbie Hancock's The Joni Letters last year---didn't give this track enough heft. Angular arrangements are usually wonderful, but this just sounds too light.
That's not a major gripe, though; it's Becker's vocals that's the biggest downfall. It took a while, but I grew fond of the weary, carefree lead vocal of 1994's 11 Tracks Of Whack. Klein sanitized his voice to the point where it sounds like a thinner version of Becker's erstwhile partner Donald Fagen (and Fagen's singing is thin to begin with). And then as if to try to hide it, Walt's vocal is buried in the mix. I'd just soon not hear any vocal than one requiring me to strain to hear it.
I'm still hopeful that I'll have good news to report for the entire album; some Becker/Steely Dan songs take a while to sink in and another track, "Somebody's Saturday Night," sounded much better when I heard the stream that came with Becker's Rollingstone.com interview.
Like the wry observations made in "Door Number Two," I'm betting (wishing?) that the rest of Circus Money comes up three bars. Stay tuned...
When Julian Lennon unfurled his debut Valotte back in 1984 about four years following his father's untimely death, it gave John Lennon fans hope that the offspring could pick up where his Dad left off. We know now that the expectations were unrealistic and try as he might on later releases, Jules just couldn't make a go at putting down his own imprint on rock.
Today, we have another story set up in a similar way: one of rock's most keen observers and sharply witty composers and singers leaves us long before we were ready, and about four years later, his son launches his own solo recording career. But Jordan Zevon has a distinct advantage: he was never under the glaring spotlight and the pressure that came with it to live up to his bloodline that Julian Lennon endured.
That blessing might also be a curse. Insides Out has been out since April 15, and it seemed to have slipped under the radar. That's a damned shame. This is a solid record from beginning to end, and not in the way you might think it is.
Jordan didn't really try at all to make a post-mortem Warren Zevon album; if anything, he made a pretty good disc of music normally associated with Julian's father's band: The Beatles. From the opening, "Taxman" riffs of "The Joke's On Me" to the "Hello Goodbye" purcussive piano of "Just Do That," Zevon is wearing his Beatles influences on his sleeve more often than not. Jordan's Andy Partridge styled vocals and clever lyrics sometimes makes it sound as though he's channeling the Beatles through an XTC filter, and the harder guitar edges combined with a bigger, New Wave beat sometimes recalls Elvis Costello. Other times, Goldfinger or ELO's Jeff Lynne comes to mind.
Hey, if you're gonna choose to sound like those who came before you, choose wisely and nail it. JZ's got it down good.
Make no mistake, though, Jordan Zevon is not running away from his famous father; he picked Warren's obscure downtrodden gem "Studebaker" for his one cover. "Studebaker" was never released in Warren's lifetime, but appears here as sung by Jordan as it did for the WZ tribute Enjoy Every Sandwich. Not only does he do the song justice, but reveals that away from all the multi-tracked vocals and bright, hook-laden melodies, there's a voice that sounds quite the chip off the old block.
The family way shows up here and there in the lyrics, too. A line like "there's a message in this bottle, and I'll drink until I find it" is vintage Excitable Boy. For "American Standard," Jordan dredges up the heavily cynical sarcasm of his forebear, although that's been more the exception rather than the rule here. The important thing is that none of these hand-me-down tactics ever seem forced; his father indisputably is part of who he is, but not the dominant part.
The tight arrangements and well-formed originals suggest that Jordan Zevon came to the studio well prepared. He took his time and crafted a smooth but not overly-slick pop-rock delight packed with hooks that seems to be hard to find in mainstream music today. Insides Out is not getting to attention that awaited Julian Lennon's first album, but Mr. Jordan's career might actually follow through on the promise shown here.
Let's get this out of the way first: "Do The Hate Laugh Shimmy" is a title that the artist took from an e.e.cummings poem. Don't ask me what it means (even the artist is not entirely sure), but it's sounds stylin' all the same.
The stylin' music contained in Do The Hate Laugh Shimmy is easier to pin down, but only slightly so. That's probably just fine with Pete Robbins, too.
The alto saxophonist Robbins seems to have carved out a niche bringing a rock intensity of his pre-jazz days to the intricacies of his current passion for the avant garde and bop. The result is music that's varied, inventive, progressive. The best part about it is, each time out brings a different mode of attack.
Even more impressively, Robbins' compositions each packs numerous ideas in the space of about six minutes or less. He gets it done mainly by forgoing extended solos, but the scores give his players plenty of room to breathe and create.
I've read the criticism about Robbins that his melodies are not that memorable, that his songs don't leave a clear impression. While his prior Waits And Measures was plenty respectable, there's a noticeable leap from that 2005 release to this one in Robbins' ability to work some hooks into his complex composing style.
That's apparent right from lead track "Fairmont," which has a very lyrical head to go with tense, sometimes dissonant solos. Meanwhile, the rhythm section of Craig Taborn (Rhodes), Thomas Morgan (acoustic bass) and Dan Weiss (drums) are rumbling beneath Robbins' and Sam Sadigurskys' (tenor sax) solos, sometimes slipping in odd time signatures. The entire song starts ambiently with Ben Monder's desolate guitar and builds up to maximum intensity, before fading away softly again on Taborn's sparsely played electric piano. "Fairmount" is just an example of how Robbins devises not one but several schemes at once within each song.
"The Hate Laugh Shimmy" starts and ends with a real cerebral statement made by the leader and guitarist Ryan Blotnick, made even more complex by Sadigursky simultaneously playing a different but equally complicated statement. Weiss' drum solo in the middle of the song appeals at the gut level, though.
"Anyway, And" is the only composition on here that reminds me of any other artist; Taborn's Fender Rhodes ruminations over Thomas Morgan's stand-up bass groove brings my mind back to Joe Zawinul and Dave Holland laying down a dark vibe for Miles in early 1969.
"Mid-September And The Five Week After" makes use of effects, loops and guitar to create spooky textures where the actual song itself doesn't enter until about a third of the way through. Here, soloing is dispensed in favor of an eerie, compelling groove.
The biggest surprise is saved for last. "Stiff Upper Lip" is hard-driving rock paced by Gamble's guitar, but Robbins' sax and Jesse Nueman's trumpet on a wah-wah pedal double up for a tricky bop line.
The remainder of the ten tracks has its share of surprises and unique nuances, too. I might listen to this record a hundred times and still pick up a tactic or change that I didn't detect before.
The music of Pete Robbins is dense, involved, and takes time to wrap your ears around. For those patient enough to get to the heart of these tunes, the rewards are great. Robbins' tangled tunes challenges his players to approach their playing outside of normal convention and when they respond to the challenge as these have done on Do The Hate Laugh Shimmy, it's music that defies description but is highly creative and occasionally breathtaking.
Robbins' nice little niche within jazz is one that anyone with an open mind toward music will eagerly lap up. Even if it's impossible to put a label on that niche.
Do The Hate Laugh Shimmy hit the streets this past April 29.
DaSlob Tribute: Country blues duo Po' Henry and Tookie
NICK DERISO: They grew up, practically, as neighbors. But strangers, all the same.
Tookie Collum was the youngest of the two -- a white kid, born in 1937 to a migrant oil field worker. Henry Dorsey was one of nine children, and would go on, in fact, to have nine of his own. Born in 1928, he was the child of sharecroppers.
Their lives, long before they became known as Henry and Tookie,were as different as the hue of their skin. Yet their stories were inextricably linked.
The lived in in the northeastern Louisiana town of Rayville for years, Tookie says, and never knew each other very well. Never knew, for instance, that they both had an interest in the Delta blues.
At the age of 10, Henry taught himself to play guitar. Only, it wasn't a guitar really. It was a piece of wire stretched from a nail on the side of the house. He'd stick a Coke bottle under it for tuning purposes.
To this day, Tookie says Henry can only play if he's not looking at his hands. One glance at the neck of the guitar, and Henry loses his place. "That's very unusual," Tookie says.
And while Tookie's interest in harmonica was from his pre-teen years, he didn't really learn to play it well until about 1960. "I had trouble picking it up," he says. Hours of listening to the hard-bitten cries of harp-great Little Walter, the famous Muddy Waterssideman, ironed out the kinks.
Round about the mid-1980s, word reached Tookie that this guy -- a guitar player who sounds something like Lightnin' Hopkins, but from right up the road -- was looking for a playing partner.
Po' Henry and Tookie have been playing together as a duo ever since. They started small, playing small family gatherings, then festivals, then sold-out shows.
"We were just playing because we enjoyed it," Tookie says. Before they made their first appearance -- at a Baton Rouge roots-music event -- "Henry had only played before perhaps eight people," Tookie says.
That Baton Rouge show, so long ago, was a memorable challenge: "He was scared to death, which I understand," Tookie says. He played his way through it, after a time. "Bottle courage," Tookie says, simply.
These days they're practically family at places like the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival and Enoch's in Monroe -- where they have opened for a series of legendary acts over the years, including Sam Myers, the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown.
In some ways, the low-key duo prefers the introductory gig, though they have always deserved their own spotlight. Tookie understands their signature anachronism, and worries how that will play to a modern audience. "Nobody does what we do anymore," he says. "People who play around here don't play in the old Delta style."
It's style of stop-start syncopation, and 12-bar genius -- with lyrics soaked in grim determination and gripping sorrow. As different as they were, they spoke in the same vernacular.
"We're not a dance band," Tookie says, simply. "It's not really dance music."
Time in between gigs is spent at home. They developed a legendary Wednesday night practice event in Rayville early on, but it was never publicized. People came over anyway, and the picking was divine.
"Sometimes people show up," Tookie said at first, "sometimes they don't."
The same can't be said for the elemental, soul-lifting Henry and Tookie -- one thing that has remained ever constant, like the timeless music they play.
NICK DERISO: Take some time with this one, which underscores the impressive contributions of a guy who first blew us away backing up with bluesman ZuZu Bollin, later came to fame playing a sideman's role with Ray Charles, made some bold moves in jazz -- then settled into R&B and pop-influenced fusion.
This two-disc anthology does a good job of exploring all these many permutations, and throws in a few surprises as well: There's Newman siding with Aaron Neville, with Aretha Franklin (on Disc 2's hottest moment, "Ramblin'") and, finally, Dr. John.
Make no mistake, however, Fathead -- a nickname given to Newman after he goofed on his scales while practicing as a kid -- is an involving leader as well, heard on "House of David" fronting both small bands and larger, expressive configurations.
"Fathead Comes On" from 1963, displayed here on the tune "Esther's Melody," was a tough jazz recording in the Blue Note style. Even better are tracks from the "Straight Ahead" release of 1960, where Newman sits in with the drop-jaw rhythm section with Miles Davis connections including Wyn Kelly, Paul Chambers and Charlie Persip.
Still, for my money, I'll always stick with the rollicking, awfully fun Ray Charles-period recordings, confined exclusively to Disc 1. Newman made the seminal 1958 Newport Jazz Festival appearance with Charles then, a year later, he was first recorded in a purely jazz context, fronting the Count Basie Band.
Newman's reputation as bluesy, but sizzling soloist was secured. So much so that he made a solo record the same year, the aptly titled "Fathead: Ray Charles Presents David Newman." Three tracks from that fine record are included on "House of David."
Later, Newman would leave the Charles band, tour incessantly, retire, then return with a much more pop-oriented sound. He'd hinted, after all, at a penchant for popular stylings, as heard in his version of the Beatles"Yesterday" on this disc, then subsequently on tracks like "Chained No More."
Newman seemed to be on a career path similar to Stanley Turrentine, who made amazing if embryonic sides early in his career, some truly revelatory recordings in his mid-period and then sank into the placid waters of commercialism later on.
The truth is, though, that Newman hadn't stopped experimenting, notably during late-career collaborations with Dr. John, including the celebrated "Bluesiana" project and on "Candy" Dr. John's from "In a Sentimental Mood" release, included on this CD.
Newman had righted his career. And not a moment to soon.
One Track Mind: Hindu Love Gods "Raspberry Beret" (1990)
by Pico
The Hindu Love Gods may sound like the name of some obscure alt-rock band, but that was hardly the case. In short: it was R.E.M. with Michael Stipe replaced with Warren Zevon. These guys got together during the height of their careers in the eighties to take a break from their regular gigs just for fun. They didn't even bother to write or tackle material from their respective day jobs, because that would have taken a lot of rehearsal, and thus, taken away a lot of that fun. Instead, they performed simple, familiar songs; mainly old blues covers.
And yes, they did actually record an album for their casual side project. This self-titled effort came out in 1990 but was recorded in 1987 after Zevon's Sentimental Hygiene sessions (on which fellow Love Gods and R.E.M. members Peter Buck (guitar), Mike Mills (bass), Bill Berry (drums) had appeared on). Legend has it that this was recorded spontaneously after some heavy drinking and while the resulting album didn't exactly threaten to overtake original their claims to fame, it was interesting just to hear these guys play without relying on a slyly written tune or a crafty arrangement.
In fact, you really come to appreciate what a tight unit that has been backing up Stipe and perhaps most significantly, what a great rock 'n' roll singer Zevon really was.
Their rowdy, no-frills runs through the tunes are good and all, but right in between "Traveling Riverside Blues" and "Crosscut Saw" is a left-field choice of a then-recent Prince hit: his 1985 psychedelic pop delight "Raspberry Beret." There's nothing terribly tricky that the Love Gods do with this tune. Well, actually there is one thing: they took a riff from the string arrangement in the bridge and converted it to the song's main riff. As played by Buck's guitar, it sounds nearly a duplicate of Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" riff. The bridge itself is discarded. Who needs all that clutter? The HLG's sure didn't.
As for Zevon, he sings it straight, which given his reputation for dry, acerbic wit, makes one wonder if he was being ironic. Perhaps, but regardless, it works. Listening to Zevon take on Prince's smirky, boastful lines like "built like she was, she had the nerve to ask me if I planned to do her any harm" is alone worth the price of admission.
Meanwhile, his backing band is ripping it up; Berry's cymbal hits punctuates the rock-steady beat. There's no soloing on this songs, the boys are just locked down on a groove and stubbornly stick with it. It's a straightforward, harder rendering of a great Prince composition that perhaps His Purpleness should have tried himself.
That could be taken as either praise for Prince's songwriting abilities to write a song that sounds good even simply done, or a critique on his song's arrangement. I'm not sure which of the two it really is. I am certain, though, that The Hindu Love Gods knew what to do with that song.
Even if they were snot-slinging drunk when they recorded it.
Quickies: Mudcrutch, Steve Winwood, Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds
By Pico
If you come to this site for the baby-boomer rock and not the egghead jazz, this installment of Quickies is just for you.
These three recent offerings, all by old vets, share the same bottom line verdict: these guys still have their old mojo right here in 2008. The time-worn advice to "stay true to yourself" is the creed that these stalwarts took with them into the studio and gave their long-time fans records that can easily stand alongside the classics that endeared them to these hall-of-famers to begin with. These are the kind of records that restore my faith that honest, unpretentious, handmade rock is still being put on wax (so to speak), record company executives be damned.
Neil Young is right: rock 'n' roll will never die. Not if his comrades like these can help it...
MudcrutchMudcrutch Mudcrutch was the ancestor band to Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers that was fronted by Petty and included future Heartbreakers Benmont Tench, and Petty's steadfast lead guitar sidekick, Mike Campbell. The lineup also included drummer Randall Marsh and early on, Tom Leadon on second guitar (Tom is Eagles co-founder Bernie Leadon's brother). This Jacksonville, Florida bar band never laid down more than a handful of tracks before breaking up in 1975 with Petty forming a band from its remnants that made rock history.
Nostalgia getting a good hold on Petty, he called back Marsh and Leadon and got the old band together again for a record and tour. Petty even made room for Leadon by getting back on bass and ceded a little bit of the lead vocals to him. As before, it's still mostly Petty's band, although there's more of a cooperative spirit than you might expect with a superstar in their midst.
The sound as they present it here in the 21st century isn't terribly different from the Heartbreakers, but it's closer to the core influences of the latter band. The mixture of jangly pop, country and straight ahead rock 'n' roll makes Mudcrutch approximate the post-Gram Parsons Byrds, and that's no accident. Recorded quickly and without many touches added, Petty let his hair down and put his notorious studio perfectionism aside to recapture the feel of a hungry American rock band in the immediate post-Beatles era.
Highlights include the extended stoned jam of "Crystal River," the raw rock of the Byrds' "Lover of The Bayou" (featured in the video below), and the "American Girl"-styled "Bootleg Flyer." Even if not every song is a winner, it's played with enough earnestness to make you believe that it is, anyway.
Although no one has noticed anymore, Tom Petty still makes good records. He didn't really need to reconnect to his pre-fame days, but that he did is every rock fan's gain. Let's hope that with the help of some old friends, he gets noticed this time for his newer music. Even if he had to return to "old" music in order to do it.
Steve WinwoodNine Lives It's always refreshing to see a long-established rock star with nothing left to prove actually act that way and just follow his muse. Former Spencer Davis group whiz-kid and Traffic progenitor Steve Winwood did just that five years ago when he forsake slick production and compact, radio-friendly ditties for the earth-bound soulful jams of About Time.
Like 2003's About Time, Winwood churns out another collection of organic, blues-y r&b rock, and seems unconcerned at the length they clock in at; he's clearly still in a jam mode. There are two main differences, though: Nine Lives is less jazzier and also contains Winwood's best batch of songs since...maybe ever.
"I'm Not Drowning" opens the album with a surprisingly stripped down but effective backwood blues. "Raging Sea" boasts an knockout funky riff that should have been invented years ago. "Dirty City," which features former Blind Faith bandmate Eric Clapton on guitar, actually lives up its superstar billing. On this gruff blues-rocker, Winwood is playing a filthy-sounding Strat and the brief solo is unmistakenly the same guy who once played guitar for Cream. "Hungry Man" shows Winwood's substantial Latin side and suggests what "Higher Love" might have sounded like without eighties production values.
The album cover shows Winwood holding a guitar but no matter how much he tries to highlight his multi-instrumentalism, it's his organ work that stands out. He always had a knack for knowing just when to underpin the melody and when to swell it up at the precise right times. The longer, freer-flowing songs brings that out better than at any time since his Traffic days. His voice remains in fine form, too.
It might sound overly effusive to state this, but there really isn't any hint of filler on the entire record. The multi-talented Winwood put all those talents to fore on Nine Lives and that's enough to make this a tough album to top by any other rock act this year.
Nick Cave And The Bad SeedsDig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! This being his twenty-first release (including a couple of live documents and sountracks a piece), it's a wonder that Nick Cave could start out strong and continue to show growth with each new release. Out in March just a month after The Assassination of Jesse James soundtrack with Warren Ellis, Cave returns to his dependable Bad Seeds band to put forth an album that is vintage Cave, but with a few new twists.
"Dig, Lazarus Dig!!!" (see video below) is quirky like most Cave songs are, but in more of a Talking Heads way. "Today's Lesson" recalls classic U2 ("New Year's Day") but with a more tenacious bassline. "We Call Upon The Author" is another successful marriage of Cave's novel (as in "fiction book", not "new") lyric writing style and a blistering rock beat, occasionally interrupted by some bizarre electronica dance music interludes.
What makes Lazarus one of Cave's bast, though, is that he's showing signs of growing old gracefully. He rarely sings above a middling intensity anymore, but has gotten so well in letting his theatrical intonation and words convey all the needed effect, it really doesn't matter. At the same time, the Bad Seeds has developed into a bulletproof backing band, able to deliver Cave's convoluted vision of religion, love, doom and depravity better than it ever has. While there's been some line-up changes over the years, original member Mick Harvey (Cave's own Mike Campbell), along with Ellis, solidly anchors the band.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds has come a long way since the 1984 debut From Her To Eternity but this is a combo that remains a post-punk band at it's core. Only now, it's post-punk that's matured and blended in so well with other styles that even where Cave sounds like someone else, he still sounds like himself. It's hard to imagine him besting Dig!!! Lazarus, Dig!!!, but there doesn't seem to be any slowing down with him.
"Quickies" are mini-record reviews of new or upcoming releases, or "new to me." Some albums are just that much more fun to listen to than to write about.
It ain't all blues, of course. Sticking with the Deep South vibe, we also mix jazz, pop and baby-boomer rock into our bubbling gumbo of musical musings.
NICK DERISO: A remarkably complex song, full of very adult emotion and haunting insight, from a band with such a frankly ridiculous name. "Summer Skin," in fact, might just be all the more powerful for the lowered expectations that come from a group actually called Death Cab for Cutie.
I don't recall a single care, 
