Does the concept of a band being "important" have meaning these days?

I don't normally sit around thinking about stuff like this but a few weeks ago Salon "Audiofile" columnist Thomas Bartlett started the debate by posing the question "who rules supreme?" to his readers. I especially like the "extra credit":

Oh, and extra credit if you can give me a good explanation of what "important" actually means in this context. Does it mean influential? Good + influential? Or is it just imprecise bullshit critic-speak? (Guilty.)

The results ranged from the expected Radiohead/U2/Wilco/Outkast to the "wha?!" of Limp Bizkit to what I think is the 'correct' answer: nobody. I voted for 'nobody' because given the shifting entertainment landscape, it doesn't seem like any band is around long enough these days to be deemed 'important'.

Maybe I should get to what I think 'important' means (hopefully without using any 'bullshit critic-speak'.) I've always taken this to mean influential. A couple of things might get a band there: longevity and uniqueness. The interesting thing here is that neither of these attributes is sufficient to gaining that exalted influential status. This can be chalked up to the x-factor of the music industry: luck. Let's face it, we've all known of great bands who've remained undiscovered. Sometimes, that break never comes.

Some (but not all, so don't get all huffy!) important groups from the classic rock era? Jimi Hendrix (revolutionized rock guitar), the Beatles (revolutionized pop songwriting), Pink Floyd (solidified the psychedelic/space rock movement), the Rolling Stones (the British blues/rock foundation.) While Jimi and the Beatles weren't around for very long, their music was so fresh and unique that its long term influence was (and still is) obvious. Any band today trading in mid-tempo, atmospheric rock (hello, Godspeed!) must tip their cap to Gilmour, Waters & company. The Rolling Stones were early blues evangelizers whose long career set the bar high with a huge catalog of diversely-syled studio albums.

I chose the latter two groups because they provide good examples of bands with career longevity. Pink Floyd was a staple of rock radio in the 1970's and right on into the 80's (given a boost by the release and hoopla surrounding The Wall.) The Rolling Stones' endless (and often excessive) live shows created the reference standard for live rock performance from the arena level right down to your neighborhood bar.

Back to the present, while there is as much (or more) new music available as ever, many factors have conspired to shrink down the number of 'outlets'. Radio consolidation and homogenization, the decline of MTV and VH1, and the rise of 'bean counter power' at the major record labels. As the majors search for the next big thing (read "artist who will sell a gabillion cds"), many promising and artistic bands are dropped on the floor.

None of this means that I myself am having difficulty locating new and interesting music. Far from it (in fact, sometimes I think I need another job just to support my, uhm...habit.) But what I don't see out there is who is 'king', so to speak. Maybe it's the kind of thing that needs a little distance...that it's not possible to know who's 'important' without some hindsight. On the other hand, when, say...Led Zeppelin was around, we just knew.

So, are there any important bands anymore?

Instrumental textures, to my ears, can provide some of the most arresting and wonder-filled moments of the listening experience: the low resonance of a bow scraping across a cello string, the 'wet' collision between a mallet and vibraphone, the air-filled throatiness of a baritone sax, the polytonal rippling of hands on tablas.

None of these instruments, in fact, no instrument, can come close to matching the power, flexibility and sheer beauty of that ultimate instrument: the human voice.

That beauty is on full display on Savina Yannatou's Sumiglia. The Greek vocalist, along with her amazingly pliable band, Primavera en Salonico, takes us on a tour of European folk music styles. That palette is amazing: Greek traditional, Armenian, Italian, Palestinian, Albanian, Sicilian, Ukranian, Bulgarian, Corsican, Hungarian and Spanish.

I can't quite decide what's more amazing. The many facets of Yannatou's voice (which covers much ground from childlike whispers to sexy growls) or that fact that she's able to do this in so many languages and dialects. During softer passages, I'm reminded of Enya, or maybe Loreena McKennitt. When she gets 'down low' (check out the Southern Italian "Orrio tto fengo") she sounds like nobody else.

Yannatou's band should be given much credit as well. The all-acoustic lineup (accordion, qunun, kalimba, tamboura, oud, guitar, violin, viola, nay, bass and percussion) manages to sound both traditional and modern. They make the task of following a trail through so many musical idioms sound natural and effortless.

"World music" is a weak marketing concept applied to just about any 'exotic' or 'ethnic' recording. Toss that label out and give this recording a listen.

So, our home internet access has been down for a day or so. This morning I checked again by attempting to ping "world.std.com" and got back an "unknown host" message. Nice.

Then I get to work and attempt to get some help via the Adelphia website.

Big mistake.

First I try to log in on some support page. Now, I may have logged in there at some point in the past, maybe when I went through the dreadful adventure of getting a wireless router hooked up. Not knowing what the correct username/password combination would be, I tried what I'd usually use. No dice. Ah, what the hey, it was worth a guess.

But then I look at the error message on the login page and it's tellin' me that I must log in from the computer that I've installed the PowerLink software on. Lovely. First of all, I never did install the PowerLink software because my home gateway is a linux box. Second, my home computer has no internet access!!. Duh!

It's only gets better. I then tried to login from the main Adelphia page. There was a little link that said "Forgot your password?" I figure...hey, this might actually work. So I go to that page and the first thing they want me to type in is my old password!

I give up.

Call me easily amused, by I'm a sucker for a girl who accompanies herself at the piano by whackin' a chair with a drumstick. That is how Regina Spektor sings the sassy "Poor Little Rich Boy". One hand for piano chords, the other for abusing a wooden surface with a stick. You'd think that that little trick might get tiresome even over the course of the one song, but the cool push & pull of the lyrics turns the whole thing into a pop/art event. The lyric fragment:

"You don't love your girlfriend"

is delivered in the same amount of time as its completion:

"...and you think that you should but she thinks that she's fat but she isn't but you don't love her anyway."

It's that Bjork-ish idea of applying a solvent to the language that makes this record so interesting.

Soviet Kitsch opens with the downcast (and rightly so!) "Ode To Divorce". That gentle (and very, very beautiful) voice with repeated piano figure is very effective. Jane Scarpantoni's cello adds a definite cinematic quality. Again, Spektor plays the word game near the end of the song by riding words like "small" and "doses" over descending melodies with three and four syllables each.

I've gotta say here that I was very taken with this recording from the first listen. But...I couldn't put my finger on exactly what was doing it for me. Then I realized that Spektor does something with her words that resonates with me: if necessary, she's completely willing to abandon a rhyme scheme. It's a great device for making a point (the above "Poor Little Rich Boy" lyrics being a fine example.) There are many others.

And there's the music. It's pop balladry, it's burlesque (the Dresden Dolls might be a good reference point), it's Russian folk music (only occasionally, but especially near the end of "Flowers"), it's almost operatic. And, most surprisingly, it's punk. OK, only one song fits that description, "Your Honor". It shows up right in the middle of the record and, if you're not ready for it, it's a brazen slap in the face. The whispered intro suckered me in as I turned up the volume to hear what was being said...only to have the snarling opening ("I kissed your lips and I tasted blood...") almost blow me off the couch.

I hate to make the too-easy Tori reference here (because, really, aside from the obvious female voice + piano, the comparison ends there) but the one real similarity is this: my reaction to Soviet Kitsch is very similar to the one I had with Little Earthquakes. I finished listening and had a feeling that I'd just heard something astounding.

Easily my favorite pop record of the year so far.

After experiencing the first two minutes of Saturday evening's Pat Metheny Group concert, there can be no doubt that Boston-area fans just plain love the man. Pat walked out onto the stage (wearing what has become his trademark horizontally-striped shirt) and was greeted by a thunderous two-minute standing ovation. This was before a single note was played!

So, being the music, Metheny and writer nerd that I am, somehow I forgot to bring a danged pen with me for setlist jotting. Ah well, that's what the internet is for. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a Boston setlist, but did find one from Toronto that served as a quick memory enhancing device.

After the Boston crazies (count me in there) quieted down, Pat began the show with a short acoustic piece which is listed as "This Is Not America" in the Toronto (and other) setlist. I guess I haven't listened to the Falcon & The Snowman soundtrack in quite a while as I didn't recognize this bit of music. Toward the end of the piece the rest of the band walked in from the wings holding and playing various percussion instruments (from simple shakers to claves to the glockenspiel)...and the song morphs into the beginning of the latest Metheny Group record, The Way Up, which they proceeded to play in its entirety.

That's right, 68 nonstop minutes of incredibly beautiful and complex music. I found myself wondering just how they were able to remember all of this stuff. The audience was pretty much stunned at the composition's end. Pat introduced the band and then jokingly said "Well...goodnight!!!". Right, like we believed that.

The band then left the stage save drummer Antonia Sanchez who with Pat played a lightening quick duet version of "(Go) Get It" from Trio 99>00. It's quite obvious that Sanchez has become Metheny's ultimate drummer. I often speak of "musical telepathy" when describing performances, but even that concept doesn't do justice to what this pair can do live. This was just beyond. Not only were they finishing each others' musical thought, they might have even been starting them.

It was then time for a little nostalgia as two selections from Offramp were played. First was the straight ahead-ish "James", followed by an otherworldly Cuong Vu trumpet solo which foreshadowed and eventually became the longtime crowd favorite "Are You Going With Me?" As many times as I hear the latter tune in a live setting, it never fails to get me going. It's inspiring to see a musician nearly come out of his shoes while playing a solo (as Pat does while burning the house down with the guitar synth.)

Going a little further back in time, Metheny then played the trio variation on "Lone Jack", which first appeared on the group's eponymous record.

During nearly every Metheny Group concert I've attended, there comes a time for "The Big Noise". This is the song when dissonance, high volume and disturbing squawks are emitted from the stage. In the past, "Scrap Metal" (an unrecorded leftover from the Offramp sessions) has served this function. This time around it is "The Roots of Coincidence", from Imaginary Day. The best way to describe this tune is, well...it's tough. Mix just a little techno into some blasphemous and dissonant metal and you're almost there.

The big noise is followed up with a trio of softer, more pastoral songs: "Last Train Home" (love that Coral electric sitar), "Always and Forever" (from Secret Story, played as a duet with harmonica ace Gregoire Maret) and "Farmer's Trust", my favorite Metheny composition. Lyle Mays took a piano solo before Pat joined in for the latter tune.

The last song of the regular set was "Minuano (Six Eight)", from Still Life (Talking). This song makes the Metheny Group sound like a gamelan orchestra.

Per usual, the crowd goes wild, the band leaves the stage after sheepishly dealing with the adulation and then then returns for one more 'blast from the past': "Song For Bilbao", an old guitar synth workout that left the crowd humming its twisty melody as we shuffled toward the exits.

What a fine show. It exhausted me.

I'm still trying to recover.

Digital.

It's just got to be digital. Ones 'n zeros. Forget that old-fashioned analog stuff. That's for old fogies. If you want to be with it,current,where it's at, up to date, in the know, down with it...your activity must be presented in bits (for those who are suffering from extreme curiosity and/or insomnia, a bit is a contraction of the words binary digit. That is, a one or a zero.)

The following are modern 'improvements' to their ancient, analog counterparts: digital clocks, digital radio tuners, televisions, cameras, movies (vs. film), thermometers, computers (ok, you got me there), books (don't get me started!) Heck, what with advances made in both the power and size of the microchip, there will surely come a time when just about every natural phenomenon will be replaced and/or simulated by a computer.

One thing that'll be tough to replace (at least to these ears) will be acoustic musical instruments. Sure, there are digital pianos and sampled playback synthesizers, but none of those devices do proper justice to their analog counterparts. Software can do many things but something is lost in the leap from the digital realm back to the analog. This is particularly true of stringed, wood instruments. The nuances that can be drawn from fingers-on-strings, strings-on-neck (and even bow-on-strings) are just too complex and multi-faceted.

Ten seconds into the bass-only intro of "Adena", the opening track from William Parker's Luc's Lantern, and the idea of replacing this woody, earthy bass with software becomes almost comical. Parker lays down a thick groove that not only provides a guiding structure for his trio but also reacts to their accents.

Oh yea...and it swings. Hard.

"Mourning Sunset" takes a similar approach with a solo bass ostinato (Parker's tone lies somewhere between Mingus and Chick Corea/A.R.C-era Dave Holland) that pianist Eri Yamamoto and drummer Michael Thompson use to weave an increasingly complex sonic web. Yamamoto in particular pushes her bandmates with a long series of shifty chords and unpredictable single-note chromatic runs.

Things heat up to a searing level on the title track as Parker flies a furious bassline closely followed by drummer Thompson. The piano mixes in a long series of angular sorta-phrases (this is the kind of music that can get you worried that the band has lost the pulse...until you realize that their concept of the pulse is nowhere near yours. Oops.)

Skipping forward to "Bud in Alphaville", the trio starts an uptempo, bluesy vamp that sounds like an update to "Blue Monk". That is, until the chaos takes over (and I mean that in the best possible way!)

Park's bass takes center stage on the sensitive "Charcoal Flowers". The initial plaintive piano chords are supported by deep bass notes before Parker shifts over to the bow. The variety of sounds produced a bowed bass is amazing: whispers, growls, whimpers, cries. So much emotion.

My opening rant on the hegemony of modern electronics shouldn't be taken as an indictment of their use in music. Let's face it, Parker himself has made some fine music that is absolutely chocked full of wiggling electrons (especially with cohort Matthew Shipp.) It's just that sometimes it feels right to go back to the source. It's the place where communication via music remains unmediated.

Tomorrow night, Pat Metheny will bring his latest group lineup to Boston's Orpheum Theatre. As usual, I will be there, excited as all getout.

Somebody asked me a few days ago how many times I've seen Pat and/or the Group. I've never kept track of it but a quick guess would be twenty-five or so. Hey, not as bad as those crazy Deadhead counts.

The weekend's show should be interesting as Pat has added a couple of new musicians to the group. Gregoire Maret is a Swiss-born harmonica player who's played with a stunning list of jazz and pop musicians including: Cassandra Wilson, Max Roach, Charlie Hunter, Bebel Gilberto, Jacky Terrason, Bruce Cockburn, George Benson, Jeff Watts, and Little Jimmy Scott. Brazilian guitarist Nando Lauria can be thought of as a 'veteran' new member of the group, as he played some shows with an early version of the Pat Metheny Group all the way back in 1988 (at Nightstage, in Cambridge, MA. Dang, how did I miss those shows!!??)

So far, I have avoided slinking around on the internet looking for setlists from the tour. I do know that they will play The Way Up (see my review here) in it's entirety. Given the incredible range of sounds and textures on that recording, it should be quite a feat to reproduce the whole album in a live setting.

I'm ready.

Man, oh man, this month had not been kind to aging classic rock stars. First Danny Joe Brown passes away, then it's Rod Price, guitarist and founding member of Foghat. I remember hearing a comedian make a joke about how it'll be weird to see rock stars dying of natural causes...har, har, har.

Well, this wasn't particularly funny, or natural. In a purely freak accident, Price fell down a stairway at his Wilton, New Hampshire home. Yes, just a ten or so miles (as the crow flies) from where I'm typing this here posting. In fact, I found out about it just a few minutes ago after trudging down through the snow (yea, it's supposed to be 'spring' here...right!) to the mailbox to pick up my copies of the Boston Globe and the Nashua Telegraph. One of the Telegraph headlines announced Price's death. Shoot, I didn't even know the man lived around here.

I've gotta go listen to Foghat Live.

(Check out Paul Roy's excellent review of the Foghat Millenium Tour DVD here.)

Throughout the world, music is created and used for many reasons. Here in the west we tend to think of music not only as a form of entertainment but also as an acccompaniment to various celebrations of our life calendar signposts: "Auld Lang Syne" to start off the new year, "Happy Birthday" for marking everyone's start in life, "Pomp & Circumstance" for graduations, "The Wedding March" for that trip down the isle.

While these are not trivial events, we do tend to treat the music as something to be pulled off the shelf, used and then put away. That is to say, music is not an integral part of our society (I'm ignoring the commercial uses of music, a topic for another day.)

Before we talk about Babatunde Lea's music, we need to check out his philosphy, something just about as important as the actual notes. First stop: the concept album.

In pop and rock music, the 'concept album', has been both celebrated (when it works) and reviled (sometimes rightfully so.) In the latter case, the critique often centers around the artist's "pretentious" approach. This has always struck me as being somewhat unfair as the use of the word "pretentious" implies that the reviewer knows the artist's intent.

I draw a lot from African culture, and one of the main things I've come to understand is that music is functional. In African cultures, music accompanies everything...from birth ceremonies to funerals. The music is there to open people up to the deepest experiences of life. But once music opens you up, it doesn't control you after that. Music is a resource like oil or water, it does the bidding of those who control it.

True enough, it's more than entertainment.

It is my express wish that my music will empower people to look within and to wake up to new possibilities; to become agents of positive change for themselves, for their families and for the world at large.

That is not an artiste puttin' on airs...that's a human being putting his fellow man first.

On Suite Unseen: Summoner of the Ghosts, Babatunde Lea pays tribute to his ancestors: musical, actual and spiritual via a suite of thematically-linked compositions. What's unusual about this record is that the individual suite entries are not played sequentially to form a whole. Instead, the suite is interspersed amongst several bandmate compositions, traditional and new chant pieces and even a reworked modern pop standard, James Taylor's "Fire and Rain." Lea's motivation for this construct:

...But I chose to space the compositions from the other bandmates inside the suite so that they would become part of it, creating a flow where the songs in each segment of the suite speak to that particular moment.

Flow is the indeed the right word.

The opening suite piece, "Ancestral Stroll", a tune that conjures Sun Ra by way of Eddi Palmieri, segues into the boppish "Motivation." On the first tune we're treated to some playful and inspired unison soloing by saxophonist Richard Howell and guest trombonist Steve Turre. Howell and Turre are at it again during "Motivation", taking separate turns this time around.

The next sweep of tunes that seem to draw on each other: "Invocation" (all percussion) followed by "Inconspicuous" (beginning as percussion before taking on a modal flair with Glen Pearson's expansive piano chords) to "Suite Unseen: The Unseen" (which boosts a twisty melody with kit work and percussion that would be very much at home on a Hugh Masekela record) to the jazzified "Fire and Rain"...the chanted conclusion of which links to "Suite Unseen: Spirit of the Wood", a percussion/chant featuring Steve Turre's famous and soulful conch shells racing around some very textural bala fon and kalimba.

(As you can see (and hopefully will hear), Lea's concept of an unlinked suite has paid off nicely.)

"Chants From Home" begins with Lea's chant which becomes the traditional "Sometimes I Feel Like A Motherless Child." This seems to introduce the final phase of the album, which peaks with "Suite Unseen: Summoner of the Ghost". Here, there is a convergence of past and present, swing and funk, change and melody. All music should aspire to this level of passion.

By now you may be wondering why I've made almost no mention of Lea's drumkit work. That's because it's there to serve the music. Unlike some records 'lead' by the drummer, Suite Unseen is all about the composition. Lea is no doubt a masterful drummer (and the inclusion of congas in his kit does open things up texturally)...but his compositions are what's important.

Suite Unseen is certainly entertaining, but it's far more than that.

Oh gawd help me...I want the Ozzy Osborne box set, Prince of Darkness.

I only have Blizzard of Ozz and No More Tears.

But really, I want the set for all of the ridiculous covers: 21st Century Schizoid Man, Mississippi Queen, Working Class Hero, Sympathy For The Devil...oi! there's a bunch of 'em.

But really, I've gotta hear: Stayin' Alive. I mean, come on! You know you do too!!

Lots of classic rock floating around my headspace this week. First, the death of Molly Hatchet's Danny Joe Brown. Then, the very evening I learned of Brown's death, stepson #2 comes home from work to tell me that there's a new classic rock station he's been listening to.

Yes, Manchester, New Hampshire, for years home to former classic rock (now 'modern' rock, whatever that means) station WGIR, has launched 96.5, The Mill. Now, the words 'new' and 'classic rock' look kinda funny sittin' right next to one another. But I figure, what the hey, maybe they're really gonna try something 'new', as in: diggin' deep into the back catalog.

I've only had a couple of chances to listen to them and so far it's a mixed bag. Hendrix: Hey Joe, All Along The Watchtower. Dang, Hendrix didn't release a lot of stuff in his short burst of stardom, but he did put out some very inspired and out-there material. Do we really have to play it so safe? Golden Earring: Radar Love. I think I read in a book somewhat that that band only recorded two songs: Radar Love and When The Bullet Hits The Bone. This morning they did segue from Steely Dan's "Do It Again" to Tom Petty's "Running Down The Dream", which was sort of unexpected.

Actually, I'm really not sure what to expect from this station. Their tag line is "Shut Up and Rock!", meaning that they're not big on yakkin' DJ's. This makes me suspect that there are no on-air personalities at all and the entire station is emailed in from a central computer in Utah. For now, I'll have to give them the occasional listen on the way home, when I tire of hearing about the latest rise in oil prices/explosion in Baghdad/murder trial results.

I'll get to that right after this here Molly Hatchet record feels old again.

When I first stumbled upon one of Eisley's first EP's, I was fairly certain that we'd be hearing from these young folks again. "Letters To Cleo-meets-Radiohead" was an either too strong or too undercooked description. Hey, it can happen. Tryin' to 'get' a band's essence based on a mere four tunes is not so easy.

So now that I've had several nice, long listening sessions with Eisley's full-length Room Noises, I'd have to say that my quick description was only partially on target. Sure, there are some Radiohead-esque noises going on, but that's just a small part of their thing. Other stylistic bits: country music (pedal steel guitar used as beautiful coloration during "Golly Sandra"), snazzy vocal harmonies (just about every song) and novel uses of melody ("Marvelous Things" and, especially, "I Wasn't Prepared", where I am slayed by Sherri DuPree's trilling vocals trailing the line "I Wasn't Prepared For This". Her voice does sound like Kay Hanley, but also Harriet Wheeler (The Sundays).)

Now, back to Radiohead for just a minute. Just for fun, I googled (Google: a website, a search engine, a verb, a dessert topping, a floorwax) Eisley and Radiohead. The results included these interesting tidbits:

The entire DuPree clan was home-schooled (Chauntelle, Sherri, Weston and Stacy) Stacy wrote her first song at the age of 8 Chauntelle was indeed inspired by Radiohead's OK Computer Their first gigs were a Christian-music-centered coffehouse in their hometown of Tyler, Texas

Interesting, and very talented kids. They've taken a bunch of their influences, filtered at least partially through their parents' record collection, and have come up with a shimmering (I have to use that word, "shimmering", because "luminous" is on my list of OverusedCriticSpeakWords) example of what's always been so great about pop music (hmmm, maybe music in general): elevating and distilling human experiences into a musical essence. Like poetry, with additional wiggly air molecules.

The idea of "Bands Deserving of More Recognition" has been around for a long time and the list of qualifying groups is a long one. Eisley is right near the top of my list. Bands like Coldplay have taken them out on tour. Currently, they're out there right now with New Found Glory. They also seem to be getting a fair amount of attention from the likes of MTV, VH1 and Rolling Stone.

I'll keep my fingers crossed.

Ok, so I finished reading The Lovely Bones last night.

For the life of me, I can't see why that snotty critic I saw on Cspan hated it so much. Probably jealous because he couldn't get a publisher to put out his thesaurus-dripping screeds. I've gotta track that guy's name down, though I might haveta hold my nose.

Danny Joe Brown died at the age of 53 (complications from diabetes.) He was the lead singer of the Southern rock group Molly Hatchet.

Back in the day of Southern rock (when, for a time, Hatchet, the Allman Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd and others ruled the radio waves) Molly Hatchet sat on the 'hard rock' side of the the fence. I loved, loved, loved Flirtin' With Disaster. Still do. It reminds me of those nights back in high school, driving around in my parents' car, drumming madly on the steering wheel and dashboad to songs like "Long Time", "Whiskey Man" and that killer title track. There was also some killer stuff on their first record, including an either stellar or heathenous (depending on your point of view) cover of the Allman's "Dreams".

Not too long ago, when I was giving stepson #2 classic rock recommendations, I handed him my copy of Flirtin'. He brought it back the next day, saying that he thought the music was great, but that it would have been better if "the singer didn't sound like Kermit the Frog".

Sorry Danny, I meant well.

Good gawd, it's snowing a-friggin-gain. Isn't opening day less than a month away?

No wonder people move to places like Arizona and California. I can't personally imagine it, but sure can sympathize.

Sometimes, the 'why' of a record purchase can be pretty interesting.

Wednesday evening, I picked up the wife at her place of work (because I took the Jeep that morning to deal with yet another snow storm...please, make it stop!!) and we then headed back into town to partake of an American tradition: The Diner. Oh yea, this is the real deal. Blue plate specials, coffee in those curvy-sided mugs, homemade desserts. Places like that just can't be beat.

After dinner we walk across the parking lot to the local bookstore. I head to the back room to check out the CDs and shoot the breeze with my friend Eric, who runs the music room. We got to talking about his band, Death To Tyrants. Specifically, that he'd really, really like to go out on tour for a while. I asked him where his upcoming schedule would be bringing him. One of the towns was Wallingford, Connecticut. Wallingford happens to be one town over from where I was born, Meriden. Not a very interesting place really, though it used to be a hotspot for silver production back in its day (which ended some time in the 1960's). Oh, and the movie Jacknife was filmed there.

Before we moved to Maine in 1974, we lived in Middletown for a couple of years. My school, Central Middle School, was just down the street from Wesleyan University. The school used to send us up there for all sorts of cultural events. Dance, drama and music. We just loved the stuff. Years later, as I got more into music, especially improvised music, I discovered a man named Anthony Braxton. Braxton happens to be based out of Wesleyan.

I namechecked Anthony Braxton to Eric (who I figured must be interested since he's quite the Coletrane freak) and he asks me if I've ever heard of Tyondai Braxton. Nosir. Is he Anthony's son? Why yes he is. Tyondai is very active in Connecticut's new music scene. His 'specialty' is the creation of looped music using voice, guitar and found sound, manipulating everything in real time with guitar effects pedals. His current project is Battles, a band consisting of Braxton on keys/beat box, Ian Williams (of Don Caballero) on guitar and keyboards, John Stanier (Helmet, Tomahawk) on drums and David Konopka on guitar.

I've made it a point of letting Eric give me more or less blind recommendations on music since he seems to have great taste and knowledge of areas of music that are out of my zone. Let me tell ya, there's nothing better than buying something completely new and having it knock you right outa yer chair. The music of Battles did just that. It's tough to describe. Maybe, Don Cabalerro on acid....or how about Godspeed but more down to earth and less cinematic. Dunno. I'm also reminded of very early Firehose, but without the monster bass of Mike Watt. There are tons and tons of intertwined guitar figures, sometimes playing more or less in harmony, other times coming at each other from funny angles. Great stuff.

See, ya just never know how one part of your life and reach out and tweek another.

Well, maybe not frozen. How about "gradually evolving"?

In a recent Blogcritics post, Marty Dodge links to another of his posts (a review of Poisoned Dreams The Unquiet Void.) The link text was "recorded bordom". I'm not here to dispute Marty on his opinion since, well, it's an opinion. If the ambient quality of that particular release didn't do it for him, hey, that's his business.

But...this got me to thinking about ambient/minimalist music in general. Music serves all sorts of different functions for people so it's not surprising that for every Einstein On The Beach enthusiast (count me as one) there are ten who will just have to leave the room in a cringe-induced funk.

So here some of my favorite minimalist/ambient recordings. They're not the 'best', but one that I return to again and again when I'm in the mood to induce a 'zone state'.

Steve Reich - Drumming. One simple drum pattern played by multiple players, who then shift things to slightly out of phase. What results is a constantly evolving pattern that spawns more and more 'sub-patterns'. Every time I listen to this I hear new things.

Mickey Hart - Music To Be Born By Originally written as 'mood music' to be used during the birth of Hart's son Taro, this record presents a warm percussive wash using wood flute, drums and bass harmonics. The pattern is altered very slightly throughout. Hypnotic is the word.

Brian Eno - Ambient 1: Music For Airports This might be world's most famous 'ambient' recording. Eno's first entry in the Discreet Music series, Airports has been described as soundscape, Muzak, relaxing, boring...and any number of adjectives. For me, it's one of those slow-turning music kaleidoscope things. There are almost no recordings that I consider 'background' music, as it's just about impossible for me to not to actively listen. That rule is broken here, but somehow I still love the it.

Robert Fripp - Let The Power Fall Robert Fripp and his 'Frippertronics' delivering a full-on ambient assault. How's that for a contradiction in terms?

Philip Glass - Music In Changing Parts. In my collection, this is the big daddy of repetitive, difficult listening music. This is early Glass form, where the repeated figures are tightly woven and shifted very slowly. Somehow, the organ used adds to the effect. I can only listen to this when I'm alone as it seems to drive everybody else in the house off the deep end.

And there you have it. Go ahead and try one of the above. What have you got to lose? The worst that can happen is that the room will clear (I've seen it happen.)

Back in the mid-1980's, the arrival on the jazz scene of a trumpeter named Wynton Marsalis marked the start of the so-called "young lions" period. Marsalis, along with the like-minded Terence Blanchard, Roy Hargrove and several others, put a (slightly) fresh spin on jazz from the Miles Davis classic quartet years.

Some thought the music too reverent of its roots, lending it a kind of "Museum of Classic Jazz" sound. Like a lot of easy generalization though, bit of truth were dropped on the floor. There were many, many moments (and suites!) of inspired play. Take, for example, Marsalis' Black Codes (From The Underground). The chemistry between Wynton's horn and Jeff Watts thunderous kit play is stunning. The rest of that quintet, the late Kenny Kirkland on piano, Charnett Moffet (bass) and brother Branford on sax, lets' face it: they burned. Though the music wasn't exactly revolutionary (Miles did start that revolution) it did serve one other extremely important function: it sparked a renewed interest in jazz in both the mind of the general public and more than a few record labels.

While Wasilewski,Kurkiewicz and Miskiewicz' Trio might not be the start of a "new young lions" movement, there are just enough parallels to make even a casual jazz fan take notice.

If you aren't familiar with their story, here's the short version: Polish trumpet legend Tomasz Stanko's rhythm section cancels on a gig. Michal Miskiewicz was asked to fill in, and to suggest a band as well. Enter Marcin Wasilewski (piano) and Slawomir Kurkiewicz (double-bass). It was an important turning point in the careers of both Stanko and the trio in that Stanko had discoved his ultimate support group while that very same support group was given a chance to shine on their own.

And shine they did, touring their native Poland as the Simple Acoustic Trio. Now the world gets to see what they can do on Trio.

After making a single pass through this record, the "young lions" scenario of old came to mind. Not so much because these guys are content to mine the past (which they definitely do not) but because they seem to be able to make fresh the trio format by reveling in modern improvised music (there are several purely improvised pieces here), pop music (a very cool take on Bjork's "Hyperballad") and more traditional forms (including Wayne Shorter's "Plaza Real" and Tomasz Stanko's "Green Sky").

Sure, you say, but aren't other groups doing this kind of thing? The Bad Plus? Charlie Hunter? Brad Mehldau. Well, yes and no. Yes, because all of those groups do like to transform modern pop forms. No, because the Simple Acoustic Trio is as much about being a unit as anything else. What's most surprising about these guys is how young they are...and how well they play together given their ages (when they were recruited by Stanko in 1993 their average age was 17). Seriously, I'd put this Trio right up against ECM's 'flagship' trio of Jarrett, DeJohnette and Peacock. Their improvised pieces carry that hallmark of inspired triology: they appear to complete each other's musical thoughts. On "Free Combinations For Three Instruments", Kurkiewicz starts things off with a knotty bass excursion before Wasilewski's piano adds to the conversation. When Miskiewicz' dark and rolling toms join in the medition coalesces into what seems like a mysterious, yet effortless discussion. Quite the trick.

Jazz is supposed to be "America's Classical Music". The reasons for its lack of support here (vs. pop, rock and other forms) are multiple and complex. I'm not here to predict that this group (or any other) is going to start another revolution. But will they leave a their mark in the jazz world?

They already have.

So here was a typical Saturday. There was a home-type project to be done (or at least started) by me & stepson #1. The project was to build a set of built in bookcases for the wife up in her office (The real skinny on this is that the bookcases were to be a Christmas present from stepson #1 to his mom. How I'm involved in this is both more complicated and more boring than anybody needs to be putting up with. Lets just say that stepson #1 has been very busy dealing with things like his last coop term, construction projects for a local theatre group and mooning about his girlfriend being all the way out in Oklahoma. Hmmmm....that last bit isn't quite right. I'm not actually certain that he's been mooning about said romance object but am guessing that if he is anything like was I was at the age of twenty-two, he's been doing some serious mooning.)

Ahem...

A few weeks back I'd given stepson #1 directions to a local lumber yard which looked to be A) promising and B) not Home Depot (which #1 has taken to calling 'Home Devil'.) He had stopped by there last weekend and discovered that they were only open til noon on Saturdays. So this past Saturday we loaded ourselves into the big rig (my old Chevy K1500, currently 'owned' by stepson #2, who has modified it to sound like your typical Honda Accord with Cabbage-Shooter exhaust, but on steroids) and head to the lumber yard. As #1 takes a turn to the left at a critical juncture, and away from the lumber yard, I just have to ask him where he's going. Turns out that the lumber yard I described to him didn't end up being the one he checked out. The yard I recommended looked like a smaller and less evil version of Home Depot. He did sort of go near that place but on the way spied a sign for another place. This turned out to be a fantastic and rewarding mistake.

After driving a half-mile or so through the heart of cookie-cutter-house suburbia (I hope they built more houses outa all the danged trees they cut down) we made another turn down a cul-de-sac full of more McMansions. One more turn to the right and suddenly we're on an unpaved road paralleling a long row of Northern Pines. We end up in a small open field bordered by the office/garage on our left and two huge lumber storage buildings on our right. There are a lot of cars and pickups there. Looked very promising.

One step through the office door and we realized that this was definitely not Home Depot. All four walls are absolutely plastered with photos, newspaper cutouts and various trinkets related to fishing. There are about four guys on our side of the counter (some drinking from cans of Budweiser) and two on the other. The two guys on the 'business side' of the counter appear to be engaged in a serious match of some form of ring toss, which involves flinging large (3 inches in diameter) metal washers toward a long wooden box on the floor. The box has several holes of various sizes drilled into the top. I can also see through a doorway on the far wall that there are a bunch of guys in the attached garage who appear to be lobbing horseshoes back & forth (and also drinking from cans of Budweiser.) Things are getting very curious.

In a fashion typical to our area of the country, we are ignored.

After several minutes, somebody pipes up and says "Hey, are you guys looking for Steve?" We reply in the affirmative (honestly not knowing who the hell Steve is) and are told that he's gone off to the house but will be back in a minute or so. When he does arrive we are greeted in an extremely friendly manner as we get right down to going over our plans/list. We head outside across the lot to the wood storage building. Steve flips up the door on the 1x12's unit and we are presented with a huge pile of the snazziest looking clear pine I've ever seen. We needed 21 eight foot lengths and proceeded to pull out eleven absolutely perfect sixteen foot boards which Steve then cut in half with a chain saw (after informing us that each board is over sawn by an inch.) #1 loads the woods into the barking Chevy and I head back to the office with Steve to settle things up.

Now, before we actually made it out to get the wood, Steve lets me in on the why's and how's of all the 'customers' hanging around in the office. As it turns out, they hold an indoor horseshoes tournament there every single week. Everybody brings food and drink, Steve tosses a turkey in the deep fryer (and let me tell you, that thing smelled mighty fine) and a good time is had by all.

Settling up: we get inside and Steve makes up the bill. I hand him my plastic and he replies "Sorry, I don't take credit cards anymore." Nuts. "Well, I didn't bring my checkbook with me. I guess I can go home and get it." Nope. Instead, Steve just takes down my name and phone number, and asks me to send him a check in the mail. I am more than a little astounded and feel like I've stepped into some parallel home repair universe. I thank the man, say "take care" to the Budweiser guys and pop back out to the waiting truck.

The construction of the shelving unit, even in our nothing-is-square-get-used-to-it-bucko house, is sorta boring compared to our little sawmill adventure.

(P.S. The wood we purchased was at least twice as good as anything we'd seen at the Big Orange Box...at 1/3 the price.)

Pop singer Esthero thinks we need a musical revolution. There's nothing subtle about her stance either:

I'm so sick and tired of the shit on the ratio and MTV, they only play the same thing no matter where I go I see Ashanti in the video I want something more

That sassy opening to the title track of We R In Need of a Musical Revolution puts a funny twist on this point: mainstream radio is wallowing in stagnation. There's a lot of great music out there not being heard and something has to be done about it.

A musical revolution? It just might be here.

I've had this CD kicking around the 'active' pile for quite some time. Earlier this week, while giving it an Nth listen at work, I happened upon the latest issue of Wired magazine. Being a sorta neo-Luddite, I'd given up on Wired some time during its first year. The content was OK, but the hyperactive layout (things like orange text over a silver background) was enough to make your eyeballs spin counterclockwise. What caught my eye this time around was the front cover teaser: "The End of Radio (as we know it)".

Since radio has been dead to me for a number of years, I figured that this stuff was worth a look.

First up was an article on Howard Stern and satellite radio (written by Ana Marie Cox aka Wonkette...I held my nose and read on.) I've heard more than a few claims that this technology will never take off because people don't want to pay for it. We'll see. Cable television can be considered a counterexample. All I know is that I truly miss the days of free-form radio where the DJ is allowed to play whatever comes to mind. Can Howard Stern drag enough listeners over to Sirius to push it over the top? Could be. Heck, I'm kinda psyched that you can get a Tivoli/Sirius tabletop radio. Cool stuff.

Next article: 'new indie' radio station. Did you know that Steve Jones (guitar, Sex Pistols) is working for the man, the system, radio great satans: Clear Channel? That'd right. He hosts "Jonesy's Jukebox" on Los Angeles station Indie 103. This is the real deal in a true early-days-of-FM kinda way. Jones can and does play whatever he wants. That Clear Channel supports this little bit of revolution is maybe more than a little bit creepy. Their idea is to get their fingers into the coming pie of digital radio. The Luddite in me is a bit skeptical. I mean, sure, high definition radio is a decent concept but let's be realistic about this: people seem to be more than happy with crappy old mp3's. Will HD radio increase listenership significantly? Not without new content.

The third article. Adam Curry and podcasting. This is the one that broke the Luddite's back. For as long as they have been available, I've said repeatedly that I've had no interest in iPods. That changed last night.

Somehow, the idea of podcasts has never resonated with me (maybe I don't know when put that my anti-technology attitude in check). A smidge of their possibilities hit me last week while listening to a podcast by our own Duke DeMondo. Cripes, that thing was funny. Then I get to the middle of the Adam Curry/podcast article and the proverbial light bulb exploded: this technology combines all the best bits and possibilities of indie radio with the convenience of automatic updating via RSS. I can run software like iPodder and it will suck in goodies like the podcasts of Whole Wheat Radio? Yessiree, sign me up. If podcasting can push creative and eclectic community radio out in front of more hungry ears, then I'm all for it. Heck, it doesn't even have to be as organized as community radio, it can be a single person with a great idea and a laptop. The point is that, like low power FM, podcasting can (in theory anyway) wrest control of the musical 'airwaves' away from the big guys and transfer it back where it belongs: where people actually care about the music.

Since Esthero gets at least partial credit for my technological epiphany, I suppose her music deserves some attention. The title track is is a rambling pop/rock thing that delivers its message with Esthero's R&B-inflected voice. While it isn't, in and of itself, revolutionary, it does build up a considerable head of steam. "Everyday Is A Holiday (With You)" is more of a mid-tempo song done with Sean Lennon. Funny how the staccato piano chords sound so Beatlesque. I don't know if Esthero is going to make it big, but dang, her voice (especially when 'soft') is a beautiful thing. "Gone", which features Cee-Lo Green, wouldn't sound out of place on a Lauryn Hill record. I love,love,love the acoustic guitar intro (though the fake vinyl LP static effect has to go.) "This Lullabye" has a sorta bossa-nova feel going on. "I Drive Alone" is a more typical "modern R&B" tune. The closing bonus track has a very cinematic, ambient wash to it. Esthero's voice bathing in all that reverb is more than just a little bit sexy.

What really struck me about this CD was that the diversity of the songs is exactly what's missing from modern radio. Let's hope that the revolution is indeed just around the corner.

Now, anybody got any recommendations on what iPod I should get?

(For more Blogcritics reading on Esthero, click here.)

Like the weird stew that your brain serves up during particularly strange dreams (I once dreamt of Jerry Garcia playing basketball for the Los Angeles Lakers. What the hell?!), I continue to be amazed and sorta mystified at why (or how) these Friday recordings present themselves to me. I mean, I woke up this morning and had the urge to listen to Fritz Hauser's Solodrumming. Unlike other Friday mornings, this appears to have absolutely no connection with anything that's gone on in the past few days...or with anything I'm looking forward to this weekend.

So who am I to question this? Just go with it and see what happens.

For those unfamiliar with Fritz Hauser, he is one of (maybe the...who knows, there's gotta be more than one though) Switzerland's finest percussionists. He's collaborated with many fine improvising musicians including the Kroumata Percussion Ensemble, Christy Doran and Marilyn Crispell.

My one and only Hauser recording is Solodrumming. As the title implies, this is one long workout on the drum kit (and various other percussion instruments.) Now, before you go screaming off in the other direction, you've gotta know that this material isn't like, say, your typical 1970's rock concert drum solo. Hauser takes a more minimal approach to things, maybe starting off with a spare ostinato on the snare drum and then slowly adding in other bits while picking up the pace. It's a very unique style of play. For every quiet and contemplative moment there are segments of almost shocking intensity. On "Klangewolke II", for example, Hauser plays an extended press roll on the high hat that sounds like the cymbals are going to crack at any minute. And let me tell you, this man has absolutely monstrous snare technique.

The recording itself has an enormous dynamic range with just the right amount of reverb. It should. It was recorded back in the fall of 1984 at Berlin's Martin Gropius building. Just take a look at the image below and imagine the sound of a single drumhead, a single stick. Here's the reasoning behind the musicians selected for the exhibition "Idea, Process, Result" (from Solodrumming's liner notes):

On the occasions of the exhibition "Ideas, Process, Result" (Internationale Bauausstellung Berlin 84/87) we have searched for the correlation between architecture and music. Throughout the "Klangenthullungen" (Sound Revelations), as we labeled the concerts, the participating musicians developed their performances in accordance with the spatial conditions. With its long reverberation, the glass-roofed court of the Gropiusbau is a subtle partner; delicate in its silence and powerfully surging when charged up rhythmically. Fritz Hauser has, from my point of view, made best use of its acoustical peculiarities in a most elemental way. The Sound Pictures of Fritz Hauser lead from the real, limited, architectural to the insubstantial, endless space of our imagination. The symbiosis of architecture and music, in times of unlimited acoustical-synthetic possibilities, is genuine.

Sound Pictures! So it's not just me! Yay!

I'm in the middle of digesting the new Tori Amos record, , and I do feel a review coming on....but it's tough going through her stuff (as usual). Maybe by the end of the week.

So I've just started reading Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. Part of the reason I bought it was this incredibly snotty book critic panel show I saw a couple of years ago on CSPAN2. The reviewers, from several 'important' publications including the New York Times Review of Books, had that "I've read it all" air about them. Gross. They spoke in review-speak: "When one reads a novel such as The Lovely Bones, one must rememeber that..."

Ick. Better get me a bucket!

Anyway, it's hard to resisting an opening like this:

My name was Salmon, like the fish; first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered on December 6, 1973.

.I'm hooked.