Singleversity #65

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

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We've heralded the brilliance of Over the Atlantic's "Fly to the States" (from their 2006 debut Junica) before, but recently I was cruising YouTube on a slow night and stumbled upon a mercifully full version of the way they played it live on their last U.S. tour. This is a very different approach from the recorded take: The bass sounds more New Order than hypnotically dubbed-out anchor. Given that Nik Brinkman and Bevan Smith are New Zealanders, it's also perhaps no surprise that the guitars are more jangly than they are awash in reverb and fuzz. I still like the recorded version best, but this is an enthusiastic live rendition worth checking out. Stay tuned to see what their next step is: Sophomore release Dimensions is out on Carpark sometime before the end of the year.

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So I interviewed Hans-Peter Lindstrøm (Yeah, that Lindstrøm) on the phone today. After spending around an hour just chatting about his new album Where You Go I Go Too, I feel like I know the guy well enough to at least say that his confidence in talking about his work isn't arrogance at all; it's like he knows how good he is and he just says it flat out. The sounds he makes come as second nature to him, and he is mercifully straightforward about not overthinking the actual music itself. When this thing drops, I expect it will be huge... So enjoy the simple delights of "Take Me to the Metro" (from 2006's Another Side of Lindstrøm) for a few more weeks before your life is changed forever. Hey, if he won't overthink the music, somebody else has to. That's what we're here for.

Singleversity #64

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

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I haven't been doing much reading around the Internet lately, so I have no idea what the cool kids are listening to. I just know that Spaniard Ilya Santana has produced a hell of a space-disco slab on his EP Arcanus which came out in May on Ukrainian(?!) label Manuscript. Perhaps best known for a Human League remix of "The Things That Dreams Are Made Of" (from 1981's Dare!), Santana continues his ever-improving work in the Canary Islands. Maybe we'll see a full-length someday, but in the meantime, here is b-side "From Uranus to Mercurius."

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Space-disco tends to put you to sleep when it's not captivating you, so to balance this out, I'm still using old school emocore from the mid-90s to help me. Indian Summer is an excellent example of the genre. The Oakland-based band only existed for three years or so, and they made things especially difficult by not actually naming any of their songs. Tracking their stuff down was difficult for a long time because they stuck primarily to split 7s with contemporaries such as Current and Ordination of Aaron. Future Recordings made things easier by reissuing their two LPs and one of the highlights is "I Think Your Train is Leaving," which first appeared on a split with Embassy (Good luck finding anything else on them). The most well known addendum to this story: Marc Bianchi went on to front Her Space Holiday.

Singleversity #63

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

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Japan's Nisennenmondai are fairly well known in the Japanese underground noise scene and have been jamming together since they first formed at a Tokyo university in 1999. The trio have a new album coming out later this month on Oslo's Smalltown Supersound, but Neji/Tori is really just two older EPs put together with new artwork by Smalltown roster member Kim Hiorthøy. Thankfully, there are a handful of videos on YouTube that showcase the group in a live setting. My personal favorite: "Ikkkyokume" is a seven-minute jam that actually appears on both EPs in slightly different variations. This video is a full-on version from 2004 that quite aptly demonstrates the capabilities of the three ladies behind that wall o' sound.

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One of the bands Nisennenmondai has opened for during one of their Japanese tours is Audiversity favorite Battles. Probably the most recognizable character from that band is big-haired journeyman Tyondai Braxton, who went from being a promising avant-garde solo artist to being a critical element in one of the most unique bands of the decade. Battles hadn't even formed when Braxton released his third solo record in 2002, History That Has No Effect. "Hold Onto Distance" is probably one of the least abstract songs on the record, but it's clear that the challenging creativity that makes Battles so vital now was already ingrained in Braxton at that point. The chipmunk vocal tricks, on the other hand, still appear to be a little further off...

Singleversity #62

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA (PM):



By crook or by diff, we never seem to talk about them here, but it's obvious that the spectre of The Nation of Ulysses looms large over this blog. The thought crossed my mind listening again to 13-Point Program to Destroy America, their 1991 debut, earlier this week. Thanks to a long history of punk-rock love for documenting its own respective "revolutionary" movement, videos on YouTube are thankfully plentiful for the 'Nation; it's tricky pulling out the best one, so I went with a few songs clipped from DC's Sacred Heart Church in what appears to be late 1991, right around the time that Washington's musical climate hit maximum Dischord thanks to a Mount Pleasant police shooting and George Bush Sr.'s gag order on federal funding for abortion clinic counseling. Further reading: Dance of Days by Marks Andersen and Jacobs, respectively. You'll see what I mean about that meticulous documentation bit.

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As far as summer jamz go, Watussi's "If All We Had Was Love" is right up there this year. I feel like I've been spinning this thing on repeat for ages now, and you probably already know and love it too, but it wasn't so long ago (maybe a month?) that the group was freshly revealed as an offshoot for Hercules and Love Affair's Eric and Morgan Wiley, with Stickydisc helming the release of the 12" (A-side "Purple Moon" is pretty killer too, though less overtly Herculean). Shaw nuff, here we are on STD003 with promises beyond mere Babytalk. Wonder how long it'll take the Australian-based Watussi to go all DFA'79 on them, then.

Singleversity #61

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



Been cruising Muxtape this week to see what some of my friends have posted on their respective pages. One in particular recently posted a mix that features The Zombies and their take on George Gershwin's 1935 hit, "Summertime." Literally, this song (from the Charleston, SC-set opera Porgy and Bess) has been covered dozens of times by artists as far reaching as George Benson and, yeah, Sublime. This live version performed in The Zombies' British homeland was recorded somewhere in the immediate aftermath of both their self-titled 1964 debut and a "recent Beatles competition," of which the St. Albans quintet were presumably the winners.

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In lieu of that cumbia article he recently generated for The Fader, I've been dusting off some old snippets that Jace Clayton aka DJ /rupture has produced for us in the past. It's easy to remember he writes Mudd Up! but so easy to forget that he also produced one of the decade's great full-lengths in 2004's Special Gunpowder. With assistance from Ghislain Poirier and oud/violin player Abdel Hak, "Taqasim" is a late-album highlight showcasing Clayton's far-reaching tastes in an album packed with grooves from all of his globetrotting adventures. Still a thing to behold four years on.

Singleversity #60

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



One final radio show coming up this week, and though Michael will be sure to go out with an impressive triptych of sets culminating in one extraordinary outro of a song (as usual), I've already used STNNNG's "Grand Island, Neb." which was the final song of my own radio career way back in Singleversity #14. Instead, I thought I'd feature an artist of a different caliber that Michael is equally fond of and which he may play on his show: Art Blakey and his Jazz Messengers have also previously been featured here, but this Paris performance from 1959 captures Dizzy Gillespie's "A Night in Tunisia" (from Blakey's album of the same name) is another masterful example of the Pittsburgh native's talent at the peak of his career in the early 60s. The quintet incarnation of the Jazz Messengers - featuring Wayne Shorter, Jymie Merritt, Lee Morgan, and Bobby Timmons - also appears in top form.

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When I'm not living la vida '60, I'm dreaming of a world where people more than faintly recall the brilliance of Ekkehard Ehlers. I gave 2002's Plays a go again this past week and it still sounds as fresh and interesting as it did six(!) years ago. The five singles released on vinyl that Plays brought together include tributes to the Frankfurt artist's heroes: Cornelius Cardew, Hubert Fichte, John Cassavetes, Albert Ayler, and Robert Johnson. Ehlers ends the album with "Robert Johnson (2)," a great example of Ehlers' ability to reference rather than merely sample. One of the great hidden club tracks of this decade, but I only say that because I've never actually heard anyone spin this in a club. Happens all the time?

Singleversity #59

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



Once again Michael is MIA and Patrick will be writing in his place. Rest assured that the former's enthusiasm for music has hardly diminished, and perhaps foremost among these is his devotion to jazz. I've been listening to jazz too lately; specifically Japanese jazz because, fuck it, why not? Masahiko Satoh was one of a handful of Far East musicians pushing boundaries in the early 70s, best revealed in Julian Cope's ethnomusicological exploration Japrocksampler. But his career has continually evolved out and away from the avant-garde, and "Grama Grass" from 1979's All in All Out is another example of rough edges hewn smoothly into easy listening. Keep this one for the workday.

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Speaking of workdays, this version of a video I stumbled across a few months ago has put things into perspective concerning the craziness of my own workplace. What I find so interesting about this video in particular is how the madness of being a bike messenger in the Big Apple is juxtaposed not with heavy metal or sassy pop but rather the sedate sadness of Broken Social Scene's "Bandwitch." Here is a song that turns a frantic race around the streets of New York City into a fluid, daydream-like experience - similar to riding around in the back of a cab, as Jerry Seinfeld once said, where "it's all not quite real." Compare that to the video with the original sound and you can see what the Toronto collective adds to the images.

Singleversity #58

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



While Michael cooks a little something up in the kitchen, I'll go ahead and fill in the gaps of our ongoing saga. It's unofficially summer here in the Windy City, announced at the beginning of last weekend with temperatures in the high 80s, girls in high heels and higher skirts, sunburns at the beach, and strong stints for the local Boys of Summer. I also found myself begging for AC and more cold drinks than I should be allowed. One classic jam pegging this mood perfectly is The Kinks' "Sunny Afternoon." Ray Davies' broken aristocrat alter-ego had it hard for this little tune from the 1966 album Face to Face: Taxman's taken his yacht, his girlfriend's run off with his car after a fight, and here he is telling us commoners his woes over that great class equalizer, the pint of beer. "All I've got's this sunny afternoon," he muses. Too bad nobody thought to drag the schmuck out to a street festival.

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But if heat is the most troubling issue as we round the year's warmest months, it's certainly not the only one: On the floor above mine, it appears as if the people living in their apartment train elephants for the circus at all hours of the day. Kingston, Jamaica's The Paragons capture my mood on their 1973 version of "Man Next Door" that was originally inspired by Garnet Mimms & The Enchanters' 1964 version "A Quiet Place." There are a ton of versions out there under varying song titles by everyone from Dennis Brown to Portishead, but this rendition has grown to become my favorite.

Singleversity #57

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



The Italian composer Ennio Morricone is a daunting figure to explore. His scores and soundtrack work is thought to number as many as five hundred individual films, which as you would imagine, covers quite a bit of stylistic diversity. That being said, diving into Morricone’s discography at any one point will only give you a very narrow window of his talent… But! You have to start somewhere, so let’s cover our eyes and do just that.

A couple weeks ago I stumbled upon the soundtrack to the erotic Italian psycho-thriller Barbablù. Released in 1972, Morricone was at the downside of his work with Sergio Leone, but the spaghetti Western sound still dominated his aesthetic. As a whole, the Barbablù soundtrack is quite eclectic with as many passages focused around a 20s big band jazz sound as they are breezy orchestral pieces. The quintessential number has to be “Barbablù (Titoli)” though. Simultaneously ominous and quirky, it doesn’t sound too far removed from the spaghetti Western sound – especially in terms of production tone and instrumentation – though it is decisively more European bent. The staccato piano lines and sashaying woodwinds mostly remind me of contemporary Jon Brion scores, which may allude to the modern vibe. There is just something so captivating about the crunch of the brass(?) in contrast with the pulsing strings during the chorus that if played during the title sequence of the film, I would be completely immersed from the onset. With a title track so intriguing and a cover so evocative, it’s no wonder Barbablù is a cult classic of underground cinema.


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Chicago's Cable Access Networks are, like cable access networks anywhere, full of curious programs produced by amateur locals ranging from educational to entertaining to downright bizarre, sometimes all three at once. CAN-21 was no exception on a recent Sunday when I came across "Haiti Jeunesse" ("Young Haiti"), a show conducted almost entirely in French and Creole. RAM's "Defilé" featured here is one of the songs I saw on the brief music segment. The story behind this group is fascinating, a politically charged Rasin ensemble now nearly two decades old that withstood the worst Raoul Cédras and his junta could conjure... But this is worth checking out as much for its party-like atmosphere as for the band's back-story or the video's crazy get-ups. Also, wait for the keyboard solo: Dude in the tree totally sells it.

Singleversity #56

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



“In the beginning there was nothing,
but it was kind of fun to watch nothing grow.
You came walking
into my life
carrying your own dreams.
You could have been,
yeah, you could have been good,
then why were you so goddamn mean?
But til you I never had any fun.
But I’m sure glad I never,
ain’t you glad I never,
be glad I never owned a gun.”
-Lee Hazlewood, “I’m Glad I Never…:”

I’ve gotten in the habit of listening to the Jesus Lizard in the 6am hour. Just, you know, because nothing goes better with the sunrise than a little atonal upchuck and chafed ass-shaking. Of course, that was only until I stumbled across Lee Hazlewood’s Requiem for an Almost Lady (released exclusively in Sweden) from 1971. Now instead of dewdrops and pseudo-industrial noise, it’s bird tweets and swinging country-pop grooves. Don’t mistake that for a loss of volatility though – see above transcription from the opening track. "I'll Live Yesterdays" is my personal favorite. “Seems we’re always doing something to hurt each other, but you know you never really hurt me until the fourth verse of this song.” Oh yeah? “Knives that have cut you when others have touched you have taken our children away. If there is no tomorrow for us, then I’ll live yesterdays.”

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I recently got mixed up in this Indian kick for Netflix. We hit a groove for a few weeks where it just seemed like it was one after another - "The Namesake," "The Darjeeling Unlimited," and then most recently "Monsoon Wedding." Other than a comical subplot involving the wedding planner and the servant girl (who, it turns out, is the best looking actress in the movie), the latter isn't worth enduring unless you just really love Indian bickering. But hey, there's even a pot of gold at the end of this dusty rainbow: Stay tuned for the credits, because the best part of the movie plays right over them. Sukhwinder Singh is one of India's more recognizable Bollywood singers and is currently working on his own private studio in Mumbai. From a less complicated time when bleached out jean jackets were, um, all the rage (Revisionist history alert!), 2001's "Aaj Mera Jee Karda" has some great percussion and an instantly memorable melody. Put it this way: I enjoyed the credits more than the movie.

Singleversity #55

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



According to the infallible wisdom of Wikipedia, Japan's preeminent proto-heavy metal, psych-rock collective – the Flower Travellin’ Band – has reunited as of January of 2008. And on top of that, they have a new album “in production” and are playing the Fuji Rock Festival ’08 (and you were excited about seeing a reunited Rage Against the Machine at Lollapalooza, tsk). If you are not already familiar with the influential hard rockers, let me introduce you to them via their most notorious collection of acid tripping, “beach blanket bong-out muscularity.” 1971’s Satori – the Flower’s first proper album of exclusively original material – is often their most revered record and sends worldly musicologist Julian Cope into literary fits: “Flower Travellin’ Band is furious Sabbath atonal doom played with a Zep fitness and a berserk Japanese thoroughness.” There is not a poor moment during the 40-minute set with "Satori, Pt. 1" unanimously inspiring the slow motion stoner rock head bang right from the initial Ozzian howl. It’s not only their transition from clever cover act to path burning legends, but they also established “a sense of musical space which made them into the Can of heavy rock.” If you aren’t already hip, which there is not really an excuse to not be at this point, do so today.

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The same walk that had me simmering over Michael's abrupt dismissal of Santogold also eventually led us to a tangent on 90s genres coming back (Hercules and Love Affair as Culture Beat, anyone?) and how average The Night Marchers are and whatever happened to art-damaged things and how about some fucking -core? How about bringing that back? At least the hardcore scene is still alive and well, even if Louisville one-off Pusher aren't. Featuring members of Breather Resist and Coliseum, their only full-length features a dozen songs clocking in at a mighty, yes, 12 minutes. True story: Songs like "Nail Spitter" and "Scapehole" have been known to restore faith in people who otherwise might still be having Haddaway nightmares.

Singleversity #54

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



If you are curious at all to find some reasonably priced insights into Detroit’s great deep jazz label Tribe Records, look no further than Soul Jazz’s sister-label Universal Sound. Along with an anthology of the Phil Ranelin and Wendell Harrison-helmed independent label highlighting some of the most intriguing jazzy space-funk cuts from the socio-political and aesthetic collective in the mid-70s, they also reissued Marcus Belgrave’s tasty Gemini II record from 1974. The ambidextrous trumpeter, mentored by Clifford Brown, honed his chops with the Ray Charles touring band in the 1950s before providing his exuberant touch over the last 40 years to everyone from Motown to Mingus, Max Roach to Sun Ra, and Was (Not Was) to Carl Craig. "Glue Fingers (Part II)" finds the Belgrave-led Detroit collective on a textural groove of progressive jazz that swings as much as it struts. By the mid-70s, a lot of the similar-minded cats had succumbed to the fusion overlord, but the true jazz-funk hybrid was being pumped out by Belgrave and company deep in the Motor City underground.

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There's been a lot of poetic waxing over Africa's rapid and unwieldy musical modernization in the 70s. With disco and funk becoming more and more influential as the decade wore on, Nigeria's capital Lagos acted as one of the entry points and guiding lights for Western pop. Brighton-based Soundway has been collecting the popular sounds of Nigeria's discothèques and their latest installment is Nigeria Disco Funk Special: The Sound of the Underground Lagos Dancefloor 1974-79. Culled from this album is what's featured here, Voices of Darkness performing their funky freshness for "Moto Ginya." Though information is scarce (and the booklet's biographical depth is limited), we know that the group were expatriates from Cameroon's Ewondo before they hit it big nationally with "Moto Ginya." It was back into obscurity after that, where they remained until now.

Singleversity #53

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



I am exhausted. Eleven hours at a record fair has left me too tired to write anything thoughtful. I am not complaining though, because record fairs lead to all sorts of random discoveries. For instance, you could discover the greatest 45 ever recorded about your namesake without even knowing it existed. The C.O.D.'s "Michael" may have been recorded some 18 years before I was conceived, but being the bright cats they were, the Chicago soul quartet pretty much nailed me perfectly. It's called foreshadowing people.

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While Michael was busy spinning vinyl behind a fence in a prison gym from NBA Streets, I was on the court rifling through some records of my own. I left empty-handed (tight budget constraints) but my girlfriend nabbed a couple of Brazilian albums. As she remarked on the way home, "Brazilians know how to make party music." Judging by Persona's rare 1975 LP Som, they also know how to make discomfiting psych-rock. Though "Fogo" here is a lively number, tracks like the creepy "Lago" and the sparse, airy "Vento" make this one of the more unorthodox albums in the long, colorful history of Brazilian music. Sérgio Santos Mendes it certainly ain't.

Singleversity #52

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



Drunken dialogue is a thing of both sheer embarrassment and protean beauty. It ebbs and flows between grandiose pontification and petty sarcasm, creating a rather malleable cadence between conversationalists that has a certain charm to it. Within a group of witty personalities, the banter can become a poignant, unpredictable free-flow of individual ideas and mental competitiveness. I hear this same kind of fluid idealism in the Joe Chambers piece "Idle While" from the Bobby Hutcherson-led Dialogue (Blue Note 1965). Each player on the session – Chambers, Hutcherson, Freddie Hubbard, Sam Rivers, Andrew Hill, and Richard Davis – takes a turn adding his two cents after the wobbly opening chorus, which behind Hubbard’s muted trumpet and Rivers’ wispy flute, sounds a lot like what was playing in my head during my drunken stumble from the bar last night. Each of the highly regarded post-bop players give calm, contemplative solos that aren’t as much straight technical workouts as freer, more conversational lines. I’d be interested to know under what circumstances this session took place, because the music is just so relaxed, dim-lit, idiomatic and amiable that it’s intoxicating.

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So I did it. I finally went and became one of the white earbuds set and got myself an iPod. This 4-gig bad boy seemed like a good idea when I heard the deal, so I threw down the necessary guineas and florins for it and came up with something to keep me awake at work in the down time between emails to CEOs (or, more usually, their secretaries). I loaded a bunch of stuff onto it earlier this week and would've posted the first song I ever played, but Michael already did that with Alice Coltrane's "Journey in Satchidananda" two years ago, so tough luck for you.

After a few days, I realized I still wasn't confident in public even though it was loaded with [what I think are] great tunes. My only problem with this thing is the color. It's pink. Not even Boris pink or ironic scene-circa-'02 pink or fuschia or magenta; this motherfucker begs for a Bedazzling by a bunch of overenthused 13-year-old girls at a Friday night sleepover. Not that color matters, but pink really isn't one of my favorite colors. Never has been. Just don't like it. Pink and maybe brown. I don't like brown, either. Anyway, I found a typically cheap solution yesterday to the lack of masculinity in my portable music player: I deleted everything that was on it and replaced it with a comprehensive discography of The Jesus Lizard.



The Jesus Lizard are, as best I can tell, the most masculine band in the history of music. But even their seven LPs and numerous addenda aren't enough for a nine-hour workday. For variety's sake, I added Young Widows, who have by now frightened away any Breather Resist hangers-on. They drink beer, they wear flannel, they're from Louisville, their name is fucking Young Widows. Not enough? Maybe "The Charmers" live from 2006's Jade Tree debut Settle Down City will sell you. This particular jingle comes from a hometown performance at Headliners the night Duane Denison laughed to meet his once-a-year quota while dozens of innocent civilians cried in fear. Actually, that's every night. The Jesus Lizard as the Chuck Norris Wolf of music, can I get an amen?

Singleversity #51

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



J Dilla + Minnie Ripperton = soul-hop perfection. Tacked on to the long-delayed release of Slum Village’s debut/demo album Fan-Tas-Tic Vol. 1 (recorded 96-97, released 2005), "Look of Love (Remix)" comprises all of the best elements of the Detroit rap trio: Dilla’s sweet-grooved boom-bap, the off-the-cuff ruminations of Baatin and T3, the humbled basement-studio production quality and of course, the surprisingly terse and biting lyrical content despite a vibe that’s more Tribe than Snoop. Look no further for the seeds of the contemporary Detroit rap sound, not to mention the beginning of Dilla’s heralded career.

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I have the apartment to myself this weekend, but instead of partying it up with Hercules and Love Affair (which apparently tops Audiversity's hypothetical "Loved and Hated" list that Cokemachineglow recently ditched) or self-destructively drinking myself into a corner, I've been quietly relaxing for the most part to Florida-born, Philly-bred, Goddard College acting alum Archie Shepp and his 1977 release On Green Dolphin Street. The tenor sax maestro got his career going with Cecil Taylor in the early 60s and through "New Thing" collaborations with both Taylor and John Coltrane, Shepp made a name for himself that allowed him to explore more possibilities in the 1970s with everyone from Max Roach to his own Attica Blues Big Band. For a long time, the fastest way to Shepp was through the University of Massachusetts-Amherst's courses in "Revolutionary Concepts in African-American Music" and "Black Musician in the Theater," but he's retired since. With one of the lowest album ratings in Shepp's AllMusic guide, On Green Dolphin Street doesn't match his more forward-thinking release from '77 in Goin' Home. Doesn't matter to me. Sometimes it's nice to hear the title-track and understand why Shepp is so great without all the frilly ambition and prefix-addled self-importance of his groundbreaking works.

Singleversity #50

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



I typically read books on jazz to try and comprehend the revolutionary cats of the 60s avant-garde era, but as with trying to understand anything, you have to know the roots before you can get the stems. Not too long ago, I worked my way through Gary Giddins’ excellent Visions of Jazz: The First Century, and despite being quite taken by the chapters on the Modern Jazz Quartet, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Charles Mingus and Muhal Richard Abrams, I was most fascinated by Artie Shaw; a far cry from the free jazz experimenters. The clarinetist could have achieved the legendary status of Benny Goodman, but walked away from his musical career a total of five times until finally leaving the industry in 1954 for good (he didn’t pass away until 2004). The bridge between swing and bop, Shaw was appalled by the idea that his music was transforming him from, in Giddins’ words, “an introspective, adventurous, irreverent musician into a celebrity on autopilot – little better, in his unforgiving view, than a trained seal.” His goal was to become the best clarinetist he believed possible, and when he achieved that he walked away for good. His last recording, "Yesterdays" (found on Artie Shaw: The Last Recordings, Rare & Unreleased), is a haunting ballad of tonal perfection with delicate melodic passages provided by pianist Hank Jones and guitarist Joe Puma. A sobering late night (and career) come down if there ever was one.

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I know this was Singleversity #50, and it was supposed to be something special, and I was going to have something for you, but I think Snöleoparden did it to me. I've lost it.



(Patrick has gone insane, but he will return next week. Probably. -Ed.)

Singleversity #49

Audiversity’s weekly column on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



Revisiting one of the earlier releases from a label we gushed about repeatedly last year – the UK’s Type Records – TYEP002, the six-song EP Six Preludes from compositional wunderkind Ryan Teague, has creeped its way back into my heavy rotation. Balancing equal parts chamber music, avant-electronica, sample-based composing and modern classical, Teague melts the opposing styles of Arvo Pärt into Delarosa & Asora or Steve Reich into Biosphere. Minimal electronic manipulations and chirping melodic samples twinkle in a clear autumnal night sky of warm string vibrato and clarinet swells. On "Prelude I", he even weaves in ghostly choral chants evoking a sense of religious influence into the oscillating tone of the music. Enchanting and melancholy, Six Preludes – like all Type releases – is a repeatedly interesting study as well as a soothing late night listen if your mind isn’t in the mood for moving.
ps. Label-head Xela playing Chicago tomorrow (3/17) at Danny's

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While everybody was out getting loaded on the weekend before St. Patrick's Day, I was looking at how much greener Mayor Daly could possibly make the Chicago River and spending some time with the Smalltown Supersound crew. Not that I've given up my Irish roots, but I'll save the revels (and these sayings) for when they're really needed: the weekday. In the meantime, here's a little ditty from 1978 featuring Motown Sounds, a presumably Detroit-based group (They were on Motown, after all) helmed by one Michael Lovesmith who helped produce this LP and then disappeared into the obscurity of a solo career. Resurrected by Strut in the name of Larry Levan back in 2000 and again on a 45 by the sans-Smalltown Supersound label in 2006, "Bad Mouthin'" is a high-caliber disco classic provided by a group that had one amazing album cover and no follow-up or background information. Níl aon suáilce gan a duáilce féin, am I right?

Singleversity #48

Audiversity’s weekly column, even more modified, on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



When digging around Blue Note’s catalogue, it’s hard to go wrong in 1964. The phenomenal session players spending evening after evening in Rudy Van Gelder’s Englewood Cliffs studio all seem to be coming into their own simultaneously as post-bop bent into the avant-garde and free jazz. So you occasionally get these unreal line-ups like that of Andrew Hill’s Andrew!!! which features Bobby Hutcherson on vibes, Richard Davis on bass, Joe Chambers on drums and Sun Ra’s saxophonist John Gilmore on tenor. Sometimes overlooked by the pianist’s other two releases in 1964, Point of Departure and Judgement!, Andrew!!! – despite it’s Sam Cooke-like cover art – is as stimulating and curious as any Hill record in the 60s. I especially enjoy "Le Serpent Qui Danse" because it bridges the outgoing and incoming fads in jazz at the time. Hill’s post-bop leaning cascades of piano harmony and Chambers’ steady rhythm eventually dissolve into freer modes as Gilmore’s fractured tenor lines counterbalance the warm pings of Hutcherson’s vibes. It’s a surprisingly prolific line-up with unsurprisingly excellent results.

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If you're like me and you've had the pressing need for a Roaring Twenties period-soundtrack set to your daily happenings to make life more bearable, this one's for you. Check out the bluesy southern stomps of piano juggernaut Jimmy Blythe: Born in Lexington, Kentucky around 1901, young Jimmy took off to Chicago for a new life on the performing front in the booming business of the bootlegged Windy City. After honing his craft under Clarence M. Jones, the 1920s were good to him and he cut a number of piano rolls with noted greats such as Louis Armstrong, Johnny Dodds and Ma Rainey (as well as providing the first example of Boogie-Woogie, "Chicago Stomp"). Blythe's Southside stylings were cut abruptly short when he died of meningitis in 1931, but thankfully, his playing has survived the years. Late last year, some of his recordings were revamped through the magic of digital processing courtesy Delmark's compilation Messin' Around Blues. From that album, "Mama's Got 'Em" makes me feel the most like I'm a character in "The Sting"... Nevermind that said movie was actually set in Chicago some five years after Blythe had passed away.

Singleversity #47

Audiversity’s weekly column, even more modified, on music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



A couple months ago I stumbled upon a compilation called Sculpting from Drake, Vol. 1, and my level of interest since has risen from a glancing curiosity to verging on an obsession. Released on the Michigan imprint Elsie and Jack Records back in 2001, it features mostly Midwest American artists individually reinterpreting the graceful tunes of arguably folk-pop’s greatest icon, Nick Drake. Thanks to the diversity of artists involved, the album contains a wide range of reimaginings. Where artists like Archer Prewitt or Flashpapr are able to pay tribute by providing similarly stark and solemn recreations of Drake’s lulling sound, more experimental cats like Ben Vida or Drekka stretch and mold the compositions with their personal artistic fingerprint until they are nearly unidentifiable from the original. The more I spin the record, the more one particular track seems to separate itself from the mix because it combines both approaches. The team of the now defunct UK psych/shoegaze outfit Electroscope and someone by the name of Zurich patiently weave somber electric guitar noodles and wavering feedback for the first half of "Things Behind the Sun" before a welcoming female voice does impressive justice to Drake’s lyrics and deceptively simple vocal melodies. A Drake tune alone is incredibly hypnotizing, but by melting his impeccable songwriting into a gentle whirlpool of psych guitar, organ swells and tape loops, you’ll be lucky to drag yourself out of the sonic vortex. (p.s. Dear Elsie and Jack, please put out a second volume, sincerely Michael)

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Who's the fetching fellow behind the chessboard of this photo and the mixing board of the b-side to M83's owl-inflected latest single, "Couleurs"? Answer: Flying Finn Jori Hulkkonen, an electronic artist and relentless remixer slipping in treatments for Goldfrapp, Cabaret Voltaire and Chromeo to name but a few. Hulkkonen got no less a dancefloor icon than Tiga to write the bio on his webpage, and his long career as both artist and resident DJ stretches back to early electro experiments in 1988-89. He's come a long way from deep house remixes in the early 90s, and the extended journey continues two decades on with both a radiant Italo-garage hybrid for "Couleurs" and a new single on F Communications with John Foxx called "Never Been Here Before." Check out his MySpace for even more goodness from the man bred on Swedish-pop and Finnish folk in the remote "city of snow and sea," Kemi.

Singleversity #46

Audiversity’s weekly column, even more modified, on random music we stumble across during our sonic adventures. No random numbers, just straight audio goodness.

MA:



I am not much of a print art connoisseur, but when I happen across an artist I like, my attention is captured for good. That is just what happened about a year ago while digging for a foothold to get my review of Low’s Drums and Guns rolling. A piece titled “March” by Bridget Riversmith graced the front cover, and as I stared at it for a good hour trying to find just the right description, I found myself more hypnotized by the gouache and graphite sketch than the music – though Low’s gently pulsing vibrations was certainly catalytic to the situation. Well not only does the Duluth, MN artist now have an expanded website, but she has a new film project titled Birds At Night (Might Fall). And if you are looking for equally hypnotizing music to soundtrack your browsing of Riversmith’s many surreal, storybook-inspired concoctions, might I suggest minimalist composer Terry Riley’s "Purple" from his 1968 concert: Poppy Nogood and the Phantom Band All Night Flight. Both artists share a penchant for gently stumbling upon warm-hued, melodious impressions in mistake-friendly chaos: Riley with his erasable layers of loops and Riversmith with her pliable water-based media.

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This week has turned out to be all about Africa for me. It started when I finally reviewed Toumani Diabaté's latest record, The Mande Variations, after sitting on it for several days. This led me to visit Awesome Tapes From Africa for the first time in a few weeks, and I did my catching-up. I also finished Dave Eggers' riveting portrayal of Sudanese refugee Valentino Achak Deng, 2006's What is the What. The climax was when I received "The Last King of Scotland" in the mail from Netflix. My interest in crazed African dictators was renewed with this flawed-yet-entertaining film, but the soundtrack is also worth more investigation. Ofo & The Black Company - a Nigerian group led by Larry Ifedioranma with little other information to offer - has often been cited as the highlight with "Allah Wakbarr" (incorrectly titled "Love is You" on the album), but the b-side of that 1972 Decca 7" wasn't bad either: Here lies "Beautiful Daddy," a jam Idi Amin would doubtlessly have approved of.

Apparently the people up at The Fader saw this coming: on Thursday the "Africa issue" arrived, which is well worth the read even if you're averse to the whole "print media" thing. To bring it full circle, Brian Shimkovitz does his own Vinyl Archaeology toward the back of the rag. You may know him as thursdayborn from his blog, Awesome Tapes From Africa. Word.