I was obsessed with Hole's 1991 debut Pretty On The Inside when I was in high school. It was dirty, nasty, druggy, and nightmarish, a muddy wave of grinding guitars and Courtney Love's banshee howls. A tormented mix of ugly noise and tormented screams and hints of melody. Brilliant.
Love was ugly in a way that few females were in 1991. Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth was tough and cool, but Courtney went one further, laying it all out there. While still being sort of sexy. Kate Bjelland of Babes in Toyland (terrible name, not much better band) accused her of stealing her babydoll style, but Courteny worked it better.
I liked Live Through This, the follow up, even though it lacked the edge of Pretty On The Inside. When punk loses its rawness, the result is often bad rock, which definitely showed its face on Live Through This. "Ms. World" seemed calculated to play on MTV, and it did, and Hole made it big.
Love has always wrestled with demons, and has often been a train wreck that everyone like to watch and laugh at. After melting down post Live Through This, she cleaned up, got made over, and got her shit together. The resulting album, Celebrity Skin, wasn't great, but the title track is one of my favorite songs.
She's rocking a new look, working the crowd like a pro, and seeming more like a rock star than a punker.
I stopped following Love at that point. She's released solo albums, Hole has reportedly rejoined, I don't care.
I briefly got excited about the Distillers six years ago, when it seemed like singer Brody Dalle was following in Hole's footsteps. Then I lost interest. I still dig out Coral Fang every once in a while. Like scratching a scab, in a good way.
All of this led me across a rare live video of seminal riot grrrl band Bikini Kill doing "Orange Julius" live in Nebraska. I love this song. Reject All American and their collection of singles are both pretty amazing. And they have some good song titles.
"I believe in the radical power of pleasure, babe, I do I do I do."
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
An old story
I wrote this seven years ago and just found it on an old blog I had. Some details have been changed and names omitted to protect the guilty.
My friend M had skin cancer that metastasized and spread all over his body, so he ended up in St. Mary’s Hospital on chemotherapy and all that and his friends decided to throw a benefit for him and for their other friend who had a brain tumor. It had a tumor theme and M designed the flyers, but didn’t make it to the party because he was too sick. When I was young and 21 and drinking too much and staying out too late, no one mentioned brain tumors or cancer. Our worst problems were hangovers, and even those weren’t as bad as they are now, and our idea of being broke still allowed us to go out three or four nights a week.
I had met M through my friend C at a party in the South of Market that we went to that was kind of disappointing, but we didn’t really care because we were all pretty drunk on booze and camaraderie and singing Judas Priest songs. Me and M had grown up on punk rock, and we would reminisce about seminal bands like X and the Minutemen, who on second thought weren’t really that seminal because no one really sounds like them because no one really listened to them, which is probably why we like them so much. M had this slow, staggered way of talking, and had kind of a California twang, because he was raised in Berkeley, and he would say things like “Wohl, fuckin’, like, Fear were like, fuckin’ the ultimate punk band.” Marcus also had dubious taste in movies and so I was suspicious about his recommendations of both the Fight Club and the Matrix, but I liked them both.
He did animation and dated a beautiful 19-year-old, even though he was 34, and once drew an anime chick on the message board of my old house during a party, next to notices to pay Shannon for the electricity bill. He had a lot of tattoos and used to have a drug problem so we forgave his overindulgence in the drink as the lesser of two evils.
He was all into Burning Man and had these friends who were part of a something called the Space Cowboys who put on an event called Space Lounge which I never went to because I wasn’t really into that kind of thing, I mean the bleep-bloop music and everyone being so fucking happy and the drugs. I was more into going to shows and complaining about how derivative and lame they were and how stupid scenesters were.
It was the Space Cowboys who threw the benefit party. It was in an old church in the Mission, right around Halloween 2001. I was still freaking out about September 11, and it was the first time I had really gone out since all that badness happened; The planes crashing into buildings and our reaction to it, Bush preaching biblical revenge, and the liberals being totally ineffectual and that horrible feeling that something really really bad was happening, and losing faith in my country and not being able to do anything about it.
The night of the party I was tired and felt lazy and didn’t want to spend the 20 bucks to get in, but I knew it would be worth checking out, and I had invited this cute Australian girl, so I dragged my sorry ass out. There was a live fire show out front, but we waited in line to get in.
I went for the retro look, wearing my rust colored plaid jacket and brown hat. I knew I didn’t have any appropriate clothes, and so opted to totally not fit in rather than try to and fail miserably. The crowd was typical of those kinds of events in those days; ecstasy-damaged graphic designers and computer programmers and webmasters who walked that fine line between artist and dork, yuppies with better taste in drugs and music than their khaki-wearing brethren clogging the bars of the Marina, foreign-exchange students, party girls, and aging hipsters, we being in the latter category. Girls dressed as sexy nurses sold cheap drink tickets, and all the organizers were dressed as mad doctors. Some of the crowd had decided to dress in theme. There were tons of dj’s playing house music, but both of us were more into dancing to rock or old soul, so we went outside to watch people smoke and be able to hear ourselves talk.
C and I were both in grad school as a way to put off getting a real job, he in the humanities and I in history, and we would talk about music like we were writing our graduate thesis on it. We couldn’t just think that, say, X’s “Los Angeles” was a great song. We had to deconstruct it and analyze it within the context of L.A. at the time and the racism there and the white flight. Which would lead us to Fear’s homophobia and Quentin Tarantino’s bogus use of the word “nigger” as if racism never happened. I think it scares the uninitiated, those people who have the audacity to just like the music they like without considering its past and future and its place in the history of popular music and youth culture and the politics of the time and take it all with a seriousness that probably belies some gnawing emptiness in our lives.
A friend of C’s from Berkeley was there, and he was married and had a kid, which was weird for us because neither of us were even self-sufficient, much less organized enough to take care of another sentient being. But it was also kind of cool, especially in the environment of the party, because we felt like we were part of a new, alternative generation, one full of nice, good people who weren’t part of the shitty, greedy, consumeristic and stupid mainstream who were plastering American flags on their cars and pouring out their French wines and eating freedom fries and voting on American Idol. It was a world miles apart from all the embarrassment and horror that greeted us when we watched the news.
In a lot of ways the party was a very punk rock thing, or at least was the kind of thing punk rockers would aspire to do, only if they did it the music would have been suckier and everyone would have had to pretend it was lame and there wouldn’t have been as many cute girls and they wouldn’t have been dressed as well and everyone would have been drunk on cheap beer or fucked up on speed rather than drunk on vodka tonics and fucked up on E.
(I went to a hardcore show in Milan a few years ago, and all the crusty anarcho-punks [called “punkabestia” in Italian, literally “Punk animal”] were staggering drunk and dressed the same and had the same dreads and the same type of mutts on the same rope leashes and I asked myself, “so this is the revolution?”)
By two a.m. me and C were drunk and tired and wanted to go home. Both of us felt too old and too tired and we had things to do the next day for school. Which we wouldn’t end up doing anyways.
So I left as everyone else was just coming, and went home four hours before the event ended, to sleep fitfully and wake up feeling tired, elated, and a little disappointed, because something great could have happened to me that night but didn’t.
M died a year later, and I didn’t go to his informal wake, which was held at the Wherepad in the Mission, because I felt like I didn’t know him THAT well, and it would be fake, and C wasn’t around to go with me. I had only been to one wake in my life, and I didn’t like it. My reaction to being sad was to get angry at the rest of the mourners, and when I wasn’t doing that I was breaking down and spilling tears in my coke. But now I regret not going because even if M wasn’t my best friend, he was still a good guy, and I find myself missing him.
My friend M had skin cancer that metastasized and spread all over his body, so he ended up in St. Mary’s Hospital on chemotherapy and all that and his friends decided to throw a benefit for him and for their other friend who had a brain tumor. It had a tumor theme and M designed the flyers, but didn’t make it to the party because he was too sick. When I was young and 21 and drinking too much and staying out too late, no one mentioned brain tumors or cancer. Our worst problems were hangovers, and even those weren’t as bad as they are now, and our idea of being broke still allowed us to go out three or four nights a week.
I had met M through my friend C at a party in the South of Market that we went to that was kind of disappointing, but we didn’t really care because we were all pretty drunk on booze and camaraderie and singing Judas Priest songs. Me and M had grown up on punk rock, and we would reminisce about seminal bands like X and the Minutemen, who on second thought weren’t really that seminal because no one really sounds like them because no one really listened to them, which is probably why we like them so much. M had this slow, staggered way of talking, and had kind of a California twang, because he was raised in Berkeley, and he would say things like “Wohl, fuckin’, like, Fear were like, fuckin’ the ultimate punk band.” Marcus also had dubious taste in movies and so I was suspicious about his recommendations of both the Fight Club and the Matrix, but I liked them both.
He did animation and dated a beautiful 19-year-old, even though he was 34, and once drew an anime chick on the message board of my old house during a party, next to notices to pay Shannon for the electricity bill. He had a lot of tattoos and used to have a drug problem so we forgave his overindulgence in the drink as the lesser of two evils.
He was all into Burning Man and had these friends who were part of a something called the Space Cowboys who put on an event called Space Lounge which I never went to because I wasn’t really into that kind of thing, I mean the bleep-bloop music and everyone being so fucking happy and the drugs. I was more into going to shows and complaining about how derivative and lame they were and how stupid scenesters were.
It was the Space Cowboys who threw the benefit party. It was in an old church in the Mission, right around Halloween 2001. I was still freaking out about September 11, and it was the first time I had really gone out since all that badness happened; The planes crashing into buildings and our reaction to it, Bush preaching biblical revenge, and the liberals being totally ineffectual and that horrible feeling that something really really bad was happening, and losing faith in my country and not being able to do anything about it.
The night of the party I was tired and felt lazy and didn’t want to spend the 20 bucks to get in, but I knew it would be worth checking out, and I had invited this cute Australian girl, so I dragged my sorry ass out. There was a live fire show out front, but we waited in line to get in.
I went for the retro look, wearing my rust colored plaid jacket and brown hat. I knew I didn’t have any appropriate clothes, and so opted to totally not fit in rather than try to and fail miserably. The crowd was typical of those kinds of events in those days; ecstasy-damaged graphic designers and computer programmers and webmasters who walked that fine line between artist and dork, yuppies with better taste in drugs and music than their khaki-wearing brethren clogging the bars of the Marina, foreign-exchange students, party girls, and aging hipsters, we being in the latter category. Girls dressed as sexy nurses sold cheap drink tickets, and all the organizers were dressed as mad doctors. Some of the crowd had decided to dress in theme. There were tons of dj’s playing house music, but both of us were more into dancing to rock or old soul, so we went outside to watch people smoke and be able to hear ourselves talk.
C and I were both in grad school as a way to put off getting a real job, he in the humanities and I in history, and we would talk about music like we were writing our graduate thesis on it. We couldn’t just think that, say, X’s “Los Angeles” was a great song. We had to deconstruct it and analyze it within the context of L.A. at the time and the racism there and the white flight. Which would lead us to Fear’s homophobia and Quentin Tarantino’s bogus use of the word “nigger” as if racism never happened. I think it scares the uninitiated, those people who have the audacity to just like the music they like without considering its past and future and its place in the history of popular music and youth culture and the politics of the time and take it all with a seriousness that probably belies some gnawing emptiness in our lives.
A friend of C’s from Berkeley was there, and he was married and had a kid, which was weird for us because neither of us were even self-sufficient, much less organized enough to take care of another sentient being. But it was also kind of cool, especially in the environment of the party, because we felt like we were part of a new, alternative generation, one full of nice, good people who weren’t part of the shitty, greedy, consumeristic and stupid mainstream who were plastering American flags on their cars and pouring out their French wines and eating freedom fries and voting on American Idol. It was a world miles apart from all the embarrassment and horror that greeted us when we watched the news.
In a lot of ways the party was a very punk rock thing, or at least was the kind of thing punk rockers would aspire to do, only if they did it the music would have been suckier and everyone would have had to pretend it was lame and there wouldn’t have been as many cute girls and they wouldn’t have been dressed as well and everyone would have been drunk on cheap beer or fucked up on speed rather than drunk on vodka tonics and fucked up on E.
(I went to a hardcore show in Milan a few years ago, and all the crusty anarcho-punks [called “punkabestia” in Italian, literally “Punk animal”] were staggering drunk and dressed the same and had the same dreads and the same type of mutts on the same rope leashes and I asked myself, “so this is the revolution?”)
By two a.m. me and C were drunk and tired and wanted to go home. Both of us felt too old and too tired and we had things to do the next day for school. Which we wouldn’t end up doing anyways.
So I left as everyone else was just coming, and went home four hours before the event ended, to sleep fitfully and wake up feeling tired, elated, and a little disappointed, because something great could have happened to me that night but didn’t.
M died a year later, and I didn’t go to his informal wake, which was held at the Wherepad in the Mission, because I felt like I didn’t know him THAT well, and it would be fake, and C wasn’t around to go with me. I had only been to one wake in my life, and I didn’t like it. My reaction to being sad was to get angry at the rest of the mourners, and when I wasn’t doing that I was breaking down and spilling tears in my coke. But now I regret not going because even if M wasn’t my best friend, he was still a good guy, and I find myself missing him.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
What I've Been Listening To
I have an 8 gig iPod mini, so what I choose to put on it says a lot about what I'm into at a particular moment. Right now hip-hop is winning out with 220 songs. I've been listening to a lot of hip-hop lately. I have the new Vast Aire (of Cannibal Ox fame) to review, and I'm also working on reviews of the new Aztext ep, and have been meaning to review Open Mike Eagle's Unapologetic Art Rap and Madlib's last album for about three months. I also got Pharaoh Monche's new album, which has convinced me that I respect him more than I like him. Maybe if I listen some more.
The album that has been getting heavy rotation is Has-Lo's In Case I don't Make It, which I reviewed last week. I complained in my review of how it was a downer and dragged towards the end, but it has stuck with me. He's a great if understated album, and it is a heartbreaking album. In the same vein, I bought OC's Word...Life. He was a contemporary of Big L and part of the Diggin in the Crates crew, only where Big L excelled at bravado and wicked one liners, OC is a much more thoughtful rapper. I've only given it a few spins, but already I love it.
I'm also loving Big L's Lifestylez Ov Da Poor and Dangerous. I wrote about it a while ago, but it has stayed on heavy rotation. It's classic 90s East Coast gangsta rap in the vein of the Notorious BIG or Nas, but without the remorse. Big L is rude, crude, and raps about robbing and killing people in the most creative way possible. Here are just a few choice lines:
"This ain't Cali, it's Harlem, nigga, we do walk bys"
"Me bein' a virgin, that's idiotic/cuz if Big L gots the AIDS every cutie in the city got it"
"I wasn't poor, I was Po'/I couldn't afford the O-R."
On a less offensive note, I have also been listening to the new TV on the Radio. I had decided I didn't like them that much after I lost interest in their last album, Dear Science. My problem with them is that they are too complex, and there is too much going on in their songs. Which is an idiotic thing to complain about. Nine Types of Light is a mellower album, but their instrumentation, songwriting, and sound is so rich and rewarding. I'm a fan.
Here's a video someone made for my favorite song on the album, "Keep Your Heart."
The album that has been getting heavy rotation is Has-Lo's In Case I don't Make It, which I reviewed last week. I complained in my review of how it was a downer and dragged towards the end, but it has stuck with me. He's a great if understated album, and it is a heartbreaking album. In the same vein, I bought OC's Word...Life. He was a contemporary of Big L and part of the Diggin in the Crates crew, only where Big L excelled at bravado and wicked one liners, OC is a much more thoughtful rapper. I've only given it a few spins, but already I love it.
I'm also loving Big L's Lifestylez Ov Da Poor and Dangerous. I wrote about it a while ago, but it has stayed on heavy rotation. It's classic 90s East Coast gangsta rap in the vein of the Notorious BIG or Nas, but without the remorse. Big L is rude, crude, and raps about robbing and killing people in the most creative way possible. Here are just a few choice lines:
"This ain't Cali, it's Harlem, nigga, we do walk bys"
"Me bein' a virgin, that's idiotic/cuz if Big L gots the AIDS every cutie in the city got it"
"I wasn't poor, I was Po'/I couldn't afford the O-R."
On a less offensive note, I have also been listening to the new TV on the Radio. I had decided I didn't like them that much after I lost interest in their last album, Dear Science. My problem with them is that they are too complex, and there is too much going on in their songs. Which is an idiotic thing to complain about. Nine Types of Light is a mellower album, but their instrumentation, songwriting, and sound is so rich and rewarding. I'm a fan.
Here's a video someone made for my favorite song on the album, "Keep Your Heart."
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Deadverse Massive and Has-Lo Reviews
I reviewed Deadverse Massive's The Takeover for RapReviews this week. It's dalek's crew, an underground rapper I never messed with because I thought he was weirdo art rap. Instead, this is grimy East Coast circa 1995. I was into it. You can find a fan video for their first single here.
I also reviewed Has-Lo's In Case I Don't Make It. It's a heavy, somber record that drags in places but is totally worth it for tracks like "Everything Is."
I also reviewed Has-Lo's In Case I Don't Make It. It's a heavy, somber record that drags in places but is totally worth it for tracks like "Everything Is."
Saturday, April 30, 2011
J Rocc and King Louis Reviews
I reviewed King Louis's Hits In My Sleep mixtape for RapReviews this week. I'm not a big fan of these kinds of mixtapes, but I liked King Louis well enough to write about him.
Here's "Yo":
I also reviewed J Rocc's Some Cold Rock Stuf. It's a great instrumental hip hop album, mixing elements of trip-hop, electronica, old school, and latin funk into the mix.
Here's "Yo":
I also reviewed J Rocc's Some Cold Rock Stuf. It's a great instrumental hip hop album, mixing elements of trip-hop, electronica, old school, and latin funk into the mix.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Eric Dolphy
Madlib titled one of the tracks on his Advanced Jazz mixtape "Dolphy," which got me investigating just who this Dolphy character is.
Turns out he was a multi-instrumentalist who worked with Coltrane (among others) before branching out as a leader, producing several amazing albums, and then dying tragically young.
I got Out There, which I really enjoy, but it's Out To Lunch which is his true masterpiece. Take "Hat and Beard."
It's starts off as standard bouncy sixties jazz, complete with vibraphone. But something is off: the drums seem to be keeping their own beat, and the whole thing is off kilter. When his sax comes in, it's doing the scree thing that Ayler and Coltrane and Coleman and Sanders were experimenting with. The whole thing is accessible yet freaky. No wonder a lot of traditionalists dismissed his music.
I can't tell you how much I love this album. I have been listening to it incessantly for the past two weeks. I got it at the same time I got Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, and I like Out To Lunch more.Not that Kind of Blue isn't genius in its own right, but Dolphy's avant weirdness is much more interesting to me than Miles's restrained cool.
The picture, by the way, is stolen from here, which has a great bio of the man.
Turns out he was a multi-instrumentalist who worked with Coltrane (among others) before branching out as a leader, producing several amazing albums, and then dying tragically young.
I got Out There, which I really enjoy, but it's Out To Lunch which is his true masterpiece. Take "Hat and Beard."
It's starts off as standard bouncy sixties jazz, complete with vibraphone. But something is off: the drums seem to be keeping their own beat, and the whole thing is off kilter. When his sax comes in, it's doing the scree thing that Ayler and Coltrane and Coleman and Sanders were experimenting with. The whole thing is accessible yet freaky. No wonder a lot of traditionalists dismissed his music.
I can't tell you how much I love this album. I have been listening to it incessantly for the past two weeks. I got it at the same time I got Miles Davis' Kind of Blue, and I like Out To Lunch more.Not that Kind of Blue isn't genius in its own right, but Dolphy's avant weirdness is much more interesting to me than Miles's restrained cool.
The picture, by the way, is stolen from here, which has a great bio of the man.
Animal Farm and Quanstar
I did two new reviews for RapReviews last week. The first was for Animal Farm's Culture Shock. They are a positive hip-hop crew from Portland doing music in the vein of Ugly Duckling and Jurassic 5. I wasn't totally feeling it, but fans of the aforementioned bands should check them out.
The other review was for Quanstar's 4/11 ep.He''s an indie rapper who self-produces his stuff, and raps grown man raps over quiet storm beats. Interesting.
The other review was for Quanstar's 4/11 ep.He''s an indie rapper who self-produces his stuff, and raps grown man raps over quiet storm beats. Interesting.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Kyle Rapps Review
I reviewed Kyle Rapps Re-Edutainment EP on RapReviews two weeks ago.
Good positive hip-hop, modeled somewhat after BDP's Edutainment album. Which I owned but sold.
Like this video, the album is colorful and a little corny.
"Love's Gonna Get You" from Edutainment:
Good positive hip-hop, modeled somewhat after BDP's Edutainment album. Which I owned but sold.
Like this video, the album is colorful and a little corny.
"Love's Gonna Get You" from Edutainment:
Charles Mingus Review
Originally posted on RapReviews.com at http://www.rapreviews.com/archive/2011_04_blacksaintand.html
Charles Mingus, Black Saint and the Sinner Lady
Charles Mingus, Black Saint and the Sinner Lady
I came of age when music was still purchased in physical form at brick and mortar stores, and my relationship with music is different because of it. I used to go to record stores and sift through the bins looking for an album I wanted or one I didn't know I wanted. There was a thrill in finding a rare CD in the bargain bin, or finding a new record used, or coming across something I didn't even know existed.
I used to buy maybe four albums a month - I couldn't afford more. I'd go home, reading the liner notes on the bus, and listen to the albums back to front multiple times. I'd listen to an album for a week straight, catching every nuance and change. Some of my favorite albums were those that required multiple listens to truly appreciate and discover: "Fear of a Black Planet" by Public Enemy, "Sandanista!" by the Clash, "Paul's Boutique" by the Beastie Boys. I knew every inch of every album. To this day I'm still discovering songs that were sampled and referenced on early Ice Cube and Public Enemy records.
Then high-speed internet became more widespread and we entered an age where you can find almost any album ever made simply by searching for its name and "download" (Madlib's "Blunted in the Bombshelter" being one exception). I went from listening to four albums a month to four albums a week, and sometimes as many as ten. The trickle of information became a flood, something this gig as a reviewer only exacerbates.
I no longer listen to an album for a week straight. I'm lucky if I listen to it twice in a row before moving on to something else. Instead, albums go on steady rotation, and it might take weeks or months or years before they begin to click with me. I burned a copy of Coltrane's "Giant Steps" two years ago and only now am giving it a real listen, and I just went back to Percee P's "Perseverance" after forgetting about it for four years. I also never listen to the end of a song - I know how all 2,000 songs on my iPod start, but I don't have the patience to get to the end of any of them.
In some ways I love the fact that I can hear so much music. In the past few years, I've been able to explore and delve deep into African music, reggae, jazz, and hip-hop. If I'm in the mood to experience any genre, I go to Pandora and set up a "Salsa" or "Dirty South" radio station and get my fix. There are few albums so obscure or so rare that they aren't available somewhere online, either legally or illegally. Indie artists that have a decent computer can record, mix, and post their music online for a fraction of the time and cost that it used to take. Small labels can sell digital copies of their catalogue long after they've lost the resources to maintain physical copies.
We are losing some things with the death of the album and the death of the record store. One is the social element of buying records. I had friends and acquaintances that worked and still work at record stores: Asa at Record Finder on Noe (now a dry cleaner), Gabe and Galen at Streetlight on Market, David at Amoeba on Haight. I'd talk to them about music in the store and over beers when I ran into them at a bar. They'd turn me on to things, I'd turn them on to things, and it made the process of shopping a social experience sorely missing from clicking "Buy" on iTunes or Amazon.
Another thing we've lost in the transition away from the album is the context and the power of an artists complete, fleshed-out thought. I listen to music in snippets now, and it is rare that I take the time to experience the breadth of what an artist has to say at a particular moment in time. I listen to track two then track three then track five of a totally different album. Any intentionality in the arrangement of songs on an album is totally lost.
Which brings me to Charles Mingus' 1963 masterpiece "The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady." I bought album five years ago, new, for $15,98 at the soon to be defunct Border's in downtown San Francisco. I had been told that it was a classic, a must-own record, so I decided to experience it first-hand. After an initial listen, I wasn't impressed. First of all, it's not an easy listen. It takes a while to build, and it is full of changes, contrasts, and discordant elements. It's not nice background music. No one will play it at their wedding reception, but then maybe that's the mark of good jazz. The album is four songs in about forty minutes, less music than I was used to paying so much money for. I later learned that the whole point of the Impulse label was to treat jazz as art and charge a premium for it. The records were expensive in the sixties and seventies when the label was active, and the reissues are expensive today.
Part of that money goes into the packaging, and for this reason you need to buy a physical copy vs. a download. It comes in a gatefold digipack like the original vinyl, with complete liner notes by Mingus himself and his psychologist. Mingus's liner notes set the context for the album: what he was trying to do, how he went about doing it, the fact that it is essentially a song cycle about himself. The notes open up the music in the same way that the description of a painting in a museum catalogue can open up a painting, giving you a sense of the time and place it was created, and why it matters. You wouldn't get the same experience from four lonely MP3s sitting in your iTunes playlist.
And the music? You need some time with that, too. This is an album that you can't enjoy in small bursts. You can't have this on shuffle. The songs all work together with themes and melodies and rhythms and ideas repeating themselves over the course of the disc. It's a symphony, albeit a funky, groovy symphony. There are wailing horns, flourishes of brass, even some Spanish guitar interludes. It is celebratory, mournful, angry, happy, and as complicated and conflicted as the man who composed it. For experienced jazz fans, the album contains a multitude of nuggets, gems, and unexpected compositional choices that have ensured its place among the canon of essential jazz albums. For the casual jazz fan like myself, it is just challenging enough to be interesting while still being enjoyable. It pushes the boundaries of what I am used to, but isn't so freaky or annoying or obtuse that I can't listen to it.
For hip-hop fans who are interested in exploring the background and back story of their favorite music, "Black Saint" is worth purchasing. This, along with Coltrane's "Love Supreme" and Miles Davis' "Kind of Blue," was the pinnacle of African-American music fifty years ago. The ambition, creativity, and talent that went into "Black Saint" can be seen in later hip-hop masterpieces like "Fear of A Black Planet," "Speakerboxx/Love Below," and "Liquid Swords." "Black Saint" is an album that pushes both the artist's and the listener's comfort levels, aiming for greatness and largely succeeding.
Saturday, April 09, 2011
New York's Alright If You Like Saxaphones
I'm in New York, staying in the East Village. It's my first time here - I've spent most of my 36 years avoiding/hating/being envious of New York. It always seemed to crazy, too busy, too big, too harsh, too full of itself. It's all of those things, but it also the Ur-city, the city that all others are modeled after and aspire to be. I've only been here twenty four hours and already I am overwhelmed and half want to move here and half want to take the next plane home. It's an intense, crowded, exciting place.
And I've had that Fear song in my head. Fear wrote it in their asshole West Coast way, mocking New York for being full of arty gays. I think it's funny because it doesn't seem like that much of an insult. As my friend's friend said to us today, "welcome to Chelsea, one of nine gay districts in Manhattan.
My impressions of New York are mostly from music and film, and are mostly out of date. The Lower East Side when it was dangerous. Manhattan when it was more working class. South Bronx when it was an abandoned, bombed-out war zone. Things have changed. From my limited view, it seems a lot less sleazy than it used to be, and a lot safer and more homogeneous. I joked with my wife that we could easily spend the entire time eating at chain restaurants and shopping at chain stores. But in between all that are hundreds upon hundreds of unique stores and restaurants, and millions and millions of people. Another telling sign - i've seen a ton of DVD places, but no record stores.
So maybe this is a better theme song for my trip:
Wednesday, April 06, 2011
Nirvana
Kurt Cobain shot himself seventeen years ago. I heard about it when I was at my friend/bandmate Matt's parents house in Roseville. I was sad but not surprised. There was so much misery in his music that it was obvious that he was deeply unhappy.
Kurt Cobain meant a lot to my friends and I. In some ways he was an idol: a sensitive freak who had made good, shown up all the jocks and gone on to transform the record industry and our culture. I tried to drum like Dave Grohl, my bandmates tried to sing like Kurt Cobain, and everyone aped their loud-quiet-loud aesthetic. Before Nirvana broke in '91, the music industry was DIRE. The only interesting music was coming out of hip-hop - mainstream rock music was all hair bands and garbage, with the exception of Guns and Roses. Nirvana took the rawness and realness of punk and made it melodic and palatable to the masses. Cobain's lyrics were obtuse, but any teenage kid recognized some of their own frustration and confusion in his tortured yowls.
His death marked the end of the grunge movement, and the decline of music. Most of the bands that came up with Nirvana were actually good: Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, the Smashing Pumpkins. By 94, the second generation of grunge bands was coming, and they watered down the sound and turned it into generic rock. By 95 I had gotten totally bored of all of it - the dirty production, the downer vibe, the navel-gazing subject matter. I moved on to other things.
Luckily, Nirvana doesn't hit me the same way they did when I was 19. However, I still love many of their songs, and I think most of them hold up pretty well twenty years later.
Kurt Cobain meant a lot to my friends and I. In some ways he was an idol: a sensitive freak who had made good, shown up all the jocks and gone on to transform the record industry and our culture. I tried to drum like Dave Grohl, my bandmates tried to sing like Kurt Cobain, and everyone aped their loud-quiet-loud aesthetic. Before Nirvana broke in '91, the music industry was DIRE. The only interesting music was coming out of hip-hop - mainstream rock music was all hair bands and garbage, with the exception of Guns and Roses. Nirvana took the rawness and realness of punk and made it melodic and palatable to the masses. Cobain's lyrics were obtuse, but any teenage kid recognized some of their own frustration and confusion in his tortured yowls.
His death marked the end of the grunge movement, and the decline of music. Most of the bands that came up with Nirvana were actually good: Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, the Smashing Pumpkins. By 94, the second generation of grunge bands was coming, and they watered down the sound and turned it into generic rock. By 95 I had gotten totally bored of all of it - the dirty production, the downer vibe, the navel-gazing subject matter. I moved on to other things.
Luckily, Nirvana doesn't hit me the same way they did when I was 19. However, I still love many of their songs, and I think most of them hold up pretty well twenty years later.
Mobroder
Those wacky kids in Spank Rock have come up with a new side project, Mobroder. It's Italo-disco in the vein of Giorgio Moroder, who is perhaps best known for writing and producing Donna Summer's "Love To Love You Baby," Irene Cara's "Flashdance...What A Feeling," and Berlin's "Take My Breath Away."
And his epic mustache.
If you go to their website and give them your email address, they will send you an hour long mix. Some of it seems to be original, but a lot of it is older material. I recognize some songs from Miss Kittin's essential mix Radio Caroline. Man I love that album. I don't listen to very much electronica these days - partially because my partner doesn't like it and partially because it's not in tune with where I am at this moment, but I still like it in small doses.
Here's a video they did. It makes you either want to do coke with models in the bathroom of a neon lit club, or play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. I'm opting for the latter.
Scion A/V Presents: Mobroder - Rush (Nile Delta Remix) from Scion A/V on Vimeo.
And his epic mustache.
If you go to their website and give them your email address, they will send you an hour long mix. Some of it seems to be original, but a lot of it is older material. I recognize some songs from Miss Kittin's essential mix Radio Caroline. Man I love that album. I don't listen to very much electronica these days - partially because my partner doesn't like it and partially because it's not in tune with where I am at this moment, but I still like it in small doses.
Here's a video they did. It makes you either want to do coke with models in the bathroom of a neon lit club, or play Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. I'm opting for the latter.
Scion A/V Presents: Mobroder - Rush (Nile Delta Remix) from Scion A/V on Vimeo.
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
What's Wrong With Being Sexy?
In the two weeks since I wrote my Odd Future review, there has been several articles on the internet criticizing the crew's rampant misogyny. The Troy blog has a nice round-up. I've spent just about all the time I want to analyzing them, but I do want to say a couple things. One is something I learned too late in life: if you are an offensive asshole as a joke, you are still an offensive asshole. Just because you say you are joking doesn't mean it isn't funny, and if you have to have an elaborate explanation as to why you aren't really a total fuckhead, then it's not worth it. In short, if you are defending why it's ok to say you are a rapist, you've lost the argument already.
Second, it's ironic that as Odd Future was being lionized at SXSW while rapping about killing and raping women, Ben Weasel of Screeching Weasel saw his career basically end when he hit a woman who had thrown a beer at him (a description of the show and video can be found here). Sort of a double standard, although I suppose Odd Future haven't done anything to anyone (and there DJ is a woman, so it's all good, right?) .
I'm done.
Second, it's ironic that as Odd Future was being lionized at SXSW while rapping about killing and raping women, Ben Weasel of Screeching Weasel saw his career basically end when he hit a woman who had thrown a beer at him (a description of the show and video can be found here). Sort of a double standard, although I suppose Odd Future haven't done anything to anyone (and there DJ is a woman, so it's all good, right?) .
I'm done.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Odd Future Rap About Rape, and I Don't Like It
I reviewed Tyler the Creator's Bastard for RapReviews this week. I was excited to hear it, given the rave reviews I had heard of Tyler and his crew, Odd Future. I had the title track on my iPod from someone's year-end list, and I enjoyed it. Tyler was creative, twisted, and dark, and his beats stood out.
And then the rape talk began. To quote my review quoting Tyler, he repeatedly brags about being a rapist, dropping lines like "When I rape a bitch, I hold her down and get my best nut" and "Leave a bitch breathless/ but what the bitch don't know /is that I'm a motherfucking sellout and a rapist" and "you call that shit rape but I think that rape's fun." Those are only three of many references.
In two words, fuck that. I'm not listening to that shit, I'm not giving it a pass, and I'm not signing off on it. I didn't fuck with Eminem when he was rapping about killing his baby momma, and I sure as fuck am not going to listen to a bunch of kids who grew up on Em and decided to go one worse.
It's ironic that the hipster community (coughPitchforkcough) have totally bought into Odd Future, with the standard disclaimer that, yah, it's disturbing, but isn't rap music, like, supposed to be shocking? It makes me question the relationship that us white fans have with hip-hop. What does it mean that we enjoy listening to young black men boast about being the worst stereotypes of their race? What does it mean that we will listen to a young black man rapping about subjects that we would find totally unacceptable if sung by a white artist? That we need the music to be gritty and grimey and ultraviolent in order to get off on it or feel that it is "real"?
And before people start saying, "it's a joke! Lighten up!" here's the deal: some things aren't funny, motherfucker. Imagine a male comedian coming on stage making jokes about raping women. It doesn't work. And it doesn't work because it is attached to a real threat, a real problem, real trauma, real pain. Women get raped all the time. According to the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, there were 250,000 sexual assault victims in the U.S. in 2007. That means that someone you know has been sexually assaulted. So making music that makes light of that, that encourages it, that brags about it, is totally unacceptable. It's a line you can't cross.
I don't expect popular musicians to have the same beliefs, morals, and ethics as myself. I don't demand that all artists I listen to share my liberal beliefs. I can accept that a lot of artists I like are probably assholes.But I also draw the line somewhere, and rapping about rape is one of those lines.
For the record, I also can't bring myself to listen to "The Chronic" because all the songs that aren't pathologically misogynistic are about black people killing other black people. I don't listen to much gangsta rap at all. Reading the daily homicide bulletins about young men of color gunned down on a daily basis has made gangsta braggadocio seem pretty unappetizing. I've been listening to Big L a lot lately, and the fact that he was gunned down makes his violent raps seem less palatable. It's like knowing that the guy who is singing about drinking died of liver failure. Only much more tragic.
Tyler and the Odd Future make interesting music, but they need to realize that some things are taboo for a reason, and being an unconscionable asshole isn't the same as being edgy.
And then the rape talk began. To quote my review quoting Tyler, he repeatedly brags about being a rapist, dropping lines like "When I rape a bitch, I hold her down and get my best nut" and "Leave a bitch breathless/ but what the bitch don't know /is that I'm a motherfucking sellout and a rapist" and "you call that shit rape but I think that rape's fun." Those are only three of many references.
In two words, fuck that. I'm not listening to that shit, I'm not giving it a pass, and I'm not signing off on it. I didn't fuck with Eminem when he was rapping about killing his baby momma, and I sure as fuck am not going to listen to a bunch of kids who grew up on Em and decided to go one worse.
It's ironic that the hipster community (coughPitchforkcough) have totally bought into Odd Future, with the standard disclaimer that, yah, it's disturbing, but isn't rap music, like, supposed to be shocking? It makes me question the relationship that us white fans have with hip-hop. What does it mean that we enjoy listening to young black men boast about being the worst stereotypes of their race? What does it mean that we will listen to a young black man rapping about subjects that we would find totally unacceptable if sung by a white artist? That we need the music to be gritty and grimey and ultraviolent in order to get off on it or feel that it is "real"?
And before people start saying, "it's a joke! Lighten up!" here's the deal: some things aren't funny, motherfucker. Imagine a male comedian coming on stage making jokes about raping women. It doesn't work. And it doesn't work because it is attached to a real threat, a real problem, real trauma, real pain. Women get raped all the time. According to the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, there were 250,000 sexual assault victims in the U.S. in 2007. That means that someone you know has been sexually assaulted. So making music that makes light of that, that encourages it, that brags about it, is totally unacceptable. It's a line you can't cross.
I don't expect popular musicians to have the same beliefs, morals, and ethics as myself. I don't demand that all artists I listen to share my liberal beliefs. I can accept that a lot of artists I like are probably assholes.But I also draw the line somewhere, and rapping about rape is one of those lines.
For the record, I also can't bring myself to listen to "The Chronic" because all the songs that aren't pathologically misogynistic are about black people killing other black people. I don't listen to much gangsta rap at all. Reading the daily homicide bulletins about young men of color gunned down on a daily basis has made gangsta braggadocio seem pretty unappetizing. I've been listening to Big L a lot lately, and the fact that he was gunned down makes his violent raps seem less palatable. It's like knowing that the guy who is singing about drinking died of liver failure. Only much more tragic.
Tyler and the Odd Future make interesting music, but they need to realize that some things are taboo for a reason, and being an unconscionable asshole isn't the same as being edgy.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
R.I.P. Cadence Review
I reviewed R.I.P. Cadence's The Next Shade of Grey on RapReviews last week. They are a hybrid hip-hop/R&B/pop group from Nashville. I'm not a fan of this style of music,which showed in my score, but they do it well. I recommend going to their bandcamp page and seeing if it is your style.
I'm working on a review of Tyler the Creator's Bastard mixtape. He's part of the Odd Future crew, who do inventive and twisted hip-hop. I'll get to the twisted part in my review. They did a crazy performance on Fallon, equal parts hip-hop and punk rock. See how they are yelling in the face of the women dressed as an escape mental patient? Just one example of the disturbing mysogyny that are part of this crew's persona.
I'm working on a review of Tyler the Creator's Bastard mixtape. He's part of the Odd Future crew, who do inventive and twisted hip-hop. I'll get to the twisted part in my review. They did a crazy performance on Fallon, equal parts hip-hop and punk rock. See how they are yelling in the face of the women dressed as an escape mental patient? Just one example of the disturbing mysogyny that are part of this crew's persona.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Fucked Up on Jessica Lea Mayfield and the Stooges.
I'm in a fancy Hyatt hotel room for a conference for the professional association I belong to. I ate dinner by myself at a Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, possibly the worst/most expensive meal I've had in some day. Thank God for expense accounts. Actually, let's leave him/her/it out of this - I'm sure the higher power has much, much better things to worry about than reimbursement policies.
All of which makes me feel old and square and like a tool. So here's a video of one of my favorite, most inspirational songs, complete with a shirtless fat guy singing. Yes, it's the magic of Fucked Up, who are releasing their follow up to 2008s The Chemistry of Modern Life this summer. I'm expecting nothing less than genius. And vocals by a guy who sounds like he is gargling gravel.
In an unrelated note, my new favorite song is Jessica Lea Mayfield's "Our Hearts Are Wrong." It's the single off of her latest album, produced by the Black Key's Dan Auerbach. Ima buy it when I get back to San Francisco. Here's a video of her playing it on Letterman. As a bonus, she is a pretty blonde instead of a fat guy with a beard. Although a fat guy with a beard is on keys.
And for something completely different, I've been listening to the Stooges' Fun House. It may be my favorite of their three albums. Raw, funky, and a walking just say no campaign.
They reformed a few years ago with one of my personal heroes, Mike Watt, on bass. I like clean Iggy better than so fucked up he's about to die Iggy, but I'm not convinced that they have the same fire forty years later.
All of which makes me feel old and square and like a tool. So here's a video of one of my favorite, most inspirational songs, complete with a shirtless fat guy singing. Yes, it's the magic of Fucked Up, who are releasing their follow up to 2008s The Chemistry of Modern Life this summer. I'm expecting nothing less than genius. And vocals by a guy who sounds like he is gargling gravel.
In an unrelated note, my new favorite song is Jessica Lea Mayfield's "Our Hearts Are Wrong." It's the single off of her latest album, produced by the Black Key's Dan Auerbach. Ima buy it when I get back to San Francisco. Here's a video of her playing it on Letterman. As a bonus, she is a pretty blonde instead of a fat guy with a beard. Although a fat guy with a beard is on keys.
And for something completely different, I've been listening to the Stooges' Fun House. It may be my favorite of their three albums. Raw, funky, and a walking just say no campaign.
They reformed a few years ago with one of my personal heroes, Mike Watt, on bass. I like clean Iggy better than so fucked up he's about to die Iggy, but I'm not convinced that they have the same fire forty years later.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Custom Made Review
I've been listening to Open Mike Eagle's "Unapologetic Art Rap," which is one of the better albums from last year that I'm just now catching up with.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Live Music
My friend's band Winter's Fall played the Hotel Utah last night, and I didn't go. I also didn't attend a single night of the Noisepop 2011, even though I like a lot of the bands. RapReviews repeatedly sends me notices about hip-hop shows in the city, many with artists I'd love to see, but I never go. I'm realizing that I'm not that interested in seeing live music any more.
There are a couple reasons for this. One is that I get up at six in the morning, which means I tend to go to bed by 11 every night, which is just about when a show starts popping. Week night shows are a total no-go, but even a Friday night show at Hotel Utah is pretty unrealistic. Winter's Fall were headlining, which meant a midnight start time, by which point I'd be totally done.
The other reason is that, since I got married, I don't have the same need to be out there and mingling with strangers as much. Not that I just want to hang out in my house with my wife, but I don't feel like I'm missing out on meeting somebody or being part of something by not being at a show. I also have different priorities now. I still love music, but it's not the main focus of my life. Work, school and spending time with my family are my big priorities, and I don't have much time or energy for other things.
That doesn't mean I don't still want to see live music, it just isn't the priority it used to be. And I'm ok with that. Part of me misses the days when I went out several times a week, but I was also broke and directionless during that part of my life. It seems like a fair trade off.
There are a couple reasons for this. One is that I get up at six in the morning, which means I tend to go to bed by 11 every night, which is just about when a show starts popping. Week night shows are a total no-go, but even a Friday night show at Hotel Utah is pretty unrealistic. Winter's Fall were headlining, which meant a midnight start time, by which point I'd be totally done.
The other reason is that, since I got married, I don't have the same need to be out there and mingling with strangers as much. Not that I just want to hang out in my house with my wife, but I don't feel like I'm missing out on meeting somebody or being part of something by not being at a show. I also have different priorities now. I still love music, but it's not the main focus of my life. Work, school and spending time with my family are my big priorities, and I don't have much time or energy for other things.
That doesn't mean I don't still want to see live music, it just isn't the priority it used to be. And I'm ok with that. Part of me misses the days when I went out several times a week, but I was also broke and directionless during that part of my life. It seems like a fair trade off.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
More Jazz
I'm still on a jazz kick, knee deep in an obsessive deep dive into it. I did the same thing with hip-hop five or six years ago and reggae two years ago: I'm trying to listen to and read about it as much as possible, discover every classic album, every hidden gem.
My one problem with jazz is that I don't have the musical background to really appreciate it. I can't tell the difference between different times or tones or chords or keys. I can appreciate technique somewhat, but since I've only ever played drums, it's hard for me to appreciate how skilled the musicians are. Still, you don't have to be a musician to know that John Coltrane was brilliant, or Charlie Parker, or Mingus.
I first got into jazz when I was in my teens, probably from reading Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man and some of the early beat stuff. I listened to old Duke Ellington, Dizzie Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and Billie Holiday, who remains a favorite. I dipped into more experimental jazz a few years ago, listening to Coltrane and Mingus. I like how different and envelope-pushing some of the music is: for example, Coltrane's "Ascension" is like nothing I've ever heard, forty solid minutes of cacaphony that is still going somewhere. It's like looking at abstract art: it challenges your perceptions, and takes the art in a totally new and unexpected direction.
Like all abstract or avant-garde art, things like "Ascension," Albert Aylers "Holy Spirit," or Ornette Coleman's "Free Jazz" are often more interesting conceptually than they are enjoyable. I'm listening to "Ascension" as I write it,and the shit is crazy and kind of annoying. No, really annoying. Yet it also fills the same niche for me that some of the noisier post-punk groups like Sonic Youth or Polvo fill - it's noisy and abrasive and beautiful in its chaotic, jagged ugliness.
Of course jazz, like rock, is a huge genre that encompasses a large range of different, many of which are incompatible. When you say you like jazz, you could mean the dance music that Ellington or Glenn Miller were turning out in the 30s and 40s, or the cool jazz of 50s Miles Davis, the swinging bachelor pad swing of a lot of sixties jazz, the freaky jazz-rock of 70s Miles, or smooth jazz artists like Kenny G (who plays the same instrument as Coltrane). Even Coltrane covered a lot of ground. Right after doing Ascension, he did an album of ballads, and also collaborated with Duke Ellington and Johnny Hartman.
Those are two of my favorite Coltrane records. "In A Sentimental Mood" is one of my favorite songs ever.
Ellington lays down a delicate and heartbreaking piano line, and Coltrane goes tastefully crazy over it. He pays homage to the earlier age of jazz while still adding an element of experimentation.
I bought Ascension this week at Amoeba, and I also downloaded both John Coltrane's albums with Ellington and Hartman. Clearly "Ascension" is more adventurous, but I think I like the two albums of standards better. They are easier to listen to. I thought I wanted to explore the freakier side of jazz, but I'm thinking I might go in the opposite direction, looking at some of the more carefully composed pieces. What makes works like "Black Saint and the Sinner Lady" and "Love Supreme" so exciting and compelling isn't their experimental qualities, but the sheer ambition of them, the way that all the different pieces add up to one whole. That coherence is missing on free jazz pieces, and the free jazz pieces aren't nearly as fun to listen to because of it.
Incidentally, I stole the photo from a site called "Brilliant Corners," and they have a really good post on Coltrane. Many really good posts. With good comments from guys who clearly understand the music on a much deeper level than I ever will.
My one problem with jazz is that I don't have the musical background to really appreciate it. I can't tell the difference between different times or tones or chords or keys. I can appreciate technique somewhat, but since I've only ever played drums, it's hard for me to appreciate how skilled the musicians are. Still, you don't have to be a musician to know that John Coltrane was brilliant, or Charlie Parker, or Mingus.
I first got into jazz when I was in my teens, probably from reading Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man and some of the early beat stuff. I listened to old Duke Ellington, Dizzie Gillespie, Charlie Parker, and Billie Holiday, who remains a favorite. I dipped into more experimental jazz a few years ago, listening to Coltrane and Mingus. I like how different and envelope-pushing some of the music is: for example, Coltrane's "Ascension" is like nothing I've ever heard, forty solid minutes of cacaphony that is still going somewhere. It's like looking at abstract art: it challenges your perceptions, and takes the art in a totally new and unexpected direction.
Like all abstract or avant-garde art, things like "Ascension," Albert Aylers "Holy Spirit," or Ornette Coleman's "Free Jazz" are often more interesting conceptually than they are enjoyable. I'm listening to "Ascension" as I write it,and the shit is crazy and kind of annoying. No, really annoying. Yet it also fills the same niche for me that some of the noisier post-punk groups like Sonic Youth or Polvo fill - it's noisy and abrasive and beautiful in its chaotic, jagged ugliness.
Of course jazz, like rock, is a huge genre that encompasses a large range of different, many of which are incompatible. When you say you like jazz, you could mean the dance music that Ellington or Glenn Miller were turning out in the 30s and 40s, or the cool jazz of 50s Miles Davis, the swinging bachelor pad swing of a lot of sixties jazz, the freaky jazz-rock of 70s Miles, or smooth jazz artists like Kenny G (who plays the same instrument as Coltrane). Even Coltrane covered a lot of ground. Right after doing Ascension, he did an album of ballads, and also collaborated with Duke Ellington and Johnny Hartman.
Those are two of my favorite Coltrane records. "In A Sentimental Mood" is one of my favorite songs ever.
Ellington lays down a delicate and heartbreaking piano line, and Coltrane goes tastefully crazy over it. He pays homage to the earlier age of jazz while still adding an element of experimentation.
I bought Ascension this week at Amoeba, and I also downloaded both John Coltrane's albums with Ellington and Hartman. Clearly "Ascension" is more adventurous, but I think I like the two albums of standards better. They are easier to listen to. I thought I wanted to explore the freakier side of jazz, but I'm thinking I might go in the opposite direction, looking at some of the more carefully composed pieces. What makes works like "Black Saint and the Sinner Lady" and "Love Supreme" so exciting and compelling isn't their experimental qualities, but the sheer ambition of them, the way that all the different pieces add up to one whole. That coherence is missing on free jazz pieces, and the free jazz pieces aren't nearly as fun to listen to because of it.
Incidentally, I stole the photo from a site called "Brilliant Corners," and they have a really good post on Coltrane. Many really good posts. With good comments from guys who clearly understand the music on a much deeper level than I ever will.
N.B.S. Review
I reviewed The Prelude, the debut by Boston duo N.B.S. (Natural Born Spitters) on RapReviews this week.
I wasn't really feeling it, but you might. Here's a video for "Ill Lyrical."
I wasn't really feeling it, but you might. Here's a video for "Ill Lyrical."
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