T R A C K
MUSIC REVIEWS by Carson Arnold ~ 2001-2002
New reviews for 2003 at H(EAR)
Weekly I'll be posting a musical paper called Track - (as the weeks continue on, Track will proceed as Track 1, 2, 3 .... 30 and so on). The purpose of Track is to concentrate on music, and all music. Whether an artist, controversy, idea, or event, I'll try to keep an open mind and hope you do, too. As a student and musician, I hope to invite the public's opinions and that of other musicians. Feel free to comment on my publication by writing to: Carson Arnold, 1604 River Road, Guilford, Vermont 05301 or email me at: poetry@sover.net ~ thanks!
Track 2 ~ BAABA MAAL - Live at Pearl Street, Northampton MA, August 26
Track 3 ~ CALI-FAUX-NIA DREAMING - Live At Look Park, Northampton MA, August 29
Track 4 ~ Who Are These Muldaurs?
Track 6 ~ Not Really A Heartbreaker
Track 7 ~ Remembering Mississippi John Hurt
Track 8 ~ Packt Like Sardines In A Crushed Tin Box
Track 10 ~ Recommended Recordings For You
Track 11 ~ The Ones Who Play It All
Track 12 ~ Classical : Perspective From A Beginning Lover
Track 16 ~ Artists of the Underground
Track 17 ~ Two New Recordings I Can't Stop Playing
Track 18 ~ Great Moments of the 20th Century
Track 19 ~ Veterans of Venice Beach
Track 20 ~ 2001 Treasures - What I Recommend and What I Don't
Track 23 ~ The Rider of the Storm
Track 27 ~ Running With The Wolves
Track 28 ~ Teachers
Track 29 ~ Time For Some Reading
Track 30 ~ Mose
Track 31 ~ Our Souls Have Grown Deep Like The Rivers
Track 32 ~ A Day In The Record
Track 33 ~ Are You Passionate? Neil Young Wants To Know
Track 34 ~ Let's Talk About A Few Tributes
Track 35 ~ Music's Natural Sound
Track 36 ~ Discoveries
Track 37 ~ Give Your Ear A Break
Track 38 ~ Part One- What Is It?
Track 39 ~ Part Two- Who Am I?
Track 40 ~ Part Three- My Ten Most Influential Albums
TRACK 1
I was ruffling through my CD collection the other day and came across an album I hadn't listened to in years. Oasis, "What's The Story Morning Glory?". I remember the title well. 1996 was one those years stuck between two different worlds of rock music. You had the smoke of the post-Seattle scene quickly dying down, and then the start up of a newer "metal" (kind of equivalent to the eighties). But in the midst of these changes there was all these "one-album" bands that were charging the atmosphere with fresh sounds and hope. Particularly my favorite Oasis, added a mid-decade flavor to the air waves that shouted the last of a realness in rock. They weren't eclectic with their sound, but that's what I kind of miss....the rock 'n roll. After '96, the rock sort of lived on, but the roll part died. Bands either got too messy with success and minimized their talent, or got wound up in uniqueness; desperately trying to come across "original". Blending everything until it became almost boring.
The word rock 'n roll is quite a beautiful compound. It means quite literally what it sounds like, but it's when you hear rock 'n roll, that's when the full definition hits you. Like listening for the first time to The Beatles, or The Rolling Stones or even The Smiths. Now, in 2001, my ears only hear a few bands that can still make that delightful rock 'n roll speed. Most so, Oasis.
When I was eleven I first pondered across "What's The Story Morning Glory?" The CD slept through my backpack during school and sang to me on the bus ride home. After I had played the album to death I bought all their other ones until I too played those to death, then eventually selling some (stupid me!) "What's The Story Morning Glory?" sat on my bottom shelf for nearly five years. And in those years music had really changed, and so had I. Maybe that's why it appealed to me more than ever when I recently listened to the album again. I wiped away the square of dust that it had left and thoughtfully placed it into my stereo; almost not knowing what kind of surprises the disc would hold. And then it started. There was such a vibrant feeling of rock 'n roll enthusiasm that really made you move like you were rolling right along. I don't want to get too complicated about Oasis, because their music isn't complicated. They're just one of the few bands that can still capture that original rock 'n roll heart that Chuck Berry, The Beatles, and Elvis once created. Bands or artists like Oasis should be looked upon a little more so we can preserve the heritage of rock 'n roll that they carry.
~ Carson Arnold
Recommended Recording: "Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants" (Sony/Big Brother)
TRACK 2
BAABA MAAL - Live at Pearl Street, Northampton MA, August 26
Over the heads of anxious fans curious with spunk and lingering with expectations for the long awaited Baaba Maal concert, the stage engineer shines his flashlight across the ballroom into the face of the woman running a hefty soundboard, who in return sticks her middle finger in the air for a long minute. And honestly, that was the general attitude of Pearl Street. Immature. The sound system was awful and appeared cheap. With the attention and time they have put into their two open bars - lit and polished with thirsty drinkers and crafted with rows of liquor - they really could have developed a crisp sound and a clean club. Any why slack off on a opportunity as this one (never mind the ticket prices), when there's a powerful African band ready with immediate percussional rhythms that need to be heard - rather than drowned or raised - you choose one.
Nevertheless, I went to Baaba Maal not to examine the Pearl Street life. And I wrote this to explain, not to complain.
On came ten performers to a cramped stage, walking out with a brisk happiness to their profession and a friendly wave. Two hand drum sets stood alert left and right of one another. Both players erupted a thunderous attack, feeding off one another like two frequencies, colliding with sharp fills to promote their African sense to the mostly white audience. Dressed in a full gown (as were the other players), Baaba Maal seemed to have snuck into the large cast of musicians, as he patiently waited for the right time to strike his microphone. I noticed that Maal was a cautious singer, almost choosing his notes carefully and singing as if he were an instrument, communicating with the hand drums (which is typical in African culture).
With a little scent of pot in the air from a school-size crowd, Maal picked two solo acoustic guitar ballads, fitting right for a gradual transition back to a monstrous line of playing for that night. Two teenage boys of Maal's musical crew thrusted out in an engaging beat/dance, inviting people from the audience to join for a few steps. Baaba Maal wisped in and out of vocals during long verses, siding along with two backing vocalists, at times placing his mike into the hand drums as they fed a frenzy of rolls. Not much guitar presence, and the drummer behind his kit played at a steady, almost American style rock beat. Maal made sure he wasn't the only one being noticed, and he wasn't. Except for a clashing and echoing sound system, this was a terrific performance.
And now a little history. In case you've been really wrapped up in the limited murk of America's current offering, Baaba Maal is a real refreshment and a starting point. Maal is from Senegal Africa, but was raised in Sahel (the region between The Sahara Desert and the southern Savanna, around Senegal). You see, in Africa, rhythm is something of the heart and mind. However you wanna look at it - your heart beat or the way you walk, it's there. Senegal's music plays in a "Wolof" style, which bases it's surroundings upon drums or rhythm. Maal took this into his vessels and searched for music in the Sahel, the Niger River, and Guinea that is contrasted into more of a melody formation (this is very evident on the CD "Firin' In Fouta"). He won a scholarship to study in France, where his intellectual stance evolved. Mix all this into the beat of the acoustic guitar ( especially heard on "Djam Leelii"). Unlike the great Fela Kuti, whose roots are steeped in a political atmosphere, Maal (decades younger) is determined in a peaceful coming, welcoming the African harmony to global musicians ... and you.
~ Carson Arnold
Recommended recordings - "Firin' In Fouta" (Mango) and "Djam Leelii" (Mango)
TRACK 3
CALI-FAUX-NIA DREAMING - Live At Look Park, Northampton MA, August 29
Despite the rustic pine trees behind the stage, a California vibe was definitely recognizable for the next six hours of the remaining afternoon and evening. My family and I had gathered on a grassy spot in the front row of Look Park's sloping alcove to catch the first local band, Kahoots, take the stage for a three song set as Guns 'N Roses. Dressed like the crew and playing like them, Kahoots did remarkably well as the dirty rock band of L.A., capturing somewhat close to Axel's screech and Slash's fast licks. It was a great way to introduce the evening on a gritty note.
A five minute interlude followed each band, which consists of disc jockeys/entertainers (playing "Don Henley", "Richard Nixon", and a bubblehead valley girl - don't ask). This got a little annoying after awhile, but it was fascinating to see the bands flee from the stage and the next act step up in just a few short minutes. It was pretty silly to think of the large venues I've been to, where they take - what feels like - hours to prepare.
So to continue on in a quicker manner, just about every band was solid. The only lagging spot was a surprise visit by Jackson Browne (Mark Erelli - just didn't cut it). Buffalo Springfield (Ray Mason Band) seemed unenthusiastic. But I liked how Mason later commuted to other bands to play. Also, Santana (Alfonso Lopez, Jr. and his 11-piece Salsa Band "La Perfecta") - a huge disappointment. First off, there was no drummer to take the place of Michael Shrieve's fabulous rolls. And, well... where was Santana? It sort of drifted into a New Yorker salsa dance. Thrilling, but not California. The Jefferson Airplane (Northampton's Mayor Higgins and Co.) were supposed to be a parody, but The Airplane are a very vital signature to the psychedelic sound. It would have been great to see someone work the wah-wah pedal as Jorma Kaukonen once did.
But there was everybody else. Like Creedence Clearwater Revival (Big Ugly Wrench), who were more in a punky style rather than the Fogerty range, blasting a set which included Dinosaur Jr. frontman, J Mascis, professionally carrying a guitar solo of growls into fifteen minutes throughout "Susie Q". As I remember, the next best thing was The Byrds (The Maggies), who were incredibly tight, nailing those Byrd harmonies (which The Maggies already have running in their own albums), especially on "So You Want To Be A Rock 'N Roll Star".
The ultimate California band, The Beach Boys (as done by The Drunk Stuntmen in their Hawaiian get-up), proved to be vocally well-scripted, and precisely in tune. Probably one of the best performances of the night was stolen by, of course, The Doors (Aloha Steamtrain). I was particularly surprised by Ken Mairuri (playing keyboardist Ray Manzarek), hitting those notes to "Light My Fire" with the same absolute zeal to the original song. The mannerisms done by Lord Russ (singing Jim Morrison) sparkled an exciting moment in the night's events. Russ was last seen prancing and dancing through the audience.
Although not a fan of Bonnie Rait, Kate O'Conner and Blue Rendezvous did a near cutting performance that made Rait fans pleased. Another excellent set was Mark Erelli who drowned as Jackson Browne but lightened wide as Sheryl Crow. Erelli came out dressed like Crow with just an electric guitar, and breezed through her three famous songs fashionably. But since he performed in such a courageous way - flirting with the spice of Crow's poppy-rock songs - the tunes almost came out like Erelli had written them himself.
The last three and shiny performances were by the Go-Go's (The Nield's - crafty with an edge, mimicking the screechy girl band). Randy Newman (Young@Heart Chorus) - you definitely have to hand it to them - very clever skit, combining Newman's satire with a punchy on-stage musical done by eager senior citizens. And lastly, The Grateful Dead (Chamber Of Faces), were almost identical to any live Dead show I've heard. An excellent finish to end the night with a groove; and what's a 60's show with out the Dead jamming the late night away?
So there it is, Cali-Faux-Nia Dreaming on such a summer day. It was the first time I've ever gone to one of these events. A great time, as good as any concert that you may find in any big city. And all ticket funds drummed back into local school needs. With a chill of the New England Fall on the way, it was a nice finish to end a dry summer with a breeze of warm applause.
~ Carson Arnold
Recommended recordings : Aloha Steamtrain, "Now You Know The Aloha Steamtrain" / Mark Erelli, "Mark Erelli" (Signature Sounds) / The Nields, "Play" (Uni/zoe) / The Maggies, "Breakfast At Brelreck's"
TRACK 4
The Muldaur "family" has a history of polished and glitzy vocals. Each musician has a certain soar of expression that soaks through their notes and leaves the audience in a realm of comfort. There's no boring presence in any of the Muldaur's songs. The music is solid and fresh, quick to the point, with tracks that linger in almost a live performance.
Geoff Muldaur first made his name a fluent source in the music world with Jim Kweskin and the Jug Band. Formed by Cambridge student, Jim Kweskin, during the early sixties, Jim and Geoff hit it off with an applause at local Boston clubs, sharing their acoustic abilities with one another. From then on, they adopted Fritz Richmond (wash-tub player), Mel Lyman (banjo and harmonica, later replaced by Bill Keith from Bill Monroe's Bluegrass Boys), and eventually Maria D'Amato (soon marrying Geoff to become Maria Muldaur). For five years the jug band toured around inspiring young folkies with the sounds of traditional Appalachian tunes, bearing all wounds with low-budget instruments and hearty attitudes.
Geoff brought out his first album back in '63 with Sleepy Man Blues and still continues to throw out excellent material to this day. After Jim Kweskin and The Jug Band, Geoff and his wife/band mate Maria recorded three solo albums together, contributing their effort of love and duo of talent. Soon, Geoff broke loose from Maria to collaborate with Paul Butterfield (another deeply well scripted voice). Geoff had taken his intense early blues influences of Charlie Patton and Skip James to the studios, recording his versions of their songs as well as his own delicate work. In 1980, his release of I Aint Drunk was his last until 1998 - dishing out Secret Handshake - a wise mix of tracks dedicated to the footprints of blues. I'm guessing he disappeared for that time to raise his daughter Clare, with his new bride Sheila. In 2000, he followed up with Password - yet another classy formula of style - this time strumming along with daughter Clare on "At The Christmas Ball". What hits me the most when listening to Geoff is his voice. To describe it in more of a natural way, it's like crisp rain pattering on leaves in the late afternoon. His unique form of harmonies and guitar patterns are quite out on their own, quite definite and quite sublime.
Maria Muldaur went on to become extremely popular in the seventies, especially with Midnight At Oasis (it went platinum in two years). She grew up hanging out with the new wave of folk and blues in Greenwich Village during the fifties and sixties. As a school girl, Maria immunized her ears to the quick and flashy sounds of the radio. When a little older, she moved to North Carolina to learn the fiddle from Doc Watson and Gaither Carlton. Along this time she developed a wisdom of mountain music and traditional sagas, lapping up everything that had anything to do with it. Bringing this energy back home, she joined "The Friends Of The Old Timey Music" which pulled blues legends like Mississippi John Hurt up north to present to the eager public in need of an unknown heritage and a unique sound. Later, after Kweskin and the Jug Band and the albums with Geoff, she scooted off towards L.A. to work with Ry Cooder and Dr. John to pursue her dreams in the solo world. And it worked! Her voice can be a little too high in the scream of pitch, but with the sparkle of her lyrics, poppy textures with distinct traces of old time musical horizons, her albums lie in a joyous sunset.
The youngster, Clare Muldaur (daughter of Geoff), continues to surprise me with her soulful style of expressing and playing. Her singing preciously rolls through seasons of verses, and has quite definitely developed her own texture and sound. And here's the ironic thing, her voice sounds almost identical to Maria's (and there's no relation between the two). Pretty interesting. Her father's impressive stance of structure and changes is evident throughout Clare's songs, and influences of Elvis Costello and Billie Holiday weep in and out. Although I haven't heard any of Clare's material in nearly two years (the most recent was a four-song single when she was attending Berkeley School of Music), I hear that she is recording an album in LA and is currently out on tour. For more information on Clare, visit www.claremuldaur.com.
All three Muldaurs have casted beautiful works into the air. The strong movement of background in the musicians make the backbone of their songs even more sturdy and delightful than they already are. Hopefully in the near future perhaps we can await a collaboration between the three. But in the meantime, preserve the past of Geoff and Maria and be on the look out for Clare.
~ Carson Arnold
Recommended Recordings: Geoff, Secret Handshake - or any of the material with Jim Kweskin and the Jug Band / Maria, Richland Woman Blues / Clare, nothing released to date yet, but be on the look
TRACK 5
About twenty years ago, MTV launched it's first video by Buggles,Video Killed The Radio Star. It's kind of ironic, isn't? Have you checked your local radio stations lately? The disc jockeys don't even take a second of air time to announce the artist they just broadcasted. And can you really find a station that plays everything? Also, somebody should make a video called "Video Killed The Musician". It's almost like you don't have to be a talented artist to succeed in the spotlight anymore. You just have to have a campaign of friends to shoot an expensive video, falling into the slot of an angry individual with too much cash and a fast car. To concentrate on the subject, I dislike MTV for a number of reasons. It appears to be a corporate and materialistic network that serves a lack of culture and airs too much of the same music with no direct message, relating a non-existing reality, and produces a pointless frame of mind to the young. What scares me the most is that music like folk, blues, jazz, soul and so on, will not be kept in store for future generations- there'll be no need to, no interest. Thus where will music go? Is it MTV forever?
350 million homes have MTV on their sets, being the largest network on earth. 82% of its audience is between twelve and thirty-four. 73% are boys and 78% are girls, both tuning in on average, six hours a week. Not too bad. I guess that could qualify that they tune into TRL (Total Request Live) everyday, airing the top ten videos in the country. 75 % of the videos that follow a story line involve sexual content, usually acted against or by women. Nevermind the immense impact videos, and these reality tv shows like The Real World Inc., have casted upon teenage girls; an exaggerated image of fake appearances based on sexy glamour and attitude that's drifted into a hazardous trail of vanity.
I won't go blaming the whole downfall of the music industry on MTV. We must keep in mind everything else. Take your average family of four. Most parents threaten their kids if they ever catch them watching MTV. Some even install digital security locks on their television sets so their children can't watch it. It's weird, they really freak out. Of course there are those who totally let their kids stare at it, but these are usually the ones who hardly hold a conversation amonst one another. So why can't the studios of MTV and the parents with their kids handle the network in a mature fashion? If parents actually talked to their kids, say: "Sure, go ahead, it's your choice.... but first, could you rake the yard for a bit. Or here's this book I checked out at the library, I recommend it." Now obviously everyone won't do that. But why not try? MTV promotes, for the most part, a pointless cause. True. But remember the videos and the programs on MTV are only going to be full of nonsense if the need inside the youth market has no structure and discipline, and too full of nonsense. And where could a lot of this come from?
So is it MTV forever? Will the original music fade away? What kind of generation is in store for us? Has music finally been carved into a corporate system with no heart to bleed or no throat to sing? I can think of a few other things to fuss about before I scream all day about MTV. At this point I believe it's a cultural thing, it comes with our time. It's not a coincidence that MTV has brought out the bad in youth, and the worst in the music. If society is in a rough spot then it shows through the entertainment. I mean did you even catch or hear the stuff that happened at Woodstock '99? A minor example. As a music lover it's a struggle to swim around things like MTV. I tread the best I can, but sooner or later a larger wave will knock me down.
~ Carson Arnold
In the meantime check out: World Link TV ( (music television inviting music and history from all over the globe).
TRACK 6
Most modern rockers who sing to a substantial crowd and then suffer a series of collapsing breakups, never usually hold strong in their own solo field. Like Chris Cornell. Just didn't sound complete without the Soundgarden boys. Rather someone like David Byrne turned counter- clockwise from The Talking Heads to experiment in world beats and odd time signatures. And then somebody like Morrissey, who from The Smiths, didn't really make a noticeable turn to rehabilitate a new feeling, but rather made it stronger; strumming a whirl of intellectual lyrics album after album for a gasping audience. And that's why I like Morrissey. And maybe Ryan Adams, too. For Adams opens up his solo debut, Heartbreaker, with a thirty-seven second disagreement with guitarist, David Rawlings, discussing Morrissey's single, "Suedehead" - if it's either on Bona Drag or Viva Hate. It's actually on both.
Off Bona Drag, I just sat through "Suedehead" a few minutes ago, to see why Adams would mention the song and the artist at the beginning of his record and if there's any importance. I didn't quite hear any resemblance between the two artists. Instead, Michael Stripe of REM came to head when listening to "Suedehead" (or any of Morrissey records). Enough said, Morrissey is an influence on Adams. In fact a lot is (they range from The Stanley Brothers and The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band to Husker Du and Sonic Youth).
After the little argument disperses, it immediately rolls into "To Be Young", possibly the best track on the whole record, which opens up surprisingly close to Dylan's slide riff on "Subterranean Homesick Blues". The album bounces between acoustic ballads and simple, but meaningful, tunes that mingle the whole bit of the alternative/country chamber, (faint electric guitars, chords, drifty slide runs, waltzing drum patterns, plucking bass structures, harmonicas - the whole deal). But unlike Adams' former band, Whiskeytown - who are a grade better than Wilco, but nobody beats Steve Earle! - Heartbreaker is more confident, subdued, and unique in its own way. Lyrically, Adams has obviously gone to the Steve Earle school of hard-hitting "don't care 'bout me, I care about you" lyrics, but in time, along with growth, he may master Earle's presence (and in the future perhaps season to sing as Tim Hardin once did). But for now this troubadour seems to be creating something from something, and is definitely driving to become a somebody.
Adams seems to be running on a full tank of songwriting adrenaline, pushed by a still youthful attitude that's actually throwing fixtures of consistent songs and material out. His second album, "Gold" - due out very soon (and also last heard having enough songs to fill a truck, so to speak) - hopefully will tie a second knot around Heartbreaker. But if not, at least an artist is supplying music for the music.
~ Carson Arnold
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS: Ryan Adams, Heartbreaker (on a shorter note you - should really take a listen to the music he was influenced by - especially The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Will The Circle Be Unbroken. And take a listen to any Steve Earle record, too).
TRACK 7
REMEMBERING MISSISSIPPI JOHN HURT
Doesn't the name "Mississippi John Hurt" just sound so bold? Maybe it's the strong image of landscape in the "Mississippi" and the cry in the "Hurt", with the friendly "John" in the middle, that makes it seem like a legendary statement. Kinda like "Son House" or Howlin' Wolf. And similar to - particularly Son House, John Hurt was rediscovered in the early sixties, thirty-five years after his first original recording.
Hurt was born in Teoc, Mississippi in 1893. When he was two, his family moved to Avalon, Mississippi where his feet rested for a good chunk of his life. From then on Hurt picked up the guitar and taught himself how to play; establishing his very own technique that was already being mysteriously questioned by the town folks who admired his performances at local dances and different community get-togethers. Making a hard living under the sun as a farmer, Okeh Records came forward inviting Hurt on a good note to record with them in both Memphis and New York in 1928. He laid down thirteen tracks that clung to him throughout the live shows for years to come. Instead of taking the few hundred dollars that he earned from his record into "luxury", Hurt traveled back to Avalon and tended to his farming. Some might ask why? He'll actually tell you on the song "Avalon Blues". Although he did try to record again with Okeh, The Great Depression sunk any further dreams in that period of time. For thirty-five years Hurt kept working as a farmer in Avalon and raising a very large family (fourteen children!), while continuing to play at local venues.
A determined young man by the name of Tom Hoskins decided to track down Hurt after not even believing the rich tones that Hurt had offered in the 1928 sessions. Hurt at first was hesitant on cooperating with Hoskins, almost convinced that he was the FBI. But after thirty-five years, now in 1963 at the age of seventy-one, John Hurt's natural talent was itching beyond his Avalon homeland- it was now time to take full advantage of the beautiful songs that the people up north were shouting for (especially at a time before folk and blues was trampled by the modernization of new wave production). The audience, mainly white, absolutely adored Hurt. For the next three years he performed between coffee houses, colleges, twice at The Newport Folk Festival, and other assorted festivals in America. Hurt put out a few more albums of new material on Vanguard and continued to play his original tunes from 1928, this time a little more concise and sure. In his last remaining days he settled down in Grenada, Mississippi. He died on November 2, 1966. His life seemed to be one big beginning that spawned a start in every fan's heart.
Mississippi John Hurt's subdued style isn't much like any other blues artist (fierce verses mixed with attacked strings are rare if not extinct in Hurt's songs). In fact his playing drifts towards the edges of the folk shores, and if it wasn't then, it sure inspired batches of musicians from the sixties (or even earlier), up to the present time. His soft three-finger picking is an obvious influence on artists like John Fahey and the aspiring folk stars of the sixties. I'm almost certain I hear someone plucking a John Hurt tune every time I enter a guitar shop. His technique appears mountain water smooth. When I first started to listen to Hurt, I was astonished that I couldn't really recapture any of his tempos or lyrics afterwards. People should listen to John Hurt because of the immense inspiration he's erupted to a global wide range of musicians in the many years. He not only had one of the more interesting lives, but like most blues musicians, his music was his life! If you're someone who hasn't heard Mississippi John Hurt then you should, and if you haven't yet, then listen to some of the folk legends and you will.
~ Carson Arnold
Recommended Recordings:
1928 Sessions (Yazoo Records)
The Best Of Mississippi John Hurt (Vanguard)
TRACK 8
PACKT LIKE SARDINES IN A CRUSHD TIN BOX
Maybe I'm completely wrong, or perhaps this has been asked before, but wasn't REM's 1998 release Up generally on the right pathway to two or three years down the way to what we call the signature sound of Radiohead? - Especially heard on the latest releases of Kid A and Amnesiac.
To tell you the honest truth, I sold Up within weeks of my purchase. Like a lot of folks, I was expecting another Automatic For The People. Instead, I was punched in the ear with dizzy ballads, filled with weeping organs, keyboards, jazzy guitars, and clear and understood lyrics (wow, that's a rarity). True, it's pretty much filled with all that. But then again, add on three years of mature youth, a strike of bad popular music, and an immense hype over the sounds of Radiohead's newly woven creations, and Up becomes almost a genuine album. Pretty funny. I guess I'll have to go buy it again.
Radiohead is musically a very intelligent and talented band with a lot packaged in between their notes. No doubts on that. And to organize your opinions to decipher whose band is better (Radiohead or REM) is like asking a monkey to speak French. But what would be more practical is to try and understand the sound both have obviously sketched in their deeply-rooted canvas. And to also remind, especially critics, that REM and, most so, Radiohead aren't the first bands to achieve that boundary of sound and music. Who comes to mind immediately upon thinking of the comparison, is a lot of semi-popular acts played throughout the seventies and eighties; like, and especially, Neu!. From the crystal beats of Neu! you might find those of noise-pounders like Can somewhere in the lurk of sound. As might follow Brian Eno, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, or maybe even The Talking Heads (from which - in a Talking Heads song - Radiohead adopted their name). In the sixties, The Beatles - definitely heard on Revolver and Rubber Soul - mixed a sound that was really drawn out from a real simplicity of innovation and an observing eye to the society of their day. That whole quality of human noises, trippy guitar loops, effects, and clean drum patterns were really transcribed from a heritage of talent and art - similar to what Surrealism is.
Both Radiohead and REM took that "everything", made a collage and then drew it out into a painting bright enough for the popular youth commodity to grab in interest delight. On Radiohead's last two releases I hear a lot of thought tapped in their instruments, rather than expression (to borrow Lou Reed's title, Between Thought And Expression). Quirky time signatures relating to the percussion, breathe a real communication; which goes back to the theories of African culture of speech interpreted by the drums. Thom Yorke's fluid singing is a definite relation to the cool sounds of chords played on a saxophone. A real jazz immediacy. The rest (keyboards, guitars, what have you), swarm like an army of seated cellos, level with a hysteria of psychedelia. (On a strong personal reference, I believe Radiohead's strongest work was shown on 1997's Ok Computer. Absolutely no artist nor band has stepped near to what the atmosphere and quality is on Ok Computer. The band lacks nothing on the album, because the accomplished work is nothing that nobody could improve to show better - in my opinion).
What REM's highlighted strong point is, is that they preach hope. And if there's anything that an audience needs more, it's the idea of color and hope ... brightness. This could be the same reason why poetry, in a long-lasting sense, is a stronger form of expression than what music itself could ever be.
Starting this paper off, I thought I was going to develop some sort of argument, but there really is none. All of the artists and bands mentioned above are terrific and are complete examples of sheer high-taste in the last few decades. I just wanted to shout out a little reminder about a popular band, like REM with Up, who are a fair starting point and reference to retrace the road of unique quality (the mentioned crucial acts played through the sixties, seventies and eighties), that a contemporary band like Radiohead has pulled out and polished productively.
-- Carson Arnold
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS:
Radiohead, Ok Computer
REM, for a wanting rock clash - anything before Automatic For the People. For something more innovative and broad- - Up or Reveal may please you.
Neu!, Volume 1 and 2 and 75 - all three equally excellent
Can, Tago Mago
- Also for all you Radiohead kids, give the heritage of Jazz the listen: John Coltrane, Charlie Parker, Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, Mingus, and so they go ...
TRACK 9
See if you can picture yourself on a Sunday evening drive on the back roads of some country lane, admiring the swaying evergreens and the peak of the maple foliage cleansing for early frost that next morning. The road seems to unravel mysteriously as you push on, slowing at corners, unaware of the fast traffic that might frighten your way. But all is well in that course of time, for nature has supplied you with a new focus and a bright memory. Leon Parker's latest, The Simple Life, is a pleasing subsistence to any drive in the country, and its feast of expression and ambition lets you sit and observe the landscape, while the tunes drive your way to a free ticket of musical seduction.
Leon Parker is said to have commented on how "he hears everything as a rhythm or beat" (I'm paraphrasing). Indeed true. As a jazz drummer, Parker hits a fine line between the strokes of an Elvin Jones or Max Roach and the attention of African rhythm and their culture. Yet somewhere, Parker plays in between the cloud, producing a confident element of lingering fantasy in his songs, siding with a coalition of subtle instrumentalists, dressed in the suit of jazz get-up. Saxophone, trumpets, piano, bass are intact (and a very influential style of "body rhythm"- have that be Parker's trademark or not, he does it masterfully adjoining street noises and, a real fine treat on the album- vocals, done by Elizabeth Kontomano, who introduces a new wave of almost Arabic and scat-singing melodies, heard beautifully on Parker's first track of Duke Ellington's groove hit "Caravan"). I also give a noticeable applause to Parker who orchestrates sharply behind the band with no course to show-off, but rather to keep the flame alive, similar to how Mingus played. From the past teachings of all great musicians, Parker knows that by establishing an invented disciplined pulse of sound and music, it could never be fully mastered nor criticized by any worthy arbitrator, but merely copied.
Like Woody Guthrie or Bob Dylan's simple, but sincere chords, Parker pushes this pose of simplicity, creating a fine quality of striking beats. But by assembling his fresh idea of music, he makes the practical immensely bold, placing the instruments in full formation of a telling story. Legends are recognized. Like Duke Ellington's "Caravan" and Thelonious Monk's "Green Chimneys", but done in such a vast region of strength and completeness; I might not have even recognized the songs to anyone else. Leon Parker plays his drums as Ry Cooder does on the soundtrack to Paris,Texas (a great film by the way); organized and treated with a risen attention and depth of life and music as it is. Those of you who have feared that the saxophone (which is played graciously on this album like a miniature Hank Mobley) is a despotism to all jazz music and the drums are always fed with too much speed, are equally in for a new wind coming their way. On all of Leon Parker's albums, it's not ever a matter of how to end the last track of the record, but how to start the next one - still keeping the simple life.
-- Carson Arnold
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS: All of Parker's albums are a shared experience, but I most so recommend his latest, The Simple Life.
TRACK 10
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS FOR YOU
~ OK folks, here's a few albums that I can't get enough of lately. Enjoy!
Eric Dolphy, Other Aspects - During the fifties and sixties jazz seemed at its heighth, defining the word "original" through polished ideas of chord combos and the newer methods of Zen (a way of digging through your inner soul to achieve your one being through music). All words aside, Eric Dolphy, as shown on Other Aspects (an album pulled from his private stash), is a pure meditation to the homage of sound and the global expression of music. Strikingly fierce and patiently deliberate, Dolphy pays tribute to the instrument like no other.
Skip Spence, Oar - OK, for all you multi-instrumentalists, Oar could well be your next bible for your experiences to come. After Jefferson Airplane (a beginner drummer) and Moby Grape, Spence released this applause of songs in a quick period in '68, throwing an obstacle in front of the charts and was regarded obliviously in the eyes of most. But after being rediscovered by present-time seeker musicians, this so-called "cult" figure plays everything on the record with a sheer energetic push needed from The Airplane and Moby Grape. Spence seems to have almost accidentally created a genius album that only blooms stronger as the years tail on.
Eurythmics, Peace - After having an immature sneer for quite a while against The Eurythmics (dismissing them for aisle-to-aisle grocery store tunes), I woke to the vital importance of this band, and especially singer Annie Lennox, who has had an immense role for the independence of women rockers - and nevermind the crystal production the music carries throughout the extensive layer of ability. Peace is yet all this, and, as brilliant as the material done back in the 80's.
Fela Kuti, Shakara - To describe Fela Kuti in just a few lines is merely impossible. But I say, "you haven't yet heard music at its finest until you've heard Fela Kuti". As more and more curious musicians walk the pathways to African music, they will be greeted by Fela at the door. To all kids who think Rage Against the Machine is as political as music gets, check out Fela Kuti.
Bob Dylan, Love and Theft- He's back! And just his luck for this long awaited pleasure released on September 11. Oh well, perhaps we may see a few political tunes once again coming our way. This is one for Dylan fans. Unlike his recent tasty but thinner records, Love and Theft feeds you an actual sound- very similar to the multiple number of albums back in the day (Bob Dylan, Blood On the Tracks, Highway 61, John Wesley Harding and so on). Dylan has come a long way since "Song To Woody" (a song I love) and finally mixes his roots into one equal whole - a choice of wise and healthy material for Beck and others to take in consideration.
Tori Amos, Strange Little Girls - Seriously quite a solid album. It may not be one for her regular fans, but that could be just the point. Written from all masculine cover songs (Neil Young, Lou Reed, Eminem, Tom Waits, Slayer and others), Amos uses her feminine touch and sensibility to add this strong message of "male testosterone leadership" to both women and men. Perhaps this could be a recording for us guys of the world, and would be a fine hearing in town macho-hangouts at cd stores and guitar shops. Amos crosses new boundary in her field producing contemporary uniqueness at its crisp.
Tim Buckley, Starsailor - Upon its release in the seventies, Starsailor collected dust. And was only wiped away until fairly recently (like Skip Spence) when it regained attention among a more eager generation of critics and fans. Buckley has one of the best voices ever to inhale the microphone from the sixties. Starsailor is rough (for its gritty strikes of music improvisation and mind-fantasy) for us Goodbye and Hello or Happy Sad listeners (although you can see the direction Buckley wanted to lead in Happy Sad ), but well enough an experience for fans, and a guide for musicians to hear such an album that's still held its presentation of purity and fierce edge for the last many decades.
Cassandra Wilson, New Moon Daughter - If Tori Amos does, or didn't, do it for you, Cassandra Wilson should make the wild wonders of your head attentive to all tracks on this fine record. A superb voice that traces the scratchy beauty of Nina Simone, and the whole Motown experience altogether, and the background texture of blues and jazz. Done from cover-song material (Son House, Hank Williams, U2) and her own cry of written songs, New Moon Daughter remains peacefully in all possibilities for any audience with the patience to listen and understand.
- Carson Arnold
(November 2001)
TRACK 11
Music is beautiful. And there's something even more beautiful, more powerful, and more deliberate when the musician plays all the instruments on their quest of songs they wish to pursue to please the vast concentration of the world. Track by track, perhaps home-recorded, laying the first backbone of rhythm, and later traveling back to weave tiny surprises of musical delight for all us fast listeners. The ones who play it all mingle patience and the well thought out structure from their own inner wisdom bleeding this life into their sounds. There's nothing like it.
The question is, what fuses the artist to choose the role of multi-playing? The talent for this opportunity can't be an overnight success. Thus, it must be a mind-setting directness and strength to find achievement in some boundary of their self, developing their true soul sound in the music. For instance, Skip Spence's Oar is a fabulous guiding example to a dream collection of songs that show honest confidence within this all-instrumentalist, despite his lacking knowledge to the instruments. Spence first lived, then planned, and when the time opened, he created.
Quite certainly, there's a handful of artists I can mention who carry the torch of the one-man band personality (wait a minute, what's this one-man-band? I've yet to find any women who play all their instruments, and it's driving me nuts. So if any of you know, share it. I guess Ani Difranco in many ways is her own full set-up. Her ballads ring meaning far beyond any classy production you may hear today.) The composers who touched the unscaled territory for their time, reaching into the likings of the present in both Classical and Jazz music (especially Roland Kirk - as a blind man he played three horns at once! And Eric Dolphy sharpening the teeth of dissonance with the fierce quarter-tones of a sax and flute), is a peak that might not be easily questionable in the tones of pop-rock - but only well-definable through hard thought and the timely living of the artist and their work (in all other words: people are born as people, somewhere in their existence the idea of their own uniqueness might greet their way ... and suddenly, creations are born, great in any form of our daily pondering and walking stride).
One must never forget the legendary Shuggie Otis, who plays, if not all, the instruments on the beautiful landscape of the funky psychedelic refugee album, Inspirational Information. And if you scout long enough along side with the lonesome faces in the thick blues bins, you will sure enough be mesmerized by the great Jesse Fuller - who has spawned a life of high-hat and bass drum revolution throughout your typical scurrying city street. Accompanied by a sick guitar, kazoo, hoarse harmonica, sincere voice, washboard, and his own stomping invention called the "fotdella", Fuller proves the wisdom to not lay down musical tracks one by one ... but to do it all at once! But Fuller is in good hands. Duster Bennett follows in the league of on-stage drum thumping, guitar and harmonica, and singing a sweet blues that may make Fred McDowell cringe, but a folkie youth is drawn by amusement smiles. And never overlook the powers and intelligence of Zappa and his composing pieces fired by his calvary of untame group talent.
And then we move into the day of a lesser in depth mind-motivated musical technique - but rather a swampy class of marketing, and one's expectations of industrial entertainment, rocketing the audiences standards of tip-top shape production ... but there are still some who can really play. Particularly a real unexpected surprise of present time all-instrumentalist is Chili Pepper guitarist, John Frusciante. After years spent kicking addiction and rediscovering a brighter side of humanity vs. success, he wrote, played and recorded To Record Water For Only Ten Days, literally jamming with himself filling his eight-track with drum machines, guitars, keyboards, vocals and whatever else fits the eye. A remarkably refreshing straight forward record for a wounded rocker and an influential importance for this time.
Of course I could never leave out Beck's name without full recognition to his striking style of playing and the fusion of multi-instrumentalism he's carried proudly for the last many years. Delicate pop-rock seems to become more of a harder uniqueness to try to light, but Pete Yorn leaves me with good impressions with his delicate but well structured record, Musicforthemornigafter (playing most of the instruments in a safe light of rocking). And in my local area, solo artist Joshua Burkett meditates tranquility, siding with his confident pose of experimental folk (some new material expected soon, but in the meantime look for the LP, Owl Leaves Rustling). Some may count the whole Dj experience as a one "who plays it all" (I accept Moby, who may run his verses in the fog of fancy keyboards, but at least sings, plucks a guitar, kicks a drum, and teaches us groovin' blues samples that sign his new trademark with a popular applause). But when I subtract the fun pulsing beats of the club-room mood, all I see is toys run by an almost robotic pattern of computers that rob the real purity of the "instrumental hands on" atmosphere that talent has always been colored by. Since when did computers kidnap music?
But as long as these artists linger on the shelves of owners and purchasers, we are only hoped to be promised a great evolution to come from the ones who play it all.
RECOMENDED RECORDINGS:
Skip Spence, Oar
Jesse Fuller, Brother Lowdown
Duster Bennett, Jumpin' At Shadows
Roland Kirk, certainly quite enough material, but We Free Kings is always a joy
Eric Dolphy, Out To Lunch, Other Aspects - all consistent
Shuggie Otis, Inspirational Information
John Frusciante, To Record Water For Only Ten Days
Beck, I always loved Mellowgold (earlier), but the deserving attention to his sound shows well on Odelay and Mutations
Ani Difranco, Not A Pretty Girl, To The Teeth
Pete Yorn, Musicforthemorningafter
Joshua Burkett, new album expected shortly, otherwise Owl Leaves Rustling
Moby, Animal Rights, Play
- Carson Arnold
(November 2001)
TRACK 12
CLASSICAL : PERSPECTIVE FROM A BEGINNING LOVER
Upon starting off my first article of Track (discussing the realness of a "once was" rock 'n roll sound, neatly refrigerated by contemporary rollers like brit-band, Oasis), I received a letter from an old friend of the family. It was a simple line showing the gracious thank-you in regards to a good paper, and also stating bluntly that he preferred only Fats Domino and Schubert. All right ... all friendship aside, Track to me is an idea to invite your nose into further record bins other than the usual and typical comforting taste. His line was too perfect. It was a sheer example of intellectual snobbery from an educated man vs. the rebellious empire of youth that may not be understandable to elders, but is of high importance to the population of "any day" music. I accepted it in a positive manner and constructively built another step onto a beginning stairway, to de-code: why only Fats Domino and Schubert?
Since I already was fond of Fats, I chose Schubert as a main source to haunt my ears in the listening hours of the day. Shortly after, I was pulled under the waves of classical music and was amazed by its beauty of movements and strengths, that ring farther than any sound I've ever witnessed off an instrument. The melody of strings created another cell of influence inside me that may never leave but only meditate longer. And if you just listen... just listen, there's something for everybody in a classical piece.
Everyone has heard the name Schubert. Whether in the sludgery of sing-a-long grade school music class, or perhaps a young kid amused that the composer's name has a similar rhyme with the tasty "sherbet" dessert. Whatever it might be, his name has been presented in front of everybody's eyes in some mental statement of word fashion. And sadly to say, myself, knows jack in the first place about classical, never mind the symphonies and movements of Schubert. But by observing and flipping countless pages...the knowledge soon evolves.
To all you who may now be interested in Schubert's work you may also be intrigued by a little history, which at all may be boring to a one-page perspective of classical music, but to develop an understanding of the artist you must know the cave they came from (in other words, Van Gogh's "Starry Night" may be a finished excellency to your arty vision, but to have the knowledge of his peasant background, the painting begins to grow a thicker spine... and so do you). Franz Schubert, a Vienna man, lived a relatively short life, reaching the ripe age of thirty-one, dying with a pale heart and a wretched illness of un-confidence and disease (deceased in the year of 1828, began from birth in 1797). Like Van Gogh, Schubert never had a marrying lover and was a quiet bachelor, this appearance questioned the public of an uncertain homosexuality (the same remarks lingered behind the back of sixties folksinger, Nick Drake). Coming from an educated family, and pushed by an eager bond of fatherhood to teach school as well, he declined this life and pursued the evolving talent that Schubert had remarkably built in himself since a youngster. Experiencing poor living habitats, he dwelled his struggling into dream compositions, killing the beastly environment at that time. He became quite a well-known piano-soloist in the Vienna region, but never achieved the credit as a vast icon in the hemisphere (having no symphonies published until fifty years following his death...and none were performed in his lifetime). After his liberal tongue got him arrested, his spunk and drive plummeted, but he continued writing and composing from concentrated ideas throughout the days. These pieces were mostly all unfinished, being his true and strongest work in the short lifetime he had left - showing a utter mysterious depression that possessed an unhealthy state, but contributed a heavenly and romantic skill - more poetic than music. But there were consequences...he died November 19th, 1828.
With a strong feeling to my recent, yet short listenings, I give the highest credit to the unbelievable talent Schubert flared in his compositions, translated by piano through ten simple fingers that somehow leaves us stunned centuries later. Yet in my own ears, I always find Schubert to be running away from his notes almost rushing to the perfect finale of applause. Beethoven at that time was an icon - everyone was under the influence of his works, including Schubert (similar to Picasso and Pollock). And I can see why. As I search my vocabulary for a quick analogy, all I can think of is this: Beethoven creates a deep feeling, a mood, a horizon - be this a "block of ice". Lets say if this block of ice were to be smashed into pieces, Schubert would then arise from this chaos. Of course that's one theory to mull over (and I'm of course forgetting a dozen other composers that fit the bill).
Classical music is a handshake to all music-- its melodies show us the past and yawn into the future. The music is almost a secret chord that lurks in all of our souls, but only strummed understandingly once one's living rudiments allow it. For instance, a kid who walks to nothing but Metallica or Slayer, may realize that Metallica (especially Master Of Puppets), is almost more classical than it is metal. And perhaps the lonesome full grown adult who has refused to color their self with anything but opera, may take joy with ambient beats or find solace in a Pink Floyd record. I myself now remain in dedication to the spirit and body of classical music - don't worry I won't turn into a craving-crazed character like Alex in A Clockwork Orange. For I love Sam Cooke, can't wait to hear Iggy Pop, stare mesmerized at a spinning record of Coltrane, and wish I could play like John Lee Hooker. And perhaps these mentioned artists have been all harmonized as a blown-up version of a single idea Schubert tapped in some fine print of a deadly composition written centuries ago. So with that in mind, in a sense ... everything I hear now is beautiful.
RECOMENDED RECORDINGS:
Schubert's "Unfinished" (Symphony No. 7 B Minor) is bolder than terrific.
Carson Arnold
(November 2001)
TRACK 13
I'm not an elitist to popular music. In fact, there's a tremendous amount of contemporary pop that still plays a gripping role - no matter how much I may dislike its territory. If it works, it's important. Now everyone could justify all the MTV videos as "important" because they air in a rotary of daily spin, thus they work? Not really. Too many of them air a lot of nothing, lacking vision and thought. In fact, I tune into MTV now and then to keep up with the popular forecast. (First off, so you're not confused, this article reflects on four key and important women in the popular trend of hip-hop and soul). Let that be said - every time I land on a video I always see Destiny's Child. Now, I've been studying them, struggling to decode the whole atmosphere they're trying to express. But like the three piece women groups before their broadcast - Salt 'n Pepa, TLC, now Destiny's Child - they all sing in the same closet - except each trio dances in the hip clothing according to the hip trend. It would be great if we were delivered another Supremes. But in the realm of soul and hip-hop, I doubt it's any time soon (but hey, it could always show in some other radical form - Sleater Kinney as the Supremes?)
Of course there's always the solo artist Diana Ross. But Janet Jackson does a somewhat comforting job of adopting Ross's looks and voice. My main soul attraction has always been the direct push and concentration of Nina Simone and Irma Thomas (and please allow yourself to backtrack to Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday etc). Now in the Millennium, the soul politics of once upon a time are brought forth in the spunk of hip-hop and in the energetic stride of soul production. There's four women who own this newer club, who yet have found a name for their liberation: Lauryn Hill, Jill-Scott, Macy Gray, and Ereykah Badu.
It could have started earlier in a past generation - and in fact it did. But since the early seventies, black women have had a difficult time maneuvering into the class of popular music. Through the lost disco bounce, the commercial Donna Summer era, the giggling Salt 'n Pepa looseness, and posing skimpy in a Jay-Z video, you can't say it's been easy. Men have conquered this more steadily. America accepted you if you jumped around in Bad Brains and applauded you if you wore a jersey and a gold chain in a rap video. Some may disagree, but Lauryn Hill (formally, adding a third sweetness to the Fugees, along with Wyclef Jean and Pras) broke loose from the decades of class chaos and backed away from the marketed sneer of Lil' Kim and Missy Elliot. Instead, releasing the hip-hop bible for the future women howlers of global concern,The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, she dove back to the politics of civil rights and societal amendments, to present to a stunned youth who took on her cry. The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is packed neatly with verses of "yo's" and drum machine breaks, but in this sturdy composition, lays a text of positive and influential spirit to the hurt of love, racial movements, bigotry, cultural misunderstanding, class struggle, prejudicial rudeness, and the all around importance of humanity and living. Quite a record.
Ereykah Badu, who seems to be still gravitating to a confident sound, I admire. Visually, she is quite fetching, and carries the spirit of a cool Diana Ross with an intellectual rhyme that sparks and allows certainty to her climbing career. I ran across her latest, Mama's Gun, in the town library and found myself interested in the daring political cover. However, the record wasn't too political, rather an anxious outcry to society's standards (the first track being a thrilling tune - making the record). Her voice is the sweetest and most trained in the bunch, but my hopes for future is that Badu steps the correct degrees away from the drum machine and takes her sincere words to the raw edge of experimental hip-hop (perhaps fluctuating a whole new rhythm of her own; which she could very easily do in full strength).
Next (by the way, these aren't in any specific order), we arrive at the musical mastermind - Macy Gray's The I.D . She opens her album with a verse grooving: "hot like hot wings with hot chocolate in hell" (you can decide from there. The whole album is like one big Edward Lear poem, backed with a brass section on a fast carnival ride). It's incredibly rare to hear a stardom pop artist like Gray, to really soak themselves in their influences. I usually take dislike to the topping production in albums, but in this interesting case, it is used in equal excitement. Similar to Louis Armstrong's background dream symphonies, there's perhaps nothing like Curtis Mayfield's orchestra, heard in the most clashing chill of "Beautiful Brother Of Mine". There's a lot of this in The I.D. At the attention of the Sly Stone march, screeching horn line-up, muffling fuzz-boxes (used at the height of a Sgt. Peppers pluck), reggae wah, and Gray's Disney voice (sounding off between a baby's scream and a cat purr), this a remarkably fine coat that shines bright. Beck hopped over this idea in Midnight Vultures , but Gray rolled around in it.
Lastly, we give light to a new artist, making the crowd a number of four - Jill-Scott. Scott , who appears at a modest educated level of lifestyle, delivers a poetic hop of spoken word performance, backed by the usual line-up of a snap drum machine, keyboards, and a burping bass; remoting in the similarity of the Gil-Scott Heron directness. But unlike Heron, Jill-Scott cuts a record of eighteen songs that rambles the laid back chill of waking up next to her lover in a clean apartment and walking to the corner market to cash for some orange juice. I mean, c'mon! With the confidence she's gained with spoken-word blatancy, she could sure topple our minds with words of liberation and questionable politics. Of course I need to draw the right line between what I personally admire and what's important to diverse fans. But in Scott's case, I believe the activism tale is missing between her art. Poetry that's sung in the acclaimed entertainment of pacing music, is always rode for a cause. But who knows, it's only her first album. Well enough a smile for starts.
All four have lighted a flame that may be thrown up in the air by musical over-lookers (or better yet, musical elites). But if there's any class of sound in today's bins that awaits no hesitation of ending in the paranoia in lasting "dried-up", it's the howl of Lauryn Hill Inc. In a way, the tales of traditional folk, blues, and the longing soul have sketched itself neatly in a society and womanhood of oppressed thinkers that has only begun to shout.
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS:
Lauryn Hill, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill.
Ereykah Badu, Mama's Gun.
Macy Gray, The I.D.
Jill-Scott, Who is Jill-Scott?
Carson Arnold
(November 2001)
TRACK 14
The silent "s" will always fool you - but his music won't. Constantly I hear folks add this sound to Louis Armstrong's name, almost then producing him to a whole different persona. It's a drastic image when you want to ask a clerk for a specific artist, and you can't recall the two right directions to spit the name. Unfortunately, there's been some names like Hoagy Carmichael who I've battled with in question at a sad glance. But indeed I'm well to know Louis's "s" is skipped to silence. And who doesn't? Louis Armstrong continued to shuffle the Billboard decades after his death in 1971. And before those last thirty years of the twentieth century, he defined, and some might like to say, similar to the Beatles, shaped the generations of sounds and influence ... no wait, he did do that.
It was almost like Armstrong couldn't have been born in a more perfect time. One hundred years ago in 1901 - a world was beginning to deliver a message of importance to financial marketing and global industrialization. And from this murky chaos why wouldn't forms of beauty emerge? (After all, it is said that's how the Earth arose). Anyway, Armstrong put his arm around the trumpet near the early teen years while serving time at a reform school for firing a gun (a rather silly conviction). As we all might imagine, tailing the arts and being black at the same time, during a crisis of racial outbreaks and silent cries, is something out of bounds of risky - perhaps suicidal. Armstrong was balanced with great company, though. After all, field and street blues were the soul of natural existence at this time for povern bodies, and Armstrong being a New Orleans walker, a city where cultural folk and blues shook hands with a new form of ragtime (with future bebop and jazz scaling in the shadows), he was in a safe comfort zone for the determined black musicians (perhaps dealt in a harsher complication than that, but said well in all other words).
God, this is a troubling frustration trying to highlight a musical god like Louis Armstrong. Let's dash forward a bit. While running the pure learner notes through the cluttered streets of New Orleans, Armstrong met the eyesight of King Oliver (composer, player of the cornet). Like the first meeting and relation between Blind Lemon Jefferson and Lightnin' Hopkins, Oliver targeted a talent in Armstrong that he might possibly had no inclination of. Giving him a fatherhood birth of confidence, simple teachings, and self-innovation, Armstrong was ready for the soloist career that met him at stride. During these slow times in the early twenties, Armstrong waved a hand of new standards to trumpeters. His reputation was slowly rising to sudden furies, and musicians almost grew cautious to the man with the silent "s" (a nickname was also handed to Armstrong: "Dippermouth". A tribute statement to the size of his mouth). The solos he carried with a big-band bustle, the Hot Five (later changed to the Hot Seven) are in a speculated relationship to the blues licks, past and present. I now find where Miles Davis came to the idea of "So What" and how John Lee Hooker masterminded "boom-boom" for a restless lifetime. To me, that "cool-jazz" (boy do I hate that name, but I'll use it anyway) era of Miles Inc. was beyond a gape and too beautiful for a stare. But like the American sadness of blues, this jazz was ghostly in its appearance. Frosty, chilling, haunting, whatever so. Armstrong presented this idea decades back ... but Armstrong's movements are alive! Of course the ferocious "cool-jazz" would have to set their instruments down to be influenced by the explosive hearings of Coleman Hawkins, Dizzy Gillespie, and Charlie Parker, who followed the bust of Armstrong's conquering philosophy.
The Hot Five dazzled a white audience, putting a spotlight on profiting record companies, where they were forced to choose along the boundaries of this new influence. Armstrong being the prominent figure gave the producers the option of fascination among black talent and the open-door to profit from it. This in all forms remained safe, but still a jokingly racist maneuver from the record companies - quite similar to the blackface movement (for a vivid definition, check out Spike Lee's recent flick, Bamboozled).
But to the true musician like Louis Armstrong, racism and financial profit jokes left no burns - instead he took the full-fledged advantage from this opportunity.
Perhaps without the team ship of pianist, Earl Hines, Armstrong might not have found the route of his future musical enterprise. In the songs and compositions with Hines, you can hear the first real tones of innovation and dissonance sparkling bright. Bebop is defined, jazz is created, orchestra soothes a mint melody, trumpet solos are thick with life, scat-singing and yodeling says its hello, a piano sounds like nothing touched with fingers (hence, the introduction to Thelonious Monk and Bill Evans). Hey, there's just as much country-westen as there is blues - tunes like "Basin Street Blues" hold the Gene Autry humming glide and blooms the Judy Garland sweetness. Armstrong delivered a creation of support that literally put Bing Crosby in Hollywood and even Frank Sinatra on TV, following so many others. And then there's the fine trademark of Armstrong's voice. I mean, nothing beats that. Its crackle and innocence on both early and later works, perhaps heard in the highest fashion on "Stormy Weather" (Armstrong's "Smells Like Teen Spirit") makes the grumbling husky growlers of today, like new sung Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, and Tom Waits, look like cocktail thumb-snappers (well perhaps not cocktail snappers, but definitely thumb-snappers). Adding another fresh sound with a very intimate feeling to its mood, done with women singers like Velma Middleton and the great Ella Fitzgerald (who stood an ever so important role for Louis, lifting him from the lone trumpeter oblivious to his band), is perhaps a whole other style to talk sweet in the future.
With all that ... that is exactly what shaped music for the next, and still everlasting, cycles of musical voice to sing our ways. Louis Armstrong is music. Despite the character image the media has plotted him under, whether stated as a "sell-out" to jazz, he was the first to swim along side the greed of record companies and fame. But unlike most, he didn't drown. Instead, he worked constructively; showed the world something they've never seen before and ignored the spin of nuisance fame. A role model if there ever was one.
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS:
Armstrong's work can never really be separated from the good or bad. His work grows off itself. The material done with Earl Hines is excellent, and the big band days of the twenties is beyond my comprehension. Plenty of sources to look into. Mystery Train Records in Amherst, Massachusetts (for those reading the posted text) has a strong stack of vinyl - which is the way I recommend listening to any jazz and Armstrong material.
Carson Arnold
(November 2001)
(November 2001)
TRACK 15
It was all a bit too strange. A long awaited rain shower had finally drizzled its way all night and into a bleak morning. I had just finished a terrific novel (In The Lake Of The Woods) and was listening to some excellent material done by the Brazilian artist Moreno Veloso (I indeed recommend him). Remarkably, both ended at that same time (though not the rain). Thinking this was such a peculiar coincidence and on top of that, my parents informed me of George Harrison's death (a dragging battle with cancer - ending at fifty-eight years old). I wasn't quickly saddened. More questionably shocked - astonished by the cruelty of the news versus the bitter timing. After all, I hadn't had quite the experience to feel such a sudden grief for a musician as George was. Born in the mid-eighties, a few years after John Lennon was murdered, I grew fit (and 'am still growing) into the likes of Nirvana and Sonic Youth (first running my ears across Harrison at a early age, with his messy, but "full", middle-aged band, the Traveling Wilburys - accompanied by Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, Jeff Lynne and Tom Petty). But years later, at the arrival of Kurt Cobain's death, I was still on the verge of discovering In Utero and was too young to capture any sort of loss to the heart. So really, as part of a generation that fell too late for the early nineties and feels "duped" to the charts now, may finally catch that honest passion to such a true icon of Harrison's character and his years of immense performance ... I know I will.
Around nine in the morning, the television talk shows really start to fly at you. There was Regis and Kelly who for nearly ten minutes uttered every possible syllable except Harrison's passing (really disgusting). CNN did a better job combining "war news" with fond Beatle memories. Quite a juxtaposition! An obscure comparison caught me as a shaky surprise. One station asked its viewers if "peace was possible?", while another mourned the years of George Harrison (I betcha' none of the Beatle members would ever think those odd statements to greet them in future time). Even a visit to a town that day revealed an oblivious stage to the fact of Harrison's death.
But enough about the woes ... George Harrison was my favorite Beatle. The subdued honesty (or as it's been put: the "quiet Beatle") and the confidence of his passionate character battling the fling of such global stardom compelled him as a real role-model. He was not a power guitarist. But his assurance that he could make me enjoy the guitar no matter what, was like no other. In fact, his strongest solo point was drawn into his spectacular album, All Thing Must Pass - an actually pretty under-rated triple record set that no doubt is as superior as the years spent with the Beatles (which are described by George "as hell"). The few songs Harrison wrote with the Beatles are indeed the most predominant to natural feelings (in fact, I just watched Bill Flanagan of VH1 describe Harrison as writing "eternal songs". That's it!). "Here Comes The Sun" bleeds true exotic ability that added the beauty to Lennon's sassy rebel sneer and created human character to McCartney's "good times". The avant-garde charisma of psychedelia in the later years showed guitar playing didn't have to be all about soloing as a sex symbol, but rather communication (don't hit all the strings, just hit one). Harrison's will for interest in Eastern music and philosophy (the sitar, taught by Ravi Shankar) - though he wasn't the first - invited minds to reach further than America's coast. Someone who enjoyed the partial moments of rock-star popularity, but left things in simplicity and practicality. To me, George Harrison was a person - then he created music. That's my type of rock star.
But not to mourn forever. Like the recent departure of John Lee Hooker, Harrison leaves us with dynamic "roots". The Beatles can never be erased from our ears, nor texts. His romantic, yet desolate, solo albums soak in the blissful fantasy of inner happiness and an optimistic lifestyle. He presented a fresh sighting - that you don't have to be a magnificent musician to create tasty music - simply be observant and concerned. Harrison, as we know, bonded with spirituality. And what finer example than his beliefs could be shown, that new horizons are always here, and all things must pass but should be still remembered in all natural forms ... George Harrison.
Highly Recommended:
All Things Must Pass (Apple) - George Harrison with Eric Clapton, Ringo Starr, Billy Preston, Dave Mason and many others.
Carson Arnold
(December 2001)
TRACK 16
It has been well into a few months of my Track essays, and I believe it's now time to recognize not an artist, but a particular phenomena. Little is known or mentioned in the music biz about subway music. No, not the interior subway car muzak. Subway musicians. The artists of the street. While city folks bustle into the revolving doors of New York's frantic subway tracks, musicians work hard hours singing their lively soul, and entertaining the passing commotion, hoping for a spare coin or comment to travel in return. Hipster record stores like to tag their gritty hip-hop sections with a fine color stating: "underground". But literally speaking, subway musicians have no record in any bin, and they're tremendously lucky to get a gig by a curious ear in the audience of waiting transit riders. Dozens of feet under traffic pavement in an hourly claustrophobic environment - everyday and any day- is some magnificently wonderful and daring, (musicians at work), yet sad that these artist are silenced by shaking heads above, on higher ground.
How many times have you walked in a busy town on the warm chill of a summer day and heard someone strum a guitar or mend in the rich tones of a steel drum, and wish you had stopped your eyesight of destination to comment on how their playing is an appreciation to your day- or, just how they're playing so damn good!? Perhaps this hesitation is why street musicians are kept meager in the artistic field. Maybe it isn't arrogance that the public has against "these bums who happen to pluck a guitar" (and many are not homeless - in fact, a majority still work in another occupation and some have left their job to pursue subway performance), but the quiet admittance of talent that we don't dare pass on about these characters. From my research, I happen to believe that the subway musician hauls an importance far more than your average radio rock star. And why wouldn't they? Four-piece musicians carry glum looks album after album, writing the same tune - built from a frustrated lacking communication - even though now, they have all the money they need to be finally spoiled upon. MTV host Carson Daly launches another day of TRL, signing off the same ten videos he aired yesterday, while below that street in Times Square sits a tarnished life of actual artists who have lived every breath they play with the same excitement and enthusiasm when they first let loose their beginning note that began a conquering beauty to the industrial machinery underneath.
Two popular subway systems that hold multiple number of musical talents and never ending charisma of excitement, is the Metro in Paris and our own - New York City's Grand Central Station. A rare combination of ethnic groups and street citizens gather in these terminals, keeping a decent even-distance for subway walkers to gaze at this beautiful musical spectacle. Most people agree, that even though some get annoyed by the urgency of panhandling after songs, the musicians keep the terminals openly refreshing with ranging sounds (everything from a natural blues growl to a community of hip-hop tellers to Argentinean guitarists to Chinese instrumental works).
I talked to Clare Muldaur, a well-acclaimed musician (you may remember Track 4, sorting out the steam of the Muldaur family) who spent her time playing on both streets and subway lines in Boston. Her memory is that people wanted to grasp the fast entertainment, gracious with smiles if they were able to recognize a tune - like jazz. When it came down to her own solo street performance, she states: "[if it's] much too personal, no one notices, not the right situation for originals".
All this comes not entirely easy for the musicians themselves. Not forgetting the sickly poverty line many of these jobless artists dwell in, an organization was formed early in the last decade (beats me if it's still active) - after musicians could play legally without worry of harassment. Of course after this act was approved, there was still a pesky fuss from the law, who were not accustomed to the sound barriers - and perhaps were not amused by the new happiness of the subway and the public's positive reaction. This gave musicians a further grief to their daily cycle of "working while playing" (on a good day, a musician can scrape up about fifty dollars). A somewhat freelanced group originated at this time to draft what they thought were the ranking professional musicians of the subway culture (this was done by a testing audition). Not many were signed in, but the small group that were received permits for the area. This was a safe agreement with the city's police, and no more were at odds with ticketing abuse. But really, whose to underline the professional and the unprofessional in art? It makes me wonder what happened to the few suppressed souls that weren't achieved "worthy" by the table of judges. Even so, to this day, musicians are hassled by the interruption of the enforcing authority. Don't ask me why.
Most would be surprised by the majority of culture and talent that performs in the subway systems. Some are astonished by the freshness and playing of ones individual spark without the attention of money or stardom. Many have been offered record deals, club gigs, and a few have been invited to play a small scene in a film. Be this what the musicians want, their only will is to make music and find the pleasure to please the public, keeping the underground subway cough coated with a natural beauty. It's as if they're the jesters of the city street. Living proof of a positive turn-out to the corrupt city politics. As they keep the air tuneful underground, their only hope is for the people above ground to remember to grasp the legend and name of subway music.
Carson Arnold
(December 2001)
To read more: Underground Harmonies , by Susie J. Tanenbaum.
Also, internet access to listen to subway musicians is accessible: www.subplay.com
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS: Ted Hawkins (played for most of his life on the streets, until recently was led to discovery-- but passed away in 1995).
TRACK 17
TWO NEW RECORDINGS I CAN'T STOP PLAYING
CLARE MULDAUR- SWEETHEART
Clare Muldaur hits the vast when she's under the influence of a higher challenge. Most of the songs on her debut album,Sweetheart, remain challenges. Unlike her generational musicians, she burrows past the average hassle of pop-song blatancy, and instead, begins her steps to the linear focus of jazz-rag, folk soothe, and the flailing rock pulse. Clare's determined self-assurance is there. Yet her heritage of roots appear to be at the beginning step of construction and maturity - gently brushing the many soul categories of music, leaving perhaps the patient experimentation aside for verse-chorus motivation. Singing almost like a female Rufus Wainwright, she indulges in the erratic disney-vocal pitch of Billie Holiday, cleanses in the jug-band shine (of her father's- Geoff Muldaur- taste), tampers with sweet folk, and leaves us in good after taste in rocker flamboyance - all along siding with a rambling line-up of musicians and tight production. Where Clare peaks at the height of challenge is in the wild energy brought forth in songs like "Emotional Lab Toy" (possible "single" material, tide in with a phenomenal chorus), the passionate coo of "How It Should Be", and the twist catch to "Cactus Tree" (singing an exotic chorus in French). By the rustic texture of Sweetheart's cover (painted by Eric Von Schmidt, no less), you can immediately taste Clare's youthful ambition will be musically relishing (instruments leak sounds for everyone) and, in future reference, require lasting patience.
Joshua Burkett- Gold Cosmos
I never knew anybody played this sort of music. Well, I did. But Joshua Burkett's very influential rooted simplicity and infinite experimentation in Gold Cosmos highlights a new meaning. His previous records (Owl Leaves Rustling and Lost ), escalated a lot of beginnings that still flow naturally; throwing in odd sample voices, uncontrollable strings, and romantic, yet faint, vocals that whisper more as an instrumental effect (never mind most instruments are all played by Joshua, sometimes with the accompanying help from friends). Gold Cosmos brings in all of this, but drawn forth more at a professional stance of playing. The songs penetrate an unbelievable dream feeling as each piece of work (and you know this album had to take work), and relates further interest to acoustic guitar as we know it. The first track of Gold Cosmos clips a quick voice growl and rolls into the powerful opening of "Lavender Eagle" - tune to the likes of Ravi Shankar (whether Shankar or not, Joshua indeed plays his stringed instruments in fine resemblance to a sitar). Out of the fourteen pieces collected on Gold Cosmos, I can't pick a chosen one that shows Joshua's strengthening point. I can merely say it coils in experience. The first half of Gold Cosmos drops an evening spell of dreamy mood echo (intact to say the rightful march of a Kendra Smith...). The second side (this recording was released as both CD and record - artwork by the musician), relieves itself into morning, with the limbering tame of vibes (similar to Buckley's Happy Sad ), closing the record with a fabricating piano, that seems to end Gold Cosmos at an awaiting pause. A harmonious monotony plays through Gold Cosmos; sometimes wishing Joshua's lyrics could be fully heard, or at least treading above distortion. But never mind technicality - the album is a blast of joy and a cosmological trip all in the same swig. In fact, I've completely forgotten all the songs on both records I reviewed ... dreaming along. I better go listen again. And again.
CLARE MULDAUR- Sweetheart..... (website) www.claremuldaur.com
JOSHUA BURKETT- Gold Cosmos..... (address) feather one's nest (c&p) 2001 c/o M.T. 12 no. pleasant amherst ma. 01002..... (e-mail) joshuaburkett@hotmail.com
Dear Everyone: I'm taking a some weeks off for the holidays, but will return after the New Year with weekly issues of Track. Thank you all for your input, advice, recommendations, and more .... Happy holidays!
Carson Arnold
(December 2001)
TRACK 18
GREAT MOMENTS OF THE 20th CENTURY
For those of you who aren't a hundred years old yet, here's your ticket to live the last century in just a few short hours. Rhino's three-cd box set compilation Great Moments of the 20th Century returns the lost moments, speeches and events that made yesterday's history our future. Not only is it a far unbelievable source for history remindment (the package comes with a century synopsis book - complete with full detail needed to know your ancestral past), but an ideal tool for musicians (and others) to basically "fool around with". But for the ones that don't use this material for self-creativity, you will sure be intrigued by the "packed" movements the discs hold.
Though, after reviewing my notes, I do have criticism over the broad aspect of history that the box set mixes. I found it deliberately "Americana", signaling the main events of the "white man's heritage" of speech. The fears of Communism, the mystery of the Rosenbergs, immense wars, enduring the country's freedom, the rise of organized youth suburbia, and the questionable Nixon scandal-to-the heroic statues of John Glenn and Neil Armstrong, JFK, James Dean, Paul McCartney and the cheering baseball culture. But it seems to brush by the raw liberation of the past. Political assassinations are covered in the daring range of reporters, but both Malcolm X and Martin Luther King's murders are not mentioned (but they're sure to cover all the Kennedy deaths). The Civil Rights movement and the later revolution of the sixties boom almost remains "skipped" out of date. This matter was a bit startling to continue on after the sixties, but where Great Moments of the 20th Century holds its prime advantage into our ears, is the essence of the early twentieth century - particularly the voice before the Second World War. The end of the "horse and buggy" and the dawn of futuristic advancement seemed to correspond fresh knowledge into airwaves, thus contributing an entertaining patch of events to fold the years as an inventional existence. The spark of new literature, philosophers igniting their beliefs, the secrecy of wars and future dictators, and tragedies due to the sudden technological spurt - all these paid homage to an excellent fit of time, captured in all rarities on the discs.
But, an absolute major downfall to this box set is the total absence of racial voice, other than the Anglo-Saxon Americana justice. During all time periods, the positive African-American shout (whether arts or in public field) lingers in no form. The same goes with all nationalities and races throughout the world. Most racial groups that are brought to eye, are the pessimistic out-lashes of "Battle At Wounded Knee", or O.J Simpson, Clarence Thomas and Rodney King. And all the Middle-Eastern life is portrayed as basically "confused terrorists". This, like I said before, is a total shame to not only the box set, but to American history itself. But maybe this figure is useful to the fact that maybe this is history. Racial groups are silenced and are continued to be muted in all economic and mental grace.
To mention all events and names from the box set could get tiring. You could take on your own to simply know that the first disc starts with an advertisement for the "double-sided" record in 1904, and it ends in the event occurring during the Millennium celebration a couple years back. Simply you should understand the history (and more) that parts in between these long years. As you might guess, everything captured is basically rising to the war of "bloodshed", the fear of bloodshed, and yes, bloodshed itself. Mostly the extreme battles of war, puncturing societal conflicts following, and conspiratorial scandals lurking out of truth. But despite all the carnage and complication arisen (and the ignorance of other races), history is presented in full dedication for one's (perhaps) much-needed learning comprehension. Textbooks and historians gladly presented extinct generations in the tangent of words - but finally, we've been offered the opportunity to stand the entertaining witness of a world, once again, heard in its "voice". But for the sake of eternal understanding, you're in a better global environment by reading many more books.
Carson Arnol
(January 2002)
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS: Great Moments of the 20th Century . (Rhino) 3 CD box set. Date release: August 15th, 2000
TRACK 19
Two men. Both dead. And both have shared the thrive from the tan scene of Santa Monica's ocean daze. For Tim Buckley it was certainly a spoiled tan. Not to say Buckley was privileged (his father was a complete loose cannon - perhaps Buckley adopted this dis-correspondence with his future son, Jeff - another intriguing musician, also dead). But for another Venice Beach veteran, Ted Hawkins, the boardwalk, the street, the people, and the sun, was all he had. The past mourning of blues poured notes for strugglers like Hawkins and Gospel preached for the safe-being of his soul. Buckley and Hawkins seem at an odd duo comparison, and are met in no distinct reason, except for the good sake of musical recognition.
It's a bit difficult to figure Hawkins in a few short lines. But the first thing you should know, is that he was a street performer. All his life. Just a few years before his death in 1995, did he finally get the gracious glance from record executives, commuting the Santa Monica pave on the way to congested office space. The Venice Beach smog has said to have given Hawkins the utter hoarse voice that plays interest to his independent stance (a signature that singers, I should think, would give anything for). The sweet gargle resemblance of Howlin' Wolf, the Richie Havens instructionary poise (if only those two had met back in the sixties...), and most so, the man and his music, Sam Cooke (Hawkins covers Cooke's tunes, chiming soul livelihood with only guitar and voice) - all these fruitful recommendations are only the first light to Hawkins's confidence. Not to hail everything as a masterpiece. Many albums, including Happy Hour, were later over-dubbed by a professional band - totally losing the natural sound that was sought to express. Like Hawkins cared - where the real heart of talent and individual rests in musicians like Ted Hawkins, is the lifestyle that brews the recipe. In this case, a lone street performer, for decades, throws out the industrial standards of public expectations and needy attention (give or take the poor contributing upbringing), and instead, seated himself to color streets with dignity and faith. There's not much more than that. He just makes good music.
Tim Buckley, on the other hand, was lost in moodiness. His taunted personae led imagination to the passionate bursts of the popular sixties folk song. Though most lyrics were written from fellow friend, Larry Beckett (heard in the highest poetic honor on Goodbye and Hello), Buckley's twelve-string fuse and feminate yawn (which stands remarkably close to Odetta's), independently stood in well distance from the competition of the lonesome singer. In the sixties, Buckley hinted the strengths of psychedelia, avant-garde jazz, and delusional vocals - all along - colliding, in no hesitation to the pop-song delight. In Happy Sad (1969- right before the questionable slump of folk devotion), Buckley strums a timeless release of folk and jazz, showing an "era" at its final gasp of beauty. Soon after Starsailor (a stressing flop for its time), later granted Buckley excellence in innovation and seeking attitude, presenting the guitar in saxophone form (only now is Starsailor hailed as a pure classic). After an amounted stack of gorgeous tunes under his wing, Buckley threw himself into the flimsy splash of bad rockabilly-soul with Look At the Fool and Greetings From LA. The annoying guitar licks, screeching back-up vocalists, and a stinky production, probably sent fans in lost question (an actual similar route of folk troubadours at the time - Donovan, Roy Harper...). Following his latest refugee albums, Buckley suffered a fatal drug overdose in 1975.
I've never been able to deny the influence Buckley has captured in his longevity of material. To my ears, he always appears at the height of pursuing an infantile creation of blooming new folk - and he did. Buckley's tame of experimentation and odd effects mold the very introduction of innovation today - and yet still swimming along with the popular folk song. It's an everlasting enjoyment listening to Buckley's works, and he continues to perspire "attitude" to the instrument and the voice with concerning excellence to the celebrity fashion.
Ted Hawkins and Tim Buckley. I equally admire both. With the years that have ventured by, we can safely say these two Venice Beach veterans have given us warm sunlight that will, perhaps, forever be in gracious keep of folk music.
RECOMMENDED RECORDINGS:
Tim Buckley - Happy Sad and Starsailor
Ted Hawkins - Songs From Venice Beach and The Kershaw Sessions
~ Carson Arnold
(January 2002)
TRACK 20
2001 Treasures - What I Recommend And What I Don't
David Axelrod, David Axelrod - This may not be in the terms of your overheard popular billboard sound. But the chances you've heard David Axelrod sampled in rap or techno music (thanks to Dj Shadow and other turntable conquesters) is probably pretty likely. I had no idea who David Axelrod was three months ago, until a friend shuffled David Axelrod to my Dad and me and left us tangled in a brighter interest. Quite a long tale can be served to Axelrod's musical span. He's a sharp composer as well as a musician that's probably among the few living souls left from the sixties that still is on a direct musical missionary to quench our ears in all original proposal. In the late sixties, while improving with the Electric Prunes, he laid down rhythm tracks to play duty for the Prunes. The band separated shortly after, leaving the tracks in deep storage until, more than thirty years later...discovered! Thus creating David Axelrod, intact with orchestral grooves (almost feeling like Sgt. Peppers stopped in for a chat), jazz instruments and melodies, and, most of all, psychedelia at its finest hour, you can be sure this is great.
Tampa Red, Guitar Wizard - Tampa Red has influenced so many with his brute subtlety of slide guitar. The list travels on... Skip James to Keith Richards. These 1920 and 1930 recordings offer blues at its earliest form of sexy glide that charmed future guitar pluckers like Chuck Berry. Discovering Guitar Wizard from my parents this past year, this record is a sure item to select wisely very very quickly.
Alanis Morissette, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie - It's too bad, I'd love to give Alanis a thumbs - up approval to her fairly latest album. But I can't. The first three songs thrash in powerful formation - but due to this affect, the rest of the songs can't live up to their expectations (yes, one of those albums), leaving them in a bucket of Alanis tears. If she could only get over whoever she's hung up with, quit the bewildered indulgence, and stop being afraid of rocking out too long, she could really have a chance to gather fresh wind to her crafty intentions. (See: Sinead O'Connor)
Moreno Veloso, Music Typewriter - Son of Brazilian legend, Cateano Veloso, Moreno lives to the homage of his father with sacred folk melodies and much much more. Music Typewriter is accompanied with dance beats (using drum machines at a patient stride), guitars that never sound like a guitar, and other tiny "sounds and noises" that pushes you into the Brazilian current . One of my favorite albums of the year.
Charles Mingus, Mingus At Carnegie Hall - Live jazz albums are always great. It's where our fascination of improvisation usually shows. And Mingus At Carnegie Hall is of no exception to this. To state in short - two songs, both twenty minutes a piece... great jazz.
The Strokes, Is This It - It's fascinating to hear all this hype about The Strokes. "They sound like Lou Reed", and "they're the saviors of rock n' roll". Umm...no. They sound like Television or Rufus Wainright. I'll give them that. But then again, they only sound like Television for the sake of sounding like Television. Original attitude and creativity The Strokes are not. I admire them because they show off their roots with the loose effect of garage band electric guitar. But other than that, mop - hair doos and dribble - drabble lyrics don't seem quite enough to deserve the attention The Strokes have received. Especially since there's a dozen bands in my local area (and beyond) who carry that same drive (perhaps better), and will probably never see the light of stardom or popularity.
Johannes Brahms - After my Schubert essay (Track 12), I threw myself into a classical craze and have to yet recover from it, especially after discovering Brahms. Brahms's symphonies show the very romantic renaissance of classical music that falls lost in its wild desperation of feeling. A real edge is played throughout Brahms's pieces, especially in the rendition of Leonard Bernstein's takes.
New Order, Get Ready - This album is how a big rock band should sound. A perfect choice.
Rachid Taha, Made In Medina - My father discovered this guy off a great compilation called Desert Roses and Arabian Rhythms. Judging by his immense popularity overseas, I imagine he's the Chemical Brothers or Moby of Europe and Asia. The thing that is specifically special about Made In Medina (beside its roller - coaster excitement), is that his techno layer pulls the international club rhythm and the very heart heritage of Arabian music into a controlled environment of dance enthusiasm. Oh yes, he sings too.
Madonna, Music - I never was really a fan of Madonna until I actually listened to her. Music proves its raved hype, and shows that Madonna is indeed absolutely a talented artist that uses her opportunity of extreme production in its highest uniform (why not do it? especially if you can). She teaches us what a pop song is. Madonna has set tradition to pop music with her steady creations for nearly two decades... of course this album is good.
George Harrison, Wonderwall - As a musician, this one has had a gigantic influence over me. Recorded in India, and equipped with the eastern tongue of sitar speech, Wonderwall purifies a sound of artistic confidence and free habitat to the instrument. One might not even know this came from a Beatle member - which makes this record even more of a gracious musical importance to remember George Harrison by. As time will tell, I can surely suspect younger musicians will find a bright heart inside Wonderwall.
My Ten Favorite Albums Of 2001 (in no special order): * Bob Dylan, Love and Theft * Moreno Veloso, Music Typewriter * Gillian Welch, Time (The Revelator) *David Axelrod, David Axelrod * Mano Chao, Esperanza * Leonard Cohen, Ten New Songs * Joshua Burkett, Gold Cosmos *Shuggie Otis, Inspirational Information * Leon Parker, A Simple Life * Madonna, Volume 2 Greatest Hits
~ Carson Arnold
(January 2002)
TRACK 21
Hello. You and I will always remember exactly where we were when we heard of the Trade Center and Pentagon attacks. I was fiercely searching for a kazoo under my bed when the TV (downstairs) abruptly stunned my ears in such a damaging surprise that I thought I had misplaced my hearing. As we remember, September 11th was a sparkling Autumn day - thawing from the previous night's damp rain - and with the new chaos the TV was burning, nature and all its surroundings seemed out-of- place to anything that was encountered. The amount of casualties and the lost lives under September 11th are so incredibly overwhelming it's too abstract to think of an "amount". I'm still young, and with that, inexperienced, to realize the matter of the tragedy - but perhaps as time goes on, I'll come to better terms with the loss of life. (I failed miserably before trying to write a letter to you. I labored the writing with too many wooden facts and opinions. So I'll try to keep it punchy with memory and thoughts).
By that afternoon, I had a strong inclination that Bush would declare some sort of war when the static mellowed down. Opinions are tough to measure as facts, but I still firmly hold onto my views. Since Bush took oath into office things have been rather messy - whether in the 2000 election or in our mysterious economy. And with the Bush stroke the world was suffering. War, as we know,was declared nearly a month after - and basically the United States announced it to the entire world. Even Americans. This created a spur of American patriotism and also embodied a hateful relation to seemingly all Arabic culture (fanatical groups in Afghanistan of course being the central target in our "war against terrorism" - I'm still unsatisfied in our government's prosecution towards these groups, being perhaps the meager proof that we've heard makes me embarrassed by our conduct). War was the ticket to overcome. Negotiation and communication seemed irrelevant to Americans, who mostly backed the support of revenge at no restriction (to me, it was almost as if Americans didn't care who the government said was at fault). Everyone was behind this deadly focus of clamping down on "suspected countries that harbor terrorism", - even musicians supported this - which was incredibly weird to see. And speaking of musicians (to get this essay musically rolling), since September 11th I've been focusing on some important artists who flare the societal politics alive. From the many who risked their careers, and in some cases, their lives, John Lennon's post - Beatle days, Curtis Mayfield, Ani Difranco, Fela Kuti (perhaps a grandfather to protesting), Phil Ochs and Bob Dylan (in fact, all of sixties folk serves rebellion to the war effort), Gil-Scott Heron, Patti Smith, Public Enemy, The Last Poets, Woody Guthrie, and the burning punk influence with The Clash and The Dead Kennedys - all of these, and many more, have soothed remedy to my frustrated gapes to the deadly submissive power the world is now venturing into. Another very worthy note to pluck is Neil Young's cover-tune of John Lennon's Imagine on the benefit concert for September 11th victims. Done in Neil Young mode - the original Imagine was of course banned from radio stations after September 11th - and with Young's soulful and concise approach, he recognizes Lennon, stands up to the pig - headed radio stations, freezes all war-mongrels and satisfies the hurt with emotional satisfaction through a great song.
After witnessing the chaotic tragedy of September 11th, and living between the aftershocks and the declaration of war, a somewhat po