Album Review: Blue Öyster Cult — Imaginos

May 17th, 2013

Imaginos has a tortured history. The eleventh studio album released by Blue Öyster Cult (they had by this time released no less than three live albums), Imaginos was comprised of material that had been around for quite some time. Way back in the 1960s when most of the band were together in an outfit called Stalk-Forrest Group, they recorded the original version “Gil Blanco County,” one of the better tunes in this set. And “Astronomy” (yet another Imaginos highlight) first appeared on 1974′s BÖC album Secret Treaties.

But drummer Albert Bouchard – working with BÖC’s sometime producer Sandy Pearlman – had a project of his own gestating in the background for years called Imaginos, and these two aforementioned songs somehow fit into the narrative, a story that is (maybe) about a Zelig-like character who pops up at notable events throughout history. (The Imaginos story line is both thin and impenetrable; just enjoy the music.) In fact Bouchard cut demos of the entire project (plus a couple songs that didn’t make it onto the finished album) sometime in the early-to-mid 1980s.

After toiling as a very successful live act who didn’t do quite as well with album sales, BÖC had hit the big time with 1981′s Fire of Unknown Origin, with its hits “Burnin’ for you” and the much-loved deep cut “Joan Crawford.” But in many ways Fire of Unknown Origin was a last gasp: it was followed by the band’s third live album in seven years (Extraterrestrial Live) and two desultory albums (1983′s The Revolution by Night and 1986′s Club Ninja), both of which found the personnel thinning out. By Club Ninja, only three of the band’s core members remained (vocalist Eric Bloom, bassist Joe Bouchard and Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser).

So in a let’s-get-the-band-back-together effort worthy of This is Spinal Tap‘s third reel, producer Pearlman and departed drummer Albert Bouchard enlisted the aid of the three remaining members plus returning keyboard player Allen Lanier. But buy the time of the official Imaginos sessions, much of the work had been done. As a result, the credits for the 1988 album read like a who’s who of 80s sessioners: bassist Kenny Aaronson, keyboardist Tommy Zvoncheck, ace guitarist Joe Satriani, and several others. In fact The Doors‘ Robbie Krieger lends lead guitar to two tracks, “Blue Öyster Cult” and “Magna of Illusion.” So in some ways, though Imaginos is presented and positioned as a BÖC album (and sounds like one), in a sense it’s more of a Bouchard solo outing with help from his friends. In fact, the finished tracks – with the exception of the vocals – sound quite a lot like the unreleased demo tape that circulates among collectors (cough, cough). With the exception of some incidental music done for a film soundtrack, Imaginos would be the last BÖC album of new (sic) material for a decade; 1998′s Heaven Forbid features three of the core members, but neither of the Bouchard brothers; neither would return.

Better than its convoluted history might lead you to expect, Imaginos doesn’t have the hooky staying power of the band’s prime-era material, but it’s a worthwhile outing, one that has gone largely unheard in the years since its release. Reaching only #122 on the Billboard charts at the time of its release, the album deserved better. The 2013 reissue of Imaginos on Real Gone Music presents the original album (no bonus tracks) plus a helpful essay by Scott Schinder. Tastes were changing by the late 1980s, and BÖC’s brand of intelligent, hooky, smart-ass metal was (briefly) falling out of commercial favor. But removed from the context of its time and considered on its own musical merits, it’s sure to please those who enjoy the band’s more well-known material.

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Coming Attractions

May 16th, 2013

The good news is: there’s quite a lot in the hopper over here at Musoscribe World Headquarters. The sorta-bad news is that as a result, I don’t have a review to post today. But I would like to take a moment to thank all of my loyal readers – viewership of this blog is waaaaay up of late – and give a quick preview of what’s coming soon:

  • John McLaughlin – famed jazz/rock/progressive/fusion guitarist has a new album (Now Here This), as new tour (coming to Asheville’s Orange Peel in June) and – best of all for me – a conversation with me less than two hours from now. Look for a feature/interview very soon.
  • Rudi Protrudi – The leader of legendary garage rock revivalists The Fuzztones recently put together an odds-and-sods 2cd collection of rarities called Snake Oil. I recently spoke at length with Rudi about this and all sorts of other things. Feature/interview soon.
  • Stick Men – Three giants of progressive rock: bassist/stick man Tony Levin (also of King Crimson and thousands of session dates), Pat Mastelotto (also of Crim, Mr. Mister and countless prog projects) and touch guitarist Markus Reuter have a new album, Deep. I’m talking to all three of ‘em(!) and will have a feature soon.
  • Bill Spooner – The guitarist of The Tubes for all of their classic era releases (the beginning through the mid 80s) took time with me to do a track-by-track discussion of two of their 70s LP, Now and Young and Rich). Look for that fascinating discussion here soon.
  • Opeth – I saw the Swedish death/prog quintet onstage last week, and my feature/review – including an interview with drummer Martin Axenrot – will be out very soon.
  • Howard Kaylan – The witty and engaging Kaylan (also known as “Eddie,” as in Flo and Eddie) came to fame as lead singer of The Turtles, then with Flo/The Phlorescent Leech/Mark Volman, and with Frank Zappa’s Mothers. His new autobiography Shell Shocked is a riveting and hilarious must-read. I’ll be chatting with him about it soon, and that feature will be here soon too.
  • Other stuff – There are dozens of CDs, DVDs, records and books on my desk, all in the “yes” pile (you should see the “no” pile). So, lots of reviews to come.
  • And even more other stuff – I hope to make a big announcement soon.

Again, thanks for reading, and please tell your friends if you like what you find here.

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DVD Review: Last Shop Standing

May 15th, 2013

Here’s a fun little film. While it has no narrator, Last Shop Standing most certainly has a narrative. Stringing together interviews of record shop owners from around the UK, the film charts “the rise, fall and rebirth of the independent record shop” (that’s the film’s subtitle, too). Largely avoiding shops in London, Last Shop Standing instead draws from such (relatively) far-flung locales as Cardiff, Swansea and Glasgow.

While the perspective of each shop owner – almost always presented speaking from behind his or her retail counter – differs, the common threads are woven together to tell the story. The free-wheeling days when record companies were awash in money were followed by the forced ending of vinyl. There’s general agreement among these shop owners that this was a major miscalculation on the part of the industry. The manner in which the labels allowed “supermarkets” (the UK term for what we in America call department or big-box stores) to undercut indie shops was, in the minds of these interviewees, another nail in the coffin. They point to the expertise that the man (or woman) behind the counter in the indie shop has, and compare that to the general cluelessness of a chain-store employee who’s also selling toasters and wheelbarrows. As Richard Hawley (one of several musicians who appears in the film along with Paul Weller, Billy Bragg and Johnny Marr) says, “You are never going to discover Captain Beefheart or the 13th Floor Elevators or the Velvet Underground in your local supermarket, ever.”

And that point leads to the film’s third part, the rebirth of the indie store. The popularity of vinyl as an artifact is an important factor, and the Record Store Day phenomenon has given indie shops an enormous boost, especially with over 400 limited releases (in 2012) available only at indie shops, and only on vinyl. So for record enthusiasts, Last Shop Standing paints a much more optimstic picture of the future than you might otherwise expect. True, many shops didn’t make it to this modern promised land: in fact a hundred-year-old shop is seen closing. But through industriousness, tenacity, a love of music and a willingness to adapt and stay attuned to the needs of their market, indie shops are thriving. Yes, as Last Shop Standing tells us, in the 1980s there were more than 2200 independent record shop in the UK, and today there are less than three hundred. But judging by the people in this film, there’s every reason to think that many of these will remain for years to come.

The film itself clocks in at under an hour, but the DVD includes 74 minutes of extras, including longer interviews with several of the principals, including author Graham Jones, the man who wrote the book that gives the film its name.

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Album Review: Donovan’s Brain – Turned Up Later

May 14th, 2013

There’s a kind of powerpop that steers well clear of the candy-ass end of the spectrum, yet manages to avoid macho, posturing cockrock-iness. That sweet spot is where Donovan’s Brain lives. Just when you think every good riff has been used, here they come with a menacing bass line figure around which they build the opening track on their latest, Turned Up Later. And true, that bass figure on “Take Me With You When You Go” may in fact have been used before – okay, maybe a few thousand times, if we’re honest about it – but here it feels fresh and new.

But at their core, Donovan’s Brain aren’t a powerpop band at all: that label is far too limiting for them. Decidedly retro, yet in a more modern/classicist, Tom Petty sort of way, they are equally at home with windmill guitar figures and rocking guitar solos as they are with laid-back psychedelic excursions.

To wit: the band shifts gears completely for “As the Crows Fly,” which feels like a cross between Their Satanic Majesties Request era Rolling Stones (note: that’s a compliment; it’s my favorite Stones LP) and 80s paisley underground heroes Rain Parade. And this is one band that understands the conventions of a pop song: most of the tracks on Turned Up Later fade out long before they get overly familiar.

Swooshy, phase shifted guitars and Mellotron are among the highlights of “It’s All Right With Me.” In fact the mighty Mellotron figures prominently on a number of the tracks by this supergroup-of-sorts. I don’t use that term lightly: the personnel includes Deniz Tek (Radio Birdman), Bobby Sutliff (Windbreakers), Ron Sanchez, and Matt Piucci of the aforementioned Rain Parade, among other notables. That Donovan’s Brain features tracks by no less than five composers ensures that it’s a varied offering, yet the tracks hold together as a cohesive whole. The baroque-psych textures of “My Own Skin” evoke memories of both Brian Jones and The Verve (who, you may recall, famously nicked the Stones awhile back). And this is done without any sort of nicking.

That Mellotron rears its (tape) head again on Sanchez’s “Small Circles,” which filters The Moody Blues through a waltz-tempo melody. But then the powerpop approach returns for a Byrdsy rave (complete with oohs) on “Restless Nights, Many Dreams.” The dreamy “Cardboard Army” illustrates that the band understands that a Mellotron has more than one built-in sound (it has three, in fact). Some synth layered atop the ‘Tron lines makes for a magic carpet ride.

That slow, spaced-out vibe is continued on “Manager of Time,” which is vaguely reminiscent of The Beatles‘ “Flying” (albeit with lyrics). Sutliff’s “Morning Side Dream” conjures that immortal AM radio wistful sunshine pop feel, and the result feels like a hit; Sanchez’s bursts of electric lead guitar make a great tune even better.

The doomy tones of “Red Wing Spy” recall The Move; the band pull out all the stops – and toss in all the instruments – for this one, and do so effectively. Listen closely and you’ll even hear some vibraphone amidst the sonic swirl. “Fulcrum” is timeless, tuneful pop that fits nicely amidst the other songs, brightening the mood a bit as well. Turned Up Later‘s dozen tunes are wrapped up with “In Search of Connie Companion,” a warbly, watery, lysergic trip through the sixties. Ric Parnell‘s tom-centric drumming specifically evokes the fadeout of “Strawberry Fields Forever.”

Off-topic postscript: Congratulations and best wishes to Bobby Sutliff, who married his sweetheart just last week.

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Album Review: Oscar Pettiford — Baden-Baden 1958/1959

May 13th, 2013

Not for the first time, Music Hound: Jazz has let me down. Jazz novitiate that I am, I was unfamiliar with the name Oscar Pettiford. So to that weighty tome I went, in hopes of gathering a bit of background to assist in my understanding of another in Jazzhaus‘ Lost Tapes series, Baden-Baden 1958/1959. Seeing as it’s jazz with which we’re concerning ourselves here, an old-school approach (turning to a reference book rather than an online resource) seemed appropriate. But there is no entry for Pettiford. (There’s no listing for Jutta Hipp in Music Hound: Jazz, either.)

Allmusic.com was far more helpful; while also mentioning Charles Mingus, its bio calls Pettiford the “top bassist of the 1945-1960 period.” Okay, good enough for me to explore further. Not counting compilations, there are some twenty albums by the bassist with his various combos and orchestras. Ulli Pfau‘s succinct bio of Pettiford graces the back cover of the LP version of Baden-Baden 1958/1959 (and the booklet accompanying the CD version).

Joined by some of his regular musicians plus a number of German players who turn up on other Jazzhaus archival recordings (among these tenor saxophonist Hans Koller), the bassist runs through an assortment of standards, originals and numbers from his accompanists. The standards include George Gershwin‘s “But Not for Me,” Duke Ellington‘s “Sophisticated Lady,” and Hoagy Carmichael‘s” The Nearness of You.” These studio recordings – taken from four dates Pettiford did in Germany, each with a different lineup – are rendered in flawless audio quality and show the facility with which Pettiford could lead his ensembles. From close-miked trios to scaled-down arrangements of big band numbers (most notably Helmut Brandt‘s “Atlantic”), the set is a delight.

One of the earliest musicians to introduce the cello into jazz, Pettiford brings that instrument out for “My Little Cello.” This number is available on a handful of other recordings, but all date from the months surrounding this particular Baden-Baden studio date of February 24, 1959.

Pettiford’s recording career under his own name began in 1954, but by the time of these recordings he had relocated to Europe, settling in Copenhagen. By 1960 he was dead, from injuries sustained in an auto accident. Though there are many other Pettiford albums, most of the songs cut on the Baden-Baden dates are tunes he never recorded elsewhere. (The CD version includes six tracks not on the LP version, including two live cuts that often figured into his live sets: the Pettiford original “All the Things You Are,” and Jerome Kern‘s “Blues in the Closet.”)

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Album Review: Greg Lake — Songs of a Lifetime

May 10th, 2013

It’s been about a year since I made the trip to Durham NC to see Greg Lake in concert. In the run-up to that performance, I interviewed Greg, and while in the course of our wide-ranging discussion we spoke a bit about the tour, he wished to keep the details mostly under wraps. I knew it would be a one-man show, but didn’t know how exactly Lake would deliver the songs in this career survey of a show called “Songs of a Lifetime.”

As it happened, the show was a really well-thought-out affair. Lake appeared onstage amidst a “set” peppered with road cases (stenciled “Greg Lake, London”), subdued lighting and a bit of the good old dry ice fog. Alternately seated and standing, he moved between electric guitar, acoustic guitars, bass guitar and even a bit of keyboards. He was backed by recorded versions of his songs, though this was no mere karaoke performance. He sang all his parts, and the recorded backing wasn’t some soulless MIDI playback; these were modern re-recordings of songs from throughout his career.

Some tunes were classics closely associated with Lake: her performed abbreviated versions of King Crimson‘s “In the Court of the Crimson King” and “Epitaph,” plus “21st Century Schizoid Man and “I Talk to the Wind.” Those represented four of the total of five songs on Crim’s debut album, from a time when Lake was their lead singer and bassist. Along with each of the songs, Lake would bookend each with context and personal anecdotes, so that even those unfamiliar with his work outside Emerson, Lake and Palmer could appreciate the songs more fully.

Several ELP songs figured into the set, of course: the romantic ballads “Lend Your Love to Me Tonight” and “C’est Le Vie” plus the hits “From the Beginning,” “Still…You Turn Me On,” “Trilogy,” “Karn Evil 9, 1st Impression Part 2,” and – of course — “Lucky Man.” Sometimes Lake would sit down – usually for the acoustic numbers – but he was a commanding presence when he strapped on his bass and sang the more rock-oriented numbers, too.

Lake took to the keyboard for a reading of “People Get Ready,” and he covered a few other songs that were important to him, songs he’d never previously recorded (or, for that matter, played onstage any time in the last several decades). Elvis‘ “Heartbreak Hotel” and The Beatles‘ “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” (during which he enlisted the audience’s help on the “Hey!” parts) were covered, and for both Lake told interesting stories about those artists.

He even played one left-field original, “Touch and Go,” a song from the period in the 80s when Carl Palmer‘s drum seat was occupied by Cozy Powell. And to the delight and surprise of the audience, he took a fairly lengthy chunk of time to encourage and field questions. True, some of the questions had a Chris-Farley-interviewing-Paul-McCartney quality to them: “Remember the time you played in New York? It was great!” But the whole exchange nevertheless felt very organic, very heartfelt and real.

And here’s the most surprising part of all of this: an audio document of that tour titled Songs of a Lifetime accurately captures that vibe. Not just the music, singing and stories (Lake was ably assisted by André Cholmondoley, a master stage manager/factotum and renowned musician in his own right), but the feel of the entire evening. (The Q&A sessions aren’t part of the disc, which is fine.) For me, as a souvenir of the concert tour, Songs of a Lifetime ranks right up there with the photo I had taken of me and Lake, but purely as music it’s a fine listen, too. More song-oriented than your typical ELP album, even with the stories about Ringo Starr, Paris and the King Crimson album art, Songs of a Lifetime is a delightful album, one sure to please anyone who’s enjoyed any phase of Lake’s forty-plus years in the spotlight.

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EP Review: Tin Cup Serenade — Tragic Songs of Hope

May 9th, 2013

As I’ve chronicled elsewhere, my awakening to the charms of jazz is a relatively recent phenomenon. And as I wade into the deep waters of that genre, I find that certain sub-styles move me more than others. Hard bop, swing, big-band, soul-jazz and some of the more out-there fusion: those are the styles that speak to me, even if I don’t always (ok, almost never) understand what exactly they’re saying.

But other styles of jazz do little for me, and in fact I’ve developed – or maintained — an active dislike for them. For example, the appeal of most jazz vocalists eludes me: so while I can appreciate and honor the vocals of Ella Fitzgerald, Chet Baker and the like, I’d sooner just admit their importance than actually have to listen to them. It’s just me.

That’s also mostly true for Dixieland jazz (or what the British call “trad jazz”). And the sort of jazz that involves straw boaters, garters on the arm and shit-eating grins…well, whatever you call that, it’s my least favorite. There’s a band I’ve seen locally that features a front woman who – this may seem unkind, but it’s inescapably true – looks uncannily like Olive Oyl from the old Popeye cartoons; that band is quite good at what they do, but it simply brings me no joy.

So with all that baggage – hey, I’m a critic, so being opinionated goes with the territory – why on Earth would I set about writing a review of Tragic Songs of Hope, the new 10” vinyl EP by Tin Cup Serenade? Especially when I have a pretty firm policy of not writing negative reviews about relatively unknown artists and/or music?

I’ll tell you why: because it’s very good.

I hadn’t planned to review it. In fact, after a cursory reading of the press kit accompanying the record, I had all but decided it wasn’t for me. But in keeping with another of my policies, I gave it a spin on my turntable: everything sent to me deserves the respect of a listen. Maybe not a beginning-to-end listen, but a fair hearing.

And right after the needle-drop, I found Tragic Songs of Hope intriguing. Unclassifiable, the songs aren’t easily pegged into one style. The titles telegraph some of Tin Cup Serenade’s eclecticism. “Limbo Jazz” certainly has elements of Latin flavor, but not in that bossa-nova way that exploded on the scene in the 50s. No, the band’s primarily acoustic sound is heavy on percussion, folding in some sultry sax and clarinet. The tune is a 1962 Duke Ellington number, with new lyrics penned by Tin Cup Serenade’s leader Rolf Wilkinson. The up-close production style – the record was mostly recorded live-in-the-studio – suits the songs well. “Lament for Javanette” feels like Cab Calloway officiating at a New Orleans street funeral. (It’s another example of Wilkinson putting lyrics to another song from Ellington’s repertoire, in this case a Billy Strayhorn/Barney Bigard number.)

“Sunny Oakland Day” will bring a smile to the most jaded listener (trust me). The song’s extended sax solo from Pete Cornell is a highlight. “Fragments of You” has a subtle calypso/gypsy flavor (yeah, like a lot of TCS’s songs, it’s hard to pin down.)

After those four songs, it’s time to flip the record over. By this point, listeners will have decided whether they like Wilkinson’s mannered vocal style (I do). “Money is King” leans heavily in a Cuban jazz style (rock-oriented listeners, think of Joe Jackson‘s “Cancer” from his 1982 Night and Day for an idea of the texture I’m endeavoring to describe). And in a departure from the other lighthearted or melancholy songs on the disc, this one concerns itself with Wall Street greed, 21st-century style.

“The Ballad of King Tigger” feels like Louis Armstrong, but with jazzy acoustic guitar as the central instrument supporting Wilkinson’s tender vocal.

The pace picks way up for “Here is Love,” one of the few tracks to feature more than one horn (here it’s clarinet and trombone). Eric Garland is still playing his kit with brushes, but it’s in a loose-limbed, spirited manner. It’s my understanding that swing dancers flock to Tin Cup Serenade gigs in the Bay area, and I suspect this brief tune ranks among their favorites.

“Empty Pocket Waltz” is a successful combination of the waltz beat, jazz stylings and a subtle blues feel. And the blues is more overt on “Yaya Blues,” the EP’s closing number.

This is music best enjoyed in subdued light, with a nice glass or three of a full-bodied red wine. But if you can’t arrange those conditions, just play the record in whatever way you can, and enjoy.

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The Orange Peels’ Adventures in Modern Recording (and Marketing, and Manufacturing, and…) Part Two

May 8th, 2013

Continued from Part One…

“And,” Clapp summarizes, “That’s what we’ve done ever since. We’re not going to become indebted to a label. If they want to help us out, and they’re offering something of value, we’ll partner with them.” And for the project that would become Sun Moon, the band decided to wade into the new world of crowd funding via Kickstarter.

“We had already gone down the road of deciding that we were going to manufacture our own product,” Clapp recalls. But “At that point the one thing we were really hurting on financially was that we would be fronting the cost of manufacturing. Everything else is, for us, pretty low-cost.” In late 2012, the record was done, and Clapp had designed enough conceptual artwork to work with. So the band decided that they were in “the perfect place to make Kickstarter work for us. We could give people an idea of what we were cookin’ up,” Clapp says, “and if they wanted to, they could help us out.”

Clapp spent a solid week writing the proposal, filming a video and creating other collateral for the Kickstarter program. “I treated it like my job,” he says, “for the month of December.” They initially decided to shoot for a funding goal of $4000, enough to cover a limited vinyl pressing and a first run of CDs. “If we get anything more,” Clapp thought at the time, “this could even help fund our publicity campaign.” Clapp laughs when he observes that “I’m not sure that it was such a great idea to launch right before Christmas. We got a lot of feedback, and reached about half of our goal within about three days. And then it just sat there.”

Clapp released some demos online to goose interest in the project, and then the funding “inched up toward the goal, to around 70-80%. And then with two days to go [before the deadline] it went, ‘Boom!’” Clapp believes that Kickstarter fits perfectly with the band’s model of being in business for itself. “We were able to fund something tangible: manufacturing. We were able to say, ‘We’ve done the creative work; we just need some help with this part.’” He stresses that with a Kickstarter program, “You’re either going to succeed publicly, or you’re going to fail publicly.” Clapp is clearly moved by the groundswell of support that Orange Peels fans provided for Sun Moon. “For every stressful day that we sat there thinking, ‘Is this going to work?’, we were rewarded” with fans’ financial support, Clapp says. “We’re so grateful.”

Clapp’s positive experience has convinced him that crowd funding platforms such as Kickstarter do indeed point a way forward for independent artists. “It’s viable for all sorts of artists,” he believes. “It allows you to do what big businesses have always been able to do, which is to guarantee a pre-order level of sales that justifies you spending a certain amount of money up front.” He observes that “there’s no other good way to do that right now” for indie artists other than Kickstarter and programs like it. But he still sees a role in the mix for traditional record labels: “I think there are always going to be record labels. Not all artists are going to want to – or have the expertise – to do everything that it takes. Writing, recording and designing a product is one thing. But as far getting the word out about it, labels that do a good job at that are always going to have a place.” He specifically mentions licensing – a key means for songwriters to make real money – as an area of expertise in which labels like Minty Fresh excel.

Meanwhile, the label that The Orange Peels founded – Mystery Lawn Music – is seeing its own roster grow. There’s overlap between the various and varied acts and projects; some of them are one-off projects, like The Fairwood Singers, while others are ongoing concerns but feature shifting lineups (like The Corner Laughers). But there does exist a unifying aesthetic that connects the various MLM artists. “Everyone who’s involved [with Mystery Lawn] has a need or a want,” Clapp observes, “to form some sort of a musical community in the San Francisco area. This thing seemed to happen on its own, and it seems to work.” In addition to everyone on the roster being “a really talented singer., songwriter and/or instrumentalist, we all happen to get along really well, too.”

“I would have loved for something like [Mystery Lawn] to have existed back in the 90s,” Clapp sums up. “But now that it has come to exist, I’m really happy about that. I’m glad that people who have a like-minded approach to song-based music have a family. We all have a respect for songcraft, and I think, ultimately, that is what draws us all together.”

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The Orange Peels’ Adventures in Modern Recording (and Marketing, and Manufacturing, and…) Part One

May 7th, 2013

The Orange Peels have been releasing albums for sixteen years; Sun Moon is their fifth album. On all of their earlier albums, the cover art incorporated the color orange. Yet Sun Moon‘s cover art is much more overtly dark-hued. That’s consistent with the subtle change in the music on the new record as well: many of the tunes exhibit less of the sunny, jangly powerpop vibe often associated with the group. “I didn’t do that on purpose,” insists Allen Clapp, the man who – in addition to singing on, playing on and producing the record, designed the sleeve. (“That’s why I learned graphic design,” he chuckles. “I didn’t want someone else designing my album covers!”) Clapp insists he wasn’t aware of the color scheme departure until I pointed it out to him. “Maybe it was subconscious,” he offers. “Maybe it’s indicative of the fact that this music is different, that it’s a little bit more organic.” He laughs when he describes Sun Moon’s cover as having a “primordial slime color. I have no idea why it’s that color; it just seemed to fit.”

Even though there have been some personnel shifts in the band – other than Clapp and wife/bassist Jill Pries Clapp, the lineup has changed with each record, with John Moremen coming, going and returning. Yet there’s a sonic thread connecting the first four records. In some ways, Sun Moon sounds almost like the work of a different band. In fact, in places the record conjures thoughts of – of all things – Led Zeppelin. While the Orange Peels haven’t embarked on a stylistic rollercoaster ride akin to Neil Young‘s incessant genre-jumping, Sun Moon definitely has a darker, more rocking feel. “There are some songs on the second half of 2020 [released in 2009] that sort of hint at this direction,” Clapp observes. “We were already heading there. And then what happened was what happens every time we put out a record.” (“It hasn’t happened this time, yet,” he chuckles.) “Not long afterward, the band disintegrates for some reason. And then Jill and I are like, ‘Great. It happened again. What are we gonna do?’” He goes on to relate the story of how the band set out on tour to support 2020, starting “with one band, and coming home with another: the band we have now.” By the end of that tour, Clapp says, “it was obvious to us that the band was already sounding different.” So those changes influenced the sound of the subsequent studio recordings that became Sun Moon.

The first piece the new lineup recorded was “Traveling West/Sundowns,” an instrumental track Clapp characterizes as a “weird little TV theme song kind of thing. We got together, put up some microphones, and came up with it.” Subsequent sessions were very open-ended: “We got together with nothing in mind as to what we were going to do,” says Clapp. That itself marked a fundamental shift in the way The Orange Peels approached album sessions. “As one of the main songwriters in the band,” Clapp explains, “I typically come to the band and say, ‘Hey, I’ve got these songs.’ This time, there was a lot less of that; it was more along the lines of, ‘Hey, let’s just show up and see what we come up with.’” The resulting work is “just what the band sounds like, really,” he says. The music on Sun Moon is more collaborative in nature, in both the songs and arrangements, than what came before. “I guess I felt comfortable enough with this lineup, that I had no problem ‘giving that away,’” Clapp muses.

The Orange Peels have released albums on Minty Fresh, Spin Art, Parasol, and then – starting with 2020 – their own Mystery Lawn (distributed by Minty Fresh). “When we put our our first record [1997's Square], the indie music world was still fairly similar to the major label world,” Clapp recalls. “There was just less money involved. The label gave us a chunk of money and said, ‘Go into the studio and record your album.’ We were in our twenties; it was the kind of thing you dream about.”

But the label was, Clapp explains, “like a bank. They fronted that money, hoping for a return on their investment. We were getting charged for all that stuff – posters etc. – and it felt like we were getting it for free. But,” he laughs, “we weren’t.”

“On our second album [So Far, from 2001], SpinArt gave us less money; you could already see that the industry was changing.” He observes that “independent labels had less money to spend, and they were expecting more form the artists; they wanted us to do more stuff on our own.” So the rules had changed, but not always for the worse: “They were offering us a better royalty rate,” Clapp notes. Overall, he says, it was more of a collaborative endeavor, with an equitable splitting of profits (if any). “And,” he says, “It worked out pretty good.” Subsequent distribution on a Japanese label yielded more financial rewards for the band, who were, as Clapp characterizes it, gradually “becoming our own business.”

Their experience with Parasol Records for 2005′s Circling the Sun was “basically a carbon copy of that arrangement,” Clapp explains. The album got separate licensing agreement in Japan and Europe, and the band booked their own tours. “Finally,” Clapp says, “I realized, ‘I can’t really see what a record label is doing for us any more.’ We were doing so much of this stuff on our own; the workload had really shifted from the label people doing everything to the band doing everything.” The Orange Peels decided that since they already had their own recording studio (“I had been building up my recording arsenal along the way,” says Clapp), they decided, “let’s just do this whole thing on our own, and call it Mystery Lawn Music.” They would partner with companies for distribution as needed, but they would be truly on their own. The resulting arrangement would be lower risk for the distributor (since the band had a finished product ready to deliver) and the band (since their work was already done). Clapp happily describes Minty Fresh’s role in the process as “curator.”

continued…

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Album Review: Ant-Bee — Pure Electric Honey

May 6th, 2013

Though it far too often is the case, avant garde music need not be chilly and foreboding. Sometimes it can be warm and inviting, while still maintaining its outré, weird-and-wonderful characteristics. That’s the case with Pure Electric Honey, the 1988 debut album from Ant-Bee, reissued on CD in 2013.

Pure Electric Honey certainly bears few sonic hallmarks of the late 1980s. Some sonic touchstones include Frank Zappa‘s late-sixties music; the legendary SMiLE sessions from Brian Wilson; and (relatively) more modern artists such as The Residents and – most notably, I think – Elephant 6 Collective artists Olivia Tremor Control. Now, Ant-Bee (essentially Billy James and a large cast of other musicians) recorded Pure Electric Honey long before OTC cut their debut long player Music From the Unrealized Film Script, Dusk at Cubist Castle, but the two acts are clearly kindred spirits, even if they arrive at sonically related destinations via different pathways.

The willfully playful and obscure liner notes on the 2013 reissue of Pure Electric Honey offer little in the way of actual information about the genesis of these recordings. What little we know is gained through listening to the music itself. From the opener (“Intro”), it’s clear that Ant-Bee is concocting a sonic stew that mixes equal parts Beach Boys “Our Prayer” with the studio trickery of inside-the-piano found sounds of Lumpy Gravy.

But while “My Cat” might initially feature backwards tapes of a bagpipe, with ghostly vocals smeared atop them, when the song launches into its “rock” section, the result is closer to a pop reinvention of The Residents, with a bit of spooky Third-era Big Star thrown in. Later in the track, gonzo/atonal guitar work takes center stage. The thrilling “Evolution #7” is reminiscent of some of the more musically exciting parts of The Who‘s Tommy, with bonus of some snappy electric sitar and dollops of creamy vocal overdubs.

Beats fade in and out of the mix. Though James is primarily a drummer/percussionist, the tracks on Pure Electric Honey are by no means drum-centric. Using the studio as an instrument, James’ cut-up approach sounds like the result of recording many sessions, cutting the fruits of those sessions into into very small bite-size chunks, tossing them on the floor, and then carefully reassembling them into something entirely different. But that assembly is by no means haphazard; the dream-like texture of Pure Electric Honey is carefully arrived at by its creator.

During “Black and White Cat, Black & White Cake,” a snippet of a straight-ahead pop song fades in briefly. But then it’s gone, leaving behind a murky, echo-laden slab of musique concrète. And so it goes throughout Pure Electric Honey. Those looking for a toe-tapping good time are urged to look away from this record: it won’t please you. But those who appreciate the unusual – especially the sort of unusual that is pop-based and not at all pretentious – are strongly nudged in the direction of Pure Electric Honey.

Garage/psych enthusiasts might be surprised to learn that the original (vinyl) release of this album was on Greg Shaw‘s VOXX label. The sounds on Pure Electric Honey might at first blush seem to be outside Shaw’s area of interest, but a clear love (and understanding) of the sweet spot at which psychedelia, pop and the avant garde all intersect is a hallmark of this album. In that light it’s less surprising that Shaw would have appreciated it.

Oh: I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention this as well. If you investigate Pure Electric Honey and wish to delve further into its brand of madness, I would also recommend a much later Ant-Bee work called Electronic Church Muzik. It features a number of “name” artists assisting James in his bizarre musical goals, but it’s even more out-there than the Ant-Bee debut.

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