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Hundred Word Reviews: Vinyl Roundup for May 2013

Wednesday, May 22nd, 2013

Here’s another installment in my occasional series of capsule reviews; this time ’round I’m focusing on vinyl releases. My self-imposed limit for this particular exercise is 100 words on each album.

Hoff Ensemble – Quiet Winter Night
It’s subtitled “An acoustic jazz project,” so don’t look for any Fender Rhodes or vibraphone. In fact, to my ears, it’s a bit of a stretch to classify this twelve-song LP jazz. Adult pop is more like it; with gentle textures that would please listeners who enjoyed the quieter moments on Sting‘s Ten Summoner’s Tales, it’s a low key, classy outing. Flawlessly recorded in a church in Norway, the six-piece ensemble (guitar, piano, percussion, upright bass, trumpet, fiddle and, um, “nyckelharpa”) is fronted by an assortment of six solo vocalists (mostly females) on most of the lovely tunes.


JT Habersaat & the Altercation Punk Comedy Tour – Hostile Corporate Takeover
Comedy albums are an odd duck; no matter how great they might be, they rarely hold up to (nor warrant) repeated listening. That said, this collection – featuring stand up routines from five different performers – is entertaining. Some of the material borders on the offensive/misogynist, but this is small-club stand-up we’re talking about, not Las Vegas or the Catskills. Oddly, the best bits aren’t especially roaringly funny; instead, Mike Wiede‘s two-part “Bruce Story” is warm and real, and does elicit some genuine chuckles. The other four featured artists are best described as hit-or-miss, but definitely still worth hearing.


Marshall Crenshaw – Stranger and Stranger (10” EP)
Maybe not forever, but for the time being Marshall Crenshaw’s approach to new music is via three-song EPs rather than full albums. The upside of this for artist and listener is immediacy: shorter time between releases. I discussed the project recently with Crenshaw in an interview, one of several I’ve done. Here, the man’s reliable sense of melody and arrangement serves him well on the breezy title tune (with great Crenshaw guitar solo) that finds him atypically singing in his upper register. A lovely, straight Bacharach/David cover (“Close to You”) and reinvented solo “Maryanne” round out this must-have platter.


R. Stevie Moore – “I Missed July” b/w “Trade My Heart for Your Parts” (7” single)
Moore has no peer in music; that doesn’t mean that you’ll enjoy him, as he always charts his own idiosyncratic path. He can be irresistibly tuneful on a par with the greatest names, or weird enough to frighten Residents fans. Asked to provide two songs for a single release on the indie label Sweaters & Pearls, he selected one from 1978 and another from 1994 for this red vinyl. The a-side shows his cracked approach to pop; it’s a sort of jangly, lo-fi Beatles-by-way-of-Todd-Rundgren, yet it sounds like no one but RSM. The flip is Jimmy Buffett meets XTC. Brilliant.

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Album Review: Various Artists — The Birth of Soul Jazz

Monday, May 20th, 2013

Early on into my jazz odyssey* of discovery, I found that although I very much enjoyed bop, swing, free and fusion, the style of jazz that resonated most for me was soul jazz. In my unschooled manner, I tried to articulate what exactly it was about soul jazz that made it work for me in a way that, say, Dixieland (trad jazz) often does not.

Reading a bit about how the various forms developed, I came to an initial conclusion that – while it made some sense to me – was wide of the mark. I characterized soul jazz as what happened when serious jazz players (often in the hard bop or West coast styles) decided they’d had enough of scrounging for gigs, and decided to go pop. They’d scale back the exploratory, improvisatory nature of their pieces in favor of tunes that were, to put it plainly, more accessible.

I’ve learned more since forming that early opinion. While there’s an element of truth to that description, in general the development of soul jazz wasn’t so cynical a phenomenon. In fact, as Charles Waring‘s delightfully concise and detailed liner notes for the new 2cd set The Birth of Soul Jazz explains, in fact the genre is based more on gospel forms. Specifically, the call-and-response nature of African-American “spirituals” and gospel, not the major-chord variety that influenced country and western music. The result of this hybrid adds back in some of the “heart” that some listeners find wanting in the more cerebral styles of jazz. Soul jazz, you can feel.

The heyday of soul jazz was relatively brief, but its influence was long lasting. As Waring explains, “the soul jazz movement lasted just over a decade, beginning in the late 50s and fading away at the dawn of the 70s.” I’d take some issue with the latter part of that thesis: as I’ve mentioned before, a viewing of most any of the (for their time) gritty television crime dramas of the 1970s will yield many examples of soul jazz. When Mannix goes into the smoky, seedy club to apply fisticuffs and extract information, the band isn’t playing rock’n'roll; they’re playing a catchy instrumental jazz. Soul jazz.

In any event, as its title suggests, The Birth of Soul Jazz focuses in on the early days of the phenomenon. Bringing together 23 tracks representing the best of the genre from roughly 1958-1962, this set works both as historical overview and incredibly tasty soundtrack for whatever you’re up to.

Perhaps owing to me more reissue-friendly laws existing in the UK, this set collects all of the giants of soul jazz; it’s difficult to imagine an American label being able to get all of the licensing necessary to compile the hits of the era, appearing as they did on major jazz labels like Blue Note, Prestige and Pacific Jazz.

All the big names are indeed here, and represented by some of their best-loved pieces. Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers‘ seminal 1968 reading of Bobby Timmons‘ “Moanin’” kicks things off, and the quality rarely falters over the next 157 minutes (yes, these are the full versions of these songs, sometimes ten-plus minutes; no cheesy edits here). Blakey’s splashy, flashy drumming gets things moving in style, and then the set goes on to showcase Horace Silver, The Cannonball Adderley Quintet, Hank Mobley, Lou Donaldson, Jimmy Smith, Les McCann, Herbie Hancock, Red Garland, Grant Green, Jimmy McGriff and a host of others.

Some time ago I created a Cannonball Adderley “station” on Pandora for home listening via my Blu-Ray player. I thumbs-downed any vocal tunes, and quickly ended up with a delightful playlist. Les McCann started popping up more and more often, so I made another station based around his style. That playlist quickly introduced me to nearly all of the artists whose work appears on this new The Birth of Soul Jazz set (I knew about Blakey and Jimmy Smith already). That McCann station is now one of my most oft-played selections when I’m at home (which is often). The thing is, The Birth of Soul Jazz is every bit as exciting, varied and enjoyable as that assortment. So for a collection of soul jazz that you can hold in your hand, The Birth of Soul Jazz simply can’t be beat. Essential for fans of the genre, and perhaps the best, most concise musical overview, it’s ideal for turning your friends onto this style of music.

* with apologies to Derek Smalls aka Harry Shearer.

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

Monday, 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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EP Review: Tin Cup Serenade — Tragic Songs of Hope

Thursday, 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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Album Review: Jeremy Steig — Wayfaring Stranger

Wednesday, April 17th, 2013

In the very late 1970s – or perhaps it was the very early 80s; after so many years, I’m not entirely sure – I picked up a used copy of Lillian Roxon’s Rock Encyclopedia. I was (and remain) a voracious consumer of that kind of thing; not long after I became a rock fan, I became a fan of rock journalism. Roxon’s 1969 book was one of the first long-form serious treatments of rock music, and while it’s quite dated now, it remains an absolutely fascinating read. (Ed Naha‘s mid 70s update of the late Lillian Roxon‘s work is a disaster to be avoided, except in a compare-and-contrast sort of way.)

Roxon made a point to include a number of bubbling-under artists, including several whom (at the time of the book’s first printing) hadn’t even released albums. Thus readers can learn about a new group “out of Detroit” (sic) called The Psychedelic Stooges. Another group that merits mention is a jazz-rock outfit (the hybrid was quite new and novel at the time) called Jeremy Steig and the Satyrs. Their sole album (a self-titled LP released in March 1968) is, in Roxon’s estimation, jazz aimed at a rock audience. Predictably, it didn’t shift major units and is largely forgotten (despite a small-label CD reissue in 2009). But Steig himself was then a fairly highly regarded jazz flautist, and he remains musically active today, now based in Japan.

A couple of years after the Satyrs LP, Steig released an album called Wayfaring Stranger (named after the traditional folk classic). As the liner notes in the album’s new reissue (on the estimable Real Gone Music label) explain, in those days Steig “was signed to a manager who tended to trade him around to record companies like a major league ball player,” and as a result he ended up on Blue Note for the 1970 album.

Steig’s band is small and configured in a traditionally jazz-styled manner. Bassist Eddie Gomez was already quite well known as Scott LaFaro‘s replacement in The Bill Evans Trio, and Don Alias (drums) and guitarist Sam Brown were highly regarded in the jazz world as well, both with extensive pedigrees.

“In the Beginning” is a spare piece in which Steig’s flute carries the tune, with subtle yet funky support from Gomez and Alias (if Brown is on the track at all, his contributions are minor). Toward the song’s fadeout, some vocalizing a la Ian Anderson works its way into Steig’s attack, though Pat Thomas‘ liner essay asserts that the then-new Jethro Tull wasn’t an influence upon Steig’s playing. Of course others (notably Rashaan Roland Kirk) used similar breath techniques.

In some ways the vibe created within “In the Beginning” is continued in “Mint Tea.” While the band hits a bit harder – and Steig’s playing becomes more forceful – the tracks continues unfolding in a catchy/funky manner, but not one that will find listeners with a hook-laden melody stuck in their heads thereafter.

Sam Brown’s electric guitar makes its first audible appearance on the title track, easily the most melodic and accessible of the record’s six tracks (it’s perhaps worth noting that the other five are either Stieg compositions or co-writes with Gomez). In the tried-and-true jazz tradition, Steig states the melody, and then restates it in mutated fashion, then more so, then he’s joined by countermelodic work from his cohorts. The track goes on some eleven minutes, but never fails to sustain interest; each player takes his turn to shine, albeit in a muted fashion. It would be a disservice to characterize this music as background music, but in a pinch it could serve that function quite well.

Things take a welcome turn toward the funky with “Waves,” in which Gomez’s upright bass takes a more prominent role; the counterpoint between his assertive yet subtle acoustic playing and Steig’s breathy, precise flute work is a highlight of the record; Alias’ drumming – with plenty of subtle snare and cymbal work — makes it even better.

The lengthy “All is One” builds from a spare Steig solo showcase into something punctuated by Gomez’s moody bass plucking. Five-plus minutes in, Steig adopts a more fluid, lyrical style, while Gomez plucks way ominously (Brown and Alias are wholly absent on this track). Eight minutes or so along, Steig blows what might most accurately be called psychedelic flute.

Wayfaring Stranger wraps up with “Space” (as with most Real Gone Music reissues of forgotten/lost treasures, there are no bonus tracks on the CD reissue). Gomez takes up the bow and plays his bass like a cello, playing higher on the neck, well up into the treble range. The result is a lovely (if melancholy) duet between the bassist and Steig. The musical dialogue between the to truly feels like a conversation, and is perhaps the most evocative piece on the album. (Evocative of what, you can decide.) Toward its end, “Space” gets truly weird in an avant-garde kind of way, perhaps presaging Steig’s work with Yoko Ono a mere year later, on her Fly LP.

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Concert Review: Moon Hooch, The Orange Peel, Asheville NC April 12 2013

Monday, April 15th, 2013

I read a description of these guys that likened their music to house (EDM). And though I can’t find the citation, I’m pretty sure somebody else labeled Moon Hooch as a dubstep act. Now, I pride myself on having pretty wide and eclectic tastes, but mention EDM or dubstep and I reach for my (metaphorical) revolver. I just don’t dig the mindless whomp.

To my ears, Moon Hooch is neither of those things, thank goodness. An hour or so spent with their self-titled (and self-released) album showed me that there’s a surprising lot that can be done with two saxophones and a drum kit. At least in the hands of expressive, expert, effusive musicians like these. And while the album is quite good, onstage the trio took things to another level entirely.

Mike Wilbur mostly plays the songs’ lead parts on tenor sax, though he occasionally switches to slide whistle, harmonica or treated vocals (sometimes all in one song). Wenzl McGowen‘s role is a bit more difficult to describe, and truly has to be seen and heard to be fully appreciated. He too plays tenor sax sometimes, but more often takes lower notes on baritone saxophone, and something he calls “bazookahorn.” For one number, he inserts a long tube into the end of his horn (bamboo? Plumbing pipe? I couldn’t tell from my vantage point) and the resulting sound is a guttural buzz vaguely reminiscent of a (very melodious) foghorn. Or…a Minimoog. Combined with Wilbur’s high end, the thunderous bottom end McGowen brings yields an overall sonic attack that seems to cover the entire audible range.

Their instruments aren’t highly-polished; no, in fact their horns looks as if they were rescued from a shipwreck at the bottom of the sea; one wouldn’t be surprised to see a chunk of seaweed blow out the end of one of the dull gray-patina horns. Somehow this only adds to the mystique.

The interplay between the two – sometimes unison, sometimes harmonic, sometimes an atonal, angular skronk – is thrilling, and the manner in which they move about the stage helps put a visual accent onto their very musical approach. Struggling to find a way to label their style – it sure as hell ain’t dubstep – I found myself thinking, you know, this really is jazz.

But here’s where things get delightfully complicated: James Muschler sits behind his drum kit, bashing out beats that hold everything together. A Powerful percussionist, Muschler adds tone color of a sort to Moon Hooch’s songs, and what/how he chooses to play sends the band’s original, instrumental compositions off in whatever direction he decides. What this means in practical terms is that Muschler could lay down a beat that pulls the jazzy sax interplay decidedly toward funk, disco, punk, metal, soul, or rock. Sometimes the result is ass-shaking disco; other times it’s trippy downtempo. And yet other times it is thunderous post-rock/fusion/progressive rock of a sort.

All of this only hints at the dizzying versatility of Moon Hooch. Right out of the gate they earn points for doing something unique; the fact that they do it with style makes them even better. It may be difficult to imagine a world in which a two-saxes-and-drummer instrumental trio ever headlines a major tour, but these guys delivered at Asheville’s Orange Peel, and were rewarded with ecstatic applause from the full house there to see headliners They Might Be Giants. The trio clearly appreciated the enthusiastic response; they seemed almost a bit emotionally overwhelmed by it all. Props to TMBG for adding Moon Hooch to their tour; their audiences get a real treat, and it’s a testament to how assured and confident TMBG are of their own quality. Because plenty of bands would shudder at the prospect of following Moon Hooch onto the stage. If you’re ever presented with the opportunity to see this tough-to-label trio, don’t miss them.

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Album Review: E.Normus Trio – Love and Barbiturates

Friday, April 5th, 2013

This music reviewing gig of mine is funny, sometimes. Not long ago I received via email a press release from a New York-based music publicist. The message covered a number of recent releases, most of which fell into a jazz and/or avant-garde category. I read through and was especially intrigued by one of the artists noted, a three-piece called E.Normus Trio. I requested a copy of Love and Barbiturates, with an eye toward reviewing it if I liked it.

As I discovered upon receiving the CD, E.Normus Trio (who describe themselves as avant-garde post-rock) are based right here in my hometown of little ol’ Asheville NC (population: 83,000). I am not – by any measure – the most heavily involved person in the local music scene, but one would have thought that I might have known about this fascinating trio, especially seeing as they don’t play bluegrass or Americana.

As the liner notes of Love and Barbiturates helpfully explain – and one really does need liner notes to help on the journey through such outside-the-box music as this – E.Normus Trio uses the classic horn/bass/drums jazz trio concept as a jumping-off point. Instead of picking and sticking to a brass instrument, Steve Alford has three clarinets: alto, bass and contrabass clarinet. As a result, he gains a six-octave sonic palette upon which to work. And instead of an upright or conventional bass guitar, Jay Sanders plays something called an N/S Stick, an eight-stringed instrument that spans the range of electric guitar and bass. Michael Davis plays plain ol’ drums, but he’s certainly in a league with his bandmates.

None of this information would matter if the songs weren’t interesting. And indeed they are. The opening “Manifesto” is one minute and forty-one seconds of manic, Zappaesque polka-weirdness, reminiscent of “Prelude to the Afternoon of a Sexually Aroused Gas Mask” from The Mothers‘ Weasels Ripped My Flesh. And “Love” is a series of musical dialogues that serve as a primer into E.Normus Trio’s wonderfully warped world: what sounds like guitar-and-bass interchange is just Sanders. What sounds like the horn section going nuts is Alford on his various clarinets (which often don’t sou d at all like clarinets, honking wildly as they do). And behind them, Davis flails away with formidable precision. As they all come together, it’s a thrilling, dizzying experience.

Another extremely brief track is “Barbiturates,” a softer affair, that’s sort of a skewed modern take on 50s cool jazz. “The Woodpecker” does indeed have a feel a bit like classic cartoon music, albeit of the very strange variety. Alford’s deft clarinet runs are counterpointed by some quick runs up and down the bass strings on Sanders’ stick. But then when Alford starts squawking his clarinet, listeners may think of Albert Ayler‘s saxophone.

On “Blood,” the trio comes as close as they ever do to rock; tremendous controlled distortion out of Sanders’ instrument contrasts with (relatively) conventionally melodic playing from Alford. Another mini-track, “Sandy Betty,” kicks off with the sound of a little girl counting in the band; what follows alternates between a jolly romp and some delightfully atonal skronk.

“Clara” is mood music for moderns: ambitious jazz-inflected music with a memorable melody and a snaky bass riff. “Side two” (there really is an extended bit of silence to mark the end of the first conceptual side) kicks off with another brief track, “Dear Diary.” It’s a rethinking of “Manifesto,” with a groovy drum solo.

At six and a half minutes, “The Long Boots of Age” is by far the longest track on Love and Barbiturates. With ominous riffage that recalls Black Sabbath, Sanders lays the groundwork for some more exploratory work from Alford. The track then moves into another musical dialogue between the two, with Davis adding deft punctuation. “Daguerrotype” showcases some gentle picking from Sanders. It’s perhaps the most conventional track on the album; it’s also among the loveliest. The track unfolds to showcase some nice clarinet work as well, and the whole affair gets heavier as it goes along.

“Maxwell’s Demon” is one of the few tracks on which any amount of effects are used (the album was also essentially cut live at Echo Mountain Studios in the band’s hometown). Sanders’ stick is treated with something a bit like an envelope follower or wah-wah pedal, and the gurgling result sounds almost like a synth line on a Moog synthesizer (aside: Moog Music is headquartered in Asheville too).

The dissonant, impressionistic “Acquiescence” is an under-a-minute, melancholy clarinet piece. It leads straight into the album closer, “Rain.” The album’s liner notes ruminate on the concept of loss, and one wonders if “Rain” might be the intended soundtrack to that brief essay.

Challenging yet warm and inviting, E.Normus Trio’s Love and Barbiturates brings together the best of jazz and rock sensibilities, creating something exciting in the process. Recommended; the adventurous and open-minded will be rewarded for giving this a listen.

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Album Review: Jim Ruiz Set – Mount Curve Avenue

Tuesday, April 2nd, 2013

Mystery Lawn Music has become associated with a particular kind of music; in broadest terms, it’s highly tuneful, melodic sunshine-y pop. (Look for a feature/interview featuring Allen Clapp, of the label’s flagship group The Orange Peels, coming soon.) But from their earliest days, they’ve cast a wider net than that, bringing in artists outside the pop bag; as long as the melodicism quotient is high, an MLM act could travel other genres. Take John Moremen’s Flotation Device; it’s instro-rock of the surf’n'spy style. And Alison Levy creates winning tot rock.

And then there’s Jim Ruiz Set. This Minneapolis trio creates music that’s quite hard to pin down. Cocktail jazz? Art-pop? With a voice as soft and comfortable as a corduroy-upholstered couch your parents bought in 1966, Ruiz spins his tunes – sometimes wry, sometimes romantic, never overwrought – backed by straightforward, sympathetic instrumentation that includes his jazzy hollowbody electric guitar, plus stellar, supple and subtle vocal support from wife/drummer Emily Ruiz and bassist Charlotte Crabtree. The resulting cocktail evokes all manner of high quality artists. A bit of Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66 here, a large helping of Jazz Butcher (aka Pat Fish) there. In fact, Jazz Butcher’s partner in crime, Max Eider (responsible for The Best Kisser in the World, quite possibly the best mid-80s LP you never heard) plays some incredibly delicious guest guitar on one track.

Allen Clapp’s production gets all the little details right; other than some atmospheric chamber reverb on the vocals, the aesthetic is as dry as the best martini you’ve ever sipped. You’ll feel as if you’re in the (small) room with the trio as you travel down Mount Curve Avenue.

There’s a subtle sense of humor at work here, though the album’s no comedy record. When Ruiz sings about the pleasures of his “Schwinn Continental,” he almost sounds as if he means it. And the “ba da da” vocalisms of “Just Believe in Me” are worthy of Burt Bacharach. When (as on “This Time”) Ruiz heads in a mid-60s pop-country direction, the results suggest what Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood might have sounded like if Hazlewood (a) wasn’t such a bizarre songwriter and (b) could sing. And the reggae-by-way-of-Paul-Simon (specifically recalling “Mother and Child Reunion”) “Vanagon” extols the joys of Ruiz’s Volkswagen, in the loveliest manner.

Though I rarely make mention of press kits, the one that accompanies my review copy of Mount Curve Avenue merits mention: it includes a brief impressionistic essay from Ruiz that aims for that same sort of delightfully impenetrable (yet amusingly entertaining) text that always accompanied another Sixties-themed modern act: Paul Weller‘s Style Council.

Mount Curve Avenue is one of the best new, non-rock albums I’ve heard in quite some time. Immediately appealing on its first listen, the album only improves on subsequent spins.

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Album Review: Barbara & Ernie – Prelude To…

Monday, April 1st, 2013

I truly admire the people at Real Gone Music. They continue to unearth music from ages ago that is in some cases long-cherished. In other cases it’s long-forgotten but worthwhile. And in yet other cases, the music never got much of a hearing to begin with; you can’t forget what you never knew.

And it’s into that last category that Prelude To… falls. Credited to Barbara & Ernie, it’s a 1971 one-off collaboration between Barbara Massey (vocals, keyboards and autoharp) and Ernie Calabria (vocals, guitar, electric sitar and some bass). Backed by some ace sessioners, the duo and their album sank pretty much without a trace, despite being on Cotillion (the same Atlantic Records subsidiary that released Emerson, Lake & Palmer‘s debut LP in the USA).

Though it’s credited as a duo, Massey’s voice is the most prominent instrument on the record. And she has quote a set of pipes. Not only can she sing whatever sort of material she wishes – ballads, soulful numbers – but her singular style means that she can sound like herself while strongly evoking other top-notch vocalists. The musically ambitious “Play With Fire” finds Massey sounding like some sort of cross between Grace Slick and Julie Driscoll. On the gentle, stately J.S. Bach-influenced “Prelude,” Massey sounds very much like Laura Nyro. And in other places she may remind listeners of Carole King or Karen Carpenter. And so on: witness “Listen to Your Heart,” in which she sounds uncannily like Elaine “Spanky” McFarlane.

Barbara & Ernie’s cover of Jefferson Airplane‘s (or The Great Society‘s, if we’re being picky) “Somebody to Love” is very much in the style of Driscoll’s work with Brian Auger; Massey’s finely-timed strums on autoharp will make you forget The Lovin’ Spoonful.

The players are certainly no slouches, either. Calabria’s subtle, jazzy guitar work on “Searching the Circle” is a delight, and the horn charts on that tune (and a few others) are subtle and thrilling at once. (Aside: I’ve read that “Searching the Circle” has been sampled for breakbeats and grooves on hip-hop tracks, but can’t tell you which ones.) And with orchestration by a pre-disco Eumir Deodato, this is one of those albums that rewards close listening.

Listening to this shortish album in 2013, the biggest mystery may be why it didn’t chart; everything about it: writing, singing, performance, arrangement, production – is exemplary, and it’s a varied (but not too varied) collection of songs. One supposes that the “just too much other good stuff at the time” argument might explain it. But thanks to Real Gone Music, the time for Barbara & Ernie’s Prelude To… is now. It’s a gem worth discovering.

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Album Review: Eddie Roberts’ West Coast Sounds – It’s About Time

Friday, March 29th, 2013

What’s that you say? You want some new music that features the expert precision and passion of jazz, and the oomph and fire of rock, but you don’t want the fussiness and self-absorption that sometimes comes with prog? Well, have I got some music for you.

I first discovered Leeds, England-based The New Mastersounds back in 2010; their boogaloo instrumental stylings bridged the gap between jam bands, jazz and rock, and (more significantly) brought together the sometime disparate audiences of all three genres. And they did it in a way that encouraged listeners (and concertgoers) to dance their asses off (if that’s your thing; ain’t mine).

The group was formed in 1999 by guitarist Eddie Roberts, and they have since released, on average, a new album every year since 2001. But even before the group’s debut album, Roberts had a solo career. And his latest – credited to Eddie Roberts’ West Coast Sounds – is his fourth long-player outside the New Mastersounds framework.

It’s similar yet different. Fans of The New Mastersounds are sure to like it, as there’s plenty of boogaloo on tap here. And Roberts’ tasty, fluid electric guitar lines are simply all over this disc. But…not everywhere. With the benefit of a more varied instrumental lineup than his main group, here Roberts exercises the ability to stretch things out musically. With no disrespect to The New Mastersounds, It’s About Time is a far more varied musical excursion.

At its best, It’s About Time showcases Roberts’ jazzy, funkified hollowbody electric guitar, supported by slammin’ (and very snare-centric) drummer Jermal Watson, plus ample, supple support from Wil Blades on Hammond and Hohner Clavinet D6. (There’s no bass guitar on this record, but there’s plenty of bottom end.) Yet two horn players – they often sound like much more – are what add the different textures here. The musical dialogue between Roberts’ guitar and Joe Cohen (tenor sax) and Mike Olmos (trumpet) are what give It’s About Time its most thrilling moments. The signature horn lines on tracks like “The Long Drive Home” and “Bouncin’ Around” are just the icing on the cake; Roberts spins all manner of fluid, manic guitar wizardry. (The latter track and one other features guest tenor sax from Daniel Caseras.) And the drum solo on “Bouncin’ Around” is worthy of Art Blakey.

There’s much more in that vein on It’s About Time, and Roberts gives plenty of the spotlight to his bandmates. In a valiant attempt to move in all directions at once, the record heads in many directions. “Break the Fast” is pretty successful in its evocation of Miami/Havana-styled salsa with a bit of Brazilian jazz thrown in, and “A Day, A Week, A Month, A Year”wouldn’t be out of place on the soundtrack of a 70s blaxploitation film, and “Black Bag” refreshingly recalls Funk Brothers (specifically Dennis Coffey). “Somebody I Used to Know leans a bit disconcertingly in the direction of Wes Montgomery’s less challenging later-period work, but is redeemed by some interesting salsa-flavored horns.

It’s tough to label It’s About Time: Is it jazz, funk, or something else? In the end, labels don’t matter. For the listener who wants something different, upbeat and substantial, you can’t do much better than this record from Eddie Roberts’ West Coast Sounds.

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