Archive for the ‘pop’ Category

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 EnsembleQuiet 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 TourHostile 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 CrenshawStranger 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.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Album Review: Donovan’s Brain – Turned Up Later

Tuesday, 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.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Album Review: Greg Lake — Songs of a Lifetime

Friday, 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.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

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

Wednesday, 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.”

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

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

Tuesday, 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

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Album Review: Various Artists — Drink a Toast to Innocence

Wednesday, May 1st, 2013

As far back as the 1980s, the great philosopher Huey Lewis proclaimed that it’s “hip to be square.” Good thing, that, because like many of my rock’n'roll fan contemporaries, I got my musical start buying albums (cassettes, really) by some of the soft-sounds purveyors of the early 70s: The Carpenters, Sonny and Cher, Jim Croce and the like.

For many years, it simply wasn’t cool to admit a fondness for such non-rocking things. It all began to change in the 1990s, amidst a flurry of self-consciously ironic mini-trends: the cocktail nation/exotica craze and all manner of tribute albums. The 1994 release If I Were a Carpenter featured updates/rethinks of much-loved songs by Karen and Richard, done by hot-in-the-moment contemporary artists.

But once that ironic stance subsided, things calmed down a bit and people began to admit a bit more freely that, yeah, some of this stuff is pretty good. As a result, artists like Ben Folds could freely admit inspiration by the likes of Burt Bacharach without being labeled as soft (though Folds did famously describe his music as “punk rock for sissies”).

In 2013, an impressive list of pop/powerpop artists contributed to a new compilation titled Drink a Toast to Innocence: A Tribute to Lite Rock. Drawing its title from a Dan Fogelberg lyric is the first clue that the songs on the set will be of the sort that blanketed AM radio back in the day.

Thankfully, the varied approaches employed by the artists aims for the middle ground. For the most part, these aren’t insipid, soft-rock retreads, and they’re not hard-rock bashers, either. The artists tend to look for the hooks and the melodies, and craft updated readings that highlight those qualities. The result is that – as rendered by Eytan MirskyRupert Holmes‘ “The Piña Colada Song” isn’t nearly as annoying as it once was. It’s actually pretty good, with a driving bass line and some nice electric guitar licks atop a gurgling organ. The Davenports‘ rocked-up “Just When I Needed You Most” feels a bit like Fountains of Wayne, and that’s always a good thing. Plasticsoul‘s “Sentimental Lady” plays it straight, quite similar in arrangement to both the Fleetwood Mac and Bob Welch versions.

Lannie Flowers‘ distinctive vocals are applied to an unorthodox arrangement on Orleans‘ “Dance With Me.” The result sounds like Flowers’ original material crossed with Mary Hopkin‘s “Those Were the Days.” Weird but successful, and awarded extra points for being the most out-of-the-box and inventive reading on this set.

Popdudes aren’t the first to cover Walter Egan‘s “Magnet and Steel.” Matthew Sweet contributed a version to the 90s soundtrack of Sabrina The Teenage Witch; Popdudes’ version is another played-straight reading. In fact quite a few of the artists on Drink a Toast to Innocence seem unburdened by any desire to re-imagine these songs: Joe Giddings‘ “Undercover Angel” funks things up a bit, but the breezy backing vocals ensure that the version would work fine on the soundtrack to another Brady Bunch film.

Mike Viola is among the best-known of the artists involved with this project; though he pens some fantastic original tunes of his own on solo albums (and as Candy Butchers), he’s best known for his lead vocal on the the title song from That Thing You Do! Here he takes on Robbie Dupree‘s “Steal Away,” layering a bunch of retro-sounding synthesizer lines; the result suggests what The Wonders might have sounded like circa 1977 had they stayed with Play-Tone.

Those analog synths are a highlight of Bleu‘s “Baby Come Back,” though the Leslie-effect guitar is prominent (it had to be, of course). The vocal harmonies are flawless, even as they deliver insipid lyrics (what, exactly, is “false bravado?”). This may be the strongest cover on the entire collection, though it can’t really be said to add anything new to the song.

People of a certain age may remember “Thank You for Being a Friend” as the theme song from The Golden Girls, but thankfully those of us who are a bit older recall Andrew Gold‘s original version instead. Brandon Schott‘s cover plays it close to the original arrangement (do you sense a pattern here?). The Sonic Executive Sessions turn in a lovely reading of Stephen Bishop’s “On and On,” and sidestep Bishop’s idiosyncratic pronunciation of the title lyrics; this is another album highlight, full of creamy vocal harmonies. But it’s up to Linus of Hollywood to turn in the winner of the bunch, a lite-powerpop cover of “More Than I Can Say,” originally by Leo Sayer. Shimmering guitar lines, a lilting beat and just enough grit in the electric guitars make this a delight. Greg Pope leans in an acoustic singer-songwriter direction to cover the late-period Poco tune “Crazy Love.” Wyatt Funderburk employs a similar approach on Michael Johnson‘s one-hit-wonder “Bluer Than Blue,” and it suits the song perfectly.

Vegas With Randolph know how to rock, but they dial it way back for a balladeering cover of Little River Band‘s “Cool Change.” Well, they do for the first minute or so; then they switch over to their trademark sound, and it works really well; ignore the lyrics and enjoy the dynamics of this winning cover. Seth Swirsky gamely (and effectively) tackles the falsetto vocal lines of Henry Gross‘ lovely ballad about a dog, “Shannon.”

Cliff Hillis‘ cover of “Shake It” improves on the original; you won’t be embarrassed if you’re caught listening to it. Noted music journalist and author Paul Myers hauls out the synthesizers for his interpretation of Michael Martin Murphey‘s “Wildfire” (what was it with all these 70s tunes about animals, anyway?). His intelligent use of the machines results in an organic reading that doesn’t feel at all synthetic. And his vocal harmonies – a hallmark of so many of the songs on this set – are impressive.

Sunshine on Mars don’t attempt to recreate Elvin Bishop‘s distinctive volume-pedal guitar tone on “Fooled Around and Fell in Love,” and the female lead vocal necessitates the changing of the lyric to “a million boys,” but otherwise it’s another relatively straight reading. Atlanta Rhythm Section‘s “So Into You” was right on the edge of the lite-rock genre (it rocked, a little), and Willie Wisely‘s cover takes it in yet another direction, with a vaguely salsa vibe. It works surprisingly well, conjuring mental images of sexy dancers.

An American Underdog take on Jay Ferguson‘s “Thunder Island,” and the result is a lot of fun, with the requisite distorted guitars and dynamics that were such an integral part of the original’s appeal.

Ambrosia‘s “How Much I Feel” gets a lovely if straight reading from Kyle Vincent; to be fair, the arrangement is what made this song to begin with, so perhaps re-imagining it wasn’t truly an option. Lisa Mychols is one of few female vocalists on the set; her almost-grunge, rocking cover of David Soul‘s “Don’t Give Up On Us” beats the hell out of the original, one of the most insipid tunes covered here.

A set like this wouldn’t be complete without a song based around a Fender Rhodes melody. So Throwback Suburbia‘s cover of Climax Blues Band‘s “I Love You” fits that bill. The slightly over-emoting vocal approach strikes just the right note for this crooning number.

David Myhr takes on one of the most challenging song here, 10cc‘s “Things We Do for Love.” His cover isn’t as transcendent as the original, but then, to be fair, few things are. And Mike Ruekberg‘s delightfully rocking “Believe it Or Not” somehow removes the cheesiness of the original, making the tune better than it was.

Kelly Jones turns in a country-pop version of England Dan and John Ford Coley‘s “I’d Really Love to See You Tonight.” It’s successful for what it is, but the arrangement – softer than the soft original – feels a bit out of place on this set. By contrast, Paul Bertolino subtly ups the rock-quotient on his cover of Firefall‘s Just Remember I Love You,” short-listed as one of the best readings on this 28-song collection.

Drink a Toast to Innocence: A Tribute to Lite Rock is available in a variety of formats, including (yay!) a 2LP vinyl set.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

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.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

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.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Album Review: Skydog: The Duane Allman Retrospective

Monday, March 25th, 2013

Seven CDs represents quite a lot of music. And all of the music on Skydog: The Duane Allman Retrospective was recorded in the space of six and half year years. The earliest tracks date from spring 1965, and the latest cuts were recorded in fall 1971. But the 129 tracks span an impressively wide stylistic range, making the case (if such a case really needed making) that Duane Allman was one of the great guitarists of his generation. As a band leader, jam/collaborator and/or session player, Allman never failed to bring a fresh and unique approach to the song at hand.

While Allman developed a signature style – especially on slide guitar – he was adept and bending his style in the direction other artists’s projects needed. The result (as showcased mostly on discs 2-5) was that Duane Allman seemed always to improve a session, but he could do so in a way that didn’t necessarily call attention to him. It’s dangerous to project ideas of personalty upon an artist who’s no longer with us, but there’s plenty of evidence on Skydog that Allman was not an egocentric player.

On some of the tracks, Allman’s just there doing his part, and he’s sometimes buried in the mix. But if one listens closely, there’s always something interesting to hear coming out of the man’s guitar.

Some of the earliest material Allman recorded has circulated among collectors, and some has seen official release before. But The Escorts (one of his earliest bands) are shown to be a pretty tight little unit. The Allman Joys leaned heavily in a Yardbirds-centric direction, but they did it convincingly: somehow the band manages to sound like they wrote the songs, as opposed to coming off like one of those awful “not the original artist” acts on so many cheap compilation LPs of the era. And the Hour Glass tracks show that Allman’s band belongs on any list of important Nuggets-era garage/psych bands.

As Allman moved into session work – he was a regular and popular fixture at the Muscle Shoals studios – his playing ability advanced, and the sheer breadth of his stylistic palette expanded in many directions. His work on covers (Clarence Carter‘s reading of The Doors‘ “Light My Fire,” Wilson Pickett‘s “Hey Jude” and Aretha Franklin‘s “The Weight” to name but three of many ace cuts) shows that be brought his sensibility to bear on these unique interpretations of well-known songs.

Equally at home on soulful blues numbers (Otis Rush, King Curtis), odd, near-novelty tunes (“Hand Jive” by The Duck and the Bear) and art-pop (Laura Nyro‘s “Beads of Sweat”), Allman was a man for all seasons.

Skydog isn’t a cheap set: it lists for well over $100. But for anyone who has more than a passing interest in Allman’s music and musicianship, there are countless reasons to justify the purchase. There’s a healthy amount of previously-unreleased material here. And because Duane played on so many disparate sessions, the odds are good that you won’t have large chunks of this material in your collection already. Moreover, there’s a minimum of crushingly-obvious selections here, even though somes song simply had to be included (Derek & the Dominos‘ “Layla,” Boz Scaggs‘ epic barnburner “Loan Me a Dime”). There’s also less Allman Brothers Band music than one might expect (less than twenty songs), and when it is there, it’s especially tasty.

And the packaging is nothing short of stunning. Housed in a sturdy box made to look like a guitar case (right down to the furry gold lining inside), the package uses no plastic (except the discs themselves, of course), instead protecting the CDs in printed paper sleeves. A lovely booklet (color covers, duotones inside) is filled with discographical information, photos and thoughtful essays. A “Skydog” decal and commemorative guitar pick are also nice little touches. But none of that would matter if the music wasn’t wonderful. And it most certainly is. After working one’s way through the exhaustive musical history that is Skydog: The Duane Allman Retrospective, listeners will surely come away with a couple of enduring thoughts. One, Allman sure did a lot of good work in the space of a short six years or so. And two, had he not lost his life, he doubtless would have gone on to do even more of similarly enduring quality.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

The Felix Cavaliere Interview, Part 4

Thursday, March 21st, 2013

Conclusion, continued from Part Three

Bill Kopp: I have to admit that – like a lot of people – I don’t actually own, and haven’t even heard the late-period Rascals albums Peaceful World [1971] and The Island of Real [1972]. What I have read about them, mostly in critical-reassessment-type reviews, is that they’re not at all like the earlier Rascals material, but that they’re underrated. It seems as if they might be seen as transitional albums, bridging from the Rascals of old to your solo career. How do you view those albums? Where do you see them fitting?

FC: I think that’s very well-put. The freedom we had, it sort of hit us in the face. And we got a little too carried away with some of the arrangements. Really lettin’ it out, man. But what I did…what we tried to do was…the group had split up. It was a really sad occurrence, because Dino was my partner, co-writer, my voice, the real Rascal. When Dino left, the whole thing got shifted to a kind of different entity. A different creation. We thought, “This is more of a business now.” Especially being on Columbia, [The Rascals left Atlantic for Columbia after their final LP for the former, 1971's Search and Nearness. – bk] which was all business.

Gene [Cornish] …a very very very strange circumstance of how we lost him from the group. Dino, really, at that time, did not want him to be around. Because he wasn’t pulling his weight. He had kind of let his guitar playing down. So it was down to just Dino and myself. So to supplement the band, I went out and had auditions. And I found some great people. I mean, oh my god. Buzzy Feiten on guitar, who is a legend. He was all strung out, though, so that was a problem. He was not on this planet very strongly. But he could play. We also had Bob Popwell, who ultimately went with the Jazz Crusaders, and was really good. He’s living down here [Nashville], and he’s a preacher now.

And instead of trying to emulate the male vocals part of it, I went and got females. How in the hell was that the best idea…I probably shouldn’t have done that. But anyway, we had all that freedom.

But we didn’t have Arif, now. That was a loss. A big loss. So I had to totally arrange things, get down to a different place. And I really pushed it toward a jazz world. Like what Santana was doing, like Chick Corea. I wanted to go that way. And when I pushed it, it freaked people out. Because there was also a lot of spirituality on the record. There was a lot of …maybe it was overdone. And at the time, we didn’t recognize where the line was, this imaginary line that we hadn’t discovered. We went from too-hip to too-square. We should have pulled it more to the center.

But that album – The Island of Real – in Japan, it was a smash! There was an opportunity [in Japan] when CDs first came out, to make any album that was analog into a CD. And they actually manufactured a CD of Peaceful World. Immaculate quality. It never really sold that well [Billboard #122 – bk], but it was a really good band, and I really think that album did us justice.

But many albums don’t make it, you know. The Island of Real [Billboard #180 – bk] wasn’t marketed well.

BK: sometimes a record is ahead or behind its time. A certain sound falls in or out of favor. There’s a lot of luck involved.

FC: Absolutely. I hear that word so much. You have to be at the right place at the right time. If it happens once in your life, you’re very fortunate.

BK: After many, many years not playing together, the original Rascals foursome has reunited. Can you tell me a little about the events that led up to that initial reunion, the April 2010 Tribeca Grill gig in New York?

FC: Well, I can only tell you from my point of view. It’s an interesting thing, how it happened. One of my children – and when I say “children,” I’m talking about adults, of course – developed breast cancer. I found out about this becoming a serious thing, and then three days later I got a call from Stevie Van Zandt asking me to take part in a Rascals reunion for a cancer benefit [for Kristen Ann Carr].

BK: Wow…

FC: Yeah. I know. And I said, “There’s no way I’m gonna say no to this.” And the benefit…how can I say this…I met so many wonderful people there. Bruce Springsteen. Some of the best contacts, the best musicians in the United States of America. Paul Shaffer played, Bob Clearmountain ran sound. So there was no way I wasn’t gonna do that.

BK: So between the four of you, did any fence-mending occur at that show?

FC: I think so. Especially in the case of Gene. Gene had been extremely ill; he’s a survivor. He had some really serious health issues over the last five years [prior to that show]. We’re very fortunate that he’s here; he’s had two heart bypasses, colon cancer…oh my god.

He’s taken a completely new lease on life. He’s a completely changed individual; he’s so thankful. And he’s got the same desire that most musicians have: he loves to play, and looks for any excuse to do it.

I think that show was a good thing for everyone. We rehearsed for three days; after all those years, we only had three days to put a whole show together, to play for an hour. And it was tedious; it took a lot out of me.

If you know anything about all the aggravation that’s gone on between us all these years, none of that mattered. And hopefully, the end of this story will be as good as the beginning.

BK: Last question. How would you like The Rascals to be remembered?

FC: You mentioned earlier that when you saw us play, people in the audience had tears of joy. That’s how: tears of joy.

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.