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Album Review: Tea Leaf Green — In the Wake

Thursday, May 23rd, 2013

I count In the Wake as the latest entry in my Not What I Expected file. Tea Leaf Green are known in many quarters as a jam band; that in itself is generally enough to lead me to pass a CD over; I’m simply not a fan of the grinning, herbulent noodling endemic to the jam band genre; as I was told many years ago upon my dismissal from a cover band that had of late begun leaning in a jam direction, I’m a “song guy.” Like that’s a bad thing.

As it turns out, Tea Leaf Green are song guys, too. With a sound that folds in influences from The Band, southern rock, Americana, and the smoother sounds of 90s artists such as Bruce Hornsby, Tea Leaf Green keeps the emphasis on songcraft and melody. Synthesizers and churning sonics of the sort you’d find on a Radiohead album sit surprisingly comfortably alongside acoustic guitars, though there’s plenty of electric guitar too.

While In the Wake is a consistently engaging album, the band is at its best when concentrating on that melodicism. When they crank up the riffage – as on “Space Hero Pt. 2” – the results are less distinctive, conjuring unwelcome memories of such sub-luminaties as Spin Doctors. (The song’s treated, mannered vocals don’t help matters.) But that track is the exception; the 70s electric piano and strings vibe of “Penny Saved” is hooky and highly tuneful. Its propulsive bass line and Memphis-flavored horns add up to the album’s strongest track. Its synthesizer solo almost edges into prog-rock territory, but remains safely just inside the pop idiom.

The press kit for the album makes repeated references to unspecified tragedies and losses that the band endured in the run-up to making In the Wake, but there’s a decidedly upbeat, positive musical vibe shot through the entire record. The cellos and violins that guest players provide on the album (most notably on “All Our Love,” another of the record’s strongest cuts) add a dimension of both emotion and stateliness, but never in a pretentious way. The vocals on the album – provided by three of the five players – sound at times like Tim DeLaughter of The Polyphonic Spree; there’s a shaky, warbly quality that veers right on the edge of being disquieting. But that sensitive and organic vocal quality actually works here, in a way not unlike Neil Young‘s work.

Jam band fans will still find plenty to like here; the insistent grooves are key to most of these songs, but the band exhibits admirable restraint in reining in any jam tendencies. “Give Me One More Chance” has a soul groove. “One Condition’s Enough” answers the question: what would Paul Simon sound like if he knew how to rock? “Space Hero Pt.3” mixes gentle acoustic guitar with swooshy, distant electronics, and the result sounds a bit like A Saucerful of Secrets-era Pink Floyd, specifically Roger Waters‘ “Grantchester Meadows.” The first part of “Space Hero Pt. 4” finds the Spin Doctors vibe rearing its head, but the strong melody (and guitar solo) bring it to a storming, jubilant finish. Some electronic percussion and looping (notably on the title track) again reminds of Radiohead, a band with whom one might guess Tea Leaf Green has little in common. “Mr. E and the Cosmic Receptacle” hybridizes electronica and country blues. But these varied stylistic touchstones are all tied together nicely within In the Wake, and the result is a nice balance between variety and cohesion.

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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: Blue Cheer – Rocks Europe

Tuesday, May 21st, 2013

They didn’t call it garage when ? And the Mysterians were playing “96 Tears.” They didn’t label it punk when The Stooges sang about “No Fun.” And they didn’t use the term heavy metal when Blue Cheer released their dipped-in-acid 1967 reading of Eddie Cochran‘s “Summertime Blues.” But heavy metal is most certainly what it was, though (as the new oral history Louder Than Hell – to be reviewed her soon – tells us) the genre label didn’t catch on for a few years hence.

Blue Cheer was the perfect band for listeners who found Cream too subtle. A few years before Black Sabbath took sludgy riffs and uber-heavy arrangements to their logical extreme, Blue Cheer was cranking out screaming tunes that aimed squarely for the gut, largely ignoring the head altogether. The band endured personnel changes and never made another album as truly definitive as their 1968 debut Vincebus Eruptum, but the band would be historically significant if all they had ever done was “Summertime Blues.”

Bassist/vocalist Dickie Peterson was the sole member to appear in all lineups of the band (save the wasteland years of 1975-83, a period during which Blue Cheer toured but released no new music). In 2008, the final lineup of the band – Peterson plus drummer Paul Whaley and guitarist Andrew “Duck” MacDonald – performed a concert for German television program Rockpalast; that set plus a pair of studio tracks has now been released as Blue Cheer Rocks Europe.

The set takes the listener right back in time: those super-heavy bass lines sometimes run in lockstep with the guitar riffage, and sometimes they hold things down while the lead axe wails. And Peterson shreds his vocal cords on an assortment of originals (some of which are relatively recent compositions) and well-worn covers that includes Mose Allison‘s “Parchman Farm” (and of course “Summertime Blues”). Listeners looking for subtlety and nuance had best steer clear of this set: instead, it’s a roaring, ear-splitting collection of in-your-face heavy-osity that demands undivided attention. Both ends of the sonic spectrum are filled: Peterson’s thunderous bass lines and Whaley’s precise yet lumbering drums play off of MacDonald’s fleet-fingered solos and power-chording riffage. It’s as if the 70s never happened, and – if, like me, you enjoy this sort of thing from time to time – that’s just fine.

It’s not made clear in the liner notes whether Peterson knew at the time of this performance (April 11, 2008) that he was suffering from prostate and liver cancer, but he passed away on October 2 of the following year. As such, Blue Cheer Rocks Europe stands as the final document of this influential band.

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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: Blue Öyster Cult — Imaginos

Friday, 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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DVD Review: Last Shop Standing

Wednesday, 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

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.

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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.

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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: Ant-Bee — Pure Electric Honey

Monday, 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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