Archive for the ‘avant-garde’ Category

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.

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

Tags:
Posted in avant-garde, psych, reissue, review | 1 Comment »

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.

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

Tags:, ,
Posted in avant-garde, jazz, reissue, review | No Comments »

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.

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

Tags:,
Posted in avant-garde, jazz, new release, post-rock, review | 1 Comment »

Album Review: King Crimson – Discipline (40th Anniversary Series Edition)

Monday, February 18th, 2013

From their inception in 1969, King Crimson has always been about creating outside-the-box music that challenges (or simply ignores) convention. By the middle of the 1970s, the band had created at least two masterpieces: their debut album In the Court of the Crimson King and 1975′s Red. But after Red – when King Crimson was arguably at its commercial and critical apex – leader/founder Robert Fripp disbanded the group to pursue other projects.

Luckily for all concerned, by the beginning of the 1980s, one of those projects had evolved into a new configuration of King Crimson. Initially called Discipline, the four-piece included guitarist Fripp and drummer extraordinaire Bill Bruford from the previous lineup, and added a pair of American players. Guitarist/vocalist Adrian Belew had already established his reputation via sessions with Talking Heads, Frank Zappa, David Bowie and others; not only was he a guitarist of impressive range, depth and expression, but he brought to the band a pop sensibility it has always lacked (and, to be fair, had never actively sought). Journeyman bassist Tony Levin also sang, but in addition to his peerless skills on the four-string, he was (or would quickly become) the master on an exotic instrument called the Chapman Stick. A multi-stringed instrument that is tapped rather than strummed, the Stick allows the player a dizzyingly wide sonic palette, just the right tool for an innovative player such as Levin.

The music that this new version of King Crimson would produce, however, bore little if any sonic similarity to what had come before. While on Red, Fripp coaxed thickly distorted power chords (after a jazz fashion) out of his Les Paul, his subsequent solo ventures saw him pursuing a more ambient approach. Extensively utilizing on-the-fly tape loop technology to expand the sounds of his guitar, he dubbed his new technique (developed in collaboration with Brian Eno) Frippertronics. And it was the Frippertronics approach, based on the man’s often lightning-fast single-note runs – upon which Fripp built his playing in the 80s Crimson.

Belew had already shown that he could coax all sorts of otherworldly sounds out of his battered guitars., and he would create one of his most memorable signature sounds on this first record with his new band. But his bent pop sensibility would also allow the new lineup to build on the emotion-filled approach the previous lineup had used to great effect on Red‘s “Starless.” Bruford, too, seemed a man liberated: while in the early 70s (after having left Yes for the greater challenge of King Crimson) he had briefly shared percussion duties with the wild Jamie Muir, it was now solely left to him to create the band’s drum sounds. He fully immersed himself in polyrhythms, and Belew’s time with Talking Heads likely helped prepare him to be able to handle such complexities.

From Discipline‘s thrumming opening to “Elephant Talk,” it’s clear that the 1980s King Crimson is going to be a very different animal. While Belew declaims a bunch of words (“These are words with a ‘D’ this time…”), the four players twist and turn their way through an unbelievably complicated – yet somehow almost danceable – piece of music. Belew’s guitar roars like an elephant in the wild, and Fripp makes highly effective use of his volume pedal to create a “solo” that feels more like some exotic wind instrument, the sort that might coax a snake out of its basket.

But “solo” isn’t really the right word for the individual breaks that each of the four men take. Everything about this lineup of King Crimson is about the ensemble; even when one player seems to be featured, what the other three are doing is of equal interest and complexity.

“Frame by Frame” was the “hit single (sic) from Discipline, and the highlights are too myriad to catalog here. Bruford’s fiercely aggressive yet lyrical drumming on the track is some of the most impressive of his entire recorded career, and that’s something. The intertwining guitar lines are both impossible to near-follow and lovely beyond compare. Here Belew’s pop instincts meld perfectly with a free-jazz approach, however counter-intuitive that phenomenon might read on paper. (An aside: A dream I often had in the late 1970s involved the unnerving experience of events moving simultaneously at a glacial pace and a fast-forward one; my first hearing of “Frame by Frame” gave voice to that dream: it sounds just like what was hammering away at my subconscious.)

 


The author in full-on fanboy-mode with
Adrian Belew (L) and Tony Levin (R)
 

“Matte Kudasai” builds on a lovely dreamscape-pop approach; Belew’s romantic, heartfelt vocals blend nicely with Fripp’s melancholy guitar lines; the latter vaguely recall some early 1970s Pink Floyd solos from David Gilmour. But “Indscipline” takes tings in a very different direction. Atonal in places, featuring (yet again!) some of the most aggressive percussion Bruford’s ever turned in, and full of screaming guitar lines, the song is musically every bit as off-kilter as the story (supposedly written by his then-wife) that Belew recites. Perhaps the most “difficult” piece of music on Discipline, the track sums up every boundary-pushing quality the band ever had, and distills them into a perfect mix. When at the song’s end, Belew screams, “I like it!” the listener is left breathless.

“Thela Hut Ginjeet” heads back into polyrhythm territory, and features the not-remarked-upon-enough harmony vocals of Tony Levin in addition to a rather David Byrne-sounding Belew. Once again Belew recites a story – Discipline is at its core about three things: music, singing, and reciting little vignette-style stories – this time about a narrow escape from a very dangerous situation. Bruford’s clattering drums create just the right exotic “jungle” vibe.

“The Sheltering Sky” may be the most subtly beautiful piece of music any version of King Crimson has ever done. Bruford’s subtle drum work and Levin’s throbbing stick figures are topped by Belew’s under-water sounding guitar, while Fripp lets loose a song-length solo of stunning beauty and grace. Eight-plus minutes and it’s still over too soon: this is one track that could go on forever and not wear out its welcome.

Discipline wraps up with its title track, a summation of all that has come before. Interlocking polyrhythms and melodic snippets that seem to recalls many of the previous pieces on the album serve to tie up the whole affair nicely with a big bow. Sonically, the piece is almost an extension of the “discotronics” direction Fripp took with his League of Gentlemen project, not long before this version of King Crimson got off the ground.

Like all other entries in the band’s 40th Anniversary Series, the 2011 reissue of Discipline includes quite a few goodies. Expertly remixed by Porcupine Tree‘s Steven Wilson, the new package includes a new stereo mix (sourced from the original multi-track masters), and a bonus DVD. The latter contains another version of the album, remixed for 5.1 Surround, two more versions of the album in super-high resolution; the entire album in rough-mix form, and three video clips of the Discipline-era band performing on the BBC’s venerable Old Grey Whistle Test.

The CD also adds a few bonus audio tracks as well: a brief selection of Belew’s vocal loops; a welcome alternate mix of “The Sheltering Sky” that features even more out-there guitar work from Fripp (one can never get enough); and an instrumental mix of “Thela Hut Ginjeet.”

For anyone interested in the most innovative and exciting music that the (loosely-defined) rock idiom has to offer, the 2012 reissue of King Crimson’s Discipline deserves a place on the shelf right near In the Court of the Crimson King and Red. Taken together, these three wildly disparate albums (having only Fripp in common) represent the pinnacle of what has come to be known as progressive rock. Beyond essential.

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

Tags:, ,
Posted in avant-garde, multimedia, prog, reissue, review | 1 Comment »

Album Review: Jah Wobble and Keith Levene – Yin & Yang

Tuesday, February 12th, 2013

Not that anyone asked, but we now have an answer to the musical question: what might a Public Image Ltd album sound like without the involvement of John Lydon? The new album Yin & Yang is credited to Jah Wobble and Keith Levene, two prime movers of PiL during its most creatively fruitful period. And not to take away from Lydon’s considerable (no, really) talents, but these guys are players: Wobble is a thunderous, dub-influenced bassist (and lyricist), and Levene is an imaginative guitarist. As the liners tell us, all basses and guitars on Yin & Yang are by the duo, otherwise assisted by a very short list of musicians; Wobble handled production, “editing” and mastering.

The songs are rooted in arresting riffs and hooks – often built around Wobble’s snaky bass lines, as on the instrumental “Strut” – and Levene’s varied guitar work conjures all sorts of textures out of his axes: jagged, atonal skronk, lovely acoustic picking, and sexy circular riffage…sometimes all in the same song.

Sometimes, Wobble declaims his lyrics like a street corner poet: this approach forms the centerpiece of the title track and “Jags & Staffs,” the latter featuring some noisy guitar and beats slowed to near the stopping point. Wobble’s bass lines on many of Yin & Yang‘s tracks will test your system to its limits; listening to this album on stock computer speakers is not recommended.

It wouldn’t be accurate to call this album punk, but it doesn’t easily allow classification into any other box, either. Dub-metal-trance, maybe? And then just when you think you’ve pegged the album’s style, “Mississippi” comes on: it’s nothing if not a pop song, sort of a Rolling Stones or T. Rex from another dimension, filtered through a cassette deck with serious oxidation problems. Its so catchy, it’s completely unnerving. Then there’s the matter of a ghostly, warped cover of The Beatles‘ “Within You Without You.” In the hands of Wobble and Levene, the George Harrison composition is transformed into some sort of dub extravaganza built around Revolver-esque bass lines and featuring some vaguely psychedelic guitar work from Levene. Key pieces of the song are broken down and reassembled, in a way that recalls the methods – if certainly not the sounds – of modern jazz.

The instrumental tracks on Yin & Yang are often built upon a hypnotic bass figure from Wobble, and some heavy-but-simple drum work, leaving plenty of space for Levene to layer his guitar work; this approach is the hallmark of “Back on the Block” and “Fluid,” though the latter features some atmospheric horn section (trumpet and flugelhorn) work as well. “Understand” sounds like it would have been the ideal place for Lydon to make a guest appearance; instead it’s one Nathan Maverick on vocals. The production style throughout is dry and intimate, suggesting that the duo could reproduce this stuff in a live setting quite well.

A strange and alluring “psychedelic dub” album, Yin & Yang shows that thirty-five years after they were half oft he team that made the postpunk classic Metal Box, Jah Wobble and Keith Levene have plenty of jagged ideas left in ‘em.

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

Tags:, ,
Posted in avant-garde, new wave, post-rock, psych | No Comments »

Capsule Reviews: January 2013, Part 4

Tuesday, January 22nd, 2013

Here’s still another installment in my occasional series of capsule reviews; today I cover rock, prog, industrial/EDM and…you decide. I had a huge stack of CDs deserving of review, but time doesn’t allow for full-length reviews of everything, and these were beginning to gather dust. They deserve better. My self-imposed limit for this particular exercise is 150 words on each album.

Tangerine Dream – Under Cover
When you think of Tangerine Dream, chances are good that the sort of music which comes to mind is a sort of analog synthesizer-based style, one that at worst straddles the gap between ambient and prog. Sort of a Pink Floyd meets Brian Eno. And while the German group has never been afraid to branch out – some of their earliest material used electric guitar, and they’ve employed vocals before – at first glance (and listen!), their approach on Under Cover seems odd. The concept here is to take the works of other artists and create new arrangements filtered through the distinctive Tangerine Dream sensibility. As lofty a goal as that might seem, in practice all it really means is cutting an album of cover tunes. What exactly David Bowie‘s “Heroes” has to do with – gasp! – The Eagles‘ “Hotel California,” I don’t even want to know.

Zweiton – Form
Touch guitar is an instrument used primarily in progressive rock and related avant-garde settings; you won’t hear it on the latest Britney Spears comeback. A mightily expressive instrument that’s tapped rather than strummed (think Eddie Van Halen but add an exponential amount of creativity and take away the booze), it allows for the creation of some music that sounds like the work of several guitarists at once. The touch guitar isn’t far-removed from the Chapman Stick in that way. The instrumental album that is Form combines a variety of influences – prog-metal, dance music and more – to create something that is somehow more accessible and musical than any of those styles. Form is in turns graceful, aggressive, rocking and beautifully lyrical; sometimes it’s all those at once. With its polyrhythms and knotty guitar lines, “Treibwerk” recalls Discipline-era King Crimson. Recommended for adventurous fans who still dig a beat.

Adrian Benavides – Same Time, Next Life
The one-sheet for this release describes the record thusly: “…sounds and feels like a contemporary heavy version of Sylvian/Fripp‘s The First Day. There certainly is a Crimson connection here: Markus Reuter and Pat Mastelotto join Adrian Benavides for this swirling maelstrom of sound. This music leans in a very aggressive direction – think Nine Inch Nails but with a much more prog spin – appropriate with its (not strictly autobiographical but inspired by actual and related personal experience) subject matter, the “story of a grieving father from shock to acceptance after the death of his daughter.” Not a fun subject to be sure, but the music does convey a wide range of emotions. Whether you’re in the mood for such a trip, however, is up to you. My tastes run toward the more contemplative tracks (“Reflection II,” “Reflection III”) but the whole trip is one worth making.

Fischer’s Flicker – Katmandon’t!
I get tons of CDs in the mail. And don’t get me wrong: I’m grateful that people (recording artists, publicists, label reps) think enough of my work to bother with the postage. Some of these are unsolicited, and some fall into the “well okay, you can send it, but no promises” category. So when they show up, they go in a big pile. I do give them all a (partial or more) listen, but I’ll admit that cover art plays a role in developing preconceptions. This one has a goofy cover image, and when it comes to self-released works, that often is Strike One. Luckily I got past that and listened to Katmandon’t!, which really sounds like a contemporary version of The Band, with a bit of Leon Russell and maybe Wilco thrown in. Scott Fischer has an endearingly Rick Danko styled voice, and a strong sense of melody.

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

Tags:, , ,
Posted in avant-garde, instrumental, new release, prog, rawk, review | No Comments »

Capsule Reviews: January 2013, Part Two

Wednesday, January 16th, 2013

Here’s another installment in my occasional series of capsule reviews, this time covering new releases by indie/self-released artists. My self-imposed limit for this particular exercise is 150 words on each album.

War Poets – Dulce et Decorum Est
Every so often an act comes along that is – or at least seems to be – less a group and more a collective. New Pornographers, Traveling Wilburys, The Grays…whether these outfits stayed together a long time is less important than the special quality they all possessed: talent and creativity to burn. Now, while those aforementioned acts are made up of names you’d recognize, that quality is not always a necessary ingredient. Case in point is War Poets. This outfit is comprised of no less than six songwriters; they’re even listed as such in the liner notes of Dulce et Decorum Est, rather than, y’know, bandmembers. Don’t be put off by the foreign-sounding title; this is some seriously accessible-yet-varied music, one of the most consistently engaging releases I’ve heard in some time. Moreover, it’s a 2cd set, divided into “Rock Songs” and “Ballads” (guess which disc I prefer.)

The JAC – Faux Pas
I make no apologies: I love powerpop, but I’m not an uncritical fan of the genre. Some of it’s near-transcendent, and some of it feels by-the-numbers. Though The Brittanicas get mostly positive critical notices, they don’t knock me out (don’t get me wrong: I don’t dislike ‘em a bit). But one half of that duo is Australian Joe Algeri, and he’s gone walkabout and crafted a solo set under the moniker The JAC. Faux Pas is a lovely collection of jangly, wheezy-organ, hooky rock pop of the first order. The opening track, “I Play All the Instruments” tells you all you need to know about The JAC, and does so in grinning, catchy style. Algeri has a number of stylistic tricks – bits of Italian lyrics, backward guitar and chiming Ricks – up his sleeve. As, too, is a bonus disc of covers that show the man’s peerless taste.

Ben Levin Group – Invisible Paradise
Subtlety and variation are the watchwords on this release. An unusual suite of songs, Invisible Paradise often leans strongly in an art-pop direction, but there are strong classical (chamber music) tones, some really aggressively hard-rocking passages, and definitely a strong whiff of progressive-rock mentality. But all of those disparate-on-paper elements are woven together into a thrilling joyride of an album. This is music that hits you squarely with a one-two punch, to both the head and heart. The soaring beauty of the arrangements is set against some stomping rock-centric playing. The whole damn thing runs the length of an old-school album (about 38 minutes) and it all tumbles together. If you like your music widescreen and melodramatic without being pretentious, you’ll dig this. Imagine Dixie Dregs crossed with Zappa and Opeth. Invisible Paradise is perhaps the best new thing of its kind in quite awhile. Track it down and enjoy.

Brian Lisik – The Mess that Money Could Buy
Imagine if John Mellecamp (they called him Johnny Cougar back when I saw him open for The Kinks) had a stronger pop sensibility, but held onto his mid-America lyrical vision. If that transformation took place, he might just change his name to Brian Lisik. A good-timin’ bunch of songs that owe as much to The Replacements as anything else, the songs on The Mess that Money Could Buy will appeal to those who like their rock friendly and accessible, full of singalong choruses and head-nodding beat with just the right amount of twang to keep things grounded. Lots of those chiming suspended guitar chords abound, and the rhythm changes up often enough to hold the listener’s interest at a high level through the record’s eleven songs. And – this is important – although it is credited to Brian Lisik, the album feels and sounds like the work of a band.

The Drysdales – Dakota
Who would have ever thought that when in Nashville for last fall’s Americana Music Association Conference and Festival, I’d bump into an online friend at a show (the Big Star tribute). But that’s exactly what happened: though songwriter Patrick Potts wasn’t there specifically for AMA, we met and shared an indeterminate number of beers. But that’s not why I’m here to tell you about Dakota, the new CD from his band The Drysdales. No, I mention it ’cause it’s good. Stonesy rock with a higher emphasis on dual-lead harmony vocals, The Drysdales sound like what Mick and his pals (circa 1972) might sound like if they showed up in your living room and played. Without the smack, of course. If you need more of a recommendation, consider two heavy friends who dropped in to help out on the record: Jon Brant (Cheap Trick) and Brad Elvis (Elvis Brothers / Handcuffs). Yeah.

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

Tags:, , , ,
Posted in Americana, avant-garde, indie, new release, powerpop, prog, rawk, review | No Comments »