Album Review: Greg Lake — Songs of a Lifetime

May 10th, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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EP Review: Tin Cup Serenade — Tragic Songs of Hope

May 9th, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 8th, 2013

Continued from Part One…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 7th, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

continued…

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Album Review: Ant-Bee — Pure Electric Honey

May 6th, 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Album Review: Captain Beyond — Live in Texas: October 6, 1973

May 3rd, 2013

Way back in my high school days, I developed an abiding interest that developed into a lifelong hobby. Though these days its intensity level is much lower than, say, a decade ago, my fascination with bootleg recordings remains. I have long believed that bootlegs, or ROIOs (recordings of illegitimate / indeterminate origin) can and often do provide a unique window into understanding of the work of an artist. With the filter of what-should-come-out removed, the listener gets to hear the artist at his or her most raw and direct. Setting aside studio bootlegs (a fascinating category all its own), live bootlegs – free from post-production sweetening – can show us how the act actually sounded onstage.

Live sound reinforcement was none too subtle in the 1970s; there were pretty much two settings: OFF and LOUD. Clearly the latter was the one most often chosen. And as rock’s audience grew, it meant that (unlike today) one rarely got to see their favorite band onstage in a venue designed for music. No, sports arenas and big ol’ open outdoor spaces were the venue of choice in those days. So sound quality wasn’t all that splendid to start with.

Add to that the fact that mobile recording equipment (the amateur kind, not the Rolling Stones Mobile Truck kind) was not very sophisticated, and those who wished to sneak recorders into shows often had to be very inventive.

The result of all this is that bootlegs of the 1970s are rarely in what modern day listeners would call excellent fidelity. But their historical value often trumps that, at least for bootleg aficionados such as this writer. We’d much rather have that warts-and-all live tape of The Paul Butterfield Blues Band onstage in 1966 at a coffeehouse in Boston than not have it at all. Especially when it comes to lesser-known and/or semi-forgotten rock acts, bootlegs are a rare chance to learn more about an act we didn’t know all that much about to begin with.

Captain Beyond is the kind of act that falls into this category. A supergroup-of-sorts, the band was formed by veterans of other well-known acts. Singer Rod Evans had been in Deep Purple during their “Hush” era. Bobby Caldwell had played drums with Johnny Winter, and briefly with Keith Relf‘s post-Yardbirds outfit Armageddon. And guitarist Larry “Rhino” Reinhardt and bassist Lee Dorman had been in Iron Butterfly, though only the bassist had been on board when they cut “In-a-Gadda-da-Vida.”

Signed to Capricorn Records, Captain Beyond was (for that reason and/or others) not destined for the big time. But their mix of vaguely progressive stylings with hard-hard rock, 70s style made a pretty exciting recipe. Their prime-era albums (a 1972 self-titled debut and 1973′s Sufficiently Breathless) are overlooked gems from the era, and make the point yet again that a lot of good music slipped by relatively unnoticed in rock’s heyday.

But now in 2013 comes a live album, Live in Texas: October 6, 1973. It’s certainly in that warts-and-all sonic quality category; the harsh, brittle and occasionally whooshy sound won’t win any engineering awards. But then, that’s not the point. Live in Texas is a rare document of a relatively unknown band, onstage at their peak, giving it all they’ve got. And for that reason alone, it’s worthwhile.

The music’s pretty good, too. And once the listener’s ears acclimate to the sound quality, it’s an entertaining listen. Like many acts of the era, Captain Beyond are introduced by a taped introduction featuring ominous, slowed-down vocals (I don’t know what he’s saying, but it sounds very important). After rocking out for a half dozen tunes, the band moves into a gentle, subtle piece in which Evans sort of reads poetry. “Pandora’s Box (It’s War)” is either pretentious, humorous, or both. It’s enjoyable in a Spinal Tap sort of way, and Reinhardt’s guitar noodling behind Evans’ emotional reading is inventive. One does wonder how the audience reacted to all this: the audio document suggest they stood in dumbstruck silence during the “reading” portion, and then roared and whistled when the cacophonous rocking part kicked in, sounding a bit like Pink Floyd‘s “A Saucerful of Secrets.”

Being that it was 1973, this probably won’t surprise you, but the live set at this Arlington TX show included tracks called “Guitar Solo” and “Drum Solo.” These are pretty much what you’d expect: technically impressive, of great interest to hardcore aficionados and/or musicians, and shamelessly overlong. And on “Guitar Solo,” Reinhardt displays his prowess with the Golden Throat, a little device that would find worldwide notoriety a few years later when stuck in into the pie hole of one Peter Frampton. But the songs from their two albums are exciting and well-played, full of that unique balance of prog and (I mean this in a good way) good old lunkheaded, unsubtle heavy rock. The show wraps up with a faithful reading of Jimi Hendrix‘s “Stone Free.”

This set has been around for awhile, as it happens. It made the rounds for years as a bootleg, of course. (Captain Beyond was opening for King Crimson, of all things, on this date.) While this 2013 release on Purple Pyramid doesn’t provide any documentation as to the recording’s lineage, our friends at Wikipedia tell us that the band has endeavored to release and/or clean up this recording for release a few times before. Adjectives used by Wikipedia contributors to describe the tape’s sound quality include “bad” and terrible.” You have been warned.

Balance that against the fact that no other live recordings – bootleg or otherwise – of Captain Beyond are known to exist, and that Reinhardt and Dorman both passed away in 2012. So it’s either this or nothing. With those caveats, it’s still a recommended listen, but you’d also do well to track down the band’s first two studio albums; one has been reissued on Purple Pyramid as well; both are quite rare on original vinyl (my preferred format) so I don’t have them yet, but have enjoyed them via Spotify.

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Album Review: Hymn for Her Presents Lucy and Wayne’s Smokin’ Flames

May 2nd, 2013

Rock’n'roll doesn’t have a long list of successful male-female duets; at least not ones that, y’know, rock. Other traditions have done well with the duet format: Porter Wagoner and Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash, the one-off Frank and Nancy Sinatra duet, and others. But when it comes to hard-driving rocking, there just haven’t been many of note. Perhaps the best of the sixties was Jefferson Airplane‘s Marty Balin and Grace Slick. Try as I might, I can’t think of a single rocking duet act from the 70s (and no, Donny and Marie Osmond do not count). In the 80s we were fortunate to have John Doe and Exene Cervenka of X.

And it’s that last duo who spring immediately to mind when I hear Lucy and Wayne’s Smokin’ Flames, the new album by Hymn for Her. The comparison isn’t perfect: Hymn for Her lean in more of a cowboy country direction than X did, but this music is pretty compelling, strong stuff.

The arrangements are quite spare; the songs were all performed live to the recorder. And the instrumentation echoes another well-known male-female outfit, The White Stripes. But the dozen songs on Lucy and Wayne’s Smokin’ Flames rock with malevolent glee in a way that Jack and Meg White didn’t always achieve, and – more importantly – when I listen to these tracks, I don’t think to myself, “Boy, this act could really benefit from a bass player, and maybe even a keyboardist.” In fact, the instrumentation – wiry acoustic guitar, distorted electric guitar, and lots and lots of foot stomps – serves these songs in such a good way that embellishing them further would take away from their power.

On “Trash the Sun,” the duo engage in spoken dialogue, but Lucy Tight‘s vocals are run through a processor that makes them sound like an old land-line telephone. The lyrical nod to David Bowie‘s “Space Oddity” is clever in the extreme. Some of the tracks are manic blues numbers (“Rosa Parks Blvd”) and others evoke a windswept, southwestern desert vibe (“Landescape”). Rarely has a two-piece achieved so much emotion-laden musical texture with such basic instrumentation.

Tight and partner Wayne Waxing have a clear love (and facility) for wordplay: witness the title “Lucy Fur” (say it out loud and fast if you don’t get it). And while the music provides the backdrop for the lyrics, the music itself is interesting enough that one can ignore the words at will.

Just when you start thinking it’s going to be one nonstop hell-in-a-bucket ride, the duo switch gear and deliver the lilting, fragile “Burn This.” And while I’m generally not a fan of the banjo, “Dark Deeds” – which sports an intro that features that instrument plus slide guitar – is quite effective, due in no small part to the loose-limbed duet vocals.

The disc ends with a left-turn: the torchy “Passion,” a number that spotlights the sultry, sexy vocals of Lucy Tight. When the song ends, you may be tempted to sit quietly for a moment to allow it all to soak in. Then, after a suitable pause, play the whole thing again.

This album was crowd-funded using a Kickstarter program; that platform is rapidly becoming a viable means for financing all manner of creative projects (more related news on that in this blog very soon). An then right out of left field we have a tie-in product, a hot sauce concocted by the duo plus some Orlando friends. Based on a recipe that includes bananas(!), jalapeños and paprika, it’s unusual (to say the least) but delightful for those who like that sort of thing (and I do). It delivers quite a kick, which means that it pairs nicely with the music on Hymn for Her Presents Lucy and Wayne’s Smokin’ Flames.

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Album Review: Various Artists — Drink a Toast to Innocence

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 Mirsky — Rupert 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.

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Show Review: 50 Shades! The Musical — April 27 2013, Knoxville TN

April 30th, 2013

I didn’t know quite what to expect going into 50 Shades! The Musical. Was this stage show going to be a mere cash-in, a coattail-ride upon the popularity of the blockbuster novel? I figured that – at worst – it would be good for a few laughs. So on April 27 I made the trip to Knoxville TN’s Bijou Theatre, accompanied by my friend and reading companion.

As we waited in line to pick up our tickets, I did a quick survey of the crowd gathered in the lobby. As my friend (but not I) suspected, the audience was overwhelmingly female, primarily in the 35-60 age range. And (save four women) completely white. Once we were seated, and as the room filled to near-capacity (this matinee showing was nearly, but not quite, sold out), we estimated that the ratio of females to males was about 4:1.

As the house lights dimmed, an offstage announcer made the standard admonishments about cell phones and so forth, but put a delightfully salacious spin on them: “please turn off any and all vibrating devices; after the show you can turn them on in the lobby, and leave them on as long as you need.” The tone for the evening — lighthearted, broad and very very raunchy – was thus established.

It’s no overstatement to call 50 Shades! The Musical uproarious. From the opening scene to the final curtain, it was belly laughs all the way. Well-paced and flawlessly executed, the show riffed on the many cliches and preposterous plot elements of E.L. James‘ book, and wrapped it all in songs and dance.

The writers of the show did not attempt to follow the book’s story line; instead they used it as inspiration. 50 Shades! The Musical alternated between a portrayal of three members of a women’s book club and interaction between broad parodies of the book’s main characters. If one of those characters (say, Anastasia’s rooommate or Grey) had a particular trait, the actor overdid it to great effect (e.g. repeated cries of “That’s bullshit!” or “Laters.”)

The show’s casting was inspired: when the Christian Grey character first made an appearance onstage, the audience was surprised to find a large, roundish Asian-American man. His roundness would be accentuated mid-show, during his toe-tapping showcase number, “I Don’t Make Love – I F**k,” delivered in a bright red spandex workout getup. The effect was not unlike seeing an Asian Chris Farley leading a Bob Fosse dance number.

The show was most definitely not for the faint of heart. Simulated sex acts abounded, both onstage and off, and the language was no-holds-barred raunchy. But the show’s goals demanded nothing less. Being the sort of person I am, I loved that, and bore not one ounce of sympathy for the man seated next to us. Clearly accompanying his wife against his better judgment, he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat throughout the show, and I didn’t hear him laugh at all. I could almost hear his silent thought: “My goodness me, I certainly hope my pastor doesn’t find out I’m here.” Truth be told, his discomfiture made a hilarious experience even funnier.

It could have been worse for the guy, though. He could have been seated up front, where he might have been pulled into the action. When the Elliot Grey character was having naughty sex in the aisle with Katherine Kavanagh, he leaned over, grabbed the left hand of a woman seated at the end of the aisle, and put her hand to work “helping” him in his efforts.

The show featured many such interactive elements; sometimes the actors would point to specific audience members and explain (sometimes in song, sometimes not) exactly the manner in which they planned to copulate with them. The audience howled. Though they were occasionally drowned out by the audience’s laughter, the song’s lyrics were extremely clever, sometimes in an I-saw-that-coming way, other times in unexpected ways.

And the broad physical comedy worked well, too: stage shows of this sort don’t benefit from subtlety, and of course the subject material is wholly lacking in subtlety. So when Ana made repeated attempts to touch Christian Grey, he leaned back in an exaggerated fashion, often emitting a pained, “Ewww.” Funny, funny stuff.

A fairly small cast (about ten players) handled all of the onstage action, using the barest of stage props, including a couch that occasionally served as a bed, a raised stage for dancing, and an assortment of, er, accessories such as whips, handcuffs and of course a feather-on-a-stick.

Like any good parody, 50 Shades! The Musical deftly navigated the path between outright mockery of its subject matter and an unashamed admiration for it. The tension between those two points of view was the basis for much of the show’s comedy, and it served to move the plot (such as it was) along, too. While the primary characters acted absurdly and often looked, well, less-than-sexy, behind them strode some very sexy dancers (a few males and one very lovely woman) who engaged in intricate choreography that included tango dancing and (once again) simulated sex acts.

All of the players were accomplished singers, adept at handling several demanding tasks simultaneously. They’d deliver their lines – expertly sensing the crowd’s reaction, and this often pausing for quite a long time to allow the volume of laughter or applause to subside – while singing and/or dancing.

The book was referenced here and there, often in sly ways.  At one point, Ana says (I’m paraphrasing slightly), “This is real life! Because if it were a book, it would be…really awful.” Very true: the book is quite wretched (or as Anastasia might say, “triple crap”), and unintentionally funny. 50 Shades! The Musical, by contrast, is delightful, expertly written, and very pointedly funny. A working knowledge of the book’s story would be helpful for a full appreciation of 50 Shades! The Musical, but it’s certainly not required. Though when it comes to musicals I have long considered myself in the not-a-fan category, I simply loved this show. And thinking again of that disproportionately female crowd, all I could think was, guys, you’re missing out. This was one good time. See it sooner than, er, laters, baby.

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Concert Review: Black Angels, Allah-Las and Elephant Stone — Asheville NC April 5 2013

April 29th, 2013

I started attending arena-scale rock concerts back in the late 1970s. My first show was in October 1978, seeing Electric Light Orchestra with their hamburger bun/spaceship setup at Atlanta’s Omni. (In the words of Rob Reiner‘s Marty DiBergi character in This is Spinal Tap, “Don’t look for it; it’s not there anymore.) One of the things I remember from the shows of that era was the fact that the opening acts had it pretty rough. They often played to still-nearly-empty rooms, with the house lights still burning brightly, and the sound techs were generally even more indifferent to their music than the audience was. Worse yet, the biggest applause the opener would generally get was in response to, “Okay, this will be our last song…”

From my perspective, things have changed. Part of that has to do with time and general attitudes, I think. It’s also true that for the most part the arena-show era has come and gone. While some acts still play the big stadiums and draw massive crowds, in the rock idiom, smaller clubs are the preferred venue. That’s certainly true for me, living in the small city of Asheville NC. While we do have a civic center where big name artists can come to relive the terrible-acoustics vibe of 70s concerts (Bob Dylan will be here in a few days), mot of the quality acts play here at The Thomas Wolfe Auditorium, The Grey Eagle or The Orange Peel.

And the audiences at those venues – in my experience, at least – are far more receptive to opening acts than was the case in my Atlanta days.

Certainly it helps that headliners today seem to give some actual thought to billing opening acts who have some sort of aesthetic compatibility; long gone are the days when the record company (“What’s a record company, Daddy?”) would foist a labelmate of dubious quality upon the touring headliner.

A prime example of intelligent billing was the recent Black Angels show at The Orange Peel. The Austin-based group has made a name for itself with droney-yet-catchy modern psych. Their tribal beats (in other words, not a lot of cymbals) and minor-key arrangements conjure the vibe of late-late 60s psychedelia; their sound might well be described as the aural equivalent of a good “bad trip.” I like ‘em, and have seen and interviewed them before. Their show was predictably impressive, and the packed house loved it. The accompanying visuals were especially effective, a sort of modern rethink of the kind of thing Andy Warhol‘s Exploding Plastic inevitable tried to achieve.

Not to take anything away from The Black Angels, but where things got really interesting was earlier in the evening. Two bands took the stage before them, and both offered their own spin on selected sounds of the Sixties.

Elephant Stone took the stage first. The Montreal-based quartet wove a thrillingly authentic sixties vibe, and in fact upped the ante beyond how they actually did it back then. Starting with catchy tunes (always a good idea) and clear, gentle vocals that were mixed nice’n'out-front, the rocking band added something one rarely if ever sees in the rock idiom: sitar. No, not a Coral electric sitar, but the real, honest-to-goodness, crosslegged-on-the-floor, Ravi Shankar instrument. With a shimmering, jangling sound heavy on tambourine-shaking vibe, Elephant Stone brought the house down. And while Asheville audiences – perhaps because they often disproportionately represent creative types – are usually appreciative of opening acts, the enthusiasm with which the packed house greeted Elephant Stone was extraordinary. And well-deserved. The band easily rates a top spot billing when (hopefully) they return to Asheville.

The Allah-Las tread similar musical territory, but they too have style all their own. While not employing the exotic instrumentation of Elephant Stone, they piloted their wayback machine straight to mid 60s Los Angeles; their songs as presented onstage gave modern-day listeners the most authentic recreation of what it must have been like to see bands like Love at legendary venues such as Pandora’s Box and the Whisky-a-Go-Go. Delightfully unconcerned with updating the 60s garage/psych/punk aesthetic for the 21st century, The Allah-Las played a set of songs that not only sounded like they were written in 1966, but played then too. No small feat: While their album gets the production vibe just right, it’s not reasonable to expect that the band could realistically reproduce that feel onstage. But in fact they did: jangling guitars were the order of the night.

Whether a concertgoer showed up at The Orange Peel to see and hear The Black Angels, The Allah-Las or Elephant Stone, odds are high that they came away happy at witnessing all three. With complimentary sounds and musical approaches yet distinct identities, all three bands put on excellent shows. In the end, the evening felt more like a triple-bill than a headliner with two openers. It was one of the best local shows in recent memory.

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