Georgia On My Mind

Georgia Anne Muldrow
Album: Early
Run Away

The term "old school" in music means different things to different people.   For most it simply refers to musical tradition.  To the cynical it suggests a bottom line approach, a calculated imitation of production values and styles of an earlier time in order to sell records.  Duffy, for example, is Motown incarnate.  Amy Winehouse too.  Neither of these commercially successful artists would have looked or sounded out of place in the mid 60s.  Still others use "old school" in a pejorative sense, to mean something outdated and stale.  And a very few take the old school and turn it into something else altogether.  Something radically new.  Georgia Anne Muldrow is one of those artists.

Within a few seconds of listening to Muldrow I had that shivery sensation of hearing something unique.  The funk / soul / R&B vibe hit me first.  There I sat on my comfortable couch in my comfortable living room in my comfortable home, mellow as can be, nodding my head to the fat bass lines and honey drenched keyboards.  And then...damn!  Those vocals hit me, knocked me out of my comfort zone.  Then coaxed me into a new musical space altogether.

Georgia Anne Muldrow is criminally under-appreciated.  More so, I would say, than any other artist I have featured in this blog.  She has the type of voice that should sell out stadiums.  Why she is still a niche performer is beyond me.

Muldrow has a wonderful sense of melody and phrasing, and it is a real joy to listen to her creatively tease out the melodic line.  She stretches the rhythms within the phrases too; there is a fluidity to her delivery that reminds me of the best hip hop MCs.  And her harmonies!  Wow.  Stacking 3rds into delicious Debussy-esque territories, sounding more like Wayne Shorter than Alicia Keys, Muldrow is consistently interesting to listen to.

Buy her album, Early.  She will not disappoint.

Manute Bol? No, TTMOE!

The Tallest Man On Earth
Album: Shallow Grave
The Gardener

Dylan is awesome.  Of course.  I mean, if you don't like Dylan, you don't like music.  Right?  An earnest social revolutionary as a young man, plugged in and pissed off in his mid 20s, swaggering as a country-blues artist with The Band, and maturing into one of the greatest poets in rock history, Dylan has it all.

Well, he almost has it all.  Dylan isn't much of a guitar player; three chords and square strumming is his basic modus operandi.  And this really puts off some people.  Back in the day, I remember listening to CBC personality Brent Bambury when he was host of Brave New Waves -- a showcase for alternative and obscure music that was then a staple of late-night radio broadcasting -- and he repeatedly said that he didn't think much of Dylan as a musician because of his lack of guitar chops.  And indeed it can be said that it's only when Dylan performs with others that he reaches his full musical potential.

Which brings me to The Tallest Man On Earth, the moniker of Kristian Matsson, a Swedish folk musician, one my absolute favorite current artists.  TTMOE follows the standard folk recipe: one man, one guitar, no fucking around in performance or in the studio.  Simple, simple, simple.  And damn if Matsson doesn't sound a hell of a lot like Dylan himself.  And damn if his lyrics aren't as poetic and full of imagery as the old man's.  And damn if he isn't an absolutely sublime guitarist.  One upping God Dylan, as it were.

Now TTMOE isn't all flash.  In fact, there ain't much flash at all in his performances.  But he is obviously a great musician.  He feels the music deeply, his guitar playing is sensitive and alert.  He is a master of dynamic control.  There is a natural sweep and arc in his music, an exquisite sense of phrasing, that is rarely in evidence in today's popular music.  Matsson is the real deal, and if there is any justice in the world he will sell a million records before he is done.

Some Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

Some Girls
Album: Heaven's Pregnant Teens
Death Face

Waddaya get when ya mix one part mathcore, two parts grindcore, and 1/4 cup noise rock into a gristly musical stew?  Some Girls.

One brutal riff played for nine minutes without interruption.  'Nuff said.

Ape...ape...ape...ape....

Okay.  If this isn't your cup of tea, here's the way you approach it.  As you hit the three or four minute mark, try sitting in the lotus position, repeating the koan "If you meet the Buddha, kill him," and breathing through your eyelids.

Some Girls.  The music of Zen.

Free Waits

Tom Waits
Album: Frank's Wild Years
Hang on St. Christopher

Some tastes, like coffee, are acquired.  My first cup left me wondering how on earth people could stomach the stuff.  But once I became accustomed to that bitter black brew, once that caffeinated buzz regularly curled my toes, it became a daily necessity.  Coffee and the music of Tom Waits, birds of a feather.

Tom Waits is part cabaret singer, part performance artist, part Romantic, part lounge act, part sideshow carny, part teller of tall tales, part troubadour, part...well you get the picture.  A jack of all trades kinda guy.  Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he's part yodeling sheepherder.  Everything he does, he does well.

I first stumbled upon Tom Waits in my late teens.  I was a devoted Rolling Stone subscriber in those days, and RS had rhapsodized over his 1985 album, Rain Dogs.  So when my family embarked on a weeks-long trip to Ontario to visit my sister, I picked up the cassette tape (which, incidentally, is the second stupidest medium to transmit sound ever unleashed upon an unsuspecting public)* and spent the next two days in the car listening to it over and over again.  At first I thought I was hearing the deranged musings of a dope-addled hobo, but the more I let the music envelop me the more I realized that this was not mere cacophony but rather beautifully orchestrated chaos.

After that I worked my way through Waits' extensive back catalog.  Swordfishtrombones, Rain Dogs, and Frank's Wild Years form a trilogy of sorts, and his earlier records are equally compelling though stylistically much different.  At times his early songs are suffused with an appealing wistful melancholy; at other times with a surrealistic sense of humor.  He can take a cliche and make it his own.

He's a hell of an actor too.  Dig Tom Waits.  I insist.

*(8-track is by far the worst.  Fuck you, 8-track.)

An Apple a Day...

Fiona Apple
Album: Extraordinary Machine
Extraordinary Machine

Once upon a time, Fiona Apple exemplified all that was wrong about popular music.  Waif-like, she writhed around in her underwear as a way of selling records.  This is not without its appeal, to be sure, but I think we can all agree that it is no way to begin a serious career in music.  Apple became public enemy number one in the battle of artistic substance over style.

Years later Apple confessed that she was uncomfortable with the way she had been portrayed, but the damage, for the most part, had been done.  The inevitable backlash kept her from mainstream success.  And the irony is that after her first record she came out with two interesting and artistically challenging albums that should have vaulted her to the top of the charts.

Her second album is entitled When the Pawn Hits the Conflicts He Thinks like a King What He Knows Throws the Blows When He Goes to the Fight and He'll Win the Whole Thing Fore He Enters the Ring There's No Body to Batter When Your Mind Is Your Might So When You Go Solo, You Hold Your Own Hand and Remember That Depth Is the Greatest of Heights and If You Know Where You Stand, Then You'll Know Where to Land and If You Fall It Won't Matter, Cuz You Know That You're Right. No shit. The title says a lot about her as an artist: confident, unafraid of popular disdain, and more than a little pretentious.  But I'm willing to forgive any manner of pretension so long as she writes songs like this.

Apple didn't find a regular place on my iPod until Extraordinary Machine was released in 2005.  The record had a tortuous beginning.  She laid down the original tracks in 2002, but her label, Sony, was unhappy and demanded that it be reworked.  Sony claimed that Jon Brion, the producer, had created an album that had no popular appeal at all; they insisted that he be replaced.  Apple balked, but eventually agreed to a compromise so that her music might be released.  Unfortunately, it meant that Brion's unique orchestrations had to be scrapped, for the most part.  "Extraordinary Machine" is the only tune that keeps all of the original production.  Unsurprisingly it's my favorite on the album.

To give you a sense of Brion's artistic vision: here is his production of "Red Red Red"; here is the album version.  Both have their appeal, and I might even prefer the latter.  And there is no denying that the album version has a clarity that Brion's does not.  This is at its core an argument about artistic integrity, however, and I find Apple's vigorous defense of her producer both courageous and inspiring.

By the way, you may have noticed that whenever possible I provide links to live performances; as far as I'm concerned this is the litmus test of any musical artist.  Given the controversy surrounding the release of Extraordinary Machine and the unjust firing of Jon Brion, our featured song today is from the album so that the fascinating original orchestration can be heard.  Apple sings the tune live, here.

And In The Meantime...

Helmet
Album: Meantime
In the Meantime

It was 1992 and the record industry was looking for the next Nirvana.  Helmet was a relatively obscure New York based metal band that, in the wake of their first album, Strap It On, caught the eye of several labels hoping to strike it rich.  Interscope records offered the band a $1 million signing bonus -- at the time a huge sum of money -- and unprecedented creative control to make their major label debut.  Meantime was the result.

Glenn Branca has been a fixture in New York avant-garde classical, jazz, and rock circles since the mid-70s.  I first became aware of him when he was writing music for electric guitar ensembles as part of the so-called "No Wave" scene.  Page Hamilton, a young jazz guitarist, often recorded with Branca during this time, and so when he joined the moderately successful No Wave band Band of Susans I began to follow his career with interest.  It wasn't long before he started his own band, Helmet.

To be perfectly honest I didn't really like Helmet's first album.  I dug the way the band members attacked their instruments, but there was...something missing.  Even today I can't quite put my finger on it.  A sameness to the songs.  A lack of focus.  A lack of textural definition.  Something.  Regardless, the band had potential.  And then came the post-grunge scramble to cash in on Nevermind, and Helmet's huge deal with Interscope was trumpeted in the music press.  Everyone expected great things.

Meantime is also unfocused.  But whereas Strap It On is stultifying, Helmet's second album explodes with energy.  The short staccato riffs give the songs kick-ass inertia.  The growling vocals are a little more forward in the mix.  And the refreshingly clean production provides textural definition.  All in all a huge improvement.  Some of the songs are absolute killers.  Even today I listen regularly to "Unsung" and, most of all, "In the Meantime," which I rate close to the very best Rage Against the Machine tracks in its ability to get me thrashing across my living room, banshee style.  Crank it up dude.

Lovett or Leave It

Lyle Lovett
Album: Joshua Judges Ruth
She's Already Made Up Her Mind

April 25.  Sunday.  8:00 a.m.  Snow everywhere.  Fuck.  Fuck.

Fuck.

Question of the day: What is country music, anyway?  Some define it by the "twang," others by the sad sack tear-in-the-beer lyrics, others by an image of a linebacker type under a cowboy hat singing I-IV-V to a bevy of buckle bunnied bimbos. Well, sure.  It's all that and then some.  But just as rock music encompasses shit and shinola, so too does country music range from craptastic to sublime.

I own every single Lyle Lovett record.  He never bores me; mostly, I think, because he excels at so many different styles of music.  He's a twangin' fool one moment and a big-band crooner the next.  Further, while I will be the first to admit that lyrics should serve music and not vice versa, Lovett has always been able to spin a good yarn.  He has a good sense of humor, a quality, sadly, in short supply in so much of today's popular music.  (As an aside, a sense of humor is another reason why I love hip-hop.)

I adore his music, however, not because of its playfulness, but rather because of its aching tenderness.  Lovett taps into a melancholy that we all feel on occasion, and I don't know of an artist who speaks to me more during these times.

The perfect song for a snowy spring morning.

New Worlds

DM Stith
Album: Heavy Ghost
Isaac's Song

There are similarities with the music of Sujfan Stevens, granted.  Both incorporate unconventional instrumentation, irregular time signatures, and poetic lyrics.  Both are favorites of the alternative press.  But while Stevens has achieved a measure of commercial success, DM Stith still flies under the popular radar.  This may have something to do with the fact that Stevens is largely impressionistic and his music is consonant, while Stith is largely expressionistic and bathes his music in dissonance  In fact, he incorporates some of the most unconventional harmonies in contemporary music, with a tonal pallet that at times is highly chromatic.  And there's a quasi-mystical stillness to certain songs, as if he is tapping into some deeper spiritual resource or channeling the music of another world altogether.

Hmmm.  Well that sure sounds pretentious.  Worse it seems somewhat inaccurate.  Words just can't quite do Stith's music justice, I'm afraid.  Someone once remarked that writing about music is akin to dancing about architecture; rarely has that seemed clearer to me.

At first blush it would seem as if Stith's music would be almost impossible to duplicate in concert, but he is a remarkable live performer: an able pianist and an excellent guitarist.  His voice has a wispy, otherworldly quality which serves the music well.

Recently a friend asked me to name my current favorite musical artist.  DM's my man.

Electric Boogaloo

Caribou
Album: The Milk of Human Kindness
Bees

I don't really like purely electronic music.  I've always preferred acoustic to electric sounds, even when it comes to rock staples like guitar and piano.  You should forgive me though.  I grew up surrounded by a Flock of Seagulls.  Christ.  Horrifying.

Recently, however, some electronic music has been getting universally good press, and I must admit that my prejudices kept me from some pretty damn excellent bands over the years.  Gone -- thank god -- are the days of one melodic synth line played over a couple of harmonic synth lines.  The best modern electronic music features multiple intertwined inner voices, usually over a stable ground of some sort, and usually with a melodic line that emerges seamlessly and organically from the contrapuntal complexity beneath it.  It's also as much about the manipulation of sound as it is about conventionally tonal idioms.  In this way it reminds me of hip-hop: samples which are manipulated and then combined, sequenced, and looped.

Electronic music encompasses a vast array of sub-genres, from the soothing lyricism of ambient to the claustrophobic chaos of death industrial.  And while it is very often dance-oriented, at times it is more experimental in nature.

Caribou, formerly called Manitoba, is Dan Snaith, currently regarded as one of the very best electronic musicians in the world.  Snaith is the son of a mathematics professor and has a Ph.D. in mathematics from Imperial College London; in my opinion this mathematic bent is in evidence in his music which is inexorably logical and precise.  "Bees" is from his acclaimed album The Milk of Human Kindness, but he has just released a new CD, Smile, that seems even more interesting.  "Bowls" is my early favorite.

He's Canadian too.  Makes up for Bieber.

Garage Against the Machine

The Lyres
Album: On Fyre
Help You Ann

My first true passion in music was not punk but rather garage rock.  In Saskatoon in the early- to mid-80s, there was only one place for the musically adventurous -- and hipster wannabes -- to hang out: Records on Wheels, a music store specializing in garage rock and run by local legend Ron Spizziri.  As far as I was concerned, Spizziri was garage rock incarnate: a thin, wiry man with nervous mannerisms, a quasi-nerdy exterior and a soul the epitome of cool.  At the time, despite being merely a wannabe hipster wannabe, I aspired to be him.

Spizziri co-hosted a local cable show called, "In the Midnight Hour," in which he would verbally spar with a clean cut dude who was into crappy early 80s bands like Tears for Fears, and who insisted that garage rock was primitive, overly simplistic, and not worth mentioning in the same sentence as The Human League.  Needless to say I hated that little preppy fuck.

Anyway, I spent a lot of time at Records on Wheels as a young man, and it was there, at Spizziri's feet, that I first learned about garage rock.  Three aggressive chords and a cloud of fuzzy distortion was the basic mantra, and it remained popular from its mid-60s origins (The Seeds, Them, The Remains, The Troggs, The Leaves, and, greatest of them all, The Sonics), through the proto-punk of MC5 and The Stooges, and into the 80s.  Where I found myself.

The 1980s saw a revival of the almost crude mid-60s sounds.  The first garage rock album I ever purchased was by The Chesterfield Kings.  Listening to it now, I get the sensation that they first picked up their instruments only months prior to recording the album; oddly enough, it's that sense of urgency and of playing on the edge that makes it work.  Upon hearing them I was hooked.  In succeeding weeks I purchased classics by The Fuzztones, Lime Spiders, and Canada's own Gruesomes.  But The Lyres, a Boston band fronted by Jeff Conolly, was my absolute fave group, and "Help You Ann" my fave song.  This tune epitomizes the 80s garage rock sound -- a driving, propulsive rhythm section, a cheesy organ, aggressive guitars and sweaty vocals.  Here is a clip of the band doing their thing, live.

The 90s were a tough decade for garage rock but it didn't die out altogether, and we have seen another revival of sorts in contemporary music.   Today we see the garage impulse in commercially successful acts as varied as The Black Keys, White Stripes, The Hives, White Denim, 22-20s, and Cage the Elephant.

And that preppy little fuck who used to spar with my man Spizziri?  According to my sources he went on to become a news anchor in Toronto.  Figures.

Pop!

Madonna
Album: Music
Gone

Lest I be accused of arrogance and snobbery, I give you Madonna.

I'm not a big fan of Madonna.  In fact I find most of her music practically unlistenable.  Nevertheless, much as a thousand monkeys typing for a thousand years will yield Hamlet, Madonna was bound to do something interesting at least once in her career.

My wife enjoys Madonna.  Not so much to listen to, mind, as to work out to, for Madonna's uncanny ability to wring out of her a few more minutes on the treadmill.  And I suppose that has always been Madonna's outstanding characteristic.  She is a dance diva.  She gets folks off their asses and on to the dance floor.  People love her for it, too.

In the course of writing this post I spent some time on youtube trying to find good examples of her music.  It's remarkably difficult to find her original songs.   Remixes abound, at times with good pedigree, as in Justin Timberlake, but more often from a thousand horny fan-boys and -girls desperate to rave the night away.  Some of these re-workings are pretty good too.  Better than the originals at any rate.

"Gone" is different, however.  Madonna is not much of a lyricist, and that holds true here as well, but with music stripped of disco beats and fuck-me-harder bass lines I find them quite touching.  They are surprisingly vulnerable; gone is the hard as nails dance floor queen and in its place we find Madonna's inner high school sophomore yearning to express herself.  The song is entirely genuine.  I like it.

What's a Musical Blog Without Hair Metal?

Scorpions
Album: Taken by Force
Sails of Charon

Speaking of inherent bias, I have yet to meet anyone more biased about a musical genre than I am about hair metal.  I had the misfortune of being a young man during the least musical of all decades, the 80s, which was dominated by shitty synth pop (Yaz), watered down rock (Corey Hart) and, worst of all, hair metal (Poison).  Derivate, uninspiring, musically inert, a celebration of style over substance, hair metal is emblematic of just about everything I hate about commercial rock.

Not too long ago, a friend recommended Scorpions.  To his great credit, he continued to lobby on their behalf even after I told him to fuck off and get his head out of his ass.  I had always considered Scorpions just another hair metal band due to their world-wide, and completely generic, hit Rock You Like a Hurricane.  Much as I did with Stevie Wonder, I summarily tossed them on the immense scrap heap of artistically worthless musicians.   But my friend was persistent, and I finally relented and listened to "Sails of Charon."

Holy crap.  I was shocked to hear a metal song with soul, with an ability to swing, and with a wide variety of musical influences in evidence.  And their lead guitarist didn't just shred for the sake of jacking off onstage; rather his playing was tasteful, musical, groove-oriented, almost jazz-like...and somehow familiar.  I couldn't quite place it, but intuitively it seemed to me that the melodic arc had a distinguished pedigree.  It wasn't until later that I realized that his entire approach to "Charon" is an improvisation on Duke Ellington's jazz standard, Caravan.  Listen to the main theme in this arrangement for guitar and compare it with Roth's solo starting approximately one minute into our song; Roth skirts around the theme throughout his solo, but it is most apparent at this point.

Needless to say I began to see Scorpions in a new light, and I have certainly come to appreciate their earlier music.  But, for the record, I still hate hair metal.

p.s. If you want to have your socks blown off, listen to this version of "Caravan" by the Canadian jazz legend, Oscar Peterson.  The main theme starts about 15s in; listen to the right hand.  Amazing playing, hey?  And how about that kick ass bass solo?

Needs More Cowbell

Fugazi
Album: Repeater
Shut the Door

Formed from the ashes of several Washington D.C.-area punk bands in the early 80s, most notably Minor Threat (Out of Step), Fugazi was the brainchild of art-punk pioneer Ian MacKaye.  D.C. legends Minor Threat were widely known for their so-called straight edge punk philosophy which promoted an ascetic lifestyle free of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, promiscuity, and for the most zealous caffeine and prescription drugs too.  Vegetarianism and other healthy lifestyle choice were also encouraged.  This desire to be clean and sober is widely regarded by rock historians as a response to the hedonism of the late 70s, but the straight edge movement has remained a vital force in punk over the last three decades, social justice a recurring theme within it.

After Minor Threat dissolved, MacKaye decided he wanted to form a band like "The Stooges (I Wanna Be Your Dog) with reggae."  Exactly what this means is anyone's guess -- I interpret it as punk with a groove -- but Fugazi was the triumphant straight edge result.  The band released several albums between 1988-1995, two of which -- Repeater and 13 Songs -- are among my all-time favorites, and "Shut the Door" is perhaps my single favorite Fugazi song.

I recently played the above clip for a friend who is not so enamored with punk and he responded with a nod and a single word: "Art."  And that's precisely my response too.  Not exactly toe-tapping music, and not much for humor or lyrical subtlety either, but what're ya gonna do?   Stravinsky wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs either.  Oh, and Fugazi have been cited as an influence on many early emo bands.  But they can't be blamed for that.

Can they?

Sorry about the title of the blog.  I'll bet you were expecting something else altogether.  Listen to the song, though, and all will become clear.

Classical Avant-Folk

Iva Bittova
Album: Bittova & Fajt
Morning Song

I find avant-jazz guitarist Fred Frith very interesting.  As a composer there are times when I get curious about extended performance techniques, the sounding potential inherent in each instrument, and Frith is my standby for guitar.  So I was browsing his youtube clips, taking notes as I went, trying to figure out how best to steal his ideas, when I stumbled across a movie that he made in 1990, Step Across the Border.  The clip above is from it.  I was unfamiliar with Iva Bittova but I found "Morning Song" compelling so I decided to do a little research and a lot of listening.  What I heard blew my mind to bits.

Part classical musician, part folk singer, part performance artist, part avant-garde freak queen, Bittova explores the limits of vocal technique and makes music that runs the gamut from easily accessible to extremely challenging.  She reminds me of Bjork at her weirdest, only way weirder.  At times I hear Kabuki and scat singing (Sto Let) as strong influences, at other times folk-inspired contemporary classical music (Divna Slecinka).  And she is never never never boring.

Upon first hearing Bittova it becomes immediately apparent that she is Eastern European; Moravian in her case.  Very often she sings in the characteristically nasal style of the region (Bulgarian National Women's Choir), but she has such remarkable vocal control that she can sound like Nellie Andreeva at the beginning of a phrase, Tom Waits in the middle, and Billie Holiday at the end.  She trained as a classical violinist and continues to perform and record with more conventional ensembles around the world, and she is an accomplished actor, appearing in such films as the Oscar nominated Zelary.  An amazing talent.

Classical avant-folk, perhaps?

Bring tha FUNK

Stevie Wonder
Album: Talking Book
Superstition

When I first contemplated writing this blog, my intention was to discuss largely unknown or under-appreciated bands and artists.  But even after the first week I feel a need to share more than obscure -- albeit worthy -- music, and when it was mentioned that we needed a pick-me-up for a late Friday afternoon, the great Stevie Wonder sprang to mind.

I became musically aware in the mid 70s, but it wasn't until the late 70s to early 80s that I began to take an active interest in popular music (as opposed to punk, garage rock, and the like).  And so, unfortunately, my first exposure to Little Stevie was his 1982 duet with Sir Paul McCartney, Ebony and Ivory, a well meaning song but utterly execrable from a musical standpoint.  Couple this with the equally revolting I Just Called To Say I Love You  and I was turned off for good.  Given Wonder's remarkable keyboard skills, the sheer awfulness of this last song is doubly ironic in that its cliched synth accompaniment sounds like a bad preset on one of those huge wooden organs that your grandma keeps in her basement because it's too heavy to move.  It's truly painful to listen to.

So, long story short, I dismissed Stevie Wonder from my mind as a complete hack devoid of intrinsic musical merit.  And that's the way he remained fixed in my imagination for almost a decade until, as is wont to happen, a girl mentioned that she liked him, and I liked the girl, so I made it understood that I liked him, and she asked me what songs I liked in particular, and I said Ebony and Ivory cos it seemed like the safe choice, and she looked at me with her pretty hazel eyes...and laughed.  Not a melodious, "aren't you cute" laugh, mind.  No, more of an "are you serious?!" snort.  And those pretty eyes rolled.

I learned my lesson.  I bought a used copy of Songs in the Key of Life the next day and promptly wore out the grooves.  Couldn't get enough of it.  Went into the back catalog and a few weeks later purchased my all-time favorite Stevie Wonder album, Talking Book.  This wasn't the music of a cheesy populist; this was the music of an artist with great depth, and soul, and a capacity for funk like few before him and fewer after.

The performance to which I've linked, above, is from an extended Sesame Street jam.  Yes, that Sesame Street.  It features one of the crunchiest, tastiest grooves in existence, and the joy in creating such remarkable funk is evident in the way in which the musicians throw themselves into the performance.  I played in a symphony orchestra for over a decade, and since then I've missed the feeling of being one voice amongst many in creating a "joyful noise" -- Stevie Wonder and his band playing "Superstition" embody that feeling.

Sufjan? What's a Sufjan?

Sufjan Stevens
Album: Seven Swans
All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands

I'm never quite sure how to describe Sufjan Stevens' music.  It's beautiful (Concerning the UFO Sighting Near Highland) but can be quite disconcerting, it's light-hearted but occasionally deathly serious (John Wayne Gacy, Jr.), it's high-brow but down to earth.  It's a study in contradiction.  And I love it.

If you had asked me two years ago who my favorite musician was, I would have responded "Sufjan Stevens" without even a moment's hesitation.  At the time, I was immersed in his brilliant second album, Seven Swans. I simply couldn't get enough of his quirky, haunting, playful  (Decatur) music.  In retrospect, my fervor was understandable.  (Even if I do say so myself.)  I mean, there's just so much to listen to.  The musical textures, for example, are one moment full and luscious (Come On! Feel the Illinoise!), and the next skeletally spare (Flint: For the Unemployed and Underpaid). Stevens alternates between square and asymmetrical time signatures, and he has a keen ear for orchestration, including such un-rock-like instruments as the oboe, trumpet, French horn, trombone, banjo and a wide variety of percussive instruments.  His harmonic palette is equally rich; he is refreshingly unafraid of dissonance.  He has a poet's ear for language and imagery.  He's an excellent story teller (Casimir Pulanski Day).  All in all, he's the real deal.

Hmmm.  Jeez.  I haven't done Sufjan Stevens justice at all.  I've reworked the above two paragraphs more times than I care to mention, but the more I try to define precisely what it is I like about his music, the more elusive the definition becomes.  Frustrating.  I think it's because his music means far more to me than the sum of its technical parts.  I guess the best I can do is to say that his music speaks to me clearly, that I hear in it the calm center of a swirling vortex, and that he makes me believe in the promise of joy and hope in even the bleakest situations.  I've never heard anything quite like it.

Oh, and his name is Persian and means "comes with a sword."  It was given to him by the founder of Subud, an inter-faith religious community to which his parents belonged at the time.  And his live shows are as much performance art as anything else; story-telling is an important component, and for a while he wore gigantic multi-colored wings on stage (He Woke Me Up Again).

An interesting cat.  Enjoy.

Prepare for thy DOOM

Madvillain
Album: Chrome Children (various artists)
Monkey Suite

Just a quick post for Wednesday.  And by Wednesday I mean Thursday morning.  Natch.  My fingers are still bleeding from Tuesday's conversation.  Speaking of which, many thanks to everyone who is taking an interest in this blog!  It's fun to have these sorts of conversations, even if it means that my wife and kids go largely ignored for hours at a time...

For a long time I had very little interest in hip-hop.  The first tune I ever heard was the Sugar Hill Gang's Rapper's Delight, which swept through my elementary school like a disco-fueled prairie fire.  There is nothing quite so disconcerting as hearing roving packs of fifth graders chant, in unison, minutes-long chunks of the rap.  Vaguely Stepfordish.  As for me, I was above such nonsense.  As far as I was concerned, Rapper's Delight was barely music at all.  Nowhere near as cultivated as The Village People.

And so hip-hop barely registered on my cultural radar for over a decade, until at my local used record store I stumbled across Gil-Scott Heron (The Revolution Will Not Be Televised).  This -- which, incidentally, was released in 1975, several years before Sugar Hill Gang popularized rap -- was something completely different.  I had come to equate the genre with either guns-n-hoes bullshit or nauseatingly repetitive celebrations of bling; Heron was of a different class altogether.  Over jazz-fed beats, he rapped about stuff that actually meant something to me.  There was nothing caricatured about him or his music, which felt fresh, vibrant, and alive.  Today, some commentators hear in Heron the very origins of hip-hop, despite its obvious beatnik-y references.

I started to explore the genre in earnest after that, moving through the politically charged Public Enemy (Fight the Power) to the flower-child playfulness of De La Soul (The Magic Number) to the bud-inspired Cypress Hill (Insane in the Membrane) to the Michael Franti-led Spearhead (Hole in a Bucket), and I soon realized that hip-hop was more than it first appeared.  And the more I listened to artists like this, the more I began to appreciate the subtler differences in the genre.

Hip-hop is a collaboration of an MC, who write and raps the lyrics, and a DJ, who provides the samples and manipulates the beats.  But it's not quite as simple as that.  Some rappers are very monotonous, rhyming strictly in time with the beat, ending every phrase on the fourth beat of every bar.  Needless to say, this is boring as fuck.  The way in which the rap is delivered is referred to as the "flow," and the best MCs change the flow in accordance to the needs of the song.  Further, the DJ plays an integral role, as the samples, and their manipulation, enhance and amplify the text.  The very best hip-hop is a marriage of an MC with subtle flow and a creative, open-minded, and musically-astute DJ.

Madvillain is one such marriage.  The MC is MF DOOM, a so-called "underground" rapper known for his aversion to the spotlight.  He always raps with a mask on, so as to conceal his identity.  The DJ is Madlib, one of the most critically acclaimed producers of the last decade.  DOOM's lyricism is notable, featuring playful and subtle wordplay, impressionistic imagery, and creative rhyming.  Madlib's beats are equally interesting.  When was the last time you heard an Accordion in hip-hop?

The New Wave

Wire
Album: Pink Flag
Three Girl Rhumba

In the late 70s several disparate strands of music evolved, foremost among them punk and disco.  The punk ethos was DIY: raw, unschooled, and rebellious.  Disco on the other hand was the musical embodiment of hedonism, characterized by dance-able tempos, short, catchy melodies, and self-conscious fashion.  Marry these genres in unholy matrimony and you have the New Wave.

The first album I ever purchased was by The Village People.  I'm not proud of it, but there it is.  In retrospect it's not that hard to understand its appeal to 10-year-olds everywhere: a catchy melody, a pulsing bass line, and a flair for the dramatic is a time-honored way to insinuate oneself into the hearts of the weak-kneed, the simple minded, the criminally unmusical, the undiscerning, the spoon fed...and little children.  Just ask Spice Girls, Lady Gaga, or Justin Bieber.  (Speaking of which, why why why does that smug little kid have to be Canadian?  Haven't we contributed enough to the musical shit quotient with Grande Dame Dion and Nickleback?)

Several years and a short indoctrination into the school of rock later, I discovered punk.  My life changed forever.  Like many, the first punk album I ever purchased was The Sex Pistols, Never Mind the Bollocks.  Passionate, sneering, rebellious, anti-corporate, gob lobbingly anarchistic -- I had never heard anything like it.  It's interesting to listen to these old tracks from a modern perspective; frankly they're tame by today's standards.  Still, compared to the likes of The Bee Gees, the Sex Pistols and bands of their ilk seemed very dangerous indeed.  Incidentally, both of the above songs were released in the same year, 1977.

By the late 70s, disco was nearing the apex of its popularity, while punk, throwing haymakers, attempted to smash into bits the corporate edifice erected between the average person and his music.  There was a wide gap between these extremes that needed to be filled, into which the New Wave insinuated itself.  Many artists felt a kinship to punk, especially to its philosophical basis, but had the musical chops to create something a little more ambitious.  Thus we find Television (Marquee Moon), Elvis Costello and the Attractions (Pump It Up), Talking Heads (Once in a Lifetime), and Devo (Satisfaction) not only giving corporate music the finger but also achieving critical and commercial success.  Other New Wave artists veered closer to disco but still professed a love of the punk lifestyle and attitudes; here reside artists like Blondie (Heart of Glass).

My own first tentative forays into this brave new world were at the feet of Gary Numan (Cars), a member of the particularly successful and influential British New Wave scene.  I soon ventured further afield, but it wasn't until I was in my early 20s that I found the band that opened my eyes to altogether new vistas: the great Wire.  From Wire I made my way to two more of my all-time favorite bands: Gang of Four (At Home He Feels Like a Tourist), and Buzzcocks (Why Can't I Touch It?).  To me, these bands sound as current and relevant as ever, and I rarely tire of listening to them.

Hey.  You wanna know a secret?  My own little admission of shame?  I kinda dig that Bee Gees track.  Great groove.

In Praise of Nonsense

Soul Coughing
Album: Irresistible Bliss
Super Bon Bon

Loudon Wainwright III
Album: Fame and Wealth
Dump the Dog

Much of the greatest art is a synthesis of music and text.  From Purcell (Dido and Aeneas) to Schubert (Die Winterreise) to Leonard Cohen (Hallelujah) music and text have been treated as equal partners, each illuminating the other.  Would Beethoven's Ninth Symphony be as moving without Schiller's paean to joy?  Would Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin' compel us at all without his poetic call to arms?

Nope.

But, thank god, not every artist takes himself so seriously.  In praise of nonsense.

Post WWII, in the glow of the promise of better times and a chicken in every pot, there was an influx of slithy silliness in songs like Mairzy Doats, here sung by The Innocence.  Playful and disingenuous, and really fun to sing, this is one of the first songs I remember from my childhood, and I still thrill to the lovely wordplay.  Jazz represents -- and then some -- with scat singing (the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald, One Note Samba), and even contemporary, critically acclaimed and hipster validated musicians revel in the shape and texture and slipperiness of language without ever veering into the sticky literalness of meaning (Sigur Ros, Von).  But this is nothing new.  From its first tentative steps into the popular consciousness, rock music focused attention away from the lyrics and onto its driving rhythmic essence with songs like Little Richard's Tutti Frutti.  Still, many were reluctant to grant nonsensical lyrics viable artistic license.  For example, John Lennon had to be convinced of the intrinsic merits of Paul McCartney's Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, arguing that it was complete nonsense, before finally relenting and allowing it on The White Album.  

Funk music, meanwhile, with its emphasis on groove, unsurprisingly provides us many interesting examples.  This is my favorite, by the great and wholly under-appreciated band The Meters: Look-Ka-Py-Py.  And finally, neither is contemporary classical music immune to the charms of wordplay for its own sake.  Here is a light-hearted example by one of my favorite composers, Gyorgy Ligeti: The Lobster Quadrille.

I have yet to talk about my two favorite nonsense songs, the links to which are at the top of this post.  And I don't think I will.  Just revel in the silliness.  

Celebrate Bjork!

Bjork
Album: Homogenic
Joga

Bjork is one of the most versatile artists in music, successfully able to navigate diverse waters.  From her alt-pop beginnings with Sugarcubes (Birthday) to the punch in the face quasi-punk of Army of Me to her homage -- albeit on acid -- to the heyday of big band extravagance (It's Oh So Quiet) to upbeat spaz-pop (I Miss You) to the practically unclassifiable Declare Independence, Bjork radiates.  She uses her voice as an instrument in itself, at times shouting, at times ululating, at times shyly crooning, always pitch perfect.  As a performer she is beyond compare.

Joga represents an altogether different side of her personality.  In this song she uses a string octet as emotional counterpoint to one of her distinctive, wide-ranging, perfectly balanced melodies.  I hear in this something akin to the ecstatic quasi-religiosity of John Tavener and the austere minimalism of Arvo Part -- one of my favorite composers, and cited by Bjork as an artistic influence.

Oh, and she's damn sexy too.

Lightning Bolt

Lightning Bolt
Album: Earthly Delights
Sound Guardians

Lightning Bolt belongs to a long line of rock revolutionaries, but it can be difficult to persuade someone with a strong preconception of what rock music really is of the band's intrinsic merit.  This is the popular music correlate of that old saw: "I don't know art, but I know what I like!"  So how do we approach a band like this?

Throughout history artists on the vanguard of their genres tend to be marginalized.  As time goes on their contributions are recognized and they become part of the popular lexicon.  Typically, at least in music, this is because our ears need to become accustomed to new ways of combining sounds.  This is most evident in the aesthetic sea change at the turn of the 20th century as manifest in the artistic movements, Primitivism and Abstract Expressionism.  The greatest Primitivist composition is Stravinsky's Le Sacre du Printemps.  At its premiere Stravinsky was reviled and a riot ensued amongst his supporters and detractors.  No joke.  It is one of the defining moments in classical music.  At the time his detractors claimed that Le Sacre was "only noise."  Only later was this sort of primitivism assimilated into the popular musical lexicon, and subsequently Stravisnky has claimed his place as perhaps the most important classical musician in modern music.  Similarly the members of the Second Viennese School -- Schoenberg, Berg, and Webern -- the greatest early examples of musical Abstract Expressionism, were marginalized and dismissed at the height of their creative powers.  They too have since been become part of the canon and their genius celebrated.  Primitivism and Abstract Expressionism have become commonplace in the classical genre and are at the heart of much creativity in music today.

This sort of narrative arc holds true not only in the field of music but also in the visual arts, literature, dance, architecture, design, and so on.  Critics were openly hostile to Finnegans Wake after its publication.  The Bauhaus movement generated significant controversy despite its inherently practical approach to design.  Nijinsky and the Ballet Russe courted public disdain with their at times overtly sexual approach to dance.  For generations of critics, "modernism" was used as an epithet of sorts.  Nevertheless, despite the disdain, the controversy, and the hostility, the artists themselves overcame their detractors and became pivotal figures in their respective fields.

Historically, music has been a follower in terms of artistic evolution.  By the time Stravinsky shocked the world of music with Le Sacre, the primitivist impulse had already taken hold in painting and sculpture, seen very much in evidence in the work of Gaugin and Matisse.  So, it's not surprising that music today lags somewhat behind current aesthetic impulse.  And it's important to note that "rock" music in particular is only in its formative stages.  60 years is a mere blip in the grand scheme of things.  What we see in popular music now, therefore, is only the very first tentative steps in terms of artistic venture.  At various stages on the way, rock artists have changed the way we hear popular music: from Buddy Holly to Bob Dylan to Velvet Underground to Joy Division and so on.  But there has yet to be a popular corollary to Abstract Expressionism and Primitivism in music.  In my opinion, Lightning Bolt is the popular music embodiment of these important aesthetic movements.  Lightning Bolt is not yet fully appreciated, but in time its unique aesthetic sensibility will be incorporated into the popular lexicon and its important artistic contributions recognized.  I hear in the rhythmic complexity, brutal forms of aural assault, and extended vocal techniques a burgeoning art form.

Or, you can just call it kick-ass avant-garde rock.  Either works.