Video of the Day: “Jazz Dispute” by Jeremiah McDonald,the Weeping Prophet

“Jazz Dispute” by Jeremiah McDonald, a film-maker and actor who identifies himself as the “Weeping Prophet,” has been going viral on YouTube since 2006.  If you haven’t seen it, now’s the time.  Starting with the Charlie Parker/Dizzy Gillespie recording, “Leap Frog,” McDonald creates a brilliantly mimetic, one-man musical pantomime.  And in doing so he captures the essence of spontaneously improvisational jazz at its best.  While adding his own oddball humor.

Here it is:

Record Rack: Steven Casper & Cowboy Angst; Noah Preminger and Terri Lyne Carrington

Of Americana Rock, American Tenor Sax and American Genius Reprised

 By Brian Arsenault

The range of great American music never ceases to amaze me.  When they’re writing about our civilization, such as it is, a number of centuries hence I am quite sure it will be our music that is most treasured and remembered.  Unless the whole grid collapses, of course.

 Steven Casper & Cowboy Angst

Trouble (Silent City Records)

There is just no disputing the good time of bad times this EP (not LP) provides the listener.  Five tunes, one done twice, to take you deep into the heart of American music done road house bounce — blues, r&b, zydeco, Tex-Mex, Looziana all tied up in a just dazzling display.  In other words, rock and roll to delight the soul.

What Casper and his new Cowboy Angst lineup understand is that it’s all connected.  From the hills of West Virginia to the Delta. From Nashville to New York. At its best, it’s all American music. The Band knew that and so does Casper.

“Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” opens the proceedings and rightly so; a nasty tasty blues/gospel tune you won’t hear in church, with two McCrary sisters singing backup to Casper’s lead vocal.  In this version, it’s the guy who’s the cat.

Then here comes “Soul Deep”. Real nice lap steel guitar by John Groover McDuffie. Tom Petty would probably have a hit with this.

“I know where you end is the start of me.”

The title song is pure Louisiana  barroom rock.  How can trouble make you feel so good.

“I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble comes looking for me.”

But the absolute gem of the album is “How Can I Miss You When You’re Not Gone?” Keeps the Cajun going and the irony can’t be missed.. The song is repeated as a “front porch” instrumental with banjo and fiddle to finish out the album.  But the first version will make you dance alone if there’s no one to dance with.

“Hey Marie” reaches way back to the 1950s to what Don and Phil Everly might have cut with Chuck Berry if songs could have been so damn bad back then without being censored or masqueraded. Chuck knew how to do that.

Marie writes on the wall: “Had a real good time. Don’t bother to call.”  Years later he sees their history “while standing in the grocery line.”

This little album is so good we might not deserve it. But it’s here this summer.

Noah Preminger

Haymaker (Palmetto Records)

Something special your way comes on May 14.

Noah Preminger, like Hemingway, boxes.  And like Hemingway he’s clear and concise.  He wants you to get it without the merely decorative and overly descriptive.  Here, here it is. Hear it.

On Haymaker, his tenor sax is moody and reflective at times — think Hawkins — as on the opening tune “Morgantown.”  Lovely and cool at other times — as on “Tomorrow,” whether you liked the musical Annie or not.

All saxophones played well are great to me, but tenor is the most satisfying; expressive and deeply touching. It’s why Kerouac called players of the instrument “tenorman.” They were special. Still are.

There are good songs all over the place. Preminger can’t remember what girl he wrote “My Blues for You” for, so it’s for all the girls you’ve loved.  Ben Mondor’s guitar solo picks up Preminger’s mood but it almost hurts when his horn breaks off.

Monder steps out front in the intro to his composition “Animal Planet.” Real smooth. Then Preminger comes in with such melodic lines.  A real favorite of mine.

On “Stir My Soul” and elsewhere, drummer Colin Stranahan sometimes annoys with his insistent pounding.  Oh, he’s good but he doesn’t need to fill every available space.  More Charlie Watts, less Keith Moon, please. Or listen to the next album (see below).

Still, he’s fine on the Dave Matthews song “Don’t Drink the Water.” The band makes you feel so good here as they start real smooth, go off into space and then return to the song’s melody.

“Motif Attractif” is a sweet little sendoff to close the album.

Preminger’s playing — ascending, descending, roaming, retuning — is just so sensitive to tonality, melody, timing and the other musicians that he is special to hear.

A haymaker in boxing can produce a knockout all on its own.

 Terri Lyne Carrington

Money Jungle Provocative in Blue (Concord Blue)

Shoot for the top.  Can’t hurt and it might work.

Drummer supreme Terri Lyne Carrington does just that with a reworking of Duke Ellington’s remarkable trio recording Money Jungle with Charles Mingus and Max Roach.  She gathers up the superb piano of Gerald Clayton and bassist Christian McBride with a few others and nails it.

I’m kinda late reviewing this album that came out during the winter but it got buried in the stack and just has to be paid homage to the way she pays homage to Ellington.

Even when she throws in a few of her own songs she seems true to the Duke.  I think he would have liked them. A lot.  And Clayton gets his own cut, “Cut Off,” which also resonates as a true Ellington descendant.

But the Ellington tunes, oh yeah.  A money hating downer narrative leading us into the album is overridden by the joyousness of the music that follows.  Clayton’s piano complemented just perfectly by Carrington’s drumming. She understands that the spaces are as important as the hits.

The only jarring note in the tune “Money Jungle” is the music being interspersed with speech clips from various politicians.  Doesn’t do much for me.  Money may be the enemy of art, but try paying the rent without the coin from gigs and recordings.  Politicians don’t do anything for art or anyone.  They don’t make things better for anybody but themselves.

But back to Ellington’s music.  “Fleurette Africain” demonstrates beautifully Mingus’ quote in the liner notes about simplicity.

“Anybody can play weird; that’s easy (and) making the simple complicated is commonplace.  What’s hard is to be as simple as Bach.  Making the simple, awesomely simple… That’s creativity.”

You’ll get it when you hear it.  Simple. Note to note. Chord to chord. Builds, weaves but always simple.  You hear every bit of it.

Same with “Backward Country Boy Blues,” with “Switch Blade,” with all of the Ellington compositions so lovingly handled here.

The wrap comes with “Rem Blues/Music” and the recitation of an Ellington poem within.

“Music is a woman . ..

When you think what you think,

She already knows”

Terri Lyne knows.

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To read more posts, reviews and columns by Brian Arsenault click HERE.

Record Rack: The Rolling Stones and the Animals (Reissues)

Not Fade Away After Half a Century

 By Brian Arsenault

Vinylphiles rejoice.  If you still have a vinyl player that turns at 45 revolutions per minute, ABKCO has a very special treat indeed for you in honor of Record Store Day this Saturday (April 20).  Remarkably, there are 700 independent record stores still around in the USA and most still sell vinyl as well as CDs. On Saturday, you can pick up some Rolling Stones and Animals recordings previously issued only in the UK in 1964 and ‘65.

I wonder how many people alive today have never even seen a 45 let alone listened to one. I’m betting most under 50 – 55.  And an extended play (EP) mono 45? Extraordinary.

But even if the recording arcana bores ya, the music won’t, especially the Stones early work.

 The Rolling Stones

Five by Five (Reissue by ABKCO Music and Records)

How genuine these kids played, working to stay true to the rhythm and blues of their idols.  This was before the Stones became “the world’s greatest rock n roll band,” before Brian Jones died after alienating just about everybody else in the group, long ahead of Bill Wyman getting bored with the whole thing and retiring.

Five songs by the five guys (plus one abused “member”) recorded at the famed Chess Records in Chicago during their first American tour.  Richards recently said that bands should record in the midst of tours when they’re “hot.”

There’s heat here from the jumping version of Chuck Berry’s “Around and Around” to the bouncing instrumental “2120 South Michigan Avenue” led by the fine organ work of Ian Stewart who was bounced out of the band for the wrong look and “six was too many.”

Until his death in 1985, Stewart is all over Stones’ recordings and concerts but was never accorded band member status.  Pete Best wasn’t the only casualty of the marketing of these early “British Invasion Bands” and Oldham was as big a jerk and control freak as Epstein.

But back to the music.

Jagger drags and drawls his way distinctively through “If You Need Me,” written by the truly wonderful and under appreciated Wilson Pickett. “Confessin the Blues” can now be played along black blues classics without a bit of hesitation.  It’s that good.

The album makes you ache for stuff this true to the form.  Maybe on their new world tour they could tuck Five by Five into the middle of the set somewhere and do all five.  Of course, they’re only four now because the bass player doesn’t get to be a real member. Ah, show biz.

 The Animals

 the animals is here

the animals are back (both reissues by ABKCO Music and Records)

In the same 1964-65 period that the Stones did “Five by Five,” the Animals issued two mono EPs in the UK and were sprung from some of the same roots, black blues and r&b with maybe a bit more attention to folk.

At least one major folk song so old its exact roots are unknown and argued about:

The magnificent “House of the Rising Sun” propelled the Animals to a status approaching the Beatles and the Stones.  Really, this one hit — transferring a fallen life from a poor young girl to a downtrodden guy — provided Eric Burdon with a format that would remain unequalled in his career. Alan Price on organ was the perfect complement to Burdon’s vocal and the song sent the band’s popularity through the roof.

The band wasn’t as good musically as the Stones; their instrumental breaks were very ordinary and closer to pop.  They seem at times a bit cheesy now except on “I’m Crying” where Price’s organ is again strong. But boy that Eric could sing.

On the animals are back he does a great cover of the immortal Sam Cooke’s “Bring it on Home to Me.”  No one could do it as well as Sam, but Burdon came close and brought his own deep soulful style to it.

The Animals achieved a second surge of popularity in the USA (and Viet Nam) with “We’ve Gotta Get Out of this Place,” which inexplicably became an anthem at the dances of privileged college kids, and very understandably among grunts hoping not to die in Nam. Again, Burdon’s deep resonant voice is just perfect to express the longing of British working class kids.

He’s also strong on “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” when it seemed he might be a great blues singer in the making.  But thematically, this fine song seems now to have been a preview of Burdon’s self absorption with being the coolest guy in the world.  Didn’t happen, but boy could he sing.  And he still can.

(BTW, never could find out why they fixed the plural subject-verb agreement in the second album. Of course, if you view “The Animals” as a singular noun, then it’s the second album that’s ungrammatical. Oh well.)

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To read more posts, reviews and columns by Brian Arsenault click HERE.

Brian Arsenault Takes On: Godzilla, Rick Springfield, Beats and Beatings

Or

The Decline of the West

By Brian Arsenault

This is my first “Takes On” column wherein I can go outside album and concert reviews to touch on things I like and things I don’t, often music related but sometimes not.  If you enjoy it, great, but at least I hope you find it worth your time to read.

Breathing Fire

They’re making a big budget Godzilla film. Honest, it’s shooting right now. Hey, the early Japanese ones were like cartoons, actually were cartoons or the equivalent with shots of rubber creatures and such.  But now it can be done with all the wonders of special effects made possible by computer graphics, video game and other special effects technology.

And that’s the best they can come up with: silly dragon-like creature fries jeeps.  There’s a great documentary of Ferlinghetti that I figure maybe 4,000 people will see. They’ll count the viewers of Godzilla in the tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, maybe millions once it’s on HBO 90 days after it’s released.

Just pray to whatever god(s) you honor that they never redo Casablanca.  Maybe I should have kept that terrifying thought to myself. They’d probably cast Kevin Spacey and Katy Perry.  Horror upon horror.

Or Godzilla could follow in the tradition of making musicals of movies.  The creature could hit the stage in a melancholy mood to sing “What Kind of Fool Am I” or, if it’s more of a rocker, “Hot Fun in the Summertime.”

Why Springfield?

Speaking of bad taste, twice this week Good Morning America has brought me and you stories on Rick Springfield.  That’s right, Rick Springfield of the single hit and it wasn’t even a good one.

Of all the musicians (term used loosely) in all the world, Rick Springfield!? But come to think of it, I have never seen a really great singer or musician on GMA. The closest being some so-called diva who might have a moderately good voice singing junk songs or possessing great legs.  That’s a high price to pay for getting the nation’s weather and ABC’s idea of the news of the day.

I should just stop watching.  We all should.  Click on the radio early for the weather and then put on a Billie Holiday recording.

Beats

I just reread Jack Kerouac’s On the Road after many years.  I suspect it’s not read much any more and certainly not taught in many lit courses because it’s “that beatnik book.” And that’s a shame because it truly is a great American novel: a celebration of America emerging in the world; prescient about the automobile’s rise to dominance in our culture; a tribute to the great American art form – jazz; and one hell of a good tale of a mad search for America.

One of my strongest mental images from the book is Dean Moriarty/Neal Cassidy standing in front of the bandstand yelling “Go, go, go” at the horn player.  These guys loved Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie so at least you know their taste in music was great.

The problem with labels is that things get stuck on a shelf and not brought down because of the label. There wasn’t a Hemingway because of “the lost generation.” They created a name for a generation of writers because they were so damn significant — Ernest, Scott Fitzgerald, others.

Similarly there wasn’t a Rimbaud of Baudelaire because there was something called French Symbolist poetry.  They had to come up with a term because of those two remarkable French poets.

So we put the so-called beat writers and poets in their lexicon place and largely forget them. Never mind that Lawrence Ferlinghetti is still amongst us, our greatest living poet and probably our best since Walt Whitman.  And Kerouac looked at his America with as clear an eye as Melville and Twain looked at theirs.

Remember, one of the principal meanings of the word Kerouac first applied to his group is beatitude.  He was that in his all too brief life.

Beatings

The gal who cuts my hair is still in her twenties; pretty, gentle, soft spoken, loves her grandmother and doesn’t eat meat.  But she loves UFC (the Ultimate Fighting Championship) and its rivals: you know, where two guys climb in a cage and pummel each other without discernible rules until both are bloodied and one is unconscious or beaten like Tony Soprano when the whole crew worked him over. She and her boyfriend know all the fighters and hardly ever miss a good beating, er, contest.

Her friends like it too. They don’t watch boxing and many don’t watch football.  But let two guys kick the crap out of each other and they’re there.

I have a theory that young guys like it because they can fantasize themselves doing that.  They know that real boxing takes training and skills and strategy that they would never put in the time for.  But they think that on their toughest day they could get in that cage and hammer someone. It may not be true but they can half believe it. And that’s enough.  They can hear that Rocky theme. Oops, that’s boxing.

I have a harder time explaining why the gals like it.  Maybe Scarlet O’Hara syndrome. They pretend the guys are fighting over them and will emerge bloodied and sweaty to carry off the woman they’ve won for less violent grapplings. I dunno, maybe it’s just the action.

I have another theory that some day one of these shows will kill someone. Surprisingly I don’t think it will be cage fighting. Have you seen the high platform diving show? Guess they didn’t kill the fat guy but I wouldn’t have been surprised.  Survivor could also add new meaning to its title one of these years.

Maybe we are in The Last Days.  Worse yet, maybe the downhill slide will continue for eons yet to come.

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To read more reviews, posts and columns from Brian Arsenault click HERE.

Book Review: “101 Essential Rock Records” by Jeff Gold

 101 Essential Rock Records: The Golden Age of Vinyl from the Beatles to the Sex Pistols

by Brian Arsenault

Thank you, Jeff Gold.

The vinyl LP needed someone to wax poetic about it and do a big book about it and you did. You notice I didn’t say coffee table book because that phrase has been used mostly pejoratively for a long time. So I’ll just say go get a copy of this big beautifully illustrated book and put it on a table where you can pick it up frequently and know what an art form once looked like.

There also are some neat essays done mostly by people you know — like Graham Nash, Iggy Pop, Suzanne Vega and some you may not.

David Bowie’s is one of the most intriguing wherein he observes that The Velvet Underground and Nico “. . . was so savagely indifferent to my feelings. It didn’t care if I liked it or not. It could give a fuck.” Exactly so and that’s what was scraping at my mind at a less articulated level for all these years since I first heard Warhol’s evil little band of demons.

Not all the writing is as good a Bowie’s and there’s a lot of “the first record I bought” stuff here but I think that’s what they all were asked to write about so no complaint. And the memories are just as dear to famous boomers as the rest.

So are the album covers.  One of the things I think Gold and Jac Holzman, both record executives, understate in their introductions is the importance of the jacket — its size, its pictures, its often wildly artistic presentation.  Compare that to something as small as a CD with its tiny lettering and postage stamp photos. With LPs, you could look at the band and read about them and there were the song titles and who produced it and all that good stuff.

Have you noticed that after shrinking to elf size, cell phones have suddenly grown larger to give you a screen on which you can actually see something. LP jackets gave you a lot to see.

What I think Gold and Holzman may overstate is the resurgence of vinyl. Thanks, Jac, for validating my long standing feeling that LP sound is “warmer and more sensual” but I’m not sure the vinyl record (what a quaint word, record) “is alive and doing well.”

Thanks again, Jeff, for the book but I’m not sure what it means that in 2011 vinyl sales were up more than 37 percent over the prior year.

I checked with the young, anyone under 40, and they aren’t abandoning iTunes and downloads. I think your optimism may just be based on boomers having enough disposable income to indulge their taste for vinyl.  It may not be all that different from collectors of first editions, old locks and keys or even model trains, God forbid.

The reissue, or even loving preservation or restoration of the classic Thunderbird, won’t stop the coming and ultimate dominance of the Prius and other such modernities.

Still, whatever its ultimate fate, those of us who love vinyl cannot help but dig (old vinyl word) its seeming current comeback and appreciate the presentation of so many of the great albums of that era. An era stretching from the coming of the Beatles in the mid 1960s to 1979 when cassettes — now there was a truly despicable technology — had their brief run as king of the music buying public.

Jeff — you invited readers to point out oversights in your listing of 101, so I will.

I understand the reasoning behind your presentation of the version of a record from its country of origin.  But really, Jeff, only the USA and the islands off the coast of Europe, England and Ireland, really matter.

To omit Meet the Beatles in favor of its British counterpart Please Please Me is to ignore the greatest musical force that ever hit America. Nothing was the same after its arrival, as you well know.

Another odd omission is Quicksilver Messenger Service’s Happy Trails, almost certainly rock’s first true concept album and a simply fantastic rock LP. “Who Do You Love?” and “Mona” taken to guitar operatic levels.

And how about the Grateful Dead’s American Beauty, an album of exceptional grace and beauty on which the band actually sings on key (most of the time) and creates a true piece of Americana music.

Yet much credit is earned for including the Butterfield Blues Band’s East-West, which gave many Beatles fans their first look into the complexity possible in rock and the blues base from which it came. I mean Bloomfield and Bishop were the other two B’s in that remarkable band.

Equal praise for the often overlooked Forever Changes by Love, an album of heartbreaking beauty and poetry within a psychedelic enigma.

Well, I could go on and on. This is a book as much about the music of a generation (or two or three) as it is about the vinyl form and there’s much pleasure to be gained.

If  Kramer(of Seinfeld) ’s concept of a coffee table book that’s an actual coffee table were to be realized, this would be my choice for enshrinement.

To read more posts, reviews and columns by Brian Arsenault click HERE.

Film: “Midnight to Six” at the Egyptian Theatre

By Mike Finkelstein

On Friday night at the Egyptian Theatre, the American Cinematheque screened what could possibly have been the only showing of Midnight to Six, a truly entertaining and satisfying tutorial on the career of the legendary Pretty Things.   This is one of five (so far) projects focusing on influential bands of the British Invasion in the series of documentaries put together by the archivist wizards at Reeling in The Years productions.   All of these projects feature extensive, insightful, and informative interviews and full-length musical performances that completely immerse the viewer in the band’s world.  You couldn’t get any closer to the topic through a film.

The British Invasion began in the wake of the Beatles’ phenomenal success in the U.S.  The floodgates opened up and a torrent of fascinating and wonderful British talent flooded the U.S. radio market, basically putting the music squarely on the map and on the minds of, well, pretty much anyone who heard it.    On Saturday, Midnight to Six, featuring the Pretty Things was shown as a double feature with All or Nothing about the Small Faces.  This is noteworthy because, as legendary as both these bands were in the British Invasion, neither of them enjoyed more than a blip of any noteworthy radio success in the US…and never toured in this country during the 60’s when the movement was blowing up.

Pretty Things

The Pretty Things’  history actually is cinematic on its own merit.  With several members attending art school alongside members of the Rolling Stones, the Pretty Things took up music for fun and expression and followed in the Stones’ wake playing art school dances and such.   Midnight to Six brings out fascinating pieces of humor and irony from interviews with original members Phil May, Dick Taylor and John Stax.   As the film progresses we cannot help but begin thinking that these guys were a real life Spinal Tap, right down to having a weird succession of drummers with a knack for getting into big trouble and drumming on anything available.  I actually found myself wondering if director Rob Reiner or any of his researchers for Spinao Tap weren’t fans of the band.

The Pretty Things began as a good time rhythm and blues band, taking their name as a giggle from “Pretty Thing” by Bo Diddley.    Aware that the Stones concentrated on Chuck Berry, and the Yardbirds on Howlin’ Wolf, the Pretty Things offer that they chose toconcentrate on Bo Diddley’s catalogue and within five years of image changes, personnel changes, personal leaves, losses of sanity, pill popping, and acid trips they evolved into an adventurous, psychedelic, progressive rock band.   Ambitious harmonies, Mellotrons, esoteric guitar tunings, and working with imaginative production finally got them to a place with S.F.  Sorrow where they were actually satisfied with the way their art was developing, if not selling.   And, yes, the music does sound quite like Spinal Tap in places.

This film is a tickle because it all actually happened.   There is one scene where the band are filming themselves near the docks and a woman comes walking through the shoot…walking a goat and totally unplanned!  At this point, drummer  Skip Alan decides to take his cymbal for a strolling play and can barely stand up.   You can see the spontaneity in this and other stoned moments for the band.   There is a prodigious amount of fascinating footage that has been assembled for this project and it is all a pleasure to watch. It would be a shame if Midnight To Six were not to see the light of day.

But this is a world where, perhaps more than ever before, it’s still all about profit, even in a medium where the big idea is simply to galvanize a performer’s legacy as original, influential, and seminal.  These projects aren’t aimed at a large market, but they will delight those of us who are interested and are finally getting to learn a lot more about the performers.  Currently, the Midnight to Six team is out of money and thus cannot clear/buy the rights to release it.  So it remains waiting in the can.   Saturday’s screening was an effort to generate interest in getting the project to see the light of day.

Producer David Peck was on hand as part of a panel discussion and we understood his huge enthusiasm for the project as well as the frustration of working the dynamics of getting through the red tape and bullshit to simply get the film released.  It put him 50 grand into a personal hole of debt and that’s sad.   Hopefully, there is someone out there who has the nerve, the resources, and the good intentions to get this deal done.

To read more reviews by Mike Finkelstein click HERE.

Op-Ed: Bob Dylan’s Appeal From One Generation To Another.

Times Have Changed

By Devon Wendell

On Tuesday, May 29^th, President Obama presented Bob Dylan with the Medal Of Freedom — designated as the nation’s highest civilian honor — at the White House.   Obama’s comments at the ceremony about Dylan’s influence on his life and American culture were the typical “Voice of a generation” spiel that Dylan himself has rejected throughout his 50-year career. This got me thinking about the vast differences between Dylan’s appeal to the baby-boom generation who witnessed him first (like President Obama) and my generation, which followed.

I’m 37, and I recall viewing Dylan first on the “We Are The World” video. His phrasing was off, his tone nasal, and I thought it was the worst sound I had ever heard. My Mom drilled into me that this man “changed the world for us.” But I shrugged it off, and that was it until high school.

I attended a Quaker school in Brooklyn which was run by some aging hippies who were downright obsessed with the ‘60s culture they grew up in. The school’s Principal even had Allen Ginsberg come and read “Howl” on two separate occasions in front of the entire staff and student body.

I was already a stubborn purist who had discovered blues and jazz at the age of ten and looked down on rock and folk music. At that time, I didn’t even like The Beatles or The Stones. For me it was all about Muddy Waters, Son House and Albert King, as well as Miles, Bird, Monk, Coltrane, Ellington, and Rollins. I also liked Motown, James Brown, and Jimi Hendrix, whom I’ve never considered to be a Rock n’ Roller.

I was a young, budding musician and believed rock and folk lacked originality and richness and was geared towards teeny-boppers and the pop-charts.  There was nothing remotely interesting about The Byrds or Peter, Paul and Mary to me.

The few friends I was able to collect shared my musical views and taste.

We also had resentments towards our parents and teachers. (The irony is not lost here.)

One summer afternoon, a few friends dropped by my house to hear me practice my electric guitar, listen to records, and sneak some wine.  One of them had brought a tape compilation of Bob Dylan songs.

I was weary because this kid also liked punk, which I found boring and stupid.  He knew I had a chip on my shoulder and liked the sound of rage or just being fed-up.  Howlin’ Wolf singing “I’m Gonna Leave You Woman Before I Commit A Crime” — that was real to me. When I saw the kid had a Dylan tape, I instantly thought of whining hippies in the mud, flowers, and unicorns.

After some arguing, I finally let him play the tape and I couldn’t believe what I heard.  The music was fantastically snarling and evil. “You’ve got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend,”  “You’re an idiot babe. It’s a wonder that you still know how to breathe,”  “How does it feel to be on your own?” “Forget the debt you left, they will not follow you,” etc.  Most of the music was set to Chicago blues or music I could relate to, so that got me too. It was clear that Dylan loved and understood American roots music and was proud of it at a time when it was being co-opted by The British Invasion.

I loved everything I heard. This wasn’t the “Times They Are a-Changin’” Dylan that my teachers and my mother spoke of.  This was a big middle finger to the world.

My friend proceeded to show me bootleg videos of Dylan’s press conferences from 1965 following the release of “Highway 61 Revisited,” in which Dylan was chain smoking, dismissive to the press, and seemed emotionally disengaged.  My pal also told me the story of how Dylan had stood up in front of  The Emergency Civil Liberties Union in 1963, a month after the assassination of JFK and declared, “There is no difference between the left and right anymore,” and that he wouldn’t be some musical puppet for anyone’s political agendas.

Suddenly Dylan seemed as rebellious and complex to me as Charles Mingus. I started really listening to Blood On The Tracks, Blonde On Blonde, Highway 61 Revisited, and Oh Mercy. I identified with the way he viewed the world as being hideously absurd, rejecting old notions of how to live and think, and most importantly the way he viciously struck back at heartbreak. With pen and tongue he relentlessly did it in a way that was both harsh and beautiful.

I felt the pain and necessity in that brutality that stemmed from his sorrows. At the same time, where you had the viciousness of “Idiot Wind,” “It Ain’t Me Babe” and “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright,” you also had “If You See Her, Say Hello,” “A Simple Twist Of Fate” and “Ramona,” in which Dylan wasn’t afraid to show his vulnerability.

That dichotomy of the pissed off nerd poet (Boy, could I really relate to that), who even said “Fuck you” to the Pete Seegers and the growing “counter culture” of his day, and the forlorn poet, whose pained verses reflected his struggles to maintain a healthy/long lasting romance, seemed more universal than the “Blowin’ In The Wind” Dylan. Wars pass, and so do trends, but the Dylan loved by my generation tapped into the same themes as did Shakespeare, Yeats, Thomas, and Rimbaud.

This being the case, I was a little disappointed that Dylan didn’t unleash the beast at The White House when receiving the medal, voicing his disgust towards such trite ceremonies and the current political climate.  To me, his lifeless stare as the President rambled on spoke volumes – he didn’t act like someone who was completely grateful for the award. But who knows how he really feels, and does it matter?

What matters is his music, and that’s something all generations can appreciate.   Wait, that sounds too corny.  Dylan would hate it.  Ultimately the great thing about Bob Dylan is that you can’t sum him up.

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To read more posts by Devon Wendell click HERE. 

Jazz With an Accent: New CDs From Arturo Sandoval and Leni Stern

 By Fernando Gonzalez

There might be a crisis in the business of music, but judging by recent releases, not on the making of music. There is a lot to catch up with. Here are two worthy new records.

Arturo Sandoval

Dear Diz (Every Day I Think of You) (Concord)

Dear Diz (Every Day I Think of You), is trumpeter Arturo Sandoval’stribute to Dizzy Gillespie, his mentor and friend and a key player in his defection from Cuba in 1990.

The disc opens with Gillespie introducing Sandoval as “one of the young masters of the trumpet,” at a show in the 1980s, and the announcement flows smoothly into a smartly arranged version of “Be Bop” that sets the tone. The repertoire is made of Dizzy’s classics and considering Sandoval’s track record it might have been fair to expect a disc full of fireworks and loud, bright and shiny moments. Hard core Sandoval fans will not be disappointed — but Dear Diz is more than that. The music is center stage here, reframed in thoughtful arrangements for big band, such as those by Gordon Goodwin (“Be Bop,” “Salt Peanuts”), pianist Shelly Berg  (“Birk’s Works” evoking Henry Mancini’s style) and Wally Minko (“A Night in Tunisia”) but also Nan Schwartz’s “Con Alma,” which becomes here an elegy for string quartet and trumpet.

Moreover, Sandoval is surrounded by an all-star cast that includes vibist Gary Burton, saxophonists Bob Mintzer and Ed Calle, and organist Joey De Francesco. Actor and music-fan-turned-player-and-producer Andy Garcia, a friend of Sandoval who also starred on 2001’s HBO biopic, For Love or Country: The Arturo Sandoval Story, is credited on percussion.

The disc closes with a touching bookend: Sandoval singing and playing his ballad “Every Day I Think of You,” an unabashed love letter to Gillespie.

More often than not, tributes are barely more than marketing ploys covering for a lack of ideas. Well thought out and heartfelt, Dear Diz is a worthy exception.

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Leni Stern

Sabani (Leni Stern Recordings)

Guitarist Leni Stern has followed a circuitous path to Mali – beginning in Munich,  with stops in New York, Boston, the Peruvian rainforest and Benin, where she helped found a music school. Her recent recordings ( Africa, 2007; Alu Maye; 2007; and Sa Belle Belle Ba, 2010) not only have offered a very satisfying, beautifully crafted global musical fusion, but also have served to document her immersion in African culture. This is not an artist on a cultural safari. In those recordings, she draws much from the local music and musicians — but also allows herself to be changed by them.

Perhaps it’s only natural then than Sabani, her most recent project, features Stern playing the n’goni, a West African lute-like instrument referred by some as an ancestor of the banjo, in a stripped-down trio setting. (Sabani means three in the Bambara language spoken in Mali.)

Recorded at Malian pop superstar Salif Keita’s Mouffou Studios in Bamako, Sabani features Stern on electric and acoustic guitars, n’goni and vocals, along with two standout players from Keita’s band, Haruna Samake on string instruments, and Mamadou “Prince” Kone, percussion.

The patterns played by the plucked string instruments – there are several combinations throughout the recording – create a lattice effect that, floating over a subtle but definite groove, feels at once delicate and sturdy, ethereal and swinging, even urgent on its own terms (check “Sorcerer,” “I Was Born,” or “The Cat Stole The Moon”).

In other instances, such as “Like A Thief,” the music takes on an unexpectedly elegiac tone – a song Stern says was inspired by flamenco singer Diego El Cigala.

Stern’s singing (all in English) is an acquired taste, but even at its artless moments, it works well in context. It sounds real. And if it also sounds a bit rough-edged or inelegant (especially when compared to that of the Malian singers on the recording) so be it. It’s part of this album’s beauty.

Sabani sounds like what happens in a true encounter between people from different worlds who can both play and listen.

 

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To read more posts from Fernando Gonzalez and his “Jazz With An Accent” column, click HERE.

Live Jazz: Patty Peterson at Vibrato Grill Jazz…etc.

By Don Heckman

Singer Patty Peterson made one of her rare Southland appearances Wednesday night at Vibrato Grill Jazz…etc. in Bel Air.  And, not surprisingly, the broad vowel sounds of Minnesota-speak were heard throughout the enthusiasic audience.  Why?  Because the tall, raven-haired Peterson belongs to Minneapolis’s First Family of Music, whose various siblings, cousins and offspring can be heard with groups reaching across the full musical spectrum.  No wonder L.A.’s Minnesota contingent turns out whenever one of the Petersons is in town to sing or play.

Solidly backed by the responsive musical support of pianist Lou Forestieri, bassist Pat Senatore, drummer Jimmy Branley and, yes, cousin Tom Peterson on saxophones, Patty offered a show dedicated to a program of classics from the Great American Songbook.  And made the most of it.

Patty Peterson

Blessed with a sturdy voice, a storyteller’s sense of phrasing and a buoyant rhythmic swing, she delivered many of her numbers in larger than life interpretations.  Opening with a lyrical take on the verse to “Gypsy In My Soul,” accompanied solely by the sensitive piano work of Forestieri,  she then dug into a brisk, grooving romp through the familiar melody, announcing the spirited vitality that would energize the balance of her set.

Other classics received similarly upbeat treatment: a high speed rendering of “I Want To Be Happy” and — surprisingly — equally upbeat, rhythmically driven versions of  ”Time After Time” and “Nature Boy.”  In each case, Patty made the songs her own, often soaring through musically evocative, blues-tinged paraphrases of such well-known melodies as “Love For Sale” and “Just In Time.”

In contrast, a pair of Michel Legrand songs — “I Will Wait For You,” from his gorgeous score for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, and “What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life?” written with the Bergmans — stimulated more intimate, more richly layered interpretations.  And the results represented some of the evening’s most memorable numbers.

In fact, if there was anything missing from this otherwise entertaining program, it was the presence of a larger portion of similarly intimate musical moments — moments like those on her new CD, The Very Thought of You.  Patty can — and did — energize a room with her high-spirited, big-voiced, take-no-prisoners command of the American Songbook.  And I’ll bet a similar approach works well on a chilly Minneapolis night.

But on a warm, L.A. evening, more diversity in her interpretations would have made a difference.  Given the rarity of Patty Peterson’s Southland appearances, one couldn’t help but wish for an opportunity to experience a  more far-reaching view of the full, expressive vistas of this talented songstress.

Live Rock: Los Lonely Boys and Los Lobos at the Greek Theatre

By Mike Finkelstein

On Friday night a not quite sold out, but certainly revved up, Greek Theater audience was treated to a most appealing double bill of high profile American Latino rock bands.   Beginning their impressive career well over three decades ago,  Los Lobos first blazed the trail that Los Lonely Boys now walk.   Now, Los Lonely Boys are a hot young act that headlines above Los Lobos. But the two bands are friendly and the members mixed and sat in freely during each others’ sets all evening long. The night’s music was a celebration of blues, Norteno music, rock ‘n roll, and Tejano music, to name but a few of the influences that converge somewhere near the borders of California and Texas with Mexico.

Los Lonely Boys

Los Lonely Boys are brothers Henry Garza on guitar, Jojo Garza on bass, and Ringo Garza on drums, out of San Angelo, Texas, and they call their music Texican rock ‘n roll.  While they have an appealingly huge, warm, and busy sound, they also manage to give each other a lot of room to flap their instrumental wings at any moment.   They aren’t locked into a rigid set of arrangements, but what they play is ultra tight, and they do love to jam.   On Friday, these jams percolated  and would burst into snips of songs like “Sunshine of Your Love.” As LLB tap an idea around between them – much like kicking a musical hackeysack — these fellows sound as though they have been playing music with each other all their lives.  Moreover, when Henry and Jojo sang together it was often in unison.   Their voices are different enough to contrast but similar enough to blend as one.

Los Lonely Boys’ songs are based mostly on blues progressions fleshed out with a lot of smooth syncopation.  Each song had a lot of room for experimentation.  Every idea was laid down, elaborated upon enough to advance the song and then gave way to the next one. The lyrics were mostly about desire as in “Oye Mamacita,” and “Road to Nowhere” or lifting the spirit and making the world a better place, as in as in their huge hit, “Heaven.”   Then again, “16 Monkeys” was quite whimsical and playful.   It will be intriguing to see where a group this talented will take their songwriting in the future.

No power trio will fly without a charismatic leader who plays hot lead guitar and sings.   Henry Garza is cut from this rock star cloth.   He is tall with long hair, long arms, long legs, and a very engaging vibe to him onstage.  Most importantly he has the sound – the big, sizzling Texas Stratocaster sound made popular by Stevie Ray Vaughan and several others after him.    His style on guitar brimmed with showmanship and motion, but he stayed within himself and allowed his sound, rather than an excess of notes,  to get the point across. We first got a glimpse of him during Los Lobos set when he walked on and guested on three songs, tearing it up with the Wolves on “Hey Joe,”  and “La Bamba/Good Lovin’.”

The power trio is a tried and true lineup in rock which demands that each player cover a lot of musical ground to keep the sound interesting.  What actually put LLB over the top instrumentally was Jojo’s bass performance.  He plays a six string bass, which gives him chordal possibilities not available on 4- or 5- string basses.    In its higher ranges, a six string bass moves into the realm of a baritone guitar, which meant that Jojo could meet his brother Henry in the same tonal registers and then peel off elegantly up or back down to the bass registers.   Since a 6 string bass has an extra high and low string Jojo’s lines were riveting, as he skillfully constructed his runs to include the high highs and the low lows.  It gave them a modern sound and proved that a six string bass can work beautifully in a rock band.

Los Lobos

Los Lobos opened the show, hitting the stage as the sun went down, and powered through favorites like “La Bamba,” “Shakin’ Shakin’ Shakes,” and “Don’t Worry Baby.” Their 90-minute performance also included two runs through “Cumbias,” a high-energy style of Latin dance music. Over the years (30+) the Wolves have built up a very impressive catalogue of songs in both English and Spanish.  On Friday no less than four of their tunes were sung in Spanish.   “Yo Canto” was a standout and the title cut of their new album Tin Can Trust was mesmerizing.   The band has always featured its members changing instruments.   While we are used to seeing David Hidalgo switch from guitar to accordion routinely, he actually sat in on drums with the Lonely Boys on “Heaven.”   At times the sound system at the Greek didn’t really seem to achieve the separation between the two guitars and Steve Berlin’s baritone sax that it has before.   Still, it wasn’t the sort of inconvenience that could stop a band like Los Lobos from making its musical points.

As the show progressed it became clear that this was a double billing of bands who play great music and live to play.  The stage was at times a revolving door for members of both bands and their delight in the moment was infectiously obvious.  It made for a very special night of music, indeed.

To see more reviews by Mike Finkelstein click HERE.