As you might have noticed, I got out of the habit of blogging for roughly six months. I've returned with new ideas that I'd like to pursue more deeply, and that's going to demand a change in the format for the "weekly" playlists. Previously, I posted mini-reviews of the music I bring to the Other Music show on KZUM every Sunday night from 10-midnight Central Time (you can stream the show anywhere in the world by going to kzum.org while it's on. But I found that the mini-reviews took a lot of time while not allowing for enough review depth--I'd like to get some more "serious" reviews going here. And Other Music features two other DJs, and I wasn't covering their stuff. What might be nicer is podcasting. I'm going to work on developing a podcast system for the show that can be linked from here, and take on more in-depth reviews of both new and old music and literature with this site (along with some essay format materials that I'm forever compelled to play with in my spare time).
I'll likely do one more "mini-review" format post that will cover highlights of music I've brought to the Other Music show in the first half of 2011. It's been a great year for music! But let's hope I can get podcasting worked out from a technical standpoint, and I'll focus on that to document radio activities.
Tonight's Other Music will take us right up to the US 4th of July holiday, and I've picked out some music that in various ways pays tribute to concepts of "independence," "homeland," "freedom," and so on (though not always in a flattering light). So listen to the show tonight and enjoy. One artist that will certainly make the cut, and I don't think he's been mentioned here before, is Bobby Conn. I'm sure we'll speak more of Bobby Conn's work in the future, but for now let it be known how much I appreciate his music: great lyrics, great singing, huge prog-but-modern arrangements, a killer band, and always a great sense of humor. I'll be spinning a different version of this track tonight, but it's a great introduction to the Bobby Conn approach to Big Ideas on a limited budget:
7.03.2011
7.02.2011
Vinyl from Chicago, pt. 1--Henry Threadgill
A few weeks ago, I visited a dear friend in Chicago. Though it was mostly a catching-up and sightseeing journey, I did manage to stop by a few record stores while I was there. I was especially missing record stores because my local record haunts have all closed in the last couple of years.
It was interesting to see that vinyl is making a comeback: I went to three record stores, one of which was all-vinyl, and the other two were ostensibly representing all kinds of media formats but were easily over half-vinyl. My own buying habits in the last few years have followed this trajectory, too. Ten years ago, I was probably buying 3 or 4 CDs a week and maybe a couple of vinyl-format releases per year, but now I buy vinyl almost exclusively.
At any rate, I went with a small list of artists to look for on vinyl--mostly things that wouldn't likely be found in my area--and I totally rocked my list! The only thing I didn't return home with that I was hoping for was something from Gong's Radio Gnome Trilogy. Maybe next time.
I wanted to highlight a couple of the Chicago-oriented things I picked up, starting with a fellow whose music I think is tragically underappreciated: Henry Threadgill. Henry was one of the founders of Chicago's legendary Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, an organization whose contribution to avant-jazz and forward thinking music continues to this day. But I don't hear Threadgill's work being discussed as much as some of his fellow AACM founders like Anthony Braxton or the Art Ensemble of Chicago. I'm a huge fan of the AACM folks in general, especially Braxton, but I think Threadgill's work deserves more attention.
My favorite Threadgill periods are his work as composer/bandleader in the 80s and 90s, with the Henry Threadgill Sextet and Very Very Circus, respectively. And my favorite album of his is the one I managed to find in Chicago, the Henry Threadgill Sextet 1989 release "Rag, Bush and All." And even in Threadgill's home turf, this mint (still factory shrinkwrapped) vinyl was only going for $6.
The sextet (actually featuring 7 members) takes on 4 Threadgill compositions here, swinging with a lot of attitude and swagger. The band is tight, but they also broadcast a certain kind of loose recklessness that perfectly captures the ethos of the Bad Note Manifesto of my last post. Threadgill himself is in fine form, mostly playing alto. Percussionists Newman Baker and Reggie Nicholson form a powerful unit, playing so intimately together that Threadgill can count them as one person to keep his "sextet" numerically honest. But one of my favorite aspects of this lineup is Fred Hopkins' work on bass. On many jazz records, my least favorite moments tend to be bass solos, but on Rag, Bush and All, Hopkins' moments in the sun are among my favorites. He manages to keep energy and musical momentum high during his breaks, resulting in solo sections that feel more like a simple change of orchestration than "bass solo time."
As I mentioned above, Threadgill's work seems to be underappreciated: I find no videos of this Sextet performing, and this record is long out of print. But I think you'll find that Threadgill's music of the 80s is a beautiful bridge between the approaches of folks like Mingus and the music of some later 90s NYC bands like Sex Mob or Joey Baron's trio or Tim Berne's groups.
It was interesting to see that vinyl is making a comeback: I went to three record stores, one of which was all-vinyl, and the other two were ostensibly representing all kinds of media formats but were easily over half-vinyl. My own buying habits in the last few years have followed this trajectory, too. Ten years ago, I was probably buying 3 or 4 CDs a week and maybe a couple of vinyl-format releases per year, but now I buy vinyl almost exclusively.
At any rate, I went with a small list of artists to look for on vinyl--mostly things that wouldn't likely be found in my area--and I totally rocked my list! The only thing I didn't return home with that I was hoping for was something from Gong's Radio Gnome Trilogy. Maybe next time.
I wanted to highlight a couple of the Chicago-oriented things I picked up, starting with a fellow whose music I think is tragically underappreciated: Henry Threadgill. Henry was one of the founders of Chicago's legendary Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians, an organization whose contribution to avant-jazz and forward thinking music continues to this day. But I don't hear Threadgill's work being discussed as much as some of his fellow AACM founders like Anthony Braxton or the Art Ensemble of Chicago. I'm a huge fan of the AACM folks in general, especially Braxton, but I think Threadgill's work deserves more attention.
My favorite Threadgill periods are his work as composer/bandleader in the 80s and 90s, with the Henry Threadgill Sextet and Very Very Circus, respectively. And my favorite album of his is the one I managed to find in Chicago, the Henry Threadgill Sextet 1989 release "Rag, Bush and All." And even in Threadgill's home turf, this mint (still factory shrinkwrapped) vinyl was only going for $6.
The sextet (actually featuring 7 members) takes on 4 Threadgill compositions here, swinging with a lot of attitude and swagger. The band is tight, but they also broadcast a certain kind of loose recklessness that perfectly captures the ethos of the Bad Note Manifesto of my last post. Threadgill himself is in fine form, mostly playing alto. Percussionists Newman Baker and Reggie Nicholson form a powerful unit, playing so intimately together that Threadgill can count them as one person to keep his "sextet" numerically honest. But one of my favorite aspects of this lineup is Fred Hopkins' work on bass. On many jazz records, my least favorite moments tend to be bass solos, but on Rag, Bush and All, Hopkins' moments in the sun are among my favorites. He manages to keep energy and musical momentum high during his breaks, resulting in solo sections that feel more like a simple change of orchestration than "bass solo time."
As I mentioned above, Threadgill's work seems to be underappreciated: I find no videos of this Sextet performing, and this record is long out of print. But I think you'll find that Threadgill's music of the 80s is a beautiful bridge between the approaches of folks like Mingus and the music of some later 90s NYC bands like Sex Mob or Joey Baron's trio or Tim Berne's groups.
6.29.2011
The Bad Note Manifesto
Toward full enjoyment of the Bad Note:
The Bad Note grew in power as styles melted together and formalities were set aside. The Bad Note often communicates emotions and ideas more effectively than many hundreds of Good Notes. The Bad Note might frighten our ears if we're not comfortable with our own shortcomings, but it might also blissfully liberate us from unachievable (or boring) perfection.
The Bad Note might be chance, a random factor, or a more deliberate element of surprise. The Bad Note may be gentle, approaching softly, or it may have no need for subtlety, stepping loudly and coarsely out of the purity of Form. When the Bad Note is full of mystical power, it often packs the sharp tongue of the Zen master.
The Bad Note can hold all of the weight of human experience. Humanity is most beautiful when viewed through the lens of its own fallibility. In embracing the Bad Note, we can still struggle toward perfection. Indeed, the Bad Note often needs a clean, clear context to exist. We advocate the continued march toward the Perfect and the Ideal, but if we never get there, we can enjoy our journey, and we can feel unfettered enough to make a funny noise or three while we go.
My Bad Note Bible is Joey Baron's Raised Pleasure Dot. His Barondown Trio often breaks into Bad Note flurries, playfully soloing around the tonic, around the main rhythms, around each other. It's a beautiful thing. I first heard the record in high school, and immediately myself and a dear tenor sax-shredding friend of mine began taking "bad note contest" solos in high school jazz band almost every time our solos came up. Everybody wins in a Bad Note contest. Maybe not the band director...but even in his case, it must be noted that the old adage about "walking before you can run" applies to the Bad Note concept as well: to take a truly dissonant/angular/polyrhythmic/metrically modulating solo--to stay "out"--one must already know how to play "in." I don't see many videos of the Barondown trio floating around (I think I posted this one before), and this isn't quite as down 'n out as the Pleasure Dot jams, but you can get the idea:
Obviously there are lots of other folks whose music depends on the Bad Note in a variety of ways: Vernon Reid's frantic harmolodic-meets-shred playing was a major influence on both my guitar approach and my overall musical thinking. That solo on "Information Overload?" Laying it down, down down. Then of course you have Beefheart, Primus, Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Sex Mob, some of Marc Ribot's playing, just to name a few. But I think there are many places where a perfectly-placed Bad Note can make all the difference. Sometimes a rough edge is the perfect finish. The Bad Note is playing our song.
The Bad Note grew in power as styles melted together and formalities were set aside. The Bad Note often communicates emotions and ideas more effectively than many hundreds of Good Notes. The Bad Note might frighten our ears if we're not comfortable with our own shortcomings, but it might also blissfully liberate us from unachievable (or boring) perfection.
The Bad Note might be chance, a random factor, or a more deliberate element of surprise. The Bad Note may be gentle, approaching softly, or it may have no need for subtlety, stepping loudly and coarsely out of the purity of Form. When the Bad Note is full of mystical power, it often packs the sharp tongue of the Zen master.
The Bad Note can hold all of the weight of human experience. Humanity is most beautiful when viewed through the lens of its own fallibility. In embracing the Bad Note, we can still struggle toward perfection. Indeed, the Bad Note often needs a clean, clear context to exist. We advocate the continued march toward the Perfect and the Ideal, but if we never get there, we can enjoy our journey, and we can feel unfettered enough to make a funny noise or three while we go.
My Bad Note Bible is Joey Baron's Raised Pleasure Dot. His Barondown Trio often breaks into Bad Note flurries, playfully soloing around the tonic, around the main rhythms, around each other. It's a beautiful thing. I first heard the record in high school, and immediately myself and a dear tenor sax-shredding friend of mine began taking "bad note contest" solos in high school jazz band almost every time our solos came up. Everybody wins in a Bad Note contest. Maybe not the band director...but even in his case, it must be noted that the old adage about "walking before you can run" applies to the Bad Note concept as well: to take a truly dissonant/angular/polyrhythmic/metrically modulating solo--to stay "out"--one must already know how to play "in." I don't see many videos of the Barondown trio floating around (I think I posted this one before), and this isn't quite as down 'n out as the Pleasure Dot jams, but you can get the idea:
Obviously there are lots of other folks whose music depends on the Bad Note in a variety of ways: Vernon Reid's frantic harmolodic-meets-shred playing was a major influence on both my guitar approach and my overall musical thinking. That solo on "Information Overload?" Laying it down, down down. Then of course you have Beefheart, Primus, Tom Waits, Nick Cave, Sex Mob, some of Marc Ribot's playing, just to name a few. But I think there are many places where a perfectly-placed Bad Note can make all the difference. Sometimes a rough edge is the perfect finish. The Bad Note is playing our song.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)