Used-Bin Bargains: Ed Askew

We haven't had a Used-Bin Bargain here at Audiversity since early May. After several Sundays off where we just couldn't offer an explanation for no content aside from the fact that we were really busy (which we were), we're giving it another go this week with folk singer Ed Askew. Enjoy.














Ed Askew - The Garden (ESP-Disk 1968)

Ed Askew - Ask the Unicorn / ESP-Disk

As it seems with so many other folk singers from the 60s and 70s, Ed Askew is talked about a great deal but not necessarily heard. Thanks to blogging and a number of other places (which I'm not going to pretend don't exist), the life of Askew can be put in a proper perspective in relation to his works. This is especially rewarding for crate diggers who might already have this album but don't listen to it often and are considering a cheap sell. My advice is, don't sell it... Not because of how important it might be, but because of how good the music on this record is.

1968's Ask the Unicorn was his only proper, commercial release up until a slew of reissues earlier this decade. In some ways, this spotty history is appropriate for the mysterious soloist. Not a great deal of personal information is known, but Motel de Moka did an appropriate homage in May and here is what we know for sure: Askew grew up in Stanford, Connecticut and attended Yale for an art degree in painting in the early 1960s. When he graduated, Askew went to teach art at a private high school in the suburbs of New York. During the course of 1966-67, he was in the unfortunately named Gandalf and the Motorpickle. This psych-rock band was the inadvertent catalyst for Ask the Unicorn. When he quit the group in 1967, he developed his own music, based entirely around a scratchy voice and a ten-string, 10" Martin tiple ("treble" in Spanish). ESP-Disk's founder Bernard Stollman was interested, but while ESP-Disk was one of the most respected and established independent labels after its creation in 1963, financial troubles would eventually be both its own downfall and Askew's by proxy. Ask the Unicorn received virtually no promotion and even industry insiders were deaf to its unique sound.

So let's talk about that sound. Right from the off of "Fancy That," Askew is strumming romantically and juxtaposing it with some of the most lucid words ever put together. Like the tumultuous times in which he lived, the lyrics reflect a wide range of topics that conflict with one another, from poetic lyricism to government protests to abstractions to an allegory incorporating all of that and more - as David Shirley has noted, Askew shares in this freeform wordplay with both Robert Wyatt and Paul Goodman. His voice has a limited register, but Askew is using it to its best effect throughout this album. An example from the opening of "May Blossoms Be Praised:"

"Where is a dream and where are the lovers? / Green trees and fires protect the rain / But the water is high and the grave is too deep / And the river is white / And the lovers will seat to play on the river / But the dream will survive." On and on it meanders just as the aforementioned lovers would along this river. Unlike obscure folk artists that we've featured here before like Jan Dukes de Gray, Askew's ten-track full-length does not sell the consumer short on listening material. Several of his songs are well over three minutes, and yet still they manage to sound as if though every second were essential.

This is the mark of a great recording, and it's one of the reasons that you are starting to find more and more music and information. In the past five or six years, Askew's early work has really come to light and garnered renewed interest from ye purveyors of the bargain bins. This music is strong, timeless and does not grow old quickly. You can't quite sing along to Askew's impassioned wailing, but there are obvious melodies and there isn't a moment here where you think, "He's trying to show off here" or "That wasn't necessary." Everything is essential. This is a well-crafted album that was criminally ignored for years. No hippie BS need apply.

When Ask the Unicorn fell through the cracks following its release, Askew kept on and his second album, 1970's Little Eyes, continues down the same path with a little more piano flourish (which is, incidentally, also worth checking out). Unfortunately, this never actually got released - ESP-Disk was going through massive financial troubles and shortly afterward filed for bankruptcy in 1974. Askew himself went on to cruise between Boston and Raleigh, NC for the rest of his 70s. Thankfully, Askew did not seem to be incredibly discouraged by the experience - continuing to teach art in and around New York after moving there in the 80s, he has pursued music through the cassette medium that can still be found in all the right places.

It's his earliest works as a solo artist that draw the most attention, though. A particular quotation at the outset of the Motel de Moka article really gives the essence not just of why Askew is worth checking out, but of why we did Used-Bin Bargains for so long here: "These are the kind of stories that should be told. Songwriters who are largely unknown to the public but have managed to find their place in the history of music, changing its landscape indefinitely and inspiring other artists for many decades without ever getting the deserved recognition." Everybody has a story. This is the general gist of Ed Askew's, but in order to know every detail, well... For that, we must ask the unicorn.

Singleversity #29

Audiversity’s weekly column, slightly modified, on random music in a predetermined number of words between 1 & 150. This week's randomly generated number: 53.

MA:



I mentioned in a review earlier this week that I was currently obsessed with vocalists, one in particular being Scott Walker. "It's Raining Today' from Scott 3 (Fontana 1969) is near the heart of this addiction. The superimposition of Walker’s elegant tenor over the unnerving Hermann-esque strings is that of foreshadowed ingenuity.

PM:

Never forget where you came from, kid. Columbia's Kurse Go Back haven't. Their roots in everything from Far Eastern sounds to 60s funk to marching band practice coagulate under one roof for the video "Take 'M' on Train 'X'." Though voting has closed, the cerebral music will last long beyond a Famecast contest.

Sunburned Hand of the Man - "Fire Escape"

Sunburned Hand of the Man - Nice Butterfly Mask (Smalltown Supersound 2007)

Sunburned Hand of the Man - Fire Escape / Smalltown Supersound

From that other label that kicks massive ass out of Norway, here again is Sunburned Hand of the Man. But wait, we haven't actually covered this group before (though it nearly happened with Z earlier this year)... However, if you've been a follower of this group from days as short as four or five months ago, then you'll know they have a pretty healthy discography and there's no lack of material to check out. If you just discovered this group because of Pitchfork, welcome. We invite you to continue your exploration of these supremely talented psychedelic staples.

It always amuses me how the hand of fate plucks some of the most random artists from relative obscurity to garner that extra boost of acclaim, but look, I don't harbor any grudges just because Kieran Hebdan was involved in the production of Fire Escape and other bloggers who ordinarily wouldn't give Sunburned Hand of the Man a second glance are already hyping this album up. Just as I don't view myself as a devoted follower who has been there every step of the way since their formation in Massachusetts in 1997, I also don't view this as a hopeless one-off glitch in the cosmos. If anything, I wish the best for this group because their talents are supreme when it comes to making music to remove yourself from the real world with.

Thankfully, despite big names and some additional knob-twiddling and maybe a few extra effects thrown in for good measure, Fire Escape does not sound like a fundamental alteration of the group's ultimate aesthetic. It isn't a selling out of virtues and it certainly isn't a dumbing down of their expansive sound. Instead, Fire Escape acts as a more beat-driven alternative to their numerous CD-Rs and readymade live recordings. It's the sound of a group exploring percussion and having a good time doing it. This may be tired to say already, but I'm thinking after more than a few listens that this may be Sunburned Hand of the Man's most complete, most satisfying and most successful recording yet.

It sounds like an album, but it sounds like an album that was given serious consideration on virtually every aspect. Of course we can talk about the mix, and it certainly is nice to have Four Tet helping you out, but it's also in the sequencing. That's part of what makes it sound so complete. "Nice Butterfly Mask" here is a good place to start as the first proper song on the album (after the intro "Words to Live By" flickers in on glitchy static). A woozy trumpet stumbling through all of the available back doors and black holes this song has to offer in eight minutes to emerge in reverse and then dissolve into its own cosmos is a right proper way to fuck with your head, isn't it? Just don't call it a companion piece to Radiohead's "The National Anthem." The liquid groove of the bass might even be better.

Hebdan's piano lends itself well to "What Color is the Sky in the World You Live In?" where it runs the track's duration as the group travels over country hillsides to get nowhere in particular. Strangely, this is one of the most purposeful songs the group has ever made. Even more appealing is "The Parakeet Beat," sure to be a favorite this coming fall. Its Amazonian tribal drums are one of the most interesting things to happen on this album, and its breaks could be used in everything from a jungle to a hip-hop DJ set. Just think about it, that's all I'm sayin'.

There's the wandering mystery, the curious jungle mystery of the title-track. There's the ambitious and sinewy 15-minute wanderer "The Wind Has Ears," which best reflects their earlier work. There are a host of other moments both in the aforementioned songs and in ones that haven't been (Why do a track-by-track description when you can just hear it for yourself, right?), but the fact is that all of these moments are great. So what are the complaints?

That depends on what kind of a listener you are. If you yearn for the eight-track old school Sunburned Hand of the Man, Fire Escape may not appeal to you. In truth, this is a smooth and slick release, by far their smoothest and slickest yet. If what you came to hear was something like their heyday as leaders of the New Weird America movement, those days appear to be gone. Perhaps it's possible that the group will continue to release far-flung 7s and limited-run live recordings that will sound more organic or - dare we say it - more authentic. But if production and expectations are the biggest "problems" here, then Sunburned Hand of the Man have just made a giant leap forward. No longer wallowing in the shadows of contemporaries like former tourmates Magik Markers or Elixirs or anyone else, Sunburned Hand of the Man are well and truly in the limelight now. Fire Escape is the definitive proof that even the weirdest of the weird can still make the breakthrough to sound both more accessible and more adventurous. Hopefully people beyond the blogging community will recognize that for themselves.

John Clyde-Evans - "Apetal Thunderfall"

John Clyde-Evans - Star Trualx (Digitalis 2007)

John Clyde-Evans - Apetal Thunderfall / Digitalis

The artwork for Apetal Thunderfall may look like that Smashing Pumpkins heart if Louis Wain had drawn it in his later days, but don't be put off: John Clyde-Evans is emphatically not interested in making the next Zeitgeist. Thank heavens, as there's already too many of them.

Instead, Mr. Clyde-Evans has undergone an interesting transformation in light of a year spent in the Punjab region of India. If you're a world music skeptic and are especially leery of Indian music thanks in large part to videos like this,



then you'll be comforted to know that Apetal Thunderfall isn't anything like "Dance Raja Dance," either. Thank heavens, as there's already enough of them (although, with respect to both Clyde-Evans and Viyanand, "Dance Raja Dance" is peerless and it is unlikely music will again sound so ruthlessly optimistic).

Instead, Mr. Clyde-Evans has taken everything he's learned while studying in Punjab and under his Sikh name Tirath Singh Nirmala and constructed a beautifully abrasive set of drones and audio epics that is quite rightly noted for being cathartic.

You don't really feel the effects of his Indian escapade immediately. Instead, he lets it build over the course of these three songs, starting off with the title-track. John has made a conscious decision to move away from pastoral anthems past and his new skull-driving menace flashes its pearly whites in high-pitched whistles and thudding drums. Over nearly 13 minutes, Clyde-Evans grates and grinds and drills ever further inward, hoping to leave an Eastern rust behind when he pulls out.

"Star Trualx" is a much easier on the ears with its divebombing analog and hoarse manipulations. Wrapping up in a relatively succinct ten minutes, "Star Trualx" feels deceptively short. It never wears out on you and it's all the more enjoyable for its less confrontational sound.

20-minute closer "Cutting Down Orange Towers" confirms that, while John might've been away in the East, his sensibilities never veer very far from contemporary noiseniks such as Black Dice (who are obvious reference points if not obvious influences) and Yellow Swans. Ironically, this song most obviously displays the tricks he learned in Punjab with a sitar ride of sorts swinging back and forth throughout the space that Clyde-Evans gives the music. There's a lot of room to breathe and that's refreshing, except when that air feels like lead in your pipes as on the opening title-track. In fact, Apetal Thunderfall ends quiet like the album's name suggests: Light and mobile under sunny conditions, yet hampered by rain when the clouds come to greet.

This juxtaposition makes for great reading material and a tidy ending to this modest post, but believe me when I say it makes for better listening. Even if you aren't changed as Mr. Clyde-Evans was after his year abroad, hopefully you will be able to feel and sense what he has gone through. It's that personal connection that this album works to make happen. All you have to do is promise you'll stay to see the end. For a few moments you'll even forget all about "Dance Raja Dance."

Susanna - "Sonata Mix Dwarf Cosmos"

Susanna - People Living (Rune Grammofon 2007)

Susanna – Sonata Mix Dwarf Cosmos / Rune Grammofon

I am a hearty purveyor of all things instrumental, but recently I have found myself completely immersed in the human voice. Three artists in particular have crept their way into my consciousness and are refusing to let anyone else even approach my ears: Van Morrison, Scott Walker and Nina Simone. The way in which they emote each and every syllable with such sincere conviction twists my stomach in both voyeuristic embarrassment for listening during their most fragile moments and shared emotional resonance by suffering the impact of their fervor. It actually verges on being painful to listen. But this is exactly why we invest so much in music: the shared shouldering of emotions we would rather not have to face alone, having that encompassing voice (which can as easily be instrumental as vocal) travel down the beaten path of life along side you. When it taps into just the right frequency that your state of mind is currently residing within, words like “religious” are easily used to describe the feeling. Morrison, Walker and Simone have been revered for decades because of their ability to bear and express this emotional weight with such creativity; the way that they utilize their voice in such completely individual and expressive manners has become modern music’s definition of vocal prowess. It would be hyperbolic to go ahead and group Susanna Wallumrød with these monolithically respected singers, but as Sonata Mix Dwarf Cosmos shows us, she is certainly making a case for her application to be considered for this highly exclusive club.

Over the last few years, Susanna Karolina Wallmurød’s stock as an aspiring Norwegian artist has risen exponentially. Signed to Norway’s mecca of creative music, Rune Grammofon, under the name Susanna & the Magical Orchestra, Wallmurød joined almost exclusively by talented multi-instrumentalist Morten Qvenild (Jaga Jazzist, Shining, In the Country) pens highly romantic minimal chamber pop tunes that practically redefine the resonance of a torch song. Their elegant debut in 2004, List of Lights and Buoys received high international praise for their intimate explorations in the modern interpretation of vocal jazz, and 2006’s Melody Mountain found the pair really showing off their talents by producing and all-covers album in their own particular style. Never have AC/DC, Prince and Depeche Mode sounded so refined and elegant. For album number three though, the Magical Orchestra has been dropped making this Wallmurød’s solo debut. Her sound though is still very much the style established with Qvenlid: the Nico-meets-Joanna Newsom vocals supported by minimal arrangements of an assortment of keys and strings with just brief appearances from drums and electronics. Other notable session players involved in this project include members of The White Birch, Big Bang and In the Country along with a few other respected Norwegian musicians.

Like the album’s artwork, Wallmurød’s most defining characteristic is her ability to use only the most minimal amount of actual sound, but have it resonate with a vast amount of emotion. She kneads the negative space, letting each one of her enunciated, perfectly keyed syllables arc and fade; your ears yearn for her to break the enveloping silence, whose darkness continuously threatens to completely take Wallmurød away from you at what seems like your most dire state of need. On some tracks, “Hangout” and “Demon Dance” in particular, she refuses to settle into any discernable chorus-based structure, instead teasing you Simone-like over a tender harp or a lulling double bass with her bows of melody. When she does give you a chorus, “People Living” being the prime example, those moments of expectancy are withheld until the very last possible second and constricted to only the briefest of spaces. It tenses both the music and your ears, winding the apprehension and making the relief all that more tantalizing. Wallmurød herself never seems rushed, anxious or restless, instead coming off with the Madonna (not the pop star)-like patience only exemplified in the female spirit.

The session players accentuate Wallmurød with an equal amount of grace, keeping to tight, elliptical melodies that rarely approach the volume of Wallmurød’s voice. And the instrumentation typically matches the heavenly tone of her voice as well, the tenderly sighing theremin sweeping beneath “Intruder” for example, or the celesta brightly pattering during “Hangout.” Wallmurød flutters throughout Sonata Mix Dwarf Cosmos, evoking a stream of emotions with just the subtlest vocal tics. It is music for the most personal of moments, when you don’t need a physical presence to comfort you, but just a comforting voice to help shoulder the emotional load. Granted there are a few moments where she slips into almost a Fiona Apple-like gown, but for the most part, it harks back to names like Nico or Simone or Walker. She bows the words like a cello, slightly oscillating the pitch, dragging the tone with elegant glissando. And they hum with the same romantic resonance, filling in the negative space of your room, your ears and your mind with soothing assurance.

Healing Force - "Healing Force: The Songs of Albert Ayler"

Healing Force - Oh! Love of Life (Cuneiform 2007)

Healing Force - Healing Force: The Songs of Albert Ayler / Cuneiform

The thing I've always loved about Cuneiform Records is the way in which they introduce their releases. When it comes to the hallowed greats of music, they often tend to look well beyond trite reference points - Zeppelin or Miles Davis or Grandmaster Flash or whatever - to find hallowed artists whose legacies have been worn down by the sands of time. In other words, they're incredibly educational. The occasion is rare when one does not learn at least a little something about the musicians they have dug up.

Albert Ayler is one such case. The Cleveland, Ohio native was one of jazz's most interesting figures but has been doomed to the shadow of John Coltrane's early improvisational work. In fact, Ayler was just as accomplished if not more controversial than the legendary Coltrane. A US Army veteran, Ayler played alto saxophone while stationed in France and then back in LA and Cleveland. As his idiosyncratic style of playing evolved (wherein he used stiff reeds in his tenor sax), he became less welcome by jazz traditionalists. In 1962 he moved to Sweden and recorded with both Swedish and Danish-based groups. The eponymous My Name is Albert Ayler album derives from sessions in Copenhagen during this period.

His best known works were recorded following a return to Stateside in 1964: Spiritual Unity was his breakthrough and Spirits Rejoice followed not long thereafter, but even though Impulse Records signed him in 1966 at Coltrane's behest, Albert Ayler never found a proper home for his "energy music" and in late 1970 he committed suicide in the mist of a depression.

Though his final years were a dramatic descent for him spiritually, Healing Force are determined that his innovative style of playing not be in vain. To this end, they have recorded nine of his songs and put it out there for your consumption. It should be mentioned that these people aren't mere amateurs: Vinny Golia is a composer and professor at the California Institute of the Arts; Aurora Josephson is an accomplished improv singer; Henry Kaiser is a brilliant experimental musician and improvisational guitarist; Mike Keneally had chops enough to back Zappa; Joe Morris owns his own record label and has recorded with the likes of William Parker and Joe Maneri; Damon Smith has recorded with Audiversity favorite Fred Lonberg-Holm; and Weasel Walter founded The Flying Luttenbachers.

Their exceptional talents, though disparate, come together in a way that surely would've impressed even Ayler. "New New Grass / Message from Albert" gives you a brief glimpse of what's to come, but the masterful free-jazz epic "Music is the Healing Force of the Universe" dominates proceedings by standing as the album's albatross, a spectacular track that begins purposefully with Josephson's smooth voice soaring above the flaring saxophone. And then, gradually, it morphs into an otherworldly experience the likes of which Ayler himself must've gone through after experimenting with psychedelics to the point that he once swore he'd seen UFOs. "Japan / Universal Indians" plays on the Eastern themes of the title, and its exotic sound perfectly matches the mystical spirit of its origins. Its wicked guitar solos also probably keep Omar Rodriguez-Lopez up at night wondering why the hell it never seems to be as satisfying for him.

Same goes for the blistering guitar that runs through the heart of "Oh! Love of Life." Josephson's sultry and impassioned vocals are the element that smooths out the guitars and the erratic sax. It is an obvious highlight, and the reason it's here is because, while guitar does tend to dominate the track, the saxophone strays just far enough for you to get a feel of what Ayler was doing in the late 60s.

Though many of the songs here are similar, none quite so encapsulate what's going on with this record. "New Generation" is the most standard-sounding track on here, a lilting piano line tickling the ears before crashing into a track that is dominated suddenly switches to a line I swear I've heard before... But I've already mentioned Air once today, so forget it. It ends in a glorious cacophony that will appeal to people who are less interested in the jazz side of things and more interested in the "What can I dance to?" side of things. Whatever the case, this album is a tremendous success. Kaiser is quoted for the press release. Here is what he had to say.

"Through meditations, dreams, and visions, the players on this project were given the message to once again attempt to send the people of earth a message of love, peace, and spiritual understanding. We selected a representative set of tunes for this material and essentially let it play itself through us ... We hope you like this record." It doesn't feel like enough for these ears. Once again, Cuneiform has educated and once again they have rewarded followers with a superb free-jazz release that will hopefully pique interest in the legacy of Albert Ayler.

Radio Show Playlist: 9/26/07

6a:
1. Tom Waits - Innocent When You Dream - Franks Wild Years (Island 1987)
2. Red Red Meat - Stained and Lit - Jimmywine Majestic (Sub Pop 1994)
3. Angels of Light - The Man We Left Behind - We Are Him (Young God 2007)
4. Wooden Shjips - Losin' Time - Wooden Shjips (Holy Mountain 2007)
5. Boris with Michio Kurihara - You Laughed Like a Water Mark - Rainbow (Drag City 2007)
6. Comets on Fire - Pussy Foot the Duke - Blue Cathedral (Sub Pop 2004)
7. Hella - Elkan Sings Republic of R+R - Bitches Ain't Shit But Good People EP (Suicide Squeeze 2003)
8. Wzt Hearts - Heath Carver - Threads Rope Spell Making Your Bones (Carpark 2007)
9. Fennesz Sakamoto - Mono - Cendre (Touch 2007)
10. Jose Gonzalez - Cycling Trivialities - In Our Nature (Mute 2007)

7a:
1. Nina Nastasia & Jim White - The Day I Would Bury You - You Follow Me (FatCat 2007)
2. Juana Molina - La Verdad - Son (Domino 2006)
3. Mouse on Mars - Catching Butterflies with Hands - Idiology (Thrill Jockey 2001)
4. Tunng - Arms - Good Arrows (Thrill Jockey 2007)
5. Takagi Masakatsu - j.f.p. - Journal for People (Carpark 2006)
6. The Mercury Program - Egypt - A Data Learn the Language (Tiger Style 2002)
7. The Dylan Group - The Road I Know - Ur-Klang Search (Bubble Core 2000)
8. Sao Paulo Underground - Afrihouse - Sauna: Um, Dois, Tres (Aesthetics 2006)
9. Philip Cohran - Unity - On the Beach (Aestuarium 2001, recorded 1967/68)

8a:
1. Jeff Parker - Like-Coping - Like-Coping (Delmark 2003)
2. Pieces of Peace - Cease Fire - Pieces of Peace (Quannum 2007, recorded 1972)
3. The Impressions - Keep on Pushing - Keep on Pushing (Paramount 1964)
4. Weldon Irvine - Spontaneous Interaction - Time Capsule (Nodlew 1973)
5. The Fiery Furnaces - My Egyptian Grammar - Widow City (Thrill Jockey 2007)
6. George Harrison - Soft-Hearted Hana - George Harrison (Dark Horse 1979)
7. Le Loup - Outside of This Car, The End of the World - The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations' Millennium Assembly (Hardly Art 2007)
8. Baja - From Slogan to Spectacle - Aloha Ahab (Arctic Rodeo 2007)
9. Gabor Szabo - Dear Prudence - 1969 (Skye 1969)
10. Skallander - Fresh Born Constellation - Skallander (Type 2007)
11. Roberta Flack - Sunday and Sister Jones - Quiet Fire (Atlantic 1971)
12. Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings - 100 Days, 100 Nights - 100 Days, 100 Nights (Daptone 2007)

Gang Gang Dance - "Rawwar" EP

Gang Gang Dance - Nicoman (The Social Registry 2007)

Gang Gang Dance - "Rawwar" EP / The Social Registry

What possesses a man to leap in front of a train? This was the question I was faced with two weeks ago standing on the platform of the Red Line's Granville stop as I watched this very incident occur right before my eyes. Witnessing death like that is a strangely disorienting experience, perhaps because you expect it from Fallujah rather than Fullerton. At my distance, there was nothing I could do to stop him. But I was close enough to feel for him, and I wish I knew more but the investigation was short-lived and the newspapers made scarce mention the next day.

Gang Gang Dance have been mining this same psychological territory since their formation. Not in the literal sense, of course: I doubt Tim DeWitt has consciously created music with the question in mind. But the subtext of salvation lies somewhere deep beneath the Manhattan band's extraordinary amalgam of virtually every known sound to man. In Lizzi Bougatsos's otherworldly vocal performances, one hears the cries of the crowd. Or are those the cries of the jumper in the eight-tenths of a second one has to fly freely?

As I suspect it is elsewhere, Gang Gang Dance draws strong reactions from listeners here. Michael, surprisingly, is not especially fond of them; in contrast, I am still growing and learning and appreciating with their sonically demanding songs on every fresh release. Rawwar is their latest EP, continuing an established tradition of not making full-lengths (excepting God's Money). There is always development in each new release, but at what cost and to what end, even they aren't sure.

Therein lies a fundamental aspect of enjoying this band. You can't expect anything because expectations would defeat the whole point of what this group is trying to do. "Nicoman" is the best example of what you could call a "conventional" Gang Gang Dance sound, twisting and writhing through the quivering yelps of Bougatsos and down dirty streets in every city from Istanbul to Mumbai to Bucharest to the great amalgam of them all, New York City. As a musical melting pot, this group exemplifies all that's great about clashing cultures. "Nicoman" clashes with itself, a violent and vibrant affair that ends in a rush of percussion and Bougatsos, ever the mystic, keeping her words a safe distance from clarity.

"Oxygen Demo Riddim" allows you the proper amount of time to breathe after the typically fraught Gang Gang Dance affair that "Nicoman" is. Its almost Skatebård-like groove also calls to mind another Scandinavian master in Lindstrøm as well, but whomever you may try to pin it on, the result is that its groove does not stay locked in step forever: As it nears its conclusion, the melody feels more panicked and then, suddenly, in a quiet clap of thunder, it's gone. Or maybe that's the rumble of the train.

The final track stands as the EP's ultimate statement, and it's not just because of its length. "The Earthquake That Frees Prisoners" glides in through the stardust for nearly three minutes before arriving in a cacophonous burst of sound Bougatsos, a sampled orchestra and talking presumably by DeWitt all take part in. A poem that somehow involves Muhammed getting stoned doesn't seem like the proper place to draw dots to any kind of salvation, but "The Earthquake That Frees Prisoners" is the sound of Gang Gang Dance at their most driven, their most purposeful, their most coherent: Rather than cluttering up four minutes with dramatically unorthodox time signatures or erratic vocal lines, the band instead choose to let it breathe. As alive as any song they've ever made, you may get your time signature switches and a hint of dub in the mix but ultimately it's you serving yourself as a listener. Gang Gang Dance are mere providers, the manipulated dead to your living receiver, except they are very much alive. They are very much alive and their music is very much alive and they want you to feel that vitality, too. Ultimately, they want you to live.

What possesses a man to leap in front of a train? Somewhere between misfiring synapses and heavy hearts at a total loss for answers to life's cruelest questions, Gang Gang Dance play Rawwar in a desperate attempt to show the alternatives. Upon every platform where this question turns over and over again, the pulse of the EP races rapidly ahead, struggling to be heard in the turmoil. Down every narrow back alley of every major metropolis lies the urban emptiness that drives us to the tracks. In that respect, the raw war of Fullerton is not so different from Fallujah after all.

Telephone Jim Jesus - "Anywhere Out of the Everything"

Telephone Jim Jesus - Birdstatic (Anticon. 2007)

Telephone Jim Jesus - Anywhere Out of the Everything / Anticon.

I hate it when my favorite blogs go on hiatus. Whether permanent (RIP Funtime OK, Spoilt Victorian Children, et al) or temporary (Us in the past two weeks), it means less to learn about. If you're only updating once a week as it is, the established precedent ensures one never gets their hopes up too high. I never had illusions about being able to review forever, but it stung a little bit that just as I was moving somebody added us on del.i.cious and said we were "the best music blog in Chicago. Period." Whoops! Somebody picked the wrong time to run into flowers.

George Chadwick has made no such blunders. With a label full of guys who seem to be releasing material every week (Tim Holland in all his various guises, Alias, Why?, and so on), Telephone Jim Jesus is a rare exception to the precedent of constant output for this esteemed label. Three years ago, A Point Too Far to Astronaut introduced Chadwick to the world as an intergalactic head-trip and there's been sparse output since. Chadwick is also an exception in another way: While Mansbestfriend hit out at the political and Odd Nosdam's Level Live Wires patched a quilt of hazy day-to-day happenings earlier this year, Telephone Jim Jesus acts as the orbital counterweight. In a room full of earthly found-sound freaks, Chadwick positions himself as Anticon.'s own Judica-Cordiglia brother.

"Did You Hear?" wastes no time in making clear the aesthetic. Disjointed electronic transmissions feed into echoing guitar strings, unencumbered by gravity or the simple melody that starts this album off. Nearly a minute in, "Are you there?" repeats in a gravelly bass and the drums crunch in. Booming analog synths provide some Spank Rock-style bass action, but it's a fleeting moment as acoustic guitars return in a much clearer way at the end of the song. You're back in space, floating around as aimless as you'd started.

"Did You Hear?" is, then, the sound of Anywhere Out of the Everything in a single song. This album ebbs and flows relying mostly on its two most dominant aesthetic features: Sprawling space synthesizers and gigantic drum sounds. Everything else, from the occasional vocal interjection to the many acoustic guitar breakdowns to the scratchy downtime of between-song static that ties it all together, Telephone Jim Jesus has grabbed the very essence of being both a lost cosmonaut and a stargazing romantic back home. In that sense, he is not unlike Air.

Speaking of, big electronic drum sounds from a discarded 80s New Wave group dominate the airy "Featherfall," appropriately titled in its featherweight melodies and brick-like percussion. Dissipating to unintelligible transmissions and a vaguely political free verse poem all topped off by Subtle member Alex Kort's electric cello. But this is another example of the unity of this album's sound; for exceptions, check out Pedestrian and Why? working words over "Dice Raw" and Bomarr throwing in two cents on "Hit By Numbers."

In fact, there are other Anticonians working on this album (Doseone and Chris Adams among them), but all succumb to Chadwick's astro-vivid focus in the end. And what an end it is: At just a hair over eight minutes, "The Castle By the Freeway" takes you as far from the solar system as you've yet been during this album. Before it launches into an almost Björk-like sonic bender, everything freezes mid-float and a vocal snippet asks the listener, "What's it like to feel?"

The answer is that, after 42 minutes, you already know: Anywhere Out of the Everything might be the sound of an outsider in the most sonically literal of senses, but like so many other masters in the Anticon. collective, it doesn't matter where they're coming from so much as where you as a lisetener wind up going. There is a big heart behind Telephone Jim Jesus, and even if it only comes out once every three years, at least it gives us the pleasure of rediscovering his music. On some abstract level that George Chadwick himself might not even understand, it also gives us the pleasure of rediscovering ourselves.

Skallander - "Skallander"

Skallander - Dismemberment (Type 2007)

Skallander – Skallander / Type

There is absolutely a reason Type Records mastermind John Twells trusts Chicago-based artist Matthew Woodson to handle the artwork for nearly every one of his releases. Though the Type imprint on a disc doesn’t necessarily correspond to a particular genre, you can expect a few shared characteristics: somber toned, immaculate musicianship, idiosyncratic approach to recording and curious subtleties strewn throughout. Woodson’s graphic novel-derived style of illustrations, strategically detailed, colored in very mellow hues and typically of emotional, wordless moments, pairs perfectly with the music held within. And most importantly, they evoke your mind to explore the preceding and following events that could have led to this one particular moment. Though restricted to the 4.75” x 4.715” dimensions of most typical digipaks, the artwork harks back to the time when you put on a record, lay back on your bed and stare wonderingly into an LP sleeve. Take the recently released eponymous debut from Skallander for example. With the first bits of information being translated into the slightly orchestrated, Simon & Garfunkel-derived somber folk-pop, my mind, fixated on the album’s artwork, instantly begins to translate information as well. A story begins to conjure in my head from the moment captured by Woodson’s artwork paired with the music:

“Surrounded by the refreshing crisp air and burnt smell of fall with a pleasant-toned, clear blue sky eerily contradicting the chilled atmosphere, I can’t help but roll atop a large pile of fallen autumnal leaves. It seems kind of kitschy and archetypal of the setting, but there is absolutely nothing I want to hear more at this very moment then the crackling of dead, dried leaves. Besides, it’s not every day I find myself in the Illinois countryside, and I’m pretty sure I need this for my mental stability. I roll; they crackle. I roll and I roll and I roll letting my mind wander back to when I was six, growing up in the rural areas of Connecticut and practically living in nature; a stark contrast to my now completely urban setting of Chicago. I open my eyes momentarily while face down in the leaves and catch a glimpse of the cascading hues of somber reds and yellows and grays and decaying greens. Everything at that moment seems to pause, and my complete mental being concentrates on the seemingly infinite tunnel of leaves in my immediate vision. My brow furrows. Everything about this display is melodious and pleasant and welcoming, but these are dead leaves I’m rolling over. Dead. They were once practically as alive as I am and now here I am crushing and crackling them in their most feeble moments. Suddenly everything doesn’t seem as pleasant, but more fragile… and brittle… and mournful. I can’t help but immediately stand up, mentally exhausted and somewhat disgusted with myself. My mind slumps into a forest of now forlorn thoughts. What the fuck Michael? How old are you? Rolling around in leaves like you don’t have more important things to worry about. I maneuver myself beneath the nearest deciduous tree, wrap my arms around my knees and fall into a detached, melancholy mood.”

Granted this is not a creative writing class, but you can see how easily it is to conjure such imaginary stories with such a potent blend of visual and auditory art.

Inspiring Woodson to explore such an autumnal approach to illustrating is the pair of Bevan Smith and Matthew Mitchell, who record together under the name Skallander. Their eponymous debut rings of both new and old approaches to somber folk music: Simon & Garfunkel to Kings of Convenience, Nick Drake to Jose Gonzalez, Neil Young to Elliott Smith. But what really sells the album to me is the sonic subtleties that surrounded the blueprint folk-pop sound. You may know Smith better as Signer, a purveyor of textural ambient music with hefty nods toward dub and Berlin techno signed to Carpark Records, as well as one-half of the New Zealand-based pattering electro-pop duo Over the Atlantic. The Hungary-based (via New Zealand as well) Mitchell on the other hand is less of a knob twiddler and more of a purveyor of all things acoustic. A renowned jazz guitarist, the multi-instrumentalist (which includes everything from accordion to sitar) has performed with a myriad of musicians from across the globe including Hamid Drake, William Parker and Takagi Masakatsu among many others. Together they have decided to craft somber folk tunes, which would seem over-simplified for the talented pair if they didn’t surround each song with an array of sonic textures and atmospheric bliss.

Skallander peaks early with the third and fourth tracks, but with a length of only ten songs, it doesn’t seem too top heavy at all. After a short, tenderly throbbing instrumental introduction with angelic guitar strums and reedy mini-orchestration swells, and the mood-setting “Forgiven,” “Dismemberment” unleashes the pop perfection that the duo can achieve. With a vocal tone reminiscent of Film School’s n. Lannon, Smith and Mitchell build off a simple two-string acoustic guitar strum. It’s minimal but buoyant and when paired with the patient, melodic vocal phrasing, it excels in a manner that bridges early 70s folk-pop with mid-aughts indie-pop. The song builds slightly round robin with brass and woodwind accents and weaving vocal lines. After a complete breakdown, the song rebuilds with increasing tension among lightly atonal flourishes and a delicate cadence before returning to the blissful chorus, which is now accentuated with fractured drum kit splices and increased urgency. Everything appears seamless, but when listened to closely, sample-like blocks of sound are revealed creating texture beneath the silky pop. “Flesh Born Constellation” follows as the only other song to significantly reach over the four-minute mark. Like “Dismemeberment,” the pair excels when exploring roundabout choruses of interweaving vocals, delicate electric guitar and autumnal toned woodwinds. “Constellation” meanders a bit more, but the vocal hook digs much deeper, not unlike and Erlend Øye-penned pop tune. The duo patiently lets this song develop though, giving ample space for Mitchell to interject jazzy instrumental undertones and Smith to mix in subtle post-produced atmospherics. The song breathes in and out with lustful tension, teasing the listener’s ears before lying to rest with idyllic satisfaction.

Skallander may be a bit more straightforward and poppy than most Type releases, but no less fulfilling. The music, while simple and easily digestible on the surface, is lined with subtle sonic textures that could only be conceived by musicians with ample experience in musical experimentation. Like Woodson’s artwork, it’s somber, autumnal, fragile and nostalgic, evoking a multitude of emotions that sometimes are outright contradictions of each other. Skallander is full of tension, but the kind of sought after tension that comes from spending the night with a significant other for the first time. Everything seems pleasant and eased on the outside, but the insides of each party involved are bubbling with absolute anticipation.

Devotion #6

“For all debts public and private.”

I started my last post with quotes, and used quotations to open a lot of papers and essays in high school and college, until a professor told me it was a lazy tactic and I needed to stop. Thanks, Dr. Query!

But this week’s quote is significant for a few reasons. Reason one being that I owe you guys a little something extra to make up for my hiatus last week. And Audiversity on a whole owes belated condolences to the passing of yet another musical great, and also a fellow blogger.


Audiversity has mentioned the deaths of legendary keyboardist Joe Zawinul and soul stirrer Bobby Byrd, the man credited with launching the career of James Brown, but we would be remiss in not acknowledging the loss of Wilson “Willie Tee” Turbington, who was among the many pioneers of New Orleans funk and soul. In addition to being a major contributor as a writer, performer, producer, label head on the local scene for four decades, Turbington also enjoyed a career in which he played alongside other greats such as the late Zawinul, Nat and Cannonball Adderly, and Herbie Mann. Check out tributes here and here.

Personally, I must offer condolences to the family and friends of Megan Matthews, a contributor to Moistworks.com, which has been one of my favorite Internet stops for a number of years. I didn’t know Megan personally, but I definitely knew of her, and the time and dedication that she and her colleagues put into their posts and song selection has always made Moistworks a joy to visit. She’ll be missed.

**********

“For all debts public and private” is a portion of a phrase printed on U.S. currency, which I find a bit ironic considering how much of it is not going toward our country’s insanely high national debt, which currently sits at a little over $9 trillion. Apparently, we’ve been doing more deleting and a lot less saving, and out of that $9 trillion-plus, close to $30,000 is the share for each individual American. It’s a bit of a problem, but that’s what happens when the President is a narrow-minded businessman and not a progressive politician, which is not as much of a slight against George W. Bush at it seems. Hell, I wouldn’t care if the Head of State was Chris Rock if it meant that the dollar would actually be worth something somewhere other than U.S. soil.

I, like most people, hate being in debt or indebted to anyone. I don’t hate debt enough not to have put a down payment on a new car last Saturday, but I do hate the drain it puts on my bank account at various times throughout the month. My father used to joke about how he would put all of his bills in a hat, and pull them out one at a time and pay until he ran out of money. Those statements that didn’t make the cut would get preference on the next go-round. I got no problem with bills, and I do have surprisingly decent credit, but that doesn’t mean that I like having to drop down with that scrilla all the time. Having a job, however, does help, and even though being a corporate drone is some bullshit, I don’t mind using one unpleasant condition to remedy another. In the end, it’s a push – nobody wins, but nobody loses either, especially not your boy Ronnie.

Other, more informal forms of debt come when we proverbially let our mouths write checks that our asses may or may not be able to cash. I do this often, as I did in referencing an “albino Scientologist blues-rocker” in my first Audiversity post. Fortunately, I can make good on this one. But it’s funny how we all make these kind of seemingly minimal promises and declarations in our lives, yet they may potentially have results more damaging than anything Citibank or Capital One could ever do to us.

The Edgar Winter Group – “Frankenstein” – They Only Come Out At Night (CBS/Epic 1972)

They Only Come Out At Night is a great album, as is this one – both produced by famed guitarist and songwriter, Rick Derringer, who is also a frequent “Weird Al” Yankovic collaborator. Winter didn’t really fit that well into my African-American, middle-class upbringing, but I did get a lot of exposure to his music while hearing the Group’s biggest hit, “Free Ride,” during multiple viewings of Richard Linklater’s teen-stoner epic, “Dazed and Confused.” I would also hear it often as a Phish fan, when the band played note-for-note renditions of “Frankenstein” during their live shows. It’s not like “Dazed and Confused” or Phish were any bigger in the hood than the Edgar Winter Group were. But the weed was.

Led Zeppelin – “That's the Way” – Going to California bootleg (Trade Mark of Quality 1971-ish)

I bought both of those Edgar Winter records and about forty or fifty others on the cheap from the library at Loyola University Chicago’s Water Tower campus. It was one of those experiences where you spot a few pieces of vinyl in some random, unassuming place - like the bottom of a book cart - then after thumbing through them just long enough to draw attention, you hear those magic words that make any record collector salivate with Pavlovian fury:

“We got more in the back.”

Yes.

“In the back” was also where I found the Led Zeppelin – in the back of this massive thrift outlet and used furniture warehouse on 78th and Stony Island in Chicago, to be exact. If you know anything about this city, you probably know that 78th and Stony is one of the most un-Led Zeppelin-like neighborhoods around, which made it an even more remarkable discovery. I was in there for hours, sifting through an ungodly amount of garbage records when I noticed this blue Rubbermaid Roughneck storage bin in the rear of the store. It stood out in considerable contrast to the drab and beat-up second-hand surroundings, and for some reason only known to the thrift store gods, contained nothing but late ‘70s and early ‘80s hard rock and metal LPs – AC/DC, Metallica, Judas Priest, the Zeppelin, and a few other bands I’d never heard of. Amazing.

I ended up copping the Zeppelin, Van Halen’s Women and Children First, AC/DC’s Let There Be Rock, and Metallica’s Kill ‘Em All and $5.98 EP/Garage Days Re-Revisited for a dollar apiece. But, I only got one-half of the two-LP, red and blue vinyl Zeppelin set. This pains the collector inside of me every time I think about it. Trade Mark of Quality pieces go for much more than a dollar online – as does the Metallica – so if ANYBODY has a lead on the blue vinyl, please let me know. I’d never sell them. I’m just a manic completist, and will spare no expense when it comes to finding the mate.

Once I got more details on the Zeppelin bootleg, I made a crazed dash back to the store to check if I had overlooked the missing LP.

All of the records – and the bin – were gone.

Singleversity #28

Audiversity’s weekly column, slightly modified, on random music in a predetermined number of words between 1 & 150. This week's randomly generated number: 48.

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Yet another musical figurehead of the 60s passed away this month, this time the right-hand man of James Brown, Bobby Byrd. A decent soul/funk crooner himself (see his duet with James, "You've Got to Change Your Mind"), Byrd was an integral column in the temple of Brown. RIP.

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Courtesy Japan's legendary Supercar: All of their Gen Sekiguchi videos are good, but "Be" (from their 1999 album Ooyeah!!) remains a disturbing favorite. Sometimes you make the goal, sometimes you miss, but ultimately you're... Ah! That would be ruining the witty optimism of the video's conclusion, wouldn't it?

Richard Leo Johnson & Gregg Bendian – "Who Knew Charlie Shoe?"

Richard Leo Johnson & Gregg Bendian - Whitewash Worship Warehouse/Fine Washer and Dryer (Cuneiform 2007)

Richard Leo Johnson & Gregg Bendian – Who Knew Charlie Shoe? / Cuneiform

Though my options for reviewing at the moment are quite abundant with a slew of well-known acts (the fall season is both an exciting and a stressful time for Music Directors with the ridiculous amount of mail that comes pouring into our offices), I am opting to highlight an album purely for the curiousness of its mellow sound. During my research for this review, at nearly every corner were buzzwords that would make most underground music fans turn and run: new age (gasp!), contemporary jazz (yikes!), sophisticated (uh-oh!), white men with perms (noooo!), The Mahavishnu Project (runnnnnn!!!!). But the fact of the matter is that Who Knew Charlie Shoe? is an intriguing listen with enough curious musical twists and turns from guitar virtuoso Richard Leo Johnson and avant-garde percussionist Gregg Bendian that I would much rather be exploring the intricacies of this rather than the latest Devendra Banhart release.

Richard Leo Johnson appears to just have missed being condemned to the new age circuit by a few lucky life twists. Just check his debut release on Blue Note from 1999, Fingertip Ship: packaged with cheesy, water obsessed artwork that absolutely screams new age jazz, Johnson, despite producing a multi-layered sound, set out to pay tribute to acts like Tony Bennett and Jaco Pastorius with proggy implications from latter day Floyd. The self-taught southern guitarist is also compared frequently to Michael Hedges, who with his shoeless Hare Krishna-like look complete with long, sometimes braided hair and headband will have you cringing in disbelief at his All Music Guide pictures. Thankfully though, Johnson has redeemed his career by embracing the John Fahey inside of him with his 2006 release, The Legend of Vernon McAlister. Gone is the myriad of expensive, geeky guitars and in their place, one 1930s single resonator National Steel guitar. Johnson crafted an imagined persona from the mysterious name etched on the side of the guitar and proceeded to create a hushed, twisting album that was absolutely a descendent of Blind Joe Death.

Joining Johnson on Who Knew Charlie Shoe? is another jazz-based musician that is more condemned to the faults of the era he evolved in rather than his actual musical style: the 80s and 90s. Percussionist and composer Gregg Bendian set out to become an avant-garde musician by studying the works of Anthony Braxton, Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor, whom he joined in 1989 as the drummer for the Cecil Taylor Unit, but often got caught up in the prog-rock and fusion scenes (the Mahavishnu Project, Interzone) mostly because his options were limited. He has managed a good amount of modern creative work though joining the likes of Peter Brötzmann and William Parker on stage, and his knack for inventive percussive workouts is displayed in full force here.

The pair is continuing to explore the setting set by Johnson on The Legend of Vernon McAlister, and with the inclusion of Bendian on a junkyard full of percussive toys, the sound is leaving solely Fahey territory for realms all its own. This time around, the album is the supposed recorded session of Charlie Shoe, an Arkansas native who suffers from a form of mild autism and was inspired by a chance encounter with Vernon McAlister, and Jaden Barrel aka Junk Fish, a retired prog-rocker from the late 70s who thanks to his rock & roll lifestyle ended up penniless in a junkyard in the very same city as Shoe. Thanks to a musicologist from the University of Memphis, the pair’s combined talents, dubbed as “hick-prog,” was captured to tape and subsequently released as this album. All fictional back-story aside, Who Knew Charlie Shoe? features Johnson on mostly a set of five vintage guitars he purchased on eBay for around a hundred dollars each and Bendian banging on everything from a lard can to racks, brooms and brushes to washboards and chunks o’ metal.

While the Fahey comparisons can’t be ignored, the resonance of his guitar playing and the melodic textures remind me much more of contemporary players like Steffen Basho-Junghans and Jack Rose with hints of prog-like progressions from the likes of the John McLaughlin camp. While Johnson concocts wave after wave of tinny harmonies, Bendian rattles off odd syncopations from his shed of bangable material, sometimes taking the lead, as on “Superman,” or just accentuating Johnson’s playing, as on “Uncle Toby’s Place.” The music really intrigues when Bendian pulls out the inventive or melodic percussion: “First Breath in a Bean Field” features somber picking over washtub water rhythms, “Jesus on a Tire Swing” is accentuated with almost church bell chimes and hollow subtle taps, and “Where the Rivers Meet” finds a country guitar yearn emphasized by slow building saw and bow-like frequencies. “Rockasilly” and “Whitewash Worship Warehouse/Fine Washer and Dryer” maybe the two most realized tracks though; the former riding Johnson’s aggressive Appalachian grooves and woodblock syncopation from Bendian, while the latter is much more mellow with Johnson shaving off tinny shreds of slide guitar over Bendian’s resonating water drum tones.

Like we have discovered time and again at this site, the unassuming albums always seem to be the most intriguing. Based on artwork alone, which is comprised of children’s drawings on faux-lined paper and too pretty goofy-looking middle-aged men (one with a pot on his head) on the cover, most people would glance and move on. But embedded on the microscopic grooves are the talents of two inventive musicians enjoying themselves by concocting fictional stories and working with random instrumentation. Both Johnson and Bendian appear to have left the forced intensity of both new age and avant-garde (each side of the intensity spectrum) for music that is as enjoyable to listen to, as I am sure it was to create.

Radio Show Playlist: 9/19/07

6a:
1. Gang of Four - Damaged Goods - Entertainment! (EMI 1979)
2. Antelope - Wen Ho Lee - Antelope (Dischord 2003)
3. Black Lips - Cold Hands - Good Bad Not Evil (Vice 2007)
4. Stooges - 1970 - Fun House (Elektra 1970)
5. Les Savy Fav - The Lowest Bitter - Let's Stay Friends (French Kiss 2007)
6. Deerhoof - Dummy Discards a Heart - Apple O' (Kill Rock Stars 2003)
7. Wire - I am the Fly - Peel Sessions (Strange Fruit 1989, recorded 1978)
8. Mannequin Men - Ev'rybody Has Lved Her - Fresh Rot (Flameshovel 2007)
9. Ponys - Shadow Box - Celebration Castle (In the Red 2005)
10. Thurston Moore - Trees Outside the Academy - Trees Outside the Academy (Ecstatic Peace 2007)
11. Wooden Shjips - We Ask You to Ride - Wooden Shjips (Holy Mountain 2007)
12. Wzt Hearts - Hearth Carver - Threads Rope Spell Making Your Bones (Carpark 2007)

7a:
1. Sun Ra - Paradise - Sound of Joy (Delmark 1957)
2. Heikki Sarmanto - African Echoes - Moonflower (Porter 2007)
3. Charles Mingus - Mysterious Blues - Newport Rebels (Candid 1960)
4. Bettye LaVette - You Don't Know Me at All - The Scene and the Crime (Anti- 2007)
5. Susanna - People Living - Sonata Mix Dwarf Cosmos (Rune Grammofon 2007)
6. Nina Simone - Four Women - Wild is the Wind (Philips 1966)
7. Skallander - Dismemberment - Skallander (Type 2007)
8. Richard Leo Johnson & Gregg Bendian - Rockasilly - Who Knew Charlie Shoe? (Cuneiform 2007)
9. John Fahey - Sun Gonna Shine in my Back Door Someday - Volume 1: Blind Joe Death (Takoma 1967)

8a:
1. Akron/Family - Don't Be Afraid, You're Already Dead - Love is Simple (Young God 2007)
2. Icy Demons - Untitled - Fight Back! (Cloud 2004)
3. Animal Collective - Derek - Strawberry Jam (Domino 2007)
4. Tunng - Bullets - Good Arrows (Thrill Jockey 2007)
5. Joao Gilberto - Disse Al Guem (All of Me) - Brasil (Warner Bros. 1981)
6. Le Loup - We Are Gods! We Are Wolves! - The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations' Millennium Assembly (Hardly Art 2007)
7. Voice of the Seven Woods - Silver Morning Branches - Voice of the Seven Woods (B-Music 2007)
8. Stark Reality - Sunday's Song - 1969 (Now Again 2003, recorded 197?)
9. Adrian Orange & Her Band - Give to Love What's Love's - Adrian Orange & Her Band (K 2007)
10. Konono No1 - Nsimba & Nzuzi - Live at Couleur Cafe (Crammed 2007)

Akron/Family - "Love is Simple"

Akron/Family - Ed is a Portal (Young God 2007)

Akron/Family – Love is Simple / Young God

While it seems like the entire indiesphere has taken up orbit around the Springsteen sun, basking in its scruffy glow and aping the conscientious celebration that is an E Street concert, a small comet by the name of Akron/Family has found a comfortable centripetal force circling a different dimming star by the name of The Band. Granted this celestial body isn’t shining quite as bright as it once did, the influence it has had on American music is undeniable. In the late 60s, The Band inhaled almost every significant niche of popular music at the time and exhaled a sound that intertwined aspects of Dylan’s folk, Sonny Boy’s blues, Redding’s R&B, the Beatles/Stones/Presley’s rock’n’roll as well as elements of gospel and classical music. It was Americana music as interpreted by outsiders (they were mostly Canadian) and was as rough-hewed as it was skilled. There was no singular songwriter, voice or leader, but a band… er… the Band where everyone contributed ideas and talents, and mostly importantly, the framework of their sound left plenty of room for experimentation thanks to the experience and open-mindedness of the players involved. Springsteen, on the other hand, has been pretty much just improving is production quality since 1975. So let’s leave the increasingly cluttered orbit of the Springsteen sun for The Band galaxy, where the Akron/Family comet is allowed to circle unhinged to a specific route and explore other gravitational pulls when seen fit.

The “four extremely nice, sincere and well-mmanered young men from rural America who came to NYC (in 2002) to make music” (YG bio) are unleashing their second full-length record for Michael Gira’s (Angels of Light/Swans) Young God Records; their fourth release when counting the 2005 split with Angels of Light and the 2006 elongated EP, Meek Warrior. Within three years the enchanting psychedelic near-hippie jamfest that is the Akron/Family have made a significant name for themselves thanks to a string of excellent recordings and a seemingly non-stop and very well revered live show. Their music, while rooted in sing-along folk and twangy classic rock, refuses to settle into one particular sound and continuously pushes back any musical boundary they approach. Hushed folk meets free jazz skronk, ambitious prog-pop meets one-chord blues, classic rock’s jeans and sweat meets psychedelia’s elaborate, colorful costumes. It is a wonderful tree where The Band, the Chicago Art Ensemble, Captain Beefheart, Animal Collective, Spirtualized, Creedance Clearwater Revival and Pharoah Sanders all come to sit around and jam into the night.

The bearded mid-20 quartet continue to tease and tweak their unpredictable sound with full-length number two, Love is Simple. The main concern for the Fam at this point should be, and very well may be by the sound of this album, not letting this established unpredictability become predictable. As so many psyche and prog bands of the mid-70s can attest, wacky extravagance isn’t as effective once everyone is expecting a mind-bending turn at each and every corner; it just becomes the norm. The Brooklyn boys are handling this issue with care, Love is Simple has all of the hippie ideal sing-alongs, ambient noodling, contagious grooves, skronk outbursts and skilled musicianship you’ve come to expect, but the vibe is thankfully distinctive from previous releases. This can probably be attested to the band hooking up with producer Andrew Weiss, who is the crazed mastermind sitting behind the boards on the majority of the Ween albums. Holed up in Weiss’s western New Jersey studio, Zion House of Flesh, the Akron/Family were able to harness their musical glee, expressing it through a newfound structure of mostly classic rock electric guitar and elliptical choruses. Weiss was not only able to crisp the production to perfection, but lasso that moment in the early 70s when the combination of prog-pop, country rock, blues, R&B and proto-punk led to the style we now refer to as classic rock (see: The Band) without losing sight of concurrent movements of the same era like free jazz, krautrock and ambient; in other words, just the right balance of accessible familiarity and experimental challenges.

Bookending the album are the Woodstock ideals that are admittedly hard to escape when stuck in the era the Akron/Family are purveying; everyone sing along now: “ go out and love, love, looooooooove ev—ery—one.” Don’t worry if that’s not your cup of tea though, the introduction lasts less than two-minutes before jumping head first into the yell along folk anthem “Ed is a Portal.” Though mostly just a simple Can-derived groove played with just a touch of twang, the Akron/Family color the song with group vocals, choral hand-claps, and enough instrumental nuances to have you picking out details for many spins to come. About half-way through the seven-and-a-half minutes song, the first Band influence is heard with a very effective country-folk bridge accented by bird chirps, lovely melodic percussion and wonderfully out-of-place synth flourishes. It’s one of the many places where so many reference points can be made that it seems almost ridiculous to try and define them. “Don’t Be Afraid, You’re Already Dead” follows introducing a more somber mood with the utopian 1969 chorus “love is simple,” and “I’ve Got Some Friends” reminds you with its Animal Collective-meets-Langhorne Slim sound that the Fam have as much quirk as they do melancholy. Bridged by two longer experimental and intriguing songs in “Lake Song/New Ceremonial Music for Moms” and the climactic “There’s So Many Colors,” the second half of the album mirrors the first half by jumping back and forth between more somber and more jubilant numbers. The highlight is “Of All the Things” that almost comes off Celtic with its accordion-like electric guitar groove and mess hall chants. Like the majority of the tracks though, the song breaks down at the midpoint before rebuilding itself in an even more grandiose manner.

Looking retrospectively at the Akron/Family discography to date and attempting to rank Love is Simple within it is almost a futile effort. Each album really stands on its own, and perhaps the most defining characteristic of Love is Simple is not so much a stylistic difference but the Fam’s increasingly masterful handle on both their more avant-garde and more straight-ahead moments. They have shown they can handle each polar side since the very beginning, but with Weiss’s assistance, the choruses are grander, the skronk is wilier and the rainbows of colorful love-inspired jubilation are as bright as ever. While I do miss the percussive genius Hamid Drake added to Meek Warrior and they have still yet to match the emotional resonance of “Running, Returning” from their self-titled debut, the Akron/Family are only continuing to impress with Love is Simple. The music is boundary-less and their sound is simultaneously reflective, enigmatic, organic, amiable and dreamy. This comet may still be crossing the paths of many influential celestial bodies at this point, but sooner or later you have to think it will completely break orbit and head into areas of infinite space that are yet to be explored.

Singleversity #27

Audiversity’s weekly column, slightly modified, on random music in a predetermined number of words between 1 & 150. This week's randomly generated number: 111.

MA:



Sadly, jazz keyboardist Joe Zawinul passed away earlier this week from a rare skin disease. Though the Austrian musician wasn’t the only driving force in the movement, he was certainly an indispensable component in the developing of jazz-fusion by pioneering the use of electric piano and synthesizers in jazz music. Zawinul spent nine years playing for Cannonball Adderly in the 60s and then teamed with Miles Davis for such groundbreaking albums as In a Silent Way, Bitches Brew and Big Fun before starting Weather Report with Wayne Shorter. Though it hasn’t aged exceptionally well, Weather Report’s "Birdland" is still one of the most widely recognizable jazz songs of the 70s. R.I.P.

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