As an addendum to my previous post, I've found a usable (i.e. under 20 minutes) edit of "Prelude" from Agharta, the electric-era Miles Davis tune that opened up a whole new area of music to me in 1991.
As an addendum to my previous post, I've found a usable (i.e. under 20 minutes) edit of "Prelude" from Agharta, the electric-era Miles Davis tune that opened up a whole new area of music to me in 1991.
I've liked Medeski Martin and Wood ever since I first heard them on the Get Shorty soundtrack (one of the grooviest soundtracks to a mainstream movie since the 70s), but I only ever got a couple of their albums. One that I bought was their first album with guitarist John Scofield, issued under Scofield's name alone as A Go Go. That came out in 1998, and MMW dropped off my radar after that. Last week I decided to do some catching up, and got their second collaboration with Scofield, Out Louder from 2006, credited to all four of them this time. I skipped forward to "Miles Behind," which I gathered was a play on Miles Davis's Miles Ahead and may be a tribute of sorts. And it is a tribute: not to the late-50s-era Miles of Miles Ahead, but to my absolute favorite stretch of his career, the wildly creative funk-rock-jazz fusion of the early 70s, Bitches Brew through Get Up With It, so despised by jazz purists but beloved by many who, like me, approach music with rock as their baseline. I first heard Miles's 1975 live album, Agharta, at the Tower Records (remember those?) in Rockville in 1991, and I bought it even though I was broke, because it was exactly the music I needed at the time. "Miles Behind" nails the Electric Miles sound (albeit without a trumpet); it distills that entire oeuvre into less than three minutes, and reliving the rush of my initial Agharta revelation actually gave me goosebumps.
More often than not I learn about music backwards, that is, in reverse chronological order. When I posted "Sorcery" by Poland's Big Band Katowice back in October, it did not occur to me to wonder about the song's origin. It was just today, listening to Billy Cobham's 1975 album A Funky Thide of Sings, that I heard the song again:
The story of how I finally listened to Billy Cobham after 30-odd years of not listening is for another time, but the result is that I wish I had just listened in the first place. So here was "Sorcery" again, in an electrified, more concise but less lively version, but the intriguing part was the media player displaying Keith Jarrett as the composer. Keith Jarrett, the godfather of New Age piano? A little digging and I learned what probably everyone else in the world already knew, that Keith Jarrett did indeed compose "Sorcery" in 1966, when he was 21 and a member of the Charles Lloyd Quartet; it was first released on the Forest Flower album:
The title fits, I can easily visualize a bad-ass wizard striding down a lane in time to this tune a la Tony Manero and "Stayin' Alive." And then he stops abruptly, points at me, fixes me with a paralyzing stare, and says (in Alan Rickman's voice) "Gonna getchoo." Help!
]]>Catching up on my music backlog today I discovered a definite keeper, Dawn, the newish album by twenty-member L.A. jazz collective Build An Ark. They seem to be channeling spiritual jazz and folk straight out of the 70s with real authority, probably because some of their members actually played it in the 70s. They successfully avoid the three main pitfalls of retro jazz (too smooth, too disco, too many 70s cliches) and vary the tempo without grinding to a halt on the slower pieces. I may even end up liking the slower ones better; they have an organic beauty that wells up as the songs progress, with rhythms implied rather than blatant. For this post I've chosen the aptly-titled "Track 4," an uptempo number that starts with a chant and slows down into an absolutely gorgeous coda:
With twenty members there should be a lot of related music to explore, which has me practically drooling. Know the feeling?
No thread about Bass Porn would be complete without Mark King; here he is at his most indulgent in a live performance at the Jazz Café. Can you listen to the opening notes without thinking of Jerry, George, Kramer, and Elaine?
For all the slapping and pulling, it's just not very funky; they're too close to the "smooth" end of the Smooth-Funky continuum. Which is not to say it's bad, it's just very safe-sounding. For some meatier content, here is a fresh vinyl rip of what I think is Level 42's best song, "Good Man in a Storm" from the World Machine album. That album opens with "Something About You," which was rewarded for its rather dumb, anthemic chorus with worldwide hit status, while the melodic, understated "Good Man" wasn't even a single. Go figure.
Now that's nice, as in prime Bill Withers or George Benson nice.
And finally, a bit of levity. You probably don't associate Level 42 with comedy at all, but their appearance on The Fast Show is pretty darned funny. (There are a couple shots of long-haired guitarist Jakko Jakszyk, most recently playing Robert Fripp's parts in 21st Century Schizoid Band, the Fripp-less band of King Crimson alumni who perform King Crimson songs.)
Stay tuned for more bass porn and divers other delights.
]]>Nowadays James Blood Ulmer is making blues albums, produced by Vernon Reid, and they're pretty good. But it's his albums for Columbia in the 1980s that I love the most: the upbeat tempos, Ulmer's growling voice and singular guitar soloing, Ronnie Drayton's angular rhythm guitar, and Amin Ali's funky bass-slapping all swirling together in a melange of rock, funk, and jazz, it all makes me want to shout and jump around. The frenzied "Black Rock" could be considered the manifesto of that phase of Ulmer's musical career:
(Drums on that track are by G. Calvin Weston.) I saw James Blood Ulmer in 1991 (roughly) at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History, of all places, in the Baird Auditorium. The opening act was the Ritual Trio, who played a lively and enjoyable world-jazz set, but I never followed up on them. Ulmer's band was a trio for this occasion, with Amin Ali on bass (I think) and ... maybe ... Cornell Rochester on drums? About four or five songs in, as Ali was just starting to bust out some bass-slapping, Ulmer abruptly ended the show, saying, "There are people who don't want you to hear this music!" I assume the show was too loud for someone at the museum, who must have complained and got the show shut down; but I never found out for sure. That was a bummer.
Matthew Brown has written a meaty musical biography of Ulmer at Musicianguide.com. I wish such detailed information was easily accessible for every musician and band, instead of the hit-or-miss content on Allmusic and Wikipedia. Maybe someday...
Tonight I'm off to The Haunt for the first time since moving to Ithaca a year ago; Bootsy Collins protege Freekbass is playing, with local opening acts the Rozatones and Monkmeat. It should be a funky good time!
1/11/08 update: New! Demand James Blood Ulmer in your city! I did, and that makes one of us! I don't know if it actually works, but it certainly won't if nobody uses it.
When last I blogged I was trying to decide what to do next from among three choices; I have decided to knock out two of them in this post and save the third for its own, as it is a rarity that I don't want to bury. So continuing the Deep Funk Around the World thread, we come to Poland, where my friend Jeff has been sent to teach the locals how to program. Today's deep funk track is by Big Band Katowice, comprised of student musicians from the State Higher School of Music in Katowice. Their special feature: they are from the 70s! Their sole album, Music for My Friends, was recorded in 1977, so they are interpreting deep funk from a geographical rather than a chronological distance. Here is "Sorcery," which also happens to be the leadoff track on the newish Polish Funk compilation album from Polskie Nagrania:
Sounds like real funk to me! Now the song that the Bamboos reminded me of, it turns out they didn't remind me of it, the Apples did. The way the baritone sax lays down the groove and the other horns play their thing over it made me remember "Hattie Wall" by the World Saxophone Quartet: Julius Hemphill (d. 1995), Oliver Lake, Hamiett Bluiett, and David Murray. In 1987 WEA was trying to build up Elektra Nonesuch as a boutique label, or "special music" as they called it, i.e. music that critics praised but no one bought. They put out a label sampler called Late in the 20th Century (which I think I got at the Record World manager's convention in glamorous Lancaster, PA) that was actually quite good, featuring the Kronos Quartet, John Adams, John Zorn, Wayne Horvitz, and others. "Hattie Wall" was included to promote the Quartet's album Dances and Ballads, and while I never did get that album (yet another one to look for), I always loved the song:
"Hattie Wall" really opened my eyes (or ears) to how much you could do with rhythm without using any drums. Other bands have shown me that you can use drums and still have no rhythm, but they are better forgotten.
Two down, that leaves the band-with-a-self-titled-theme-song thread to follow up on, which I may do tomorrow, but probably later.
I thought I was done with the Cruisin' thread, but I just picked up the debut album by LA's slyly-named Big Organ Trio and "Road Rage" cried out for inclusion. Mike Mangan mans the B3 here, getting an almost guitar-like sound on his leads via a wah-wah pedal. The rhythm section of Brent McConnell (drums) and Bernie Bauer (bass) is augmented on this track by Damion Corideo, who provides some Latin percussion. The song is just on the edge of cruising and almost into car-chase territory:
Yes! You know you're doing something right when Keith Emerson keeps coming up on stage to jam with you. What do they sound and look like live? Like this:
Robert Musso's "All Funked Up" isn't fast enough to be a cruising-down-the-freeway song, so it is my official "cruising-down-the-boulevard-with-the-top-down" song (with the same qualifications as the previous entry, plus there is no boulevard in Ithaca). Musso is a recording engineer, best known (to me) for his work on countless Bill Laswell projects. He is also a musician, primarily a guitarist for his solo albums and his noise-jazz group Machine Gun, but also a synth whiz for his albums as Transonic. On this track from his 1992 album Active Resonance, Musso is joined by Bootsy Collins and the JB Horns for an infectious funk workout.
Bootsy may be the funkiest dude ever; all he has to do is say "Aw, yeah" and a song immediately becomes funky before he even touches his Space-Bass (which then increases the Funk exponentially). What is the Funk? Where did it come from? How does it work? How did Bootsy get it? What happened to it? Fans of The Mighty Boosh (the best comedy series of this century, and possibly the most creative ever) will know already, but others should watch and learn from Old Gregg:
My earliest musical memory is watching my dad play his flute along with Herbie Mann's Our Mann Flute album, from 1966. The title is a pun on Our Man Flint, the James Coburn superspy movie with a cool theme song by Jerry Goldsmith, covered on this album. It's not his worst album-title pun, though; that would be Et Tu Flute (1973). I have loved this album ever since childhood, especially the tracks arranged and conducted by Jimmy Wisner ("Scratch," "Philly Dog," "Good Lovin'," and "Monday, Monday"). Herbie Mann (born Herbert Jay Solomon) was always too pop for jazz purists, and his genre-hopping throughout the 70s alienated some fans. But he loved to play the flute, and his enthusiasm always shone through so one couldn't help but groove along. Here's the album opener, "Scratch:"
I'm a big fan of the art of Josh "Shag" Agle, some of which depict beatniks and swingers dancing to a record. This is the music I imagine they are dancing to. If you'd like to hear another track from this album, someone's made a fun little video with "Philly Dog" as its soundtrack here.
Herbie Mann died of prostate cancer in 2003. I never did get to see him in concert, but my brother did. He liked it.