Reviews – Page 85 – Rock Salted

Ricardo Villalobos – Dependent and Happy

Ricardo Villalobos – Dependent and Happy Perlon PERL92CD (2012) [CD version]

In general, I don’t listen to much electronica. There are just so many reasons to hate it. For one, the fans are often as annoying as metalheads, but not nearly as funny or endearing. They take the stuff so seriously, and often seem to believe that it has (rightly) displaced all other forms of music. Among those annoying qualities, the fans seem to have a knack for promulgating at least a dozen new microgenres seemingly every week. Every tempo, every selection of instrumentation — everything — gets its own genre. This acts as a barrier to entry, that the “true believers” understand this coding, and others do not. Second, the mentalitiy of the electronica scene is, to put it one way, cultish. There are social codes and they are to be obeyed. In fact, listening to a random piece of electronic music and it is more likely than not an exercise in how well it reproduces and adheres to the cultural norms. The more it seems to obey the rules and sound like other things in its prescribed microgenre, the “better” it is. Aside from all this there is the DJ culture of live club sets, in which Villalobos is really considered a star, but that’s another story.

Ricardo Villalobos isn’t like a lot of run-of-the-mill electronica artists, because he appears to have a genuine desire to do what he wants. He seems to continually start from “inside” the culture and work his way “out” by finding different ways to break the rules. On Dependent and Happy, it’s mostly a matter of avoiding some predictable elements, paring things back to a minimalist core. He’s also known as having a more liberal sense of rhythm than most dancefloor-focused artists in his chosen arena (“Ferenc” here provides such an example). If Villalobos has a redeeming quality, it is that he seeks to dive into a genre that often is lacking in ideas and tries to rescue the kernels worth saving and building upon. His efforts on this album are another step along that path. I return to this album from time to time and always enjoy it.

Ricardo Villalobos & Max Loderbauer – Re: ECM

Ricardo Villalobos & Max Loderbauer – Re: ECM ECM 2211 (2011)

I liked this, but not too much. The music is sampled from the catalog of ECM Records, home of chamber jazz, minimalist composers and new age artists. The album started off reminiscent of Max Richter‘s The Blue Notebooks, while at times its jazzier moments resembled Bill Laswell‘s Panthalassa: The Music of Miles Davis 1969-1974. Of course, it’s all very minimal and a little glitchy. But by the time the second disc rolls around I found it hard for this to keep my attention, as it seemed more like an ambient whitewash of sound that just drifts into the background.

Loren MazzaCane Connors – Night Through: Singles and Collected Works 1976-2004

Loren MazzaCane Connors – Night Through: Singles and Collected Works 1976-2004 Family Vineyard FV36 (2006)

There is something rather amazing about the work of Loren Connors. To the casual observer, the collection Night Through might seem like nothing more than than home recordings of solo guitar noodling. But given a fair listen, it becomes apparent from this evidence that Connors achieved something that might seem impossible in his era: a completely unique style of guitar playing. A blurb by Susan Sontag on the back of a paperback copy of Jean Genet‘s Notre-Dames des Fleurs [Our Lady of the Flowers] proclaims that “Only a handful of twentieth-century writers, such as Kafka and Proust, have as important, as authoritative, as irrevocable a voice and style.” Connors is a bit like Genet. His sound is irrevocable. The work of both masters too is in touch with fringe elements of society, by conscious choice. With Connors, he is an electric guitarist (mostly) who seems to have bypassed most of the influence of rock and instead drawn inspiration primarily from pre-war acoustic blues and gospel. His music is quite untouched by identifiable trends in contemporaneous folk, blues, rock or jazz. It might also be said that there is a resigned acceptance of the categorically un-commercial nature of the music, something inexorably linked to a kind of meager, isolated existence (whether by choice or not). This, by way of contrast, lends credence to what Petronius revealed in his Satyricon of ancient Roman times that the art of the rich, in its typical grotesque extravagance, is so often intolerable. In his improvised blues-based songs, Connors uses a wide and lethargic vibrato that is his primary mode of expression (compare “Stimmung“). Almost everything is slow and sparse, with a dark, haunting, dirge-like quality shot through with the occasional bolt of anthemic consonance. If ever this music feels crude and frayed, by the mores of the rich at least, it never fails to be anything short of captivating.

Miles Davis – Miles at the Fillmore: The Bootleg Series Vol. 3

Miles Davis – Miles at the Fillmore: The Bootleg Series Vol. 3 Legacy 88765433812 (2014)

Although Miles Davis released many highly popular albums in the late 1960s and early 1970s, the density of the creative energy of his bands during that period resulted in more recordings than albums. His record label, too, didn’t quite know what to do with it all, though they did lend support — largely responsible for the commercial successes Davis did find.

This archival collection of live recordings comes primarily from June 1970 shows at Bill Graham‘s Fillmore East “rock palace” ballroom in New York City, with three “bonus tracks” recorded at the Fillmore West in San Francisco in April of the same year. Material from the Fillmore East shows had previously been released in edited, medley form as At Fillmore, an album once well liked that certain fans have increasingly criticized for its editing of the source material.

While most music, even to this day, has to pick one style and stick with it, Miles’ fusion bands found ways to present multitudes of styles, sometimes all at once and sometimes in serial progression. At the Fillmore East shows, he had two keyboardists, Keith Jarrett and Chick Corea. We hear the speedy, busy runs of notes from Corea, sounding almost like electric guitar virtuosos in the Hendrix mold. But at the same time we get large block and washes of sound, with bent, clipped and embellished edges from Jarrett almost like Sun Ra‘s afro-futurist experimentations.

This is a sleeker, more contemplative version of Miles’ fusion music, fluid and open, with lots of space and athletic energy. The performers are separately identifiable in a way not unlike Miles’ bands back in the hard bop era. Sure, they bleed over and surpass that paradigm, but it still represents a common reference point for the performers. In the coming years, Miles’ music would grow more menacing and angrier even, certainly heavier and denser. As time went on, the musicians worked more as a kind of monolithic unit, more actively coordinated — in the studio this was merely the impression given and not the reality of the recording process, which was quite the opposite in terms of literally isolating and separately recording individual performances. But the moment in time captured on Miles at the Fillmore is one in which these bandmembers, all, are sort of the vanguard thinkers, sharing ideas, building off each others’ contributions, mapping out the field of the possible.

Bassist Dave Holland plays a key role in the sound of the band. He is more like another soloist than a part of rhythm section. Holland can (and does) play catchy lines on his electric bass, but he doesn’t always provide a syncopated rhythm in sync with drummer Jack DeJohnette (key examples: “Directions,” “Sanctuary”). Holland is sometimes fairly far down in the mix, and his contributions can blend with the horns and the keyboards. In that shadowy place of blurred lines, he shifts the momentum of the music, urging the other players one way or another. Miles often gets credit for doing that. But Holland did it too, often more in the sense of trying to herd cats at a full sprint.

There are now many recordings available of Miles’ period of transformation and growth as a live performer from 1969-1971. Many of these documents are stunning in their own right. Still, Miles at the Fillmore might be the very best of them. The audio fidelity is undoubtedly superior to the others. the band, too, sounds as alive and engaged as anywhere else. Saxophonist Steve Grossman has definitely settled into the group, and makes more substantive, meaningful contributions than on recordings from earlier in the year (Black Beauty). His playing is punchy, noisy and even a little greasy sounding. None of the other saxophonists Miles played with in the 70s had a sound like that. Most played in a more sustained way to blend into the sonic fabric.

The Beach Boys – Pet Sounds

The Beach Boys – Pet Sounds Capitol T 2458 (1966)

This is the album against which every other pop album is judged. A work of studio genius put together by Brian Wilson, Tony Asher and The Beach Boys, the reputation of Pet Sounds needs no repetition. It raised the bar as to what an album of songs could be as a unified work. Pet Sounds is the essential coming-of-age masterpiece.

Innocent and charm is what makes The Beach Boys so widely appealing. Tony Asher’s lyrics are full of hope in the way they present the doubt of confidence and the confidence of doubt. Often songs describe the highs and lows of a adolescent love. What sets Pet Sounds apart is the complete, though imperceptible, avoidance of escapism (inevitably encountered in the institutionalized American education system). At some point everyone can appreciate the loving, natural world this music represents. Ditching school (or work) to surf, drag race, or fill-in-the-blank is universally appealing as kids stuff goes, but eventually you reach a place like “Caroline No.”

While The Beach Boys went through many turbulent comebacks and personal conflicts, Pet Sounds survives as a perfect fragment of their potential. The first albums I ever bought were two discount Beach Boys compilation tapes I got at a bookstore. Along with a hip-hop album I copied from a friend, this was the extent of the music I listened to for months, well years really. I wasn’t allowed to watch MTV and for some reason I didn’t listen to the radio ever—probably because no one else at home did. Right around junior-high-time I decided I was too cool for The Beach Boys. I shoved the tapes into the back of a closet and out of mind. Only years later as a college DJ did I give them another chance. They were considered one of the all-time great groups after all; I had to listen. It was a slow process but I came to appreciate all that The Beach Boys represent. They functioned as a metaphor for an innocent childhood I could look back on. Rediscovering The Beach Boys had a deep meaning for me. They don’t paint the picture of a perfect world, but one with a full range of emotions and experiences. “That’s Not Me” is just one of my favorite songs. Brain Wilson begins with long, smooth organ chords then places the vocals in the same groove, broken only by the incessant taps of a tambourine.

Brian Wilson was the 1960s’ rebel without a cause. The Beach Boys may not arrive anywhere particular, but all that matters is that they flail around for a while. The point is Pet Sounds is a coming-of-age story told while it was happening. Completely authentic.

The Rolling Stones – Between the Buttons

The Rolling Stones – Between the Buttons London PS 499 (1967) [US release]

Starry-eyed idealism worked wonders for The Beatles. The Kinks had nostalgia. For The Rolling Stones, the raw energy of rock and roll was their near constant source of inspiration. Early on, The Stones worked exclusively with the blues and R&B at the root of all rock music. That soon changed. It was a pair of albums they put out in 1967 that confounded any notion of the group being easily placed in one category of rock and pop music. Between The Buttons was the first of those. The album, and especially the U.S. version with the singles “Let’s Spend the Night Together” and “Ruby Tuesday,” has all the catchy pop hooks of a Beatles record plus all the ragged stylistic shredding of any other Stones record.

“Let’s Spend the Night Together” is joy. The simple pleading of a boy in love, Jagger encouraged to a desperate pace confirmed in the wordless ba-duh-bap-bap of his associates and the prodding of a relentless piano. Desire is so strong that doubt hasn’t room to breathe. This could be the most uninhibited song the group recorded. For purity of emotion, there is no equal. Pleading, pleading, pleading, with the moment ready to pass sweetly by, every attempt is made to realize the possibilities that could, at any time, collapse under the effort convince some exquisite being of something that words hardly convey, with another plea, and another, the beautiful possibility–excuses, apologies fail–for a wonderful night together. Trembling with confidence, there can only be success. The bass rambles by, undeterred by anything around it. The guitars drift in and out. They mirror the strongest melodies, making them practically invincible.

“Ruby Tuesday,” an exposition of simply the finest baroque chamber pop, matches its aristocratic etiquette only in its bittersweet delicacy. Its coarser sibling is “Yesterdays Paper’s,” whose treatment of a casual dismissal overflows with neglect.

In every odd turn the album takes, a surprise is waiting. “Connection” is a driving piece, full of energy. Less obvious are the textures loaded in every pulse. “She Smiled Sweetly” sways on the tones of an organ, with a romantic attachment to lingering memories and the instinctive desire to live them again. What makes the song unshakable is the plain and honest fact that the sweet smiles of those very occasional girls who put the world within reach can keep you alive for months. If she tells you not to worry, then days become a blur. The blur is the image of her blending bleeding into everything else. Having her in mind is happiness. All that comes in a song.

The Rolling Stones’ greatest ability was in absorbing the possibilities of every kind of pop music. In that way, Between the Buttons is exactly in stride with the path of a group who had already mastered their own heartfelt transformation of American blues. The focus simply moved to encompass the sweeter strains of pop. Even still, their music is open to anything. “Miss Amanda Jones” is a manic workout that looks forward to sound The Stones took up a few years later. The vaudevillian humor in “Something Happened to Me Yesterday” and elsewhere takes the eccentricities of the album the furthest. So carefree. Between the Buttons is wonderful nonsense, and one of the group’s best efforts.

Jonathan Richman – Action Packed: The Best of Jonathan Richman

Jonathan Richman – Action Packed: The Best of Jonathan Richman Rounder 1166-11596-2 (2002)

If Buddy Holly had arrived in the punk era, he might have sounded something like Jonathan Richman. The material collected here leans on bubblegum pop but with an ironic, half-serious delivery. These are like children’s songs played in a way that has no appeal to children. When it’s just Jonathan with a guitar, which is most of the time, the music could pass for that of some guy at an open mic night playing solo versions of old rock/pop songs and making up a few new ones as he goes too. That might not sound all that interesting, but it all ends up being quite endearing because Richman is so convincing and earnest. He doesn’t put across shy, introverted attitudes as better than anything else, just as something that belongs in the conversation with all sorts of other great music. His songwriting PWNS that of Rivers Cuomo of Weezer (a band that is quite similar, if much less talented, with just the rock sound of The Feelies tacked on top of something that does kind of suggest a sort of superiority of the geeks). A lot of people will just scratch their heads at this–even if they were intrigued by Jonathan’s appearance as a strolling troubadour in the film There’s Something About Mary. But those with a soft spot for lovable losers and insecure geeks, or simply clever, quirky and goofy songwriting, welcome home…gabba gabba.

The Bad Plus – These Are the Vistas

The Bad Plus – These Are the Vistas Columbia CK 87040 (2003)

A frequent comment about Bad Plus albums is that if you’ve heard one you’ve heard them all. That’s mostly true. But it’s also true that These Are the Vistas is head-and-shoulders above any of their other recordings. The sound is often called “acoustic fusion”, which really means they play acoustic instruments with a traditional jazz style and sonic texture but focus on rock-oriented rhythms. Think “Eighty-One” from E.S.P. by Miles Davis‘ second great quintet, when they were just starting to feel out how rock and jazz could meet. The Bad Plus update what Davis’s group was doing considerably, by bringing to the table the sound of modern rock, as with covers of the likes of Nirvana and Blondie. There is a more contemporary ironic touch to it all. While it can sound a bit glib and formulaic elsewhere, the group probably never has and never will match what they documented here.

Atmosphere – God Loves Ugly

Atmosphere – God ~~Loes~~ Loves Ugly Fat Beats 6591235001-2 (2002)

Basically these guys scale back the misogyny, homophobia, and other lame elements usually endemic to hip-hop. They lessen those liabilities, but the problem is that they still employ all the usual styles. Here, ANT and SLUG don’t recognize the tension between method and content the way they do elsewhere (When Life Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold).

Louis Armstrong – Greatest Hits

Louis Armstrong – Greatest Hits RCA Victor (1996)

There is some good music on this disc, and some bad stuff. It’s hard not to focus on the faults of this disc though. When “Everybody’s Talkin’ (Echos)” started playing, I literally said out loud, “What the fuck? Why did he ever record this?” But it kind of makes me wonder what he would have recorded if he lived into the 1980s…“Papa Don’t Preach”? “Blame It On the Rain”?

Don’t get this album if you expect any kind of representative overview of Satchmo’s career. This is really just a grab bag of RCA Victor-owned tracks thrown together in a maddening and inexplicable sequence. Even the version of “What a Wonderful World” is not the one everyone knows and loves from the late 1960s single (and later popularized by the Good Morning, Vietnam soundtrack), but a cheeseball 1970s extended version. There has to be a better entire career overview out there…