My Brain at 14 (The Lure of Stoopid)

I resolved at an early age to remember -- I would NOT lose touch with my 14 year-old self, no matter what my age. I kept a journal which I promptly lost. So, 40 years later, what do I remember of being 14? Umm, I'm pretty sure breasts were involved, and braces and.. well, the point of this is that -- Black Sabbath and Motorhead can almost remind me of youth long forgotten. Of course, I was scared to death of the Sabs (and girls, come to think of it) when I was 14, and I didn't hear Motorhead until I was about 10 years older, but they still can put me in touch with that dormant teen brain, that visceral reaction to loud guitars and bottomless bass. Now I have the perspective of irony; how can you not love a band (Motorhead) with songs like "Killed By Death" or the romantic "Love Me Like a Reptile"? Pure lunkhead genius. And Black Sabbath, with their primordial sludge and Ozzy's looner lyrics. (When he can't find a rhyme or anything to add, he'll just bray out "YEAAAH!" or "ALRIIIGHTT!", as we men have since the cave days.) So: Motorhead = fast and dumb, Black Sabbath = dumb and slow. Dude!

Steamboat On The Beach

John Fahey played acoustic guitar, which already needs some defending. No, he's not responsible (directly) for Windham Hill (a quality label that grew beyond its ability to maintain quality control) and the myriad of 'new age' albums that emerged.

Wait, let's start again: John Fahey, 'primitive' guitarist, blues collector, visionary, did not spend his time in an R Crumb 'settin'-on-the-porch-pickin'-dem'-blues' scenario. A lot of people have tried to follow what they consider the Fahey template, but John Fahey's blues were back-lit with psychic damage and tortured memories, maybe the same ingredients for 'traditional' blues, but with a different flavor. Fahey's reconstruction of plantation blues was infused with his own inner terrors, and became a different art in the process. The "Return of the Repressed" anthology is actually a good place to start, patched together by Barry "Dr. Demento" Hansen -- and even if I owned every single John Fahey release (I'm on my way), I'd still play this masterfully sequenced tribute to John's 'old,weird America'.

Add D Then Scramble, Puzzle Fans

Wire has always gone against the grain, or rather, taken their own route despite where the traffic is headed. Their early albums were lumped in with punk, but they were more angular, bent their music into odd shapes. They shared the sense but not the sound of their punk contemporaries, and they were already way too old for this.
Skip ahead to Wire 2.0, their rebirth. More keyboards, poppier melodies, more Krautrock influence, in the sense that systems were set up, songs were experiments in perpetual motion (like clockwork until the weirdness sent the engine off the rails). "A Bell Is A Cup", today's example. Skip ahead again, to Wire 3.5, noisier again, guitars are back in a carpet of distortion. "Send" is from 2003, yet still sounds like next week.

Special Valentine Disc Pick!

One of my favorite memories involves this album, Doug's tribute to the bands and songs that he covered in his juke box/bar band days. In my opinion, Doug deserves a whole week's worth of posting, but for now, I'll talk about this one (allow me, dear reader a V-day tribute). I am a terrible dancer, as friends have been blunt enough to tell me, but I really like to dance in my own clumsy fashion. This album is a menu of fast, slow and mid-tempo songs designed to get the floor packed with shuffling cowboys and even people like me. So, our family version featured me, stomping unrhythmically around the kitchen floor, with my dear wife, hanging on as best she could while our son, grasping a mop, lip-synced Doug's raspy renditions. Thanks Ben, for being the MC for our romantic evening, and thanks, Deborah, for being so sweet despite the mangled toes and Tarzan dance moves.

My first (and not last) DVD pick

I missed out on the first wave of the whole Fat Possum label phenomenon, so Robert (no, not that one) Palmer's labor of love was a surprise to me, suggested by my dear (late) friend Bobbie. Filmed in juke clubs, road houses and front porches, Robert (Southern and sincere) tours with Dave (no, not that one, Caravan fans!) Stewart. My favorite bits include Junior Kimbrough (looking like Cyclops emerging from his cave) singing "Junior, I Love You", and Big Jack Johnson milking "Daddy, When Is Momma Coming Home" for all that his spot in the spotlight is worth. Special bonus highlight is the scene where Dave Stewart listens to RL Burnside on RL's front lawn, tapping his feet in boots worth more than RL's house.

Master of Mope (No, not Morrissey...)

John Dowland was the original King of Pain, or at least, the Prince of Melancholy long before Sting recorded some of his vocal compositions. A lutenist from the early 1600's, Dowland's material could be considered downbeat (this is the guy who wrote a song called "In Darkness Let Me Dwell") but I find it soothing, though a little monochromatic. This disc starts out with "Lachrimae or Seven Teares", seven variations on a theme. The galliards that follow do change the tempo a bit, but in the middle, there's "Sir Henry Vmptons Funerall", so 'lively' isn't the watchword here. Much, much later, new music composers interested in drones looked back and heard much to be impressed with in Dowland's music.

Jorge Luis Borges and Trip Hop

Yes, there really is a connection between Argentinian author Jorge Luis Borges and club beats (well, at least in my mind, a dark and confusing place...) Borges once said "every writer creates his own precursors", meaning in one sense, you don't see the line of influence until you look back. Shrift seemed like an anomaly to me when the album "Lost in a Moment" was released in 2006, but now I can hear the connections with Bebel Gilberto, Imogen Heap and the whole Brazilian lounge scene. I first heard about Shrift via an article by Anoushka Shankar in the New York Times -- what a great tip!

"Can I get a little soul clap out there, pleeeeze?"

Back in the day when people actually tried to get the best sound out of their audio equipment, I remember that Steely Dan's "Aja" was the demo album of choice. Those crisp, scintillating highs, that deep but precise bass, all that futzy stuff with the guitars -- audiophile nirvana. Of course, "Aja" was probably in the Top Ten of Most Manipulated Sound Production albums ever. Yeah, it sounded pretty slick, but so sterile. For my money, I much preferred the live sound captured on this Donny Hathaway album -- a live room sound (better in what we Cro-Magnons refer to as Side One than Side Two from a different date.) Willie Weeks, Cornell Dupree -- the cream of soul studio musicians (though you'd never glean this information from the criminally sparse liner notes that came with my German import.) While this has been more recently rejigged (as "These Songs for You, Live!") with alternate versions and extra tracks, the sliced-and-diced track sequencing is terrible; stick with the original (though I will spend some time finding out if this album has been remastered since my copy was purchased.)

No Bolero This Time

I'm still old school enough to think that sound matters in an album. Yes, there are great albums that sound like crap (yeah, I'm talking to you,"Then Play On"), but sometimes the stars line up and you get a compelling performance matched to stellar material with the sound of a REAL PERSON IN A REAL ROOM. Ahh, can't beat it. Perlemuter's playing was praised by Ravel, and while he's not the most precise player, like Walter Gieseking performing Debussy, he is in touch with the inner soul of the music. Nimbus preferred a resonant, some may say reverberant, recording ambience that really captures for me the plummy incandescence of this wonderful piano music. And this is Volume 2, with lesser known pieces -- and even better in my book than Volume 1.

Street Corner Talking

As a high school dweeb, I visualized my rockin' apartment above some busy urban avenue, street vendor smells mixing with patchouli and hot asphalt, rising up to my apartment window. (The other version featured a seat by the window where I watched the gray town below as rain streaked the window. What can I say, I was a complex kid.)
A good part of the soundtrack to that gritty urban vista was the Crusaders. Funky piano, and a trombone featured in the mix -- how cool was that? This album was, and still is, a constant in the ol' CD player, and a very warm thank you to my sister, who brought home from Japan the early CD pressing that I still listen to today.

High Fidelity from the Future

Stereolab's sound shouldn't work but it does; it's a frothy mix of burbling synth, choppy organ, bossa nova beats and Astrid Gilberto-ish vocals, and lyrics (when they're not in French) about the plight of the worker and the economic folly of the capitalist state. I could recommend just about any of their albums, but I'd suggest "Oscillons from the Anti-Sun", 3 CDs compiling EPs and 1 DVD featuring live appearances (surprise! they don't exactly set the stage on fire...) and video clips. The earlier tracks feature more droning guitar background, and later they experimented with Brian Wilson-esque harmonics.

It's all in the chunka chunka

Ya gotta love the Skatalites, reggae's house band forever. You have to be at the top of your game to sound like you're seconds away from falling apart. There's a new generation of Skatalites around now, but they traded some of the sloppiness for a tighter sound. Good, but not as much fun as these live sides recorded in 1983.