Author Archives: Joseph Neff

Eastern spirituality has inspired a lot of music, with only a small percentage aptly assessed as substantial. An even tinier amount rises to the level of artistry found on Songs from the Bardo, the new release from NYC avant-garde cornerstone Laurie Anderson, multi-instrumentalist, composer and musical director Tenzin Choegyal, and multi-instrumentalist, composer, and climate activist Jesse Paris Smith. Described as a collaborative composition featuring Anderson’s readings from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, the results are contemplative and exploratory without ever meandering into facile formlessness. A major work, it’s out now on 2LP, CD, and digital from Smithsonian Folkways.

It might read as if I’m being unnecessarily hard on music that’s infused with Eastern spiritual-philosophical qualities. Twenty years ago, that would’ve been true, and I’d probably have expressed matters much more harshly (and with less maturity), but in the ever-loving now I’m merely riffing on Sturgeon’s Law (and that’s not to suggest Ted’s maxim is the gospel truth).

I’ll add here that the term Eastern spirituality is a rather severe generalization, so let me highlight the specific; Songs from the Bardo is described by the label as a “guided journey through the visionary text of the Tibetan Book of the Dead,” the enduring masterwork of Nyingma Buddhism, with the intention to open up the philosophy’s traditions to current and future generations as both pure listening and a store of insightfulness.

Accompanying downloads are certainly useful, but for those buyers with working turntables, they are generally inessential. In the case of Songs from the Bardo, which does offer the card with the code, this observation is somewhat arguable, as listening to the music in one uninterrupted stream, having done so now numerous times, feels optimal.

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When the conversation turns to jazz, the integration of tradition and innovation is a reliable topic of discussion. Hey, it’s right there in the two adjectives that make up the title of the sophomore effort from the Tomeka Reid Quartet. Featuring the leader’s cello on nine selections alongside guitarist Mary Halvorson, bassist Jason Roebke, and drummer Tomas Fujiwara, Old New is a superb blend of historical heft, contemporary verve, and unified personal expression. Rather than a tactic faltering into a trope, a high level of quality is sustained, partly because the combination of then and now isn’t belabored or overly codified. Instead, it just sounds natural. The CD and digital are out now on Cuneiform Records.

Make no mistake, in addition to the roles of bandleader, composer and arranger, Tomeka Reid is a player of distinction, and only partially due to her chosen instrument, the cello, persisting as somewhat unusual in the jazz scheme of things. It should come as no surprise that prior to her move into jazz, Reid was focused on classical music, a realm where the cello is much more common.

In the promo notes for this release, Reid mentions that one of her early gateways into jazz was a book of basslines by Rufus Reid (no relation), and one would be hard-pressed to come up with a deeper example of jazz’s core principles than that. She then moved from Washington, DC to Chicago, which stands as one of the enduring hotbeds for the music’s intermingling of tradition and stylistic growth.

There, she met flautist-composer Nicole Mitchell and other members of the AACM (Association for Advancement of Creative Musicians) as she began playing at the Velvet Lounge, a venue then owned and operated by the late and very great tenor saxophonist Fred Anderson. Reid’s contribution to the Art Ensemble of Chicago’s excellent We Are On The Edge: A 50th Anniversary Celebration, released earlier this year, could perhaps be taken as a culmination of her Windy City activities, but really, her work is just as notable for its fluid, evolving trajectory right up to Old New.

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With his latest, guitarist Bill Orcutt plugs in and delivers a concise set brimming with passages of substantial beauty. While his prior acoustic explorations were noted for their heightened, often thorny abstraction, with Odds Against Tomorrow the man makes tangible strides into accessibility without sacrificing the distinctiveness, indeed the otherness, of his work. As Orcutt’s friend and Charalambides guitarist Tom Carter offers in his promo essay, the LP’s ten tracks are almost a rock record, an idea we’ll expand upon below. The album is out October 11 through the guitarist’s own Palilalia label.

Bill Orcutt’s Odds Against Tomorrow takes its name from a 1959 film noir directed by Robert Wise with a screenplay by Abraham Polonsky (under a pseudonym, as he was then blacklisted by the House Unamerican Activities Committee) and starring Harry Belafonte, Robert Ryan, Shelley Winters, Ed Begley, and Gloria Grahame. Pianist John Lewis of the Modern Jazz Quartet, assembling an orchestra peppered with jazz heavyweights (including the great guitarist Jim Hall), composed, arranged and conducted the soundtrack.

That Orcutt borrowed the title from Wise’s film is a major point of emphasis in the PR for this record, though the endeavor isn’t an homage, or at least it’s never described as such, and in fact it’s never explicitly stated if the music (or just the opening title track) is inspired by the movie, or if Orcutt even considers himself a fan of Wise’s film.

This isn’t unusual for the guitarist, whose 2013 dive into the American Songbook A History of Every One and its eponymous 2017 electric counterpart- were talking worker’s songs, Disney tunes, Irving Berlin, Christmas songs, spirituals, blues, Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman,” the national anthem of the USA and more, were presented (but not played) with a discernible detachment.

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When it comes to blending post-punk edge with the rhythmic fire of funk, hip-hop and disco, hardly anybody did it better than New York City trailblazers Konk. Ditching an insular path for the wide open highway of hybridization, their horn-drenched sound is thoroughly documented on The Magic Force of Konk 1981-1988, a 3LP that corrals studio output, a side of live material and a whole platter of party-flowing DJ mixers on colored wax (each LP a different shade) with a 12-page booklet, notes by Ezra Gale, a reproduction of a Konk/ Pigbag gig poster, and an accompanying download. For fans of the ’80s musical subculture of NYC, it’s a fabulous one-stop-shop, out now through the Futurismo label.

This isn’t the first time Konk’s music has been given the retrospective treatment, as Soul Jazz issued The Sound of Konk (Tales of the New York Underground 1981-88) on 2LP and CD back in 2004. It was one installment in that label’s series of anthologies into subterranean NYC, and while a satisfying survey, it’s effectively expanded and improved upon by The Magic Force of Konk.

Like its predecessor, Futurismo’s collection avoids simply regurgitating the track-list of Yo!, Konk’s 1983 long-playing debut (notably, on the Belgian Les Disques Du Crépuscule label, the home of A Certain Ratio’s “Shack Up” 45). Rather, side A opens with “Konk Party” from their ’82 7-inch and side B “Your Life” from their ’84 short-player, with each side filled out with prime cuts from the first LP.

Non-chronological but also not random, with the tracks included from their ’88 set Jams sequenced on side C, the better to absorb the group’s progression toward something nearer to club music (but without ever really sacrificing the warmth of live instrumentation that gave the early stuff such a nice punch). Finishing out the side is a dip back to Konk’s debut 45, the “Soka-Loka-Moki” two-parter from 1981.

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Today we remember Ginger Baker who passed away on October 6, 2019 with a look back from our archives. —Ed.

Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker are the trio collectively known as Cream. Extant for only a fraction of the ‘60s, they still managed a bountiful recorded legacy. USM adds to the recent resurgence of LP box sets by collecting all six entries from their first formation, two studio, two live, and two hybrids of both, onto 180gm vinyl, making the contents of 1966-1972 heavy in dual senses of the word.

Full disclosure: for this writer this one-stop-shop of the original UK supergroup’s half dozen albums holds very little appeal, seeing as everything represented herein was relatively easy to obtain on LP throughout the ‘80s and ‘90s, inexpensively and in good condition; personally, there is simply no reason to upgrade. But considering the needs of younger classic rock obsessed vinyl lovers, this collection does handily amass nearly everything from a trio that proved very influential.

Over the years, Cream has been both overrated and unfairly maligned. For starters, this is a highly productive if uneven period in Clapton’s artistic trajectory. The guitarist was creatively budding; if no longer a stern blues-disciple hounded by notions of purity, he was decades away from his transformation into an ultra-bland elder statesman after years of Middle-of-the-Roadism.

Since his ascendency to the Mt. Rushmore of blues-rock string-slingers Clapton has always inspired a pocket of detractors, and while these lobes are amongst those ranking his output post-Derek and the Dominos/George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass as uninteresting or worse, his prime work has persisted in worthiness.

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The latest effort from contemporary folk singer-songwriter and guitarist Joan Shelley finds the Kentucky native recording far from home in Reykjavik, Iceland, but with her familiar support cast including Daniel Martin Moore, James Elkington, Nathan Salsburg, Kevin Ratterman, Cheyenne Mize, and Julia Purcell. Deepening her already impressive artistry, the record remains invested in the regional musics that help shape it, and while Bonnie “Prince” Billy lends harmony vocals to two tracks, the focus holds firmly on Shelley throughout. Her finest album yet, Like the River Loves the Sea is available now on vinyl, compact disc, and digital through No Quarter.

Often those who spend their time listening to and perhaps commenting upon (or at least drawing conclusions about) recorded music can get caught up in the circumstances surrounding an album’s creation. The how, the what, the who, perhaps even the why, and in the case of Like the River Loves the Sea, certainly the where.

As her terrific accompanying text for the album makes clear, Joan Shelley understands this, but she also downplays matters a bit, relating her decision to record in Reykjavik to Lee Hazlewood’s Cowboy in Sweden, inexpensive airfare and the simple desire to visit a faraway (and alluringly unusual) place. Additionally, she explains that while made in Iceland, Like the River Loves the Sea is a record about Kentucky, and her words drive home how the making of an album is always more than the direct actions of its construction.

It is conversations had, new people met, meals shared, and indeed, places visited. It’s fostering a positive environment so that decisions can be made with clarity and certainty. In “Haven,” this LP’s brief but immediately gripping opening track, the assurance is palpable as the song strikes the perfect balance of beauty and intensity, all achieved with just vocals and guitar.

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Those Pretty Wrongs, the collaboration of Jody Stephens, formerly of cult titans Big Star, and Luther Russell, a founding member of The Freewheelers who’s responsible for a slew of subsequent projects, issued their self-titled debut back in 2016. ‘twas a good one, at times a great one even, and their full-length follow-up doesn’t falter. But those familiar with Stephens and Russell who haven’t heard them in tandem shouldn’t assume they know what Zed for Zulu sounds like. While there are moments that unwind in the proximity of the expected, there are just as many surprises on a record loaded with solid writing, singing and playing. It’s out now on LP, CD, cassette, and digital through Burger Records.

Before a minute elapses, Zed for Zulu’s opener “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” offers up a stunning string arrangement by Chris Stamey played by Leah Peroutka on violin, Aubrey Kessel on viola, and Leah Gibson on cello. Given the background of the duo’s older half, this might insinuate Third/Sister Lovers, and as the song progresses that album did come to mind, though just as prevalent were fleeting thoughts of Thunderclap Newman, Badfinger, and early solo George Harrison; hell, there’s even a brief little string flourish reminiscent of The Beatles in its neo-psych regality.

But its bedrock is a likeable slice of guitar-pop songwriting, and it’s not especially evocative in sensibility to the work of Big Star. Neither is the crisp Byrdsian chime-pop (with a backbeat of sturdy simplicity) of the next track “Ain’t Nobody but Me,” in part because it offers a downtrodden sensitivity that’s distinct, at least in the context of this record (and its makers).

“Time to Fly” presents a strumming singer-songwriter wrinkle that shouldn’t perplex anyone familiar with Russell’s post-Freewheelers work. To elaborate, it’s a soft-rock-tinged number replete with touches of gentle psych. The choruses are nice, and the delayed entrance of the drums and bass even better. Moving more forthrightly into psych-pop, “The Carousel” is florid if not quite foofy (it begins by referencing that warhorse of children’s bedtime prayers).

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If it seems like it was just last year that some unheard material by John Coltrane was unveiled to the listening public, that’s because it was. On September 27, the Impulse! label releases Blue World, its contents accurately described as underheard and until very recently essentially unspoken of in terms of Coltrane’s discography. Offering songs recorded for Canadian filmmaker Gilles Groulx’s 1964 fiction feature Le Chat dans le sac (The Cat in the Bag), it is Coltrane’s only soundtrack and also presents him revisiting previously recorded works in the studio, which is something he almost never did. Featuring the Classic Quartet in their accessibly robust mode, it’s a consistent pleasure and a must for fans.

First, some further clarification into Blue World’s reality; if a new Coltrane LP for 2019, it wasn’t recorded with an album concept, not even a soundtrack album concept, in mind. The first fictional movie by a filmmaker who’d worked extensively in documentaries, Le Chat dans le sac was an independent work from the days long before (roughly a quarter century before) Indie cinema’s blossoming as a brand.

The film, which was influenced by Direct Cinema documentary tactics and utilized numerous techniques associated with the French Nouvelle Vague (Godard, Truffaut, Chabrol, Rohmer, etc.), wasn’t any kind of big deal at the time. In his typically strong notes for this reissue, Ashley Khan calls Le Chat dans le sac an “underground hit,” which is another way of saying that only hepcats knew of the film’s existence.

Although Coltrane and Groulx did become friendly later, the saxophonist’s agreement to record songs for the film’s soundtrack was basically a favor, one initiated through Groulx’s relationship with the quartet’s bassist Jimmy Garrison; he’d met the filmmaker through a mutual acquaintance who’d appeared in one of Groulx’s prior documentaries.

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Atlanta, GA’s Magnapop emerged as part of the 1990s scene, but unlike many of their contemporaries their sound isn’t boxed in by the decade. It’s probably a stretch to describe them as timeless, but the band’s blend of catchiness and raw guitar lands between the poles of power-pop and pop-punk, which is to say that theirs is a classic sorta thing. On new album The Circle Is Round, vocalist Linda Hopper, guitarist-vocalist Ruthie Morris, bassist Shannon Mulvaney, and drummer David McNair have made no radical adjustments to their approach while avoiding the formulaic. For anyone who dug ‘em before, the smart money says they’ll dig ‘em now. It’s out September 27 through Happy Happy Birthday To Me.

This is Magnapop’s sixth album and first since Chase Park came out ten years back. The band’s first three, which commenced with a self-titled debut for Caroline in 1992 followed by Hot Boxing and Rubbing Doesn’t Help, both for Priority in the US (Play It Again Sam in Europe) in ’94 and ’96 respectively, were easy to take for granted in an era flush with bands. Well, that was the case with me, at least.

While the four-piece (the “classic” lineup is back together for this latest effort) can reliably pull off sturdy, non-hackneyed power pop moves, the forcefulness of their attack ultimately lands them in the ballpark of pop-punk, and bluntly, that zone has been absolutely polluted with riff-debasing dullards and overly anthemic buffoons for a few decades.

But Magnapop easily avoid pop-punk’s general dearth of quality, partly because their simplicity is counterbalanced with songwriting acumen. That is to say, they actually write tunes rather than just cop and reassemble moves. Not that grabbing from precedent is a faux pas, it’s just that when Hopper and Morris do it, as in the mid-tempo Ramonesian chug of The Circle Is Round’s opener “Dog on the Door,” it’s done with good taste, with the revved up choruses insuring it’s far from a carbon copy.

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The core of Solid Bronze is Ian Everett and George Miller, both New Jersey residents with a loud-and-clear love of the soulful and funky. This fact is evidenced on The Fruit Basket, their full-length debut, a deliciously off-kilter ’70s-styled groove-fest spiced with strains of jazziness, touches of reggae, and excursions into psychedelia. Recorded and co-produced by Dean Ween with notable guests including Atlanta-based hip-hop artist CLEW, Morphine saxophonist Dana Colley, Ween/ Blood, Sweat & Tears keyboardist Glenn McClelland, and Parliament-Funkadelic guitarist Michael Hampton, this last name is quite appropriate as the influence of P-Funk is strongly felt. It’s out now on LP via Schnitzel Records.

Earlier this year, Solid Bronze released a 45 featuring The Fruit Basket album track “The Invisible Man.” It was and remains an enjoyable little number, but it was backed with a dub mix of the track by Lee “Scratch” Perry, not in itself a bad thing (to the contrary, the version added to the general positive vibrations of Perry’s most recent comeback), it just didn’t necessarily provide further insight into Everett and Miller’s overall thing.

That Michael Hampton contributed guitar to “The Invisible Man” did present a clue into one possible avenue in Solid Bronze’s roadmap, though just as prominent in the track is the Auto-Tuned crooning of Atlanta rapper CLEW, along with a contrasting deep voice offering spoken smoothness of a decidedly ’70s comportment.

But The Fruit Basket’s opener “Papa’s Bug” jumps right into buoyant Clinton-esque funkiness with wiggly tech flourishes and unperturbed vocalizing that also nods back a bit to Sly Stone. It’s an appetizing start that’s followed by the slower groove of “The Invisible Man” as Hampton’s soloing accents the psychedelia in Solid Bronze’s equation. From there, “Hard to Keep the Faith” introduces a danceable mid-tempo spiked with saxophones and capped with sharp jazzy jaunts and an instrumental passage putting keyboards and additional rock guitar action squarely in the foreground.

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