jazz

Come Over

annette — Wed, 20 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Patty Carpenter and Dysfunctional Family Jazz Band

Patty Carpenter and the Dysfunctional Family Jazz Band (PCATDFJB) are a troupe of musicians who are also family members. Singer Patty was married to saxophonist Scotty, and they had daughter (who is also the band’s other singer) Melissa. Patty and Scotty broke up, and Patty married the band’s manager, Charles, and together they had son Travis who plays bass. This album is essentially like being trapped on a couch in the living room of your new neighbors watching an endless slide-show of their family’s summer vacation.

Little did you know how creepy your new neighbors were. “My Baby” stomps in with snarling saxophone and electric guitar. The song’s lyrics are about a rebellious child growing up, “My baby’s going away. And I hope it will be okay/Such a young girl hurrying out the door.” Okay, fine so far. But then the song gets a little bit too, er, tactile? “I can hold her when she needs my touch... Someday I know that she’ll go away/But I will stay close to her heart.” Now I’m confused. I thought this was a song about mother/daughter relationships? Is this the kissing family from Saturday Night Live?

PCATDFJB waffle between Sonny Clark-esque jazz, zydeco, and reggae. “Love Bound” is a song about daughter Melissa and husband Alan getting married in Jamaica. I know this because it says so, under the lyrics to the song in the liner notes: “we cooked up this song to celebrate the first anniversary of Melissa and Alan. Their wedding in Jamaica required a reggae saga. You had to be there. Now you are.” It really is great that this family willingly shows so much affection for each other. Frankly, though, I don’t really want to be invited to their wedding. I just don’t know them well enough to be interested. I suppose you could argue that there are plenty of great songs out there written about people and events that most listeners have no personal connection to. Paul Simon wrote about wife Peggy Harper in songs like “Run That Body Down,” and it works. But then, Mr. Simon didn’t write in the liner notes to his album, “My wife and I were going through a very difficult time, which would eventually end in a bitter divorce. You had to be there. Now you are!” Speaking of Paul Simon, he also made reggae work for a white dude. Unfortunately, PCATDFJB are more reminiscent of Willie Nelson’s attempt at reggae, which (needles to say) was both bumbling and strange.

On the track “Summer Love,” PCATDFJB get creepy again, for along come the sultry sounds of what can only be a mom singing about making whoopie in a corn field: “The corn’s silky tassels are luring me in [...] come on, baby, roll me in the grass.” Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. The teenager in me just threw up a little in my mouth. This is a family band! What are you doing, hippie parents? This song feels a bit like Maeby Fünke and Michael Bluth singing “Afternoon Delight” together. That moment on Arrested Development was funny because it was unintentionally creepy. This is just creepy.

It’s great that these folks enjoy making music together and seem to love each other so much. I just think you may need to be a part of their family in order to really get it.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, April 20th 2011

Small Source of Comfort

mandy — Sat, 26 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Bruce Cockburn

True North Records

Full disclosure: Bruce Cockburn (COE-burn) is Canadian; I’m Canadian. There aren’t that many of us. We’re the world’s second largest country, with a population smaller than California. So we back our homeys when they’re world-class: Angela Hewitt, Frederick Banting, Sandra Oh, Denys Arcand, Jim Carrey, Diana Krall, Leonard Cohen, Karen Kain, Tom Thomson, David Suzuki, Cirque du Soleil.

Which returns us to Bruce. The world-class part, that is. He’s a musician’s musician with an extraordinary scope as a lyricist, guitar player, and singer. He can do jazzy gutbucket ("Mama Just Wants to Barrelhouse All Night Long"), a beautiful country hymn ("One Day I Walk"), a great road song ("Silver Wheels"), an anti-war descant equal to Dylan ("If I Had A Rocket Launcher"), a funny blues ("The Blues Got The World By The Balls"), a credible cover of a classic blues ("Soul of a Man"), a rocker ("Lovers In A Dangerous Time") and several other genres. He is one of the planet’s best finger-pickers, which is why he has swapped licks with guitaristas such as Ali Farka Touré. The years have been good to his voice. His lower register has deepened but he hasn’t lost much at the top.

Small Source of Comfort is the singer’s thirty-first album (!) since he began in Ottawa forty-some years ago. A generous album of twelve songs and a coda it is, too. “Called Me Back” is a wry, LOL tune that imagines why someone wouldn’t return your call, for example, “Maybe his mother ran afoul of the law” or “He coulda slid into a society scene.” The instrumental “Bohemian 3-Step” is way uptempo and alternates between complex descending chords and the quick, complicated finger-picking at which he is so adept. He shows off his musicianship in four other instrumentals on this CD that run from jazz-rock fusion, “The Comets of Kandahar,” (with superb violin help from Jenny Scheinman); to the Debussyesque “Parnassus and Fog”; to the spare, what-you-might-call-new-age “Ancestors.”

His lyrics are as original as his guitar work. “Each One Lost” is part threnody with undertones of a Scottish ballad. Bruce spent a week in Afghanistan and was present when a plane brought in the bodies of two Canadian soldiers. The song is also a celebration of the freedom for which the men fought and died; its theme, as the title indicates, is reminiscent of John Donne’s famous passage from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, which contains the phrase “for whom the bell tolls.” It’s destined to be classic Cockburn.

“Call Me Rose” is an instant classic as well. The song begins, “My name was Richard Nixon only now I am a girl/You wouldn't know it but I used to be the king of the world.” Yes, the singer imagines Richard Nixon reincarnated as a young woman—with two kids living in the projects, working out his penance, learning what it means to be poor and powerless, but also learning how to endure. These two songs are alone worth the price of admission, and you get eleven more to boot, all of them very fine.

So there you have it. One Canadian shilling for a fellow Canuck? Or one Canadian telling the truth about his brother’s tunes? Bruce is a member of the Order of Canada, one of the country’s two highest civilian awards for merit. That’s a clue. So Canuck, Aussie, Kiwi, Yank, or Brit, you should buy this CD if you love the best. I swear by the beaver and the maple leaf you’ll be glad you blew the fifteen bucks.

Written by: Neil Flowers, March 26th 2011

Pandora's Box

tina — Wed, 15 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Nu Shooz Orchesta

Self-Released

Conventional wisdom says that every young popster or rocker, no matter how devoted, will one day grow into a consumer of smooth jazz. How else to explain Rod Stewart's resurgence as a tuxedo-clad, Bing-style crooner (aside from a mid-seventies deal with Beelzebub himself)? John Smith and Valerie Day, the duo behind '80s group Nu Shooz, are hardly stars of Stewart's caliber, but they did craft one of the finest American pop singles of all time: “I Can't Wait.” Over two decades later they've resurrected the song and themselves in predictable jazz fashion.

Pandora's Box is a new self-released album by Smith & Day's new project, Nu Shooz Orchestra. The album includes “I Can't Wait: 20th Anniversary Edition” and ten more tracks of over-baked coffeehouse pap that smears John Coltrane by association.

Let’s back up a couple of decades to a great song from a band with a silly name. “I Can't Wait” was a single so phenomenal that I have yet to tire of it. In fact, I'm listening to an MP3 of it right now, though it lacks the warm crackle of old 12” vinyl. The track's bassline is addictively slinky and powerful enough to support countless layers of snappy percussion, synths, twinkly guitars, a stealth horn section, and Day's coolly vibrato-free voice. The idea of a jazzy “I Can't Wait” has no appeal—in fact, it's antithetical to what makes the song work so well. Funk-influenced dance pop is propelled by deep grooves, the kind that power “I Can't Wait” and that depth can only be created on a vintage Roland synthesizer. Individual notes will transpose to the stand-up bass, of course, but if I wanted to hear stand-up bass, I'd listen to Jimmy Garrison on A Love Supreme. I wouldn't listen to Nu Shooz, with or without its orchestra.

Therein lies the artist's curse of doing one thing extraordinarily well. Musicians are vulnerable to fans' fickleness. If I want to hear a pop song that sounds like “I Can't Wait,” I can quite easily listen to “I Can't Wait” (and I did, three more times). The name Nu Shooz, however ridiculous, means classic '80s dance pop. The last thing this world needs is mediocrity, no matter what the genre.

Everyone needs to earn a living, so I don't fault Smith or Day for dipping into the seemingly bottomless wallets of our nation's latte-sippers. The harsh reality is that if these tracks were released under a completely different name (Old Sneakers?), this album wouldn't even be reviewed, much less panned for not sounding like one snotty critic wanted it to. But all is not lost! In my research for this review, I discovered that 50 Cent remixed the original “I Can't Wait” into his song “Buzzin',” and it's really good. I hope the residuals afford Smith and Day the chance to tune up the old Roland. The world—and its shoes—are waiting.

Written by: Shannon Drury, December 15th 2010

Dancing on the Moon

admin — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 16:00:00 +0000

By Lisa Bell

Lisa Bell delivers the goods on her third album, mixing blues, jazz, pop, and roots into a bright, sparkling mix. Her voice can be both polished and loose, and shimmering washes of percussion, chimes, and layered instrumentation provide a worthy backdrop to her lyrics.

“Change Is Free,” the story of an unemployed woman facing daunting economic prospects, is the disc’s standout track, with a funky vibe, heavy beat, and touches of organ. Rather than embracing despair, she opts for change. “I can wait for the shining knight to save the day / I can pray that an angel comes my way... but change is up to me.” An accordion gives “After All” a mellow, European feel. It’s a song of struggle and redemption, accepting responsibility for past mistakes but moving on. Bell’s vocal perfectly suits the languorous tone of the hip-swaying bossa nova beat on “Misty Roses,” another highlight.

Bell gets loose with “Stand Up,” a quirky, danceable tune with prominent drums, organ, and electric guitar creating blasts of sound, and there is a comic element to “How Long,” in which a woman deals with insomnia and delayed flights while waiting to be reunited with her lover. Bell’s voice is full of yearning on “The Last Time,” in which an old love is renounced, with piano adding depth to this ballad.

The varied material on the disc provides plenty of opportunities for Bell to show off her versatile voice, which conveys longing, acceptance, hopefulness, anticipation, and joy in turn. With superb guitar and percussion throughout, it’s clear she is interested in each song not just as a showcase for herself but as a means of communication between artist and listener. Mostly, you get the sense that Bell loves what she’s doing and wants to share the beauty and excitement of these songs with you. Dancing On The Moon is an enjoyable outing of both smooth and improvisational songs, with an upbeat feel, and the blend of styles makes it perfect for the musically adventurous.

Written by: Karen Duda, August 26th 2010

Experiments In A Jazz Aesthetic: Art, Activism, Academia, and the Austin Project

admin — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 16:05:00 +0000

Edited by Omi Osun Joni L. Jones, Lisa L. Moore, Sharon Bridgforth

University of Texas Press

In June 2009, I participated in a writing workshop with Sharon Bridgforth, not knowing what to expect and not knowing what I was expected to give. I only knew that I loved music, having already pledged my undying love for jazz at a young age, and that I loved writing; but I never intended to leave with a blueprint for the foundation of how I would put pen to paper from that point on. Since then, my writing has been centered in being present in the here and now, a soulful, deep listening, improvisation (which brings together both the aforementioned), and an integrity that refuses to deviate from what makes up what is known as the jazz aesthetic. It is always a work in progress, as it should be.

According to Austin Project founder Omi Osun Joni L. Jones, director of the John L. Warfield Center for African and African American Studies and Associate Professor of Performance Studies in the Department of Theatre and Dance at the University of Texas at Austin, the Jazz Aesthetic Manifesto “is a way to forestall the erosion of human connection by bringing to voice women of color and those white women who are able to learn the role of allies.” Jazz has always been about being in the moment, listening to oneself and to one’s surroundings, improvisation, and continuous change. Those precepts are among the few that shaped themselves into the manifesto that would become the Austin Project.

The Austin Project (tAP) was started in 2002 with a stone etching that “all women-all people-are inherently creative, are artists in their own right, and that claiming this identity can be transformative for individuals and communities.” It provides a space for women of color and their allies to write and perform in a jazz aesthetic as a strategy for social change, be they writers, performers, doctors, or social workers. It consists of collaborators Lisa L. Moore, Associate Professor of English and Women’s and Gender Studies at University of Texas at Austin, and Sharon Bridgforth, Lambda Literary Award-winning author of the bull-jean stories and love conjure/blues. Mentors and teachers of the women of tAP have included artistic nobility such as Laurie Carlos, Carl Hancock Rux, Virginia Grise, and Daniel Alexander Jones, to name a few.

Not often do I find it difficult to summarize the works of a collective into several hundred words; however, this is one of those times. Experiments in a Jazz Aesthetic includes the works of some of the previously mentioned collaborative artists, as well as a veritable who’s who in all things to do with art, activism, and the academics. Jones wrote that in conceiving the Austin Project, she was trying to save her own life; consequently, many births seem to have taken place, for many artists have birthed a way of creating, organizing, and performing. Whether it is art, activism, or academia—being present, listening, body- centered, true to the both/and instead of the either/or all on an inclusive level all serve as the foundation with which to maintain the integrity of the jazz aesthetic. It is always a work in progress, as it should be.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, August 4th 2010

As It Turns Out

admin — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 10:12:00 +0000

By Mel Flannery Trucking Co.

Halogen Records

Melanie Flannery fronts a New York-based jazz ensemble called the Mel Flannery Trucking Co. Backed by bassist Matt Aronoff, drummer Danny Sher, and keyboardist and songwriting collaborator Lee Pardini, Flannery cultivated a sound that bridges pop, cabaret, jazz, and soul. Their latest offering, As It Turns Out, remains consistent with previous releases.

It also has little to recommend itself. While not unpleasant, the album did not capture my imagination. The arrangements are nice, if a bit too staid and preoccupied with conveying boho sophistication. Flannery and Pardini's lyrics tend to reflect on failed romance without tapping into new insights from such a well-documented subject in popular songwriting. Likewise, Flannery's alto is nice, but lacks singularity in tone or phrasing to set her apart from other jazz-inflected musicians who might grace Starbucks compilations.

Regrettably, I heard little variance between songs in As It Turns Out. I had difficulty telling the difference between "Something About You," "Lift Me Up, Tie Me Down," "We're Still Here," and "I Won't Say Goodbye." I do like Pardini and Sher's flourishes on "I Need You Here With Me," and "You Know What To Do." The latter also serves as one of the album's most appealing track, with Flannery cutting loose. I also appreciate the goofy lyrics in bonus track "You Are the Only One For Me." Flannery's biggest moment is "Gone," the album's proper closer, which boasts a lovely vocal performance brimming with emotion.

At times, the group's clean, slightly funky sound provides a jarring contrast with a song's content. This is most evident in "Running," a groovy slow jam about domestic violence. I appreciate Flannery and Pardini's efforts to represent a very real social problem from a survivor's perspective. This extends toward the album's liner notes, which provide information on the Human Rights Campaign and the National Domestic Violence Hotline. I don't think the song needs a foreboding sound to reflect the content. I just feel strange about the song having such a swing to it.

The group's talent is evident. I just wish I had more of a personal stake in the results.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, August 4th 2010

The Great Silence: Britain from the Shadow of the First World War to the Dawn of the Jazz Age

admin — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Juliet Nicolson

Grove Press

The Great Silence starts out with a story that is never fun to tell—the story of a war—the First World War. Nicolson writes of a part of life that divides humans like no other, but also remedies that story with one that is incomparable in drawing us together—that of music. Everything in between is categorized under feelings such as, hopelessness, anger, honesty, and acceptance, to name a few.

The year of 1918 gave birth to a day that was supposed to represent a temporary suspension of hostilities by mutual agreement—a truce—for this is what Armistice means. Armistice Day, however, served more as a bandaid in the lives of millions of Britain’s inhabitants. Hostilities would fester for a lifetime for those who would never see their husbands, brothers, or fathers again. It also offered little consolation to returning soldiers who saw the end of the war, but were marked by it forever with their injuries and disfigurements.

Nicolson seems to pull back the curtain on that time making the reader feel as if they are in the midst of the goings on of these lives forever touched by the war. No one was spared of the atrocities, from the ordinary to the famous, such as, D.H. Lawrence, T.S. Eliot, and Virginia Woolf, who found time to write of Armistice Day while at a trip to the dentist.

The war and its residual effects would give rise to many unprecedented events, such as women’s right to vote (with certain restrictions), the increased blurring of class lines, and a music that would therapeutically liberate a people’s mental constraints. Not even the world of fashion was spared when French couturier Coco Chanel introduced innovative fashions that complemented androgyny while retaining femininity, thanks in part, to this jazz music. It seemed that the high hopes of winning the war and/or returning from it unbroken placed on the success of the war in the beginning came crashing down along with the nation’s morality (according to what the powers that be believed), due to its failure in both. Jazz music only served to divide the morale with its primitive elements wreaking havoc on the virginal principles of good people.

Nicolson weaves such a thorough and engaging social history that makes the reader feel personally privy to a time when many of our grandparents were not even a thought. Nicolson’s ability to tell a story complemented by first-hand accounts and access to the diaries of Queen Mary give the reader a virtual experience of what it was like to experience a time long gone, but not forgotten.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, July 22nd 2010

Xenogensesis II: Intergalactic Beings (4/30/2010)

admin — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 00:02:00 +0000

Museum of Contemporary Art

Chicago, Illinois

I purchased a copy of Octavia Butler’s Bloodchild at a secondhand bookstore and let it rest on my shelf for years as next-to-read. Fortunately, it was in my bag when I was shuttled from the ER to a hospital for a week-long stay: I possessed a means of transport away from a battered attempt at sterility and the monotony of crisis to an intense, sparse yet beautifully rendered world. I was reading Octavia Butler. Therefore, when Nicole Mitchell’s jazz composition Xenogenesis II: Intergalactic Beings, a tribute to Octavia Butler, appeared on the program notice for Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art, I jumped at the chance to see it.

Mitchell and the Black Earth Ensemble presented this nine-part composition, the second part of a three-part contemplation of the unexpected result of nuclear conflagration, on a barren stage without sets or elaborate effects. As Mitchell is a noted visionary, it is not surprising that she chose to produce work inspired by the speculative author, nor is it surprising that the aural reverberations transported me just as much as Butler’s description of altered societies and beings. What did make me pause was the complete engagement that evolved between an almost full theater and the extremely innovative and almost alien sounds alternately squeaking, screaming, swelling, and rolling from the stage.

The composer and musicians came on to the stage half-draped in sheets of papery, crumpled chiffon over black clothing. White robes are conventionally associated with angels, but the intergalactic beings of the title have a more ominous mission: they seek to save the human species through abducting subjects for seduction and interbreeding. The themes of conquest and exploitation clearly mirror aspects of American history. However, these topics are presented as evocative echoes, not didactic hammer falls. The nine-movement piece is subtly wrought and ultimately powerful, starting with the stealing of our species and ending with inescapable metamorphosis. Xenogenesis manifests a haunting reminder of Octavia Butler’s verse: “All that you touch/You Change./ All that you Change/Changes you./ The only lasting truth/ is Change./ God/is Change.”

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, June 21st 2010

Oompa!

admin — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Sabrina Chap

Ert Records

A few weeks back, Sabrina Chap (born Chapadjiev) contacted me to see if I wanted to review her new album, Oompa! Never one to turn down a free meal from female musicians, I obliged and she mailed me a copy (with a handwritten letter, no less — thanks, Sabrina!). While the item was in transit, Kjerstin Johnson at Bitch reviewed it for B-Sides.

Having not heard Chap before, the article gave me a good idea of what I’d be listening to. The cabaret sensibility of “Never Been a Bad Girl” suggested The Dresden Dolls (though not Evelyn Evelyn’s super-problematic crip drag) on first listen, as well as Inara George and Jolie Holland in louder moments. The emphasis on classical and ragtime instrumentation also recalled Squirrel Nut Zippers’ dedication to jump blues, jazz, polka, and swing. Both the Zippers and beloved Austin mainstay White Ghost Shivers have cultivated antiquated aural aesthetics to undermine nostalgia with biting observations, sly asides, and at times bawdy lyrics about the realities of modern life. Finally, Chap also seems to share similar feminist camp sensibilities with fellow New York-based retro revisionists Ménage à Twang. I haven’t heard Chap on KOOP’s “What’s a Girl to Do” program, but I think she’d be a perfect fit.

I don’t offer these artists up to slight Chap as derivative, but rather to put her in a larger context of artists. I believe Chap’s talents stand up on their own. I’m also interested in pursuing her written work. She’s penned some plays and edited a zine called Cliterature. She also edited Live Through This, an anthology about women who use art to work through self-destructive tendencies. The book contains interviews from Nan Goldin, bell hooks, Inga Muscio, Kate Bornstein, Eileen Myles, and Annie Sprinkle. That’s a helluva dinner party.

Most of Oompa! charmed me. The songwriting is sharp, the melodies are catchy, and Chap’s band possesses the sort of musical precision that allows it to really swing. I especially liked the self-effacing opening track “Blueprint for Destruction,” idyllic “Carolina,” reflective “Illinois,” spunky “Never Been a Bad Girl,” and the uncertain but defiantly optimistic “Boat Song,” which closes the album. “Failed Waitress/Failed Astronaut” may rank as my favorite track, as it turns the all-too-relateable subject matter of being college educated yet maligned by limited career prospects into a fun little jig. The slinky “Idiom,” which documents a clandestine hook-up with a sexy female stranger, is a close second.

Unfortunately, there are two songs on Oompa! that I can do without. “Little White House” brings to mind the nuclear family idyll espoused in Little Shop of Horrors' “Somewhere That’s Green,” which feminist-minded pop stars like Paula Cole critiqued in “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” I’m of the mind that Chap is doing similar work here, as the minor key and stately pace suggest compromised expectations. However, much like I felt with “Cowboys,” it’s hard for me to not hear this song as being condescending to its subject.

I also cringe when I hear “Ze Paris Song,” a song about a tourist trying to fit in with her surroundings while eating baguettes and brie as she reflects on the tragic men who love her and eschews the Eiffel Tower. That Chap delivers it in a put-on accent doesn’t help matters. Much like “House,” I believe Chap is being critical here. The results just rub me the wrong way.

Yet despite those minor grievances, I’d still recommend Oompa! Give it a spin on the ol’ Victrola.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, June 13th 2010

Levantine Indulgence

admin — Thu, 27 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Gaida

Palmyra Recordings

Singer and composer Gaida’s debut album Levantine Indulgence is named for Levant, the Fertile Crescent’s desert oasis. Aptly named, this album offers listeners an abundance of vocal and instrumental styles that even the most resistant listeners can find nourishing and enchanting.

The opening track, “Dream,” begins with rhythmic clapping and percussion and a chorus of male voices who share vocals with the lead singer. I should clarify by referring to sharing and “trading.” This distinction is important because the contrast of Gaida’s voice with the male singers makes this short song into a true performance. The vocal banter between Gaida and the men reminded me of a musical where the lead female actor is center stage and the men in the chorus sing to her with the purpose of wooing or impressing her. But in the case of “Dream,” the men sing with Gaida at the end of the song. Unlike a traditional musical from an earlier era, where the woman needs to fend off potential suitors with clever lyrics and a silky voice, in this modern version Gaida works with the men, but the song is still decidedly hers.

“Kaifa Uhibuka” transports the listener to a smoky, jazz club with purple walls and red, plush booths. When I close my eyes and listen to this track, I’m a patron of this club, sipping gin and smoking a clove cigarette, while I lean back into my lush surroundings to enjoy the music. I despise gin and I no longer smoke, but the song evokes feelings of real or imagined indulgence, and yet sadness. I felt that this song represented the overall mood of the album even more than the title track.

Another track that evoked this mood was the beautiful ballad “Ghayeb.” The piano, cello, and flute blend with Gaida’s vocals to create a song that expresses love, longing, and caring. Despite the fact that the lyrics are not in English, my eyes filled with tears as I listened to “Ghayeb.” Without even knowing what Gaida was saying, I could feel the pain and loss in her voice. When you hear a song like this, it can cause you to have a flashback to a situation that may have been painful, or one that caused you to feel a sense of bittersweet regret. Granted, this isn’t exactly a desirable feeling, but if a song can make you feel this way, I think that’s pretty powerful.

Gaida has lived in Germany, Damascus, Detroit, Paris, Kuwait, and New York. Through the incorporation of jazz, bossa nova, ballad, Tarab (ecstasy) songs, Arab folk, and traditional Arabic maqam (modes) and improvisational style in her music, it is easy to see that she has carried pieces of these places with her as she has traveled the globe. Some people would create a scrapbook or a photo album of their diverse living experiences; Gaida has produced an audio diary of her musical and emotional journeys, and the listener can feel her sentiment with beat of the bass, the raining piano notes, and memorable melodies. On the album cover, the artist in fact states that she, “will always sing with tears close to my eyes, beats pounding my fragile heart, and care wrapping the entire world.”

Written by: Rachel Muzika Scheib, May 27th 2010

The Rest of Your Life

admin — Mon, 03 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Debbie Cunningham

Intrigue Productions

As an avid jazz fan, I was delighted to review Debbie Cunningham’s album of standards. I was even more delighted when I received the CD in the mail and found that Cunningham is from my native Tennessee. A blurb on the back of the jewel case read that it was a “great CD to just kick back with a glass of wine and relax,” so I prepared accordingly. The verdict? It was, indeed, quite an enjoyable experience.

The professional, smooth sound of the trio first caught my attention. Pianist Barry Sames, percussionist Wilby Fletcher, and bassists Lee Smith and Mike Boone have created solid ensemble with guest instrumentalists on various tracks, and with Cunningham. A mellow, light touch from the trio set an appropriate lounge mood. John Swana’s muted trumpet solo on “My Funny Valentine” is spot on and probably my favorite interlude on the album.

Cunningham’s voice is polished; hers is a higher voice than one often hears, but she still delivers the smoothness one expects. I only have two comments to make on Cunningham’s delivery; that on lower passages, she seemed a little more hesitant and projects a tone that is not as rich; and there was a lack of manipulation of the melody. This is a mellower album, yes, but it would have been nice to hear a bit more of an Ella-inspired tonal play.

In “Our Love Is Here To Stay,” she does employ various vocal qualities, namely a sampling of scat, extended straight tone, and a playful staccato, which was a nice juxtaposition to the more slow pieces on the album. Her rendition of “The Rest of Your Life” was surprisingly introspective and dark, a departure from saucier, bossa nova renditions I’ve heard in the past. However, Sames’ sensitive piano interlude validates and reinforces this choice. Cunningham’s voice shines on this piece in particular; there is a depth to her interpretation and a force behind her enunciation that draws in the listener. This piece serves as a lovely ending to a thoughtful and professionally executed album.

Written by: Cristin Colvin, May 3rd 2010

Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone

admin — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Nadine Cohodas

Pantheon Books

Lately, I’ve been reading about artists, creativity, and the psychological eccentricities that draw the two together and force them into a lifelong bond. It is typical for artistic greats to be different from the mainstream, for they tend to be blessed with innovation, perseverance, and, well, a great deal of futuristic talent. If it were to have been different with Nina Simone, I would have been immensely disappointed. Needless to say, I was not.

Although I'm not impressed with the title of this book, Princess Noire: The Tumultuous Reign of Nina Simone, because it gives the impression that Simone's life had been little more than bipolar, after reading its contents, I could understand why that title was chosen. Even still, Nina Simone’s work and talent demands great respect, as she was an instrumental figure in shifting both political consciousness and an innovative marriage of two strange bedfellows (classical music components and rhythm and blues).

As Nadine Cohodas writes, Nina Simone was definitely no angel, and she didn’t always make sound business or personal decisions. She was an extremely temperamental, moody, and complicated soul. She demanded the best from herself, her musicians, and even her audience. Simone recreated the past when recounting her upbringing—sometimes more positively, other times more negatively, and many times leaving much out altogether. She had a version of multiple personality disorder, two unhappy marriages, and many blowups.

Several notable artists were, and are, great because of the personal turmoil they endured. I am fully aware that there are artists who are great despite not having gone through traumatic tribulations, and I don't think one need go through such turmoil in order to produce great works; however, it seems to be a common theme in the creative world.

Nina was a child prodigy. Beginning at the age of two and a half, she demonstrated the musical abilities that would manifest into remarkable piano virtuosity. With her family's cultivation of her talent, and the generosity of people with foresight that extended beyond the color of her skin, Nina was able to hone the talent inside her that would eventually touch the world. Her initial goal of becoming a prominent Black female classical pianist got transformed into a recipe of jazz, rhythm and blues, originality, political consciousness, and an activism that left its mark on time immemorial.

Simone's self-proclaimed inability to fit in with most people has, ironically, united people everywhere. Her musical bravado infused with social consciousness paved the way for everyone from jazz great Ron Carter to hip-hop artist Talib Kweli. She helped get rid of the racially biased cabaret card and ways of conducting business in music. If this is how being different from the mainstream manifests, I’ll take it.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, April 22nd 2010

Songs for a Sinking Ship

admin — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By April Smith and the Great Picture Show

Little Roscoe

Not many people have heard of April Smith, but I’ve become quite the enthusiastic fan. Her music combines elements of pop and rock, but her voice has more of a jazz quality that gives the end result a great mix and unique style. I loved her previous album, loveletterbombs, and I saw Smith perform live a couple of times, so when I heard she was raising money for a new album through Kickstarter, I signed right up to contribute. But then she posted the track listing for Songs for a Sinking Ship, and I already knew half the songs. Needless to say, I felt a bit let down. Sure, some were from her live EP, and I expected them to show up again, but one went as far back as her 2005 album!

I kept an open mind and eagerly hit play when I finally got my copy. Halfway through the album I was already swallowing all of my doubtful words. From the first song, “Movie Loves a Screen” (my favorite of the new tracks), the energy and style wakes you up and makes you pay attention. She sustains this throughout the album, even on the slower tracks that draw you in with her emotional words. The pleasant surprise was that tracks I already knew were mostly different, better versions of what I’ve heard before. By the time I got to the last track, I was sorry the album was finished and immediately started listening to it all over again.

What really impressed me was the song “The One That Got Away.” This ballad from loveletterbombs was one of the songs that made me a fan in the first place. The song has gotten a complete makeover for this album, and now I can’t decide which version is my favorite. The tempo is sped up, the minimal instrumentation is replaced with a carnival feel, and what once sounded like a brokenhearted plea now sounds like an embrace of her circumstances. I have complete confidence that if she re-released a new version of loveletterbombs, I’d pre-order that too.

For people who aren’t already fans, it’s hard to listen to April Smith without finding a song that piques your interest and makes you curious to hear more. But even somebody who already owns her other albums won’t feel let down by spending the money to get this one. This is one of the best albums I’ve heard in a long time, and I can hardly wait for the next one.

Written by: frau sally benz, March 30th 2010

Malaikat dan Singa

admin — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 01:00:00 +0000

By Arrington de Dionyso

K Records

The music of Arrington de Dionyso (also of the band Old Time Relijun) lies somewhere in a crazy Venn Diagram where Sonic Youth, Nick Cave (circa The Birthday Party), Miles Davis (circa Bitches Brew), and Jerry Lee Lewis intersect. (Yes, I said Jerry Lee Lewis. If you don’t believe me, check out a live version of Arrington de Dionyso’s “Kedalaman Air,” where he dances around the stage with the same squirrelly eyes and reckless rock-n-roll abandon that Jerry Lee Lewis has when he performs “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On.”) Heck, there is even a little bit of the Melvins in there; think “Bar-X the Rocking M” and you would be heading in the right direction. (Arrington uses a bass clarinet rather than a trombone, but I think you get the idea.)

Arrington de Dionyso isn’t exactly rock, and he isn’t exactly jazz. I’m not sure all of it even would fit in the category of “music”—at least, not the kind of music that utilizes the traditional, catchy, verse-chorus-verse format. Listening to de Dionyso, there are many times when it sounds like a band of gypsies and a group of Tibetan monks fell down a flight of stairs, and the sounds they emitted as they tumbled were recorded on a scratchy eight-track.

Perhaps, though, this last analogy doesn’t give enough creative props to the man and his troupe of noise-artists. de Dionyso and his band somehow manage to make cohesive music while also making their instruments sound like they are being jerked into life by Dr. Frankenstein and about three million volts of electricity. It’s as if they created the musical version of H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Rats in the Walls.”

Sure, call it a bit pretentious if you want (Sonic Youth and Nick Cave have both been accused of the same), but how can anyone really claim that this music is pompous when it jangles around like a massive Sasquatch orgasm? I can only hope Arrington de Dionyso will be around for a very long time—if only because I am curious to see what he will come up with next.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, December 5th 2009

Devil’s Halo

admin — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Meshell Ndegeocello

Mercer Street Records

I have always admired the artist who is not afraid to spotlight the daily catharsis we call life, and put it into an artistic pill that the masses will not sicken themselves on if left to process with their own devices. Some examples of this type of artist are Marvin Gaye, James Baldwin, and Stevie Wonder. I am not comparing or contrasting; I am simply stating personal observations and opinions. People generally do not get criticized by those closest to them for their growth—be it emotionally, spiritually, or even physically. Those who love us, or are simply enthusiastic admirers of who we are and what we do, tend to be very supportive and appreciative of our plight.

Given the preamble, those enthusiastic admirers who fall outside of the category of family (and sometimes this is also true for those who fall inside of it) tend to be a bit more conditional with their admiration. They want a brilliant finished product, not the torturous, heart-wrenching but beautiful in-betweens. In my humble opinion, Meshell Ndegeocello’s Devil's Halo is that beautiful in-between because it is a compilation of her experiences on the way to the finished product. “Tie One On,” “Bright Shiny Morning,” and “Blood On The Curb” remind me of songs that should be in a movie about twenty-somethings having an existential crisis—and that’s a good thing. “Love You Down” makes me wish I were in Ndegeocello’s head to figure out how she rendered Ready For The World’s original to such a soulful level. I am sincerely apologetic when I say I didn’t care too much for the original version, but I can’t get enough of this one. “Devil’s Halo” is a grooved out track I wish were longer, and a couple honorable mentions are “Lola” and “Hair of The Dog.”

Ndegeocello has never been afraid to take things to another level; although not everyone has appreciated those levels. Her works suggest that she chooses to maintain her own artistic integrity, not the desires of an industry continually adhering to a code of values that fluctuate with the value of the dollar.

Fans tend to be conditional with their appreciation, or lack thereof, and only want a perfectly packaged product that sounds exactly like why they began to like the artist in the first place. I presume the musical diversity Ndegeocello presents as songs suggest her emotional, spiritual, and physical growth-something we all go through, but are not as critical of. The in-between times are manifested in those artistic pills we aren’t always willing to swallow on our own. Hopefully, this one will go down easy for those who truly and enthusiastically admire Ndegeocello's work.

Written by: Olupero R. Aiyenimelo, November 28th 2009