Birth of the Cool - Miles Davis (1949-50)

Miles had more experimental records, more innovative records, more brilliantly improvisational records, more cohesive records, quite a few records that were, well, better. But only Miles Davis can make a record that seems to fail those standards and still is among the greatest jazz albums ever. This is Miles's greatest compositional album, where every tune isn't just played, but crafted to perfection. There is that sense of fragility present throughout the album, as if any moment if you alter its sensitive structure it will collapse, that makes it so beautiful and compelling. "Moon Dreams," in my mind, tops them all - it sounds like a house of cards just waiting for you to remove a card from its bottom. Miles just stands guard and never lets that happen.

Birth of the Cool was first released as a compilation on LP in 1957, but it was recorded in 1949 and 1950.

Alex Chilton is Dead at 59

To me, there were very little musicians that sounded as American as Alex Chilton. That's weird, considering that along with his fellow Big Star member Chris Bell, they were about the most British-sounding band around. Maybe it's because we now associate so much of the subsequent "Power Pop" movement with lots of American bands, that we sometimes forget how much of their influence was from pre-Revolver British Invasion. Then again, the major influence of all of those groups was American R&B. Wherever the winding road ends up, Alex Chilton, one of Memphis's favorite sons, always seemed to create some of the most American music possible. It was in fact not too long ago that I discovered Big Star (remember, I'm a teenager), after having heard "September Gurls" many a time in numerous places. I heard Radio City and played, literally, nothing but that for about a week. Then I devoured #1 Record, then Third/Sister Lovers, then Chris Bell's posthumous I Am the Cosmos, and now I'm trying to track down Chilton's solo stuff. There really hasn't been any band like them, and there definitely wasn't a band like them when they were at their peak, which was actually the entire span of the band's existence - which was about 3 years, 6 if you count the later-released, really-more-of-a-Chilton-solo-album-but-equally-breathtaking Third. I'm rambling, not really making a point here, I guess. If there's a point, it's that they simply wrote beautiful guitar pop, and no one has come close to matching the beauty heard in their songs.

And now, just a few minutes ago, I found that Alex Chilton has died of a heart attack at 59. It's strange - he hasn't really made a well-received album in more than 20 years, it didn't really seem like he was on any sort of breakthrough, I always wanted to see him in concert or meet him, but that never seemed very realistic. So logically, besides the tragedy of an early death of a musical idol I've long admired from afar, it shouldn't really affect me. And yet, it feels like something like the "end of an era." The idea that there's a living, breathing human responsible for so much beauty is both obvious and slightly inconceivable. And now, the human's gone - but his music remains. So, thank you, friend / Wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you / I'm so grateful for all the things you helped me do.

Ornette Coleman Speaks

Many thanks to a blog absolutely worth checking out, Bop and Beyond.

Television Play "Venus" at the Ork Loft, 1974

Whoah! This is amazing! It's also great to track the evolution of "Venus" - this is the earliest version I've heard of it, but I've also heard demos, other takes, live performances... I will never, ever get tired of this song, even in its form here, which sounds almost nothing like the final product.

Chico Buarque: Minha História (1973)

I wasn't sure if Buarque's 1971 album Construção, often considered the greatest Brazilian album of all time, would live up to hype, but for all intents and purposes, it has. Such a beautiful song right here.

Eric Dolphy Remind Us that He's a Genius (Mingus & Dolphy, "Take the A Train," 1964)

Well, was a genius - he died way, way too young in 1964. One can only wonder how he would have evolved in the subsequent years.

By the way, absolutely amazing solo by the pianist, Jackie Byard - he's just swinging along, and then all of a sudden he goes stride on us. It's a real shame it's cut off.

My Bloody Valentine - Glider (Intro) / When You Sleep - Live in London, 1991

You can't hear a thing, you can't see a thing, and yet despite - or perhaps because - of this, it's beautiful music.

Love Comes In Spurts

There is curious pattern of listening. There are usually three alternate reactions upon first listening a song: you love it, you think it’s OK, or you hate. If you hate it, you usually don’t listen to it again. Chances are if you think it’s OK, after listening to it for another 10 times you’ll grow to like it to some degree. I don’t know why this is – perhaps we become more aware and perceptive of what we didn’t notice before. Perhaps our senses become number. Whatever it is, it almost always happens. The opposite happens for a song you absolutely love – sometimes it takes 10, 20, 30 listens, but eventually you’ll ease into a pattern of anticipation. And that is, after all, half of what makes a song beautiful – not the fact that you’re surprised at what happens, anyone can do that, but the fact that you don’t necessarily know the beauty you hear was coming, or know what form it takes. Once you know it’s coming, slowly the impact decreases, slowly but surely.

I’ve listened to Television’s song “Venus” for maybe, I don’t know, probably about 200, 250 times. For probably the last 49 plays before this most recent one (yes, it took that long) I’ve sunk into a pattern of surprisingly little reaction from the song. I still love it, I still find it beautiful, it still astounds me, despite the fact that I know every single guitar pluck by heart. Yet, it doesn’t astound me, doesn’t quite overwhelm me with beautiful sound like it did the first time. Well, the second time would be more accurate. I can actually recall how I discovered Television. It was summer, nearing the end of my freshman year in High School, sweltering of course, and amidst that heat somehow my teacher had enough energy to teach us about Hellenistic Greek art - and Venus De Milo. Somehow I remembered my father saying something way back when about a song about Venus De Milo. I can’t remember how I remembered it, because it must have been a random passing remark from two, three years before that. Yet somehow it stuck with me, and I remembered it that day. I arrived home and downloaded it from iTunes. Then I downloaded another song from the album, probably “See No Evil,” then another, and then finally the entire album a few days later. I listened to “Venus” the first time, and I liked it, perhaps even really liked it, but I hadn’t truly listened to it, I hadn’t truly understood what I was hearing. The second time it clicked. What I was listening to was near impossible to describe in words. It took my breath away. That day I listened to it about 20 times, and amazingly it never wore off. After every listen I would have been surprised my head wasn’t aching with some sort of traumatic bliss. It was that powerful.

And yet, how many listens later, and what’s happened? My ears had been slowly going numb into a pattern of complacency, but with little loss of breath. (Though I must admit, the other songs I hadn’t been wild about on the album – “Prove It,” “Guiding Light” – have slowly opened up my ears to sounds I hadn’t noticed before. “Guiding Light” used to be a fairly straightforward, pleasant ballad-like song, but now I notice its layering, its patterns and progressions and – brace yourselves – even its lyrics, something, despite my literary nature, I tend to place far behind a song’s sound in importance. The same thing for “Prove It.”) But today I listened to it again. Perhaps it was because I was much too tired, perhaps because it smelled like frying onions, perhaps just because I hadn’t listened to it in close to a week, which is an eternity for Marquee Moon. Whatever the reason, it opened up again. Suddenly I understood again why I had loved it so much in the first place. Maybe “understood” is the wrong word - this is not to say I hadn’t loved it all the time, but now I experienced it, felt why I loved it so much. Suddenly that traumatic bliss was back. But it’s probably not here to stay. As Richard Hell – who first began in Television alongside Tom Verlaine - once said, “Love comes in spurts.”

Picture Above: Television's 1977 "Prove It" b/w "Venus" single.

The Saint John Coltrane African Orthodox Church

The complete and utter synthesis of  spiritual connectivity and musicality achieved by John William Coltrane has arguably never been matched by any other composer and musician in the 20th century. One listen to Ascension can tell you that. In fact, Trane's impact was so great that an African Orthodox Church in San Francisco has beatified Coltrane - or rather, Saint Coltrane.

According to Wikipedia (no jokes please), "The African Orthodox Church is a primarily African-American denomination in the Anglican tradition, founded in the United States in 1919. It has approximately 15 parishes and 5,000 members." I'm frankly not too surprised that Coltrane has become such - not a religious figure, but, in a sense, a mythical figure. I'm not commenting on the African Orthodox Church in particular (I'm not implying that "saints" and "mythic" are one and the same), but, as with any great, there's always the potent combination of amazement and nostalgia. That combination makes "legends," but Coltrane in particular has all the right ingredients: A journeyman who gets a break with a star and suddenly takes the scene by storm, changing the face of the music forever, refusing to become still, constantly innovating and discovering, overcoming his personal vices, finding his inner spiritual voice, blah blah blah. It's all true of course, but Coltrane embodies it like no jazzman before him or since.

Oh, and have I mentioned that this performance is possibly the most breathtaking live performance I've ever seen?

Isaac Hayes Live at Wattstax performing "Theme from Shaft" - 1973.

That cat Shaft is a baaad mothe-

Man, that wah-wah is like a percussion instrument. Wattstax isn't talked about a lot these days, which is an incredible shame. It was seen as the "black answer to Woodstock," which is a stupid comparison, of course, at least in terms of its social, political, and even structural aspects - unlike Woodstock, it wasn't held over a weekend in an upstate New York farm, but for one long day - August 20, 1972 - in Los Angeles Memorial Colosseum. It featured all the Stax stars and then some - Isaac Hayes, the Bar-Kays, the Staples Singers, Carla and Rufus Thomas, Albert King, etc.

Meanwhile, the Bar-Kays did their own, equally funky take on Shaft:

Above: Watt's most recognizable landmark, the Watts Towers.

John Cage and Morton Feldman in Conversation, 1967

From archive.org:

This first of a three part conversation between John Cage and Morton Feldman was recorded at WBAI in New York between October 18-25, 1967. The segment begins with Cage and Feldman discussing the various ways people perceive intrusion in their lives. The composers then spend some time on the occupation of the artist as "being deep in thought," and what the goals or purposes of "being deep in thought" might be. A brief analysis of Black Mountain College follows before Cage and Feldman return to the idea of being in thought, and the role of boredom in life. The conversation ends with Cage explaining his hesitation towards taking on students.

Great stuff, one of three recordings, not only two of the greatest minds of the time under one roof, but two of the greatest voices - Cage with his distinctive, high pitched, almost floating voice, and Feldman, with his heavy New York accent that sounds more like the plumber next door than one of the greatest composers of the 20th century.

(Rahsaan) Roland Kirk - The Inflated Tear (1968)

Rahsaan Roland Kirk said: "When I die, I want them to play 'The Black and Crazy Blues'. I want to be cremated, put in a bag of pot, and I want beautiful people to smoke me and hope they get something out of it."

Whatever you say, Rahsaan. This album remains the collector of some of the most beautiful jazz songs ever recorded, and it's definitely one of my favorite jazz albums. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that it's the most underrated jazz album of all time. Roland Kirk, who later added the name "Rahsaan," was known as a sideshow early on, an "act" rather than a musician: a man who played three strange looking reed instruments simultaneously, hummed into a flute, maybe punctuated  a solo with a whistle more likely to be found at a child's birthday party than Carnegie Hall - and, he was blind. But the idiotic castigating from the critics, targeted at his unorthodox approach, eventually wore off, and soon people discovered he was one of the great innovators and creative geniuses in jazz of his time - and he proved that all without sacrificing his approach. On The Inflated Tear, so named after the condition that caused him to become fully blind (from only partially before) when a nurse overdosed him on eye medication, these are his credits:

Roland Kirk - tenor sax, manzello, stritch, clarinet, flute, whistle, English horn or flexafone

If you're wondering, a manzello and a stritch are two variations on a saxophone, with slightly altered bodies, which create slightly different tones. On his first major album, from back when he was considered practically a sideshow, "Introducing Roland Kirk," his line is similar - tenor sax, manzello, stritch, and whistle.

This, his magnum opus, is almost like a sprawling, yet concentrated jazz history that doesn't begin to approach mere nostalgia - it still remains and sounds fully contemporary. Here's the best way I've found to describe it: It's you dreaming of you having a dream tomorrow about the day before the real dream. Does that make sense? He's looking at the past, but there's a definite purposeful distance from it - he isn't the past, knows he isn't, but nevertheless wants to pay homage to it. He quotes New Orleans-esque funeral marches, early bebop, he even covers Ellington's "Creole Love Calls," and, at times, it seems like he's quoting himself. Picturing "The Black and Crazy Blues," the first track from this album, being played at his funeral doesn't bring up sadness - it's the one that sounds like a funeral march, but it's hardly mournful. It has a kind of remote optimism, or at the very least, a surreal sense of humor - a sense of comfort in sadness.

Sadly, Rahsaan Roland Kirk's death was not accompanied with any of the sense of muted optimism, any sense of comfort in its time and place, that is inferred from "The Black and Crazy Blues" - he died in 1977 of a stroke at age 42.

The Bridge - Sonny Rollins (1962)

I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed at this 1962 album, the first album by Rollins after his voluntary three-year retirement, which is now the stuff of legend - supposedly, he wanted to almost relearn the saxophone and took three years off to do nothing but practice, during which he often played under the Williamsburg Bridge (the Manhattan side, of course). The main problem with this "comeback" album stems from the fact that Sonny is a great saxophonist, but not a great composer and arranger. In fact, I'd say his best work was as a side man, taking his amazing tone and his unmatched sense of subtle impact to songs that didn't sound quite so stifled and emotionless - I realize that sounds a bit harsh, and I hate calling any record emotionless, because obviously its not, but I was not feeling it. His mid 50s work with Monk is a prime example of when he did take his pure playing to a setting that suitably complimented it and showed the fully realized potential of Rollins's playing. On The Bridge, however, I don't feel the setting suitably compliments it.

The Most Brilliant Musical Move the Beatles Ever Made...

...was referencing "She Loves You" in "All You Need is Love."

Discuss.

Public Image Ltd. on American Bandstand, 1980

Well, it's got a good beat n' you can dance to it. I'll give it a 7, Dick!

How the hell PiL got on American Bandstand is one of the great miracles of modern music.

Oh, and don't forgot another one of their wildly successful TV appearances:

Stuff I Left Out

As to be expected, I'm mad at all the stuff I left off yesterday's list of an "alternate" top 20 of all time. Some notable ones I left off:

	Arcade Fire Funeral (2004) Yeah, I don't love it that much either - but it's one of the great albums of the 00s, and it's nice whenever there's a new classic, something that's accepted by the old and young generations as one of the greatest records of this decade. In 10 years, 15 at the most, this should be on every publication's "top 20 of all time."
	Public Image Ltd. Metal Box (1979) I wanted something to represent British punk/post-punk, so I chose Entertainment! but I perhaps should've chosen Metal Box, which I love - probably more than Entertainment!
	Van Morrison Astral Weeks (1968)
	Prince Purple Rain (1984) I'm going to embarrass myself and admit that I've listened to very, very little Prince (I'm still young, after all!), but I don't have to tell you about the acclaim this album has received. I predict that, once I finally get around to listening to it, I'll probably like it a lot.
	TV on the Radio Return to Cookie Mountain (2006) Perhaps I should've chosen this over You Forgot It In People, but "People" has that aura of concise greatness that Return to Cookie Mountain.
	Neil Young Zuma (1975) Yes, I genuinely believe this is Neil Young's greatest album.
	John Lennon Mother (John Lennon / Plastic Ono Band) (1970)
	The Modern Lovers The Modern Lovers (1976)
	The Who Live at Leeds (1970) Probably the greatest live album ever, and definitely the greatest Who album - in my view, miles ahead of Who's Next, which I never liked that much, comparatively.

The Unsung Masterpieces - An Alternate Top 20 of All Time

This list does not contain any albums from an artist that has an album in the top 30 overall rated albums from rateyourmusic.com. It combines overall influence with my personal opinion, and I've tried to keep in mind an equality of eras and genres. This is "pop" only - so, Rock, R&B, Rap, Country, etc. - but I left out genres like jazz and classical, because they can't be compared. Also, to increase diversity, I don't have any artist repeated.

This isn't meant to be definitive, just to make you think. Don't kill your idols; just elevate more people to their level.

20		Buddy Holly Buddy Holly (1958)
19		Broken Social Scene You Forgot It in People (2002)
18		Patti Smith Horses (1975)
17		Hüsker Dü Zen Arcade (1984)
16		The White Stripes Elephant (2003)
15		A Tribe Called Quest The Low End Theory (1991)
14		Nirvana Nevermind (1991)
13		Little Richard Here's Little Richard (1957)
12		Ramones Ramones (1976)
11		Gang of Four Entertainment! (1979)
10		Big Star Radio City (1974)
9		Otis Redding Otis Blue: Otis Redding Sings Soul (1965)
8		Talking Heads Remain in Light (1980)
7		Johnny Cash At Folsom Prison (1968)
6		Wu-Tang Clan Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (1993)
5		Aretha Franklin I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You (1967)
4		The Kinks Face to Face (1966)
3		Stevie Wonder Innervisions (1973)
2		Sonic Youth Daydream Nation (1988)
1		Sly and the Family Stone There's a Riot Goin' On (1971)

Something Else - The Kinks (1969)

What a great album. The Kinks, in my opinion, are easily the most underrated band of the British invasion, possibly of the entire 60s. When everyone else was singing, "all you need is love," the Kinks were singing, "Sylvilla looked into her mirror / Percilla looked into the washing machine / And the drudgery of being wed / She was so jealous of her sister."

That's from one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard, "Two Sisters." Actually, I should mention here that I always thought it was the drudgery of being wet, which I thought Percilla was associating with the washing machine - but it's wed, which although changes a lot of the meaning, it retains the tone that the Kinks were brilliant at. I love these lyrical misunderstandings; I'm not sure exactly what the literary equivalent would be - I hesitate to say impressionist, in a way, though there's not the aspect of misinterpreting individual words in impressionist poetry - but somebody could write a very good dissertation on this phenomenon.

Something Else came after Face to Face, which I find to be their magnum opus, even better than The Village Green Preservation Society, whose production I always found a bit lackluster compared to the previous two; Face to Face perhaps probably contained more harpsichord on a rock'n'roll record than any other at the time, and probably the most since then. It doesn't at all sound corny or like a pastiche - as a matter of fact, it almost sounds like a brilliantly sly fusion of 18th century pomp and circumstance with 20th century noise. No one did satire like the Kinks, reaffirming my belief that seriousness and humor are never incompatible - and that perhaps no other form communicates "serious" themes quite like humor. (See: Dr. Strangelove). Something Else doesn't quite have the mythic level of songwriting that Face to Face exhibited, but it's damn good. Listen to it.

DOWNLOAD (53 MB - RapidShare)

Top 10 Favorite Album Covers: 3-1

I must be cursed! I say that I'll post my final three picks for my favorite covers the next day, thinking, "I'm sure I can make a promise like that, I won't be busy tomorrow!" Well, I wasn't busy at all - unfortunately, my computer crashed. So, here, almost a week late, is my final installment!

 

3. Ramones - Ramones. No other cover says "I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend" and "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue" at the same time like this one. No other covers says "rock 'n' roll" like this one, either.

2. Public Image Ltd. - Metal Box. For those who aren't aware: After Johnny Rotten of Sex Pistols fame found himself to be unemployed, he went against everything that the Pistols stood for and created the supposed antithesis of rock. Atonal, long, electronic, and brilliant, plus a supposed status as a "communications company" and not a "band." They said they did soundtracks, movies, videos, but of course they didn't really do anything of the sort and released albums and played gigs like any other band. But what better way to sell a "corporation" than in a metal box?

1. Sly & the Family Stone - There's a Riot Goin' On. Sly says: "I wanted the flag to truly represent people of all colors. I wanted the color black because it is the absence of color. I wanted the color white because it is the combination of all colors. And I wanted the color red because it represents the one thing that all people have in common: blood. I wanted suns instead of stars because stars to me imply searching, like you search for your star. And there are already too many stars in this world. But the sun, that's something that is always there, looking right at you. Betsy Ross did the best she could with what she had. I thought I could do better." 

Sure, he might be trying a bit too hard to be profound, but I still love the image so much. Even if you don't know exactly what flag "means," it conveys a slight disturbance in patriotism, like America in a parallel universe. This isn't exactly the flag you know. There's something goin' on here... like a riot.

Labels

Poor, poor death metal. The term, as it's now used, seems to refer to anything jarring, loud, fast, and probably evil. Casual metal fans reject it for the Cookie Monster vocals, the indie elite concentrate their attention on hipper metal media, like drone doom, and the general public treats any fan as a deeply disturbed individual. Of course these are all exaggerations, but the case remains that outside of death metal fans, the genre gets very little respect.

The saddest thing here is that death metal's lack of mainstream acceptance (if not mainstream appeal) is purely cosmetic. Death - scary, no? And yet, besides being generally abrasive, the concept of death doesn't have much to do with death metal. When the band Death chose to give themselves that name, they may have wanted to reflect the darkness of the genre. Perhaps they even wanted a name that the public wouldn't accept. And yet, I can't really help but wonder how public perception would be different if the genre had come to be known as Chuck metal, or morbid metal, or possessed metal. Maybe then, we wouldn't use death metal to refer to all the harsh noise in our life, or use it as a buzzword for the taste of the aggressive, crazed youth.

Of course, the whole problem goes deeper than death metal. Musical labels serve an important purpose, but they frequently lose meaning within a ridiculously short amount of time. Today, many of us perceive traditional punk rock as fast, short, political, angry, barely-produced and dead. And yet, when we consider the first punk rock, fast and short are the only adjectives that fit. And in the 21st century, punk fans dismiss bands like Green Day and The Libertines as corporate shit, even though they're about ten times closer to New York and early British punk than any hardcore punk. Ever.

And when's the last time you heard someone in real life use techno to mean techno? It's generally all trance, house, eurodance, synth-pop... you get the idea. Pop music made with a synthesizer or a computer. Then you've got your gangsta rap, like Eminem and Ludacris. Essentially scary men who rap about sex.

I suppose there's no real "so-what" here. Oh well. Enjoy some death metal, and take it easy.