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Friday, January 10, 2025
Moving Oos - Minister Of Love
Since upper Norway in early February remains dark both at night and during most of the day, it is impossible for a visitor with only three days in the country to assess time with any accuracy. Add alcohol, plus sleep deprivation to the already extant sensory deprivation, and the task becomes laughable. The vague occasion was the after-party to what had previously seemed the after-party, on the day after the last night of Trondheim's by:Larm festival, and thus it could have been nearly any time in the early or even late morning that we emerged out of a cluster of warehouses and, ducking the wind off the snow and the nearby fjord, ascended the steps up into the third or fifth venue of the evening.
Though we had been told otherwise, we did not expect the "biker bar" to which we had been referred to contain American-style bikers, to boast mounted Death Valley cow skulls and wall-to-wall worn-out leather jackets. And we did not expect the Moving Oos, which we knew as a side-project to the New Violators and were our last stop before the airport, to have much to do with "classic rock"-- somewhere, somebody sketchily said, between the Faces and MC5. We expected them to sound like the New Violators: gauzy not bluesy, early 1980s not early 70s, good clothes and a dignified affect, not blue jeans and jean jackets.
OK, that's not quite right. We knew their singer had worked as a truck driver and knew that Per Borten, the gifted music mimic, singer, and songwriter behind New Violators, wrote the Moving Oos' songs too. And we knew that the New Violators' occasional backup singer/siren was one of the two "oos" in that band's three-person vocal front (the two bands also share a drummer and keyboardist). Two of us had even seen the Oos the night before. But who could believe the same people carrying off such a brilliant American/English 80s pop resurrection could be doing the same thing later that evening for a completely different decade, the 1970s??
Anybody who's heard Zeppelin or the Rolling Stones or the Black Crowes or AC/DC-- everybody-- will know what's coming in this music minutes before it actually happens, making Peace and Love a brain-teaser of a good record. How can we still enjoy this stuff: the bluesy lick, guitar or keys; the tambourine hits on the eights; the gesture skyward cued by women saying "ooh"; the multi-tracked, song-title-based chorus? The motorcycle revs on "Natural Man", the "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" interpolation on "Turn Back Time", the "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution" intro on not one but two songs, "Prisoner" and "Promised Land"?
One answer is that Peace and Love is less homage than pretty close to the real thing, right place/wrong time, maybe, but right songs. What makes Peace and Love more than a joke or side-project or late night drunken escapism is something perhaps old fashioned or unfashionable, but it has to do with everyone in the band knowing how to sing, how to play their instruments, everyone knowing the exact moment on "Romancer" to get out of the way and let the two women deliver the second chorus by themselves, a shivery and sharp moment of clarity that says, just maybe, these guys know what they're about. It's easy to be taken by bands you see this way-- foreign place, foreign time, perfect for the exact moment they're stepping out into-- but the Moving Oos have no trouble pulling that space up by themselves, without help. Skeptics beware. From: https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/10037-peace-and-love/
High Places - She's A Wild Horse
High Places showed up in 2008 pegged as a Brooklyn act, but they never seemed very metropolitan. If anything, their innocent, home-recorded songs felt pastoral or coastal-- concerned more with breaking out of the city rather than toiling in it. That escapist tendency, mixed with their sonic primitivism and hopeful outlook, was refreshing. Even if their style wasn't exactly groundbreaking (we'd heard others combine global polyrhythms, hip-hop beats, and field recordings before), their approach was unique. In part because of Rob Barber's ragged production, High Places made those sounds feel roomy and lived-in. While a good record, 2008's High Places was primarily an extension of what the band established with their singles collection 03/07 – 09/07. The sound was slightly glossier, but mostly it was vocalist Mary Pearson once again cooing over Barber's fractured arrangements. With High Places vs. Mankind, though, all that is out of the window. If you count High Places as their first true album, then their latest is a classic sophomore change-up-- a departure in both style and temperament. Far from the doe-eyed innocence and sunny bliss of their earlier work, High Places are darker and much more somber here, and their approach to recording and presentation has changed.
The biggest difference is the band's mood. High Places used to stress resiliency and optimism, but now they seem resigned to life's disappointments. On an early track "On Giving Up", Pearson, who once radiated childlike hopefulness, sings solemnly of loss: "Though I have cried so many times before, it's all because I feel everything that's gone." Similar themes of heartbreak and fear exist throughout the album, and there's a notable change in the way the band sounds, too. Instead of the earlier sample-heavy style, Barber incorporates more live instrumentation, and as a result High Places feel more like a band. There are still loops and dance elements, but the focus is often more on heavy post-punk guitar-and-bass lines that enhance the overall gloomy vibe.
It's a surprising turn for the group, and whether or not you like them more as sunny optimists or somber realists is a matter of taste. The more pressing question is how this shift affects the quality of the songs. Mostly it works, but there are also songs here, especially the instrumental ones ("The Channon", "Drift Slayer") that aren't very memorable. Even a few of the more pop-focused cuts tend to skimp on melody, and it makes me think that in the band's desire to overhaul, they lost a bit of their initial spark. Still, the album is encouraging because it shows a talented young group unafraid of growth. Even if this isn't their best collection of songs, it takes nerve to try something so different. From: https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/14103-high-places-vs-mankind/
Macroscream - The Flying Giampy
Macroscream represents the flowering of bassist/vocalist Alessandro Patierno's long-term vision to create a seventies-style progressive rock band. His idea took root in 2001 but it was seven years before the group's line-up was completed with the arrival of drummer Marco Pallotti in 2008. Like their fellow band members, Davide Cirone (keyboards) and Tonino Politano (guitar) have backgrounds in the music schools and academies. However it was violinist Gianpaolo Saracino's involvement in a number of folk music projects that largely shaped the band's musical development. And their style has been further honed through a productive live activity since 2010; last year they supported Italian jazz ensemble Ibrido Hot Six at a concert in Rome that also featured guest appearances by Gary Green and Malcolm Mortimore of Gentle Giant.
The band's self-produced debut album 'Sisyphus' (2011) is a mature musical work that combines a strong Italian folk sensibility, courtesy of Saracino's violin arrangements, with a devotion to 1970s symphonic prog. The ambition of the music is matched by English-language lyrics that are derived from philosophy and classical mythology - the album is inspired by Albert Camus' reading of the legendary trickster Sisyphus who was condemned to eternal punishment by the gods. In spite of Patierno's highly distinctive vocals, which often sound at odds with the music, the band generally manages to exploit the opposing but balanced qualities of harshness and sophistication. Sisyphus' travails were dedicated to an eternity of accomplishing nothing but his namesake album has the potential to establish Macroscream as a major new RPI band in the near future. From: https://www.progarchives.com/artist.asp?id=7335
Frequency Drift - 6:16 am Deceit
Frequency Drift was formed by classically trained keyboard player and multi-instrumentalist Andreas Hack in 2006 - the band subsequently releasing their debut, 'Personal Effects Pt. 1' in 2008 via Musea. This conceptual work, based around the tragic tale of two sisters in a futuristic setting, was inspired by films like 'Bladerunner', 'Ghost in a Shell' etc, and told the story of a girl named River living in 2046 and having problems with an imaginary association named 'Diomedeidae'.
Katja Hubner was the impressive female vocalist on this first album, and the follow-up album, 'Personal Effects Pt. 2' was released by Cyclops in 2010, the new album once again showcasing Frequency Drift's talent for powerful, soulful melodies and atmosphere. The album continued River's story, with new melodic, atmospheric songs - including a wider range of instruments - and female vocal contributions this time from Nicole Scharnagl, Kerstin Leidner and Christine Mettner.
For the band's 2011 album 'Ghosts', Antje Auer had joined them permanently on vocals, and this release saw the first notable appearance of later band member Nerissa Schwarz (electric harp) as guest composer and musician, as well as an evolution towards an enthralling, melancholic mixture of art rock, ambient, folk and metal. Martin Fox was now the band's permanent drummer, with original drummer Wolfgang Ostermann also performing as a guest on several tracks, and several other guest musicians being involved in the making of the album.
'Laid to Rest' (2012, Gentle Art of Music) continued this path, with world music influences and an even more varied instrumentation - featuring gemshorn, flute and clarinet alongside the harp and violin. There was a another change of drummer for this album (Jasper Joris) - with his partner Barbara Joris being responsible for the gemshorn and various other medieval instruments - and Martin Schnella of Seven Steps to the Green Door and Flaming Row fame guesting on acoustic & electric guitars on the album's final track.
The international success of their albums earned Frequency Drift an invitation to play live at the 2012 "Night of the Prog" festival on the famous Loreley open-air stage, a performance called one of the highlights in 9 years of NOTP by the festival's manager in the German magazine 'Eclipsed'. Frequency Drift's 5th album 'Over' (2014, Gentle Art of Music / Soulfood) established a writing collaboration between Andreas and Nerissa, and was marked by further experimentation with electric harp soundscapes and keyboard textures.
An ambitious and eclectic work, 'Over' offers a unique mixture of old school progressive rock, post rock, pop, classical and world music. Isa Fallembacher and guest singer Agathe Labus shared the vocals, and Martin Schnella again guested on acoustic & electric guitars along with Kalle Wallner (RPWL, Blind Ego) on bass. The band had no permanent drummer for this particular album, the role being fulfilled by another guest musician in Phil Paul Rissettio.
In the same year, Frequency Drift released 'Summer', a wistful collection of previously unreleased songs, and was re-joined by their original permanent drummer Wolfgang Ostermann, a move which brought fresh rhythmic drive to the music. In the months that followed, the band performed live at renowned international festivals, including Summer's End (UK) and Progdreams (NL), and as main act at the live club De Pul (NL).
February 2016 saw the release of the band's 6th album 'Last'. Stranger and darker than its predecessors, yet still highly melodic, with stunning artwork and evocative lyrics, it was Frequency Drift's most cohesive and cinematic work to date, with Martin Schnella now a full band member on electric & acoustic guitars, and Melanie Mau also joining the band on vocals.
Although they have an obvious love for album titles suggesting death and finality, Frequency Drift are still alive and kicking as of 2018 - despite their continuing line-up changes over the years - and their latest album 'Letters to Maro', featuring new singer and lyricist Irini Alexia, was released on 13th April 2018 via Gentle Art of Music / Soulfood. From: https://www.progarchives.com/artist.asp?id=3907
Cream - As You Said
By 1968, London’s Royal Albert Hall was seen by most people as the UK’s home of classical music. Despite hosting concerts by the Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Bob Dylan and others over the previous five years, And while there had been rock concerts there before, there was never a rock concert as intense and as significant as the one on November 26, 1968, when Cream officially said farewell as a band.
In their two years of existence, the trio’s success had been phenomenal; they conquered America, fell out with one another and redefined what a rock trio with blues sensibilities could achieve. There is no band that followed Cream with a similar make-up that was not influenced by them. Cream became the template for heavy metal, and yet their respect for the blues and Jack Bruce’s huge musical talent for composition always gave them an edge over their rivals.
Prior to playing two nights at the Royal Albert Hall, Cream had completed a grueling 19-city tour of America, before the two back-to-back nights on November 25 and 26. The opening acts for their farewell show were Yes, still eight months away from releasing their brilliant debut record and using Leonard Bernstein’s “Something Coming” from West Side Story as the highlight of their set, and Taste, Rory Gallagher’s band, who like Cream were a three-piece and one that was also steeped in the blues.
Cream’s set included classic blues covers such as “I’m So Glad” (Skip James), “Sitting on Top of the World” (Mississippi Sheiks), “Cross Roads” (Robert Johnson), “Steppin’ Out” (Memphis Slim) and “Spoonful” (Howlin’ Wolf). These were complemented by the band’s own compositions, “White Room,” “Politician,” “Toad,” with Ginger Baker’s long drum solo, and of course, “Sunshine of Your Love,” the song that broke Cream in America.
Tony Palmer filmed cream’s farewell concerts, and the following year his insightful documentary was broadcast on the BBC to great critical acclaim. The initial plan was to release the concerts as a double album. Eventually, the idea was scrapped and instead, Goodbye was issued in February 1969 with some live songs and three recorded at IBC Studios in London in October 1968. The live tracks were taken from a show at the LA Forum in October 1968.
While Cream’s farewell shows were perhaps inevitably not their best, there is no denying their importance, both in the folklore of the band and in rock music in general. How could a band last for a little over two years, be so successful, and then break up? In fact, what they were doing was setting a template of another kind. The whole business of supergroups was to prove to be the thing in the 70s, starting with Blind Faith, which Eric Clapton and Baker formed with Steve Winwood and Ric Grech in early 1969. From: https://www.udiscovermusic.com/stories/cream-farewell-concert/
Crystal Beth - Push Thru
Beth Fleenor is one of the many gems in Seattle. From her management group, The Frank Agency, to her band, Crystal Beth, Fleenor is focused on artistic expression and beautiful human connection. The Monarch had a chance to chat with Fleenor about her work, her music, her fears and her joys.
Jake Uitti: When you’re walking around in town or in conversation and you hear the word ‘Frank’ what goes through your mind?
Beth Fleenor: Ha! After 9 years of running the Frank Agency, ‘Frank’ has become so much it’s own entity in my life – as an outlet for a particular aspect of my personality, as a structural system of support and as a reflection pool – that I automatically refer all things related to that word/name back to my Frank. At least at first. For me it’s such a call to step up to yourself and others honestly, and that ethos comes through as a reminder every time the word comes up, even though its a tough challenge issued.
JU: And that’s sort of funny because, correct me if I’m wrong, did you start the agency with a masculine name to be taken ‘seriously’ or am I totally making that up?
BF: Well, not exactly, but it did come into play. Let’s call it a deep intuition that led to revelation through empirical evidence. The name first came up as a joke. I’ve had this nickname since I was a kid – Beef Weiner, you know, for Beth Fleenor. In 2004 Johanna Kunin – incredible musician and dear friend – made the joke that I should start going by Frank because it’s more elegant for my adult self, and suited my preferred means of communication. So it was a joke – all Beef Frank. At the time, I was graduating college as a performing artist, going through an excruciating divorce, and producing concerts & assisting a few artists individually. I had been doing this work since 1999 and in leaving school I wanted to create a ship to hold all of us – all of the artists, organizations and my own work – a single entity that could build, and transfer knowledge and systems between each of the visionaries I was working with, and amplify their efforts even more. I also saw the need to protect the artists – allowing them space to be focused on the work instead of dealing with the business (because these things really don’t have anything to do with each other, which is another tangent), and the idea of an agency felt like the right vehicle to accomplish that. The agency needed a strong name that communicated what it stood for, and being Frank felt perfect. Let’s deal with the nitty-gritty up front, straight to the point – we all know what has to happen here, so let’s get it done, let’s communicate.
So it became the Frank Agency because it felt right and personally meaningful. Then in taking it on, it opened lines of communication I hadn’t experienced before. Some because of the idea of the “Agency” and some because of the masculine connotation in that it appeared I, Beth, was assisting the man in charge, Frank. Beth was now working for the Frank Agency. It was actually startling to realize how much that made a difference in some people’s confidence in me – or how shocked they were to learn the truth. There was definitely a shift in how people interacted with the masculine name – the tone of conversation was altered. Ultimately though, the greatest gift that has come out of the name is that it functions as a buffer for Beth the artist, and Beth the person, to not be affected by the business. Frank deals with that stuff – Beth focuses on the art.
JU: So, you’re a musician and an accomplished one at that. What – to touch on that tangent – is the dichotomy between the work, the art, and the work of the agency as an entity for the artist?
BF: Let’s start with what is similar. I see it all as communication – whether musically, linguistically, or interpersonally. That’s my stake in it. My overall philosophy is that “Art is the discipline of being” – that human being and living in and of itself are the creative process. We are generating, creating, and improvising all the time (we have a lot to learn from the discipline of art). It’s in everything we do, and the more focus we bring to the act of living, the more mindful and dynamic the experience of it can become. At the same time, being an artist means pulling that awareness through the body and letting it collect and be redistributed in communication with others through the individual’s voice/perspective – that’s where the discipline comes in. Being willing and able to get down in the mud and sift for the truth & beauty, and try to then interact with it through a chosen medium. And do it over and over again, without concern for where it is leading – just working with the process and content itself. Trying to clarify a thought.
I think the actual “artwork” that is created is actually the feeling it transmits to whomever is experiencing it – it lives inside of the experiencer – the rest (or the hardcopy delivery system of the work, tangible, or intangible in the case of music) is an “artifact.”
The professional artist then has to figure out a system to connect those artifacts to the people who need/want them. I believe that there’s a place for everyone and the objective is to find the right audience to receive the work, and possibilities for the artist to sustain and create new work for a lifetime. This is where the divergence starts. People are not products – they’re a process. Artworks and artifacts are not products, they are a process delivery system. A work of art is an experience. But our world is collectively obsessed with products and doesn’t know how to deal with a living, breathing, changing process or experience.
For the artists, this becomes complicated because making the work and talking about the work are not the same thing. It’s hard to have perspective about what you’ve created. It’s hard to find more words to describe it when you’ve spent so much energy creating the thing itself. And the focus of the artist should be on continuing to create and investigate the work, not on promoting, propagating, and explaining it. But to continue to have support – fiscal and audience – to make new work, to stay active – that takes an immense amount of planning, development, instigation and implementation. A constant conversation, and a seemingly unending list of decisions – and this becomes more so the case with each year.
In addition to the logistical aspects of maintaining a career, there are also two expectations of artists that I think are exceedingly difficult to process: One is that you are in a constant state of struggling to create something new, and making arbitrary decisions to seek support for a work – trying to clearly communicate to possible funders about something that has not yet been created, and then two, once it’s created, telling the world about it, trying to get people interested in it, and then releasing it to be criticized. It being “you” the artist in most cases.
The Frank Agency was created to assist artists in the clarification, articulation and amplification of their vision, while simultaneously connecting audiences to work that moves them. I’ve worked for the last 14 years in areas including management, concert production, grant writing, promotion & publicity, marketing, booking, development, strategic planning, and the like, to try to offer artists more opportunity to focus on the work itself. Eight years ago I also added in an increased focus on artist therapy, resuscitation, and oxygenation, as I’ve come to understand more about the immense psychological pressure heaped on artists trying to maintain a professional career.
As an artist, the fact that there is no destination becomes very apparent. No matter what success you have, you must continue to work to sustain. There is always more, there is no end, there is no place of comfort or rest. Therefore, creating a healthy system for yourself, in which you can maintain & deepen your work and also not be in a constantly dramatic state with it, is paramount. You can’t take any of your personal validity, or the validity of your work, from the response or support it receives. Positive or negative, public opinion is separate from the work itself. Continue to realign and focus only on the work. That’s Frank’s viewpoint, and Frank reminds fragile artist Beth, and all the other fragile humans as well. As I always tell myself, “Just because you understand the process doesn’t mean you don’t have to go through the process.”
JU: So, in addition to all this work, this delving into the philosophy of creation, sharing, listening to audiences and yet realizing the work is, in a way, separate from the audience, where does Crystal Beth fit in?
BF: The short answer is that Crystal Beth is the release valve, the hurl every inch of yourself into the ring and feel it all simultaneously, visceral presence check point – the “this is it, one shot at being alive right now – push it to the edge” kind of release valve, but through my ritual – through my raw authentic sound. Music is like this consolidated, concentrated, seamless microscopic transmission of the macrocosm, which is human experience. With everything I do, ultimately, my interest is in a shared experience of connection. That connection is there all the time – between everything – but we’re surrounded by it so we often forget about it – the Alan Watts corollary is that the fish doesn’t know it’s in water – I love that, I think about it a lot… especially when I’m lonely. The way I see it, life is an experience that no one else can experience, that everyone is experiencing simultaneously. Each person has an individual voice/language, entirely unique to them, sculpted through their existence. To find this, and have opportunity to share it openly, in any form, is a vulnerable and intimate experience which gives rise to the deepest sense of connection.
For me, Crystal Beth is that voice. It’s as “me” as it gets – with all its greatness and deep, deep flaws, Crystal Beth allows me to explore the dynamics of self. This is the first band I’ve ever had that entirely plays my songs. All of my past projects as a leader have been mostly improvisation based, with a few written pieces thrown in as triggers or pivot points. In Crystal Beth & the Boom Boom Band it’s all of these strange chant-based songs that I’ve been working on, back to back in the set. It’s intense for me, to show that much of my true self, to let myself have fun with it and embrace it, not judge it, and revel in it – to enjoy existing as the form that I am, accepting all of it and trying to dance with it. My hope is that if I can open up, if I can accept myself, it will inspire others to do the same and we can share our connection more openly. I’ve been lucky to find a collection of musicians that speak Bethnic and are willing to work through it with me, and we’ve been sweating it out and trying to learn how to throw enough sound that we can push through to that other plane – where we realize how connected and powerful we are in that state of empathic presence. I adore those folks, the Workshop Ensemble players too, it’s similar there, but with a little less alien disco, primal screaming and hair metal *wink*.
From: https://www.themonarchreview.org/a-frank-interview-with-crystal-beth-fleenor/
Sunday, December 29, 2024
Carolina Chocolate Drops - KRCB Live
A few years ago I interviewed Dom Phlemons, who plays, by turns, four-string banjo, guitar, jug, harmonica, kazoo, snare drum, bones, and quills in one of my all-time favourite bands, The Carolina Chocolate Drops, an American acoustic ensemble playing in a traditional string band style. Their instruments include four-string banjo, five-string banjo, guitar, jug, harmonica, kazoo, snare drum, bones, quills, fiddle, beatbox, tambourine, mandolin, and cello. They use a mix of both traditional arrangements and their own creations, performing both their own and traditional American songs. Occasionally they also do covers of recent pop songs.
Sound quests are among the most fascinating of journeys—you never know where you’ll end up or what you’ll be doing at the end of one. Dom Flemons arrived at traditional Southern string band music via a long musical exploration that began with a period of collecting Bob Dylan albums from the ’60s. Rhiannon Giddens came to the same musical subgenre from a classical career that included several operatic roles. She also dabbled in English contra dancing and had a stint in a Celtic band.
These are the kind of cultivated people who populated New Orleans after the Civil War. Were it not for the Jim Crow laws, they might have simply merged with the white upper crust and contributed to the high culture that already existed. Instead they were compelled to channel their refinements into “low” culture, eventually spawning a myriad of new musical genres, including jazz. In the course of all this, the United States developed one of the most vibrant popular cultures in human history.
The two founding members of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, Flemons and Giddens, have now made it a five-member (and sometimes more) string band with fiddle, cello, guitar, and three kinds of banjo (including the gut-strung minstrel banjo which I’d never heard of before now) as well as the jug, the bones (like castanets), the quills (like a pan pipe), and the kazoo. Their performances include flatfoot dancing.
The Carolina Chocolate Drops’ repertoire sprouted from the early 20th-century folk tunes and string band arrangements of songs from the Piedmont region of the Carolinas, much of it harking back to 19th-century minstrel shows wherein fiddles and banjos figured prominently.
Is there a pattern here? Earlier in the same week I’d reviewed Akal, an album by the Moroccan group Izenzaren, led by Igout, a master Moroccan banjoist playing in the Ahwach and Gnaoua styles of North Africa. This led me back to my own sound quest, a perennial exploration of the influence of slaves from northwestern Africa on American music and how parallel musical traditions developed in Africa and the Americas. Inspired by the sound quest, on a recent visit to my folks in Canada I retrieved my two dusty banjos from the attic and brought them back to New Hampshire to play at our Friday night gatherings, nicknamed “Marty Night” after the son of our musical friends Frister and Chris, who they bring along to our music sessions. Marty is so popular with my brother’s kids that the named the soiree after him.
We had discovered early on that we were all devotees of the Carolina Chocolate Drops. When we realized we’d now have both a five-string and a tenor banjo among us, we decided to start learning some of their songs. “Cornbread and Butterbeans” rolled off our tongues like we’d sung it all our lives; it’s the kind of song that’s easy to do at home when you’re having fun, but hard to do well if you let your ego get in the way.
Which makes you wonder how a group of such deeply gifted and rigorously trained musicians can pull it off so well. The Carolina Chocolate Drops are creative intellectuals dedicated to preserving a priceless past by keeping it alive with innovative approaches uniquely their own. Yet not for a moment do they sound like prima donnas; nor is there an ounce of the commercial veneer that renders so much of traditional repertoire false and hollow.
They sing the kind of song I heard growing up: the music of Aunt Nellie on the spoons and Uncle Paul on the hambone and Mom on the autoharp. My experience was not so different from that of rural boomers all over North America, and much of the style and aesthetic of these homely tunes was revived by folk singers of the 1960s—luckily, or they might have faded from awareness.
I’ve heard white folk singer versions of so many Drops songs that I was surprised to even discover they had originated in African-American communities that sooner or later abandoned them. The hard times evoked by these songs were just too painful a reminder to black musicians, who by the 1960s had embraced urban musical genres like soul, rhythm-and-blues, jazz, and funk. I remember hearing an African-American musician in a radio interview saying he hated the word “blues” because for him it evoked all that was nasty, brutish, and short about the life of the African-American.
But full circle we’ve come at last, and here we have a band that’s not only composed of superlative musicians passionate about this quite narrow segment of traditional American folk music, but that also has the chutzpah to give itself a name that’s dangerously close to a racial epithet. Their 2010 Grammy-winning debut album was called Genuine Negro Jig, the title alone a supremely confident flipping-of-the-bird to political correctness.
Another beautiful thing about this music is that it brooks none of the ethnic boundary lines that in spite of their absurdity we’ve allowed ourselves to accept. The Drops just keep on mixing genres the way normal musicians have done for millennia. They remain true to the original—and incredibly thrilling—bricolage quality of American folk music, while performing the supreme political act of forcing politics to bow it’s head to art. Enough. Let’s see what Dom had to say.
What role did music play in your background?
I’ve always had a love for history and for older music in general. My first interests in music were from the oldies station. A lot of rock ’n’ roll, doo-wop, ’60s rock, and pop. Later I grew an interest in folk music from the ’60s, Bob Dylan, Dave Van Ronk, Lightnin’ Hopkins, and people like that. I also enjoyed a lot of field recordings and New Orleans jazz as I got into college, and bebop when I was still doing slam poetry. After I did slam poetry for a bit I really got into the older songster repertoire and started going from there. That was around the time I first went to the Black Banjo Gathering in 2005.
What was your most mesmerizing musical experience?
I think the most mesmerizing experience I ever had was when I went to go see Dave Van Ronk in Phoenix, Arizona in 2001. He was such an engaging performer. He was sick at the time and would sadly pass away maybe four or five months later, but he left an impression on me. I was sitting in the back and had hooked up my four-track to the board. I recorded the show, which was an intimate audience of maybe 40 people. It changed my life and it made me want to do what he did. He not only played the songs he sang, but he had a story for every song. Some were historical, some were anecdotal, and some were connected to his personal experience with the performer associated with the song (he told stories about John Hurt, Bob Dylan, Reverend Gary Davis, Tom Paxton, and Clarence Williams). It blew my mind, and I started forming my shows around that idea. I found that it was so important to talk to an audience about the music. You never know what people are going to take away from it. I’ve kept this way of playing a show with me since from the Black Banjo Gathering to now.
Who were your main influences?
For the group, I know that Joe Thompson has been a huge influence. When Rhiannon, Justin, and I first started going down to see him there was a great sense of making good music and also that we were helping a long tradition of string bands live on. This was all just by going to Joe’s house on Thursday nights. We never talked a lot about those things when we were there, we just played music. I know that I always felt blessed to be able to be a part of that.
On my own level, I would say that a fellow by the name of Gavan Weiser gave me my most beneficial experience. When I first started playing guitar I had a flat pick, and I kept dropping it in the sound hole. It was a terrible experience every time I tried to get it out of there. I was about 16 and I saw Gavan play guitar with his fingers. His main gig was playing bass in a punk band, so when he played acoustic guitar he just strummed it. I adapted what I saw him doing, not knowing that playing with my fingers would open up a whole new form of guitar playing.
I’m always looking for a new sound, and even when I just sit and listen to records with other people it creates a new experience with that music. Also, folks who are into roots music usually have their own set of research they’ve done on their own and they’re usually more than willing to share, which is also a wonderful thing. That’s probably the best training I’ve ever received: Share the knowledge if you’ve got it.
Are you ever accused of being politically incorrect?
Surprisingly, we haven’t received a lot of flack face to face about our choice of titles and the like. Most times, once people see that we’re serious about our music and that we’re not trying to do a bunch of shuck and jive they get it. “Carolina Chocolate Drops” is an homage to older black string bands and we have never tried to shy away from the uncomfortable racial, social, and political aspects of our material. That being said, our first notion has always been to present the music and material in a respectful and articulate way so that our audience can enjoy the music without needing to know the history, while making sure the historical materials are present for those who are interested.
How do you escape academic strictures and keep this music so vibrant and alive?
By making sure the music is good. It’s one thing to hear a lecture about a song style and then to hear an authentic presentation, but the only way to really get it out to an audience is to make it a living song. The history is important, but it’s just as important to construct and arrange songs well. Folk music is not “popular” music; folk music has to be presented in such a way that the audience can appreciate it whether they know the history or not.
The Drops are not easy to pigeonhole. Purists they’re not, although in terms of musical authenticity they’re the best act in town. They keep tradition alive by allowing it to grow and develop along purely creative lines, following the dictates of the work in process rather than according to any set of rules imposed from the outside.
“Riro’s House” is not a traditional arrangement. Hubby and Rhiannon are playing the main arrangement that she and I learned from Joe Thompson, and I added snare drum and bass drum in the fife and drum style. While this may not seem like a big difference, these subtleties are the way we give the music our personal stamp, which is truly the way to make a modern song out of a traditional song—taking material from the past and making something new out of it.
Repertoire also emerges organically; some songs simply show up unannounced and immediately win the agreement of all band members, while others need some time to incubate. My good friend Mike Baytop, who showed me a lot of things on the bones, told me this one time: “Music is like a good pot of greens. When you make it right, it tastes good, but it’s when you’ve let it sit for a day or two in the fridge that the flavors all really mix together.” It’s like that.
How do you keep your creativity strong and healthy?
Time off is the biggest thing I’ve been needing. I have a wife at home, and just being able to get back to her and my music collection is what I need to keep creating. Besides that, I do all of my work on the road. I listen to a lot of records, looking for unique songs and deciding which ones would be worth working on. It’s really a fun time since I enjoy listening to music in general.”
What do you feed your muse in terms of reading, listening, and viewing?
Books: African Banjo Echoes in Appalachia; Stomp and Swerve; The Chitlin’ Circuit: And The Road to Rock ’n’ Roll; Way Up North in Dixie: A Black Family’s Claim to the Confederate Anthem; Louis Armstrong, In His Own Words; The Negro Cowboys; and Where Dead Voices Gather
Albums: Altamont; Good For What Ails You; Atlanta Blues; Deep River of Song, Black Texicans; Henry Thomas, Texas Worried Blues; Blind Willie McTell, Last Session; and Gus Cannon, Walk Right In
Films: Festival!; Hallelujah; Times Ain’t Like They Used To Be; Rashoman; City Lights; And This Is Free; and Let It Be (bootleg)
Do you have any political beliefs that influence your art?
In terms of politics, I’m a fan of our American culture. My contribution as an American citizen is to present the culture of America through its music, while not sugarcoating it. Our country always needs improvement and I feel that we can learn a lot from the music that’s been made by the people over several hundred years.
Also, as a mixed-race person (black and Mexican), I find it so important to be able to create awareness about an important part of black culture that before we started was just not generally known by the public. Our group is one of a whole community of people, white and black, who’ve worked hard to bring this knowledge out to the world and discuss it seriously and critically through a love of music.
From: https://themindfulbard.com/2016/02/27/the-carolina-chocolate-drops-interview/
The Grip Weeds - Live Online Show 2020
Though they prefer to think of themselves as creators of a classic-style rock’n’roll, to most ears, The Grip Weeds are carriers of a powerpop tradition. And while that alone should be enough to bring them fame, the sheer quality of their music should earn them fortune. As it is, while they maintain a successful career, the four-piece is less than a household name. Among those in the know, however, the arrival of a new Grip Weeds album is cause for celebration. Ever since their 1994 debut House of Vibes (expanded and reissued in 2007 as House of Vibes Revisited, making a great album even better), the appearance of a new long player has also been a rare occurrence; after that debut, only three albums followed in the ensuing decade. So it was with some delighted surprise that fans greeted the news of the group’s 2011 album Strange Change Machine: it included twenty-four tracks spread across two CDs. I ask Kurt Reil (vocals, drums, guitars, keyboards) why the Grip Weeds released a double album, and why now.
“Because we took so long between putting out Giant on the Beach [2004] and Strange Change Machine,” he explains, “we wound up with a whole batch of songs.” He also points to the fact that the House of Vibes Revisited project took more time than expected, keeping them busy. “It’s not as if we have an archive crew that goes into the vaults and does all this stuff for us,” he laughs. Finding themselves with an embarrassment of riches – the songs on Strange Change Machine are up to the Grip Weeds’ typically high standard – the band considered some options. “We got into the mindset of, ‘Yeah, we’ll give away half of the album on the internet,’” Kurt says. But more importantly, the double-album format freed the band up a bit. “We were free to go off in a few directions, and explore more long-form presentation.” Having some ideas, approaches and styles that simply wouldn’t fit comfortably on a single album, the band used the longer format to find a home for those songs.
The twin sonic hallmarks of Grip Weeds music are punchy instrumentation and carefully executed and fairly intricate harmonies. There are strong echoes of Todd Rundgren’s early group Nazz on the band’s vocal arrangements; the Grip Weeds don’t always take the most obvious path when crafting vocal harmonies. “Green Room Interlude” is a showcase of this, but it’s on display throughout the album. “More than anything,” Kurt observes, “it’s a case of trying to pull out of your head a sound that you hear in your head, and make it into reality.” Kurt arranged “Green Room Interlude,” but enlisted all four band members to add vocal parts. “Having all the different voices really makes it much more dimensional,” he observes.
While Kurt plays many instruments, in the band his primary role is holding the drum chair. His stick work is always very musical; it’s rarely a case of just thumping a rhythm along; the songs always end up with a very human, organic feel. “It’s always analog,” Kurt says. “I never go anywhere near an electronic drum kit, or even any samples.” While he pauses and adds, “Never say never,” it’s clear where he’s coming from. “I usually defeat electronic kits anyway, because I play too fast,” he chuckles. But in the end, Kurt’s goal as a drummer is singular: “I’m always looking to serve the song, not overpower it.” Since he’s also a songwriter, he brings that sensibility to bear on all of his parts. “When a write a song, I hear a soundscape – a full band sound – in my head,” he says.
Kurt’s musical inspiration comes from some perhaps-unexpected places. “I was inspired by this band Dungen, from Sweden,” he reveals. “Dungen has never been tied to the three-minute song format,” he notes. “The Grip Weeds have always been a song band. Dungen is more of an ambient group; I think they’re really good for their tone, their sound.” On “Speed of Life,” Kurt’s out-front drum part was the basis for the song. “That doesn’t usually happen; it’s usually the other way around. I’m going to have to do more of that,” he muses.
The Strange Change Machine songs are very well-layered; they’re straightforward, but there’s a lot going on in them. Often – as on “Close to the Sun” – there are multiple keyboard parts. “Live, it’s a whole different thing,” Kurt says. Lacking a keyboard player onstage, the band inventively develops different arrangements for some songs, ones that play to other strengths that the melodies possess. There’s an interesting pair of short tracks on the album called “Sun Ra Ga.” I tell Kurt that when listening to them, I hear the raga, but not so much the Sun Ra. He laughs and points to the pieces’ out-there, improvisational nature. “We were just jamming in the studio,” he says, “and I ran tape. Wherever it went, it went. It’s just very pure music.” There’s even an eleven-minute version of the song available for as a bonus download for purchasers of the HD version of the new album.
Powerpop – or whatever label you’d care to apply to the classicist approach the Grip Weeds use – has only rarely been a commercially successful formula. Clearly the Grip Weeds think there’s a market for the style: People like me, for example. In an age of market narrow-segmentation, online social media plays an important part in the band’s efforts to reach fans…and potential new fans. Kurt agrees that the internet makes it easier to connect with those people, but it’s a double-edged sword: “The internet wrecked the music industry. There’s no chance for fame or fortune anymore.” As far as that powerpop tag — Kurt cites Pete Townshend’s “three-minute single on steroids” description – the Grip Weeds have always been about more than just that style. “On this album in particular, we really cover a really wide range.” The band strives to follow their own path, hoping that in being true to themselves, they’ll create something that resonates with listeners.
To that end, the Grip Weeds don’t record a lot of covers. That makes Strange Change Machine’s cover of Todd Rundgren’s “Hello It’s Me” even more notable. Close to a note-for-note creation, the song makes one important departure: Kristin Pinnell’s guitar takes the place of Something/Anything’s horn charts. “We were asked to cover the song by Pat DiNizio of the Smithereens,” Kurt explains. “He was doing a show about baseball for ESPN, called Seventh Inning Stretch.” Part of that program would feature Todd’s sons Rex and Randy, minor-league baseball players. DiNizio wanted the song for background ambience but the budget didn’t cover licensing fees. So the Grip Weeds re-recorded it. While the goal was to hew closely to the original, the session provided an opportunity to chance a few things they didn’t like. For example, Kurt says that he’s “not a big fan of the chick singers” on Todd’s version. He also could do without the sax and other jazzy elements. The resulting Grip Weeds track has it both ways: true to the original, yet with an indelible Grip Weeds stamp.
“What wound up happening,” Kurt notes, “is that the segment got cut from the show!” Again, the double-album format came to the rescue: this band that “didn’t do covers” could now reasonably include one on an album. At the time of this writing, the Grip Weeds’ web site and Facebook page do not list any upcoming shows. “It costs a lot of money to go out and play out of town,” Kurt admits. “But it is really hard right now, with gas prices, and with the uncertainty of knowing how many people you’re going to draw.” He says that the band’s “days of sleeping on the floor, traveling around in a van and living on ramen noodles” are pretty well behind them. Still, he says, “If there’s a good opportunity, we’re there.”
At the moment the band is busy putting the finishing touches on two other projects. “We have a live record in the can right now,” Kurt says. That CD+DVD package is slated for release in early 2012. “This live album is designed to give people a taste of what we’re like live. And a Christmas-themed Grip Weeds album will be out in time for the holidays. “We recorded a Christmas song in 2006, and we had good success with that,” Kurt says. “Every year it comes back. And we wanted to do more. Eventually realized we could do a whole album, between originals and covers.” That project will feature special guests including The Smithereens, former Paul Revere and the Raiders lead singer Mark Lindsay, and members of the Anderson Council. “Once we’re done with those projects, we’re going to start on our next new album,” Kurt says. “We had about half a dozen songs left over from Strange Change Machine, so we’ll pick up from there.” If past is any indication, expect that record – no release date set — to be another essential purchase. From: https://blog.musoscribe.com/index.php/2011/09/30/a-conversation-with-the-grip-weeds-kurt-reil/
Uni and The Urchins - Adult Video
Uni and The Urchins graced the galaxy with a new album in 2023. Their eerie LP, a 10-track record titled Simulator dropped in January on Friday the 13th. Self-described as “Trans-Human-Glam-Art-Punks” on their website, the trio consists of Kemp Muhl, Jack James Busa, and David Strange. Musically, Uni and The Urchins use Simulator to develop compelling contrasts in texture. In their opening track “Subhuman Suburbia”, a slow-churning ballad about a “little black hole town” seemingly fused with supernatural elements, Busa delivers velvet vocals against a rough and distorted electric guitar. More often than not, Busa’s croons are rich and buttery as they blend with more edgy instrumentals and electronic sound effects. The title track “Simulator” is especially synthy with smooth, ethereal sounds that more directly complement the singer’s vocal quality.
Oozing with imagery and clever word choice or rhymes, part of Simulator’s strength is in the lyrics. The closing track “In the Waiting Room” constructs creative rhymes with lines like “The dentist grins with his laughing gas, receptionists in Venetian masks,” or “Bottles for every sickness, spotted tongues and black liquids.” In “Popstar Supernova,” the band paints their lyrical pictures by using color to emphasize emotion: “The earth feels colder when the blues have turned to gray.” Though the song’s air of electronica suggests a funky space soirée, so its twist is in the lyrics: thematically, “Popstar Supernova” critiques capitalism, with an implication that if humans had to evacuate Earth, wealth would determine priority.
Playful and glamorous in sound yet dark in subject matter, Simulator is an edgy disco party in the stars. Certain songs’ synth-pop quality may remind listeners of Depeche Mode, with themes that more closely resemble Muse’s caution towards technology. Overall, UNI and The Urchins rock with both softness and intensity, always with a backdrop of extraterrestrial electronica. Their world is a glittery dystopia, and we’re here for it. From: https://music.mxdwn.com/2023/02/02/reviews/album-review-uni-and-the-urchins-simulator/
Mary's Danish - Underwater - Live 1992
“I’m caught between hideous and forgotten,” bemoan Mary’s Danish in one of the finer tunes from the lamentably forgotten band’s far-from-hideous and impossibly eclectic catalog — a catalog whose eclecticism is especially notable considering its relatively small volume. Mary’s Danish, which came together in Los Angeles in the late ’80s, was itself a diverse lot — in personality and background — that served up funk, pop, punk and country. The blending of the last two genres clearly betrays the influence of X, from whom lead singers Gretchen Seager and Julie Ritter also inherited intricately woven harmony vocals. They were joined in Mary’s Danish by bassist Chris “Wag” Wagner, drummer James Bradley Jr., guitarist David A. King and second guitarist Louis Gutierrez, who had played in the Three O’Clock. All were accomplished musicians with an uncanny pliability, but their secret weapon was frequent sax sideman Michael Barbera, who added jazz and R&B flavor to the mix. Mary’s Danish were as varied thematically as they were sonically, with religion, domestic violence, social criticism and biting self-analysis all receiving narrative attention.
There Goes the Wondertruck ably introduces the band’s offbeat stylistic fusion. The bizarre narrative of “Mary Had a Bar” does not seem to be a band theme song, and “What to Do” is not a Stones cover. It’s not revealed what “BVD” stands for, but “It’ll Probably Make Me Cry” does just that. The catchy college rock favorite “Don’t Crash the Car Tonight” impressed some in the West Coast music biz, including Peter Asher, who became the band’s manager. Five of the six live tracks on Experience are more fully realized versions of songs from There Goes the Wondertruck, particularly a frenzied, beefier “Blue Stockings” and the high lonesome croon of “It’ll Probably Make Me Cry.” The disc’s studio track, a riotous take on Hendrix’s “Foxey Lady,” slyly recasts the classic rock staple with a letter-perfect Led Zeppelin quote inserted into the bridge.
With funding from pseudo-indie Morgan’s Creek, Mary’s Danish beefed up the production values to adequately match their expanded palette of musical ideas. A veritable omnibus of musical styles, Circa encircles just about every genre imaginable. The metallic crunch of “Mr. Floosack” leads into the introspective back-porch southern rock of “Hoof.” The folky instrumental jam “Down” begets the Devo dada of “These Are All the Shapes Nevada Could Have Been.” It’s easy to get lost within the stylistic shifts of Circa, where “Julie’s Blanket (pigsheadsnakeface)” is the only straight-ahead rocker. As few of the 17 tunes exceed three minutes, the five-minute “7 Deadly Sins” seems positively epic. Despite its attention deficit, the presence of songs as clever as “Beat Me Up” and “Cover Your Face” helped make this label debut a promise of big things to come.
American Standard marked a shift to a more standardized classic rock sound, thanks to longtime Linda Ronstadt/James Taylor supervisor Asher, who’d taken on the role of Mary’s producer. The album’s consistency makes it more listenable, if less adventurous, with an immediacy and urgency missing from prior work. Sure, there are pensive meditations on death and dying, but there’s also an emphasis on muscle, evidenced by the ferocious rocker “Killjoy” and the terse pneumatic punch of the single “Leave It Alone.” Chops are still evident, but there is less of an agenda to impress. Wag’s slap-happy bass style is distilled to a booming low-end vibe that fits more snugly in the depth of “Underwater,” the spiky beat of “Porcupine” and the eight-minute Crazy Horse exercise of “Sister Shade.” It’s a bulldozer of an album, a veracious testament to the strength and endurance of femininity in rock. From: https://trouserpress.com/reviews/marys-danish/
Turbowolf - Nine Lives
Gaze if you will upon the size of these riffs. I kid you not, Turbowolf’s sophomore effort ‘Two Hands’ is a bona fide avalanche of monstrous, single-mindedly face-melting tracks. It’s not just the writing either, it’s also the monolithic intensity of tones and textures employed. Combining elements of punk, classic rock, and stoner, the band have dropped, to my eyes, one of 2015’s finer aural assaults. Skeptics won’t be for long. There’s nothing particularly ferocious to it, however, in that the band shouldn’t be mistaken for aspiring to the raw fierceness of hardcore, for example. Turbowolf quite evidently swear only by the power of fun, which results in a joyous, raucous energy. Every element of the band’s style is conceived around getting the most fun out of it: the choruses and hooks are predictably catchy the album over, the riffs ooze with personality, and there’s a surprising element of variety going on throughout. Particular highlights include ‘Rabbit’s Foot’’s fuzz-heavy riffage; ‘Invisible Hand’’s multiple shifts from floaty album opening to blistering punk track to stoner finale; ’Rich Gift’’s superb prog-rock tangent (which only goes to show they’ve mastered the long-form as much as the short); and finally their stoner finale ‘Pale Horse’ and the micro moment of greatness that is interlude ‘Toy Memaha’. If you like rock music, I’d struggle to believe you cannot appreciate what Turbowolf are doing at the moment. They not only honor the very tradition of rock, they appear to embody it completely. ‘Two Hands’ is a belter, and the most entertained I’ve been by any piece of music this year. From: https://alreadyheard.com/album-review-turbowolf-two-hands/
Steeleye Span - Gaudete
British folk rock group Steeleye Span had a hit in 1973 (No. 14, UK singles chart) with an a cappella recording of the song Gaudete. Guitarist Bob Johnson had heard the song when he attended a folk-carol service with his father-in-law in Cambridge, and brought it to the attention of the rest of the band. (Unlike the album version which fades up slowly and fades down slowly, the single was at the same volume for the entire length of the song.) This single is one of only two top 20 British hits to be sung fully in Latin (the other was a recording of "Pie Jesu" from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Requiem performed by Sarah Brightman and Paul Miles-Kingston in 1986). Gaudete is also one of only a handful of a cappella performances to become hit singles. When Gaudete was performed on Top of the Pops, the resident dance troupe walked onto the set in medieval-style robes, holding candles, followed by the members of Steeleye Span.
Gaudete is a sacred Christmas carol, thought to have been composed in the 16th century. It was published in Piae Cantiones, a collection of Finnish/Swedish sacred songs published in 1582 in the North German city of Greifswald. No music is given for the verses, but the standard tune comes from older liturgical books. There is a known entry from around 1420 in the Hussite Jistebnice hymnal. The Latin text is a typical medieval song of praise, which follows the standard pattern for the time – a uniform series of four-line stanzas, each preceded by a two-line refrain (in the early English carol this was known as the burden). Carols could be on any subject, but typically they were about the Virgin Mary, the Saints or Yuletide themes. From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaudete
Pryapisme - Un Druide Est Giboyeux Lorsqu'il Se Prend Pour Un Neutrino
Short and True Biography
Pryapisme still hasn’t learned how to write a biography since 2000, even though they receive daily advice from a dozen communication consultants. Pryapisme is the true definition of a band with a tragic background: from a failed career in the professional table football league, followed by an eviction from the board of a major oil company, to ending up being the only men to have nearly died of leucosis because they systematically accompany their Burgundy beef with cat urine. Some members are digging even deeper by sporting a moustache, long hair or having flabby nails. There’s even an almost bald redhead. In other words, a grenadine diabolo might not be enough to pick up girls. So, Pryapisme prefers spending their time with small cats, and getting hugs on a cozy couch in exchange of a few music notes. This is now their only social bond. On stage, it’s almost as if a 10-year-old child raised by Saint Seiya was trying to play a DragonForce track on Guitar Hero while eating a pizza with extra cheese. There are failures, but it’s really funny. Yet, they still haven’t understood that their music is bound to be a commercial failure and will end up lost in the digital limbo, the place where some obscure and forgotten bands are only listened to by a bunch of theoreticians of the vacuum.
Full and Boring Biography
The band started in Clermont-Ferrand, France, with Ban Bardiaux and Aymeric Thomas in 2000 during high school. Aymeric played drums on Ban's classical piano songs then they were joined by two musicians: Simon Gastaud on bass (who would later play in the band Format) and Jack Bardiaux, Ban’s brother, on guitars. To rehearse, the band found a good place in Aymeric’s mum cattery, among around 30 cats who often pissed on their amplifiers and bass drums. In their hometown, they had a solid reputation for being a band that smelt like cat piss and ammonia. Which was true. For many years, the band played a bunch of gigs in France until the release of their very first listenable demo "Pump up the pectine" in 2005.
Then, Nicolas Sénac on guitars and Alex Peronny on bass/cello joined the band. The band was featured on the Ulver Tribute "My own wolf" (on Aspherical Asphyxia/Cold Dimensions Records) in 2007. They worked for 4 years to produce the first full-length album "Rococo Holocaust" in 2010, mostly composed by the pianist Ban. The album was mastered by Tom Kvalsvoll from Strype Audio in Oslo, Norway. Alex left Pryapisme soon after, and the band continued for 3 years as a trio. They also recorded a music soundtrack ordered for the videogame documentary "Tournament of Legends".
The years 2012/2013 were a turning point: they moved from their rehearsal room to another place, still in the cattery but in a safe zone (i.e. without cats). Since then, Aymeric has been handling most of the composing and arrangements with computer softwares. They turned their place into a bigger home-studio to record the instrument tracks and to rehearse. The "Plimptphlymst Studio" is now cat-proof and better equipped! In 2012, they also met Simon Capony, the sound-engineer from Basalte-Studio who has mastered most of their releases since then. Thanks to "Rococo Holocaust", the band was contacted by Apathia Records and signed their first record deal.
In 2013, they released their second album "Hyperblast Supercollider" and a tape of chiptune music from their two first albums "Blastbit Rococollider" in 2014. A first music video came out: "Un druide est giboyeux lorsqu'il se prend pour un neutrino". It made over a million views on YouTube before being removed due to less than a second of nudity content. Soon after, Nils Cheville on guitars and Antony Miranda on bass/guitars/moog joined forces for live gigs. Pryapisme played for the first time outside of France. Since then, the band has been a five-headed monster.
2 EPs later, "Futurologie" (one long 23min track - Apathia Records in 2015) and "Repump the pectine" (re-arrangements of their first demo EP - self-released in 2016), they produced their third album, "Diabolicus Felinae Pandemonium" (still on Apathia in 2017) after 17 years of existence. In 2017, the band was commissioned by the French video-game studio "Macrales" to create the original soundtrack for the game "Epic Loon". With the support of Shibuya, Pictanovo and the CNC, the game was published by Ukuza on July 2018 on PC, Switch and Xbox One (later on PS4). Apathia records also released the OST (2Cds digipack) the same year. Some cats from the beginning have died, but new ones are born and continue to inspire Pryapisme with cuddles. History goes on. From: http://www.pryapisme.net/the-band.html
Maria McKee - Life is Sweet - Live 1996
To my ears and soul, Life Is Sweet is not just one of the greatest lost albums of all time, but one of the greatest, period. It’s glam. It’s rock. It’s operatic. It’s art. The story behind it: While touring in support of her country-rock classic You Gotta Sin to Get Saved in 1993, one of the members of Maria’s band is said to have given her a mixtape of classic glam and glitter tunes. Maria listened. Loved. Obsessed. And then wrote and recorded a set of songs, released in 1996, that blended those glittery hues of yore with dramatic colors of her own design.
“Scarlover,” the opening track, is a great example. It’s rough, ragged and refined all at the same time, with guitars giving way to strings that give way to guitars, set to Maria’s seemingly stream-of-conscious admission that “ugly inside of me taught me of beauty/I wouldn’t trade that work of art.” As a whole, the album explores self-doubt, self-loathing and, ultimately, self-acceptance. At times, yes, it’s stasis in darkness (aka Sylvia Plath set to song). More than that, however, it’s Maria McKee unshorn, seemingly exploring her rapid-cycle bipolar disorder in ways that both replicate it and make it relatable. It’s the Bowie homage “Absolutely Barking Stars” with lyrics that delve into yin-yang duality and the dramatic “I’m Not Listening,” in which she attempts to ignore the voices inside her head that are taunting and haunting her.
The utterly catchy “Everybody” explores celebrity and Andy Warhol’s infamous “15 minutes of fame” maxim: “We’ve all been flirting/with the perfect day/when they think we’re perfect/Yeah, but who are they?” There’s also a flat-out incendiary guitar break: “Carried” is another highlight and, of course, there’s the title track, which may well be the greatest song she’s yet written or recorded. Geffen, her record label, hated the album. AAA radio stations like WXPN, which embraced and promoted the hell out of You Gotta Sin, refused to play it. Some critics slammed it. Some fans did, too. Artistic growth often comes at a price, and in this case the cost was Maria’s major-label career. Life Is Sweet failed to sell, and she left Geffen not long thereafter. The album also fell out of print, and has never been reissued, even digitally. (A true crime against art. Twenty-plus years since its release, however, and it sounds as fresh and hauntingly familiar as it did upon first listen. If you like Anna Calvi, Bat for Lashes, and similar dramatic acts, seek it out. You won’t be disappointed. From: https://oldgreycat.blog/2018/06/23/the-essentials-maria-mckees-life-is-sweet/
Little Feat - Dixie Chicken (with Emmylou Harris & Bonnie Raitt) Live 1977
"Dixie Chicken," a classic rock staple by Little Feat, went on to define the Southern music-loving Californians and inspire the former Dixie Chicks' name. Lowell George, Little Feat's primary guitarist, vocalist and songwriter, co-wrote the future standard with Martin Kibbee (billed as Fred Martin). It tells of a visitor to the Commodore Hotel who goes from thinking he's met the love of his life to pouring his broken heart out to a bartender. They soon learn that other barflys at the hotel had been let down by the same potential suitor.
"Lowell and I had been up all night trying to write a song. We had the Ace Screen Door factory down on Laurel Canyon. As I was leaving, there was a chicken place with a sign that said, 'Dixie chicken,'" Kibbee later recalled in an interview. "He'd been playing the damn thing all night, you know, [imitates riff], which was going through my brain. By the time I got home, I had written this song. When I came back the next morning to the rehearsal hall at the Warner Bros. soundstage, I went, 'I've got it! I've got it!' And they all looked at me like, 'Puh-leeze, you're kidding!'"
Dixie Chicken became the title of the group's third album. Its 1973 release came at a time of transition for the band. Prior albums Little Feat (1971) and Sailin' Shoes (1972) sold poorly, and the group's lineup had become a revolving door. Two new members (guitarist Paul Barrere and congas player and percussionist Sam Clayton) shored up the band's New Orleans R&B/funk sound, while Kenny Gradney replaced original bassist Roy Estrada, who'd left to join Captain Beefheart's Magic Band. These newcomers teamed with keyboardist and synthesizer player Bill Payne, drummer Richie Hayward and George for the remainder of the '70's.
Noteworthy songs beyond Dixie Chicken's title track include Allen Toussaint's "On Your Way Down," instrumental jam "Lafayette Railroad" and George compositions "Fat Man in the Bathtub," "Roll Um Easy" and "Kiss It Off." "Dixie Chicken" wasn't an overnight success, but its fame grew after subsequent albums (namely million-selling live LP Waiting For Columbus (1978)) gained new fans hungry to hear Little Feat's earlier material. Once momentum was in Little Feat's favor, "Dixie Chicken" became easy pickings for rock radio.
It still hooks in listeners to this day because it's a Los Angeles-based band's earnest exploration of the great Southern music to come out of Memphis and New Orleans, highlighted by George's slide guitar solo and the backing vocals of roots rock icons Bonnie Raitt and Bonnie Bramlett. Raitt, Emmylou Harris and Jesse Winchester joined Little Feat during a 1977 episode of the Midnight Special for a proto-jam band rendition of "Dixie Chicken" that captures the song's jazzy appeal even better than its classic studio version. From: https://www.wideopencountry.com/little-feat-dixie-chicken/
Jill Sobule - Bitter
Q: It’s been almost a decade since you last released a proper solo album. Why such a long time?
A: Yeah. That’s so weird. I had that little Dottie’s Charms record, which was more of a concept album, out in 2014 and I’ve been working on musicals, but I’ve procrastinated so long on making another solo record of new songs. It’s funny, I think maybe LA just got to me. I also think I had a little bit of a depression and I kind of got spooked. You know, the last record didn’t do so well and you just get a little crestfallen. It also coincided with going through a bad breakup. For whatever reason, I needed a break. I needed to start loving music again. I needed to start listening to older stuff, to newer stuff. Eventually I started writing again. It also coincided with getting a couple of theater projects that I had to write for. When you’re on your own and you don’t have a record company saying, “We need that record,” it gets harder. I think about a band like the Beatles, who had people saying to them, “We need another new record in three months!” When you don’t have someone pushing you, sometimes you stall. The good thing is that I was writing for other projects. Being forced to write for my musical projects, having to be a part of a collaborative community, it all nudged me back into writing again. I started loving it. Also, there’s something great for me about being back in New York, where I go out and see music all the time. In LA it just feels so hard to get in your car and drive for 40 minutes. It feels easier here.
You were famously one of the first people to use a crowdfunding platform to raise money to make your own record. This was back in 2008, before things like Kickstarter. Now it’s such a common thing to do. So many artists now even question if they need a label at all, or whether it’s easier to just do everything yourself.
Well, here’s the thing. When I did my jillsnextrecord.com no one really knew if it would work or not. I came up with the various pledging levels over the course of a drunken night with a friend. The donation levels ranged from polished rock to weapons-grade plutonium. Somehow CNN got hold of the story and the whole thing started going totally gangbusters, mostly because there wasn’t anything else like that yet. Eventually I stopped it after raising nearly 100,000 dollars because Perez Hilton—you remember that horrible man?—wrote about greedy Jill Sobule asking fans to give her money. So, I freaked out. Then a few months later everyone is doing projects this way. I remember having meetings with the people from Kickstarter, telling them about what had worked for me and what hadn’t. So, all these years later I used Kickstarter to make my new record. I was afraid it might fail because nowadays there are so many people asking everyone else to donate to things, but in the end I did it and it worked and it was great. Still, I procrastinated forever before doing it. I just finally had to come to a point of thinking: I want to do a record. I’m not gonna get a record deal or an advance, so I’m gonna have to do this on my own. It was out of necessity, really. I had no choice.
It’s an easier thing to do if you already have an existing fanbase, but it’s still hard. You have to be really tenacious about promoting it and coming up with good rewards for people. I think crowdfunding can be hard for people because it still involves asking for help on some level, which can be a hard thing to do.
The way I look at it, you just have to make sure you are giving something back in return. It’s an exchange. You’re not begging people. My recent Kickstarter met its goal times three, and it had done really well within the first two weeks. I was completely taken aback. Some of the levels of sponsorship we created were really just like jokes, things I thought nobody would ever actually do. For 10 grand you will be my personal lord and savior. Very funny, right? Somebody bought it! Joss Whedon bought it. So on my record he gets listed as my personal lord and savior. I also did things like offer to write people their own personal theme song. That was a big ticket item that a lot of people actually went for. So now I’m writing people their theme songs, as promised.
People might now realize how many different kinds of things you’ve done over the years, other than releasing solo records. Did you find that having these outside projects—writing a musical, for example—let you come back to your solo work with renewed energy or a different perspective?
Oh, completely! How boring would it be to just do this? On one hand, with the music industry changing and being so terrible, I mean, who makes a living doing this now? It’s the one percent who actually make a living doing only this. I’m really a part of the other 99%. There used to be such a thing as a middle-class working musician, but now? I mean, we used to complain about the stupidest stuff, and how the record labels were ripping us off, but now? Shit. I’d love an advance, you know? I actually had something called a “tour bus” for a couple of years that we toured in, with all of this nice airbrushing on the side. I will never get that again. I had to explore other options, take on other kinds of projects and collaborations.
I know you worked with Ben Lee on Nostalgia Kills. When you are doing things on your own terms with your own money, do you set up certain parameters for yourself? Did you give yourself specific deadlines?
Not really. Actually, I had written a bunch of songs over the last few years here and there and just kind of stuck them aside. I basically gave everything to Ben and asked him to pick out the songs we should work on, which was a little overwhelming for him because I think there were over 50 songs there. He definitely gravitated towards the songs that were kind of melancholy. I was really interested and surprised by the things he chose, but it also felt nice to hand that part of the process off to a friend who I also trusted. There was definitely a kind of running theme in the songs he picked that might not have been there if I had chosen them. I also wrote some new songs during the process, which felt good.
Everyone’s career has peaks and valleys. Big tours and small tours, hits and misses, going from playing big rooms back to clubs. How do you keep all of that stuff from creeping into the art you make? Was there ever a time when you were sort of like, “Screw this, I’m gonna do something else instead?”
Yeah, absolutely, because it can be heartbreaking. It can all be so wonderful and then also just so crushing. There was a time when I just didn’t want to listen to music. At all. Not just mine. I don’t know if listening to music just reminded me of my own regrets or failures or what, but I just couldn’t do it. At some point I also realized that I have no marketable skills doing anything else. I have a friend who is a very talented artist and musician, but she also has a law degree and a real job and can be organized. Her thing was always, “If I wasn’t a lawyer and didn’t have this job, maybe I could have made it in the arts.” Jane Siberry has a song that’s called something like, “I’d probably be famous now if I wasn’t such a good waitress.” I basically have no skills to do anything else. Sometimes that feels like a curse, but it could also be a kind of blessing. There was nothing else I could do but this.
How has your definition of success changed over the years?
Oh yeah. What is success? I hate how it’s always like you have to be at the very top or somehow you are meaningless. Like, if LeBron James is the greatest of all-time that somehow means Michael Jordan is now a loser. Like, what are you talking about? Does it mean that I’m a loser if I’m not playing Madison Square Garden or if I’m not even selling out the Bowery? I always get people coming up to me and saying things like, “Oh, I loved you! Why aren’t you bigger? Why aren’t you more famous?” I know they mean well and that they mean that as a compliment, but damn. It’s hard to hear things like that over and over. Like, yeah, why aren’t I? I don’t know. But when that happens I have to remind myself of things like… you know, last week I played a show at someone’s house and I was singing, “I Kissed A Girl” in between Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner, who were singing along with me at a party that I was hired to play. In that moment I’m like, you know what? I’m a fucking success. We’re all so fucked up about what success means now.
From: https://thecreativeindependent.com/people/musician-jill-sobule-on-reconfiguring-what-success-means/
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