Thursday, April 27, 2023

Sleater-Kinney - Dig Me Out


 #Sleater-Kinney #Carrie Brownstein #indie rock #punk rock #riot grrrl #alternative rock #1990s

Listening to Dig Me Out on its 25th anniversary feels a little like finding an old Polaroid of our younger selves that used to hang on our bedroom wall. There we were, all wide-eyed in that ready-made frame, but we longed for someone to peel back the film to expose the layers underneath. Sleater-Kinney peeled back the layers for us, and then they stayed to tear the whole damn wall down.
Sleater-Kinney, which started as a side-project of Olympian singer-guitarists Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein, became the only project. In 1997, with then-new drummer Janet Weiss, they were carving themselves out of the Pacific Northwest’s Riot Grrrl movement. They had already released two LPs: 1995’s self-titled debut and 1996’s Call the Doctor. Both albums had gotten attention, but Dig Me Out (Kill Rock Stars, 1997) was about to change the trajectory of Sleater-Kinney forever. A month after Dig Me Out arrived, Sleater-Kinney went from performing in coffee houses and record shops to packed houses across the country, including CBGB in NYC.
In the YouTube video of Sleater-Kinney at CBGB in 1997, Brownstein approaches the mic with her signature red Epiphone strapped over her shoulder, having not upgraded to a Gibson yet. Across from her, Tucker plucks her guitar to help Brownstein finish tuning. Finally, they tune down to C#, which Brownstein admits gives them an intentional “sourness”. Weiss on her throne at the center, behind them, with her hair in quintessential late ’90s pigtails. The stage lights dim, and their set begins with the album’s title track in near darkness. Brownstein is explosive. Tucker wails. Weiss is a force. By the time the lights come up, halfway through the first verse, the audience is awe-struck. Best of all, no one in the crowd has a cell phone yet.
Coming from the DIY punk/Riot Grrrl movement, Sleater-Kinney had more creative control than more mainstream bands. I imagine they chose “Dig Me Out” as the first track because it’s the title track and because the sound exemplifies exactly who they are as a band. It’s real, it’s raw, and it’s ready for anything. In an interview with Sound Opinions, Brownstein described Tucker’s voice as “unapologetic” and able to “say more in a note or series of notes than most people need a whole song to say”. Tucker’s voice literally digs down in each verse, creating a word painting to reflect the text she’s singing. “Dig Me Out”, and almost all of the tracks on the album, are even better when listened to with headphones. Tucker’s guitar is in one ear, Brownstein’s guitar is in the other, and Tucker’s voice and Weiss’ percussion are everywhere all at once. Weiss has a series of snappy drum rolls throughout, and there is almost no better collision of sound than when she hits the crash as Tucker roars in the chorus.  From: https://www.popmatters.com/sleater-kinney-dig-me-out-atr25 

Swans - You Know Nothing


 #Swans #Michael Gira #Jarboe #experimental rock #post-rock #noise rock #industrial #no-wave #neofolk #industrial rock #gothic rock #dark folk #apocalyptic folk

In a half-decade span beginning in the mid '80s, Swans swiftly transformed from bone-crushing no wave brutalists to God-fearing gothic rockers, and then to featherweight neo-folkies. White Light from the Mouth of Infinity and Love of Life, originally released in 1991 and 1992, respectively, marked the end of that metamorphosis, as the band settled into a sound at once songful and vast, luminous as a glass menagerie and forceful as a falling anvil. The two albums have long been treated as minor works in Swans' discography: out of print for years, they were cherry-picked (alongside selections from 1989's major-label fiasco The Burning World and the Gira/Jarboe side project the World of Skin) for 1999's inauspiciously titled Various Failures 1988-1992. "I'm ambivalent about much of it, but then what do I know?" Gira has written of the music on that anthology. "Some of it is genuinely good I think. Anyway, I was learning how to write a song as I went."
It's true that the period marked a shift from pummeling mantras to something more "musical," with singing instead of shouting and cascading chords instead of just drop-tuned gut-punches. That said, even here, Gira's concept of "songwriting" remains idiosyncratic: there's little in the way of verse/chorus structures, mainly just mantra-like incantations and chords wreathed around gleaming pedal tones surrounded by wide-open expanse. Drummers Anton Fier (White Light) and Vincent Signorelli and Ted Parson (Love of Life) lay into their snares with military gusto, driving the music forward in surging tattoos, and their nonstop rattle contributes to a sensation of overwhelming excess. Close your eyes, and you can practically see the sounds exploding like fireworks against the darkness of your lids.
The textures and tone colors are well suited to Gira's favorite themes, like love, death, and the sublime. Where early Swans lyrics were notable largely for their grueling power dynamics and limitless abjection—see "Raping a Slave", "Filth", "Cop", etc.—here Gira explores a more nuanced perspective. It's hardly all kittens and rainbows; both albums are littered with ugliness, from the dirge-like "Better Than You" ("So glad I'm better than you," he sings, in the world's most dead-eyed Dear John letter) to the claustrophobic "Amnesia", where he tells us "sex is a void filled with plastic" and "everything human's necessarily wrong." Gira has rarely wallowed as beautifully as he does on "Failure", one of the great nadirs—in the best way possible—of the band's catalog. Over bluesy acoustic guitar and frigid digital synthesizers, his preacher's drawl drips like blood from a stone; it would be hard to imagine a voice with more gravitas. But Gira has never met a dichotomy he could resist—he eats love and hate, sprinkled with a bit of good and evil, for breakfast—and here we can see the pendulum beginning to tip from darkness back to daylight.  From: https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/21259-white-light-from-the-mouth-of-infinity-love-of-life/


Comus - Song to Comus


 #Comus #acid folk #freak folk #folk rock #progressive folk #British folk rock #psychedelic folk #1970s

A guitar is hit hard and strummed with abandon, another is plucked and joined by a flute, the demented voice of Roger Wootton breaks in to sing: “Bright the sunlight summer day, Comus wakes he starts to play. Virgin fair smiles so sweet, Comus’ heart begins to beat’. Each of the ending words are echoed out in repeat, “play, play, play, play.” The song continues on to tell a form of the Comus story, based on John Milton’s masque of the same name, in which he ensnares a lady in a forest. “Comus glare, Comus bare, Comus rape”.
In 1630 a heinous charge of sodomy and rape was brought upon the head of the Earl of Castlehaven, who was tried and convicted of sodomy with his page, and accused of provoking and assisting another to rape his wife – part of a twisted plan to produce an alternate heir. Described by the judge as an ‘unnatural crime’, he was found guilty and beheaded three weeks later on Tower Hill. Four years after this event, his brother-in-law John Egerton, the 1st Earl of Bridewater, arrived at Ludlow castle to take up his new appointment as Lord President of Wales. To celebrate the occasion, the poet John Milton wrote a masque, named ‘Comus’. It is said that the masque was performed to cleanse the family’s past and to help forget the crimes of the Earl of Castlehaven.
John Milton (born in 1608), worked as a civil servant under Oliver Cromwell, and was a renowned poet and scholar, best known for his epic poem ‘Paradise Lost’, that ruminates on the temptation of Adam and Eve by the fallen angel Satan. His masque ‘Comus’ tells the story of two brothers and a sister who find themselves lost in a forest. When the sister, known as the Lady, stops to rest, her brothers search on for food. Comus then appears to her, a kind of god of chaos based on the Greek god of the same name, disguised as a villager. He tricks and captures her, and takes her to his pleasure palace, putting her on a bewitched chair where he uses a necromancers wand and entices her to drink from his magical cup. She refuses in the name of chastity and temperance. Eventually she is rescued by her brothers with help from The Attendant Spirit, a kind of angel. Who manage to chase Comus away, but they can’t free their sister from the chairs spell. The Spirit gives them aid by calling the water nymph Sabrina with a song, who subsequently frees the Lady. The three siblings return home to be reunited with their parents in jubilation. ‘Song to Comus’ uses the middle part of the poem, where the demon finds the Lady in the forest, as its basis. Roger Wootton sings wildly with glee as he enacts Comus, ‘hands of steel, crack you open and your red flesh peel.’ The band ramp up the darkness with theatre, as they do with on most of the songs on their unique debut ‘First Utterance’.
Comus formed tentatively in 1967 with the meeting of guitarists Roger Wootton and Glenn Goring at Ravensbourne college. During that period they started to play folk clubs together and later met David Bowie at the Arts Lab in Beckenham, who then asked them to perform regularly at his curated evenings. They met their manager Chris Youle at the college, as well as a violinist, Colin Pearson, who was studying Milton at the time and suggested the band name. The bass player Andy Hellaby was found at the Arts Lab, and singer Bobbie Watson was invited to join after the rest of the band heard her harmonizing at a local house. Flautist Rob Young was found through an advert.
In 1970 they toured and played across the country like any other working band. During that year, Canadian director Lindsay Shonteff asked them to contribute to her film ‘Permissive’, a story of groupies in London. Shonteff had been impressed by a gig at which Roger cut his hand and continued to play on, bleeding on to his guitar during the song ‘Drip Drip’. Various members of Comus went on to score another three films for Shonteff, who’s ‘Permissive’ is part of the BFI flipside collection. In June of the same year, the band performed at the Purcell Rooms in London’s Royal Festival Hall supporting David Bowie. Their mesmerizing and frenetic act brought them much attention and led them to ink a contract with label Pye/Dawn. The following year they released ‘First Utterance’, with its cover depicting Comus in all his evil glory, drawn by Roger himself. Unfortunately the album had no commercial success and they disbanded in ’72. On ‘Song to Comus’ the intensity of the rest of the album is continued. ‘First Utterance’ really is a one of a kind – bizarre compelling vocals by Roger, lush foil-vocals from Bobbie, urgent guitars, apocalyptic violin playing, head nodding percussion and a burrowing flute.  From: https://www.spookyisles.com/john-miltons-tale-of-rape-and-necromancy/

Monday, April 17, 2023

Gentle Giant - Live Long Beach, CA 1975

Part 1

 
Part 2 

 #Gentle Giant #Shulman brothers #progressive rock #British prog #eclectic prog #classic prog #hard rock #experimental rock #jazz rock #neoclassical #medieval  #1970s #music video
 
To be honest, Gentle Giant wasn’t a band I had given much thought to in recent years when I received a press release, announcing that seven albums they had made were going to be available online. All at once though, it came back to me in a flash — I had seen Gentle Giant open for Yes. This was in 1976, and I was heavily into progressive rock. Unfortunately, perhaps because I was young and naive, I didn’t realize Gentle Giant were capable of taking it much further than most of their more popular peers I followed. Even listening now, the music of Gentle Giant seems beyond reproach — the vocal harmonies, the layers of strings, woodwinds and other embellishments added to guitars, bass, drums and keys — all played and executed at an incredibly high and sophisticated level. Maybe it just took a few years for me to catch up.
Gentle Giant began in 1970 and ended in 1980. During their 10 years, they issued 12 albums, but the seven Capitol/Chrysalis releases — In A Glass House (1973), The Power & The Glory (1974), Freehand (1975), Interview (1976), Playing The Fool: The Official Live (1977), The Missing Piece (1977) and Giant For A Day (1978) — are considered by many to be the best of the batch. Remastered and available digitally, plans are set for the seven to come out on CD in 2010. There are also box sets, DVDs and other reissues in the works. But that’s as far as it goes. Unlike other bands, Gentle Giant will not reunite to promote these reissues. That was made clear to me during my chat with two of the group’s former founding members — singer Derek Shulman and his bass-playing, multi-instrumentalist brother Ray.
During the course of the following conversation, I pressed the Shulmans on why Gentle Giant couldn’t have gone on like so many of their contemporaries. But they remain steadfast and adamant in preserving the group’s legacy as it is. That and the fact that they — specifically Derek and Ray Shulman — have gone on to do other miraculous things in the music world. Derek is an extremely successful record executive, having worked A & R for a few years, signing groups like Bon Jovi and Dream Theater, then becoming president of both Atco and Roadrunner Records. Today, he oversees his own label, DRT Entertainment. Ray is a prolific music producer, and has worked with numerous acts including the Sugarcubes, Björk’s first group. With Derek in New York, Ray somewhere in England, and me in California, I felt like I was on a rollercoaster cruising around the world. And through it all, though they are no longer a working band, you could tell that Gentle Giant was and still is an important part of their lives.
It’s great to have you two on the line.
Derek: Thank you. Where are you calling from?
I’m in Long Beach, California. I think you played a gig here a while back.
Derek: We did?
Yes. In my research, I found out that you played at the Long Beach Terrace Theater, although I think it was actually the Long Beach Auditorium back then.
Derek: It wasn’t Don Kirshner, was it?
Ray: Yeah, I think it was. Don Kirschner’s Rock Concert.
Kirshner used to film his show right down the street from me. It was the Beach Auditorium back then, but they tore it down and built the Long Beach Terrace Theater in its place
Ray: That’s exactly right.
I attended some of those Kirshner shows back in 74 and 75, but I didn’t see you there.
Ray: Oh wow.
I did see you in 1976.
Derek: Where did you see us play?
I saw you with Yes and Peter Frampton at Anaheim Stadium.
Derek: That was a gigantic place. I do remember that one.
Ray: I don’t think we enjoyed that very much.
Derek: It was miserable actually (laughs). I was just speaking with Ray, and this is kind of the first interview we’ve done talking about the digital releases. I called Ray just two minutes ago, and asked, “What are you going to say?” And he said the same thing to me: “I don’t know, what are you going to say?” We have no clue as to what we’re supposed to say or do.
That’s OK, we’ll just play it by ear. With that in mind, let’s get into these digital reissues of seven Gentle Giant titles. Why digital and why now?
Ray: Well, basically, we now own the catalog. They were originally on Capitol.
Derek: These releases are on EMI. They’ve been very proactive, certainly on the digital side, which has become obviously quite important for people to hear music. When they get their iPods and PDAs, we figured we’d give fans access to the music, especially to those who haven’t bought the old releases, the LPs and ultimately CDs; but you know the CDs have only been available on a very limited basis.
Just for the record, we are remastering from the original tapes next week, and putting out the albums — which are coming out digitally — early next year, in January or February. And then some more music that Ray and Kerry (Minnear, the band’s keyboardist) actually put together that I don’t even remember we did — bits and pieces that fans of the band will be intrigued to hear when we were getting together. These are some of the songs that didn’t appear on the albums.
So, these recordings were not remastered for the 35th Anniversary series released in 2005?
Ray: Those were taken from the best tapes available at the time. A lot of these tapes, because they get passed around, you never know where the originals — you know, the actual tape we recorded onto in the studio — were located. Even Capitol and over here, Chrysalis — they didn’t know where they were. Eventually, we found the quarter-inches and that’s what we’re going to work from next week.
Will these digital remasters be available through outlets like Amazon and iTunes?
Ray: Everywhere.
Will these also be available through your own dedicated web site?
Ray: We thought about that, but I don’t think we’re going to do it on our own, are we?
Derek: No, no. We’re going to leave it as is.
One last technical question: Are these going to be distributed as MP3s or as high-end lossless files like FLACs and SHNs?
Ray: MP3s. We may make them lossless once we’ve remastered them.
Any plans to reissue other Gentle Giant titles?
Derek: The first two albums were signed to what was Phonogram at the time, which turned around multiple times and became Universal and it was a worldwide deal. I’m working on accessing the release of those next year. For Three Friends and Octopus (the third and fourth albums), I think we have a very good opportunity to do what we are going to do with these albums early next year also. I think that’s certainly in the cards. I’m working on that here in New York. Again, the fans of the group and the people who haven’t heard it will hear it mastered better with the original quarter-inch tapes. Yes, there is a plan, but unfortunately we can’t institute it yet because of ownership and licensing situations. The catalog that reverted back was only the Capitol years, which are the seven albums. I think seven albums, right Ray?
Ray: Yeah. If you look at our original Phonogram contract, it’s almost a joke now…
Derek: So was the Beatles’ I think.
Ray: Yeah, pretty much like that.
Derek: It was two percent — two percent royalties. It went up afterwards with Ray and our attorney in England. The Beatles had the same deal.
Ray: It was equivalent to a producer royalty these days.
Derek: That’s right.
When you listen back on these recordings, what sort of memories do they conjure? Do you remember anything particular about the sessions? Writing the songs? Putting the concepts together? Figuring out which instruments to put where?
Ray: One of the outlets asked us each to write a like a two-word sentence about each song. I haven’t heard these since we recorded them and it feels strange. It really takes you back. And you kind of remember the sessions.
Derek: I remember In A Glass House, the whole album actually. The writing process usually, on the musical side, was Kerry and Ray for the most part. They’d come up with a song that was either mostly structured or completely structured. And it was brought to the band, to chip in something and the lyrics.
Ray: You were responsible for the lyrics.
Derek: Yeah, I was responsible for the lyrics. I do remember some of the sessions for particular albums and some of the songs. Yes, you do remember how they were done — I’ll let Ray speak about that. I remember In A Glass House being an extremely tough record to make because our older brother Phil had left the band. We became a five-piece from a six-piece. Although we regrouped and toured, and it seemed that we didn’t lose any momentum — in fact, we gained a little momentum — it was still kind of shocking for personal reasons. It was an extremely tense record to make. In that respect, I couldn’t actually listen to it for quite a few years, even though we toured on it. I couldn’t reflect back because I felt the shock of my brother leaving, and we had to reassemble our whole attitude about what Gentle Giant was kind of resounded to me, so I do remember that record being a tough record. The other one, I think for me also, was the one we did in Holland. Ray, wasn’t it The Missing Piece?
Ray: Yeah, The Missing Piece.
Derek: We went to…was it Relight Studios in Holland?
Ray: Yeah, it was in Holland.
Derek: I hated it. It was a place where you shut yourself away.
Ray: I have a few memories of that one. You had to walk across this kind of pig farm to get there. I couldn’t even listen to that album. It probably influenced what we played.
Derek: You’re right. It was in the middle of a farmland in flat Holland.
Ray: I can’t figure out why we went there.
Derek: I’ll tell you why. I think we heard Genesis had gone in there and they were getting bigger than we were, so we figured that must be the reason (laughs).
Unlike Genesis, of course, you guys were multi-instrumentalists, so when you were putting these records together, how did you figure who was gonna do what? What’s gonna go where? It seems pretty complex.
Ray: The basic arrangements were pretty complex. The earlier ones were much more of a collaboration; In fact, there’s a few songs, having just listened to it, on In A Glass House where I can’t tell who wrote what because it’s so mixed up. They’re either my compositions or Kerry’s, who wrote the bulk of it. We kind of lost that toward the end where we wrote and arranged entire songs by ourselves. But early on, we were definitely more collaborative in terms of the whole structure of the songs. In the studio, everything was worked out. We never took that long — I think our longest record was about five weeks.
Derek: Yeah, that was the longest by far.
Ray: We’d work it all out before we went into the studio, you know, with specific arrangements. Often, overdubbing was kind of improvised and we’d get together and Kerry would play something and we’d say, “Yeah that’s good. Develop that.” Other times, he’d (Kerry) actually write out manuscript parts, certainly for the vocals. Then he’d say, “Here you are. Sing this bit.” And we’d go and rehearse it.
Derek: I think that one thing we did as a group was push each other to be better than what you even believed you could be. The things you wouldn’t ordinarily think about because it was OK as it is. We’d push ourselves to be better for each other, as opposed to being better for an album. I think that went across the board. I just saw a quote from Ian Anderson — you saw that Ray, right? — where he said that we are his favorite group, but he said he never saw anyone argue so much.
I saw that quote in Prog magazine.
Ray: Ian was quite the task master really. And he wouldn’t let sloppy or small mistakes get by. So he picked up on it after the show with us. Other people didn’t quite understand because it seemed we were in serious arguments, but we got over it in a couple of seconds.
Derek: We’d be backstage after the show. And even though the crowd was out cheering for another encore, we’d be — it probably was me — saying,”You played a bum note in song number three.” They’d say,”What are you talking about?” And I’d say, “It was B flat instead of a C,” or whatever.
You were perfectionists.
Derek: We tried to push ourselves across the board. That’s my memory of how the band played live. When you’re talking multi-instrumental stuff, by the way, we tried all sorts of things in the studio because it was available to us. The stage versions of the songs were never the same as the album versions. We treated the albums totally different to our live and stage shows. They were always rearranged into something visual or acoustically different for the best effect possible.
Listening to the music — and Ray, you touched on this — it seems so well constructed. Was there any improvisation taking place in the studio, as well as on stage?
Ray: More on stage probably. I mean, you develop a part from improvisation, that’s the major part of composition anyway. Like I said, sometimes Kerry would sometimes write it out on manuscript paper. Otherwise, it was usually an acoustic piano that would play and you’d take that recording and a germ of an idea would come from that. And then you develop that. It wasn’t improvised or loose in a free-form way: it was very structured.
Derek: Ray’s assessment is right. There was room for improvisation to a degree on stage, but on record, it was improvised to a point with solos.
Ray: Yeah, solos with something like the xylophone, where you just go out and do it.
Derek: Yeah, go in and do it and see if it works. And if it didn’t, we’d all jump on whoever did it and say it didn’t work.
Ray: But the ensemble playing was very much structured.
Gentle Giant often gets lumped in with other British progressive rock bands like King Crimson, Yes and Genesis, but the music is more sophisticated, on par with what people like Frank Zappa were doing.
Ray: I love to hear that.
Derek: Me too. No influences, but certainly one of my loves. “Peaches En Regalia” and the Hot Rats album. We actually played with him.
I was wondering about that. How did those shows go?
Derek: They were amazing. I think we had similar influences.
Ray: We had a similar kind of thing. It was probably similar in that Frank Zappa never took himself too seriously, but he was a very serious musician. We were the same way. We never took ourselves too seriously.
Derek: I think pomposity was something that set us apart from some of the other bands you were talking about. We were a rock band playing interesting music, but we weren’t sitting there with bow ties and tails. And Zappa was similar. He played this amazing music, but he didn’t consider himself — although he was — an incredible musician and composer. The backgrounds of us individually were similar. We had all sorts of influences. Kerry was classically trained. And as Ray said, he has a degree in composition.
Ray: Our dad was a jazz trumpet player. When we were growing up, be-bop was still around. Our dad and other musicians would have jam sessions at the house.
Derek: That’s what we heard: Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie got played instead of the pops of the day.
So it wasn’t Elvis. It was jazz.
Derek: That’s right. Ray, of course, was a classically trained violinist. In fact, he was being trained to join the National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain, but he decided — we decided actually — to use his violin as a guitar in the first group we ever had. I think I was probably an influence there, so I’m sorry Ray. What can I tell you? An apology 40 years later (laughs).
Better late than never, I guess. Looking over the seven reissues — you have In A Glass House, The Power & The Glory and Interview, which are conceptual, whereas Freehand, The Missing Piece and Giant For A Day were a little more straightforward and accessible. And, of course, Playing The Fool is the live album with a little bit of both. Did you ever struggle to find a happy medium?
Ray: I think so, certainly in the later years. There was definitely an effort to try to be more commercial, which, when I listen back now, I find it quite bizarre because our attempts at commerciality made it less commercial.
I was listening to Freehand and I remember hearing “Just The Same” when I saw you at Anaheim Stadium. That was a very accessible song that could have been a hit. And I believe that album was your most successful in the States, right?
Derek: Yeah, it did very well. We were kind of a popular group actually in certain places, but then we saw radio and the acceptance of hit singles when FM radio became AOR. Bands who would sometimes tour with us as back-up bands became bigger because of a big hit. I think there was an element of us chasing a hit. And as Ray said, in retrospect, to look back at it, it was a dumb thing to do, but we did it. There were elements of envy, I will say that.
Ray: We saw Genesis and Yes cross over to the mass audience, and there were certain territories where we did play stadiums, like in Canada and parts of Europe. But we didn’t have a mass audience everywhere. There was also — certainly in the latter part of the 70s — a big cultural shift in this country, in Britain, of punk music. It was a bit more cultural because of what was going on in Britain. I think we made an album where there were three days we used a generator because there was no electricity. And you could see in just that, the kind of complicated music and lyrical themes — they weren’t relevant any more in this country. Obviously things were changing, so you had to kind of change yourself. Or you give up (laughs).
Derek, I read in a recent interview where you said you could understand how and why Gentle Giant remained sort of a cult band, and bands like Genesis became huge. Does this mean you don’t think the group could have gone any further in the 80s with a more streamlined sound like Genesis and Yes? Or was Gentle Giant simply a band of its time?
Derek: I think we tried, believe it or not. It was a hopeless attempt (laughs). Not hopeless. I think we tried, but we realized that they had a sound. Maybe the sort of one-note bass, but we didn’t do that. Our music was much more complicated and complex. To get to a simple melody and have a hit song, if you like, wasn’t part of our repertoire. Although we tried to do it on a couple of albums, it just didn’t catch fire. We started losing elements of what the fans liked about the group because we were reaching a bit. On the other hand, we were struggling to keep up with ourselves and the times. It was difficult.
I will say in retrospect, an album that everyone discounts, including myself, but I just listened to it and it’s not part of the package was an album called Civilian. It was the last record and a horrible record to make. However, I think on that record in particular, we came closest to what Genesis and Yes were doing. Only it was too late by then. And for lots of reasons — personally, professionally, musically — we’d all moved on. It was time to shut down.
Ray: In terms of our time, I think our records are more timeless. Certainly the first six, maybe seven, probably up to Freehand actually. I think they hold together pretty well.
Derek: Even Interview to a degree. That was kind of the leeway to where we were gonna go. That was where the switch in the road came. Then we did the live album after Interview. And the live album was kind of us playing, what we had done for five years. It was a retrospective of the live show. Some of the music on the last couple of records, there are some good parts. Some of it is not listenable. However, I’ll say the same thing about the first couple of albums — which are not part of this. We weren’t defined as a group and entity then. We were new. We weren’t integrated as a musical entity.
Derek, as a record executive, I know you signed Dream Theater and have since developed a lot of progressive metal bands. Have any of these younger musicians you’ve encountered acknowledged Gentle Giant as an influence?
Derek: Yeah, I’m surprised and amazed and gratified. These bands — I think they’re quite good. It’s a different era and a different kind of music. A lot of musicians and a lot of people have no clue. They would even be interested in the group or have any kind of idea that I was even in a group because both myself and Ray have moved on from being stage musicians to doing different things. Some don’t have any clue that there ever was a group called Gentle Giant.
I’m surprised because now I sit in an environment which is almost the enemy, as it were, from being a musician. And the good thing about that for me — and probably for Ray as well — it puts me in a good situation on a personal level because I can empathize with the musician who is on the road and is not making that much money. I understand all the processes of what it is to be in a band and on the road and making music for a living.
The influences — it’s gratifying. There’s lots of bands, that when they hear I was in a group, it makes it’s easier for me to speak to them about progressing their career because I’ve learned, obviously, being on this side of the fence, how this side of the fence works. It’s different today than it was 10 years ago. It gives me a good standing, in that respect.
How about you Ray? You worked with Björk when you produced the first Sugarcubes album. Did she draw inspiration from Gentle Giant?
Ray: That was one of the things we never really talked about it. The way I got into production was — and, in fact, throughout the early 80s, I actually got into TV adverts, that was my main kind of living — I was working in the studio with a guy there called Derek Birkett. He had his own label and he found this band from Iceland called the Sugarcubes and said, “What can you do? Can you record them?” And I said, “Yeah, I’ll record them.” So basically, with a few sessions here and a few sessions there, we put together that album. I became kind of the de facto, unpaid house producer for One Little Indian Records. We made lots of records there with anyone who wanted to put a record out. That was how I got into production and that was the most fun time I ever had producing records. It was for nothing, but then it became more serious after that because we started selling a lot more records. Gentle Giant never came up…
You listen to some of the stuff Björk is doing now, and you have to wonder.
Ray: Well, I played on that record as well.
You have a song on In A Glass House called “A Reunion,” yet Gentle Giant is one of the few bands left that hasn’t reunited. You guys are still on good speaking terms, aren’t you?
Ray: We’re very much on speaking terms. I think from Derek’s and my point of view is that we reserve the right not to do this. It has no interest. What are we supposed to play? We’re not going to write new music for the band. Therefore, we’d be left to play the music we left how long ago now, almost 30 years ago?
Derek: Yes, almost 30 years since the last gig.
Ray: We were a progressive band — a progressive band in the most positive way, in the way the term is used. I equate it with someone like Miles Davis. Miles Davis made Kind Of Blue — I still play the record because I love it — but he never did. He always moved on. He always played something different. He didn’t care what the audience thought. He played pop tunes toward the end, turned his back on the audience. That’s progressive music to me, therefore I can’t see what we’d do if we got back together. That’s my view and Derek’s point of view. And also, what would it be? Nostalgiafest, I guess…
Derek: From what Ray said — you move on in your life, in your career, in your musical tastes, in whatever you want to do and whatever you want to aspire to. To go back and be your own tribute band, for me, would be kind of embarrassing. I’ve seen a couple of these reunions. When we said that’s it — that was it. It didn’t trickle to a stop — it stopped.
Ray: It’s not like we don’t see each other. I talk to Kerry all the time and we have these records out, so we’re doing the business side of it now together, the packaging and all the rest of it. There certainly is no acrimony there at all.
Derek: We moved on musically and professionally. To leave it — and this is me, it may not be Ray — when history is written, that chapter is closed. For me to revisit that, for me personally…I mean, I can reread it but I already read that part, so why go back and reread it. I understand from the fans’ point of view that they want to reread it, but we’ve all moved on chronologically, personally and musically. It couldn’t be the same for us unless, and the truth is, we just wanted to go out there “for money.” And I won’t do that. And I don’t think Ray will either.
Not even a one-off for a big charitable one-time event like Live 8? Or would you just as soon not go there?
Ray: I don’t want to go there. I wouldn’t think so, but whatever.
Derek: I have to agree with Ray.
How about the three Shulman brothers — you and your older brother Phil. Do you ever get together and have a friendly jam?
Ray: We haven’t actually, because often we have been separated by geography more than anything else. But there’s no reason not to.
Derek: Yeah, in a hotel, that’s something that may well happen. But we wouldn’t try rewriting In A Glass House or Freehand.
From: https://vintagerock.com/the-gentle-giant-interview/
 
 

Wucan - King Korea


 #Wucan #hard rock #folk rock #psychedelic rock #doom metal #stoner rock #progressive metal #retro-1970s #German #music video

Wucan - Retro Rock with Romanticism and Women’s Power

eclipsed is a music magazine based in Aschaffenburg and has been on the German market since 2000. It is aimed at friends of sophisticated rock music who want to go on a new acoustic voyage of discovery month after month.

eclipsed: Tell me the origin of the band.

Francis Tobolsky: Well, I started the band with an ad when I moved to Dresden four years ago to study. In my old hometown Chemnitz I didn't see the chance to find like-minded people. My claim was to make classic blues rock by Free and Rory Gallagher. First of all our drummer Axel Pätzold reported himself on the ad and peu à peu they all came together. About Tim George on guitar and finally Patrick Dröge on bass.

eclipsed: And how did you find your way to this special sound, a mix of classic hard & blues rock with Tull's flute, Krautrock influences and modern retro rock à la Blues Pills?

Tobolsky: Yeah, then the songwriting started. Somehow it came all by itself that we drove this, I say, old-school sound. I think that this is also connected with the fact that none of us really listens to new, current music. Many productions are simply too polished to a high gloss for us, especially in the metal area, of course also in pop/rock. Somehow we didn't like it.

eclipsed: Where'd you learn to play the flute so well? It really reminds you of Ian Anderson.

Tobolsky: (laughs) Funny you should say that. Just a few days ago a metal music magazine said that this was the biggest insult to the majesty I would do on the flute. Jethro Tull wasn't an influence at all, but as a thirteen year old I enjoyed two years of classical flute lessons. Later I concentrated more on the guitar. But then I thought to myself that I could also bring the flute into the band.

eclipsed: Where does your band name come from?

Tobolsky: We were really desperate to find a band name. And Tim sent me an unspectacular music link. This was the music video of the song "Wucan" by psychedelic rocker Black Mountain, which in Chinese means "lunch" in addition to the name for a Chinese city (laughs). We decided that together as a band.

eclipsed: How did you approach your first album?

Tobolsky: So on our first release, an EP, we weren't really happy with the sound. This time we wanted to make it clear from the outset that this was not supposed to sound so modern, but ... yes, "mustier". Also adapted to our music style. We also recorded live and took a little more time to experiment, for example with the Moog synthesizer and the theremin I play.

eclipsed: So how did the long track "Wandersmann" come about, which is out of the ordinary in German? This reminds me of romantic poetry as it used to be with "Leiermann" from Franz Schubert's "Winterreise".

Tobolsky: You, exactly. I used to want to study literature. I was always such a cultural epoch freak, and my absolute favorite time was romanticism and especially the so-called black romanticism. Maybe that had some influence, too.

eclipsed: "Sow The Wind sounds a lot like early seventies. Would you have wanted to live back then?

Tobolsky: (laughs) That's a difficult thing. Somehow you're used to all the comforts of the 21st century. At least then I would have experienced this spirit of the time first hand. So I can only have this told to me by people like my grandparents, who already lived then, or people who were active in student movements.

eclipsed: Young people nowadays tend to hear the charts, hip hop and electro more often. How do you get your obviously so rich musical knowledge about older music at all? Where does this love come from?

Tobolsky: Well, I've asked myself that question many times before. I've been interested in music since I was a kid. I was often with my grandparents, and here in Saxony they had an oldie radio station on the air, from the sixties to the eighties. I must have preferred a certain sound and song structure. When I finally had my own internet access when I was fourteen or fifteen (laughs), I could surf around and was constantly looking for music. You can always get links to other bands and songs on YouTube, which you then like, and you can keep on hanging around like that.

eclipsed: It's nice that the Internet also provides such positive things. What are your musical role models?

Tobolsky: Besides Blues Rock there are many old Krautrock bands like Novalis, Hoelderlin and Birth Control, but also East German bands like Renft and Karat.

eclipsed: How do you see the current retro-rock scene with bands like Siena Root, in whose opening program you will play in the coming months, or especially the Blues Pills, with which you will probably be compared now, simply because there is such an energetic front woman on stage.

Tobolsky: Hm, difficult question ... I almost think that some people in the press are already annoyed about it. But every retro rock band sounds different to me anyway. In Metal, for example, many of the bands sound much more similar. No, it's full of musical diversity, it can be more like blues rock or heavy metal or it can be psychedelic. Yes, or even garage rock of the late sixties, there are so many different ways of playing that you can't even say, so this retro rock, that annoys me. This all sounds so fresh and different. I just think that certain bands are promoted in a very strong way and that can get on people's nerves. I can imagine that, especially what comes from the big labels.

From: https://www.eclipsed.de/en/current-issue/underground/wucan-retro-rock-romanticism-and-womens-power

Deerhoof - Scarcity Is Manufactured


 #Deerhoof #indie rock #experimental rock #noise rock #art rock #noise punk #animated music video

At the beginning of 'Can’t Get You Out of My Head', the latest documentary by historian and filmmaker Adam Curtis, is a quote by anarchist activist David Graeber: “The ultimate hidden truth of the world is that it is something we make and could just as easily make differently.” It sets the tone for a sprawling thesis about how we’ve arrived at our current state of global affairs, reminding the viewer that there’s always another path. The film shares the same message at the heart of 'Actually, You Can', the 18th studio album by San Francisco’s Deerhoof. It’s a record of re-imagination, revolution, and reconstruction in the face of a seemingly inevitable status quo.
However, gleaning a clear message from Deerhoof’s music is like drawing water from a stone. Though singer/bassist Satomi Matsuzaki’s lyrics are playfully inscrutable, they contain moments of clarity. Chaotic opener “Be Unbarred, O Ye Gates of Hell” casts wealth disparities and labor rights into the metaphor of who benefits from a household appliance. Next, the shambling guitar-pop of “Department of Corrections” proposes that it’s time to reclaim autonomy from the powers that be: “O jailer, who’s in charge around here? And if not you then is it I? Yeah.” And the anthemic tangle that is “Ancient Mysteries, Described” switches to straight-up power chords for its ode to civil disobedience. Still, for each line that seems decipherable, twice as many are charmingly enigmatic.
The music of 'Actually, You Can' gets its message across much more effectively. With little more than two guitars, a bass, and drums, Deerhoof conjures anxious garage funk, Tejano-infused noise rock, introspective dissonance, mercurial power pop, and just about everything in between. Guitarist John Dieterich has described the record as “utility music that makes you move and motivates you,” and indeed, each of these nine songs contorts with joyous abandon. A song as chock full of dueling riffs and fleeting tangents as “Be Unbarred, O Ye Gates of Hell” could only put people on their feet. Greg Saunier’s splashy and relentless drumming turns art-rock jams “Department of Corrections” and “Plant Thief” into songs that could soundtrack an uprising. Even the dislocated, slow-burning “Our Philosophy is Fiction” still feels like a rallying cry in the hands of a seasoned and uniquely expressive band like Deerhoof. Whatever 'Actually, You Can' may lack in pointedness, it makes up for in raw energy.
Yet with all of the intensity and musical bedlam at work here, the brief sections of calm somehow resonate the longest. There’s something oddly hopeful and pure in the softly strummed verses of closer “Divine Comedy,” where Matsuzaki muses on yet to be realized possibilities for change. The tone of her delivery is flat and her cadence is hard to follow, but they are coupled with tender guitar chords, inviting the listener to dig deeper into the ideas behind this rare emotional break. Such reserved divergences are uncommon on 'Actually, You Can'. So when Deerhoof does step back from their onslaught of prismatic garage band tropes, it’s a welcome reminder that rock & roll spectacle isn’t the only way to inspire change.  From: https://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/deerhoof-actually-you-can/

Blue Man Group & Venus Hum - I Feel Love


 #Blue Man Group #Venus Hum #performance art #alternative/indie rock #experimental #electronic rock #percussion based #music video #Donna Summer cover

Matt Goldman, Phil Stanton and Chris Wink are entrepreneurs, innovators, educators, artists, and contemporary comedians, known collectively as the founders and originators of Blue Man Group. That these three bald and blue characters would become a cultural phenomenon – let alone the foundation for a most dynamic and successful artistic organization – is an idea that was all but unimaginable when these inscrutable beings first emerged, walking the streets of New York. “We weren’t really goal-oriented,” says Stanton. “When we started walking around the city, we did it because we wanted to see how people reacted. And being bald and blue was our social life. We didn’t want to go to bars and be part of a singles scene, a drinking scene. We wanted our social life to be somehow creative, and this was a lot of fun. We knew we would eventually do some kind of performance, but we never envisioned a commercial theater run.”      
Blue Man Group’s wildly popular, always evolving theater piece has been a mainstay in New York, Boston and Chicago for years. Now touring the country for the first time, there are also productions in Las Vegas and Orlando, and there are or have been productions in Tokyo and numerous European cities. The show is an absurd and wondrous blend of music, painting, science and technology, as the Blue Men silently engage in a variety of set pieces that run the gamut from primitive and childlike to witty and sophisticated. And the character has been the springboard for numerous additional ventures, including a rock tour, a museum exhibition, a 3D movie and a school.
“It’s all about creativity and innovation,” says Puck Quinn, creative director of character development and appearances. “If someone asks, ‘What does Blue Man Group do?,’ my answer is simple: ‘We innovate.’” Everything begins with the Blue Man, and although he’s been around for more than two decades, his founders still can’t entirely explain where he came from. Like the character himself, his origin is enigmatic. “There really isn’t an explanation,” says Goldman. “Chris dug up a picture that he drew when he was five years old, and it had three blue men in it. And I had a thing in my wallet for years with a blue tribe in South America. I don’t know why it was there; I never put pictures in my wallet. We think the Blue Man has always been here. The best answer is that we found each other.”
The impulse for going bald and blue emerged, in part, when the three longtime friends observed a clash of cultures on a New York sidewalk that no one else noticed. “We saw three punk rockers – giant Mohawks, safety pins in the cheekbone area, leather and chains – walk between three other gentlemen who were dressed in Armani suits and carrying alligator briefcases,” says Goldman. “These six guys didn’t even blink, and the people around them didn’t even blink. And we turned to each other and said, ‘If that scene didn’t even get one iota of consciousness put to it, what human imagery possibly could?” Eventually, an image began to emerge. “We thought, ‘What would surprise people?” says Stanton. “‘What’s going to catch someone’s eye and make them think?’ We thought that if we created a bald and blue character, that image would have the ability to surprise and spark some thought for a long time."   Goldman adds, “The first time we got bald and blue, we knew instantly it was something very special. And it was so freeing, because it wasn’t us. Our own egos were gone.”
Eager to see an end to the 1980s, they carried around a coffin and staged a “Funeral for the ’80s” in Central Park – two years before the decade ended. “We also walked around the streets or into bars; we were really interested in being a little provocative,” Goldman said. The traits of the Blue Man developed gradually. “There was something about him that seemed timeless, and something that seemed a little bit futuristic,” says Stanton. “He seemed to have the ability to be beautiful and comic at the same time. I’m not even sure we thought about that at first. It was really intuitive. We were trying to create a character that somehow represented humanity, but was able to be outside of humanity and look at it at the same time. We wanted to make a statement about community, about the power of a group, as opposed to the American individualist mentality. We thought the character would express community through something tribal, and drumming seemed the way to go. Chris had trained as a drummer, and I was from a really musical background. We wanted to draw from our own interests and backgrounds, and bring them into some kind of performance. We wanted to express something about the process, or the impulse to create.” They built drums and instruments made of polyvinyl chloride – or PVC – pipes. They caught thrown objects with their mouths, and learned how to make things squirt out of their chests. Not all their experiments were successful. “We tried these hats that had tape recorders in them,” says Goldman. “They were called ‘Read Your Mind’ hats.” An acquaintance complimented them for their bravery.          
They continued to develop material for three years, performing in downtown clubs and event spaces. “We wanted to do work that had never been seen onstage before,” says Goldman. Their shows were fresh and funny, exhilarating and experimental, but they were uncertain how long they could continue; they often paid out more than they took in on a gig. But in 1991, they were invited to perform at La MaMa, the prestigious off-off-Broadway theater. The show created a buzz, and that summer Blue Man Group took part in Lincoln Center’s Serious Fun Festival. In the fall they moved off-Broadway to the Astor Place Theater, where they remain to this day.
Two decades later, Goldman, Stanton and Wink are still tinkering with, refining, and updating the show. Each additional production, including the tour, provides an opportunity for new material, and even the New York show is refreshed from time to time. “Sometimes we just see something that we think is really cool, and we’ll try and see how we can make it theatrical,” says Stanton. The success of the show has enabled Blue Man Group’s founders to do what they most enjoy: innovate, create, and inspire. Among their many enterprises are CDs and DVDs; toy development; and the Megastar World Tour, their take on what a rock concert should be. “It plays around with all the trappings of the big arena concert,” says Quinn, “all the things we do that we don’t even think about – waving your hands in the air and bopping your head and dancing in your seat. We’re poking fun at all those little actions. But at the same time, we’re trying to put on the best rock concert there is, with all the stuff we want to see.”  From: https://www.stifeltheatre.com/news/detail/coloring-the-world-blue-the-history-of-the-blue-man-group