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/

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/