OK, look, it's the very tippy-tip end of January, and I have been so nice about it. Have I mentioned the intense and horrible cold and awful snow that will not go away because of the constant, depressing intense and horrible freezingness? Only once, last week, and pretty briefly for me. I HAVE BEEN AN ANGEL about all this, this... weather, and that is so over!!! It's time someone spoke out: I need warmer weather now, and I'm willing to kill to get it. And I will NOT write this kolumn under these condition. I can not.
I am, after all, an artist, am I not?
Nope, OK, I see what you mean. We will begin dred kolumn. Hopefully, my hatred of everything at this moment will just whistle by harmlessly, without decapitating any innocent passersby.
They had the superbowl last week; one of those teams won, I think it was Florida.
June from across the street called up last night and said they had some new kind of Cheetos down at the Superette she thought we might like and did we want some and when and what for and could she be any help about it or would we have to just get them ourselves? and I said, yeah, probably might be better if she didn't go to too much trouble on our account I think or something.
Winter on cape cod is a quiet time for many of us. It's beautiful, if you like freezing horrible cold terrible terribleness; and sort of pensive, as in, omigod, when will it be over? I remember when I first moved out here, it took me a while to get used to these long, quiet winters, when nothing good ever happens. Of course, now that I'm more used to them, I really hate them. You have to live out here for a good, long while before you can be as sick and tired of all this as people who have lived out here for a good long while.
I do get a little cranky this time of year. Mrs. Kelp, who skates, and has an almost Sonya Henie-like elfish fragility to her (especially from this angle), sometimes has to restrain me from lighting the dogs (which she does effortlessly, with a firm, well-placed swat.) .
Hey! Good news! We're at the halfway point! Let's all take a little stretch and get a snack...
OK, back to work.
Remember a few weeks ago when I said that I thought music -new music, anyway -was actually sort of improving? You don't? Well, good. It isn't. I was wrong. What a weird thing to say!
I mean, for a critic to actually say something was improving -you must've known something was wrong with me. I actually moonlight as a musician, too, occasionally -disgusting to admit, but it's true; I never told you that before, did I? Of course, both as a musician and a critic, I hate to admit anyone else is good; as a critic, because that means I can't disparage them; and as a musician because of just regular petty jealousy and hatred.
I have to admit, though, that I've played with way more great new bands and musicians this year than at any time over the past 30 years. It used to be that you could depend on hating random opening acts, but this year, for the first time, I think I actually liked more of the bands than I hated. Strange. I don't trust it either. Can't be true.
Maybe I'm just getting soft, but if that were true, I'd think movies had gotten better, too... movies sucked this year, except for "Aberdeen", "Big Bad Love", "Amelie", "Waking Life", "Door to Door", and a handful of others; but CDs may have actually gotten slightly better (which starts to make sense if you remember what a bad year it was for the record companies.) They're still not great, and it's hard to find ones that work all the way through, but so many folks are coming up with promising new ideas that I'm actually kind of encouraged. Spookie Daly Pride, the Eyesores, Vic Thrill, the Hives, Norah Jones, Bleu, Lightning Bolt, Shari Elf, the Shins, Amy Fairchild -that's a pretty good crop of young-uns for one year. On the other hand, vets like Beck, Flaming Lips, Los Lobos, Of Montreal, and James Taylor came through with compelling work, too There even seems to be a smidgen less ego and hooey (we seem to have gotten over rooting for whoever could drink and take the most drugs and make the biggest mess of themselves and keep strumming -which certainly explains why no one will hire me lately); likewise, angst is at less of a premium, which is OK by me, too.
But, you know, I'm changing my mind again about last year: it stank. Any year that ends with the death of Joe Strummer is not a year we need to hear any more about again. It's not that hard to find good bands, but the Clash were indispensable. He wasn't done, and we'll miss him a lot.
Friday, January 31, 2003
Friday, January 24, 2003
The Kelp Challenge
OK, I stayed up really late last night trying to think of anything to write about and failed miserably, so today I did what I do whenever I'm absolutely desperate for something to do in the kolumn: I emailed some total bonehead questions to a typically fascinating assortment of the local musicianry. In fact, I issued the Kelp Challenge. Are you ready to take the Kelp Challenge?
The questions involved were as cheerful as I could make them, considering that there's hardly anywhere for local musicians to work in the winter, which leaves them all starving, hopeless, and shivering in the miserable freezing cold. Just to make it a little more excruciating, I decided on a multiple-choice format:
#1 - What the hell's wrong with you today?
a.) Got my head caught in a vat of lard.
b.) Depressed about having no life.
c.) Can't get band hired anywhere but the Land Ho.
d.) OTHER (please specify):
#2 - It's clearly too cold to live. If you were going to kill yourself this week, what method would you choose?
a.) Jump off a cliff.
b.) Drug overdose.
c.) Get my head caught in a vat of lard.
d.) OTHER (please specify):
#3 - How do you like them apples?
a.) Not much.
b.) Fine.
c.) What apples?
d.) OTHER (don't specify):
EXTRA CREDIT:
#4 - What would be your favorite way to destroy your computer?
a.) Throw it off a cliff.
b.) Cast it into the ocean.
c.) Smash it to smithereens with baseball bat.
d.) OTHER (please specify):
My first respondent was Pat Healy of the Providence band International Pen Pal, who will be one of six bands playing at the White Electric Benefit this Saturday (1/25) at Monahassett Mill in Providence with The Eyesores, Uno, Mahi Mahi, Ur Dog, and Pleasurehorse. Unfortunately, I had to disqualify Pat from the competition because he used the same answer ("d.) - Burned at the stake") for two different questions (#2 and #4.)
Bruce Maclean of the Maplewoods (who will appear this Saturday at the Land Ho in Orleans) made the same mistake on the same two questions with the answer, "tequila", and likewise was disqualified, thus drastically narrowing the field.
Jennifer Kimball, former member of the Story and current member of the Cambridge band Maybe Baby (who recently released their debut album, "What Matters"-more info at www.maybebaby.net), came up with a couple terrific answers to questions #3 and 4, saying that she wanted "to go hurling with the computer on the local basketball court. Get some little sweepers out to smooth the way..." and that she had just been writing a line in a song that went "bobbing for apples in a bathtub of pears" so she likes them apples. Unfortunately, she completely ignored the first two questions, so I was forced to give her an incomplete.
Even so, she had a slightly more complete incomplete than the Maplewoods' Jay Cournoyer, who worried that his answers might scare the other children, and so didn't submit any. He didn't say so, but I happen to know he's putting the finishing touches on his solo debut as well.
This brought us down to the last two entrants, Randy Frost (of Boom Boom Baby, who'll be at the Regatta in Fall River this Saturday, and at the Land Ho next Thursday, Jan. 30, and the Chatham Squire Friday, Jan. 31), and his Eastham neighbor P. J. O'Connell (who won't, though he does have a fine new CD called "Happy Go Lucky" out on the Edisun label -more info from P.J. himself at pigboy@cape.com -which features all the fellers from NRBQ; he said he vows to get the CD "out to press and radio before Presidents Day Weekend" and that he'll also "put up a poster at the Superette."
In the end, Frost barely nosed out O'Connell with the idea of hanging himself with his guitar cable, and with the following inventive answer to #4: "I would fill my hard drive with my own brand of music which I describe as a cross between industrial death metal, disco, polka and Tasmanian sheep herding music. This would cause a sonic and digital disaster so ugly that the computer would implode", even though O'Connell was impressive on #2, suggesting that he might die of "spontaneous combustion on a whale watch."
Congratulations to all our players this week, all of whom took the Kelp Challenge, and thank god that's over!
The questions involved were as cheerful as I could make them, considering that there's hardly anywhere for local musicians to work in the winter, which leaves them all starving, hopeless, and shivering in the miserable freezing cold. Just to make it a little more excruciating, I decided on a multiple-choice format:
#1 - What the hell's wrong with you today?
a.) Got my head caught in a vat of lard.
b.) Depressed about having no life.
c.) Can't get band hired anywhere but the Land Ho.
d.) OTHER (please specify):
#2 - It's clearly too cold to live. If you were going to kill yourself this week, what method would you choose?
a.) Jump off a cliff.
b.) Drug overdose.
c.) Get my head caught in a vat of lard.
d.) OTHER (please specify):
#3 - How do you like them apples?
a.) Not much.
b.) Fine.
c.) What apples?
d.) OTHER (don't specify):
EXTRA CREDIT:
#4 - What would be your favorite way to destroy your computer?
a.) Throw it off a cliff.
b.) Cast it into the ocean.
c.) Smash it to smithereens with baseball bat.
d.) OTHER (please specify):
My first respondent was Pat Healy of the Providence band International Pen Pal, who will be one of six bands playing at the White Electric Benefit this Saturday (1/25) at Monahassett Mill in Providence with The Eyesores, Uno, Mahi Mahi, Ur Dog, and Pleasurehorse. Unfortunately, I had to disqualify Pat from the competition because he used the same answer ("d.) - Burned at the stake") for two different questions (#2 and #4.)
Bruce Maclean of the Maplewoods (who will appear this Saturday at the Land Ho in Orleans) made the same mistake on the same two questions with the answer, "tequila", and likewise was disqualified, thus drastically narrowing the field.
Jennifer Kimball, former member of the Story and current member of the Cambridge band Maybe Baby (who recently released their debut album, "What Matters"-more info at www.maybebaby.net), came up with a couple terrific answers to questions #3 and 4, saying that she wanted "to go hurling with the computer on the local basketball court. Get some little sweepers out to smooth the way..." and that she had just been writing a line in a song that went "bobbing for apples in a bathtub of pears" so she likes them apples. Unfortunately, she completely ignored the first two questions, so I was forced to give her an incomplete.
Even so, she had a slightly more complete incomplete than the Maplewoods' Jay Cournoyer, who worried that his answers might scare the other children, and so didn't submit any. He didn't say so, but I happen to know he's putting the finishing touches on his solo debut as well.
This brought us down to the last two entrants, Randy Frost (of Boom Boom Baby, who'll be at the Regatta in Fall River this Saturday, and at the Land Ho next Thursday, Jan. 30, and the Chatham Squire Friday, Jan. 31), and his Eastham neighbor P. J. O'Connell (who won't, though he does have a fine new CD called "Happy Go Lucky" out on the Edisun label -more info from P.J. himself at pigboy@cape.com -which features all the fellers from NRBQ; he said he vows to get the CD "out to press and radio before Presidents Day Weekend" and that he'll also "put up a poster at the Superette."
In the end, Frost barely nosed out O'Connell with the idea of hanging himself with his guitar cable, and with the following inventive answer to #4: "I would fill my hard drive with my own brand of music which I describe as a cross between industrial death metal, disco, polka and Tasmanian sheep herding music. This would cause a sonic and digital disaster so ugly that the computer would implode", even though O'Connell was impressive on #2, suggesting that he might die of "spontaneous combustion on a whale watch."
Congratulations to all our players this week, all of whom took the Kelp Challenge, and thank god that's over!
Friday, January 17, 2003
The Future
Uh-oh: apparently someone has made a combination television remote control/cordless phone. It's called the My1Remote. At last you can lose both your remote control and your cordless phone with one economical bout of forgetfulness! The tag line is, "Make a phone call while turning on the TV!" I figure you'd still have one free hand to turn on the garbage disposal or turn up the stereo -surely, at that point, the phone call would be entirely and efficiently neutralized, making it that much safer to stay home and watch -more TV!
This incredible innovation is being made available to us through the fine folks at YouCanSave.Com (a subsidiary of WhatTheHellLetsCapitalizeEverythingForNoReason.Net), and it comes to us at a time when most people would rather spend fifteen or twenty minutes searching through all their couch cushions and most of their laundry before they lower themselves to actually get up and touch the TV. Best of all - it only costs $69.95!
They even encourage you to order by phone, and of course I hope you all will. When you do, make sure you have your television turned up all the way -that way, they'll know they're on the right track.
I'm telling you, the future is going to be beautiful! Why, I can envision the day when you'll be able to turn everything on at once, make six simultaneous phone calls to people you've never even heard of, get them all worked up about who's calling and what's that awful racket, and then turn everything off again, just by clapping! There's no end to the things we might accomplish!
Yes, the future is always a swinging place. Why, only last night I not only ate but actually started to like sushi, for no good reason! As a friend pointed out, it'll probably be no time before I'm jogging and smoking cigars. I have truly started to embrace all things modern, only to discover that, ironically, not all modern things seek my embrace (in fact, some of them filed complaints.)
No sooner had I enjoyed sushi and considered my future as an architect/mountain climber/lacrosse dad than I was whisked off to Fall River to see Dan Hicks at the Narrows Center for the Arts with some of Mrs. Kelp's gay, madcap friends. (Mrs. Kelp herself, as some of you may recall, is a viciously erotic, cat-like seductress -the kind men kill for, albeit much more friendly, approachable, and down-to-earth than most seductresses.)
Even though many people think of Dan as a retro type, in fact he is also getting modern-er all the time.Word is that he has completely given up drinking, which, for him, is deeply and recklessly futuristic. This is a kinder and gentler Dan, almost chatty compared to the old version. Strangely enough, Dan has apparently decided to embrace the future by doing more scat-singing and dancing in his shows, proving once again that there are things in the future that science has no answer for.
I am also compelled to announce that I have a very close friend (ridiculously close, really) who is appearing in a play this month, namely Steve Martin's "Picasso at the Lapin Agile", which is at the Orleans Academy through February 2nd. I'm told his is a very small part, which is fortunate given his entirely estimable talents. (I won't name him -you go ahead.) Apparently, there are also some real actors in it, hopefully deployed strategically so as to conceal his efforts from the more discerning viewers. In fact, that must be the case, as they already got a good review, though that was in one of the other, lesser papers.
You'll find this week's kolumn a bit shorter than usual, due mostly to the future being such a zippy location. People in the future won't have time to read -they'll be too busy dancing and scat-singing. The future will be fast, sleek, and technologically impressive, but we're still years away from solving our frightening scat-singing problem.
This incredible innovation is being made available to us through the fine folks at YouCanSave.Com (a subsidiary of WhatTheHellLetsCapitalizeEverythingForNoReason.Net), and it comes to us at a time when most people would rather spend fifteen or twenty minutes searching through all their couch cushions and most of their laundry before they lower themselves to actually get up and touch the TV. Best of all - it only costs $69.95!
They even encourage you to order by phone, and of course I hope you all will. When you do, make sure you have your television turned up all the way -that way, they'll know they're on the right track.
I'm telling you, the future is going to be beautiful! Why, I can envision the day when you'll be able to turn everything on at once, make six simultaneous phone calls to people you've never even heard of, get them all worked up about who's calling and what's that awful racket, and then turn everything off again, just by clapping! There's no end to the things we might accomplish!
Yes, the future is always a swinging place. Why, only last night I not only ate but actually started to like sushi, for no good reason! As a friend pointed out, it'll probably be no time before I'm jogging and smoking cigars. I have truly started to embrace all things modern, only to discover that, ironically, not all modern things seek my embrace (in fact, some of them filed complaints.)
No sooner had I enjoyed sushi and considered my future as an architect/mountain climber/lacrosse dad than I was whisked off to Fall River to see Dan Hicks at the Narrows Center for the Arts with some of Mrs. Kelp's gay, madcap friends. (Mrs. Kelp herself, as some of you may recall, is a viciously erotic, cat-like seductress -the kind men kill for, albeit much more friendly, approachable, and down-to-earth than most seductresses.)
Even though many people think of Dan as a retro type, in fact he is also getting modern-er all the time.Word is that he has completely given up drinking, which, for him, is deeply and recklessly futuristic. This is a kinder and gentler Dan, almost chatty compared to the old version. Strangely enough, Dan has apparently decided to embrace the future by doing more scat-singing and dancing in his shows, proving once again that there are things in the future that science has no answer for.
I am also compelled to announce that I have a very close friend (ridiculously close, really) who is appearing in a play this month, namely Steve Martin's "Picasso at the Lapin Agile", which is at the Orleans Academy through February 2nd. I'm told his is a very small part, which is fortunate given his entirely estimable talents. (I won't name him -you go ahead.) Apparently, there are also some real actors in it, hopefully deployed strategically so as to conceal his efforts from the more discerning viewers. In fact, that must be the case, as they already got a good review, though that was in one of the other, lesser papers.
You'll find this week's kolumn a bit shorter than usual, due mostly to the future being such a zippy location. People in the future won't have time to read -they'll be too busy dancing and scat-singing. The future will be fast, sleek, and technologically impressive, but we're still years away from solving our frightening scat-singing problem.
Friday, January 10, 2003
Chris Smither's Foot
Chris Smither plays a mean foot. He also sings well, plays some pretty good guitar, and writes some fine songs. He does many things well, even effortlessly; but the greatest of these, is foot. (Incidentally, they'll be appearing together again locally this Saturday the eleventh, at the First Encounter Coffeehouse in Eastham.)
His most recent CD, 2000's "Live As I'll Ever Be", was recorded live with no overdubs, and really kind of features his foot, which more than rises to the challenge, giving a performance of majesty, precision, and personality in a situation that anyone with half a shoe might find pretty darn uncomfortable. After all, when the other elements are Smither's widely acclaimed guitar playing and his relaxed, soulful singing, it might be hard for a single one of the artist's justly revered dogs to make much of an impression.
Ah, but this is no ordinary toe-tapping. For one thing, Chris goes that extra mile. He recently confided to this reporter that for each performance he sets up a special piece of particle board, carefully selected for its complete lack of a musical tone, so that he doesn't have to rely on what can sometimes turn out to be bad-sounding floors. He transports this piece of particle board in a specially constructed Anvil case (actually, no, he doesn't; that last part isn't true, but it's a nice idea, isn't it?)
He also doesn't use a unique microphone that was manufactured by an obscure German company specifically to get a nice sound out of a boot -but he does mike his foot. Some would say that made him a loony, but they'd be the ones who had never heard this pulverizing pup.
Because Chris Smither's foot rocks! You really couldn't ask for a better percussionist: always tasteful, always understated, always laying that beat right on the floor where it belongs. His tempos always cozy, his drummer impeccable -and any good musician will tell you that having a great drummer is half the battle with a band. He gets a great sound, he stomps with a great feel, and not since the golden days of Mungo Jerry has there been a foot artist like him.
When I interviewed Chris a few days ago, he talked about his feet for hours, succumbing to my relentless probing; he even divulged that the shoes have to be "expensive, thin-soled, Italian shoes."
He also confided that he was well into the recording of a new album, working at Signature Sounds in Palmer on, among other things, a cover of Dylan's "Desolation Row." Needless to say, I immediately accused him of using a twelve minute song to disguise a lack of new material, but he said he had cut "Desolation Row" down to a more manageable 8 minutes, and that it would be one of eleven songs, seven of which were originals (the remainder being covers of Mississippi John Hurt, Dave Carter, and Buffalo Springfield); so I slunk back to my little hole.
Chris has a very relaxed, engaging presence, understated but firm, that lets you know you're in good hands, and he's a good enough solo performer that his fans sometimes complain when he adds other musicians for his recordings. It is true that the intimacy of his live shows seems to be the best setting for a lot of his material, but he enjoys the opportunity to use other musicians when it comes up, saying that "the albums needn't be a reflection of the live situation; I just can't always afford a band." Still, he makes it obvious that he still enjoys the solo stuff just as much.
His voice is interesting, too, because in an idiom (white acoustic folkie/blues) that is ruled by over-singing, Smither usually undersells. It's not a lack of intensity, because he's got that, but he's also got a certain patient grace, a vaguely southern (he grew up in New Orleans) sense of dignity.
And a darn fine right foot, that's never on 1 and 3 when it's supposed to be on 2 and 4, thank god!
His most recent CD, 2000's "Live As I'll Ever Be", was recorded live with no overdubs, and really kind of features his foot, which more than rises to the challenge, giving a performance of majesty, precision, and personality in a situation that anyone with half a shoe might find pretty darn uncomfortable. After all, when the other elements are Smither's widely acclaimed guitar playing and his relaxed, soulful singing, it might be hard for a single one of the artist's justly revered dogs to make much of an impression.
Ah, but this is no ordinary toe-tapping. For one thing, Chris goes that extra mile. He recently confided to this reporter that for each performance he sets up a special piece of particle board, carefully selected for its complete lack of a musical tone, so that he doesn't have to rely on what can sometimes turn out to be bad-sounding floors. He transports this piece of particle board in a specially constructed Anvil case (actually, no, he doesn't; that last part isn't true, but it's a nice idea, isn't it?)
He also doesn't use a unique microphone that was manufactured by an obscure German company specifically to get a nice sound out of a boot -but he does mike his foot. Some would say that made him a loony, but they'd be the ones who had never heard this pulverizing pup.
Because Chris Smither's foot rocks! You really couldn't ask for a better percussionist: always tasteful, always understated, always laying that beat right on the floor where it belongs. His tempos always cozy, his drummer impeccable -and any good musician will tell you that having a great drummer is half the battle with a band. He gets a great sound, he stomps with a great feel, and not since the golden days of Mungo Jerry has there been a foot artist like him.
When I interviewed Chris a few days ago, he talked about his feet for hours, succumbing to my relentless probing; he even divulged that the shoes have to be "expensive, thin-soled, Italian shoes."
He also confided that he was well into the recording of a new album, working at Signature Sounds in Palmer on, among other things, a cover of Dylan's "Desolation Row." Needless to say, I immediately accused him of using a twelve minute song to disguise a lack of new material, but he said he had cut "Desolation Row" down to a more manageable 8 minutes, and that it would be one of eleven songs, seven of which were originals (the remainder being covers of Mississippi John Hurt, Dave Carter, and Buffalo Springfield); so I slunk back to my little hole.
Chris has a very relaxed, engaging presence, understated but firm, that lets you know you're in good hands, and he's a good enough solo performer that his fans sometimes complain when he adds other musicians for his recordings. It is true that the intimacy of his live shows seems to be the best setting for a lot of his material, but he enjoys the opportunity to use other musicians when it comes up, saying that "the albums needn't be a reflection of the live situation; I just can't always afford a band." Still, he makes it obvious that he still enjoys the solo stuff just as much.
His voice is interesting, too, because in an idiom (white acoustic folkie/blues) that is ruled by over-singing, Smither usually undersells. It's not a lack of intensity, because he's got that, but he's also got a certain patient grace, a vaguely southern (he grew up in New Orleans) sense of dignity.
And a darn fine right foot, that's never on 1 and 3 when it's supposed to be on 2 and 4, thank god!
Optimism ?!?
Well, this week I'm confused about something else, of course, which is this band International Pen Pal, who play this Saturday at the Prodigal Sun with those local darlings of the bog, the Ticks.
Have you seen the Ticks? The Ticks -Julia Randall, Emma Levy, and Sue LaVallee -are an extremely personable girl rock combo (if you don't count perpetual male drummer Sam Wood, who just got off probation and plays like it, and by that I mean, LOUD.) (Not unlike his dad, Steve "Woo-Woo" Wood, known far and wide as perhaps the hardest rocking Cape Codder in history.) Anyway, with this one exception, the Ticks are way cute, not to mention colorfully and cunningly clothed and coifed in seething, twisted, poolside agreeability. And I really shouldn't be writing about any of these people because I know them all too well.
Which brings me back to International Pen Pal, who I've only met once or twice, and thus can at least consider trashing. Or at least could, if the lead singer wasn't a friend of my nephew's. I will say that the four-song EP I heard didn't really get me much until the last song, an uncredited home tape called "Barbara Spinelli", which I thought was fairly hilarious and enjoyed quite a bit. Dammit, now I have to listen to the whole thing all over again.
I might not bother, except they're also from Providence, home of Lightning Bolt and the Eyesores (who are also friends of my nephew's.) Some of these bands are very original and playful, perhaps even innovative, and if the whole scene somehow takes off, it may someday come to be known as the "Providence Sound", or, better yet, the "Friends of Kelp's Nephew Dudley's Sound."
OK, so, what the hell, I'll listen again.
Hmmm. Well, it does sound better than the first time. First song's kind of interesting -OK changes, some nice lines -not terrible, even! Second song still bothers me: there's a ferociously recorded, not particularly well-played bell part that pretty much sabotages the rest, and the bits which you do happen to catch don't sound too zesty. But I still like that last one quite well, and -surprise! -#3 turns out to be rather lovely and somewhat rockin' as well. Hmmm.
Singer Pat Healey is of the glamorous Eben Portnoy School of Righteous Vocalizing; he has the indie sound, as if he were Jeff Tweedy's raspless, geeky little brother. (It's worth pointing out that Wilco's leader in turn sounds like Paul Westerberg's geeky little brother -where will it end?) Healey's lyrics are best when he goes out on a limb, which he does frequently; unfortunately, they're also worst then, too.
The main thing is, they're at least using their heads and trying to do things differently, make something new. We're finally getting beyond the point where musicians could realistically do it for the money, so weeding out those guys should work out to everyone's advantage. There's even the possibility we might start to see less slick, imitative, posturing crap, and things might actually get interesting again.
In fact, they already have.
In my opinion, music is actually getting better -it's a miracle! I know it's more my job to tell you how much more dreary and tiresome everything is now than it used to be, but I am forced to admit there's actually signs of hope. I mean, I can't remember ever writing at the end of a year that things actually improved; but there it is, shameful, but arguably true!
This may partly be the effect of the damn internet, and the playing field evening out -which surprised us all by totally sucking at first, but now is providing some actual perks, increased diversity being one. People have to work harder to find the good stuff because there's so much garbage to sift through, but it's all free, and you don't even have to leave to leave your house to get it (although you still might have to to understand it.) Younger musicians are more and more all over the map stylistically, and they seem increasingly far-flung; yay!
Which means you end up with strange new bands like the Eyesores, who provide a bracing alternative take on the moody tango music of Astor Piazzolla. Certainly, their instrumentation, which includes viola, accordion, string bass, radio, and, at a recent live show, even a little french horn, is part of the fun; but the arrangements and vocals also manage to surprise consistently.
Again, they're young, and some of the edges are a bit rough -for instance, they usually seem to be better off without their drummer, who's not terrible, but you don't miss him when he's not there, and sometimes you wish you were missing him when he is. Still, they're already breaking some intriguing new ground, and I recommend their latest release, "Bent at the Waist" (on the Handsome label, probably most reachable through www.handsomerecords.com), to anyone looking for a break from the same old same old.
Have you seen the Ticks? The Ticks -Julia Randall, Emma Levy, and Sue LaVallee -are an extremely personable girl rock combo (if you don't count perpetual male drummer Sam Wood, who just got off probation and plays like it, and by that I mean, LOUD.) (Not unlike his dad, Steve "Woo-Woo" Wood, known far and wide as perhaps the hardest rocking Cape Codder in history.) Anyway, with this one exception, the Ticks are way cute, not to mention colorfully and cunningly clothed and coifed in seething, twisted, poolside agreeability. And I really shouldn't be writing about any of these people because I know them all too well.
Which brings me back to International Pen Pal, who I've only met once or twice, and thus can at least consider trashing. Or at least could, if the lead singer wasn't a friend of my nephew's. I will say that the four-song EP I heard didn't really get me much until the last song, an uncredited home tape called "Barbara Spinelli", which I thought was fairly hilarious and enjoyed quite a bit. Dammit, now I have to listen to the whole thing all over again.
I might not bother, except they're also from Providence, home of Lightning Bolt and the Eyesores (who are also friends of my nephew's.) Some of these bands are very original and playful, perhaps even innovative, and if the whole scene somehow takes off, it may someday come to be known as the "Providence Sound", or, better yet, the "Friends of Kelp's Nephew Dudley's Sound."
OK, so, what the hell, I'll listen again.
Hmmm. Well, it does sound better than the first time. First song's kind of interesting -OK changes, some nice lines -not terrible, even! Second song still bothers me: there's a ferociously recorded, not particularly well-played bell part that pretty much sabotages the rest, and the bits which you do happen to catch don't sound too zesty. But I still like that last one quite well, and -surprise! -#3 turns out to be rather lovely and somewhat rockin' as well. Hmmm.
Singer Pat Healey is of the glamorous Eben Portnoy School of Righteous Vocalizing; he has the indie sound, as if he were Jeff Tweedy's raspless, geeky little brother. (It's worth pointing out that Wilco's leader in turn sounds like Paul Westerberg's geeky little brother -where will it end?) Healey's lyrics are best when he goes out on a limb, which he does frequently; unfortunately, they're also worst then, too.
The main thing is, they're at least using their heads and trying to do things differently, make something new. We're finally getting beyond the point where musicians could realistically do it for the money, so weeding out those guys should work out to everyone's advantage. There's even the possibility we might start to see less slick, imitative, posturing crap, and things might actually get interesting again.
In fact, they already have.
In my opinion, music is actually getting better -it's a miracle! I know it's more my job to tell you how much more dreary and tiresome everything is now than it used to be, but I am forced to admit there's actually signs of hope. I mean, I can't remember ever writing at the end of a year that things actually improved; but there it is, shameful, but arguably true!
This may partly be the effect of the damn internet, and the playing field evening out -which surprised us all by totally sucking at first, but now is providing some actual perks, increased diversity being one. People have to work harder to find the good stuff because there's so much garbage to sift through, but it's all free, and you don't even have to leave to leave your house to get it (although you still might have to to understand it.) Younger musicians are more and more all over the map stylistically, and they seem increasingly far-flung; yay!
Which means you end up with strange new bands like the Eyesores, who provide a bracing alternative take on the moody tango music of Astor Piazzolla. Certainly, their instrumentation, which includes viola, accordion, string bass, radio, and, at a recent live show, even a little french horn, is part of the fun; but the arrangements and vocals also manage to surprise consistently.
Again, they're young, and some of the edges are a bit rough -for instance, they usually seem to be better off without their drummer, who's not terrible, but you don't miss him when he's not there, and sometimes you wish you were missing him when he is. Still, they're already breaking some intriguing new ground, and I recommend their latest release, "Bent at the Waist" (on the Handsome label, probably most reachable through www.handsomerecords.com), to anyone looking for a break from the same old same old.
Friday, January 3, 2003
Golddiggers of 2002
2002 was a boring year, and I'm glad it's over, but just because it was boring doesn't mean I'm finished talking about it. In fact, some good things happened; let's see if we can remember any of them. Nah, the hell with it.
Oh, OK for one thing, quite a few interesting new faces popped up: the Strokes, Nora Jones, Lightning Bolt, Liz Janes, Vic Thrill, Bleu, Shari Elf, the Shins, the Hives -we arguably had a very strong crop of rookies.
Kay Hanley (of the now-defunct Letters to Cleo) put out a fun solo record ("Cherry Marmalade" on Zoe); as did Amy Fairchild ("Mr. Heart" on So Fair); another old friend, Eben Portnoy (formerly of No Sientos) debuted his new band, the Napkins (you can get their latest homemade project, "I've Been Wading", through thenapkins@capecod.com.) Boston buddies Bleu and Ramona Silver also made worthy contributions ("Redhead" on Aware and "Death By Candy" on Fingerprints, respectively.)
My pal Dylan from Instant Karma in Orleans put me on to a wonderful jazz group from the Hartford area fronted by Warren Byrd and David Chevan, whose album "This Is the Afro-Semitic Experience" was one of the most enjoyable listens I had last year, not to mention pretty much the only contemporary jazz release that really intrigued me.
These guys add steel guitar (frequently in an almost southern gospel/sacred steel frame of mind) to the usual sax-piano-string bass-drums routine, which gets even more interesting when circumventing the considerable stylistic territory they've staked out of jazz-to-reggae-to-klezmer. Luckily, the musicians have the taste, wit, and talent to keep it all swinging without getting too pretentious. (Warning: this one's probably only available on cape at Instant Karma -which is on Rt. 6 in Orleans, roughly across from the Blockbuster/Staples lot -or perhaps through their website, www.chevan.addr.com.) It's well worth tracking down.
Some of the old timers came through with some good stuff, too, like Beck, James Taylor, Los Lobos, the Flatlanders, Flaming Lips, Of Montreal, Komeda, Daniel Johnston, and Bonnie Raitt. Jane Siberry released a "Best Of" collection on Rhino called "Love is Everything" that makes a reasonable attempt at condensing her large and interesting catalog (and also may help us get through a whole year with nothing new from local fave Patty Larkin.) Even Sir Paul McCartney's latest debacle has a couple of nice moments on it, particularly the lovely "Riding to Jaipur", festooned with psychedelia and Indian instruments as if to provide a fitting send-off to dear Sir George.
The treat of the year for me, though, wasn't even released this year -or last year, either. I admit, I'm really late on this one -it was released in 2000. Still, you must be made aware immediately that the Muffs' "Hamburger" (Sympathy for the Record Industry), which is basically an odds-and-ends comp, is as good as any of their regular releases (and, in fact, much better than their last, '99's "Alert Today, Alive Tomorrow"), and that means it's a total blast. If you don't know them, imagine a cross between the Shirelles and the Ramones, including real melodies and personality, plus considerable propulsion.
I would be re-miss if I didn't mention that the Muffs are Mrs. Kelp's new favorite group. Her old favorite group was the Beatles, who actually managed to hold down the job for about thirty-five years. (Mrs. Kelp has never been fickle or flighty when it comes to matters of great importance. I still remember the first words she ever said to me, way, way back toward the dawning of time. And what she was wearing. And what happened the next day, too; but it's private.)
So, one reason I'm telling you that this Muffs album is indispensable is because I've been instructed to, and here at Kelp Manor, we've learned the importance of following instructions. But it's also because the record is quite brilliant right through while most of the rest of this list is really just brilliant in spots. Just for the record, the other guys who keep it up the longest are James Taylor (if you like James Taylor), Lightning Bolt (if you like having your head explode in an extremely noisy and riotous manner), the Strokes (if you dig that retro, minimalist schtick), Nora Jones (whose warm, understated singing and minimal arrangements arguably overcome inconsistent songwriting), and Warren Byrd and David Chevan (if you like jazz.)
Locally, I saw great shows from Zoe Lewis and Jennifer Kimball, and more fine work from young up-and-comers like Lovewhip, the Mayocks, Earth Junior, Steve Wood (whose Sunday afternoon open house shows at the Prodigal Son in Hyannis are reputed to be good fun), and Philo Rockwell King III, whose merchandising is as much fun as his show (which is much fun.)
Why, only the other night I saw a new band from Providence called the Eyesores who were remarkably interesting and original. Their instrumentation includes viola, bass, accordion, and french horn, and they're creating a hybrid of Astor Piazzolla and what? maybe the Velvets again? Whatever it is, it's not boring. I don't know- there might still be hope for 2002, retrospectively.
Ditto for '03 -keep your fingers crossed.
Oh, OK for one thing, quite a few interesting new faces popped up: the Strokes, Nora Jones, Lightning Bolt, Liz Janes, Vic Thrill, Bleu, Shari Elf, the Shins, the Hives -we arguably had a very strong crop of rookies.
Kay Hanley (of the now-defunct Letters to Cleo) put out a fun solo record ("Cherry Marmalade" on Zoe); as did Amy Fairchild ("Mr. Heart" on So Fair); another old friend, Eben Portnoy (formerly of No Sientos) debuted his new band, the Napkins (you can get their latest homemade project, "I've Been Wading", through thenapkins@capecod.com.) Boston buddies Bleu and Ramona Silver also made worthy contributions ("Redhead" on Aware and "Death By Candy" on Fingerprints, respectively.)
My pal Dylan from Instant Karma in Orleans put me on to a wonderful jazz group from the Hartford area fronted by Warren Byrd and David Chevan, whose album "This Is the Afro-Semitic Experience" was one of the most enjoyable listens I had last year, not to mention pretty much the only contemporary jazz release that really intrigued me.
These guys add steel guitar (frequently in an almost southern gospel/sacred steel frame of mind) to the usual sax-piano-string bass-drums routine, which gets even more interesting when circumventing the considerable stylistic territory they've staked out of jazz-to-reggae-to-klezmer. Luckily, the musicians have the taste, wit, and talent to keep it all swinging without getting too pretentious. (Warning: this one's probably only available on cape at Instant Karma -which is on Rt. 6 in Orleans, roughly across from the Blockbuster/Staples lot -or perhaps through their website, www.chevan.addr.com.) It's well worth tracking down.
Some of the old timers came through with some good stuff, too, like Beck, James Taylor, Los Lobos, the Flatlanders, Flaming Lips, Of Montreal, Komeda, Daniel Johnston, and Bonnie Raitt. Jane Siberry released a "Best Of" collection on Rhino called "Love is Everything" that makes a reasonable attempt at condensing her large and interesting catalog (and also may help us get through a whole year with nothing new from local fave Patty Larkin.) Even Sir Paul McCartney's latest debacle has a couple of nice moments on it, particularly the lovely "Riding to Jaipur", festooned with psychedelia and Indian instruments as if to provide a fitting send-off to dear Sir George.
The treat of the year for me, though, wasn't even released this year -or last year, either. I admit, I'm really late on this one -it was released in 2000. Still, you must be made aware immediately that the Muffs' "Hamburger" (Sympathy for the Record Industry), which is basically an odds-and-ends comp, is as good as any of their regular releases (and, in fact, much better than their last, '99's "Alert Today, Alive Tomorrow"), and that means it's a total blast. If you don't know them, imagine a cross between the Shirelles and the Ramones, including real melodies and personality, plus considerable propulsion.
I would be re-miss if I didn't mention that the Muffs are Mrs. Kelp's new favorite group. Her old favorite group was the Beatles, who actually managed to hold down the job for about thirty-five years. (Mrs. Kelp has never been fickle or flighty when it comes to matters of great importance. I still remember the first words she ever said to me, way, way back toward the dawning of time. And what she was wearing. And what happened the next day, too; but it's private.)
So, one reason I'm telling you that this Muffs album is indispensable is because I've been instructed to, and here at Kelp Manor, we've learned the importance of following instructions. But it's also because the record is quite brilliant right through while most of the rest of this list is really just brilliant in spots. Just for the record, the other guys who keep it up the longest are James Taylor (if you like James Taylor), Lightning Bolt (if you like having your head explode in an extremely noisy and riotous manner), the Strokes (if you dig that retro, minimalist schtick), Nora Jones (whose warm, understated singing and minimal arrangements arguably overcome inconsistent songwriting), and Warren Byrd and David Chevan (if you like jazz.)
Locally, I saw great shows from Zoe Lewis and Jennifer Kimball, and more fine work from young up-and-comers like Lovewhip, the Mayocks, Earth Junior, Steve Wood (whose Sunday afternoon open house shows at the Prodigal Son in Hyannis are reputed to be good fun), and Philo Rockwell King III, whose merchandising is as much fun as his show (which is much fun.)
Why, only the other night I saw a new band from Providence called the Eyesores who were remarkably interesting and original. Their instrumentation includes viola, bass, accordion, and french horn, and they're creating a hybrid of Astor Piazzolla and what? maybe the Velvets again? Whatever it is, it's not boring. I don't know- there might still be hope for 2002, retrospectively.
Ditto for '03 -keep your fingers crossed.
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