Tin Hat Trio

Forgive me. I've been gone for more than a year, I think. It got to the point where my own ignorance unsettled me so that I had to stop writing entirely for a while, but now I'm back and ready to flaunt it again, just like the old days. This will be great! I've missed you all teddibly!

And you are so glad to see me, too, even though you don't know it yet, because I have come back for a reason: to urge you to take in the Parkington Sisters / Tin Hat show this Wednesday, October 27th, at 8pm at the Wellfleet Library. I'm not telling you how much it costs on purpose. Whatever it is, just pay it, is my advice.

For one thing, it's just hilarious when they have bands at libraries. For another, both of these bands are quite capable of moments both beautiful and heart-breaking, and heart-breaking, in particular, can be really good. (Of course, beautiful's no slouch either). In fact, I'd be shocked if this wasn't one of the best shows on cape this year.

Many of you must know the Parkington Sisters already, I would think, as the progress of these talented local darlings is something us locals have had the delightful privilege of witnessing first-hand these last few years. I've written favorably of their varied and nuanced work in the past, and would be here again today if the group hadn't asked me nicely to shut up about how much I like their new album until after it's officially released early next year; suffice to say, until then, that it's called “Till Voices Wake Us”, and that it's a very nice step forward.

I was stunned to hear of a Tin Hat appearance on Cape Cod, as the band comes from the west coast (Oakland, CA), and at this point they're perhaps more well-loved than well-known. My colleague Keith Spring, local curmudgeon and keyboardist and a man not to be trifled with, brought them to my attention 2 or 3 years ago, and I think they're remarkable. Their press material says that they are interested in blurring the line between composition and improvisation; I think what really blurs that line is the exceptionally focused melodicism of the soloists, who consistently provide thoughtful tune smithing where noodling might've ended up.

Both violinist Carla Kihlstedt and clarinetist Ben Goldberg are virtuoso musicians, and either could obviously play whatever they wanted, but their priority is concision -there's no chafe, nothing there that doesn't really need to be there, no speedy baloney. All the musicians seem to share a love of beautiful tone, and sounds that are full and round and warm set against odd rhythms.

The music is frequently melancholy, often vaguely European (though Kihlstedt maintains they see it the other way in actual Europe), and usually instrumental (though the violinist may sing a song or two -a lovely version of “Willow Weep For Me”, for instance, which they recorded with Willie Nelson singing not long ago, though Carla's is much better-er.) The influences range from tango and gypsy and even (especially for guitarist/riff-meister mark Orton) Brazilian music to Bartok, Elliott Carter, and Charles Ives.

Things are combined which haven't been before. On “Hotel Aurora”, on their recent “Foreign Legion” album, they manage to sustain a mood that is both sprightly and sinister, while on “Asterisk”, composer Goldberg effortlessly summons up the spirits of Bix, Duke, and Jimmy Giuffre.

Like anything precious, they're hard to describe: when I ventured “chamber jazz”, Carla said I was in the ballpark, but that she felt closer to the “chamber” part of the equation. No longer a trio, their instrumentation in Wellfleet will include accordion, piano, guitar, dobro, violin, and the rarely heard but fascinating contra alto clarinet (on record they've also incorporated celeste, harp, trumpet, pump organ and more). They've played with Tom Waits, and among their film score credits is a beautiful soundtrack for a very fine movie called “Sweetland”. One of the projects they're working on now is setting a collection of e. e. cummings poems to music, which they're currently writing in preparation for recording and a (nother) European tour. (More information is available at www.tinhattrio.com).

Meanwhile, violinist Kihlstedt and her husband, drummer and Dennis native Matthias Bossi, have recently taken up residence in Dennis, where they are sure to be welcomed with open arms (Matthias has family there), so I want you all to be real nice to them. They're in the midst of customizing a large bus for family life on the road (the pair have a baby daughter, Tallulah), and not long ago the engine gave up the ghost, though another seems to be on the way; in addition, the pair recently started a drum / violin duo called Now You.

A drum / violin duo on a forty-foot bus with no engine? -hopefully, you religious types out there will file a prayer for little Tallulah.

Remembrance of George Mattesini -long live the Guru!

First of all, George was peculiar. Take everyone in the world you've ever met, and then just forget about them, because George was nothing like them. We were close largely because we were both record collectors -not CDs, but records, we were both record homos. We wanted to hear everything. We engaged in feverish conversation about obscure shit that no one else cares about. Together with my band the Incredible Casuals, we drove all over New England, playing one-nighters, some bitchin', some lame, frequently in his van. He even got involved in some of the recording sessions. We smoked pot, and farted around.

I mentioned his van: I've never known a human who felt closer to his van. He had a long series of white vans (usually white -I think he had a blue one at one point, but usually white, or formerly white before being covered liberally in city soot.) George frequently slept in his vans, and usually had piles of albums in them, and possibly -I don't think I'm making this up? -once, an actual turntable. And he liked making long drives spur of the moment, for instance even in recent years showing up suddenly at the Beachcomber from NYC, ready to roll.

When I hung out with George, he was just starting to fool with playing music a little bit, so I didn't know him well as a player, most of that came later, but always marveled at his loopy, playful touch on the bass. He was the First Of the Extremely Loud Snorers (Fred Boak being The Second, years later), and either one of them were really impressive on a nightly basis -it was like sleeping with World War One.

He was also a conspiracy theorist, and would gleefully detail the exploits of the Masons, for instance, who he seemed the most suspicious of, at the slightest provocation, always forecasting the grimmest outcomes with a Cheshire cat grin. Perhaps it was the grin and the theories that led to his nickname, the Guru.

I'll miss the Guru. He was one of those people you could not see at all for years, and then see him and fall right back into a natural rhythm like the last time you saw him was yesterday. There's never enough of those people. I can't imagine him not being in a van somewhere. I'll bet he still is in a van, somewhere.

So long, bub.