It occurred to me recently that with some music it's all about what happens in the first (say) twenty seconds, and that it takes a special talent to figure out how to grab someone in that short space of time, and to keep them involved to the end of the tune, even though nothing much better is going to happen after whatever initial burst of brilliance occurs. (Of course, it's even more difficult to sustain this sort of interest-without-development for more than four minutes or so.)
Is this a definition of pop?
Case study #1: Warren Zevon: "Lawyers, Guns, and Money." One of the most intriguing openings in modern rock: "I went home with a waitress / the way I always do / how was I to know / she was with the Russians too?" Does the tune go anywhere after that? Not really -- the groove and melody and lyrical punch all lead off, and everything else is just reinforcement or repetition. That sounds like a criticism, but it ain't -- this is one killer tune, and that fact that it works in spite of the frontloading is a testament to the fact that WZ is still underappreciated, even after all the drama surrounding his death.
Case study #2: Flaming Lips: "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots." It starts off like this: "Her name is Yoshimi / she's a black belt in karate / working for the city / she has to discipline her body." My only thought at the end of those four lines: "What the fuck is this song going to be about? No really, tell me!" As a jazzer, I know I'm not supposed to like these guys (who don't even seem to think of themselves as "real musicians") but I do. They've got the "lead with the strongest bit" thing down pat. It's impressive in four lines, but check it out in two: here's the opening from "Race for the Prize" (from their best album, The Soft Bulletin): "Two scientists were racing / for the good of all mankind." Okay, you've got me. Where we goin'?
Case study #3: Ween: "The Mollusk." "Hey little boy, what you got there? / Kind sir it's a mollusk I've found / Did you find it in the sandy ground? / Does it emulate the ocean's sound?" Another band that doesn't exactly fit the profile of "the music a jazz composer is supposed to listen to" (these guys never seem to write anything but 2- and 4-bar phrases), I love Ween in spite of myself. This tune (from the album of the same name) isn't quite as good an example of what I'm talking about as #1 or #2, but it's the same idea -- about halfway through, the momentum peters out -- but the tune persists, because the opening is so, well, forceful and bizarre.
Frontloaded, forceful, static, persistent: some music just works this way.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
And because I haven't yet wasted enough of your time with YouTube this week...
The potential disappearance of stuff like this: one more reason it would suck if the site went out-and-out corporate.
(Wait -- have they?)
Anyway, whatever you think of the tune, ya gotta dig a quartet of dancing timpani players.
(And yes, the singers here are the very same "Peanuts" who appeared to great effect in various Godzilla movies. Here they perform one of their hits: "Koi no Fuga.")
How I define "success"
I will know the IJG has "made it" when we're able to afford (and perform in) costumes like these.
I call the Octopus!
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Made in Jersey
No one could ever accuse me of being a booster for my home state, but I must admit I get a rush every time I discover someone about whom I can simultaneously say "he/she's doing something artistically interesting" and "he/she's from New Jersey." So here's the latest entry in the incongruity sweepstakes.
"How I try to relate to my shipmates" -- now there's a line for these times.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Get involved, get involved, get involved
Sweet christ on a cracker, is the RIAA still pulling this nonsense? (Click the link for a description of the problem and a probably-futile-but-worth-a-try response.)
Not that I use net radio or services like Pandora. But aside from the strong-arm intimidation tactics at work here, anything that fences in whatever little public forums are still left for listening to new music really cheeses me off.
In other news, you all probably knew this already, but I just learned that Don Cheadle will be directing and starring in a biopic about Miles Davis (you know, that guy who "rocked the trumpet"). I guess that's good, though I've never understood the appeal of the dramatic-film-about-a-musician genre. In the case of that much ballyhooed flick about another personal hero, I found myself pretty bored. Which I take it is the exact opposite reaction from the one these films are supposed to elicit. But honestly, how can a dramatic recreation compete with a documetary or concert film? Unless, of course, one isn't so interested in the music.
My feeling is, if you're going to use actors and the conventions of drama, why not deliberately err on the side of fiction? Instead of a "biopic," create something loosely based on a biography (or biographies), as was the case in, say, Round Midnight (and, what the hell, Citizen Kane).
Finally, if you haven't read Ethan Iverson's paean to Andrew Hill, it is well worth your time. I know that's sort of a redundant way of describing most anything that appears on the DTM blog, but I'm citing this piece in particular because of a few sentences that caught my attention. Iverson writes that "[e]very musician who worked with Andrew Hill in recent years confirms that he liked to keep it a little chaotic. For example, he would rehearse the music one way, and then, at the last second, change the arrangement or even the parts. This would guarantee mistakes but also freshness in the performance."
Yes! I'm really looking forward to trashing some of the IJG setlist this summer... we've been playing these tunes for a year or two now, and while it has been deeply satisfying to get to the point where most of the group knows the stuff well enough that we can play with a higher-than-ever level of precision, I want to hear a whole new set of mistakes, and more importantly, I want to get a whole new whiff of freshness.
Not that I use net radio or services like Pandora. But aside from the strong-arm intimidation tactics at work here, anything that fences in whatever little public forums are still left for listening to new music really cheeses me off.
In other news, you all probably knew this already, but I just learned that Don Cheadle will be directing and starring in a biopic about Miles Davis (you know, that guy who "rocked the trumpet"). I guess that's good, though I've never understood the appeal of the dramatic-film-about-a-musician genre. In the case of that much ballyhooed flick about another personal hero, I found myself pretty bored. Which I take it is the exact opposite reaction from the one these films are supposed to elicit. But honestly, how can a dramatic recreation compete with a documetary or concert film? Unless, of course, one isn't so interested in the music.
My feeling is, if you're going to use actors and the conventions of drama, why not deliberately err on the side of fiction? Instead of a "biopic," create something loosely based on a biography (or biographies), as was the case in, say, Round Midnight (and, what the hell, Citizen Kane).
Finally, if you haven't read Ethan Iverson's paean to Andrew Hill, it is well worth your time. I know that's sort of a redundant way of describing most anything that appears on the DTM blog, but I'm citing this piece in particular because of a few sentences that caught my attention. Iverson writes that "[e]very musician who worked with Andrew Hill in recent years confirms that he liked to keep it a little chaotic. For example, he would rehearse the music one way, and then, at the last second, change the arrangement or even the parts. This would guarantee mistakes but also freshness in the performance."
Yes! I'm really looking forward to trashing some of the IJG setlist this summer... we've been playing these tunes for a year or two now, and while it has been deeply satisfying to get to the point where most of the group knows the stuff well enough that we can play with a higher-than-ever level of precision, I want to hear a whole new set of mistakes, and more importantly, I want to get a whole new whiff of freshness.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
UsTube
About time we started getting some IJG videos posted on this thingamajig, n'est-ce pas? The above is from our CD release show at the Barnsdall Gallery Theater about a year ago. (Filmed by Matt Lichtenwalner.)
Here's another, recorded in Bakersfield (August tour, 2004) in the middle of our "tentet phase"; the alto soloist is Evan Francis, and the rest of the band is Damon Zick (bari), Matt Otto (tenor), Jason Mears (soprano), Shaunte Palmer (bone), Kris Tiner (trumpet), Phil Rodriguez (trumpet), Robert Jacobson (guitar), Harish Raghavan (bass), and Aaron McLendon (drums):
And another of the IJG quintet breakout group performing at Moody's (also August 2004):
These ain't too spectacular, I know. There is actually a lot of other (and better) footage of the group, but most of it is not in a postable format at the moment. However, as I said, it's about time -- so watch this space, godammit.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Going forward to get back
I know, I know; not only am I behind on my blogging (and so many other things), but the sequence-of-events component of this thing is starting to read like the fractured chronology of a Faulkner novel. (And speaking of novelists, holy cow am I (still) bummed that Vonnegut is gone. I know he was an old guy and everything, and I know he's probably a lot happier wherever he is now. But he was one of the good guys -- and, by the way, a not-insignificant influence on my own worldview and philosophy. And so on.)
Let me explain: I still have to provide some sort of after-the-fact recap of the recent "return to SoCal" tour. That post is long overdue, and only coming together slowly. So what'll I do in the meantime? Well, why not look ahead and spill the beans on the next batch of stuff in store for the group?
Sure, that makes sense. Let's see. How 'bout starting thisaway:
May 2007, with a little luck, could be a high point in what has already been the best year the group has ever had.
For one thing, we'll be performing in a pretty sweet slot at the Bakersfield Jazz Festival on May 12 (we're the third-from-last act, followed by Matt Wilson (yee-haw!) and Lee "too smooth for school" Ritenour). That will be a milestone in itself -- not because it will be our first festival (a "distinction" which belongs to the Brewery Arts Center Festival in Carson City, NV), but because I'll actually be able to guarantee everyone in the group more than a hundred dollars for a gig (don't worry, I'm not going to delve too far here into the boring woe-is-me behind-the-scenes economics of a postmodern big band). A low three bills probably sounds like a pittance for anyone who deals in trios, quartets, and quintets, but believe me, when it comes to a group this large (playing left-of-center music, no less) it's a real coup. Credit must go to Kris Tiner (who thankfully will be rejoining the group for this gig), at whose gentle insistence Doug Davis -- the very sweet guy who heads up the festival and the jazz department at Cal State Bakersfield) finally got to check us out, first at our Bakersfield gig last August, and a second time at IAJE. I guess we made some sort of impression.
The other upcoming event-of-note is our May trip to the Netherlands. We'll be performing (twice) at the Hague Jazz Festival (May 16 and 18), and also squeezing in a show at the world-famous BimHuis in Amsterdam (May 17). I've been keeping this one on the down-low, partly because I didn't want to jinx it, and partly because I believed for a while that it was all some sort of cruel hoax. The booking originated in our IAJE performance this past January -- that's where I met Ruud Wijkniet, who liked our show well enough that he immediately invited us to play the festival, all-expenses paid. Again, I was more or less very suspicious, but it turns out that Ruud was for real (and, like Doug, very pleasant to work with -- where have these folks been hiding for the last seven years?). Now that our travel arrangements have beeen finalized, I feel it's safe to act as if the trip is really going to happen. Needless to say, I'm (cautiously) psyched.
For those of you who are interested, the bands for these gigs will be as follows. For both, we'll have Dan Schnelle (drums), Oliver Newell (bass), Jill Knapp (vocals), Dan Rosenboom (trumpet), Evan Francis (alto), Cory Wright (soprano), and Brian Walsh (tenor). In Bakersfield, add Stephanie Richards and (of course) Kris Tiner, trumpets; Ian Carroll and Ron Christian (bones); Gavin Templeton, Ben Wendel, and Damon Zick (saxophones). In the Netherlands, the substitutions will be Andre Canniere and Phil Rodriguez (trumpets), Beth Schenck, Katharina Thomsen, and Josh Sinton (saxes), and Wolter Wierbos and James Hirschfeld (bones). That's right, for the Netherlands gigs I'll be borrowing key players (Canniere, Sinton, and Hirschfeld) from my favorite east coast big band, DJA's Secret Society. I'll also be bringing in two heavy hitters from the Dutch scene: one lesser-known (Thomsen), and one pretty goddamm well-known (Wolter Wierbos).
The only problem with all this goodness is: where do we go next? (Ah, well, I'll figure it out when we get there.)
Given that this is an important moment in the life of the band (even if we never get any further), I have been allowing myself an unusual amount of self-analysis as I consider what we've accomplished with the last two incarnations (specifically, the Go-Go era tentet group and the Mix-Tape-era big band). Of course, just because I've been allowing myself to indulge in this sort of intro-speckshun doesn't mean that I don't know in my heart of hearts that any conclusions I draw may be more or less total bullshit. I have always found that I compose best when I don't overthink what I'm doing (not that that's an appropriate strategy for all composers). So what follows will be a very loosey-goosey sketch of what I consider to be the elements of the mature IJG "sound." It's all off the top of my head, without actually going back to listen or think through the repertoire in question. Contradict me if you must!
1. Hearty portions of the basic building blocks of popular music (mostly American popular music, but not exclusively), often tweaked and permutated beyond recognition. What do I mean by the "basic building blocks" (BBBs, I guess) of popular music? Specific riffs, phrases, rhythms, harmonic progressions (and so on) that get used repeatedly in that canon. I'm not talking about broad genre characteristics (like the blues scale, for instance), but rather more specific (though still recurring) things. (See, for instance, the bassline at the beginning of "Doo Wha?", or the repeated rhythm at the beginning of "Bongo Non Troppo" -- these BBBs can be found all over the place in American popular music (in various permutations, of course).)
2. Displacement. As a way of building tension, I like to take intact figures (a portion of a melody, for instance) and set them off, complete, against their originals. This may occur horizontally (in time), usually at some counterintuitive spot (like one beat away), or vertically (creating a parallel harmony). The crucial thing for me is that the listener be able to recognize the displacement -- so I don't try to hide it (thus parallels stay parallel most times).
3. Simple canons, rounds, etc. Canons / rounds are displacement built up in a comparatively fancy way. That's probably how I got here -- though I should also acknowledge the influence of twentieth-century round-master, Moondog.
4. Strong melodies. I started seriously writing music in high school -- a time when I was strongly influence by the Beatles. Is it any wonder that I still give a shit about a beautiful melody when I can squeeze it in? Sometimes this interest yields what I would call "pseudo-folk" melodies like the one that appears in "Bandoleero, part one." Honestly, I don't think my melodies are all that great by classical music standards (they don't usually rise and fall in the traditional way), but I can write catchy music when I put my mind to it. I used to flee from this ("it can't be weird and tuneful at the same time!" I told myself), but now I just throw caution to the winds let the notes fall where they may.
5. Taking simple ideas to their extremes. Why subdivide by eighth notes when you can subdivide by sixteenths? Why change the tempo once when you can change it twice, or three times? And so on.
6. Layering / reverse layering. This is a Mingus-ism (see "Moanin'" on Blues and Roots for perhaps the best example, though my favorite Mingus tune ("Hora Decubitus") does something similar). Start with one instrument, add another, add another, and so on until you have the densest thing you can still hear individual voices in.
7. Long compositions with mutiple disconnected “movements.” I have always been interested in form, but with the current version of the group I seem to be going for sequential, episodic structures as opposed to organic, narrative ones. I'm not trying to tell you a story when I write. Instead, I want to make you aware of how the book is made.
8. Juxtaposition of unlike things. Beautiful melodies cohabitate with noise; genres collide incongruously; endless, seemingly-static vamps cohabitate with rapid change and forward motion (more of a Go Go era thing for me, that last one is a technique borrowed from Zappa); and so on.
9. Naturalistic use of odd time signatures. See the story in this post about people clapping along to the 3/2 section at the end of "Fuck the Muck."
10. Timbral substitution. Take a figure heavily identified with one instrument (such as a boogie woogie piano bassline) and put it in a horn (for instance).
11. Comedy. Been thinking about what I mean by this, and I know I'll have to return to it. I guess I feel most comfortable using the word "comedy" to describe a category of resistance to authority (with the assumption that authority is always corrupt / arbitrary / unkind). More specifically, for me, it's the idea of resistance-from-within (and thus is somewhat incompatible with (and suspicious of) the notion of a pure revolution "from outside"). Oh, and it also has to be funny.
I told you it was loosey-goosey.
* * * * *
Addendum: Just got the sad news. RIP Andrew Hill.
Let me explain: I still have to provide some sort of after-the-fact recap of the recent "return to SoCal" tour. That post is long overdue, and only coming together slowly. So what'll I do in the meantime? Well, why not look ahead and spill the beans on the next batch of stuff in store for the group?
Sure, that makes sense. Let's see. How 'bout starting thisaway:
May 2007, with a little luck, could be a high point in what has already been the best year the group has ever had.
For one thing, we'll be performing in a pretty sweet slot at the Bakersfield Jazz Festival on May 12 (we're the third-from-last act, followed by Matt Wilson (yee-haw!) and Lee "too smooth for school" Ritenour). That will be a milestone in itself -- not because it will be our first festival (a "distinction" which belongs to the Brewery Arts Center Festival in Carson City, NV), but because I'll actually be able to guarantee everyone in the group more than a hundred dollars for a gig (don't worry, I'm not going to delve too far here into the boring woe-is-me behind-the-scenes economics of a postmodern big band). A low three bills probably sounds like a pittance for anyone who deals in trios, quartets, and quintets, but believe me, when it comes to a group this large (playing left-of-center music, no less) it's a real coup. Credit must go to Kris Tiner (who thankfully will be rejoining the group for this gig), at whose gentle insistence Doug Davis -- the very sweet guy who heads up the festival and the jazz department at Cal State Bakersfield) finally got to check us out, first at our Bakersfield gig last August, and a second time at IAJE. I guess we made some sort of impression.
The other upcoming event-of-note is our May trip to the Netherlands. We'll be performing (twice) at the Hague Jazz Festival (May 16 and 18), and also squeezing in a show at the world-famous BimHuis in Amsterdam (May 17). I've been keeping this one on the down-low, partly because I didn't want to jinx it, and partly because I believed for a while that it was all some sort of cruel hoax. The booking originated in our IAJE performance this past January -- that's where I met Ruud Wijkniet, who liked our show well enough that he immediately invited us to play the festival, all-expenses paid. Again, I was more or less very suspicious, but it turns out that Ruud was for real (and, like Doug, very pleasant to work with -- where have these folks been hiding for the last seven years?). Now that our travel arrangements have beeen finalized, I feel it's safe to act as if the trip is really going to happen. Needless to say, I'm (cautiously) psyched.
For those of you who are interested, the bands for these gigs will be as follows. For both, we'll have Dan Schnelle (drums), Oliver Newell (bass), Jill Knapp (vocals), Dan Rosenboom (trumpet), Evan Francis (alto), Cory Wright (soprano), and Brian Walsh (tenor). In Bakersfield, add Stephanie Richards and (of course) Kris Tiner, trumpets; Ian Carroll and Ron Christian (bones); Gavin Templeton, Ben Wendel, and Damon Zick (saxophones). In the Netherlands, the substitutions will be Andre Canniere and Phil Rodriguez (trumpets), Beth Schenck, Katharina Thomsen, and Josh Sinton (saxes), and Wolter Wierbos and James Hirschfeld (bones). That's right, for the Netherlands gigs I'll be borrowing key players (Canniere, Sinton, and Hirschfeld) from my favorite east coast big band, DJA's Secret Society. I'll also be bringing in two heavy hitters from the Dutch scene: one lesser-known (Thomsen), and one pretty goddamm well-known (Wolter Wierbos).
The only problem with all this goodness is: where do we go next? (Ah, well, I'll figure it out when we get there.)
Given that this is an important moment in the life of the band (even if we never get any further), I have been allowing myself an unusual amount of self-analysis as I consider what we've accomplished with the last two incarnations (specifically, the Go-Go era tentet group and the Mix-Tape-era big band). Of course, just because I've been allowing myself to indulge in this sort of intro-speckshun doesn't mean that I don't know in my heart of hearts that any conclusions I draw may be more or less total bullshit. I have always found that I compose best when I don't overthink what I'm doing (not that that's an appropriate strategy for all composers). So what follows will be a very loosey-goosey sketch of what I consider to be the elements of the mature IJG "sound." It's all off the top of my head, without actually going back to listen or think through the repertoire in question. Contradict me if you must!
1. Hearty portions of the basic building blocks of popular music (mostly American popular music, but not exclusively), often tweaked and permutated beyond recognition. What do I mean by the "basic building blocks" (BBBs, I guess) of popular music? Specific riffs, phrases, rhythms, harmonic progressions (and so on) that get used repeatedly in that canon. I'm not talking about broad genre characteristics (like the blues scale, for instance), but rather more specific (though still recurring) things. (See, for instance, the bassline at the beginning of "Doo Wha?", or the repeated rhythm at the beginning of "Bongo Non Troppo" -- these BBBs can be found all over the place in American popular music (in various permutations, of course).)
2. Displacement. As a way of building tension, I like to take intact figures (a portion of a melody, for instance) and set them off, complete, against their originals. This may occur horizontally (in time), usually at some counterintuitive spot (like one beat away), or vertically (creating a parallel harmony). The crucial thing for me is that the listener be able to recognize the displacement -- so I don't try to hide it (thus parallels stay parallel most times).
3. Simple canons, rounds, etc. Canons / rounds are displacement built up in a comparatively fancy way. That's probably how I got here -- though I should also acknowledge the influence of twentieth-century round-master, Moondog.
4. Strong melodies. I started seriously writing music in high school -- a time when I was strongly influence by the Beatles. Is it any wonder that I still give a shit about a beautiful melody when I can squeeze it in? Sometimes this interest yields what I would call "pseudo-folk" melodies like the one that appears in "Bandoleero, part one." Honestly, I don't think my melodies are all that great by classical music standards (they don't usually rise and fall in the traditional way), but I can write catchy music when I put my mind to it. I used to flee from this ("it can't be weird and tuneful at the same time!" I told myself), but now I just throw caution to the winds let the notes fall where they may.
5. Taking simple ideas to their extremes. Why subdivide by eighth notes when you can subdivide by sixteenths? Why change the tempo once when you can change it twice, or three times? And so on.
6. Layering / reverse layering. This is a Mingus-ism (see "Moanin'" on Blues and Roots for perhaps the best example, though my favorite Mingus tune ("Hora Decubitus") does something similar). Start with one instrument, add another, add another, and so on until you have the densest thing you can still hear individual voices in.
7. Long compositions with mutiple disconnected “movements.” I have always been interested in form, but with the current version of the group I seem to be going for sequential, episodic structures as opposed to organic, narrative ones. I'm not trying to tell you a story when I write. Instead, I want to make you aware of how the book is made.
8. Juxtaposition of unlike things. Beautiful melodies cohabitate with noise; genres collide incongruously; endless, seemingly-static vamps cohabitate with rapid change and forward motion (more of a Go Go era thing for me, that last one is a technique borrowed from Zappa); and so on.
9. Naturalistic use of odd time signatures. See the story in this post about people clapping along to the 3/2 section at the end of "Fuck the Muck."
10. Timbral substitution. Take a figure heavily identified with one instrument (such as a boogie woogie piano bassline) and put it in a horn (for instance).
11. Comedy. Been thinking about what I mean by this, and I know I'll have to return to it. I guess I feel most comfortable using the word "comedy" to describe a category of resistance to authority (with the assumption that authority is always corrupt / arbitrary / unkind). More specifically, for me, it's the idea of resistance-from-within (and thus is somewhat incompatible with (and suspicious of) the notion of a pure revolution "from outside"). Oh, and it also has to be funny.
I told you it was loosey-goosey.
* * * * *
Addendum: Just got the sad news. RIP Andrew Hill.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Flo & Eddie on the music biz
A little video here.
And Mark Volman's consulting site.
Have I ever mentioned that the version of "Sofa no. 1" that appears on You Can't Do That on Stage Anymore, vol. 1 is one of my favorite recordings?
A short post, I know. More soon.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Return of the son of Industrial Jazz Group
[Editor's note: Ah, yes. Here is the post I would have published last week at about this time, if only I hadn't started developing what initially seemed like an innocent-enough headcold. The sequel to this post -- you know, the usual apres-tour "here's what actually happened in excruciating detail" post -- will be forthcoming later this week. But for those of you interested in the bottom line: this trip to SoCal was well worth it.]
So I'll be heading down to Los Angeles next week for more band-related madness: a pair of gigs in the San Diego area on March 28 (one at Mesa College, and one at Dizzy's -- the latter has historically been one of our favorite places to play), and then a more-and-more-illicit-sounding engagement at 2nd Street Jazz in downtown LA (it appears we'll be hitting at 1 AM on the morning of March 30). It will be my first time back in southern California since mid-Fall of '06, and I'm very curious to see what (if anything) has changed, either about the place itself, or about my perception of it.
If nothing else, it will be a rush to reconnect with some of the beloved IJG veterans, as Jill and I will be joined by key players from the east coast tour: Dan Schnelle (drums), Oliver Newell (bass), Dan Rosenboom (trumpet), Damon Zick (bari), Brian Walsh (tenor), Evan Francis (alto), and Ben Wendel (tenor) [editor's note: as it turned out, Wendel couldn't make these gigs]. Other long-lost personnel with whom we will be joyously reunited: Ryan Perez-Daple (soprano) and Ron Christian (bone) [editor's note: as it turned out, Christian couldn't make these gigs either -- thankfully, we were able to enlist the help of SD bonist Brandon Jagow for Dizzy's]. Of course, it wouldn't be an IJG tour without a few new faces as well, and so we welcome trumpeters Stephanie Richards and Clinton Patterson stepping in for Phil Rodriguez and Kris Tiner, respectively (Phil is now based in Brooklyn, and Kris will soon be based in new-daddy-land -- a country I know well), soprano saxophonist Gavin Templeton (sitting in for Cory Wright), trombonist Ian Carroll (sitting in for any one of our last several trombonists), and baritone saxophonist Gabriel Sundy (sitting in for Damon at Mesa only [editor's note: as it turned out, the very versatile Sundy played 2nd tenor at the Dizzy's gig as well]).
(Do you ever get the feeling that I use these gig-announcement posts to rehearse the names of the players?)
It will be an IJG-packed four days for me. Aside from the shows, I have set aside ample chunks of time to continue working on the new album(s) (why the plural? ...well, it looks like there is enough material for two releases... more on that later), which have already been in progress for almost a year now. Maybe it's because of this preoccupation with getting the record(s) done that I have been particularly interested to see the little blogospheric flurry of musings on the question of recording and jazz. For me it started with KT's sharing of Nate Dorward's Signal to Noise review of two of his quartet's releases. Check it out for yourself. The thing that sort of jumped out at me was Dorward's apparent discomfort with the quality of the recording of the live Hello the Damage discs (as if somehow "poor audio quality" isn't a factor in some of the best jazz records you will ever hear (Hello, Birth of the Cool)). The always-thorough DJA picked up on this too, and nicely folded it into a response to one of Daniel Melnick's posts over at Soundslope (with me so far?). That Soundslope post is rather sophistimacated (as most of them seem to be), but let me try and do it justice: after three paragraphs on microlending, Daniel jumps into the subject of recording, helpfully pointing toward two relevant essays from the OkkaDisk site: Kevin Whitehead's "Why many records are very bad -- and a few are good," and Stu Vandermark's "Recording Jazz: A Questionable Practice? (or, a Call for Re-examination)."
When you take all this stuff together (or at least when I did), it seems there are two bottom-line issues here. I'll try and address 'em one at a time, while simultaneously remembering my desire to lose self-importance:
1. Issue the first: the idea that, when it comes to jazz, "live" is better than "recorded" (a view articulated in the Vandermark piece). Honestly, I almost choked on my coffee when I read that. Why don't we try and prop up old saws like "east coast jazz is better than west coast jazz" or "it can only be jazz if it swings" while we're at it?
Look, I love live jazz. I love live music, period. But I love good records too, and I refuse to see them as pale reflections of some pure, authentic experience. That's a little too churchy for me. Hell, I'll admit it: there are times (like when one of the exceedingly uncomfortable chairs that tend to populate most venues wreaks havoc on my arthritic back) that I would much prefer to be listening with headphones at home.
Maybe the thing that is so frustrating about the Vandermark piece is that some of his observations are actually pretty right-on. F'r'instance: of course jazz is "an ongoing process" -- all art is, really, regardless of the myths we tell ourselves about "finished" works -- and that's why folks like Ellington, Mingus, and Monk were constantly re-recording their pieces (in addition to re-performing them live).
But a lot of SV's statements can be turned inside-out and still ring true in an entirely different way, for an entirely different audience. For every listener who finds that recordings don't live up to the "magic" of a performer's live vibe, there are others who could safely argue that live (or other recorded) renditions of a given tune inevitably fail to match up with the je ne sais quoi of a certain recording. It is hard to imagine a version of "Lotus Blossom" as powerful as the almost casual solo piano one that appears on ...And His Mother Called Him Bill. And for all the great instances of "Mood Indigo," none comes close to the Okeh version, which, incidentally, actually derives some of its beautiful creepiness from the recording technology itself (it's the same phenomenon in black and white films; a technological "limitation" becomes a part of the aesthetic). Of course, there are more (and more famous) examples from the world of rock: "Like a Rolling Stone" is one of those tunes that only seemed to work at one specific moment in the context of its original recording session (as Greil Marcus has argued).
2. Issue the second: the idea that the "lo-fi" aesthetic is verboten amongst those of the jazz persuasion. This is actually true, at least in my experience, but I want to bemoan it with all of the sense of tragedy I can muster.
I don't see lo-fi so much as a question of cost -- strictly in terms of "man hours," a competent jazz quartet recorded by an expensive engineer with all of the best gear in a nice room can probably get their record over and done with long before (and thus at a lower price than) their endlessly-fiddling post-rock "home studio" comrades. The "fi" in "lo fi," of course, refers to "fidelity" (aka "authenticity") and this is where I start to ponder the situation. It should be obvious by now that I adore the sound of acoustic instruments, and the possibilities you get when you assemble a lot of them together in a room -- clearly, if I didn't, I could do what I'm doing with the IJG much more cheaply with some sort of elaborate keyboard/guitar setup. But I have never understood why jazz records are held up to the standard of verisimilitude above all else -- why they strive to create the impression that somehow there is no studio, and why they altogether miss the artistic potential recording technology has to offer.
The studio is just another creative device, like a key, or a time signature, or a horn. But it's as if we jazzers see it as purely an inscription tool, and aren't the least bit curious about what all of those freakin' buttons and dials can do for us.
So I'll be heading down to Los Angeles next week for more band-related madness: a pair of gigs in the San Diego area on March 28 (one at Mesa College, and one at Dizzy's -- the latter has historically been one of our favorite places to play), and then a more-and-more-illicit-sounding engagement at 2nd Street Jazz in downtown LA (it appears we'll be hitting at 1 AM on the morning of March 30). It will be my first time back in southern California since mid-Fall of '06, and I'm very curious to see what (if anything) has changed, either about the place itself, or about my perception of it.
If nothing else, it will be a rush to reconnect with some of the beloved IJG veterans, as Jill and I will be joined by key players from the east coast tour: Dan Schnelle (drums), Oliver Newell (bass), Dan Rosenboom (trumpet), Damon Zick (bari), Brian Walsh (tenor), Evan Francis (alto), and Ben Wendel (tenor) [editor's note: as it turned out, Wendel couldn't make these gigs]. Other long-lost personnel with whom we will be joyously reunited: Ryan Perez-Daple (soprano) and Ron Christian (bone) [editor's note: as it turned out, Christian couldn't make these gigs either -- thankfully, we were able to enlist the help of SD bonist Brandon Jagow for Dizzy's]. Of course, it wouldn't be an IJG tour without a few new faces as well, and so we welcome trumpeters Stephanie Richards and Clinton Patterson stepping in for Phil Rodriguez and Kris Tiner, respectively (Phil is now based in Brooklyn, and Kris will soon be based in new-daddy-land -- a country I know well), soprano saxophonist Gavin Templeton (sitting in for Cory Wright), trombonist Ian Carroll (sitting in for any one of our last several trombonists), and baritone saxophonist Gabriel Sundy (sitting in for Damon at Mesa only [editor's note: as it turned out, the very versatile Sundy played 2nd tenor at the Dizzy's gig as well]).
(Do you ever get the feeling that I use these gig-announcement posts to rehearse the names of the players?)
It will be an IJG-packed four days for me. Aside from the shows, I have set aside ample chunks of time to continue working on the new album(s) (why the plural? ...well, it looks like there is enough material for two releases... more on that later), which have already been in progress for almost a year now. Maybe it's because of this preoccupation with getting the record(s) done that I have been particularly interested to see the little blogospheric flurry of musings on the question of recording and jazz. For me it started with KT's sharing of Nate Dorward's Signal to Noise review of two of his quartet's releases. Check it out for yourself. The thing that sort of jumped out at me was Dorward's apparent discomfort with the quality of the recording of the live Hello the Damage discs (as if somehow "poor audio quality" isn't a factor in some of the best jazz records you will ever hear (Hello, Birth of the Cool)). The always-thorough DJA picked up on this too, and nicely folded it into a response to one of Daniel Melnick's posts over at Soundslope (with me so far?). That Soundslope post is rather sophistimacated (as most of them seem to be), but let me try and do it justice: after three paragraphs on microlending, Daniel jumps into the subject of recording, helpfully pointing toward two relevant essays from the OkkaDisk site: Kevin Whitehead's "Why many records are very bad -- and a few are good," and Stu Vandermark's "Recording Jazz: A Questionable Practice? (or, a Call for Re-examination)."
When you take all this stuff together (or at least when I did), it seems there are two bottom-line issues here. I'll try and address 'em one at a time, while simultaneously remembering my desire to lose self-importance:
1. Issue the first: the idea that, when it comes to jazz, "live" is better than "recorded" (a view articulated in the Vandermark piece). Honestly, I almost choked on my coffee when I read that. Why don't we try and prop up old saws like "east coast jazz is better than west coast jazz" or "it can only be jazz if it swings" while we're at it?
Look, I love live jazz. I love live music, period. But I love good records too, and I refuse to see them as pale reflections of some pure, authentic experience. That's a little too churchy for me. Hell, I'll admit it: there are times (like when one of the exceedingly uncomfortable chairs that tend to populate most venues wreaks havoc on my arthritic back) that I would much prefer to be listening with headphones at home.
Maybe the thing that is so frustrating about the Vandermark piece is that some of his observations are actually pretty right-on. F'r'instance: of course jazz is "an ongoing process" -- all art is, really, regardless of the myths we tell ourselves about "finished" works -- and that's why folks like Ellington, Mingus, and Monk were constantly re-recording their pieces (in addition to re-performing them live).
But a lot of SV's statements can be turned inside-out and still ring true in an entirely different way, for an entirely different audience. For every listener who finds that recordings don't live up to the "magic" of a performer's live vibe, there are others who could safely argue that live (or other recorded) renditions of a given tune inevitably fail to match up with the je ne sais quoi of a certain recording. It is hard to imagine a version of "Lotus Blossom" as powerful as the almost casual solo piano one that appears on ...And His Mother Called Him Bill. And for all the great instances of "Mood Indigo," none comes close to the Okeh version, which, incidentally, actually derives some of its beautiful creepiness from the recording technology itself (it's the same phenomenon in black and white films; a technological "limitation" becomes a part of the aesthetic). Of course, there are more (and more famous) examples from the world of rock: "Like a Rolling Stone" is one of those tunes that only seemed to work at one specific moment in the context of its original recording session (as Greil Marcus has argued).
2. Issue the second: the idea that the "lo-fi" aesthetic is verboten amongst those of the jazz persuasion. This is actually true, at least in my experience, but I want to bemoan it with all of the sense of tragedy I can muster.
I don't see lo-fi so much as a question of cost -- strictly in terms of "man hours," a competent jazz quartet recorded by an expensive engineer with all of the best gear in a nice room can probably get their record over and done with long before (and thus at a lower price than) their endlessly-fiddling post-rock "home studio" comrades. The "fi" in "lo fi," of course, refers to "fidelity" (aka "authenticity") and this is where I start to ponder the situation. It should be obvious by now that I adore the sound of acoustic instruments, and the possibilities you get when you assemble a lot of them together in a room -- clearly, if I didn't, I could do what I'm doing with the IJG much more cheaply with some sort of elaborate keyboard/guitar setup. But I have never understood why jazz records are held up to the standard of verisimilitude above all else -- why they strive to create the impression that somehow there is no studio, and why they altogether miss the artistic potential recording technology has to offer.
The studio is just another creative device, like a key, or a time signature, or a horn. But it's as if we jazzers see it as purely an inscription tool, and aren't the least bit curious about what all of those freakin' buttons and dials can do for us.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
What? What?
No, really. I can't hear you out of my right ear. That's cuz I have a collapsed eustachean tube, thanks to an epic headcold and a brief ride on a plane last Tuesday.
Ah well. At least the tour is going splendidly... we had a wonderful day in San Diego yesterday, both in terms of the level of musicianship being pulled out of the proverbial hat by folks who had barely had an opportunity to look at the charts ahead of time, and in terms of that oh-so-elusive grail: the warm, supportive, enthusiastic crowd. And so my post-PNW fear that we were going to slip back into the Barnsdall pit has, for the time being anyway, been allayed. Mad, mad props for this turn of events must be extended to Mr. James Romeo, the jazz director at Mesa College, who more or less single-handedly engineered our day-long journey behind the orange curtain.
I will need to return to the subject of this tour, the people involved, and the doings and happenings of note. But at the moment I want to take advantage of the fact that tonight's recording session has been postponed becuase of intonation issues with a piano. I am exhausted, and I need to rest up before our next hit, which is later tonight (er, tomorrow morning), at 1 AM.
In the meantime, here's a representative photo from yesterday's gig at Dizzy's. Bang your head!
Ah well. At least the tour is going splendidly... we had a wonderful day in San Diego yesterday, both in terms of the level of musicianship being pulled out of the proverbial hat by folks who had barely had an opportunity to look at the charts ahead of time, and in terms of that oh-so-elusive grail: the warm, supportive, enthusiastic crowd. And so my post-PNW fear that we were going to slip back into the Barnsdall pit has, for the time being anyway, been allayed. Mad, mad props for this turn of events must be extended to Mr. James Romeo, the jazz director at Mesa College, who more or less single-handedly engineered our day-long journey behind the orange curtain.
I will need to return to the subject of this tour, the people involved, and the doings and happenings of note. But at the moment I want to take advantage of the fact that tonight's recording session has been postponed becuase of intonation issues with a piano. I am exhausted, and I need to rest up before our next hit, which is later tonight (er, tomorrow morning), at 1 AM.
In the meantime, here's a representative photo from yesterday's gig at Dizzy's. Bang your head!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Catch 'em while you can...
Hilarious SNL parody of the happy little brat known as Dora the Explorer (note to KT: DtE is another show to avoid, in my humble opinion). Probably won't be up for very long, given the recent lawsuit against YouTube. But it's the funniest thing I've seen on SNL in a while. (Actually the show seemed unusually consistent last night, though the fake news was weaker-than-usual.)
Also soon disappearing into the ether: WKCR's country music festival. That would be real country music, y'all... listen to it online if yer not in NYC. Great stuff.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Art of the mix tape: no. 1
Here I go again, delving into that oh-so-troublesome activity -- you know, the one which I have inferred in the past is a complete waste of time (or at least something about which I am fairly conflicted) -- writing about music. What's my problem? I'm an addict, I guess.
I'm pretty sure I have already mentioned the working title of the next IJG release (which is currently in process) somewhere in this bloggy mess. But if not, I've been calling it The Art of the Mix Tape, vol. 1. There are numerous references going on there, but the literal one is most relevant to this post, as I hope that what follows will be the first in a series of bloggified mix-tape tracklists (sorry, I'm not ready to start uploading completed mixes yet, though CD-R copies are a possibility if there is an interest).
Like I said, what's my problem? I guess it started with the realization that, of late, I rarely listen to complete "albums" (a term I'm using in the metaphorical, not the LP-specific sense). Maybe in the car once in a while -- but if you're driving, car listening is not really "listening," unless you're being reckless. And usually I'll play albums around the house during the day, but of course I'm always multitasking when I'm "around the house during the day," so that's more like a background music sort of situation too. When I really want to sit down to do some focused (or "deep") listening (usually long after everyone else has gone to bed), it's generally a "surf iTunes" kind of affair. A little bit from column A, a little bit from column B -- kind of like a private radio show with me as both the host and the listener.
This jumping around may be a weakness of mine, I'm not sure. I suppose it sounds a little like evidence of a short attention span, but that wouldn't explain the fact that I can listen to music in this way for hours. And I should point out that there are certain pieces (string quartets, say) where I feel like I'm cheating if I haven't digested the whole thing in a single sitting -- whether or not "the whole thing" takes up an entire disc. But in general I suffer from an urge toward eclecticism.
(Incidentally, sometimes I wonder why so many CD-producers seem consistently compelled to "fill up" the entire available 74-80 minutes with sound, as if somehow the listener is being duped if the content is any shorter? Have we forgotten that there can be as much beauty in well-deployed succintness as there is in an expansive work like Beethoven's Ninth (which, incidentally, is probably the source of the original 74-minute length of the medium)? My own tunes are generally between 5-10 minutes (which, compared to the Ninth is not very long at all), but IJG albums (and many of our live sets, now that I think about it) haven't yet gone longer than an hour, because sixty minutes is about as much of my own stuff as I can stand in a single sitting.)
Anyway, much of my listening time nowadays is taken up with a type of activity that I actually consider a kind of composing: devising mix tapes. Here too I am using the media term in a general, not specific sense -- of course my mixes no longer go on cassettes but end up as either iTunes playlists or, if I really like them, as CD-Rs. But magnetic tape seems the right metaphor for this process because it was this technology that first provided the widespread opportunity for listeners to assemble their own albums out of whatever shorter pieces they saw fit. When I was a kid, "mix tapes" (helpfully organized with dopey titles like "Billy Bang's Bawdy B-Sides") were how I kept track of the music that mattered to me, and how I shared my love of specific artists or pieces with my friends. The ones that survived endless replays still serve as useful touchstones for specific moments of my musical development.
I recently realized that the idea of a "mix tape" also resonates for me as a metaphor for what I am after as an artist. I have been trying like mad for several years now to divest myself of the impulse to view music as a linearly-evolving phenomenon in which the artist's role is to come up with the next innovation -- a pursuit that must of necessity repeat itself every few years (thus the concept of successive artistic "schools" or "movements," all developing in some relation to a timeline, and thus all beholden to varying notions of "progress" or "retrenchment"). I do see the value in linearity (obviously one of the main engines driving the development of western music for the last few centuries), but as I get older it has become less interesting to me than the more, well, "wholistic" (call it totalist if you like, but that wouldn't be exactly right, and besides, it sounds too much like "totalitarianism") approach of trying to look at everything that has been done, and attempting to incorporate it all (or even, say, a generous smattering of it) into a personally distinctive, generous, celebratory hybrid. Truly innovative musical developments seem (in their rhetoric, at least) to resist hybridity to some extent -- typically casting off the "shackles" of some preceding idea -- but I'm after hybridity in my life, and I'm after hybridity in my art. Which is not to say that I've achieved either, or that either is thoroughly possible (it's always a question of degree, I guess) -- just that this is my current modus operandi.
I know I'll need to say more about this "postmodernism-through-zen" (huh?) thing at some point (I'm still figuring out what I mean by it, anyway). But for now, enough blather. On to the mix! It's a work-in-progress (as they always are), and it's heavily weighted in certain directions, but I've tried it out in a few contexts, and it's a good listen. I'm gonna attempt to be sparing on the commentary, but on most of these, I can't resist (damn you, left brain!)...
Art of the Mix Tape No 1
[Note: I started with the intention of linking all of these, but that proved to be too tedious a task. A simple google search will yield up something interesting on most of 'em.]
1. Rene Hall's Orchestra And Willy Joe: "Twitchy"
Your basic out-of-tune call-and-response rock-and-roll goodness. The unitar riff does indeed sound like it is twitching (a unitar is a one-string guitar: get it?).
2. Gene Pitney: "Town Without Pity"
3. Gene Pitney: "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance"
Bombastic and melodramatic as hell, Gene Pitney was one of the poppier of the early rock idols. It's hard to hear this stuff now as anything other than camp, but some would argue that Pitney preceded the Beatles in his presentation of new textures (sitars, for instance) for pop music. Like another dude on this list (see no. 6), his voice was heavily vibrato-fied. So sue me: I love the over-the-top mood of these.
4. Bob Landers With Willy Joe And His Unitar: "Cherokee Dance"
See track one; add vocals.
5. Katie Lee: "Will to Fail"
Something about the transition from the gutteral stomp of "Cherokee Dance" into the sweet, showtune-ish "Will to Fail" (with its celebration of underachievement) really works for me.
6. Tiny Tim: "I Got You, Babe"
He sings both roles: Sonny and Cher. Beware the fake applause at the end.
7. The Techniques: "Queen Majesty"
8. Rashaan Roland Kirk: "The Entertainer [Done in the Style of the Blues]"
Kirk, playing tenor, proves he can do "gutbucket" with the best of them. Yes, this is the Scott Joplin tune: an amazing, raunchy version, which pulls out the "country" potential of what is essentially an "urban" tune (that's not a very good description, but I don't know how to improve upon it).
9. R. Crumb & His Cheap Suit Serenaders: "Get A Load Of This"
Visual art isn't the only thing R. Crumb does well. Here he is playing tenor banjo in a fine 1970s string band revival outfit (except that here they are doing an original tune about, well, junk food).
10. Midlake: "Roscoe"
I don't usually go for modern indie pop (is that what they're calling it now?). If it has guitars, good-looking singers with perfect hair-dos, heartfelt lyrics, hip art, and youth on its side, chances are I'm going to be turned off immediately. But this tune (which arrived at my ears via a most circuitous route) has been played and replayed by me the proverbial umpteen times. I'm at a loss to explain its appeal -- particularly since it seems to reference what I think may be one of the most overrated bands of all time: Fleetwood Mac.
11. The Maytals: "Six & Seven Books Of Moses"
12. Lee Dorsey: "Working In The Coal Mine"
(Incidentally, I recently learned that this New Orleans icon spent a good deal of his youth living in Portland, OR. Wow!)
13. Hombres: "Am I High"
They probably were, as the talent-depleting effect that drugs can have seems evident here.
14. The Holy Modal Rounders: "Boobs A Lot"
Did I mention that obscenity (and its cultural importance) is an obsession of mine?
15. Herbie Nichols: "House Party Starting"
I know what some of you must be saying: at last, something like "real jazz."
16. Henry Mancini & His Orchestra: "Something For Cat"
17. Gerald Wilson: "Bluesnee"
18. Gary McFarland Orchestra with Bill Evans: "Relections in the Park"
Gary McFarland and Gerald Wilson: underrated, but in different ways. Throw in Herbie Nichols (and what the hell, maybe Roland Kirk as well) and you get a certain theme emerging here...
19. Ganimian & His Orientals: "Come With Me To The Casbah"
20. Folkes Brothers: "Oh Carolina"
Maybe one of the first reggae recordings ever?
21. Marianne Faithfull: "I'm a Loser"
Current MF is sort of Marlene Dietrich without the sex appeal. But she put out a live album a few years back that I simply adored (not least because she took on Weill, to great effect). In any case, don't forget that she once sounded like this. Wispy, breathy, girly -- I think "twee" is the term -- yikes. Anyway, it's not the best rendition of this quintessential Lennon tune (the chorus suffers from the absence of one of the swingin'est basslines Paul McCartney ever played), but it's got a certain beat charm.
22. Doodles Weaver: "Eleanor Rigby"
Why is this here? Apart from the obvious Beatles link to the preceding track, I think I dig this one because I am interested in failure as an aesthetic strategy (it offsets success oh so nicely). This rendition of the classic fails over and over again as Mr. Weaver attempts to remember the lyrics, and, instead of doing so, interpolates his own ridiculous words. (Ah, Doodles. Did you really kill yourself at 72?)
[Photo credit: thanks, "Stupid Nick" (if that really is your name).]
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Well, duh
SPIN has a 10-step fix for the music industry.
"Stop releasing crap," eh? What a novel idea!
No, I kid David Browne. Some of these suggestions are actually kinda insightful... like no. 5 (it's the medium, stupid!).
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Passings
Several of my jazz blogosphere compatriots have been eloquently keeping on top of all the recent losses in the music world -- and what a depressing year it has been so far, what with the departure of everyone from Leroy Jenkins to Alice Coltrane to Michael Brecker. I have been moved by reading these tributes, but in general I have felt that my comrades did their blog-eulogies so well that additional commentary from the likes of me was more or less completely unnecessary.
Still, I don't think any of the usual suspects have yet noted the strange sad passing of Boston vocalist Brad Delp. Which is probably just as well, because Boston's contributions to the advancement of jazz are probably negligible. But good music is good music, right? If you're looking for some sort of standard for male hard-rock vocals (and I know you are), Delp was surpassed only by the godlike Freddie Mercury.
In practice, I was never a huge Boston fan. But I respected them, because they did what they did extremely well, and with a hell of a lot more integrity and focus than some of their contemporaries. They were one of those groups whose records earned the dubious distinction of ad nauseum airplay, which nearly ruined them for kids like me. But for better or worse, all of that was forgiven during one hot Fourth of July weekend in high school, when "More Than a Feeling" was revealed as the perfect soundtrack for a moment of teenage lust. What can I say? For that I will always be grateful.
Seattle prattle
Well, that was interesting.
Day two of the latest IJG excursion is now over and done with. The IJG-PNW band did an intrepid job, I must say. It is never an easy thing to learn this music -- but to do so with a minimum of rehearsal, alongside thirteen other musicians who are similarly green; well, that's a real feat. And to have fun in the bargain (as pretty much everyone involved told me that they did) may be the optimal outcome for an experiment like this.
I wouldn't exactly say that I had fun, alas -- even during those moments when things really came together musically, this "tour" was overall a fairly stressful experience. That's partly because the audience turnout was a bit disappointing -- in terms of listeners-per-square foot, it was probably on par with the Barnsdall nadir of last April. (Of the two nights, Seattle was marginally better-attended. Of course it may only have seemed that way because of the architectural configuration of LoFi, which was narrower and more intimate than the cavernous newness of the Someday Lounge. (Both are amazing venues, by the way.))
One measure of the resulting frustration: I actually forgot to introduce Jill in Seattle. This despite the fact that she was the only other "original member" of the group to be on the tour (a circumstance that was only possible because she covered her own airfare), and despite the fact that she provided me with a very valuable point-of-reference throughout the week. Throw in the not-insignificant detail that she is also a dear friend, and you have a very unfortunate situation indeed.
I suppose I should be satisfied with the fact that I managed to fill the entire band with subs, cuz that was certainly the trickiest part of this whole thing. Of course, the musicians who gave of their time had less of a history with the project, which meant that there was a little more of a "hired gun" vibe than I am used to. (That's nobody's fault -- like any other relationship, true musical camaraderie takes time.) On the other hand, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that a few of the PDX / Seattle players, upon seeing the low turnout, refused to accept any money for their services -- a fact for which I am both embarrassed and grateful.
Anyway, the upshot, for me, was that there was just too big of a contrast with the euphoria of January's east coast tour, with its big, happy audiences; its artistic esprit de corps; and its sense that we were finally getting somewhere. I used the (easy) metaphor of a drug to describe that tour, and now that I have been denied my fix, I see how accurate I was. In the wake of the PDX / Seattle shows, I am finding myself irritable, peevish, self-absorbed, and just generally unpleasant to be around. It's a feeling that is fading a little this week, but I'm clearly going through some kind of withdrawal. (The irony is that there are numerous very cool IJG things being planned for the months ahead -- so I'm fairly certain the cycle is going to begin again. The trick now will be figuring out how to sustain the high.)
One of the more positive side effects of the PNW shows is that I got to add Reptet (authors of the above flyer, and bookers of these gigs) to the list of cool new bands the IJG has double-billed with. If I haven't been clear, Reptet is yet another under-the-radar mostly-instrumental jazz-derived ensemble that deserves your attention. Except for our mutual friends Gutbucket, they embody the jazz-punk aesthetic (and lifestyle) perhaps better than any other group I am aware of. Their latest record would have made my "best-of-'06" list, if I had actually heard it in '06. And on top of everything, and at great personal risk, two of their members (Samantha Boshnack on trumpet and Izaak Mills on tenor) joined the IJG ranks on both evenings (and thus ended up playing more music than any of us -- and without any perceptible loss in energy). Reptet are truly the bee's knees, and I hereby thank them officially for their friendship.
In the days immediately after the Seattle show, I kept returning to the question of whether it had been a mistake to go ahead and follow through on these gigs after I had discovered that I couldn't afford to bring up any of the IJG regulars. Aside from my disappointment at the turnout, I still think the tour was the right thing to do. As painful as it was to perform to a near-empty room again, at least I have finally put to rest the nagging feeling that I need to start getting my feet wet in the Pacific Northwest scene (even if if I did end up leading with my face and not my feet). If nothing else, I established a beachhead -- I need to remember that success up here is going to take time. I also met a ton of wonderful musicians (again, thanks to Rob Scheps for this -- and thanks as well to Tim DuRoche, Una O'Riordan, Jonathan Sielaff, and Mary-Sue Tobin). A few of the folks on the gig actually had that certain industrial je ne sais wha?, and so hopefully I won't have seen the last of them on an IJG bandstand.
Oh, yeah, and I think I discovered a new metaphor for the frustrating insanity of the music business (the last metaphor, you may recall, was Christina Aguilera). I can't say more yet, but stay tuned...
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Touching down in PDX
Yesterday started in what was probably the worst way possible. Woke up to exactly the wrong kind of back pain -- the kind that hinted at one of my infrequent "no, you're not going to be able to walk today" bouts with Ankylosing Spondylitis. That's always bad, but it's particularly bad on the day of a gig. Thankfully, I shook it off by mid-morning, but let me tell you, that was a pretty scary couple of hours.
At around the time my back began to loosen up, I received an urgent message (actually sent the previous night, but missed because I had crashed uncharacteristically early, and had made the unusual (but ultimately healthy) decision to unplug the phone / internet for a few hours): Dave Valdez (thanks GDG for the link), the sax player who was (until that moment) on board to play bari for both PNW gigs, had gotten an extremely bad sore throat that had landed him in the emergency room. So it was back to the phones and email, and a few hours later, I was able to capitalize on the fortuitous recent discovery that Ward Baxter -- previously of San Diego, and thus an associate of Nate Hubbard, and thus already an honorary IJG member -- is living in Portland. Ward had helped me out of a jam on Monday by subbing at a rehearsal (on tenor), and he helped me out of a jam last night when he played the gig (on bari). He is now officially "in the club," as far as I'm concerned (he'll be playing again tonight).
After resolving the bari issue, I had a strange phone conversation with the dude who was going to be subbing on the drum book at yesterday's last-minute rehearsal. Upon examining the drum charts, this droll fellow discovered that they were "wrong" (yes, that's the word he used) and that it would consequently be impossible for him "or anyone else" to sight-read them. (Does having the charts for almost a week really count as "sight-reading," by the way?) So he bailed.
What the fuck? I'm willing to own that the way I write charts has its idiosyncrasies, and I'm also willing to own that I have been spoiled by the amazing Schnelle, who seems to be able to read anything I put in front of him. But come on! I've had this band for long enough to have accumulated plenty of evidence that a competent sight-reader can make his or her way through my music (on the drums or any other instrument). It ain't easy, sure, but it can be done. Is the fact that you can't do it my fault? Like, do I really have to take responsibility for that too?
(Sorry for the rant; I was sorta having a bad day so far.) [EDIT: Clearly this rant was uncalled for, but I will leave it up here as evidence of the peevishness I describe in the next post.]
Anyway, that was what things were like before the gig. Here's what they were like during:
Yeah, that's a woefully fuzzy view of Reptet in full swing: note the blur (that means they are ripping it up). Note too that they are clearly beating us in the jazz-musicians-in-funny-outfits-derby.
Picture no. 2 is the IJG moments before downbeat, stage right. Front row: Jake McLean. Back row, l-r: Garner Pruitt, Matt Carr, Samantha Boshnack.
Finally, the IJG moments before downbeat, stage left. Front row, l-r: Rob Scheps (proving that it is indeed easy to be green), Scott Hall. Middle row, l-r: Tom Hill, Stan Bock. Back row, l-r: Paul Gabrielson (with back to camera), Ward Baxter.
I'll have more to say about the music and its reception after tonight's gig in Seattle. For now all I'll say is that I'm extremely grateful that such amazing musicians continue to make time to play in this group.
At around the time my back began to loosen up, I received an urgent message (actually sent the previous night, but missed because I had crashed uncharacteristically early, and had made the unusual (but ultimately healthy) decision to unplug the phone / internet for a few hours): Dave Valdez (thanks GDG for the link), the sax player who was (until that moment) on board to play bari for both PNW gigs, had gotten an extremely bad sore throat that had landed him in the emergency room. So it was back to the phones and email, and a few hours later, I was able to capitalize on the fortuitous recent discovery that Ward Baxter -- previously of San Diego, and thus an associate of Nate Hubbard, and thus already an honorary IJG member -- is living in Portland. Ward had helped me out of a jam on Monday by subbing at a rehearsal (on tenor), and he helped me out of a jam last night when he played the gig (on bari). He is now officially "in the club," as far as I'm concerned (he'll be playing again tonight).
After resolving the bari issue, I had a strange phone conversation with the dude who was going to be subbing on the drum book at yesterday's last-minute rehearsal. Upon examining the drum charts, this droll fellow discovered that they were "wrong" (yes, that's the word he used) and that it would consequently be impossible for him "or anyone else" to sight-read them. (Does having the charts for almost a week really count as "sight-reading," by the way?) So he bailed.
What the fuck? I'm willing to own that the way I write charts has its idiosyncrasies, and I'm also willing to own that I have been spoiled by the amazing Schnelle, who seems to be able to read anything I put in front of him. But come on! I've had this band for long enough to have accumulated plenty of evidence that a competent sight-reader can make his or her way through my music (on the drums or any other instrument). It ain't easy, sure, but it can be done. Is the fact that you can't do it my fault? Like, do I really have to take responsibility for that too?
(Sorry for the rant; I was sorta having a bad day so far.) [EDIT: Clearly this rant was uncalled for, but I will leave it up here as evidence of the peevishness I describe in the next post.]
Anyway, that was what things were like before the gig. Here's what they were like during:
Yeah, that's a woefully fuzzy view of Reptet in full swing: note the blur (that means they are ripping it up). Note too that they are clearly beating us in the jazz-musicians-in-funny-outfits-derby.
Picture no. 2 is the IJG moments before downbeat, stage right. Front row: Jake McLean. Back row, l-r: Garner Pruitt, Matt Carr, Samantha Boshnack.
Finally, the IJG moments before downbeat, stage left. Front row, l-r: Rob Scheps (proving that it is indeed easy to be green), Scott Hall. Middle row, l-r: Tom Hill, Stan Bock. Back row, l-r: Paul Gabrielson (with back to camera), Ward Baxter.
I'll have more to say about the music and its reception after tonight's gig in Seattle. For now all I'll say is that I'm extremely grateful that such amazing musicians continue to make time to play in this group.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Doin' it to you in your pacific northwest
Ready or not, here we come...
March 7: IJG at Someday Lounge (125 NW 5th Ave, Portland)
featuring:
Rob Scheps, Gary Harris, Scott Hall, Jake McLain, Izaak Mills, Dave Valdez (saxes). Matt Carr, Samantha Boshnack, Garner Pruitt (trumpets). Stan Bock, Tom Hill (bones). Paul Gabrielson, Ward Griffiths, Jill Knapp, Andrew Durkin (rhythm).
Come check out whether PDX really does lick LAX.
March 8: IJG at LoFi (429 Eastlake Ave. E, Seattle)
featuring:
Rob Scheps, Mike Brockman, Chris Fagan, Jake McLain, Izaak Mills, Dave Valdez (saxes). Jim Sisko, Samantha Boshnack, Garner Pruitt (trumpets). Marc Smason, Tom Hill (bones). Paul Gabrielson, Ward Griffiths, Jill Knapp, Andrew Durkin (rhythm).
Come check out whether Seattle's audiences are as good as its coffee.
* * * * *
A few notes:
1. I've had to learn a lot of new names in the last few weeks -- hopefully I don't fuck any of 'em up when it comes time to announce the group. Cross yer fingers.
2. Both shows will be starting somewhere in the neighborhood of 9 PM.
3. Both shows will be double bills with the deeeeeep local sextet, Reptet. Frankly, I'm stoked to be able to hear these folks live. (Reptet goes first on Wednesday, we go first on Thursday.)
4. We got a rather strange plug/review in the aforementioned Willamette Week (thanks to the aforementioned Jason Simms), which I cut and paste here cuz I just know it'll be a dead link by next week:
"When you put Los Angeles-based Industrial Jazz Group's 2004 album, Industrial Jazz a Go Go!, on the stereo, it seems reasonable enough. The first track, 'Doo Wha?,' kicks off with a swinging beat and a sentimental piano melody. But a couple of minutes in, the horn section of this 15-member ensemble starts to stretch the key almost to discord, and before you know it, you've entered a staccato, hyper-dramatic section with occasional smooth (almost hip-hop) beats. The song ends in a trumpet solo of the strangled African animal variety before the next track starts off nice and reasonable again. These two extremes certainly hold your attention."
Ain't gonna nitpick this one (The WW was the only PDX paper to preview our gig at all -- and in the past, flat-out amazing reviews have often presaged empty venues), but yes, that's the entire review...
March 7: IJG at Someday Lounge (125 NW 5th Ave, Portland)
featuring:
Rob Scheps, Gary Harris, Scott Hall, Jake McLain, Izaak Mills, Dave Valdez (saxes). Matt Carr, Samantha Boshnack, Garner Pruitt (trumpets). Stan Bock, Tom Hill (bones). Paul Gabrielson, Ward Griffiths, Jill Knapp, Andrew Durkin (rhythm).
Come check out whether PDX really does lick LAX.
March 8: IJG at LoFi (429 Eastlake Ave. E, Seattle)
featuring:
Rob Scheps, Mike Brockman, Chris Fagan, Jake McLain, Izaak Mills, Dave Valdez (saxes). Jim Sisko, Samantha Boshnack, Garner Pruitt (trumpets). Marc Smason, Tom Hill (bones). Paul Gabrielson, Ward Griffiths, Jill Knapp, Andrew Durkin (rhythm).
Come check out whether Seattle's audiences are as good as its coffee.
* * * * *
A few notes:
1. I've had to learn a lot of new names in the last few weeks -- hopefully I don't fuck any of 'em up when it comes time to announce the group. Cross yer fingers.
2. Both shows will be starting somewhere in the neighborhood of 9 PM.
3. Both shows will be double bills with the deeeeeep local sextet, Reptet. Frankly, I'm stoked to be able to hear these folks live. (Reptet goes first on Wednesday, we go first on Thursday.)
4. We got a rather strange plug/review in the aforementioned Willamette Week (thanks to the aforementioned Jason Simms), which I cut and paste here cuz I just know it'll be a dead link by next week:
"When you put Los Angeles-based Industrial Jazz Group's 2004 album, Industrial Jazz a Go Go!, on the stereo, it seems reasonable enough. The first track, 'Doo Wha?,' kicks off with a swinging beat and a sentimental piano melody. But a couple of minutes in, the horn section of this 15-member ensemble starts to stretch the key almost to discord, and before you know it, you've entered a staccato, hyper-dramatic section with occasional smooth (almost hip-hop) beats. The song ends in a trumpet solo of the strangled African animal variety before the next track starts off nice and reasonable again. These two extremes certainly hold your attention."
Ain't gonna nitpick this one (The WW was the only PDX paper to preview our gig at all -- and in the past, flat-out amazing reviews have often presaged empty venues), but yes, that's the entire review...
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Call me crazy...
...but this really hits the spot right now.
No, really. I think it's beautiful -- though perhaps a minute or so too long.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Q & A
Q: How many band-related emails have you sent out today, Mr. Durkin?
A: 26, starting at about 5 AM.
Q: It is now 12 noon. How many emails-per-hour is that?
A: Almost 4.
Q. Were these quickie-emails, usually comprised of a word or two?
A. Nope.
Q. Were they complex emails, usually involving some careful working-out of important details?
A. Often.
Q. I guess that's what you get for booking nine gigs in three months, two countries, and seven cities, with five different versions of the group.
A. Is that a question?
Q. Do your fingers hurt?
A. Yup.
Q. Are you crazy?
A. Yup.
Q. Do you love your life?
A. Yup.
Q. Why do you continue to type, even though you're taking a break?
A. Notice I am only typing one-word answers.
A: 26, starting at about 5 AM.
Q: It is now 12 noon. How many emails-per-hour is that?
A: Almost 4.
Q. Were these quickie-emails, usually comprised of a word or two?
A. Nope.
Q. Were they complex emails, usually involving some careful working-out of important details?
A. Often.
Q. I guess that's what you get for booking nine gigs in three months, two countries, and seven cities, with five different versions of the group.
A. Is that a question?
Q. Do your fingers hurt?
A. Yup.
Q. Are you crazy?
A. Yup.
Q. Do you love your life?
A. Yup.
Q. Why do you continue to type, even though you're taking a break?
A. Notice I am only typing one-word answers.
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