This is another one h/t to the Dean of American Rock Critics, though he didn’t plug this song. I found it on the YouTube.
These guys are old and weird. The first two songs of theirs I listened to were called Gloria, and this one, which was once a Who song. Neither was a cover.
They skew to the indie side of rock, but I’ve put this clip on repeat. I liked them at first hear. They sound like they need to do this more than anything. That’s enough for now. Maybe more later.’
Okay, I’ll try not to make a habit of this. But at No. 34 is Ivy, a band that made a near perfect soft-rock album called Apartment Life, from which this tasteful gem comes.
Rolling Stone has a piece by Rob Sheffield ranking the top 98 songs from 1998.
Since it’s a celebration of the diverse weird styles and songs of a year that he says was known for being diverse and weird, it’s a grab bag of the unknown, forgotten, and other songs that are fun to remember. Like this one, ranked 48th, which I think would be good (love those breaths) even without the video (which is an able promo for the minor at the time, classic in the end teen flick Jawbreaker).
I think we may have posted this clip before, but maybe not. It is great.
Writing catchy political song that endure is a fool’s task, but while this Ry Cooder tune hasn’t hit the top of the charts, I think chances are it will eventually.
Our friend Walker invited us to a short show by Bo-Peep, who promised some nuevo punk sounds from Fukuoka Japan. And saki, wine and sandwiches. The band was invited to the states by two guys, one of whom Walker knows, who paid their way over and set them up with some shows in Brooklyn over the weekend (including at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden’s cherry blossom festival, the blossoms will be rocking).
The place was an empty store on 8th Street in Greenwich Village, which is serving now as an art gallery, and the vibe was heterogenous, consisting mostly of young Asians, mostly women, and old American rockers. You can read what Bo-Peep has to say for themselves here, at their website.
I thought the band was terrific. This is high energy rock, but every song has musical ideas in it that make it stand out from the others. One tune had the pulsing drive of Golden Earring’s Radar Love, others had the straight-ahead drive of the Ramones. Others get a little herky-jerky, like this one from their album Vibe, which reminds me of Karen Oh’s band, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Live the vocals were a little undermiked, but the group’s dynamics comes across in this music video.
Here’s a cut of live footage with a studio version of another song.
Final note: The band had a little Pee Wee Herman doll sitting on the front of the stage. Don’t know why, but it made me think of Moyer.
Sweet short film about a couple of guys who make mix cds and sell small bags of pot. One of them is named Cheech. Very nicely done by a team of two brothers, writing, directing and acting.
I’m a rockist, but I have some jazz leanings. And when I heard today that Cecil Taylor died, I thought about all of his music that moves through me.
One thing I can say is that the two times I saw Cecil Taylor live I felt my life change. Both times. I would play the records and get caught up in the thoughts of what he and his combos were doing, but seeing Cecil Taylor and his band live was living a musical experience that pushed you to places you could not possibly have known about. Some of this was referential, Taylor freely sampled, he loved other music, but a lot of it was structural. He loved breaking down the usual form.
His was music that demanded great playing, and even greater creativity in the improvisation. Watching/hearing Cecil Taylor and his combo create was like becoming privvy to great minds operating at maximum capacity, and letting you see how the magic is made.
I can’t think of another musician who operated on both the sensual ground level and engaged the absolutely intellectual spheres so directly.
And maybe I should mention that these shows I saw pulsed, were full of musical exuberance and passion.
I happened to be out walking today and stumbled into a great used bookstore in Prospect Heights I rarely get to. The music playing was frenetic and sort of atonal but clearly not, and my guess was that it was Cecil Taylor. I didn’t know he had died, at that point, but I also admired the bookstore for its amazing hipness (in the good sense) and love of great writing.
This clip gets at how percussive, melodic, energetic and disciplined Cecil Taylor’s music was. As with any musician, there are many more shades. But the point is, even if you don’t know about him, he was a giant.
I hadn’t seen Trump read this poem until today, after reading about the Oscar Brown Jr’s song, where it came from and where it has ended up. Appalling.
Read the story here, and listen to clips of Brown, Al Wilson, and Donald Trump. Each version is very different from the others.