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"The Mathematics of a Good Album": Kip comes a calling from Oz with a guest post on Peter Parcek
Our friend from the Land Down Under, Kip, has chimed in with an album review. The album is from one of the members of The 6149's "Honor Roll" (seen in the sidebar), Peter Parcek. Peter's latest is called the "The Mathematics of Love" and was just released last week. It is always a treat when Kip comes a calling with a thought or two on music.
Kip is muso of the highest order. Whilst living in NYC, Kip worked for Rolling Stone mag. Kip was their Aussie correspondent for all things Aussie music related...and then some. Kip and I have shared many a "music summit" together. These summits consisted of equal parts conversation, storytelling and ice cold, delicious Aussie ales and lagers. Spinning yarns with Kip is a joy. I encourage you to do so here at The 6149.
Thanks, Kip, for taking the time to share your thoughts after your full-on, four hour-plus listening session with "The Mathematics of Love". After reading his take on Peter's latest ten song class act, real deal, guitar legend in the making album, you'll know why Jann and crew were keen to keep Kip on the payroll. Disclaimer: I have to mention that my connection with Peter runs deeper than a near twenty year fan and friend relationship: I now work for the label that released Peter's album. That, my friends, is a story I will tell another day, soon. So, without further adieu...Kip's review. ----- The Mathematics of a Great Album Peter Parcek is one of those unknown legends we stumble upon occasionally. Very occasionally. They've paid their dues many times over but, for whatever reason, they've remained a relative secret to all but a devoted few. But when we find them and start listening, a knowing smile joins our closed eyes and lolling head in instant appreciation.
The Peter Parcek 3 have just released a new album, The Mathematics Of Love, and it's an absolute top-shelf cracker. The paradoxical title announces the album's intentions immediately: a patchwork quilt of carefully measured pieces that ultimately creates a unique whole that is far greater than the sum of its impressive parts. The set is a beautifully integrated production with each musician sharing the honours and each playing a vital role. A classic, tight, three piece led by an out-and-out geetar maestro. The PP3 have sown their seed in fertile blues/roots territory but they also show a masterly touch at driving a toe-tapping, funk/jazz groove. The band's obvious infatuation with three-piece grooves provides a welcome relief from the radio-ready synthesizers and compressors often found in contemporary blues projects. The overall feel of the set is helped enormously by Parcek's clever choice of covers. From ballsy alt-country darlings, Lucinda Williams and Jessie Mae Hemphill, through blues thoroughbreds Peter Green, Harlan Howard, Cousin Joe Pleasant and Mississippi Fred McDowell, Parcek approaches each cover as if they were a semi-blank canvas. The resulting musical whole is often-times spellbinding; allowing you to luxuriate in the idiosyncrasies of these monolithic tunes. Unlike its bastard child Rock 'n' Roll, the Blues is filled with rules, but it has a logic that allows remarkable freedom within the well worn grid of notes and chord sequences. If, like Parcek, you submit and are in total control of your 'canvas' and are willing to go where the music takes you, old songs are just waiting to be had and new songs, for the gifted, are there to be written. And rest assured, the four originals here are well chosen, beautifully written and provide the rock solid foundations that this record is built upon. Parcek is an axeman who teenage boys should be dreaming of while doing their best SRV/Hendrix impersonations in bedrooms and garages across middle America. He taps those same well-worn resources but does so with taste and a healthy dollop of soulful grooves and jazz inflections. Indeed, the upright bass and drumming on Kokomo Me Baby and Rollin' With Zah is straight out of a late-night gig at The Blue Note. Or, a road-side rockabilly joint in Kentucky, for that matter. Parcek drops in some jaw-dropping technical wizardry, but he does it in a timely and measured way that avoids blatant wankery. Indeed, his mastery allows his guitars to achieve heights never reached by even the most accomplished speed freak heavy metal guitarists. But whether full throttle or in after-hours mode, Parcek makes it all immediately indelible. And his vocal – often a counterpunch – is just as warm and indelible as his incendiary rapid-fire fretwork. His cool voice has a range, versatility and timing that is essential in carrying this collection of tracks to their respective peaks. The gut-wrenching vocal by-play on the slow burning Tears Like Diamonds is positively gorgeous and one of the many vocal highlights. Every year or two, if you listen to enough music you finally get to hear something exceptional – but The Mathematics Of Love goes beyond that lofty designation. Whether it's the semi-angry lament that runs through the title track, the rollicking bar-room groove of Busted, or the ‘everything old is new again’ feel of Williams’ Get Right With God, Parcek’s evocations of urban grooves are always engaging and seriously entertaining. Do yourself a favour and get a copy of this gem. Trust me, you will not be disappointed. ----- Peter had an album launch party at the House of Blues in Boston last week. When I say it was a bow-down event...I mean it was a BOW-DOWN event. I will have lay down the full low-down another time; but, have a look at some video one of the guests shot of the Peter Parcek 3 in action. Peter and the guys played a one and a half hour set complete with five crowd inspired (demanded!) encores. Here is the link to check out vids that were crowd captured. http://www.youtube.com/user/spi534 (apologies for the crude link/no imbedded video. I am on a plane flying to Italy as I type this and I can't perform any web wizardry at this moment. Just the same, go check out the link...you'll be glad for it)
The Peter Parcek 3 have just released a new album, The Mathematics Of Love, and it's an absolute top-shelf cracker. The paradoxical title announces the album's intentions immediately: a patchwork quilt of carefully measured pieces that ultimately creates a unique whole that is far greater than the sum of its impressive parts. The set is a beautifully integrated production with each musician sharing the honours and each playing a vital role. A classic, tight, three piece led by an out-and-out geetar maestro. The PP3 have sown their seed in fertile blues/roots territory but they also show a masterly touch at driving a toe-tapping, funk/jazz groove. The band's obvious infatuation with three-piece grooves provides a welcome relief from the radio-ready synthesizers and compressors often found in contemporary blues projects. The overall feel of the set is helped enormously by Parcek's clever choice of covers. From ballsy alt-country darlings, Lucinda Williams and Jessie Mae Hemphill, through blues thoroughbreds Peter Green, Harlan Howard, Cousin Joe Pleasant and Mississippi Fred McDowell, Parcek approaches each cover as if they were a semi-blank canvas. The resulting musical whole is often-times spellbinding; allowing you to luxuriate in the idiosyncrasies of these monolithic tunes. Unlike its bastard child Rock 'n' Roll, the Blues is filled with rules, but it has a logic that allows remarkable freedom within the well worn grid of notes and chord sequences. If, like Parcek, you submit and are in total control of your 'canvas' and are willing to go where the music takes you, old songs are just waiting to be had and new songs, for the gifted, are there to be written. And rest assured, the four originals here are well chosen, beautifully written and provide the rock solid foundations that this record is built upon. Parcek is an axeman who teenage boys should be dreaming of while doing their best SRV/Hendrix impersonations in bedrooms and garages across middle America. He taps those same well-worn resources but does so with taste and a healthy dollop of soulful grooves and jazz inflections. Indeed, the upright bass and drumming on Kokomo Me Baby and Rollin' With Zah is straight out of a late-night gig at The Blue Note. Or, a road-side rockabilly joint in Kentucky, for that matter. Parcek drops in some jaw-dropping technical wizardry, but he does it in a timely and measured way that avoids blatant wankery. Indeed, his mastery allows his guitars to achieve heights never reached by even the most accomplished speed freak heavy metal guitarists. But whether full throttle or in after-hours mode, Parcek makes it all immediately indelible. And his vocal – often a counterpunch – is just as warm and indelible as his incendiary rapid-fire fretwork. His cool voice has a range, versatility and timing that is essential in carrying this collection of tracks to their respective peaks. The gut-wrenching vocal by-play on the slow burning Tears Like Diamonds is positively gorgeous and one of the many vocal highlights. Every year or two, if you listen to enough music you finally get to hear something exceptional – but The Mathematics Of Love goes beyond that lofty designation. Whether it's the semi-angry lament that runs through the title track, the rollicking bar-room groove of Busted, or the ‘everything old is new again’ feel of Williams’ Get Right With God, Parcek’s evocations of urban grooves are always engaging and seriously entertaining. Do yourself a favour and get a copy of this gem. Trust me, you will not be disappointed. ----- Peter had an album launch party at the House of Blues in Boston last week. When I say it was a bow-down event...I mean it was a BOW-DOWN event. I will have lay down the full low-down another time; but, have a look at some video one of the guests shot of the Peter Parcek 3 in action. Peter and the guys played a one and a half hour set complete with five crowd inspired (demanded!) encores. Here is the link to check out vids that were crowd captured. http://www.youtube.com/user/spi534 (apologies for the crude link/no imbedded video. I am on a plane flying to Italy as I type this and I can't perform any web wizardry at this moment. Just the same, go check out the link...you'll be glad for it)
Hidden Gems: The Scene and Sound intersect in Paris for a full-on, bow-down, live blues romp
It was Valentine's Day, Paris, 2004. My wife and I had been out sharing good food and drink, indulging our love, striking sparks and celebrating the glorious unknown that the future held for us. We ended up floating throughout the Latin Quarter looking for turn-ons. We stumbled upon one; it was a hidden gem of a pub cum subterranean homesick blues-joint: the Le Caveau des Oubliettes.
While passing by we heard the familiar six string sting of blues licks and bass drum kicks. We looked in the front window and saw a small, cramped, crowded bar with no band in sight. Where the hell was this music coming from? We went inside, sidled up to the bar and shouted out for a round.
"Barkeep...a pint of your strongest ale and a glass of your bubbliest bubbly...and please tell me where those licks are being plucked".
With a point of his finger and a knowing wink he sent us off to the far corner of the bar. There we found a door...no, "door" doesn't do it justice. This was a hatch; an opening; a portal...to a true scene. We made our way down the stairs of stone. We were going into a basement of filled with a history of lost souls and shared sounds. You see this blues bar used to be a prison back in the 1400's. What used to be populated by life'ers and death'ers is now filled with hipsters, beer hoisters and transients all in search of the sound of a raucous blues band. This place is a gold mine for blues-scene prospectors like me. It is a classic combination of integrity, character and true-grit.
This past Saturday I re-visited the scene of the crime with a good mate. This time it was no serendipitous stumble; I made a beeline for the joint this time. I had promised my friend a happening and I was anxious to see I was going to be a man of my word or not. I was.
The band was huddled tightly on a cramped stage at one end of this carved out cave. The drummer and bassist bumped elbows while the guitarist and harp-man straddled the stage and dance floor trying to make room for their expansive solos. My buddy had never been here and judging by the initial look on his face, I held up my end of the bargain.
We had a couple pints pulled for us and then joined the other cellar dwellers to catch the tail end of the night's second set. Our blues-crew tonight was a barnstorming quartet out of Holland: The Juke Joints. These guys have been around for twenty years and it showed. They were combustible. They whooped up a calamity of blues and rock that could have damn well collapsed that concrete cavern at will...if they wanted to.
By why ruin a good thing. They were there to play and did they ever. You want to talk about passion...these guys were drenched in it. There is something about a band who has been together for twenty years and still exudes such shear joy, pleasure and passion for their music. They were tight. They knew all the trick and cues...old pros with the enthusiasm of young turks on the prowl for a big break.
This is what the live scene is meant to be. Four guys playing their guts out for the shear joy of the jam and reaction of the crowd. At the end of the second set, the crowd thinned. My friend and I held our ground and held up our end of the deal as fans and faithfuls. We stayed glued to the stools for the third and final set. By this time the crowd was only twelve. The band didn't give a shit. If there were twelve or twelve hundred, I know that they would have played with the same passion and inspiration
They blasted through a forty minute set of pulsing blues and rousting rock and roller licks. I love these moments. When I can see the band loving it, loving what they are doing and going-for-it, I feel indebted to them. I feel like I owe them one. It is my job to tap a foot, pump a fist and shout and holler back at them to feed the rhythm machine. The live scene is a legacy of give and take and to and fro. It is a push and pull, hand-clap-sing-a-long exchange that doesn't require a handshake, but does deserve a reaction. We gave 'em one...
We left satisfied as all hell. Thanks to The Juke Joints and a (literal) hole in the wall, scene and sound intersected to form a sweet spot for our late night Paris carousings. Ooh la la, indeed.
_____
I couldn't help but by one of their CDs. The Juke Joints have a quite a catalog, too. I bought one their live offerings: Live in Ireland. I am going to give it a spin tonight and see if there is lightening in this here bottle.
After all that, you don't think I would leave you hanging, do you? Here are a few vid clips of the Juke Joints in full romp. Check out the first one where Boogie Mike trades guitar licks for harp licks with Sonny Boy. The second clip is a band in hot pursuit of a red hot sound. The third one is more of the same except Sonny Boy trades in his mouth harp for the squeeze box.
Enjoy!
- Posted from Paris, France
I'm so glad, I'm so glad...to be a music fan: Skip James, The Cream and "Passing it On"
I've never been hit by lighting, but today, out of nowhere, I felt a jolt of 'lectricty run all down my arm.
Sometimes you think you know something. Sometimes you think you've got a handle on things. Sometimes you think you've got it all worked out. You think you do...and then something happens...something that makes you start the fuck over.
I was walking to The Tube this morning to go to work. I had my iPod shuffling through one of my fave playlist that I made: Blues with a Feelin'. It's a bow-down list of front-row tunes from my fave musics: blues, country (Waylon & Willie country, not today's bullshit country) and good ol' southern Stax and Shoals R&B and soul...and a few other bits and pieces thrown in for good measure.
The something that happened today was something that never happened before. Today teacher and pupil went toe to toe courtesy of the all mighty shuffle. One of the bits and pieces in this playlist is "I'm so glad", by Cream. I am not a big Cream fan, but I like this song...mostly because its a Skip James tune. Skip James did the original version as far back as 1931. Cream released their version in 1966.
I listened to the Cream version. I like the "rolling" feel of the track. The guitar travels along as Jack Bruce bellows out a thick, leathery vocal. At about 1:25 in the song, the EC Express leaves the station and roars on down the tracks. Not bad...not great.
At this point I walked through the turnstile and made my way to the Piccadilly line to catch my train to work. On my way down the escalator, Skip James came on to play his (the) version of "I'm So Glad".
I guess I wasn't paying attention, because I didn't realise that the same song was playing; however, it wasn't the same. This version was in black and white. There were hisses and pops and snaps and crackles...but it had that familiar rolling guitar riff in it. "Oh, shit...that's Skip James". I clicked nine o'clock on the iPod's wheel and started 'er over. I had heard this before, but hearing James' original juxtaposed with Cream's version was what caused the jolt. I'm no purist, but I couldn't get over how thin and frail the Cream version sounded next to James.
Cream, Clapton in particular, tried so hard on their version. They could never have matched the believability of James' original and I'm sure they knew it. It must have been so frustrating to have been the caliber of musician as those guys were and to know that they were never going to be as good as Skip James...or anyone else of that ilk and era. The thought of knowing that after hearing James and Johnson and Honeyboy and House, everything you did, no matter how grandiose and inflammatory you may play it, you were never going to be able to touch the truth in that old black man's burden.
The important thing is that they listened. They listened to what James did and how he did it and they did their best to deliver the goods. They were influenced.
As a music fan, you know that influence is the lifeblood of "passing it on". It is how a song from a black and white 1931 finds it way from the juke joints of Mississippi to London's Royal Albert Hall in the technicolor 1960's. If you break the joy of being a music fan into three parts, a third of it is listening to music, a third of it is learning about music and a third of it is about sharing the music and those learnings with other music fans. This is what Cream did, the Stones did, the Grateful Dead did, what early Fleetwood Mac did, what Gram Parsons did...what Bob Dylan is still doing on each of his last four brilliant studio albums.
Shit, this is why I am a fan. I can't play a lick, but I can sure appreciate one. I love the listening, the learning and the lending of my knowledge accumulated through a passion for music. After today, I decided that this weekend I am going to go back and listen to a few paired up classic then and now's and see how the wannabe's learned from the old timer's.
I'll be sure to share what I find out...
p.s. if you have any suggestions of song pairings, serve 'e, up in the comments. Cheers.
Valentine's Day in Paris, the Big Mistake and Secret Subterranean Blues...
Ah, Paris. The city of love...a perfect place to take your wife for Valentine's day. How could a guy go wrong? I'll tell you how: He invites one of his best friends to just happen to show up and join the fun.
In 2002, my first year of marriage, I did just that. My wife and I were living in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. I decided to orchestrate a Valentine's Day three-day weekend in Paris. It was a special trip: our first Valentine's Day as a married couple. I knew The Wife would be happy. She had been to Paris before and talked about how much she loved the city. I had never been to Paris and was looking forward to it.
I organised a great first night (which was the actual Valentine's Day). I bought two tickets to the midnight showing at the Moulin Rouge. That was the first of the two "Big Surprises" that I kept telling The Wife I had for her on the trip. That one went over very well. First night in Paris was an epic success and quite a romantic evening.
Day Two was when "Big Surprise #2" was expected. After the Moulin Rouge, The Wife was expecting Big things. I was confident that she would love Big Surprise #2. Even before the trip I thought it was going to be a hit. In hindsight, I may have thought this because Big Surprise #2 was a surprise I would have loved to have sprung on me!
I fucked up. Capital-R, Royally. This was Valentine's Day...in Paris...as newlyweds...for only three days...just the two of us...or so she thought. I invited my good buddy, The Rouster (name changed to protect the guilty) to surprise Julie by showing up at the Louvre at the same time we were there (what a coincidence!).
Let me repeat: I invited one of my best friends, drinking buddy, trouble-making twin, to surprise my wife while she was on a romantic holiday weekend with her husband in Paris. What was I thinking? What THE HELL was I thinking?!?
I remember telling my old man about my plan. When I did, he just stared at me with pupils the size of manhole covers. "Are you stupid?", he asked. "She is going to hate this idea".
I was dumbfounded. She liked The Rouster. She really enjoyed all the times we went out together and had said so often. Like me, she hadn't seen him since he moved to South Korea two years earlier. Why wouldn't she want to see him? He was coming back to the States for a visit anyhow, so a rendezvous made sense.
"Judd", my old man said to me as he fixed that you've really done it this time stare on me, "do you really think (The Wife) wants to be surprised by one of your craziest, beer swillingest friends...in Paris...on Valentine's Day?"
"Oh, shit!? What have I done", I said to myself.
Long story short: Big Surprise #2 blew up in my face. The Wife was not all too happy to be sharing time with The Rouster that could have otherwise been spent on L'Amour with L'Wife.
It took some tears and beers, but I smoothed things over and we carried on with our Paris fun. Like I said, The Wife and the The Rouster are good friends. There was no option but to act like the true Champions of Fun that we knew each other to be and get on with getting down.
We decided to have a red hot go at the Latin Quarter on our last night. We went out for sushi and sake and then searched the streets to find the pulse of the city...and a bit of live music. We were walking down a busy street and heard blues music coming out of a small pub. We looked inside and couldn't see where the band was. The pub was small (maybe 20 ft by 40 ft) and packed with people. Where the hell was the band?
We went inside and had the barkeep pull a few pints for us. I was about to ask where the band was when I saw a closed circuit TV hanging from the wall with musicians playing on it...but where the hell were they. In the back of the pub there was doorway. That doorway led to a staircase down to the cellar. Ah! That's where the band was!
We struck gold. The cellar looked like someone went down earlier that day with a jack-hammer and banged out a cave big enough for a stage and a makeshift bar. There were two rooms. In the main room there was the stage and assorted chairs, tables and church pews strewn about. The other room was smaller, but important...it was where the beer taps were.
The scene was fantastic. The timing was spot on. We were Pros. We were professional subterranean scene seekers and we just hit the mother-load. I spent a lot of my youth reading about the days of yore when the R&R got it's passport and spent time traipsing Europe. Stories of scenes such as this one seem to be the norm, each one hipper than the last. True underground...that's where we were and that's what we were.
(The stage in the cellar)
It was a Sunday night. Sunday night was (and still is) the open Blues Jam night. Ah, the Jam. Everybody loves a blues jam, right? Drums, piano, harp, guitars...as many as the stage can hold. They all lurch out in a crude and chaotic cacophonic stupor, stalking each other until they find the communal groove.
(me and The Rouster, 2002)
Who knows what can happen when the Jam is on...sparks strike and legends are born. The crowd thought we had a birthing right there and then. There was this young kid...he must have been 15 if he wasn't 12. he jumped up on stage with the "house" band and strapped on someone's guitar. Oh man! We were knocked out loaded once he started to play!
He was tearing frets and slamming the slide and seemed to do it with the wisdom of a guitar god. The floor was littered with jaws. This kid could play and the crowd let him know it. People were screaming out, "Le Petite Clapton". Hot Damn! What a night.
We left around 2am. The Wife and I had to catch a few winks for our 8am flight back to the US. The Rouster stayed on in Paris to carry on the V-Tine's Day celebration for a few nights with a new sweetheart he met at the hostel. No love lost in Paris that Valentine's Day.
This past weekend, The Wife and I took the train to Paris for the day. Almost eight years to the day, we visited that bar. We hoisted beers and toasted to Big Surprises, good friends and the sweet joy of serendipity.
(me, returning to the Scene of the Crime this past weekend)
(The Sunday night Blues Jam lives on)
_____
The name of the joint in question is: Le Caveau des Oubliettes (check link for details). Here is a snippet from a National Geographic travel blog on the pub:
In medieval times, Le Caveau des Oubliettes, which translates to "the cave of the forgotten," held prisoners awaiting the guillotine. The tight door and thick stone walls masked the prisoners' wails and howls. Iron handcuffs on the walls, chains along the staircase, and a barred window remind listeners of the room's past and give the intimate club an uniquely eerie feel.
Funny, I think I saw a couple of those guys there that night...
_____
Speaking of the Blues Jam & Eric Clapton, here is a jam from the anniversary edition of Layla.
- Posted from Paris, France
B.B. King out Ya-Ya's the Stones: Why he sings the blues...because he can, dammit!
In December of 2009, the Stones put out a 40th anniversary box set of "Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out". In the deluxe versions, the sets from opening acts Ike & Tina Turner and B.B. King were included. If you need the low-down on the original "Ya-Ya's" set...I envy you. You are in for a treat, and, quite possibly, a life-changer. Where to start to find out about it? Start with Lester Bang's bow-down review of the original set from 1969.
If you are a Ya-Ya's fan like me, the deluxe set was a must buy. The remastered Stones tracks are worth the price alone. But...the real-deal, bow-down, shuck and jive toe tappers in this box set come from B.B. King.
The B.B. tracks are comprised of five smoking hot scene stealers. This is raw blues power. The performance is full-tilt from the horns to the rhythm section to the two stars of the show: Lucille and B.B.'s boom box vocals.
Buckle up and have a listen to one of those tracks that I have uploaded for you: "Why I Sing the Blues"
Lucille jump starts the track and the rhythm sections churns out a bedrock backbeat. B.B. belts out the lyrics in his tenor horn howl (you know that B.B. never sings and plays at the same time, right?).
At 1:58 in song, B.B. takes Lucille for a spin and rips off a solo sprint for over a minute. At the 3:30 mark, B.B. heads for the wings (this was the last song of the set before the encore). This is when the band takes over and lays down a stone groove...how fucking tight can one rhythm section be?!?
B.B., ever the crowd pleaser, comes out for a quick 30 seconds of guitar picking before the band pulls the emergency break and stops that groove dead in it's tracks (if only instruments had airbags).
But enough hot air from me...go ahead, hit play.
(download)
p.s. I love the way B.B.'s guitar sounds like a horn. More and more, as he gets on in age and style in his playing...I think Keith Richards plays like B.B.'s horn-ified guitar sound. To see/hear what I mean, check out the Scorsese docco, "Shine a LIght" (short clip below). Keith is honking his guitar like a chuck-riff saxo-trumpet.
10 lbs. of Shit in an 8 lbs. Bag: A request for keeping music simple in 2010
"Too much of anything is too much for me. Too much and everything gets too much for me". - The Who
That is a line from the chorus of the song of the same name, "Too Much of Anything". Strangely enough, this was a bonus track off the 1995 reissue of the always-delivers Who album, "Who's Next". I say "strangely" for two reasons: one, the original version of this album was nine songs of bow-down material and two, the fact that this song was a bonus track is fucking ironic.
Too much of anything, indeed.
Why the hell did we need bonus tracks for this masterstroke? We didn't. Pete & The Who made a brilliant, time-tested album that consisted of nine crowd pleasing, beer hoisting tunes. Nine. Here we go again...gorging ourselves on a great meal; bloated and reaching for the bicarbonates. Too much.
I am fed up with "too much". This year I am bringing it all back home: keeping everything as clean and simple as I need it to be. Near the end of 2009 I started to think about clarity: eliminating variables; reducing clutter; focusing on less to enjoy more.
I am not preaching purely simplicity for simple's sake. I am talking about clarity. Clarity doesn't sacrifice depth at simple's alter. "Focusing on less to enjoy more" is about clarity; lucidity. It is a concept that I am (forever forward) latching on to and enveloping myself in...including my music listening habits.
I find myself gravitating to music that is much more lucid and clean of complexities...but, not lacking depth. Case in point: the Black Keys' "Chulahoma: The Songs of Junior Kimbrough".
I am a Black Keys fan. They aren't always on my playlist, but I enjoy them from time to time. I did not own this album prior to my hearing it. Recently I was in a crowed and very loud bar. Nothing on the juke box was cutting through the din until I heard this album being played. Whoever was at the controls, decided that they need to play this album in its entirety. The groove was so pronounced and clear, it drowned out the noise in the room and filled all the spaces like a welcome mist. It felt calming and clean to me (even amongst all the clutter in the bar). I went out and bought it the next day.
Lucidity, clarity and depth are full frontal on this set of six songs. The straightforward, two-fisted, Corsican Brother drum and guitar approach of Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney lends itself to the clarity/simplicity + depth credo. There is no gratuitous flutes or overdubs or 16 track recordings...just two dudes, two instruments and a half a dozen of a simple bluesman's simple blues songs. By simple I mean uncomplicated, not simpleton or unsophisticated or naive. No, these songs have depth and sagacity.
Junior Kimbrough didn't make it on the blues scene until the 1990's, but he'd been cutting tracks as early as 1968. Junior was a Mississippi Hill Country native and legend. His blues is a hypnotic, sauntering groove that preaches a knowing simplicity and bares warts, proudly. This blues holds you in it's vibe and makes it hard to pull away. Every time I put it on, I know it is going to be a happening. I know I need to dedicate at least 20-30 minutes to it's gravity.
Here is a clip from Robert Palmer's brilliant expose on the raw, country blues: "Deep Blues". If you have not seen this, you MUST do so soon. More-so, read the book that preceded the movie. It is widely thought of as a classic in the genre; a career high for Robert Palmer in career filled with tall peaks.
(Junior also had the coolest album titles: "God Knows I Tried" & "Most Things Haven't Worked Out")
The Black Keys decided they needed to have a go at Junior's music. They gave it a richer, thicker sound...while keeping the ethos of it intact. They added to it without complicating it: less is more. This is my fave track of the set:
What do you think? Does that feel like less is more to you?
_____
Nine songs. I like that. "Who's Next" wasn't the only great album with nine songs: "Let It Bleed" had nine songs, too. That is my favorite album of all-time (a post for another day). Conversely, the Stone's 2005 Masterplunk, "A Bigger Bang", had 16(!) songs. Too much.
I'd like to make a request of all music makers in 2010: please, don't try to cram ten pounds of shit in an eight pound bag. Focus on reducing the clutter on your albums. Just because you can crowd16 songs on a CD doesn't mean you have to. I don't want more from you, I want less...and I want depth.
Excuse me while I go off to listen to some Charlie Patton...
_____
Regarding my personal thoughts on "too much":
Too much of my time was being wasted worrying about things I manufactured or labeled as important. Whether they were tasks or audacious (unattainable) goals or simply over thinking decisions or situations, the importance that I gave these things, put undue emphasis on them; one more thing I had to worry about.
Here is a bit, from a larger mindmap (on my 2010 thoughts), on "reducing the clutter"
Last Minute Music: Dec albums I have purchased or been gifted in the waining moments of 2009
Top Live Album: This was a tough one with Neil, Petty & the Stones in the mix. I am going to have to go with BB King's set on the expanded "Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out". The way he captivates the audience is the mark of a true showman.
Coolest Find: "Home" by Delaney & Bonnie. I hadn't heard of this one. It was recorded at Stax Records (!) with Booker T. & The MGs backing them up. The Stax horn section kills on this set.
Rowdiest Blues: "I Got All You Need" by Koko Taylor. That chick was a powerhouse with serious attitude.
Coolest New Stuff: The Low Anthem. I can tell that I am going to get deep in this shit right quick.
Got me some new vinyl, too:
- Neil Young: Tonight's the Night
- Bo Diddley: The Black Gladiator
- James Brown: In a Jungle Groove
- Baby Huey: The Living Legend
- Rod Stewart: Gasoline Alley & Every Picture Tells a Story
- Bob & The Band: The Basement Tapes
- Keith Richards: Talk is Cheap
- Lightnin' Hopkins: Walkin' This Road by Myself
- Booker T & The MGS: Green Onions
A Judd's Juke Joint Xmas: A Holiday Happening from the Hills of Ol' N.H.
Here we go again...it is the time of year for sitting around the fireplace with family and reciting time tested tales of holiday cheer and christmas joy...unless you spend your xmas eves at Judd's Juke Joint! Judd's Juke Joint:Where we don't go caroling...we go carousing.
Where spreading cheer and drinking beer go hand-in-hand.
Where naughty and nice are our kind of girls. That's right...Judd's Juke Joint is the place where all those who didn't make Santa's list go on xmas eve. Good kids gone bad; saints turned to sinners; losers and winners; everyone is invited and that means you. About five or six years ago, I wrote a little story about what goes on during xmas eve at Judd's Juke Joint. Each year I share this with good friends who embody the JJJ spirit. We are a little family of freaks, weasels and Champions of Fun. This year, is different. This year I am sharing that with everyone....the extended 6149 family. And why, not eh? Tradition is best when shared. What says tradition more than a time of year when we feed the capitalist retail pigs all the sludge they can eat from the trough by buying presents and flowers and trees for the wife and kiddies...and jewelry, crotchless panties and exotic trips for the mistress. Load up on gifts and then load up on the booze. A time honored tradition for sure.Are you familiar with Judd's Juke Joint? It is a real-fake place that currently only exists in my mind. Someday soon, I will build it and you will come. Have a read here of what Judd's Juke Joint is all about (see you soon).
____On with the show!This is a tall tale, but one not too far from the truth. Some of the Juke Joint's regulars are called out by name: these people have true grit; charter members. Sure I copped the rhythm and the roll for this ditty from the famous "A Night before Christmas", but that is what makes it special and warms our hearts (and it is a qick gimmick, too). The setting is a backwoods bar in the hills of Ol' New Hampshire where the state motto is "Live Free or Die"...and that is exactly what we do at Judd's Juke Joint. Pull up a chair by the fire, snuggle up next a love one, pull the tab off another Pabst Blue Ribbon 16 oz'er and enjoy another Judd's Juke Joint Xmas (remember: you gotta read this as you would the "night before christmas").
Where spreading cheer and drinking beer go hand-in-hand.
Where naughty and nice are our kind of girls. That's right...Judd's Juke Joint is the place where all those who didn't make Santa's list go on xmas eve. Good kids gone bad; saints turned to sinners; losers and winners; everyone is invited and that means you. About five or six years ago, I wrote a little story about what goes on during xmas eve at Judd's Juke Joint. Each year I share this with good friends who embody the JJJ spirit. We are a little family of freaks, weasels and Champions of Fun. This year, is different. This year I am sharing that with everyone....the extended 6149 family. And why, not eh? Tradition is best when shared. What says tradition more than a time of year when we feed the capitalist retail pigs all the sludge they can eat from the trough by buying presents and flowers and trees for the wife and kiddies...and jewelry, crotchless panties and exotic trips for the mistress. Load up on gifts and then load up on the booze. A time honored tradition for sure.Are you familiar with Judd's Juke Joint? It is a real-fake place that currently only exists in my mind. Someday soon, I will build it and you will come. Have a read here of what Judd's Juke Joint is all about (see you soon).
____On with the show!This is a tall tale, but one not too far from the truth. Some of the Juke Joint's regulars are called out by name: these people have true grit; charter members. Sure I copped the rhythm and the roll for this ditty from the famous "A Night before Christmas", but that is what makes it special and warms our hearts (and it is a qick gimmick, too). The setting is a backwoods bar in the hills of Ol' New Hampshire where the state motto is "Live Free or Die"...and that is exactly what we do at Judd's Juke Joint. Pull up a chair by the fire, snuggle up next a love one, pull the tab off another Pabst Blue Ribbon 16 oz'er and enjoy another Judd's Juke Joint Xmas (remember: you gotta read this as you would the "night before christmas").
"A Judd's Juke Joint Xmas"
Twas the night before Xmas, and all through the Joint
The beer was a flowing, let’s get right to the point.
The bar tabs were hanging by the register with care,
In hopes that the regulars would soon pay their share.
The patrons were nestled all snug in their booth,
While a couple of strippers danced for their loot.
Sweet mammas in G-strings, pranced in dude’s laps,
Maybe someone will get lucky, just maybe, perhaps.
When up on the stage there arose such a clatter,
The blues band tuned up, the windows did rattle.
Away to bathroom, someone flew like a flash,
Tore open his baggie and laid out his stash.
The goon rolled a heater, of green sticky griff.
Old habits die hard when the band plays a riff.
When, what to his wondering eyes did he see?
Well, not much, since there was, such a thick could of weed.
With a count-off from the drummer, so lively and quick,
The guitarman done played a nasty blues lick.
Judd's Juke Joint was jumpin’, the place was insane,
The singer was rousting all the locals by name!
"Hey Gilly! Hey, Huntely! Hey, Tony and Mini!
Yo, Erik! Yo, Zucco! Yo, J.P. and Quinny!
Raise up your mugs! This here tunes for y’all!
At the Juke Joint we never, shout out ‘last call’.
The owner he pulled down, from top o’the shelf,
A bottle of hooch he had saved for himself.
That shit was strong, he made it in his shed,
He passed out some shots; three people fell dead.
He stood on the bar and to the crowd he did yell,
"Might as well get rowdy ‘cause were all goin’ to hell!"
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He huffed up three lines of some fresh-fallen snow.
The people all partied ‘til the sun came along,
And the band kept on playin’, song after song.
Judd's Juke Joint keeps open ‘til the last person stays,
Who knew that would not be, for almost four days.
As the last person left and the front door was shut,
We looked over our shoulders, ‘fore the ‘lectricity was cut.
In the window, a message, in bright neon lights,
"Live Free or Die”, to all you New Hampshire-ites.
The Sunday Sauce: Scenes from The Soul Kitchen
Back in August I posted about a family tradition: the Sunday Sauce. Each Sunday my old man would make a homemade pasta sauce. There is lots of Italian blood running through both sides of my family. Have a read of that post to find about more about the tradition if you like.
Today is Sunday and I needed the plasma. I cooked up a batch of sauce and took a few snaps. As always, the key ingredient was used: music. Nothing like spending an hour or so making sauce with good rhythms and good blues playing in the background.
I have an iTunes playlist I created that I use as the soundtrack to my cooking; its called, 'Blues With a Feeling". It is a great blend of Blues, Gospel, Country, Soul and R&B...all old, old school. Just the way I like it.
A little bit of garlic, a little bit of oregano, a little bit of Booker T. & the MGs, a little bit of Waylon Jennings and a heathy dose of Bettye Lavette.
Perfect
Click here to download:
the-sunday-sauce-scenes-from-the-soul-kitchen-HABjEphhaybppndrJfAj.zip (16554 KB)
p.s. I made enough for everyone. Come over if you want. Bring wine.
(If you've never heard this Bettye LaVatte song...LISTEN NOW! The Drive-By Truckers are backing her up)
Sweet home where?! Blues greats and where they came from (contribute to the interactive map)
I put together an interactive mind map of (most) all the Blues Greats and where they came from. I used mindmeister's web app to do so.
The app is completely customisable for anyone that wants to add names/states to it, change wrong information, add links, pictures, comments to a particular branch or name, etc. I also created one branch just for the best of the best of the "sidemen". I know this is not complete, so be my guest and have at it.
I got the idea to throw this together after reading the introduction to Jas Obrecht's book, "Rollin' and Tumblin': The Postwar Blues Guitarists". Obrecht's book is collection of interviews with the postwar greats. It is a treat to hear them talk in their own words about their own stories. I am just about to rip into the first chapter.
You can grab and move the map within the frame it is presented in, or you can open that map up to edit and add to it. See the image of the tool bar below. You can (a) click the pencil icon and edit in this frame or you can (b) click the screen enlarge icon on the far right and the map will open up in a new window.
toolbar controls:
Interactive Map: The Blues Greats and where they came from
I just finished Ted Gioia's book on prewar blues, "Delta Blues". The latter was an excellent narrative about the history of the Delta Blues and all those who made it so. If you are interested in reading it, this review from the NYT may help.
