Popular Posts this Year. Free Jazz Blog's Top 10s. Anthony Braxton, No. We asked the Free Jazz Collective to submit up to of their favorite recordings originally released between and , so long Free Jazz Blog's Top Album s of Culled from the top 10 lists of the collectiv Peacock spent time in Japan in the late s, abandoning music temporarily and studying Zen philosophy.
After returning to the United States in , he studied Biology at the University of Washington in Seattle, and taught music theory at Cornish College of the Arts from to Among the trio's albums are Standards, Vol. With the breakup of the "Standards Trio" in , Peacock decided to continue his career as the leader of his own piano trio, with Marc Copland on piano and Joey Baron on drums.
His 80th birthday year saw him touring worldwide with this trio to support their ECM release. Primarily because his stunningly powerful projection, unorthodox technique, and unique vision resisted the typical methods of description and analysis, critics and scholars the major exception, of course, being Ekkehard Jost have sought to illuminate or, on the other hand, discredit Ayler's extraordinarily original creations largely through speculation and metaphor.
It's hard to blame them. Although it did not emerge from a vacuum, there were no obvious immediate precedents to prepare listeners for Ayler's idiosyncratic, iconoclastic improvisational concept. Consider even the most progressive of his peers. Ornette Coleman had issued his most radical statement, the album Free Jazz , in , but except for three live recordings and the "soundtrack" to the film Chappaqua Suite he provided nothing of note between March and September John Coltrane would not record A Love Supreme until December , and in the period before this released music that was no more advanced - and in some cases much more conservative - than that which he performed at the Village Vanguard in In and '63, Sonny Rollins was performing the most adventurous music of his career, freely improvised escapades in tandem with the everpresent trumpeter Don Cherry, but except for one edited RCA album, the bulk of this amazing music was not heard until years later.
Archie Shepp had worked with Cecil Taylor and the New York Contemporary Five, but was still in the process of developing a cogent approach to the consequences of freedom. Eric Dolphy, after suggesting an alternative direction to total freedom alongside Coltrane and Charles Mingus, died in June A few clues may be gleaned from Ayler's initial efforts once out of the Army. A pair of haphazardly recorded albums of standards from Stockholm in October First Recordings, Vol. What makes these albums unsettling and spellbinding is Ayler's intuitive albeit disruptive lyricism and deadly serious nature - there is no sense of Sonny Rollins' spontaneous wit or constructivist irony to be heard, none of Coltrane's relentless "Chasin' the Trane" style of thematic elaboration, or Dolphy's harmonic and rhythmic angularity.
Ayler's demeanor is neither nihilistic disdain nor absurdist whimsy; the tunes are simply vehicles for expressive - indeed, sometimes painfully exaggerated - gestures of abstracted sound. Nevertheless, the leap from there to the music on this disc as well as his Trio recordings of Prophecy and Spiritual Unity with Gary Peacock and Sunny Murray, which will for the first time be released in one complete edition by Hat Hut Records under agreement with the Albert Ayler Estate in just over a year is a large one, and accounts for the mature, uncompromising, uninhibited, revelatory Ayler canon.
He sounds strengthened in his resolve to exploit. Thus the unfettered cries were associated with field hollers; the ensemble's simultaneous exhortations became New Orleans-style polyphony; Ayler's wide saxophone vibrato found a link to Sidney Bechet; episodes of intense abandon signified political and social unrest; the wailing ballads were heard as hymns and invocations to a spiritual transcendence; and so on. But this is not to suggest that these are imagined or inconsequential explanations; Ayler's own statements and song titles may or may not provide validation.
Nevertheless, they do tend to obscure a deeper sense of the originality and courage of Ayler's conception in distinctly musical terms. And although in his final years the idea of pure sound values as emotional weight and communicative essence.
Hence the abandoning of familiar standards in favor of his own simpler, "folk-derived" themes. Yet the new expressive vocabulary - the hyperextreme wails, growls, and whimpers, devoid of quotations or references to familiar musical experiences - that he and his cohorts sustained while disposing of conventional tonality and phrasing in song form seemed so alienating that interpretations required a conventional, if metaphorical rather than musical, logic.
And yet it has lost none of its impact. Ayler, Albert Quartets. Spirits To Ghosts Revisited remastered. Click for larger image. Highlight an instrument above and click here to Search for albums with that instrument. Early life and career Born in Cleveland, Ohio, Ayler was first taught alto saxophone by his father Edward, who was a semiprofessional saxophonist and violinist. The movie holds quite firmly to its view of Africa as primitive hellhole where if you're not getting chewed on by prehistoric beasts, you're getting shot or raped by the savage natives - who haven't changed a bit despite trading nose-bones for post-colonial fatigues and AKs.
So sensitive souls will doubtless find it regressive, even offensive. My big problem with Primeval is that it's boring. The crocodile is a fairly phony bit of CGI, and the thuggish Africans aren't half as intimidating as the project dealers in The Wire. The only good scene in the whole thing, the only moment that displays even a glimmer of style, is one in which a little girl, swimming in a river, is eaten in a single bite, with no anticipatory Jaws -style music or anything.
One second she's there, the next she's not, and there are no shocked reactions from adult bystanders, or anything - we're just off to the next scene. That filmmaking choice, in its way, displays a genuine attitude toward the cheapness of African lives to the filmmakers - an ugly attitude, but a clear one, and thus worth displaying on-screen.
But anyway, my point in typing this post isn't to talk about the movie, but its soundtrack. There's very little non-score music in the film; three or four songs, one of which rolls over the closing credits. But of those four songs, two are absolute scorchers - so awesome, in fact, that I paused the credits so I could write them down and seek out the compilations on which they appear.
The first is Moussa Doumbia's "Keleya. Plus, the long take adds sardonic female backing vocals reminiscent of Afrika 70 at their best. Import-only, but well worth dredging up if you're at all into s Afro-funk. If you're not into s Afro-funk, what the hell is wrong with you, anyway? This track is even noisier and wilder than "Keleya," featuring a scraping-the-inside-of-your-skull-with-a-rusty-chisel guitar sound to open things up that would make Jack White wet himself, and a riff straight out of a cop show.
Every sound, from vocals to percussion to that unbelievably hellish guitar, has been fed through so much distortion it makes Konono No. An absolute must-hear. This has been Multiculturalism For The Uncultured.
See you around! Part 1 : One of the morning shows today had a piece on male contraception. Apparently, there's a new pill that, when combined with a patch, reduces a man's sperm count. So they did some dude-on-the-street interviews where dudes claimed that yeah, they'd be down with popping a pill as long as the scientists said it was cool, blah blah blah.
Then they cut back to a scientist, or someone in a suit anyway, who said this might be the very thing in the next couple of years. But then he described the side effects - which were listed in big letters on the screen - as acne, weight gain and mood changes. So basically, it works on two levels, this pill. It reduces your sperm count, which reduces the risk of you getting anybody pregnant; but it also turns you into a fat, zitty-faced emo bitch, which reduces the risk of you getting laid anytime soon.
Part 2 : I saw a commercial this morning for a nasal spray, and right as they were making the sales pitch, down on the bottom of the screen appear the words "We don't understand exactly how [Name of Nasal Spray] operates. Part 3 : Has anybody else seen that ad for the drug that treats "restless leg syndrome" something I get most often when I'm in line at the bank or post office, itching to kick the person in front of me in the ass to get them moving? Noticed the part where they say the side effects of curing your twitchy foot may include "sexual, gambling or other compulsive urges"?
Is it me, or does becoming a lust-crazed gambling addict sort of outweigh the relief of twitchy legs? So far, only one of his Complete Sessions packages has lived up to its name: 's Jack Johnson set really did contain raw, fragmented takes that producer Teo Macero spliced together to create the side-long jams "Right Off" and "Yesternow" that made up 's original A Tribute to Jack Johnson.
The Bitches Brew and In a Silent Way boxes, though, did nothing of the kind, instead placing those albums in a broader context, surrounding them with contemporaneous studio work cuts from compilations like Big Fun and Water Babies and previously unreleased material.
Each set covered a period of about a year, maybe 18 months, during which time Miles and his band were laying down many more tracks than Columbia's release schedule could handle.
The five-CD Jack Johnson box covered only a few months in early to mid This On the Corner set, by contrast, gathers all the worthwhile studio recordings Miles made between and And yes, it includes raw versions of jams that were later edited to become 's titular album—a relentless, seething masterpiece that's been my favorite Davis disc since I first heard it as a teenager in the late '80s.
So if you're down with an endless series of moshpit-propelling riffs and breakdowns, plus the occasional solo, while some thick-necked and thicker-waisted dude barks at you about unity, inner strength, betrayal and so on Well, FBC do it about as well as it's been done since Judge broke up. FBC were ushered into the limelight by Jamey Jasta, releasing their first two albums on his Stillborn label, but these guys stomp much harder than Hatebreed, incorporating influences from Pantera, Slayer and even Napalm Death into their vein-popping riff-fests.
The guitar-drums team of brothers Mike and Jeff Facci keep it crushing at all times, and if you're not shouting along with the gang vocals by album's end, you should just go listen to the Plain White T's or something. This gives them a lot to live up to on their label debut, and luckily for their fervid fan base, they've met the challenge head on.
Having become a quartet with the addition of full-time lead vocalist Toussaint, they're deep in the groove on these 13 raw but radio- and casual-listener-friendly songs.
The lurching groove of "Comfort" provides an admirable showcase for organist Neal Evans, as his drumming brother Alan thwacks the beat home behind him. The group occasionally heads off on unwise tangents, like the jam-scene-friendly fake reggae of "If This World Was A Song," "Callin'," and "Morning Light," but they redeem themselves handily with "Outrage," a hard blues-funk instrumental that's a superb showcase for guitarist Eric Krasno.
The thick, molasses rhythm of "Yeah Yeah" is basically a four-minute argument for seeing Soulive in person, as it's the kind of track that'll drive a willing audience into an ass-shaking, hand-waving frenzy. Though Toussaint never truly embarrasses himself, more instrumentals would be welcome, because these guys can really play, and play together , which is a rare thing.
No Place Like Soul is ultimately a highly rewarding album for soul and funk freaks, barefoot jam-band fans - and pretty much anybody with a taste for groove. This is one of my very favorite musical documents, by anybody, and now it's got 22 minutes of bonus material, so needless to say I heartily recommend that you run out and buy one.
I posted the notes awhile ago; they can be found here. Posted by Phil Freeman at AM 2 comments:. As a direct result of Marooned , a very nice lady at the L. Times asked me to write a guest op-ed about "the death of the album" an idea I quite obviously don't buy. The resulting piece is in today's print edition, and here's the link. Now, here's something else: the original text I submitted. They didn't do that much to it, but just for fun, feel free to check it out. Yes, CD sales are down, and yes, the amount of music available for download on the Internet increases every second.
Tower Records shut its doors, labels are laying off staff — the record industry is in a panic. Indeed, for serious music fans, these are the best of times. For more indie-minded artists, though, this sort of samizdat circulation of their work has become a valuable, even crucial marketing tool, because real fans treat a download like a test drive — or like a listening booth in an old record store.
Ever heard an MP3 crackle like vintage vinyl? Or one where the sound wobbles like a cassette on the brink of unspooling itself? I sure have. In Marooned , I argue that the album remains vital because musicians make it so. But artistic intent deserves respect. Some jazz-oriented sites even offer scanned cover art, and PDF files of the liner notes. But I still see more Discmans than iPods in my neighborhood, and outside the U. The Awesome Tapes From Africa blog specializes in uploading digitized versions of these cassettes.
Turntables may have become hipster status symbols, but that means vinyl records are still being pressed, too. Certain genres — pop, hip-hop, dance music — have always been, and will always be, about the perfect song.
Blogs and downloadable MP3s get the word out, but serious listeners still head to their favorite record stores and lay cash on the counter for something they can take home, hold in their hands, and examine as they listen.
And no matter what panicked record executives say, people are still grabbing it up, eight and 10 songs at a time, exactly as the artists intended. I liked the Dillinger Escape Plan at first; they were sort of exhilaratingly berserk and ultra-precise at once, and that was still new enough to my ears to be interesting. But Calculating Infinity was ultimately just kind of exhausting to push through, and the EP with Patton was even more so.
I barely remember what Miss Machine sounded like. I gotta tell you, though, I'm listening to Ire Works right now and it's really, really fucking good. Some of it sounds like their old stuff, but there are a couple of instrumentals that sound like Fantomas, and a couple of goddamn glitchtronica tracks and no, I don't think it's just the stream fucking up.
It's like their old stuff, but produced by Squarepusher. I swear, trying to put together a Top Ten for this year is gonna be a fucking nightmare. And I never thought I would find myself crawling back to a band I pretty much entirely shrugged off two records ago.
I just got an advance from the publicist today. I love Electric Wizard, but within the metal community my views are weird, even heretical. See, the Dopethrone album, which may have the greatest album cover in metal history is musically kinda drab. It's big 'n' loud, but all the songs are the same - long, sludgy doom avalanches, with nothing to liven things up but the very occasional sampled bit of movie dialogue.
Their second album - and Dopethrone's predecessor - Come My Fanatics And in the early s, the band underwent near-total upheaval. Their album We Live which may or may not even have had a U. Witchcult Today also features the two-guitar lineup, and it's fucking thunderous. Highly, highly recommended. Hope they tour the U. Posted by Phil Freeman at PM 1 comment:. The Metal Edge website has been re-launched. The first thing I put up was a longish interview with Henry Rollins , an abridged version of which will run in an upcoming issue of the mag.
Circle has been stalking the edges of Finland's rock scene since Deimos asks if she'd like to tell Maggie and Victor the truth. Chloe tells them she was a surrogate for Nicole and Daniel and Holly's their baby. Maggie tears up. Chloe invites them both to visit the baby but warns Victor, only if he can keep things civil. Victor snipes about the custody case and takes Maggie home while Deimos begs Chloe not to fight Nicole for custody.
He calls this morally wrong and futile. Things get heated and she stomps away, saying she'll see him in court. They bicker. Nicole informs her friend she will win the custody case. Chloe disagrees, and restates her issue with Nicole taking the baby to live with Deimos, whom she calls a monster. Nic vows to camp out there until she lets her in. Chloe relents. Nicole looks at Holly. Nicole talks about their friendship, and empathizes with Chloe having to let go of the girl.
Brady arrives as they argue. Holly cries and Chloe rushes over. Nicole wants to hold the baby. Once alone, Chloe flashes to hearing Deimos make a death threat. On February 2, Chloe sees Dr. Lee at University Hospital. Her milk hasn't come in and she wants to nurse so he writes her a prescription, thinking Nicole's a lucky woman that she's helping out so much.
At the pub, Chloe takes one of her prescription medications as Belle walks in. Belle lectures Chloe about taking pills in public. Chloe explains they're for nursing. The kid isn't hers biologically. Chloe plans on looking after Holly best she can. Belle leaves. Nicole finds Chloe nursing Holly at the pub and her head turns red, steam shoots out of her ears and she grits her teeth as she says, "You've got to be kidding me.
Give me back my baby you crazy bitch. Chloe planned to take Holly with her to live with her family in New York in an effort to protect her from Nicole and Deimos. Chloe informed Nicole that she was filing a restraining order against her to keep Holly safe from her.
Nicole eventually assaulted Chloe and kidnapped Holly. Nicole and Holly took up residence at a motel where she met a woman named Tiffany. Tiffany and her boyfriend robbed Nicole blind and even planned to take Holly, but decided against it. Brady shows up and offered to help Nicole. He eventually brought his son Tate Black , and the group fled to Canada.
Nicole fell in love with Brady and they planned to make a new life in Canada and raise Holly and Tate together. He shot Brady and kidnapped Nicole and Holly on Deimos' orders. Xander shows up at Deimos' suite in Canada, with Holly in hand and informs him all has gone according to plan. Xander got Nicole supplies to change Holly.
Nicole knocked some of the supplies off the bed, pretending it was an accident, and asked Xander to help pick them up. When Xander's back was turned, Nicole attacked him, took Holly and fled. But she is soon caught and locked in a cage by Xander forbidding her time with Holly. Soon Eric arrives and manages to rescue Holly and get her to his plane, and soon she is reunited with her mother, after Nicole and Eric are saved by the police. Nicole is begging to fight to stay alive reminding him that he has too much to live for.
She puts Holly on his chest and out of a sudden his heart begins to beat again as if Holly gave Brady a push, a reason to live.
And yet Howard's playing at slower tempi is disarmingly tentative, wrought with the wavering uncertainty of an Alan Shorter translated into a series of pointillistic stabs. With all the conviction voiced in a weighty, measured theme like "Soul Brother Genius", which opens Signals, it is a tense uncertainty that Howard produces in his startlingly brittle opening statements. Howard, Phillips and an arco Cliff voice the minor ghetto dirge over scattered percussive rolls, the composer's solo a series of persistently morbid and instantly shattered statements never more than a few bars in length.
The theme of "Haunted" returns to the measured delicacy of the opener, yet Cliff's perversely bent Silva-isms pull it apart into a psychoactive tone poem, mocking and goading Howard's trumpet. Phillips' huge vibrato follows, sticking close to the theme in a careful soliloquy before Cliff is given his own space to sonically upend the bass, after which Millsap edges in a rare unaccompanied bashing before the theme returns.
The exploratory openness in pieces like "Haunted" and its uptempo analogue "Soul Resurrection" makes thematic simplicity an asset rather than a hindrance. Most of the ESP demo, false starts and voice-overs included, is made up of Phillips's compositions though "Burn, Baby, Burn" does make an appearance :"Sound From There" offers a uniquely delicate pan-tempo ballad, unison alto-bass drones girding and then engaging Howard's glassy trumpet line, while "Satan's Holiday" is essentially "Bug Out" at a slower tempo.NORMAN HOWARD – BURN, BABY, BURN! If you can, try to get hold of this record (available on iTunes). It brings long-lost and/or long-forgotten music by Norman Howard, who used to be a trumpeter with Albert Ayler, recorded in ’68 with Joe Phillips on sax, Walter Cliff on bass and Corney Millsap .