Milton Nascimento-Courage

Miltion Nascimento

Courage (a&m 1969)

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Recorded at Van Gelder Studios, the place where most of Blue Note’s classics were conceived, Courage marks the American debut of Milton Nascimento. The crisp, jazzy recording offers the most colorful palette that Nascimento ever had the pleasure to explore during his career. His later works are full of high points, but this one captures a moment when pitting Herbie Hancock, Hubert Laws and Airto Moreira against the Tropicalia of Nascimento seemed like the natural thing to do. What makes it even more interesting is that Courage was recorded during their jazz-fusion explorations with Miles Davis. The most amazing thing is that they play it straight and loose and serve as sympathetic backing without ever branching into the insanity they recorded during this time period.

While contemporaries Os Mutantes, Gaetano Veloso, Gilberto Gil and Gal Costa melded Brazilian influences with psychedelia, Nascimento took a more straghtforward path, This is not to say that Courage is not without its own quirks and eccentricities, but it is an expertly played album with masterful vocals from a nineteen year old at the height of his powers. I’m surprised that more folks have not latched onto this album since it is such a gorgeous and sensual collection. Althoigh 1972s Clube de Esquina may match Courage’s brilliance, this maiden voyage is a pure, innocent progression from the perfection of Joao and Astrud Gilberto and Antonio Carlos Jobim. Courage represents all that was wonderful about the intersection of Tropicalia, jazz and psychedelia in a way that even the most conservative souls can embrace.

Billy Nicholls-Would You Believe

Billy Nicholls

Would You Believe (Immediate 1968)

http://www.mediafire.com/?bo9mzj1ogba

Folks tend to flock towards the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, The Zombies’ Odyssey and Oracle, Love’s Forever Changes and the Kinks’ Village Green Preservation Society due to history anointing them as the touchstones of late 60s psych-pop. However, this era was rife with albums that fell just short of the brilliance of these classics. This was such a fertile period for the genre and bands like the Hollies, Bee Gees, Sagittarius, Flaming Groovies recorded great works that are somewhat forgotten in the glow of these anointed favorites. One of my favorit also-rans from this period is Billy Nicholls’ Would You Believe as it borrows bits and pieces from the big three, but it buries its melancholy sentiments beneath uplifting harmonies, carefully orchestrated arrangement and the occassional bluster of a raucous riff.

Nicholls’ songs are great on their own, but much credit must be paid to the influence of Andrew Loog Oldham, producer of the Rolling Stones, manager of the Small Faces and head of the Immediate label. He is responsible for the lush backing of Would You Believe’s most memorable songs. In fact, his production works so well because the incessant positivity of these arrangements conflicts with some depressing sentiments. I’ve always been a sucker for sour notes dolled up in fancy clothing, so I tend to favor the tunes where Billy smiles to hide the tears.What is even more amazing is that much of the album was created while he was 16 years old and that the Small Faces provide backup on some of the tracks. Supposedly, Oldham viewed Nicholls’ as a potential cash cow that he could mold into a British Brian Wilson to serve as a bookend to Mick Jagger, but it didn’t quite work out that way.

Anyone who can pen such a slice of sunshine like “Life is Short” is ok with me. The entire song revolves around a innocent obsession where the “ba-ba-ba’s” mask the desperation of a young man obsessed with a woman who won’t give him the day. He gets so caught up in the fact that life is transient and get so worked up about the pursuit that I almost want to chase behind that waggish scamp. His romanticism constantly gets the better of him and the result is a song like “It Brings me Down” which documents his angst in sublime fashion as piano, guitar, harpsichord and drums collide in a fruity manner that celebrates the orchestral excess of the time period. Plus, the instrumental coda at the end of this song is a perfect way to go out as it backwards tracks its way to Beatledom.

Nicholls became disilluisioned with the album’s lack of success, broke with Oldham and recorded a couple solo albums that I’d love to hear. It is a shame because the optimistic moments hint at a bright future that was never fulfilled.

Buffy Sainte-Marie-Illuminations

Buffy Sainte-Marie

Illuminations (Vanguard 1969)

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I don’t even know why I picked this one up during a chicken shit jag in Dothan, Alabama where my masochism led me to linger after a slow-moving breakup. No one said “No Mas”, but both parties were constantly on the verge of letting those words fly. During this awkward status quo, I wandered the local mall and picked up Roky Erickson’s Never Say Goodbye and Buffy Sainte-Marie’s Illuminations. I didn’t know much about her other than her stint on Sesame Street, but the cover looked so sparse, pagan and downright alien to me as i ran my fingers over an endless parade of alt-rock detritus. This depressing moment resulted in my first date with two albums that still symbolize love, longing and its eventual decay to me.

Illuminations is the darkest and bizarre album of Buffy Saint-Marie’s career and much of this due to the contributions of Michael Czajkowski who recorded an odd electronic album for the folksy Vanguard label. She definitely plumbed some chasms on past albums, but the vocals and lyrics were the foundation for her angst and eloquence. However, Illuminations transcends her past because the orchestration, process vocals, reverb and general eccentricity comes from a place not unlike fellow travelers 50 Foot Hose, Jefferson Airplane and even the Silver Apples. I love Grace Slick’s embrace of the psychedelic goddess on the first two Jefferson Airplane records, but this less hippie-dippy and more tender and fractured.

It is hard to discuss this album without paying tribute to the pagan mysticism of the opener, “God is Alive, Magic is Afoot.” It is no surprise that Coil covered this song since it seems like a template for most of their excursions into magick and hallucinatory imagery. Only Comus delved into such impassioned psychedelic territory. This song celebrates the existence of spirits all around us, but the fucked electronic effects make it downright unsettling. It is as if your beliefs in sprituality have come back to haunt you as animism takes hold and your surroundings come alive with a cavalcade of good and evil spirits. It is haunting in a literal sense and never fails to creep me out of my fucking gourd.

Maybe my devotion to this album is rooted in its association with a low point in my life, but tracks like “The Vampire” capture the essence of emotional cannibalism where both parties feed on one another in order to prolong the inevitable. Plus, I love the line where the vampire’s victim laments the fact she must bid goodbye to her rosary now that she has crossed the border into another phase of her life. She has been drained and it is time to start a new life. I may be stretching a bit, but I found solace in this morbid tale and still do to a lesser extent.

Illuminations is ahead of its time, but you rarely hear anyone cite her as an influene or embrace her as a newfound love. I wholeheartedly endorse any of her 60s albums, but this one possesses a hoodoo that rivals any record of the late 60s.

Shogun Kunitoki-Tasankokaiku

Shogun Kunitoki

Tasankokaiku (Fonal 2006)

http://www.mediafire.com/?hdjt1ugtzii

To many, the sounds of buzzing drones, endless riffs and repetitive chords may appear to be little more that a masturbatory exercise. To me, these are ecstatic moments that put me into a mental space where music becomes something spiritual and magical. I love a well-crafted pop song, driving punk scuzz and elegant classical composition that inspire me to reach for a snifter of brandy. Well, that last reference was a bit fancy for my cruddy mitts, but it does actually happen on occasion. However, there are certain albums that whisk you off into a nodding daze where you can only focus on each progression even though you know the next step is much like the one taken just moments earlier. Terry Riley, Aphex Twin, Seefeel, Morton Feldman, Sleep and others occupy this mental suite, but another has wormed its way into my heart, rendering the others sloppy seconds in my noggin.

Shogun Kunitoki are the ones who have occupied this treasure space in my heart for over year. Drawing from the krautrock masters, Harmonia, Neu, Cluster and Kraftwerk while paying slight tribute to minimalist composers Steve Reich and Charlemagne Palestine. The band crafts interlapping waves of organ playing with sudden swooshes of psychedelic effects that are tempered by a restrained, but focused rhythms that bring it all back into your general orbit. Some psychedelic albums inspire mental sludge while others conjure lofty, ethereal moods, but Tasankokaiku makes my mind feel like a tangled army  of cheap Christmas lights set ablaze during the last moments before Santa Claus rockets down my chimney. If this was released 30 years ago, you would all revere their very name, but they are ours at this very moment and deserve your adulation. This is the sound of repetition at its most audacious and complex. The layers upon layers of organ provide moments not unlike those when you first heard your first krautrock album and wondered where in the holy hell this music has been your entire life.

Thee Speaking Canaries-Songs For the Terrestrially Challenged

Thee Speaking Canaries

Songs For the Terrestrially Challenged (Scat 1995)

http://www.divshare.com/download/5431319-6bb

Going to college outside of Pittsburgh in the early to mid-90s was a fruitful and educational time for me. Yes, there were boring discussions of teaching pedagogy as well as exciting ones about Faulker and Walker Percy, but I still treasure the musical education shilled out by the many wise souls who took me under their musical wing. Plus, the added bonus was the local music scene populated by Don Caballero, Karl Hendricks Trio, Hurl, Blunderbuss, Shale, Watershed, Swob, Davenport and those times i saw Aus Rotten in a basement without ever knowing that filthy punks held them in such high regard. Today, my love for most of these bands is rooted in nostalgia instead of a current appreciation. However, one band still piques my interest and provides something new to enjoy with each successive listen. I guess it is fitting that this band is The Speaking Canaries since this lineup included Damon Che of Don caballero, Karl Hendricks and Noah Leger of Hurl.

I liked their debut, Joy of Wine, but Damon Che reshuffled the deck a bit and reconfigured the band in a new light. If you only know Damon Che from his drumming on Don Caballero’s albums, then it’s a bit of a shock to see how much his guitar playing suggests a combo of mid-90s indie-rock via Sonic Youth as well as the prominent influence of one  Eddie Van Halen. Where their debut cut to the chase, the followup takes more epic, overblown pathways as the band delivers so much more drama and pathos. There is a lot of anger here, but not in a raging manner where screams equal emotional release. In fact, the lyrics sometimes rely on throwaway lyrics and humor to mask emotions that do not bubble to the surface until we hit the climax of each track.

To be honest, time hasn’t been entirely kind to this album, but there is something about it that suggests a moody late night reflection on your regrets and woes with incessant riffs to lift it all beyond the mundane. In fact, Damon Che’s guitar playing and strangled vocals give the lyrics an added weight even when the actual words fail to match the intended frustration and hurt of the lyrics.

The opener “Houses and Houses of Perfectness” is the perfect union of Che’s riffing and angst. Initially, my young mind couldn’t wrap my brain around the Van Halen influence, but years have passed and it all seems perfect to me. I still am drawn to the imagery of this song and how it describes how someone can waltz into your life, shake it to the core and cause pain. He sort of portrays himself as the victim of this behavior, but it seems like he’s been the perpetrator more than the recipient.

“Our War on Cool pt. Two” is another highlight as it digs deeper into the alienation and pining that forms a core of many of the songs. Yes, the flippant side of the song advocates a “War on Cool” but it is really about a man who has lost his partner in crime. However, he’s angry because knows that they share little in common other than a desire to stir shit up in every direction.

Overall, Songs For the Terrestrially Challenged doesn’t sing to me like used to, but it does contain four or five songs that beat much of what was recorded in the mid 90s. Plus, its odd mix of Van Halen, Don Caballero and Sonic Youth still bear little resemblance to anything recorded since. It wasn’t groundbreaking, but it sure was different and worth your attention.

Loudon Wainwright III-Album II

Loudon Wainwright III

Album II (Atlantic 1970)

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To my discredit, I never gave Loudon Wainwright the time of day due to encounters with his 90s albums. It was only when I started listening to his ex-wife Kate McGarrigle as well as his son Rufus that I decided to take a stab at his earliest efforts. Boy, did I feel like an ass when I heard some of the most sarcastic, humorous and downright moving folk of the early 70s. His lyrics display a wit and eloquence that stands out amidst the earnestness and goodwill of his contemporaries. There was venom in his words, but he was never above a roll in depression and regret.

Obviously, this is his second album and it is my favorite because it is the best example of his caustic wit and smarmy worldview. There isn’t much optimism to be found here. This is cynical music, but the moments of sunlight are truly moving because they are so reluctant and conflicted.

The highlight is “Motel Blues” because it is a critique of the emptiness of groupies and a musician’s life on the road. On the other hand, there is a romanticism of the hedonistic void where all women are notches on bedposts. What makes it rise above base sentiments is the tender delivery and description of a lonely hotel room and the way he makes this seduction sound so tragic. Both parties are so lost and devoid of emotion, but his offers of breakfast and insistence that she is perceived as his wife instead of a one night stand transform it into something despicable and sweet. It is a desperate plea for some sort of familial relationship when it the reality is that is a cheap encounter.

The image of the absent lover or husband presents itself again in “Cook That Dinner, Dora” where he bows before his partner’s domestic abilities and gives praise to the reassurances to be found in the traditions of a family dinner. Again, there is a weird misogyny afoot as he will only love her if she can make dinner happen like it exists in his mind. On the other hand, he presents the action of cooking dinner as an act of creativity that makes him love her even more. As someone who constantly cooks and clips recipes like a hairier Betty Crocker, it is endearing to me, but somewhat unsettling in its reliance on domesticity for reassurance.

“Be Careful, There’s a baby In the House” refers to the arrival of his son Rufus. Again, there is a fork in the road where one side of Loudon pays tribute to the joys of fatherhood while the other side explains fatherhood as “an IOU where you cannot expect a good deal” and that a father must always be on close watch about his very thoughts. Even the way he sings the chorus is sort of sarcastic as if all coochie-coos and babytalk makes his very skin crawl. It seems as if he is unhappy with the intrusion of a child and wishes for the freedoms expressed in “Motel Blues.” The rub is that the lifestyle pursued in “Motel Blues” leaves him depressed and lost.

However, this is why I love this album so much. He is painfully honest about his uncertainty about responsibility, family and the validity of love while expressing a desire for all three. He is an utter mess, but one who expresses his inner demons and joys in such a manner that makes him an innately likeable character despite his darkest thoughts and actions.

Virginia Astley-From Gardens Where We Feel Secure

Virginia Astley

From Gardens Where We Feel Secure (Rough Trade 1983)

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I’ve always been a sucker for the classical/ambient hybrids of Roger Eno, Kate St. John, Michael Nyman and Roedelius. Nyman definitely veers more towards the neo-classical end of the pool, but the others have devoted themselves to this utterly pleasant, bucolic music that challenges noone, but remains in your consciousness long after you turn the stereo off for the night. My obsession with these sounds stem from my college years listening to the Orb, Pete Namlook, the Fax label and Penguin Cafe Orchestra and discovering beauty in things that weren’t layered in reverb and psychedelic effects.

I always found From gardens Where we Feel Secure to be a bit of an oddity in the context of the Rough Trade label, but I guess it isn’t so surprising since they embraced all ends of the musical spectrum. However, Virginia Astley did play piano on some of Siouxsie and the Banshees early works and some of this wouldn’t sound out of place on an 80s 4ad album.  As a side note, she is Pete Townsend’s sister-in-law, but that lame tidbit provides little insight into these soothing sounds.

There is something subtly challenging lying beneath the surface of the rural ambience of the album. In fact, certain tracks gel due to the combo of uplifting bliss and dissonant undertones that veer into its happy-go-lucky path. Although I assume her aim was to assume the relaxed charm of the countryside, I always associated it with time spent stoned in Western Pa or driving along the Georgia coast. There is nothing particularily southern or Pennsyltuckian about it, but it reminds me of quiet moments far away from all who may vex you or drag you into drama not of your making. Ultimately, it is just goddamn pretty and soothing on those days when the heart rate needs to crawl and distractions need to slowly fade into the background of a hectic existence.

Ben E. King-Spanish Harlem/Don’t Play That Song

Ben E. King

Spanish Harlem/Don’t Play That Song (Atco 1961/1962)

http://www.divshare.com/download/5396815-043

Ben E. King’s rendition of “Spanish Harlem” has always sparked a fire in the romantic side of this jaded fuddy-duddy due to its uncanny Vulcan mindmeld of 50s pop orchestration, 60s soul and simple, but poetic tales that never fail to inspire memories of lost loves. It is a perfect song. Maybe this has something to do with Phil Spector’s involvement in transforming simplicity into complexity, but I always believed that this was King’s only foray into Spanish/Latino influences and Les Baxter inspired exotica. Thankfully, I was painfully wrong and picked up this two-fer of his early work that contains moments that delve into the cha-cha while delivering flawless fakeries that suggest a night in Spain without an ounce of truth. This is not an insult because King delivers some really moving performances of love struck tales over some really dramatic instrumentation that attempts to deliver infinite variations on the mood of “Spanish Harlem.”

The songs occasionally pay a little too much lip service to senoritas and siestas, but this collection makes my heart ache for the days of songwriting teams devoted to the craft of pop.  Lieber & Stoller, Goffin & King among others contribute to the creation of a gloriously square interpretation of Spanish soul that renders me disgusted by today’s version of the hired hand.

The other side of the two-fer, Don’t Play the Song, mostly abandons the Latino trimmings and aims straight for Sam Cooke territory. However, it lacks the sweaty grit of Cooke’s live recordings and aims for the silky-smooth moments of his most popular tunes. It is more “You Send Me” than “Don’t Fight It, Feel It” as he enters crooner territory with all the velvet, suede and whatever smooth substances I can muster in these fleeting moments.  It belongs alongside the many moments recorded by the Stax, Atco and Motown labels that break my heart with a forceful cry, tale of woe or smooth enticement towards the wrong decison. If you only know Ben E. King from “Spanish Harlem” or “Lean on Me” then listen to this and discover why he deserves to be placed alongside James Carr, Solomon Burke, O.V. Wright and other geniuses of his time.

Meredith Monk-Facing North

Meredith Monk with Robert Een

Facing Norh (ECM 1992)

http://www.mediafire.com/?0uxdfn4s2mz

Although I now classify myself as an agnostic, thirteen years of Catholic schooling and four spent as an altar boy instill a love of the hushed reverence of the Catholic mass. From the scent of incense rattling around the burning thurible to the towering candles, I was a born sucker for the rituals and the choral works that pervaded my Sundays. I was never one for the sermons, but the hymns always kept me coming back throughout my childhood. I still find myself humming many of them and reliving those moments where the entire neighborhood joined together in song. There was a communal, ritualistic aspect of it which spoke to me even when I realized that the tenets of Catholicism weren’t going to jive with my emerging beliefs.

Obviously, music has played a major role in my upbringing and everyday existence, otherwise I wouldn’t feel compelled to spend my free time penning these pieces. Looking back, I feel as if many of my favorite albums hearken back to the ethereal choruses of my Catholic upbringing. Since I no longer found solace in Catholicism, I searched out secular music that tapped into the mysticism and ritual that appealed to me as a child. Therefore, there has been much time spent listening to Arvo Part, John Tavener, Cocteau Twins and Lisa Gerrard in an attempt to tap into the parts of mass that I loved as a child.

Recently, I have revisited the music of Meredith Monk and feel as if her 1992 album Facing North achieves that same sense of the sublime. I bought in a cut-out bin ten years ago and dismissed it as a bunch of wanky vocal acrobatics and smarmy artsy-farsty twaddle. However, I thought the Meatmen and Killdozer were pretty swell at time and probably wasn’t in a mood for self-reflection at that time in my life.

Facing North was inspired by her time spent in rural Canada during the most dark and frigid months of winter. Her inspiration comes through in the minimal nature of her work and one gets a feeling of isolation, detachment and a touch of madness after listening to the entire album. Monk is best known for her ability to manipulate her voice in unbelievable ways, but Facing North sees her toning down her act for a more restrained approach. The results are so goddamn gorgeous, occasionally ridiculous, but always riveting in its single-mindedness. Facing North reminds me of an absurd and playful version of the choirs of my youth and takes me back to time when I believed and sang my little heart out in praise of something larger than myself.

Jezzreel-Great Jah Jah

Jezzreel

Great Jah Jah (Wackies 1980, reissued 2006)

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I’ve never really delved into the reissue program of the Wackies label releases, but probably should do so since it has been overseen by Basic Channel/Rhythm and Sound innovators, Mauritz Von Oswald and Mark Ernestus. I’ve liked most of what I’ve heard thusfar, especially the Sugar Minott album, Wicked Ago Feel It! When I saw that Jezzreel consisted of Minott’s longtime collaborators, Clive Davis and Christopher Harvey, my interest was piqued. A few months ago, I saw a cheap copy for sale and figured that I’d take the plunge. This is a bit more drugged and dub-influenced than the few Minott albums I’ve heard and I think I may prefer Jezzreel’s eccentric harmonies and bizarro rants about the Roman empire over Minott’s more accessible approach. However, if anyone is able to tunr me onto some deep Minott excursions, I’d be greatly indebted to you.

Great Jah Jah possessed all of the trademarks of the Wackies label with its mix of angelic harmonizing, hypnotic basslines and and an eccentric streak a mile wide. In fact, Rhythm and Sound’s modern update of dub doesn’t sound too far removed from this 1980 gem. The highlight of Great Jah Jah is “Roman Soldiers” which seems to be an anti-imperialist rant that threatens the wrath of Jah upon colonial oppressors. On the other hand, it is a dense track with what sounds like a dying melodica being abused in the background as the nimble basslines snake all over the goddamn place. A less claustrophobic air pervades the rest of the album as elements of doo-wop lover’s rock take the forefront and the album takes a more laid-back narcotic path as everything is phased to high heaven. I really dig the guitarist’s work on this album and possibly enjoy it even more since he goes by the moniker of Reggae Jerry.  Sure, there are better dub and reggae albums in this wonderful world of ours, but this one just sounds perfect on this humid evening and it seemed fitting to share with you even if it is cold and damp in your corner of the planet.