Breezin' on

I have nothing to say in my defense. I'm actually posting George Benson. May as well double down on that. Maybe he was responsible for the CD 101.9-ification of jazz, but in truth, he had a pretty great guitar tone, and his voice wasn't half bad when placed in the right setting. Not that any of that could justify his '80s output. Best to vibe on this pair of classix as we head into the weekend.

George Benson — Breezin'

George Benson — Six to Four

Fresh aches

Well, what do you know...Cocteau twins sound as exquisitely mysterious otherworldly lovely on a breezy summer's day as in midwinter. There are days when I think they've so thoroughly nailed it that everyone else should just take their toys and go home.

Cocteau Twins — Crushed

Exit to darkness

Been rubbing my ears up against some jazzy funky guitar sounds of late. There are some suspicious characters in that world, but Mr. Upchurch is not among them. Stylin' and struttin' all the way out the door.  

Phil Upchurch — Darkness Darkness, Part 1

Previte eyes

Sometime in my recent heat delirium, I suddenly recalled a favorite moment of my trip to Barcelona — wandering the Miro Foundation and getting caught up in a waking dream of color and sound. It's a state I lapse into all too easily in art/museum situations, and, as always, I wish had recorded any of the passing musical thoughts that ran through my head. Thankfully, Bobby Previte made a whole album of compositions inspired by Miro paintings that sounds a lot like what I was thinking.

Bobby Previte — On The 13th, The Ladder Brushed The Firmament

Let's be Frank

It's a thoroughly mashed-up world we live in. Everyone knows a little about everything and no one's afraid to connect things for fear of transgressing a boundary. That's mostly great, except for the vertigo. Which makes it interesting to go back to those visionaries who had their feet in many worlds back when that sort of thing was met with perplexed faces. And it's hard to go down that road without ending up in Zappa's universe. Even on the fairly slapdash Chunga's Revenge album, he made some deliciously unlikely leaps. From serpentine extraterrestrial jazz to glorious sleaze rawkin', here are a couple personal classix.
 

Frank Zappa — Twenty Small Cigars

Frank Zappa —  Tell Me You Love Me

Peace until voice

That moment when you realize you're staring off into the distance and have been for some time, but you've become so definitively at peace that you don't want to remember the before or consider the after. That is until about 5:10, when those evil voices slowly intrude and start melting your face.

Michael Hoenig — Voices Of Where

Sunbake day men

Jesu Christo, the heat! My body is becoming much less ambiguous in its rejection of these conditions. I only wish I could translate sweat to speech. Meanwhile, here's one from a tropical land of amphibious creatures shaped like math equations. 

90 Day Men — When Your Luck Runs Out

Independance days

I'm not sure if I more tired of being fried by work or complaining about how I keep getting fried by work. Not a great loop to be in, which makes this a well-timed holiday break, even if I can't help but feel like I'm neglecting at least a few responsibilities. So goes the self-inflicted psychological masochism. 

But let's forget all that and luxuriate in some classic disco. Nile Rodgers and company cooked up some irresistible tunes, and this is one of their early best. Some say this laid down the whole template — full-band lock groove, gospel-ish voices, and some fancy chordal moves to raise your eyebrows. Have yourselves a fabbo couple of days to unwind, assuming your schedule works out that way. And let's hope that power grid holds up.

Chic - Everybody Dance

Young machines in the open air

How sad are reunion tours? I suppose the spectrum is broad — between the goulish spectacle of another Rolling Stones rollout and the mostly respectable showing by folks like the Pixies — but still it's just an unnecessary exercise. Unless you need the money, in which case, put that disclaimer on the name of the tour, so everyone knows it's about real need and not vanity. Which is why Os Mutantes's wanna-be arena rock showing at Prospect Park this last Friday was such a bummer. It's not like they were ever in it for the money. And really, the only thing you can do to legendary status is to tarnish it by putting your good name on uninspired mediocrity in your plump years. At least it was another beautiful park night, and happily, some kids in the opening band saved the day with their giddily backward-looking sugar pop. Nothing for the ages, but great for welcoming a summer Saturday night.

Javelin - Drummachines