Slavin' away

If Roxy Music didn't close the curtain on enough of an Armani note, then Bryan Ferry took things to an even tighter level of sophisti-pop (or cheezy soundtracking of '80s romantic montages, depending on your perspective) in his solo work. As usual, my perspective shifts pretty regularly on the matter. One thing that's beyond question — it's good music for sous-chef tasks.

Bryan Ferry - Slave To Love

Dinosaur days

"Synthesizers dictate the wonder, anticipation, and fear of exploring a 16-bit moon. It is a world half-remembered in neon synth beams, arpeggio craters, and washed in a liquid glass glaze." So goes a self-description of Philadelphia retro synth pilots Dinosaurs On Fire. Of course, the 'blague is not usually in the business of career hype or copy/pasting press promos. But I respect bands that bother to make visual what their aesthetic is going for. Also, I kinda couldn't have said it better myself. Here's a groovy tune from their debut album. Suitable for exploring inner and outer space alike.

Dinosaurs On Fire - Prokaryotes and Eukaryotes

Righteous chattin'

It's a shame that the crazies have grabbed a monopoly on God. There was a time when you could write an earnest song about the need for a spiritual dimension in life without pivoting to some right wing talking point. There is no one today of Stevie Wonder's caliber in a lot of areas, but the absense of benign spiritualism may be the most sad. At least we can enjoy his Godly classix like this one. Also, the weird krautrock-ish vibe is totally doing it for me.

Stevie Wonder - Have A Talk With God

Getting old (and young)

Jesus Christ, I'm 35 today! I wouldn't consider that to be old, except that I continue to picture myself being perpetually 13. Meanwhile, what better way to celebrate a birthday than to go see Morrissey perform (though I'm not sure if this will make me feel young or old). And I'm going to indulge myself even more here with some Smiths favorites, albeit with '60s star Sandie Shaw standing in place of our familiar Charming Man.

It's a testament to how much I've listened to this band that Morrissey's voice sounds completely normal—almost unremarkable—to me now. And so it takes the vocal flamboyance of these Shaw versions to startle me into remembering how unique and compelling his voice seemed way back, and why I was drawn to it at the tender age of 13.

The Smiths with Sandie Shaw - Jeanne

The Smiths with Sandie Shaw - I Don't Owe You Anything

Passing sounds

I mostly remember Helium as the kind of band that would come on the stereo in the living room of the house that my college band used to practice in. Funny how a band that soundtracked the moments between moments and didn't command much of my attention would find a way to burrow deep into my subconscious so that my memory of that time instantly brings them to mind. Maybe it was Mary Timony's husky but gentle indie rock voice. One that seemed ubiquitous at the time, but is sadly absent from the air around me these days.

Helium - Ancient Cryme

Dreaming of yesterday in black and white

Nick Waterhouse has done his homework. From the smart suits to hot reverb-drenched production, his vintage presentation is impeccable. It helps that the songs are spot-on — retro R&B/soul/early rock/whatever reflecting a vinyl nerd's curatorial care. I'm pretty much sold, but however hip-shaking the music, it's hard to not hear Simon Reynolds whispering killjoy commentary into my ear about the modern music's need to marinade in the past at the expense of bold progress. I guess I go back forth on that one (heh heh, get it?).

Nick Waterhouse - Some Place

Full-throated

There are some songs you come to love simply through trying to learn to play them respectably. Thankfully, I get to range widely on that front. When it comes to mariachi, you have to adjust your ears a little. It's not about subtlety or exquisite textures, but rather full-throated projection, like your head might burst from the singing. All the instruments feel like that, especially the horns, as evidenced in all their pinched glory on this track. Special bonus — lyrical depth! Needing the illusion of love to feel love. Or something like that.

El Coyote y Su Banda - Arboles de la Barranca

Sugar squares

I can't help but love songs that announce themselves as the sound of a local scene. Forget about an ambition to speak for a generation or even an emerging genre, give me your neighborhood cheerleaders.

From what I gather, Airebeat is the band's answer to Merseybeat, replacing Liverpool's River Mersey with the Aire River that runs through Leeds. I have never been to either place, so I'll take the song's description of the place as a backwater at face value. All the more reason to stir up some energy with this nugget of infectious power pop.

The Squares - This Is Airebeat

From the mellow jungle

And now for some sit-down funk, well-suited to kicking back in a rocking chair with a nice whiskey or whatever you like at the end of the day. I'm still impressed that these guys were able to accommodate a legion of jam band fans and still keep their credibility intact. Guess that just speaks to the universal appeal of wah-wah on a Hammond B3.

Medeski Martin and Wood - Wiggly's Way

Cadillac walking

There's funky music for parties, and there's funky music for taking yourself down the street. It's all about feeling classy, and the brassy sass of tunes like this just makes you feel like there's a space you own that no one had better violate. I feel like it would be a great audio aid for babies just learning to get up on their own 2 legs.

Dayton Sidewinders - Slipping Into Darkness

Solitude standing

Suzanne Vega reappears, and maybe it's not so surprising. If you're gonna strap on an acoustic guitar, you either need to amaze with belted-out simplicity or draw in with soft understatement. I guess her gift for the latter was the key to being a folk singer in '80s New York, even if her cool, sharp observations seem decidedly un-folky. Here's a song that creates its own quiet, near-wistful place inside the cacophony of city bustle.

Suzanne Vega - Night Vision

Great lakes

The thing about big anthemic music is that lyrics are really secondary. For me, they function mostly as sound. The voice is such an amazing instrument, it often seems a waste to distract with making an audience press close to make out the words, which often are not worth the effort. These mush-mouthed indie rockers illustrate the point nicely with this ocean-sized song.

The Besnard Lakes - For Agent 13

Body talk(box)

Before Roger Troutman acquired his bionic—er...talkbox/vocoder-enhanced voice—he inhabited a far fleshier realm of funk. No judgments; he was awesome with and without his machines. This jam may be pre-digital, but it's fully turned-on. 

Roger and The Human Body - Been This Way Before

Gawk rock

Take experimental/improv musicians, whisper some proggy suggestions in their ears, and sit back to enjoy the weird fun. No one ever said rock instruments have to sound anything like rock n' roll, and bands like this demonstrate the point. 2-fer Tuesday...just because.

No Safety - Sad

No Safety - Happy For Now

Time comes (sometimes)

I saw that Searching For Sugar Man documentary last week and was so heartened to be reminded that failure in spite of talent and effort is not always the end of the line. It may take decades and some blind viral luck, but the possibility of becoming loved — almost deified —  in another corner of the world means you can have a life or at least a big presence outside of your own time. Really an amazing prospect.

In terms of the music itself, Rodriguez blasts past nearly every folkie I've heard. Of his time, but not cringingly dated. Despite the Dylan-esque nasal drawl, there's a basic songbird melodicism and ease of delivery that would be lovely to listen to even if the lyrics weren't snappy as a rubber band. Here is one example of his rare gifts.

Rodriguez - Street Boy

Moonbob

Another day, another Bob. A much less throaty one today though. I'll bet most people don't know who Bob James is, but I doubt you could listen to CD101.9 for more than 20 minutes without having some of his smooveness slathered on your ears. Or if you like to watch reruns on late night TV. Anyway, here is, gone full '80s. Maybe not quite moonwalking, but still definitely low-gravity.

Bob James - Moonbop

Post-pirate

Well I seemed to have forgotten about International Talk Like A Pirate Day until it was too late. But it's never too late to celebrate goofy voices. This is one of those sappy songs that would be intolerable if the dude gave it a conventionally pretty delivery. Instead, we get some kind of muppet-esque ballad that belongs in a movie where everyone finds a reason to hold hands.

Bob Carpenter - Now And Then

Grandpa's coughing in the kitchen, but the strings sounds good

Lambchop has always been a great example of the power of quiet. And of the ability for a big band to make the smallest sounds. Their latest continues the path of perplexing lyrics delivered in that pre-cancerous rasp, mingled with music of ever more refined beauty. All that was brought into powerful relief when I saw them a few months back, which made me want to live in that house of whispers for as long as they could keep the noisy world at bay.

Lambchop - If Not I'll Just Die

Layering up to the sky

Think overdubbing has no place in jazz? Well, you won't be flying with Les McCann if you do. His Layers album was the first 32-track recording (remember when musicians were actually limited by tape?), and damned if he didn't just let himself keep adding the...um... layers. And yet, like a finely packed suitcase, those layers don't overstuff the songs. Case in point...

Les McCann - Soaring (Part 1)

Chirpy new year

Happy new year to everyone who is inclined toward Rosh Hashanah. If a new year is like a new morning, then this is a tune that fits. Full of chirp and flutter, it's great for the first steps out of the house. And for general moments of unspoiled optimism.

Bill Nelson - Hope For The Heartbeat

Staring off

Feeling the autumn winds starting to blow, and I'm happy to welcome the season's hearty smells in the air, if not the allergies that come with them. Then there's the thousand yard stare I'm liable to fall into, and luckily, I get several grand avenues in which to indulge it. Here's a song to accompany all of that.

Prefuse 73 - Five Minutes Away

Doob tube

You know something's wrong in your life when many moments of your day resemble a Bollywood film. I mean the general crazy randomness, not the sense that a dance number might break out at any moment. When that feeling comes along, it's best to go full-on with it.

P. Suseela and S.P. Balasubrahmanyam - Intinti Ramayanam

Ramshackled

Sir Paul may be doing a lot of late career victory laps these days, but going back through the post-Beatles catalog yields a bounty of justification. Lately, I've been enjoying Ram nearly straight through. These two songs especially. The first one feels like proof that he could've done the Beatles finest moments all alone (some say he did). And damned if the second doesn't just lay down the template for a much of the '70s. He sounds sure-handed alright. Much more so than he looks on the cover trying to get a handle on that animal.

Paul and Linda McCartney - Dear Boy

Paul and Linda McCartney - A Love For You

Covered in tattoos

Sticking with cover tunes and things tangentially related to jazz. Petra Haden (daughter of famed bassist Charlie Haden) had the fun idea to cover the entirety of The Who Sell Out using only her very flexible voice. Gimmicky? Sure, but if you've got range and a sense of humor, I say go for it. Also, the effort foregrounds the mischief and warmth of the album itself despite Pete Townshend's big rock narcissism.

This tune is funny, and also a little sad to me. Less the song's fault and more my admittedly fuddy-duddy distaste for the cringe-worthy ink I see on nearly every body around. I'm already bored of tramp stamps, ankle butterflies, full sleeves, and neck tributes to babies/grandma. Stephen Wright joked that he had a full body tattoo of himself, except 2 inches taller. Who's laughing now?

Petra Haden - Tattoo

Square shadows

Dave Brubeck gets no respect. I suppose it's due to his shameless brand of white, European-ish jazz that was decidedly non-hep in its day. Also, those odd time signatures, which are bound to get you marginalized in any era. 

Improviser David Slusser had his work cut out in covering this moody little noir nugget. And he nailed it. I like how he bear-hugs the nerd factor, then throws an avant-noisy curveball, followed by nice some bluesy guitar strangling. Goes to show that maybe Brubeck wasn't as square as he seemed. Or that it is indeed hip to be square, as another much-maligned paleface has taught us.

Dave Slusser - Blue Shadows In The Street