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

We're what's happening

Labor Day approacheth. And I'm ready to drag my weary self into a much-needed weekend of battery recharging. Speaking of weary, here's a nice song to stumble around town to with your gang of wasted clowns, seeking deeper degrees of numbness in the druggy night.

I suppose that's a good enough note to mention a little break from the 'blague. How does a week sound? Pretty good to me. See you back around 9/10.

Iggy Pop - Nightclubbing

Number one in hell

Cheers to Ariel Pink for creeping everyone out again. For those who thought he'd gone hi-fi and cashed in on the perverse interest he'd accumulated, his new one reminds that he remains a truly demented guy. Also, a first-rate con-man. This tune feels like it belongs at a demonic beach party, pre-empting the sinister moonlight with some queasy afternoon sunshine.

Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti - Live It Up

Move on up

Good to know that '60s could've-been-rock-heroes The Move have been posthumously elevated from Nuggets love to full-on reissue fever. The one "Best-of" in my possession is a proverbial treasure trove of psych garage pop that makes me legitimately wish I'd been around to see them in action. Here are but 2 such gems. I challenge any band functioning today to use the word "terminus" in a more rockin' way.

The Move - Blackberry Way

The Move - Omnibus

After all the day's away

Here's a palette cleanser. As in, forget everything you want/expect/deserve from music. Just because your band sounds like they don't know how to play their instruments, it doesn't mean they don't have a deeply clear sense of what they want to sound like. Early Red Krayola is one of those bands that I don't put on often, but when I do, it's completely necessary.

The Red Krayola - Night Song

Underwater affirmation

God bless the boys of Animal Collective for reminding us that psychedelic sound mining can easily intersect with pop bliss. Panda Bear's Tomboy effort continued the gang's winning streak, with some excellent tunes that belong more to a hidden underwater world than a starry-night campfire. This one makes me a bit misty in that anthemic way. On the other hand, tears under the sea? That doesn't really seem possible.

Panda Bear - You Can Count On Me

Traveling inward

Sorry to bail on a Thursday tune. Life's distractions sometimes overwhelm. But here we are away from all that noise and back into the world of searching sound, courtesy of one of Australia's finest avant-post-whatever bands. I really want them to play at my next birthday.

The Makers Of The Dead Travel Fast - Untitled

The Makers Of The Dead Travel Fast - Three Heads

Vanish in a tragical way

From hypersexual glam to pretty nonsexual and definitively non-glam. Mike Oldfield may occupy one of the dweebier regions of the musical starry night, but I'm drawn to him the way you might be drawn to the brainy, gawky cousin you see hanging out alone at the family reunion. This song is his attempt at pop, and I'm trying to visualize the faces of the British kids bopping around to it in their early '80s bedrooms.

Mike Oldfield - Mistake

Stroke me like the rain

Reading the big new Bowie biography has me going back to the catalog for re-evaluation. We'll see what ch-ch-changes emerge as I get out of "salute the classics" mode and into some renewed critical engagement, but I've already re-fallen in love with one tune. And what's not to love about this slice of omni-sexual rock n' raunch.

David Bowie - Velvet Goldmine

Out on a limb

It seems the most important aspect of experimentation is the risk involved. Musicians are generally applauded for going out on a limb, but I can say from experience that it can be damn scary when you're actually out there. But anyone who tries new things balances the threat of artistic free fall with the prospect of magical breakthough. Which allows me to be very forgiving of experimental sounds that try and maybe don't succeed as well as they might. At least they're stretching people's ears.

Zs are a new music outfit that works its way through a Bang On A Can-inspired world, but are legitimately trying to carve out a landscape of their own. Every time I hear this tune, I revise my opinion of it, which I take to be a good thing. The pounding regularity of its eight-notes would be too much if they drums didn't keep upending the flow and flipping the usual expectations of melody and rhythm duties. It's a kind of mischief I can't help but smile at right about now. Tomorrow, who knows?

Zs - B Is For Burning

No glasses for classes

Funny how certain old impressions never change or even die. They just sit suspended, as though carved in rocks that never come into contact with weather. I put on the Swirlies every now and again and the recollections (mostly borrowed) are always the same. This song came out a little before my college days, but every note (and fairly ludicrous "noise" coating) smacks of the hermetic indie rock landscape that I was enamored of, and yet never fully connected with, at the time. Genuine pleasure, but it still feels like I'm looking into someone's bedroom window.

Swirlies - Pancake

One foot in the door, the other in the gutter

 

The thinking person finds ambivalence everywhere. But where it could paralyze, the truly wise make it something to rock out to. And there are few wiser than the Replacements. Here, it's ambivalence about taking their punkness uptown or wrapping it in a suit or some other metaphor for making the primal rock instinct palatable to the mass market, such as it existed in the mid-'80s. I'm not sure if the horns are meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but for me, they make for an irresistible, snarling groove.

The Replacements - I Don't Know