Baroness Get Back On The Bus

"What was the plan here? I can't seem to stop! Pissing and spitting from bottom to top. Picking up viscera, tendons and broken remains." - Take My Bones Away (Baroness, Yellow & Green, 2012)

I once tried to develop a theory about how many great bands achieve their peaks essentially through human sacrifice. The Stones had Brian Jones, Pink Floyd had Syd Barrett, and Metallica had Cliff Burton. The fact is, however, that just as often death dooms a band, as in the case of Led Zeppelin. In any case, not even the most rabid fan would wish death or destruction on another human being just so we could get to the Dark Side Of The Moon. Still, when the tour bus containing Baroness and their crew tumbled off the road in England last year, there was that uncomfortable feeling of "here we go again."


Fortunately, everyone on that bus survived, with many injuries and a long road to recovery ahead. A great deal of uncertainty was put to rest when the band announced in March that they would go on, but that drummer Allen Blickle and bassist Matt Maggioni "will not continue touring with Baroness." If that seems somewhat ambiguous about their membership in the band, the notice also said "Simply put, some of the effects and injuries were severe enough to prohibit further activity in Baroness."

The band got back on the horse with two new members: Nick Jost on bass and keyboards, and Sebastian Thomson on drums and percussion. Thomson, late of Maryland post-rockers Trans Am, is an especially interesting pickup for a metal-ish band from Georgia, but considering the monstrous grooves of recent songs like Board Up The House, an exciting choice. Of the two members they replaced, only Blickle dates back to the band's beginnings; Maggioni had been with them for a less than a year, having replaced founding member Summer Welch in 2012.


So this is the continuing tale that brought a sold-out crowd to Irving Plaza on August 14, a day before the one year anniversary of the accident. I admit to being double-booked and missing the opening act, Royal Thunder, so I can't comment on them. I can say that when I took my place on the mezzanine just minutes before Baroness took the stage, the audience was buzzing and well primed. That likely would have been the case anyway, as the band has been building a devoted following for the past decade with their blend of melody, crunch, and epic sense of structure and dynamics.


Like any band that comes from a subculture, Baroness's audience feels proprietary about their sound and hurled a few brickbats when Yellow & Green was released last year, with the usual complaints about them getting soft, selling out, etc. While that double album did have a larger share of acoustic and reflective moments (and prescient ones - see the lyrics above), the truth remains that Baroness were always experts at expanding on the "light and shade" template that Jimmy Page built Led Zep on. Songs like Rays On Pinion from their debut full-length The Red Album build up so gradually that it's like a black pepper chocolate truffle - seductively smooth until you feel the burn.

No fan could have complained when they kicked off with the stately beginning of Ogeechee Hymnal and then slammed into a maximally heavy Take My Bones Away that had the crowd churning and singing along. John Baizley, the impressively bearded heart and soul of the band, was in fine voice and dashed off complex guitar lines with aplomb, often in a twin-lead entanglement with guitarist Peter Adams. They were both fond of stepping to the front of the stage and standing tall while doing so. There was a sense of hard-earned pride and triumph in their body language, which coupled with their astonishing energy and power made for a thrilling night. Adams had a habit of pointing grandiosely at his colleague as if to say, "Can you believe this guy?" and Baizley (who also creates all the artwork for Baroness) is indeed a phenomenal talent.

While sometimes lyrically obscure and favoring musical intricacy over direct communication, the boys of Baroness are not afraid to be vulnerable and are capable of writing songs that are deeply moving. This even goes for their occasional instrumentals, starting with the magnificent Grad on The Red Album, and continuing with the Green Theme from the latest album, which was an early highlight of the set. Listening to its wailing guitars, I found a lump forming in my throat, not only due to the inventive melody, but also due to contemplating what might have been - and how far they've come. A storming take on Swollen And Halo, from 2009's The Blue Album, was followed by Board Up The House from the new album, which swung harder than ever, no doubt aided by Thomson's locked-in drums. Nick Jost was more effacing than the shirtless beast behind the skins, but ably handled the bottom end, switching easily to keyboards as required.

The concert was a continuous lesson in the awesome power, precision and passion four musicians can bring to the stage. Throughout the night, the two frontmen didn't miss a step and showed no signs of physical limitation, eagerly returning to play a three song encore, which the crowd just as eagerly demanded. My only complaint is that we had to wait until the last of these, Isak, to hear anything from The Red Album. Aside from that, it was an expertly sequenced and satisfying set. While it remains to be heard what contributions their new members will make to the future of Baroness, this blistering night proved that the present and past of this massive sounding band - one of the best in the country right now - is in very good hands.

Among The Torrid Vines

I have long rhapsodized over the Sunday morning chamber music concerts at Tanglewood, in Lenox, MA. Performed brilliantly by students in gorgeous Ozawa Hall, the concerts are like expertly sequenced mixtapes of music from the Baroque era to right now. Often featuring world or American premieres, the concerts are a great place to bring an open mind. Sometimes they can lead to frustration, however, as it can be hard to track down a new work due to the vagaries of the music business.

In July 2010, I heard a fascinating work by Australian composer Nicholas Vines called Economy Of Wax, which has just now been released - although it was recorded in January 2012. The other two works were recorded in 2008 and 2010, which makes one wonder what they were waiting for. But here we finally have it, an album of Nicholas Vines's music called Torrid Nature Scenes.

Now for those of you who see Schoenberg's forbidding and humorless face when you hear the words "contemporary classical," relax. Vines is anything but humorless. After all, the first piece on the disc, The Butcher Of Brisbane, is based on a series of Dr. Who episodes from the 70's - although liking or knowing anything about that show is not a prerequisite for enjoying the music. Described as a "Carnival for solo saxophone(s) and chamber ensemble," The Butcher Of Brisbane shows its hilarious, if unsettling, hand early on, in the Prologue. After an angular and combative start by the sax and ensemble, the horn lets loose four loud foghorn blows that are startling and raucously funny. Those bleats return throughout the work, serving as a reset button and a reminder of who's boss.

All is not spiky sturm und drang, though. The fourth movement is questing and spare, with some sinuous lines from the sax, and the Epilogue starts off clangorously but tails off with gentle flute trills and single notes from the horn. Overall, the 22 minute piece is a fast moving delight with enough twists and turns to keep a listener on their toes.

Economy Of Wax, the short centerpiece of the album, is from a series of works commissioned from eight Australian composers to commemorate Darwin's 200th birthday. The title refers to Darwin's studies of hive construction by bees and his conclusion (as paraphrased in the liner notes by Andrew Robbie), that while "...bees know nothing of the geometric principles that guide their economy of wax, they nontheless behave in ways that contribute to it faithfully." Vines, inspired both by Darwin's scientific methods and the bees own systematic activities, prepared a set of scales and motifs from which to assemble the composition. Scored for soprano (the majestic Adrienne Pardee), flute/piccolo, viola and harp, the piece completely avoids any cliched buzzing sounds and instead stays in constant motion to represent the movements of the insects as they build their warehouse of honey.

There are melodies that appropriately recall the Rite Of Spring, and the use of coloratura in the soprano line cannot help but lead one to think of Mozart's Queen Of The Night from the Magic Flute - also appropriate when you consider who rules the hive. It's a blazing little piece, a remarkable coming together of the worlds of science and music, and the lives of humans and apians. Here's hoping The Origin Cycle gets a full New York City premiere one of these days.

The final and longest piece on the album is Torrid Nature Scene, a "Romp in Seven Parts for soprano, mezzo soprano, and chamber ensemble." Vines himself describes it as "a squelchy, romping obscenity" - don't you just love this guy? - based on the "lewd and crude" poetry of the aforementioned Andrew Robbie. The text is certainly purple, loaded with obscure words and elaborate descriptions of animal activity, about as far from Darwin's rational, precise prose as possible. The third movement describes a firefly's feeding thusly: "Soon aroused, his arcs of gold encrust a monkshood, whose perfumes unfold a Hecatine entreaty; he obeys, alights, and fueled with fervent ardor splays the lacquered surplice." So THAT'S what's going on outside on a hot summer night!

The dynamics of the different movements and the interaction between the two singers gives Torrid Nature Scene a distinct theatrical flavor. This is obviously an area of interest for Vines, and one at which he excels. His lively imagination, mastery of scoring for a variety of instruments, and structural gravitas all make him well suited to telling stories through music. Based on what I've heard so far, I'm very interested to hear his (also bee-inspired) 2004 opera, The Hive, not to mention whatever he come up with next. His website lists no fewer than three new recordings coming out sometime in 2013, so it seems like we can look forward to an overgrowth of Vines.

Whether Darwin himself would have predicted the death of the CD due to evolutionary pressures is debatable. However, he certainly would not have thought anyone would release an enhanced CD in 2013 - but that is exactly what we have here. The note on the Navona Records release states: "Place this product in your computer to access study scores, extended liner notes, videos, and more." It feels somewhat archaic to double-click the Flash logo and see the slightly rudimentary "website on a disc" that appears. However, the liner notes are certainly a deeper dive than the CD booklet has space for and students and composers might enjoy poring over the score while listening, so in this case the physical product gives good value for money. Mention should also be made of Stephen Drury's expert conducting throughout, which keeps the energy up, while also keeping the thicket of Vines's music from getting too tangled.

Economy of Wax by Nicholas Vines from Nicholas Vines on Vimeo.

 

Infamy On 48th St. (Week of Legends, Pt. 2)

Top Left: 6th Borough | Top Right: Joe Budden | Bottom Left: Mobb Deep | Bottom Right: Prodigy

My affinity for the gritty urban noir of Mobb Deep has been previously explored so it should come as no surprise that when their 20th Anniversary tour rolled into NYC I made plans to be there. To pay proper homage to one of hip hop's longest running acts, I went all in with the VIP package, which included a meet and greet with members Prodigy and Havoc as well as copy of Prodigy's new novel, HNIC, and his first solo album. The venue was a new spot in midtown west, Stage 48, and an email from them instructed me to arrive at 6:00pm sharp. I had been at Wire's amazing show the night before but had no lack of energy when the time came around to leave work and head downtown.

Live hip hop has a bit of a bad reputation - shows start late, crowds get rowdy, there are too many acts. Also, there's the fact that the music is usually recorded and there is little room for surprises or improvisation. Unlike seeing a band like Wire or Fleet Foxes where part of the thrill is teasing out just how they make their music, seeing a rap concert is almost entirely about the collective experience and the electricity of sharing space with your heroes. The Mobb Deep show entirely lived up to all those aspects, the good and the bad, starting with that "6:00pm sharp."

Dinner was a bag of trail mix, which I enjoyed while observing the others who had followed instructions, lining up in the blistering heat outside the club. The main demographic was smokers - tobacco users of all races and both genders, all younger than me. Everybody was relaxed and I was soon chatting with two guys from Queens and a man who had moved here from Medellin, Colombia, six months ago and had grown up listening to the Mobb ("They are quite underground in my country," he told us). He was living the dream, but had never been to a concert like this and didn't speak much English so I decided to keep an eye out for him.

Eventually, we were admitted to the place, patted down, and instructed to go upstairs. The decor was as expected, with neon-lined steps, low seating, etc. No sign of the stars, but I was just just happy to be in the frigid air with a drink in my hand. I chatted with my friends from outside - they called me "token old guy" and were continually surprised by the fact that I knew what the hell I was talking about, which became a theme of the night. It caused me to wonder if many of those of us present at the birth of hip hop have given it up, at least in public.

A line gradually formed opposite a table with two chairs so I stuck with the Colombian who showed me his shaking hands. The was a bit of a flurry as Prodigy and Havoc entered and took their seats. They seemed in a good mood, bantering with each other and showing no sign of the beef that made headlines last year. We had been instructed to ask for only one signature and only pose for one picture and the line moved smoothly. The Colombian was ahead of me and he came away walking on air after his photo op. Then I stepped up to the table, shook their hands and they each signed something for me before we stood for the picture, which was taken by one of their posse. Prodigy had been making a pointing gesture in the photos I observed, so it was a while before I noticed he was making quite a different gesture in my picture. I patted each guy on the back, told them they were great, they thanked me, I thanked them and then stepped away.

AnEarful meets The Mobb

The Colombian was still in heaven when I caught up to him. It turned out that he had neglected to take a copy of the H.N.I.C. CD so I gave him mine - I've had that classic for a while now. And then...we waited. The DJ was great and the sound system excellent so it was fairly painless until the lights went down around 8:00pm and H2-O took the stage. He's a positive-minded rapper of some skill but nothing spectacular. I was hoping Joe Budden, the advertised opener, was up next but no such luck. Ninety minutes later, I was putting out an open call on Twitter for Sandman Sims to come down from the Apollo with his hook. This was strictly amateur hour - there was even a (not bad) breakdancing crew - and the crowd's restive booing and chanting for Mobb Deep grew louder than the performers at times.

One bright spot among the parade of rappers was the duo 6th Borough, who had real songs, real skill and real stage presence. They were followed by Status, who started strong but lost the crowd after a couple of songs. It was hard to figure out why, but he was done. I would have gladly had Status come back over the mangy crew that next took the stage. Whoever they were, the crowd drubbed them off the stage in fairly short order, making way for Joe Budden at around 11:00pm. He's a strange case. Ten years ago, his big single, the Kool & The Gang-fueled Pump It Up, and subsequent debut album put New York at his feet. But it would be a few years before more music, and much of it was forgettable or guest-heavy, like the albums he made as a member of Slaughterhouse, the "supergroup" he put together in 2009. Yet another dude who wanted to know what this "token old guy" was doing at a Mobb Deep show told me Budden is widely considered the least skilled of that crew.

In any case, he was greeted warmly and was an affable presence, if a little indifferent to his surroundings. Budden can't seem to decide if he is a comic rapper or a tough one, turning in a perfunctory set that just seemed to peter out after Pump It Up, which still got the hands in the air. In any case, by that point I would have booed the second coming off the stage, and the crowd would have joined me. Fortunately, no more booing was necessary: the tense opening notes of Survival Of The Fittest were heard, the crowd exploded, and suddenly Mobb Deep was on stage, both Prodigy and Havoc spitting their verses with energy and authority.

This is why we came, I thought, this is why we stayed and slogged through three and a half hours of opening acts. Their beats, whether produced by Havoc, Alchemist or others, are some of the best ever and they sounded extraordinary on Stage 48's system. And while their first album is often considered their best, they rolled out song after song from across their catalog with each one garnering huge reactions from the audience. It was a well-earned greatest hits set featuring bangers like Quiet Storm, Put Em In Their Place, Have A Party, and Shook Ones Pt. II. Prodigy and Havoc performed a song each from their recent solo albums, with the former's Give Em Hell fitting in perfectly.

Both rappers have distinctive performing styles. Havoc is all business, head down, unleashing his rhymes with precision and passion. Prodigy is more animated, acting out nearly every line with nuanced and creative movements. Throughout the concert, he seemed to be hanging on every word, mouthing Havoc's bars even when he was performing his solo track. Prodigy is a riveting presence and I hope to see him in the fall when he tours with Alchemist.

As the show progressed, the sense of barely controlled chaos continued to grow, and the stage continued to fill up with more and more hangers on. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, adding to the celebratory feel. At one point Prodigy invited an audience member to climb up and film a song. She stayed for the rest of the concert, a stand-in for all of us fans. Though there is a promise of new music from them later this year, everything they've done so far has cemented them in the firmament of hip hop and New York history and the concert was both a consolidation of that achievement and a reminder of their deathless vitality.

Prodigy at Powerhouse Arena

And what of Prodigy's book, HNIC: An Infamous Novel (written with Steven Savile)? I have long thought that the universe of Mobb Deep could be expanded to include longer forms of storytelling, so I was ready for it. The short novel, the first in a series, grew out of an unproduced screenplay Prodigy wrote to accompany the H.N.I.C. album. He reached out to Savile, a well-known author of fiction of all stripes, to help him shape it into a book. At an interview with Sacha Jenkins at Powerhouse Arena about a week after the concert, Prodigy freely dispensed credit to Savile for some of the choicest lines in the book but took pride is telling a story that used characters and experiences from his past.

HNIC is a quick read and has some familiar crime literature tropes - a gangster's last job before going straight - but some new twists and turns. While I haven't kept up with the literature being sold by the average incense vendor, I did matriculate at the school Black Experience fiction, with a major in Donald Goines and a minor in Iceberg Slim. Like their work, once HNIC begins the narrative engine pulls you along like the A train between 59th and 125 - and you might find yourself missing a stop or to to find out what happens next.

The main difference is in the perspective. With Goines and Slim, there is a sense of being down in the street with their characters throughout, while Prodigy has an increased distance, a view from above. His main characters, Pappy, Black and Tonya, are playing out an old story of love, loyalty and betrayal and Prodigy's POV links them to the archetypes behind those themes. In the course of the story, he and Savile drop enough breadcrumbs to past and future plots that they should have no trouble creating sequels. The only thing they should watch out for are the Britishisms that slipped in to the text (Savile is English). I doubt anyone from Queens as gotten dinner from the "takeaway" and brought it to their "bedsit" while worrying about ill-gotten gains stored in a "holdall" - but that's a minor detail. If there is an HNIC book-of-the-month club, sign me up!

The bonus beat to the whole week was having the opportunity to be introduced to Prodigy by Sacha Jenkins before their interview. I found him to be a very relatable guy, well-aware of his stature as a million-selling artist, but open and humble to new experiences and people. Here's to another 20 years of his dark urban tales and killer beats.

Live Wire (Week of Legends, Part 1)

Photo by Jan Audun Uretsky

 

My week of legendary music began with the extremely venerable ensemble known as the New York Philharmonic as I was invited to a picnic to see one of their concerts in Central Park. While the company and chow were grand, we left at intermission as it was bloody hot, the amplified sound was of gramophone quality, and, having endured Dvorak's cello concerto, there was no way I was submitting to Tchaikovsky. Kudos to Alan Gilbert and the group in any case, at least for getting New Yorkers to gather in such a glorious setting.

Next night was when the week really took off, with the mighty Wire taking the stage at Bowery Ballroom. While I've been a fan since hearing Map Ref 41N 93W on Warner's Troublemakers loss leader (remember those?), I've never seen them live. Even so, I tried not to expend much effort imagining what the concert would be like. Based on what I've heard, either of two main incarnations could show up: the tight, straight-ahead performers of songs, or the confrontational, high-concept art project. In the latter form, they are perfectly capable of playing one chord for half an hour just to see how many people are left in the room when they've finished. I have the utmost respect for them as artists and musicians so I just decided to be open to whatever they had in mind.

There was an opening set by Bear In Heaven, one of those inexplicably acclaimed Brooklyn bands that gives that whole idea a bad name. Not terrible, just OK, with a distinctive (if derivative) sound but not one memorable song. Although they had fans in the audience, they didn't overstay their welcome and the hyper-efficient Bowery staff soon had the stage ready for Wire. Colin Newman (guitar/vocals), Graham Lewis (bass/vocals), Matthew Simms (guitar), and Robert Gray (drums) took their positions without ceremony and launched into Marooned from their 35 year old second album, Chairs Missing.

From the first notes, it was obvious we were in the presence of masters, the types of musicians who play with ease and comfort no matter how complex or ferocious the sounds become. It was also immediately obvious that they were not going to present themselves as conquering heroes but rather just as a band, and an extremely vital one at that. This was reflected in their set list, which included eight songs from Change Becomes Us, released earlier this year, and six other songs (including two brand new numbers) from the current millennium. They are obviously fully engaged with their latest material and there was no hint of any nostalgia, which was fine with me as I certainly didn't go to relive my youth.

Watching them play, I couldn't help thinking of Buddy Holly - and not just because of Newman's heavy black glasses. It is Holly who is widely credited with cementing the two-guitars-bass-drums line up, which remains a common template to this day. I wondered what Holly would think of this hypnotic, driving music - music which uses his building blocks but is completely devoid of the country, blues and jazz influences which dominated his songs. There is some common ground in the hint of British folk they both employ and watching the brutal version of Oh Boy! that he played on Ed Sullivan makes me think he might relate! In any case, seeing their music take shape in front of me I was once again amazed at the protean nature of Holly's quartet.

Terse strumming from Newman initiated many of the songs, joined by colorful patterns from Simms, melodic ostinatos from Lewis, and Gray's ultra-precise drumming. Newman sang most of the songs but both he and Lewis employ a similar vibrato-free approach, putting over the melodies and lyrics with a minimum of elaboration. These elements seem to have infinite permutations and Wire has found an astonishing number of them in their long career - and they seem in no chance of running out.

Of course, today's musicians are not limited to the instruments they have on stage. Simms's guitar was often treated and occasionally seemed to be triggering some other electronic instrument. Newman had an iPad on a stand next to him that was also creating sonic atmospheres on some songs. He also used the device as a lyrical TelePrompTer, which seemed to bother some members of the audience. Look - they guy is 58 years old, has written dozens of songs, some of them quite wordy, so I have no problem with it. I actually found his dismissive swipe to the next page of lyrics quite endearing and well in character.

Speaking of age, I always say that rock & roll keeps you young - if it doesn't kill you first - and so it is with Wire. They seemed to never run out of steam, right through to the end of the second encore, a lengthy, noisy version of Pink Flag. Perhaps newest member Simms, who's in his late 20's, as given them a new lease on life. He's a terrific presence on stage, often bobbing his head like a fan and never throwing any typical shapes despite the violence he sometimes visited on his instrument. He also acts as a fully-operational member on Change Becomes Us and is just a great addition to the band.

If I had one complaint it would be that Graham Lewis only sang one song, the marvelous Re-Invent Your Second Wheel from the new album. He's in many ways their secret weapon, a great lyricist and a singer whose husky croon is a nice contrast to Newman's slightly more acerbic voice. But what a fantastic show by a band that seems to be on quite a roll since founding guitarist Bruce Gilbert left in 2004. I won't say "here's to another 37 years of Wire," as that seems improbable, but I do look forward much more great music in the years ahead. Viva Wire!

If you're a Vine user, follow AnEarful for six second videos of the concert experience and other moving pictures.

Next time: We visit with Mobb Deep.

 

Il Mondo Musica Italiana

Five Stormy Six Albums, One Sensations' Fix Compilation and
that Recommended Records Sampler

In my first year of college I befriended Marc, an admitted acid-head who often had a gimlet for breakfast before class, and who turned out to be one of those musical gurus who seem to come along at just the right time. It was he who insisted I buy The Idiot and Lust For Life at a time when they were both out of print and thoroughly discredited. On one shopping trip he placed an interesting package in my hands, a double album set sheathed in heavy plastic, with hand-applied glitter spelling out the title: Recommended Records Sampler.

Recommended Records was an early indie founded by Chris Cutler, drummer for such avant rock mainstays as Henry Cow, Art Bears and Peter Blegvad. The Sampler consisted of newly commissioned tracks from the likes of Faust, The Residents, The Homosexuals, Univers Zero, Robert Wyatt, et al. One of the distinguishing features of the collection was the fact that it spread its net wider than the usual US/UK/Germany axis and included groups and musicians from France, Algeria, Belgium and Italy. The variety of sounds was equally diverse and made for fascinating listening. My plan was to follow up on the stuff that I found most interesting but in those pre-flat earth days this proved harder than I thought.

One of my favorite tracks was called Reparto Novita by an Italian group called Stormy Six. The song began with suspended organ chords and Nick Mason-style tom-toms accompanying a portentous melody sung in Italian. About a minute in, the drums begin playing at a molasses-slow tempo, which picks up when a biting guitar comes in, playing a liquid riff that's more prog than punk. The bass is brick hard and about halfway through joins the guitar to develop a brittle funk section. The song is through-composed with no verse/chorus structure and was obviously the product of a sophisticated ensemble. It reminded me a little of King Crimson and I needed to hear more.

It just so happened that later that year my family was taking what would be the last of our big group trips, a ski holiday in Courmayeur, a resort in the Italian Alps. We were flying in and out of Milan and would have a little time to explore the city on both ends of the trip. As excited as I was by the prospect of my first big-mountain skiing, I was nearly as excited about hitting a record store and scoring some more Stormy Six. Somehow I researched a couple of stores and made my way to them only to be met with blank stares that needed no translation. I had the same experience on subsequent trips to Italy in 1986 and 1988. (I did manage to pick up loads of obscure Ennio Morricone and an album by Tomografia Assiale Computerizzata on one of these trips. It's so avant that the garde is still no longer in sight - only slightly more musical than an actual CAT scan).

In the following years, I would occasionally listen to Reparto Novita and fruitlessly search the internet for signs of Stormy Six. Then, earlier this year, my heart skipped a beat as I read through one of the extensive updates from Downtown Music Gallery: There was a Stormy Six five-CD set on offer, collecting all of their albums from 1975 to 1982. As I read the description I wasn't entirely convinced that I would like all their work, but I had to get my hands on Al Volo, their last record and the one that contains Reparto Novita. The albums were not available individually and the set was on the pricy side but Amazon came to the rescue with a much cheaper deal and soon I was holding in my hands more music from Stormy Six. It had only taken 31 years, and ironically was via the agency of Warner Music Italia. Bravo, major labels!

After their earliest psychedelic years (they opened for the Stones in 1967), Stormy Six were founding members of the Rock In Opposition collective and sometimes, especially on Un Biglietto Del Tram and Cliche + Pinocchio Bazaar, the first albums in the set, that opposition is all you hear. They sound anti-melody, anti-groove, anti-pleasure. Let's just say they take themselves very seriously, blending folk and classical music in a manner similar to Penguin Café Orchestra, but without the puckish wit. As the albums continue, a sardonic humor starts to come through along with that increasing prog-rock sound, and the music grows more accessible.

Al Volo is definitely their crowning achievement and a record any art-rock devotee should hear. The opening cut, Non si sa dove stare, is driven by an almost electronic pulse from the bass, coruscating guitar, well-deployed synths, and an apocalyptic sense of purpose, setting the tone for an assured, distinctive group of songs that still sounds like very little else. It was well worth the wait, and I'm glad to have some of the earlier albums to fill in the blanks of their artistic development. While the band did reconvene in 1993 for a performance (released as a live album, Un Concerto), they are essentially dormant at this late date. However, my acquisition of the Stormy Six Original Album Series has set off the discovery of more Italian avant garde music in a way that doesn't feel coincidental.

On a business trip to Austin I was flipping through the discs at End Of An Ear, a large well-curated music store, when I heard a heavenly sound. It was a little Kraut, a little prog and flowed so delightfully on clouds of analog synths and propulsively strummed guitars that I beelined to the counter and asked what it was. "Sensations' Fix," I was told, and that it was a reissue/compilation that had come out in 2012. I bought their last copy and found that the song I loved, Fragments Of Light, was no fluke. Further listening revealed many wonders of exploratory music, from noodling guitar and keyboard soundscapes to fully-fledged rock jams with drums and vocals, to proto-ambient atmospheres. It's a little reminiscent of Goblin, a more prominent Italian band known for their soundtracks to Dario Argento shockers, but without the malevolence and occasional tackiness. It also brings to mind sun-drenched Kraut-folk like This Morning by Gila, or some of Popol Vuh's cheerier work for Werner Herzog. It's a sound I don't tire of easily.

The collection, called Music Is Painting In The Air (1974-77), was expertly organized and beautifully packaged by the folks at RVNG Intl., with the help of main protagonist Franco Falsini. Strangely enough, it's kind of an alternative history for a band that doesn't really have a history. Twelve of the tracks are previously unreleased, and the rest appear in different versions than the ones released on Polydor in the 1970's. Also, strange is the fact that many of the recordings were made during Falsini's time in Alexandria, VA. The European flavor is loud and clear, though, and whatever the circuitous path this fantastic music took on its way to release, I am so happy to have it.

Perhaps it was last year's fantastic album of Fausto Romitelli's music by Talea Ensemble that primed me for this Italian invasion, but I already had slightly more awareness of 20th century Italian classical music, with Luciano Berio, Giacinto Scelsi and Salvatore Sciarrino never far from my radar. Whatever the cause, it happened again a few weeks ago when I was perusing some of the people I follow on This Is My Jam and noticed enraptured comments for a post featuring music by Luciano Cilio. Who? I listened and fell in line with the enraptured.

The piece, Primo quadro della conscenza, drifts in on delicate guitar, soon joined by single piano notes, and then a violin and cello. It's slightly somber yet not melancholy with intertwined female voices, singing wordlessly (shades of Edda Del'Orso), lending a searching air. At a point of dissonant climax, the music reverts to its opening delicacy, with the piano assuming the lead role for two or three minutes of lush arpeggiated exploration a la Satie. The whole piece was gorgeous, a natural link between some of the early folk-tinged Stormy Six songs, Morricone's quieter pieces, and the more rigorously composed classical music mentioned above. This was obviously a major talent - why hadn't I heard of him? Well, the fact that he committed suicide in 1983 at the age of 33 and only released one album during his short life may be a contributing factor. And the fact that the album, Dialoghi del presente (1977) is completely out of print and that the expanded 2004 reissue, Dell'Universo assente, was limited to 500 copies, doesn't help either.

Those facts also made further investigation after discovering him nearly as frustrating as my search for Stormy Six back in the 1980's. But of course, now I have YouTube and was able to quickly assemble a playlist of seven tracks from the two albums. Now I can listen to Cilio's music every day - and I keep the tab open in my Chrome at work so I do exactly that. It's a wonderful way to start the day and it satisfies my need to give Cilio's work the life it should have had were he able to continue his own. I hope you'll do the same and also explore some of the other Italian music I mention. Now I will say arrivederci and ask what am I still missing?

The Best of 2013 (So Far)

Bowie's back on top.

Typically, I'm the first person up in my house, getting up at about 5:00am to move the car, make the coffee, pack the lunches and clear the sink. I often catch up on favorite podcasts (like Soundcheck, Studio 360 or Sound Opinions) as I make these rounds but the morning of January 8th was different. I swiped open my iPhone to find a link cryptically shared by a friend of mine who lives in France. It seemed to be a new video by David Bowie - or about him - but I couldn't be quite sure. I broke from routine by tackling the sink first with the iPhone propped on the shelf in front of me, pressing "play" before turning on the water. My first thought was that the video for Where Are We Now? was a brilliant parody, that the need for new material from the Thin White Duke had inspired the internet to spew forth something that would cruelly taunt us fans. A minute into listening to the gorgeous, elegiac ballad and watching the intriguing visuals I knew: it was simply too good to be anything but the real thing. I could scarcely contain my elation at hearing something new from one of my heroes.

I also felt this was a good omen for the music of 2013 and that has been borne out by one great record after another. I'll attempt to corral it all in a preliminary Top Ten (which could become a Top 20 by year's end) and a few other lists.

1. David Bowie - The Next Day Here's why.

2. Kanye West - Yeezus Another masterpiece.

3. Jenny O. - Automechanic Great songs, great singing, deal sealed by Jonathan Wilson's brilliant production.

4. Jon Hopkins - Immunity Composer and producer Hopkins first came to my attention in 2010 as a collaborator on Small Craft On A Milk Sea, Brian Eno's finest record in many a year. Investigating further turned up some ok but not particularly characterful collections of electronic and ambient sounds. So my ears were open if not exactly primed when Hopkins appeared on Soundcheck earlier this year. His performance of Open Eye Signal quickly had me at full attention: Thick slabs of artfully arranged sounds welded to a groove of tectonic proportions built a composition that drew me in and engaged me completely. The rest of the album maintains the promise of Open Eye Signal, from glitchy tracks like Collider to the intimate ambient of Abandon Window and the title track. Electronic album of the year.

5. Jace Clayton - The Julius Eastman Memory Depot I would be mourning the death of Mudd Up much more if not for this dazzling record, which firmly establishes Clayton as a major proponent and participant in the avant garde.

6. Parquet Courts - Light Up Gold It was great to hear Greg Kot revise his already high opinion of this endearing record. At first he had focused on the "ramshackle vibe" and "casual surface" but further listening revealed the craftsmanship behind the songs on this "supremely well-done record." I don't usually quote other reviewers, but I really couldn't have said it better myself. Great stuff with a real New York attitude. Think it's as easy as it sounds? Fuggedaboutit. I can't wait to see them in concert again.

7. Daniel Wohl - Corps Exquis Based on the company he keeps in the new music scene in NYC and elsewhere, it was only a matter of time before I ran into Daniel Wohl's music, and based on the bracingly original and stunningly beautiful sounds on his debut album, I'm glad it didn't take any longer for me to get acquainted. Corps Exquis, performed to a tee by the quintet Transit and featuring valuable assistance from Julia Holter, Aaron Roche and So Percussion, is actually the soundtrack to a video and performance piece but stands completely, entrancingly, on its own. The melding and merging of electronics and acoustic instruments sounds so uncannily inevitable in the nine compositions that the mind ceases to worry what is making which sound. This is also richly affecting music that touches on a variety of emotional colors. Don't wait for the show to come to your town - just get this album.

8. Wire - Change Becomes Us Post-punks never die, they just get smarter.

9. Mystical Weapons - Mystical Weapons In which Sean Lennon and drummer Greg Saunier (of Deerhoof) prove that the vision of Miles Davis's electric period was never about virtuosity (although they are both virtuosic musicians), but rather a musique-concrete-esque coming together of improvised sounds and textures. Seeing them in concert was like witnessing telepathy. One thing they get right that a lot of similar freak-outs don't is dynamic range. Lennon and Saunier seem to think more like co-composers than co-improvisers, resulting in a record that is consistently more rewarding with each listen. Lennon's wandering career is such that this could easily be a one-off but that's fine - it's hard to imagine them bettering it.

10. Chance The Rapper - Acid Rap This free mixtape is an ambitious, sprawling, and almost cinematic collection from 20 year old Chancelor Bennett. Caught between adolescence and adulthood, he raps in a reedy voice about falling in love, falling into bad habits and missing his mom's cocoa butter kisses. He sometimes sings lines and his signature sound is a little shriek that can convey frustration, joy or anger. There's a rhythmic flexibility to Chance's flow that meshes perfectly with the jazz-based grooves on some of the songs. There are plenty of guests on Acid Rap but Chance is in full command and I predict a bright future for this brave and intelligent new voice.

Bubbling Under

Rock-Type Stuff: Both Comedown Machine by The Strokes and Ghost On Ghost by Iron & Wine received a lot of blowback but I like them both and return to their wells of emotion and musical ingenuity often.

Amok by Thom Yorke's Atoms For Peace sounded much as expected - terrific - but I can't help feeling that this material is going to really take off onstage. I've got tickets for one of their shows at Barclay's Center so I'll find out in September.

The Mavericks are back with In Time - and dare I say "better than ever"? The sheer sound and power of these master musicians and the makes it easy to overlook the moon/spoon/June lyrics and (Call Me) When You Get To Heaven brings a new operatic flavor to the picture.

Amor De Dias returned with a second album, The House At Sea, and it's just as gorgeous as the last one. Any year with something new from Alasdair MacLean is a good year.

Pere Ubu secured their legendary status for their first three records alone but they occasionally pull together and put out something new that proves the continuing relevance - and edginess - of their approach. Lady From Shanghai is an uncompromising example.

Disclosure is the duo of Guy and Howard Lawrence, brothers who seem to have absorbed practically everything about the last 20 years of dance music - and they're only in their early 20's - and figured how to refresh and revive it on Settle, their debut full-length. When A Fire Starts To Burn is the standout track and an instant classic floor-filler, but no one at your party will complain if you just leave the whole album on.

Hip Hop: Jonwayne has been on my radar since 2012's Quakers collection. Passing Fancies is merely the best of the quirky songs he's been releasing on cassette over the last couple of years. Can't wait for his official debut.

Prodigy & Alchemist's Albert Einstein is great, if not quite at the level of Return Of The Mac. Essential 2013 hip hop.

If Pusha-T can maintain the level of Numbers On The Boards for a whole solo album, we might stop wondering when the next Clipse album is coming out.

Jazz: I probably keep up with new jazz the least of all the kinds of music I listen to. If there were more records as bold, expansive and thrilling as Without A Net from the nearly 80-year-old Wayne Shorter, that would change in a heartbeat. Recorded at several live performances and featuring several compositions from his past as well as Pegasus, a new work performed with Imani Winds, Shorter and his blazing quartet splash around on stage like whales in a bathtub - its joyful but you feel disaster could be around the corner. It's called "without a net" for a reason.

Classical: The world of Brooklyn Rider produced two great albums so far this year: A Walking Fire, which features Bela Bartok's Third Quartet bookended by contemporary gypsy music and a new composition from violinist Colin Jacobson; and Recursions, the wonderfully wide solo debut by violist Nicolas Cords.

Benjamin Britten's centennial has produced one new classic recording amidst all the reissues and repackages: Britten Songs by tenor Ian Bostridge, accompanied by the piano of Sir Antonio Pappano, and, on five songs, guitarist Xuefei Yang. It's sublime.

Out Of The Past: Speaking of reissues, Light In The Attic has packaged Bobby Whitlock's first two solo albums as Where There's A Will There's A Way and it burns. Anyone who has been moved by his vocals on Derek & The Dominoes tracks will want to dive into his emotionally profligate way with a song. Big, bold arrangements performed by an all-star cast (Harrison, Clapton, etc.). 

Another great label, Strut, has done something of a public service by exhuming the work of Romanian progressives, Rodion G.A. A touch of Krautrock, a touch of psych - it get's better with every listen. Thankfully The Lost Tapes are lost no more!

The wonders of the Miles Davis Bootleg series continue with volume two, Live In Europe 1969, which features a line-up that never recorded in the studio. Four concerts, one on DVD, and you won't want to miss a note.

Finally, more Hendrix is on sale. Again. But fortunately, People, Hell & Angels is as fresh and energetic as Valleys of Neptune was slack and rehashed. The remixing might be slightly aggressive but it's great to hear his guitar jump out and transform the air around you. Supposedly, this is the last new collection of studio material. I assume that means that the Experience Hendrix folks will be concentrating on live recordings, so I'll put my vote in for a professionally mixed release of the storming set at Randall's Island in 1970.

What 2013 releases are still in rotation around your way?

Form IS Content

"Die Mauern steh'n/sprachlos und kalt, im Winde/klirren die Fahnen."

"With those other bums that rap/They nothin' like this/They wish upon stars that their bars can get/Similar burn as us, who had a run like this?"

"In a French-ass restaurant/Hurry up with my damn croissants."

Three quotes from three different records all making a splash right about now: Ian Bostridge singing Benjamin Britten songs, Prodigy & Alchemist's Albert Einstein, and Kanye West's Yeezus. In all three cases, there are a lot of words set to music, and in all three cases, depending on the moment, you can take the words seriously, with a grain of salt, or as just part of the sounds. In short, it's the return of the perennial form vs. content debate and from my point of view, form always trumps content - in fact, in many cases the form IS the content.

Britten Songs, by tenor Ian Bostridge, with accompaniment by pianist Sir Antonio Pappano and (on five songs) guitarist Xuefei Yang, is a supremely intelligent collection of songs by the 20th century's greatest Btitish composer. In part a celebration of Britten's centennial, the five song cycles included span his career from 1940 to 1969 and showcase his remarkably consistent approach to setting songs. Britten always seems to engage with the words of the poems he chooses, but the listener may ignore them as the results delight the ear and the emotions with melodies by turns haunting, spiky, questioning, wistful, and charming.

Bostridge has been singing Britten songs since the start of his career and he inhabits these songs completely. Such is his conjuring of mood that it seems only appropriate that his doctorate from Cambridge was earned by a thesis on witchcraft. He is ably assisted by Sir Antonio, whose playing is always lucid and dynamic without ever stealing the spotlight. Yang is equally transparent on the guitar in the sweet miniatures of the Songs from the Chinese. Fortunately, Britten is far too sophisticated to fall prey to any Oriental clichés in these pieces and they end the album delightfully.

I'm sure there will be many new releases and reissues commemorating Britten's 100th but this basically perfect record may stand at the top of the heap. And, while there are some evocative words in the poems of Hardy, Hölderlin, Michelangelo, etc., you don't have to read them to enjoy the record - which is fortunate as most download services do not provide the liner notes.

Prodigy is, of course, one half of the legendary duo Mobb Deep, and he has been on a tear since his release from prison in 2011, releasing three albums, at least as many mixtapes, as well as a variety of Mobb Deep singles and guest appearances. He's currently on an international tour in honor of Mobb Deep's 20th anniversary. His jail sentence for a weapons charge in 2008 especially stung as it was not long after the release of both Return Of The Mac (a full album collaboration with producer The Alchemist and one of his finest records) and H.N.I.C. Part 2 (also very good). One of the things that made Mac so great was how tightly focused it was, with nearly every song featuring beats redolent of 70's soul and Blaxploitation soundtracks, and lyrics dwelling on the gangster life from all angles.

The connection between Prodigy, the ultimate New Yorker, and The Alchemist (out of Beverly Hills) goes back to 1999 and Mobb Deep's platinum-selling Murda Muzik album. They are both hip hop lifers and obviously simpatico so the announcement (relentlessly promoted on social media) of a new joint album was welcome and Albert Einstein, while perhaps not at the heights of Return Of The Mac, does not disappoint.

Alchemist's sounds are dazzling, constructing a kaleidoscopic array of spine tingling backgrounds to challenge Prodigy to bring his A game. Just like pretty much every rap album, not every line is a deathless classic (like the boilerplate boasting quoted above), however Prodigy has a hypnotic flow that pulls you in. It's like a con-man's seductive patter and especially effective when he's painting a specific picture as on the chorus of YNT: "Got 16 on the hip/Pretty little things in the whip/'Bout to take a ride, get lit/Episodes of some young hustlers, we thuggin'."

There are plenty of memorable couplets on Albert Einstein, however, and it never ceases to amaze how Prodigy comes up with new ways of describing his noir surroundings: "Morning of the day, evening of the killer kids/City of the gods, money stack pyramids," from Death Sentence, or "I am - slippery when wet off that 'maldehyde/Smoke a Dutch full of dust, pull a homi-," from Give Em Hell. In that second quote, check out how he cuts off the second syllable of "homicide," denying the ear of the expected rhyme - then he uses the word "side" in the next line, twisting the knife. Dylan does stuff like that.

When it all comes together, as on the album's masterpiece Confessions, all the power and promise of the Mobb Deep ethos is brilliantly present. The song is a straight-up tale of  score-settling, with perfectly chosen details that put us in the scene: a hip hop first-person shooter. The song begins with Prodigy hitting the street and being told the guy he's looking for is up the block, "hot-boxing" with a woman wearing a cheap red weave. He spots the car and: "I saw his radio lights through the rear tint/I stepped in front of the car so he could see the hit/The look on his face was priceless/The bitch's micro braids caught fire when the fifth/Put pieces of her wig on the seats in the back/Now there's weed smoke pouring out the bullet hole glass." Raymond Chandler himself would tip his fedora.

Unlike last year's guest-laden H.N.I.C. III, which was simultaneously too focused on chart success and too lazy to satisfy the true fans, Albert Einstein is a fantastic album, putting Prodigy squarely on top of the rap game, a remarkable achievement for someone celebrating his 20th anniversary in the biz. Much kudos due to Alchemist for once again bringing out the best in this New York legend.

Speaking of legends, if Kanye West didn't exist, we would have had to invent him. Since his debut a decade ago, West has been cutting a wide swath though the airwaves, music sales, tabloids, and even the hard news world (remember "George Bush don't like black people"?). Selling millions of records and concert tickets, pissing off millions of people (especially Taylor Swift fans), and dazzling critics and listeners alike with music that fascinates even when he stumbles, there is no one on pop culture quite like him.

Fortunately, Yeezus is not one of the stumbles but rather one of the most startling albums of his career. One of the engines of Kanye's production (and one of his fatal flaws) is his constant demand for approval, necessary to fuel his distressingly large ego. The ego is still there, but the need for approval may finally be waning. Perhaps the fact that his last album, the outrageously good My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (the Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) of hip hop), failed to make a dent at the Grammys has led him to make a record that doesn't give a good goddam what anyone thinks.

The overall sound is sleekly brutal, with serrated synths abutting tinny samples, like a smash cut from Technicolor to Super-8, and distorted screams popping up in more than one song. The consistency of Yeezus is even more remarkable when you consider that each song features a dozen writers and recordings made at half as many studios in NYC, Paris, Jamaica, California and England. Part of that is no doubt due to the final polish provided by Rick Rubin, who reportedly helped Kanye chip away at excess to perfect the record, like the old adage about sculpting an elephant.

Just as on his previous albums, there are some highly visible collaborators (who knew Daft Punk could swing like that?), but the blend is tighter and sounds more a product of one mind than his earlier work. Tellingly, Yeezus is West's shortest record, at 40 minutes a full 36 minutes shorter than Late Registration. That concision does not extend to the lyrics, however - a sometimes bewildering splatter-punk spray of aggression, self-pity, jokes and boasts. You could quote many lines that make Kanye look like an ass, but the overall impression is one of complexity, ambivalence, depth, often couched in a scabrous cynicism.

Kanye is as capable as David Bowie at creating personae to communicate through - and there are many on Yeezus - but if you take the essence of the words at face value, you get a very clear sense of a man on the brink of fatherhood and fearfully observing the current state of race, class, and personal relations - and finding them all wanting. His world is one in which self-absorbed, hedonistic African Americans squander the advances of the civil rights era, men and women screw each other over for money and celebrity, and white people get rich off imprisoning black people. It's not a pretty picture and Kanye paints it with the abandon of an abstract expressionist.

The album's high point is Blood On The Leaves, a harrowing conflation of the great anti-lynching song Strange Fruit with tales of broken hearts, broken promises, and dangerous obsessions. Lest you dismiss the use of the classic song as being disrespectful, consider the fact that not so long ago engaging in an interracial romance (as Kanye himself has), or even "reckless eyeballing," could get a black man strung up.

There is light in the darkness, however, as the brilliantly sequenced album ends with Bound 2, Kanye's version of a love song in which he describes a passionate affair developing into a long term romance, with encouragement from none other than The Gap Band's own baby-making crooner, Charlie Wilson. Besides Wilson, many of the hooks on Yeezus are gorgeously sung by Bon Iver's Justin Vernon, continuing another unlikely partnership that no one thought would last. In fact, the microcosm of his relationship with Vernon might hold the most hope for all the areas Kanye is so worried about: seeing the indie rocker and the megastar, the black man and the white man working together so fruitfully would inspire anyone to believe that not only can we all get along, but we can benefit greatly from our connections with other people.

Dissertations could be written (Rap Genius already has a head start) on all the references and elements, both musical and lyrical, that combine together to make Yeezus so good. I'll just say that it is well worth your time to delve into another masterpiece from Kanye West - you may get uncomfortable, or even angry, but indifference is not an option.

All three of these records may have words that leave you cold or that may defy comprehension, even in translation, but they are all landmarks in their areas that demand familiarity. Get to know them soon.

Bostridge/Britten Videos