The Wilco Diaspora, Part 1

Wilco missed their drop date. Between 2007 and 2011 they reliably put out an album every other fall, but 2013 came and went with no enticing per-order info from Wilco world. Of course, dependability is not very rock & roll and, truth be told, some of those albums showed the strain of recovering from the seismic blast of A Ghost Is Born. Now, nearly halfway through the year, we know the Wilco camp has been very busy what with Jeff Tweedy announcing his solo project, Sukierae, due on September 15th, and prior releases by drummer Glenn Kotche, guitarist Nels Cline, keyboardist Mikael Jorgensen, and The Autumn Defense, which features bassist John Stirratt and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone.

All these guys are seriously talented musicians who are crucial strands in the current DNA of Wilco, with Tweedy obviously the most important as it is his voice and relatable human contradictions that drive the sound and emotional tenor of the group. The advance on his record, a collaboration with son Spencer, sounds great, so while we wait for more let's catch up with what the other members are up to.

Mikael Jorgenson (with Chris Girard and Greg O'Keeffe) - The Cheetah Jorgensen came into the fold when Wilco was touring Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and had the job of translating into a live setting some of the more outré sounds Tweedy, producer Jim O'Rourke, and ex-member Jay Bennett had come up with in the studio. His skills with both electronics and piano soon had him a full member of the group, making valuable contributions to A Ghost Is Born and subsequent releases. The Cheetah features Girard, who co-wrote the lyrics to Theologians and percussionist O'Keeffe. The album is full of tantalizing analog synth textures, playful melodies and pleasing motorik rhythms with occasional words from Girard, but it seems somewhat lacking in substance. Check out "Soybot" and decide for yourself if you want to hear more.

The Autumn Defense - Fifth Yep, it's Stirratt and Sansone's fifth album under this name and it continues their run of expert, melodic, 60's/70's AM radio-tinged songs. Very pleasant - to the point of forgettability - but if you're on a long drive and you want to listen to something you don't mind talking over, they've got your number. The collection picks up quite a bit at the end, with the addictive shuffle of Why Don't We, the hazy The Light In Your Eyes, and the psyche-era Byrds of Things On My Mind. George Harrison wouldn't have rejected What's It Take, finishing a great little run that would have made a killer EP. I view The Autumn Defense as a nice exercise that keeps Stirratt and Sansone at the top of their games in between Wilco tours and records. When you see Sansone windmilling his guitar at the next Wilco concert you'll be glad he kept in shape.

The Nels Cline Singers - Macroscope "He walks among us," Jeff Tweedy once said after yet another stunning solo from Cline during a Wilco concert. Cline has been a full-time member of Wilco since 2004 and is without a doubt the most virtuosic member of the band - indeed, he's probably one of the best living guitarists period. His recording career stretches back to 1978 and he has been involved with countless projects and bands, many in the free or avant garde jazz realm. The vocalist-free Singers is probably his most accessible group outside of Wilco and the often volcanic Macroscope may be their best yet. While there's nothing slavish here, there are welcome echoes of Santana, Miles Davis, Mahavishnu Orchestra and other masters of sprawling, dynamic music featuring devastating improvisations.

While there is often a tart humor to Cline's work, this is a serious, if quirky, contemporary jazz record without a trace of dilletantism. Cline and and percussionist Scott Amendola have been playing together for well over a decade and new bassist Trevor Dunn has toured with them in the past so they've developed the necessary telepathy to complement each other perfectly as they move through each composition. There's intensity to spare here and plenty of details to savor. Amendola's work is beyond exemplary and Dunn mostly lays back, providing a steady pulse. Check out Seven Zed Heaven, a standout track that has them moving seamlessly from knotty to ecstatic with a burning inevitability.

Glenn Kotche - Adventureland Kotche is the other virtuoso in Wilco, with whom he's played since 2000. It's hard to imagine them with anyone else, so perfectly does he manage everything from tight rock grooves to explosive freak-outs to tricky impressionist clatter. It was no surprise (to me anyway) when he put out Mobile in 2006, a simply great "new music" percussion album mostly composed by Kotche with a touch of Steve Reich. It was a real showcase for Kotche's skills and as well as his dedication in the studio. Adventureland is quite a different beast altogether. Since Mobile, Kotche has been honing his compositional talents, taking commissions and performing with Missy Mazzoli and other leading lights of the avant garde, and the new album shows his writing - and imagination - at full flower.

This is especially true of Anomaly, a seven-movement work for strings, percussion and electronics, performed here with The Kronos Quartet. There is much joy, delight, contemplation and mystery in the piece and all those moods are infectious. The execution is flawless and, listened to as a whole, Anomaly is a very satisfying piece indeed and one I can imagine having legs in the concert hall - if Kotche has made it possible for others to do what he's doing, of course. I say "as a whole" because he has chosen to interleaved the sections of Anomaly with a series of clever constructions, several with the word "haunted" in the title, that are often funny and beautiful - and sometimes downright weird.

I don't use the word "weird" often - after all, what does it really mean? I have a friend who thinks Grace Jones is weird, for goodness sake. But the Haunted Hive, for example, includes what sounds like the processed barks of a dog with its head caught in a fence, random drumming, clattering and bells - and a siren. It's somewhat reminiscent of the more abstract cuts on Pere Ubu's The Art of Walking and makes one wonder if there is a short film we're missing while it plays. Kotche's sense of play, along with his fealty to pop-song concision carries the day, however.

The Haunted Furnace, The Haunted Viaduct, The Haunted Tree House all prominently feature the piano essentially as another percussion instrument and are propulsive little engines in sound. The Traveling Turtle is sheer delight, with gamelan bells and a charming melody - a genuine portrait in sound. Triple Fantasy begins with a burst of distortion and ambitiously includes both Kronos and the chamber ensemble, Eighth Blackbird. It's length of under six minutes is deceptive - Kotche manages to pack a lot of incident into its brief run, once again showing his growing mastery of writing. 

There is a willfully schizoid quality to the way Kotche put together Adventureland, as your mind keeps trying to knit together the split up sections of Anomaly. In that way, the whole record can be seen as another composition, over and above the pieces it contains. Anomaly deserves to be listened to on its own, however, so it's almost two records in one. Great music and a good deal - especially on Amazon, where you can grab it for $5!

The boys in the band are going to have a lot to talk about whenever Wilco reconvenes. We'll pick up the story in September.

Record Fair Thoughts

"Rock'n'roll's a loser's game/It mesmerizes and I can't explain." - Ballad of Mott the Hoople (26th March 1972, Zurich)

The sheer con artistry of the music biz is never more present than at a record fair. Bands promoted as the next big thing fill the dollar bins while great music that never got its due is lovingly traded for big bucks. The former represents the bad investments of record labels, the latter the missed opportunities. One can't help becoming a bit of a skeptic after living a life in music, whether you're onstage, like Ian Hunter singing the words quoted above, or in the crowd, searching for greatness.

Of course, if you're going to talk about music industry charlatans, one would have to touch on used record dealers themselves. Sure there are books that try to rationalize pricing, but dealers know they can charge almost anything they want to the right customer - the one who just has to have whatever it is they've got. Everyone who has ever sold a record to a shop for a dollar and seen it hanging in the window for $20 knows what I mean. Most of them, though, are music lovers and crucial stewards of our recorded legacy.

These are the kind of thoughts I had early on at the WFMU record fair, but it has such a nice vibe and benefits a great local radio station so they were fleeting. They only returned when I was flipping through a bin and realized it was completely unchanged since the last WFMU event. Those Lee Dorsey CD's are still overpriced, thank you very much. Re-price, rearrange - do something to respect the long memories of music fans! Granted, I'm not a vinyl fetishist and I'm always on the hunt for the new so it's easy for me to be selective at an event like this. But I'm also so unreasonable about music that I could spend a few hours flipping through crates and listening to people rhapsodize about their finds without even buying anything and call it a day well spent.

The first vendor I hit, however, made me long for a sugar daddy. I could've dropped a $1,000 on box sets in a few minutes: Harry Nilsson, Bill Nelson, Leonard Cohen, Wilson Pickett, Miles Davis - all in perfect condition or sealed. Most of them were only minimally marked down, it's true, but the magnetism of such a haul was undeniable. He also had practically every issue of Ace records, the excellent British reissue label. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time immersing myself in his stock. I didn't buy anything at first as I wanted to make the full circuit, but I returned later for Miles Davis Gil Evans: The Complete Columbia Studio Recordings - a six CD set for $30 and one of the few Miles boxes I don't already have.

My first trek around the enormous interior of the 69th Regiment Armory on 26th and Lexington was entirely focused on CD's in fact, but I only came up with one other object of desire: George Harrison's posthumous final album, Brainwashed. The reviews were always good for this one and you can't listen on Spotify (although a couple of people have put the full album on YouTube), so I thought $4 was well worth it for the full experience. George had his off moments but he's been my second-favorite Beatle since hearing the dark tones of Don't Bother Me and the brilliantly bitter Taxman as a child.

Going on the last day of the fair can be wise - sure things may be picked over, but people are also willing to deal. On my last go round at the armory, I got sucked by C.J. & Co.'s Devil's Gun album sticking out of a crate accompanied by the words, "Everything's $5 - and if you buy a few, I'll lower the price." The C.J. & Co. Record, featuring the classic title cut, was in good shape and is an out of print Dennis Coffey production so that stayed in my hot hands as I flipped through rest of the stock. Swathes of fantastic Philly soul, early disco and 70's funk kept me going. I struck gold with a sealed copy of Disco Connection by The Isaac Hayes Movement and, in a limited crate of soundtracks, an admittedly ratty copy of Curtis Mayfield's hard to find Claudine, featuring Gladys Knight & The Pips.

The final bin I looked at was 50's rock & roll. I pretty much have most of what I want in that area but I could not resist the album of "Fox Trots with Vocal Chorus by Bill Haley" simply called Rock Around The Clock. I was sold by the beautiful cover and the fact that I recently learned that my son has yet to hear that song. Also re-reading the quixotic tale of Haley in both Bob Stanley's Yeah Yeah Yeah and Mark Lewisohn's Tune In made me think this would be the perfect Haley record to have, instead of a slavishly complete clinically mastered CD reissue. Some music still needs a little smoke and mirrors to get across - or noisy grooves - and for all my sometimes cynical views, I'm always willing to fall in love all over again. Especially for the right price, which turned out to be $15 for all four records. See you at the next fair!

Pianos In Context

Beethoven was a pirate. He was all too happy to sell the same work over and over to different publishers in order to reap more revenue from his compositions. One could imagine that were he alive today he would have no problem with multiple recordings of his pieces, as long as he got a cut. But from the listener's point of view, there's always the potential for over-saturation when it comes to music composed centuries ago: How many virtuoso and brilliantly recorded performances of Mozart or Beethoven do we actually need?

Of course, the interpretive possibilities are endless for anything written before the dawn of recording, but it helps to have something extra for me to re-engage with works that are well-represented in the catalogs of every label. Hence, context.

In the case of Leif Ove Andsnes's new recording of Beethoven's Piano Concertos Nos. 2 &; 4, this is his second release under the rubric The Beethoven Journey. Like the first, which included Piano Concertos 1 & 3, this features the Mahler Chamber Orchestra with Andsnes conducting from the keyboard.

In truth, beyond making "the composer's music the centerpiece of my life as a performer and recording artist," Andsnes has not created any grand structure on which to hang his exploration of Beethoven's music for keyboard and orchestra, which will eventually culminate in a disc of the fifth concerto coupled with the Choral Fantasy. One could even get a whiff of marketing behind the whole thing. But stop sniffing and put the damned disc on, or do whatever you have to do to hear it.

When you do, you will experience some of the most sheerly sublime music-making imaginable. Especially in Piano Concerto No. 2, the transparency of texture, the rhythmic articulation, and the continuity of line put into focus everything you could want from these works. Andsnes seems to demonstrate a stylish self-effacement, managing not to insert himself in an obvious way between the listener and the notes on the page.

While there is no claim to "authenticity" behind Andsnes's approach, the choice of a chamber orchestra was a wise one, avoiding the encrustations of doubled instruments and allowing Beethoven's sparkle to shine through. And there is plenty of sparkle, most notably in the earlier of the two works. About ten years separates the composition of the two concertos and there is a marked difference, with a slightly squarer sound to No. 4, with its big tuttis and sections of churning drama. It seems a bit more "professional," with the merest diminishment in the sense of discovery and joy.

But overall, this is fantastic sounding stuff, flawlessly performed and recorded, and can surely hold its own next any of the great recordings that I've heard. Old Ludwig Van himself might have let the license to this recording go for less than his usual rate, delighted as he would be to hear his music so well presented.

Having grown up in the rock era, I make a distinction between recordings and records, with the former being a more straightforward presentation of the music and the latter involving studio techniques, sequencing or some other kind of artistic intervention between the performance and the listening experience. Perhaps also because of the times in which I grew up, I tend to enter into a closer relationship with records over recordings.The Andsnes Beethoven is most definitely a recording, but David Greilsammer's spectacular Scarlatti: Cage: Sonatas is a record - and one of the best of 2014 so far.

Juxtaposition is a fairly common strategy in the world of classical music as a way of injecting new life into old repertoire but rarely has it been employed so well. Greilsammer picked up on the connection between Domenico Scarlatti and John Cage, both as seekers of the new - inventors, he calls them - and men simultaneously in and out of their times.

The program is uncomplicated: Greilsammer carefully selected eight of the more than 550(!) Scarlatti keyboard sonatas and half of the 16 sonatas from Cage's Sonatas and Interludes and goes back and forth between the two composers in a sequence of his own devising. He performs both men's work on modern instruments, although naturally Cage's music is played on a piano that has been prepared with screws, nails and other items.

A beautifully rounded performance of Scarlatti's Sonata in D Minor, K. 213, starts off the album, it's crepuscular introduction seeming to rise out of the ether itself. Greilsammer's mastery of dynamics and the warm tone of the recording makes for a performance so assured and convincing that I can hardly believe he managed to shave 90 seconds off the length of Ivo Pogorelich's benchmark recording. How can it not sound frantic? And then Cage's Sonata XVI & XV starts up, placing stars in the same sky Scarlatti gazed upon over 200 years earlier - and I swoon.

That's the record - startling consonances and dissonances across time, all presented as beautiful music, no ideology in sight. The lack of pedantry should convince listeners from both sides of the fence to hear both Baroque and avant garde sounds as Greilsammer does, as dessert not medicine.

This is not the first time Greilsammer has pursued the "compare and contrast" method of making a record. In 2012 he released Baroque Conversations, which combined a variety of Baroque era piano music alongside modern works. While the playing was as articulate and expert as it is here, it felt like a bit of a stunt. Not so here - focusing on two composers helps and there is real artistry in the sequencing this time around. For example, Greilsammer wisely holds the big block chords of Cage's Sonata I until the middle of the collection, forming a sturdy backbone to the album. And just when you think Cage is the only one who gets to stomp around the playroom, along comes Scarlatti's D Minor, K. 175 a couple of tracks later, throwing bizarre chords left and right and having a high old time - you will, too.

For a sampling of the sounds from Scarlatti: Cage: Sonatas check out this video with David Greilsammer literally swiveling between the conventional piano and the prepared one to play bits of the sonatas. 

The GOASTT Is Real

At this late date, I doubt that there is very much that surprises Yoko Ono. Yet there she was, on Soundcheck, expressing astonishment that Sean Lennon, music director of the reconstituted Plastic Ono Band, knew all of her and John's songs, "... all the intros and everything, note for note!" My immediate thought was: "Where have you been, lady?"

Sean has been a major part of my musical life since 1996 when Into The Sun came out. Not only did he play most of the instruments on the album, but he wrote songs alternately vulnerable and bluff - sometimes in the same song - showing an easy mastery of the loud-quiet-loud thing, and also incorporating sounds from Brazilian psych before it was fashionable. Into The Sun was a constant soundtrack that resonated emotionally with things I was experiencing at the time. I found it strange that some the critical community had a quite different reaction - that album still only has 2.5 stars on AMG.

Never mind those bollocks - I was a fan, and have remained one. In 2010, a few years after the supremely accomplished Friendly Fire (check out Headlights), he started a new project with his girlfriend Charlotte Kemp Muhl called The Ghost Of A Saber Toothed Tiger. Picking up on the softer side of French Ye Ye pop, the delicate (OK, precious) songs were a far cry from the blood-drenched songs on his earlier albums (Dead Meat, anyone?). But the two made such a charming pair that headed down to the South Street Seaport with my daughter to see them live.

Along with a loose crowd on the pier we witnessed the emergence of a duo with star power, and more importantly, musical power. They performed with a full band and if there had been a roof, they would have blown it off. The folks drinking their iced tea on the nearby terrace looked a bit startled. Thing was, the album they released consisted of acoustic demos. There was another collection that was at first only sold on tour but, while it featured the whole group, it had the distinctly tentative air of a rehearsal session.

So here I was blathering away to everyone about this vision in sound but I might as well have been trying to convince people that I actually saw a ghost. Mystical Weapons, Sean's aural action painting project with drummer Greg Saunier, which came out last year, helped my cause quite a bit. "That's Sean Lennon?" people asked when I played it. A few songs later: "Is that still Sean Lennon?"

Now we have Midnight Sun, the new album under the GOASTT moniker and the only word that came to me seconds after clicking play on the Soundcloud stream was: Finally. Now people will believe me, here's the full package of where Lennon is now - and it is a package deal as Charlotte is a full collaborator. She's a terrific, economical bass player, has a delightful voice and a mischievous quality that leavens some of Sean's darker impulses - but not all of them. The mighty impala-slaying riff that opens the record comes from her, as Sean revealed in a recent interview.

After Too Deep, we get Xanadu, a jaunty churn drenched in Chamberlin flute, and the trippy Animals, constituting a one-two-three punch combo that both the album and listener have to recover from slightly. Not everyone will be charmed by the slightly cutesy Johannesburg, although its richly detailed outro is a delight, ending with Charlotte's laughter. The sense of play continues with the title track, with its question mark of a riff that resolves into a killer chorus: "And I'm melting into the midnight sun/And I'm just another ordinary alien."

Last Call lands us on the dark side of the moon on swoops of slide guitar, but bounces into the light when Sean and Charlotte trade gnarly lines of singsong surrealism, before blasting off again via a Wurlitzer solo and an expansive workout by Sean on guitar. They also show their range by covering the classic Golden Earrings as a lysergic waltz - works perfectly.

My pick for second single would be Great Expectations, which shades into self-reference on the ascending winner of a chorus: "Great expectations/All eyes on you." It's an instant ear-worm, but he wisely doesn't overwork it. Poor Paul Getty tells the gruesome tale of that scion's kidnapping, keeping it light in contrast with the subject matter. Like Great Expectations, however, there's that resonance with Sean's own life. Not only has he dealt with critical skepticism but he knows first-hand what it's like to grow up with a target on your back.

Don't Look Back Orpheus is a concise telling of that ancient tale on a wonderfully labyrinthine melody, with Charlotte's percussion lending an air of ritual. Moth To A Flame is the perfect closer to the album, another Floydian voyage that takes off on waves of Sean's snarling electric lap steel. Like several songs, he plays most of the instruments, circling back to his early days as a developing studio virtuoso. He has helpers, however; besides Charlotte several songs feature Jared Samuel, another multi-instrumentalist that's also part of the touring band.

The album is self-produced and, although they call on old hands Dave Fridmann (mixing) and Greg Calbi (mastering), there's a distinctly handmade feel to Midnight Sun, including the book-like packaging featuring Sean and Charlotte's artwork. It's easy to imagine boxes of CD's and vinyl in the entryway to the New York brownstone that serves as headquarters for their label, Chimera. This only adds to the appeal of the album, confirming that this is no mere product, but music made by people driven to do it. Find your passion in theirs, in the land of the Midnight Sun.

The GOASTT is touring extensively this summer, opening for Beck as well as headlining. Expect no itinerary when they hit the stage...

 

Stacked Odds: Breton Live

Adam Ainger uses space to keep time, lifting his arms high above the drums to create the groove that drives Breton's taut songs. This left him slightly confined in the tight stage at Glasslands last Friday, but nothing he and his three mates weren't used to on their 22nd show in 26 days, cutting a swath through small clubs from LA to NYC. In Europe, Breton plays to thousands but they know that you need to go almost person to person to make an impression in America. Based on the reception in Williamsburg, they're on track.

Ainger's high hat work is also extraordinarily detailed, reminiscent of Dennis Davis's work with Bowie, and part of what makes him the most instrumentally virtuosic member of the band. But that's as it should be - a duff drummer will keep the most ambitious band from achieving lift-off. Even so, there was a marked difference in the comfort levels of everyone on stage since I first saw them over two years ago in their NY debut at Mercury Lounge. Ian Patterson, mostly controlling the electronics but occasionally slashing at a guitar, brought real style to his approach, whether jabbing a button, adjusting a sound or grabbing the mic to beef up the backing vocals. 

Dan McIlvenny was pure energy on bass and keyboards, seeking the same joy in movement that he probably finds on the dance floor, and Roman Rappak was assured as front man, bringing the crowd closer and dishing out atmospheric guitar or barbed wire bass as required. Even with the hard roadwork they did prior to reaching Brooklyn, he was in fine voice, maybe injecting a little more grit into his delivery, which was entirely welcome.

Their second album, War Room Stories, released earlier this year, was a step on from their debut, both drawing on pop influences and layering on orchestral arrangements for ambiance or epic sweep. Obviously, the orchestra is not on tour with them (perhaps they should connect with Hollie Cook and share the cost of taking a string section on the road) but that was no problem as the arrangements lent a consistency to the songs no matter what album they were from. The new material, especially Envy, Closed Category and Got Well Soon shined brightly, although a highlight was December from 2010, which they obviously still enjoy playing.

The other continuity you could put down to the near mayhem they created on stage, everyone in their own orbit but acting in concert and communicating constantly with glances and gestures, like a battle-hardened assault squad. Many in the audience reacted accordingly, dancing furiously and accenting the drama of the music with private choreography. 

At this point, I have to use my imagination to put myself in a crowd of five or seven thousand people at one of their shows. But another few campaigns like this recent tour across our massive and sometimes musically conservative nation should see them playing to larger and larger audiences. I'll be there next time either way.

Umezaki's (Cycles)

The shakuhachi is such a distinctive sounding instrument, with its breathy tones, non-western scale, and inherent drama, that it is often used to provide "world music" touches to film scores and pop songs. Of course, in Japan, there is a centuries old tradition around the bamboo flute, with all sorts of social and political shadings to its history. Kojiro Umezaki, a shakuhachi virtuoso as well as a composer, seeks to insert it into the arena of avant garde music by combining it with electronics and western instruments. While he has performed with the Silk Road Ensemble since 2005 and has had his works on albums by Brooklyn Rider and others, (Cycles), released last month, is his most complete statement yet.

Anyone put off by the term avant garde, shouldn't worry: Umezaki is a natural communicator who not only seeks to connect with cultures but with people. The first piece, (Cycles) America literally features his adopted country from coast to coast, incorporating recordings of both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans along with the voice of Walt Whitman. Surrounded by glitchy but warm electronics and plush vibraphone tones and influenced by Dvorak's New World Symphony, it's an intriguing introduction to the record. 108, the much longer piece that follows, dives head first into more distant waters, combining Umezaki's flute with a Korean drum (janggo), Indian bells (manjira), and a truly ancient Iraqi harp, the Santur. The quartet improvises within a predetermined structure and the result is a captivating conversation with contemplative spaces and dense ensemble work. While it is as polyglot as any of those Silk Road records, it avoids the crowd-pleasing crossover sounds that thrill the PBS set.

I heard Umezaki perform his version of the traditional Japanese folk song Lullaby from Itsuki in a River to River concert a few years a ago and it was a haunting beauty then as now. His performance is flawless, restrained yet still connected to the emotions of the homesick nursemaid from the song. There is less restraint in "...seasons continue, as if none of this ever happened...", which he also performed at that concert. Consisting solely of shakuhachi and electronics, it is a devastatingly effective elegy for the earthquake and tsunami that hit Japan in 2011. Sad yet shot through with hope, it is a signal accomplishment for Umezaki as composer and performer.

For Zero is a luminous, short piece with vibraphone, percussion and gleaming electronics. Notes accumulate...then dissipate - it's lovely. The last piece, (Cycles) what falls must rise, features Brooklyn Rider in addition to Umezaki's flute and electronics. It is actually the same recording that Brooklyn Rider released on their Dominant Curve album in 2010, but "starts/ends at a different point in the structure of the piece" - a remix, if you will. The new version starts abruptly with two plucked notes on the cello (from around 4:05 in the earlier version) and then launches into a keening section, which also has an elegiac feel. There's emotional resonance here as well as a more intellectual pleasure in listening to the breathy, bending notes of the flute combine with and then deviate from the silky glissando of the strings. The synthetics add an unsettling air, whether from a low drone or a stuttering bit of static. There's a marvelous moment of resolution near the halfway point when the static gets taken up by the cello and all of a sudden there are longer melodic lines with an almost Gypsy quality. Umezaki's approach to the instruments is nearly orchestral here, as if each instrument were its own section. It makes one wonder what he would do with a full orchestra as his palette. Based on this gorgeous, rewarding collection, there is no end to where he can go.

Hiphopnotism

When you nod your head it causes movement in your cerebrospinal fluid, inducing a semi-hypnotic state that is very relaxing, and nodding your head to music seems to make you physically at one with the sounds. Some of the best music produces an almost involuntary motion that also leads to a increase in our endorphins - an addictive experience that we seek out when hearing something new. I'm kind of making up all that neuroscience as I go along, but there is probably a grain of truth behind it. A perfect example of this is the second album by Mobb Deep, The Infamous. Now 20 years old, this dark and dirty masterpiece keeps growing in stature, in no small part due to its unparalleled ability to hypnotize listeners.

The Mobb have released many good, and even great songs and albums since 1994 but The Infamous still reigns supreme. Part of the artistic success of The Infamous is down to the sheer sound of it: a warm, crackling murk of old jazz and soul records sliced open with thin, sharp drums and stitched together into haunting loops and sections. The mood is aggressive but with a scorched sorrow underneath it that is utterly compelling. While the rappers were obviously very young at the time, their flow has a naturalness that makes it like an elevated conversation among great storytellers. You can't help hanging on every word.

At this point, it seems likely that even Prodigy and Havoc, the duo that make up the Mobb, are aware of the exceptional nature of their landmark album, titling their new album The Infamous...Mobb Deep and putting a vintage photo on the cover. They've even gone so far as to package it with a second disc featuring outtakes and alternate cuts from the sessions that produced that earlier album. This can cut both ways: obviously, fans will want to hear the new old stuff, seeking another hit of that grimy goodness. On the other hand, the contrast between the archival material and the new tracks can make it hard to hear the latter on their own terms. The Infamous... is also their first album together in eight years and can be seen as a restart for the veterans, having weathered a beef that put them on hiatus for a while.

So, starting with the sonics, what are they giving us here? Overall, the album has a boxy, plastic sound with a spare, minimalist vibe. If a DJ weren't available, they could probably perform these songs using one of those old Sears organs with the built-in drum machine. This is not really a bad thing as Havoc, and the other producers they worked with weave some intriguing variations on this minimalist template.

The first song, Taking You Off Here, gets things off to a gritty start with barbed wire guitars, spooky organ, and a spliced in drum break. Prodigy and Havoc spit their tough talk with vigor but no standout lines. Say Something marries Vincent Price keyboards to that classic ticky-tack beat from Al Green's I'm Glad You're Mine, and has the rappers leaning into their verses. Prodigy especially mixes up his cadence to keep things interesting but the ultimate message is enumerated by Havoc: "Party after party, bitch, sticking to what got me rich."
Get Down has a funky hook from Prodigy and a guest spot from Snoop who sounds a bit less lazy than his other recent bars, while the lusher Timeless raises the tempo a little to explain that Mobb Deep is both timeless and priceless. "H (i.e. Havoc) the reason I'm dope now/I told him 'my brother I got this, we got this,'" Prodigy raps in a nice moment of brotherly love. In fact, they do sound like they're together on this album - you can imagine them trading verses on the same studio mic.

Like a lot late-career hip hop albums, most of the songs focus lyrically on how great they are, using violent or aspirational imagery to define their dominance. Most of time, this works OK as the energy is there and the beats are good. But this means when they turn their craft on another subject it stands out.

This is the case with Low, which is also the only song to feature a sung hook (a trend partially pioneered by Mobb Deep on Temperature's Rising) by Mack Wilds, a former cast member of The Wire now plying his trade in R'n'B. Prodigy and Havoc each take a verse to dissect love affairs gone wrong, one with his wife's best friend and the other with his best friend's widow. "Seems like a daytime soap or a movie on Lifetime/But, nah, this real life, it hurts," Prodigy raps, and they each add enough nuance and detail to put some meat on the familiar scenarios. As Havoc says, "It's more than just physical, 'cause mentally you stimulate me/And if I ain't up on it you just educate me." While there's still a thrill to the way they describe violent encounters, hearing them limn emotional ones provides a rush of a different kind.

Low falls in the middle of the album and the rest of the album reverts back to the braggadocio, with Legendary's upful attitude and a strong feature by Bun B making it the best of the lot. A few bonus tracks compile recent singles, including the gloriously moody Waterboarding and the rhythmically tricky Get It Forever.

The Infamous... is well above the fans-only cash grab it could have been but a couple of notches below a classic. While there's nothing here to tarnish the legacy, Prodigy's recent solo album Albert Einstein hits the heights more consistently.

Now, about that bonus disc...it consists of outtakes and alternate versions from the 1994 sessions that produced The Infamous, along with a couple short radio appearances from back then. The result? Instantaneous head nodding. It's got that murk, that insidious groove, that undeniable swing that made the earlier album so incredible. Mobb Deep were just on fire in the studio back then. So it's pure pleasure, more of the "raw, uncut" on which they built their rep. No doubt, Prodigy especially is technically a better rapper now, with a nimble pinpoint precision that has him toying with inflection and tempo line by line and sometimes word by word. But the younger Mobb had something really special - whether it was down to hunger or even a certain amateurism that breaks rules with impunity - something that still resonates today. It's like witnessing the forging of a mighty steel blade. There's heat, waste, and hard lessons learned, but the product is built to stand the tests of time and tribulation. Survival of the fittest - only the strong survive.

You Will Believe: Helga Davis's Cassandra

For two years in a row in high school, I donned a gold lamé tux (WHY are there no pictures?) and acted as MC for what was blithely called A Musical Evening. In addition to introducing many performers (including myself and the rest of the Walden Jazz Band so we could murder Watermelon Man - sorry, Herbie), I also uttered the words: "And now, ladies and gentlemen, here's Helga Davis." I'm not sure even Cassandra herself would have prophesized that over 30 years later I would have found myself in a crowded theater confronted with Helga perched atop a billowing white dress, 20 feet above the audience. She stood motionless as films were projected on the dress. This was the stunning image that opened Cassandra, a musical theater piece being presented at BRIC House, a new "home for artists and audiences" in the shadow of the Williamsburg Bank Building in Brooklyn.

We were told before going in that the piece would begin immediately and that there would be no opportunity to leave or re-enter during the 75 minute show. This turned out not to be a problem because the rest of Cassandra was nearly as riveting as that opening display. We were given several minutes to contemplate it, as unsettling music grew in intensity and filled the space. One thought that ran through my mind as I watched the film loop play on Helga's dress was that Grace Jones would be so jealous. It was that cool.

Eventually, two musicians took their places in the back of the theater and began to play. In addition to the piano and trumpet (Adam Klipple and Aaron Roche), I also heard a cello but could not locate the source of the sound. Soon Helga started singing an introductory aria in her gorgeous, wide-ranging mezzo-soprano. It was beautiful, abstract, and haunting. At the end of the song, in an expertly coordinated series of movements, she descended from the platform bringing the dress with her and revealing cellist Jeffrey Ziegler, who continued to play as they wheeled the platform away.

In the semi-darkness, we see that the stagehands are all wearing the same mask based on a Greek sculpture, its rictus grin both funny and slightly scary. Perhaps it was a mask of Apollo, who, in the ancient myth of Cassandra, offered her the power of prophecy in exchange for her love. Having obtained the power, Cassandra then turned down the god's advances and he summarily cursed her to a life of never being believed. Davis's Cassandra, a performing artist in contemporary New York City, also has the power of prophecy.

Once the stage is reset, the "stagehands" turn out to be actors and musicians who quickly take their places in some kind of existential protest - one sign reads "I THINK THEREFORE I AM I THINK" - which is a none-too-subtle transition to Cassandra sitting on a stoop, waiting for a cab.The cab arrives and the masked figures gather around her, unseen by the driver. She yells at them to leave her alone and then tells the confused driver "I'm running lines for a show." This was genuinely funny, although I must say that there was a contingent in the audience who were all too eager to guffaw at what was, in the end, a portrait of a very disturbed, traumatized woman.

The scene shifts to a nightclub, where Cassandra is fronting a band called Unconscious Minds, which also included Ben Butler on guitar and Brian Wolfe on drums. "I see some empty seats out there," she says, "but we always lose a few people to the bar for the second half of the show." She then introduces two songs co-written with Shara Worden and they launch into the first, a stomping, stuttering slab of art rock. Hearing Helga's voice in this context was thrilling. The second song is also fantastic but there isa breakdown story to be told. The permeable fourth wall (were we the audience for Cassandra or "Cassandra"?), along with Davis's acting, made the moment of her collapse highly effective and powerful.

Cassandra comes to, strapped to a chair in a mental hospital. Her unhinged laughter creates a barrier between her and the Doctor, played with warmth by Maximilian Balduzzi. He slowly draws her out (perhaps a mite bit too slowly) and we learn her story. Her visions began at five, precipitating a massive beating from her mother in front of the entire Harlem neighborhood where she grew up. The trauma and the visions go on to form a vicious circle throughout her upbringing, leading to a desire to exit on her own terms.

She also describes one of her visions, an allegorical story with Jay-Z and Beyoncé making cameo appearances, the first representing a modern day king, and the second standing in for all that is unattainable: "You're never gonna get it," Cassandra sings. Indeed. The doctor eventually releases her from the chair, tells her he would like to keep her there for a few days and that he will prescribe something mild. "How about something strong," Cassandra replies. "I don't think it's necessary," he tells her. He believes her, you see, and is certain her visions are true for her - but that doesn't mean they effect those whose futures she sees. This is both compassionate and condescending. Cassandra proceeds to describe a vision that completely dismantles him and he flees to write that stronger Rx.

Alone in her hospital room, and with the assistance of her masked friends, Cassandra ascends, once again swathed in an enormous white gown. While she does not quite reach the height of that opening scene, it is high enough. More than high enough, in fact. Blackout. Standing ovation.

While Helga Davis describes Cassandra as a "work in progress," there are really only a few tweaks to be made. It is a tight, gripping work of theater with excellent music, well-integrated video and striking stagecraft. While I certainly couldn't predict her journey to this point from that stage in our high school auditorium, my current vision sees her recording the two songs with the Unconscious Minds and finding herself with a new sideline in the clubs of nearby Williamsburg. It is an incontrovertible fact, however, that there is only one more perfromance of Cassandra, and it is tonight. Go. Believe me, you're going to love it.

 

RSD 2014

I still love record stores and don't need the excuse of Record Store Day to visit them. However, RSD is a good opportunity to drop by a store and join the collective in showing some shopping love. I also like to take the pulse of the local shoppers and see how they're interacting with the experience. The last few years I've been going to out of the way stores, so for RSD 2014 I hit up Tune Street in Great Barrington, MA. This is a nice, well-kept store on the main drag that sells home theater and stereo equipment and DVD's in addition to CD's and vinyl. While it doesn't have an excess of personality, I get the idea that the people that run the place actually like music and have given some thought to curating their stock. I was in there a few months ago for some last minute holiday shopping and I was delighted to find an ace Barrington Levy collection as well as In Time by The Mavericks. My sister was thrilled with both.

When I shop for myself, however, I have some specific guidelines. I tend to either focus on independent labels and artists early in their careers (which usually go hand in hand) while also keeping an eye out for rare or out of print items. My budget is limited so I'm not above checking availability on Spotify or eMusic, both of which are pre-paid, or using All Music, Pitchfork, et al, to help prioritize a stack of potential purchases. This time around, for example, I reshelved The Rough Guide To Latin Rare Grooves on 180 gram vinyl and Inédito by Antonio Carlos Jobim because both are on Spotify. I will be listening to both very soon, however, which might not have happened without my visit to Tune Street.

Even though I'm not really into owning something just to own it, I did carefully examine the shelf of RSD exclusives. While I was amused to see a re-pressing of Little Games by The Yardbirds selling for far less than the original I bought back in high school, there's no reason for me to buy it. There was a pair of Wes Montgomery 10 inches that were beautifully packaged but I admit my knowledge of his work is far too shallow to indulge in rarities at this point. A double album of excerpts from the Allman Brothers Band's Play All Night: Live At The Beacon Theater 1992 was intriguing, but with the whole album on Spotify and the fact that they left off Nobody Knows, which was a real highlight of those shows, meant I couldn't justify the purchase. What would it take to get me to buy one of these pricy items? Simple: something I could hear nowhere else. And the Katy Perry picture disc? Please.

This left the rest of the store to explore. The used CD's were very well-priced at $3.76 but nothing struck my fancy. Most used vinyl was $5 a pop so I flicked through it all, hitting pay dirt at the end with an album of TV Themes by The Richard Gleason Orchestra. Yes, even this collection is on Spotify, eMusic and iTunes, but not on "pure golden vinyl," which is "the purest recording material and offers vibrant sound in its truest form." Beat that Katy! Can't wait to drop the needle on Peter Gunn and blast it.

I pored over all the new CD's, including classical, jazz and world, but it was probably 85% major label catalog releases. One thing they didn't seem to have were the big deluxe reissues and box sets. Since I was already feeling magnanimous, it might have been just the time to try to sell me the expanded version of Dylan's Another Self Portrait, or the latest Miles Davis "bootleg," or even the Richard Strauss Complete Operas doorstop, but I guess they only stock those during the holidays, if at all.

As I wandered about, the store began to fill up, which gladdened my heart. While I can't be sure if it was due to RSD or simply a spectacular day in the Berkshires, plenty of people were on the street and coming in to browse. I observed a guy whose gray beard and thinning thatch didn't necessarily mean he was older than me. He flicked through the used CD's and came across one of the best things in there, a copy of Wilco's Kicking Television (with the cardboard sleeve!) for about $8. "Great record," I said helpfully from across the display table, "If you don't have it and you like Wilco, you won't be disappointed." He looked at me blankly and slid the album back into the rack. Maybe this is what that Bowling Alone book was all about - here was someone who had forgotten how to convocate at the music store.

There was also a kid, around 16 and wearing a Tool shirt, flipping through the Tool CD's. "You have the shirt, now get the albums!" I joked. He already had them, of course, but at least he was friendly about it. Like the rest of us Tool fans he was probably looking on the off chance that they had ended their eight-year drought and dropped something new. I observed with amusement when an older couple came in with a younger woman (their daughter? It was hard to tell) looking for some "hip hop 101" to get her. They quickly focused on the Notorious B.I.G. and selected Life After Death - good listening ahead for the three of them.

By this point, my daughter was watching a cooking show on one of the big flat screens and I was getting hungry myself. I started to feel like I was failing Record Store Day. I took a last desperate glance at the new releases and spotted something I hadn't seen before. It was near the floor, it's dark cover making it hard to see: Slow Phaser by Nicole Atkins. After Holly Miranda had endorsed her on Instagram, I had listened and found it excellent. Perfect! A new album on an independent label by an artist whose career started this century. Sold.

There have been more negative stories about Record Store Day this year than in the past. Major labels have really horned in, dishing up stuff like that Katy Perry thing, which has made it harder for independent labels to get time at pressing plants. Also, junk like that dilutes the stock of items that will attract serious music lovers and is likely too expensive to develop the record buying habit among pop fans. If record stores really want to leverage RSD to its full advantage, I'd recommend they turn down the major label stuff and focus on music - not just packaging - that you can't hear anywhere else. Also, handing out coupons for 25% off - or even BOGO - that go into effect three months after RSD (and expire three months after that) would provide a real incentive for shoppers to return sooner than the next RSD.

And finally some advice to shoppers: when a guy in a Bon Iver t-shirt tells you to get the used Wilco album, just do it - whether or not it's Record Store Day. See you next year!

Dig the gold vinyl!

Want to read more about Record Store Day?
A Bronx Cheer For Record Store Day

Bayeté's World

In 1974, Santana released a sprawling live album, Lotus, recorded in Japan and only available there. Somewhere near the middle of the three album set was a song called Free Angela, credited to Bayeté. The Angela of the title was of course Angela Davis, the civil rights activist who had spent time in jail on murder charges in 1972. Several songs were written about her, including Sweet Black Angel by the Rolling Stones, and Angela by John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Now, by the time Santana put out Lotus, Davis had been out of jail for over a year, but a good groove is a good groove and the tune was tailor-made for the guitar and rhythm pyrotechnics of Carlos and crew.

By the time Lotus became more widely available, it's likely few people knew who Bayeté was or where Free Angela had come from. Turns out Bayeté was a name adopted by the pianist Todd Cochran and Free Angela was on his debut album as a leader, Worlds Around The Sun, which came out in 1972. Cochran only made one other album, but even a busy career as a sideman in the worlds of jazz, fusion, rock - he's on Peter Gabriel's first album - and r&b (not to mention being sampled by De La Soul, etc.) failed to keep him prominent enough to maintain Worlds Around The Sun in the catalog. Now thanks to Omnivore Recordings, we have the first CD reissue and can hear the original Free Angela in context.

1972 was the same year Bobby Hutcherson's Head On came out. An expansive classic with touches of fusion and Latin jazz, much of the album was written and arranged by Cochran, then a 19-year old phenom. Hutcherson returned the favor and his sparkling vibes are all over Bayeté's record but never overshadowing Cochran himself. It Ain't, the first track on Worlds Around The Sun, showcases his arranging, with a sweet, swinging woodwind intro reminiscent of Eric Dolphy or Charles Mingus. It also serves to introduce some of the players, moving through muscular solos from Cochran, bassist James Leary and drummer Thabo Vincar. Somewhat strangely for a jazz cut, the song fades out as the theme is being reintroduced, lending a sense of impatience: let's get on with it.

And so they do, with the radically different sound of a funky backbeat, wah-wah driven clavinet and a few choruses of "Free Angela!" For anyone interested in the early days of fusion, it's an intoxicating sound and over all too soon. About two thirds of the way through, the funk recedes and is replaced by a lyrical clavinet riff, quickly superseded by a wistful arrangement led by flutes and wordless vocals. It's a bit of a patchwork affair, but also quietly impressive when you consider the protean young mind behind it all. Njeir follows, coming in softly on vibes, piano and wind instruments. There's beautiful playing by Hadley Caliman (another figure worthy of investigation) on flute, Cochran and Hutcherson. It's questing music, melancholy but also lighter than air.

I'm On It brings the funk back, with crisp drumming, more wah wah and some group vocals. Caliman shines again with a knotty free jazz blast from his tenor sax, but at under 3:00, it's also over all too soon. One could begin to wonder if the classically-trained Cochran was slightly ambivalent about the inherently repetitive nature of groove-based music. It's easy to contrast it with Herbie Hancock's astonishing Sextant from around the same time, where he had no problem filling a whole side of the record with a hard jam called Hornets.

Next up is the true centerpiece of the album, a 12 minute piece called Bayeté, which originally led off side two of Worlds Around The Sun. Over a bed of percussion, Cochran solos on Fender Rhodes at length, exploring the sustained textures of the instrument. Terrific solos from Oscar Brashear (trumpet), Dave Johnson (soprano sax) stretch out the driving track, which is reminiscent of Filles De Kilimanjaro, when Miles Davis was on the cusp of going fully electric. It has much of the same excitement and is worth the price of admission.

Eurus slows things down with some questing winds and exploratory drums. The Rhodes shimmers through it all, creating a sumptuous jazz tone painting. Phoebe is tightly arranged and briskly swinging, Brashear blowing hard, while Leary and Johnson are also given their heads. Cochran is once again on Rhodes, employing a nicely distorted sound and comping with big chords before taking a fleet solo of his own. Good stuff.

The last track is Shine The Knock, another lengthy piece with extended soloing from Cochran and busy rhythm work. His arranging skills keep things interesting with alternating sections and well-deployed contributions from the ensemble. Leary's electric bass is churning, goading everyone on. Brashear dazzles with 16th note runs and loud fanfares, invoking Freddie Hubbard's hard bop. The tempo picks up nearing the 12 minute mark and the urgency feels genuine. Cochrane then brings back the opening theme and moves into a much more satisfying fade than the one on It Ain't.

Though it topped Miles Davis on the Downbeat poll in 1972, Worlds Around The Sun is not an epochal album; it often has the feel of a portfolio: let me show you what I can do. But it is an excellent, engaging listen, one that deserved far better than to become buried treasure for crate diggers. It seemed to herald a major talent and Cochran quickly followed it up later in 1972 with the much more funked-out Seeking Other Beauty, also worthy of reissue. However, that was it for Cochran as a leader and, as successful as he was in the future, it would be hard to be convinced that he lived up to the potential shown on Worlds Around The Sun - although he still has his chops. Much kudos to Omnivore for bringing the best of Bayeté back into the fold.

Valerie Coleman's Utopia

The history of North American music, at least since the Civil War is rife with tales of talented people of Valerie Coleman's "skin tone" (her words) being turned away from the academy and finding refuge in the worlds of jazz, blues and pop. Coleman, who calls herself "an imagery kind of gal" founded Imani Winds in 1997 to put forth a utopian vision where those worlds are one with western classical music.

Such a thing could be a disaster, but the virtuosity of Coleman and her compatriots in the quintet along with that undefinable concept of taste have made Imani a bright spot on the musical landscape. Their artistic conviction and excellence has brought notice from the Grammys - they were nominated in 2005 - and the legendary Wayne Shorter, who made a collaboration with Imani the centerpiece of his last album, Without A Net.

Last Tuesday, Victoria Bond's Cutting Edge Concerts series opened with a "composer portrait" of Valerie Coleman at the Leonard Nimoy Thalia Theater featuring Imani and a host of other performers. The eight works included four world premieres and one New York premiere, all pieces composed since 2011. We first heard Danza de la Mariposa, a solo flute work played by Nathalie Joachim, ultra-stylish in a salmon dress and high heels. It's a brave player who takes on a piece written for the composer's own instrument but Joachim and her golden flute faced down the many challenges of the piece with aplomb. The butterfly's dance led Coleman to alternate breathy tones with fuller ones, and dense passages with more open textures to make for a distinctive portrait of the beautiful insect.

Next up was another portrait in sound - Lenox Avenue, completed earlier this year for an unusual quartet of clarinet, violin, cello, and piano. Comprised of four movements with descriptive titles, this was another example of Coleman translating images into sound. The piece was full of the life of the street, not only the music famously played there (Thelonious Monk is referenced in the second movement), but also its denizens, the good and the bad. Listening to Lenox Avenue, it became clear that like many great composers - Shostakovich comes to mind - Coleman has an uncanny understanding of the capabilities of different instruments, alone and in ensemble. The communication between sounds was absorbing and the sounds themselves were beautiful. The performers, all members of the Da Capo Chamber Players, seemed to be enjoying it at least as much as the audience.
Rubispheres followed, with Coleman on flute joined by her Imani colleagues Mariam Adam (clarinet) and Monica Ellis (bassoon). Consistently lively, the short piece was a showcase for Ellis's extraordinary technique. She may be one of the finest bassoon players around, with a supple sound at odds with that instrument's ungainly reputation. The trio interacted in a variety of ways, at times jamming like a funk band, at others getting knotted up in thickets of notes as dense as anything coming from Vienna these days.

Before intermission, we heard Afro-Cuban Concerto for Wind Quintet, a work from 2001 in which Coleman transferred all the rhythms associated with that music - the clave, the rhumba, etc. - to the instruments of her group. Originally composed for orchestra, this stripped down version worked just fine. Jeff Scott (horn) and Toyin Spellman-Diaz (oboe) filled out the group to its full cohort and played flawlessly. Hearing "tribal" beats played on melodic instruments changes their relationship to our bodies, but I can't say I was sitting very still during the performance.

When the house lights went down again, we heard The Dawes Roll, another world premiere and a collaboration with Rochelle Small-Clifford, a soprano and songwriter. Accompanied by Dmitri Dover on piano, Small-Clifford not so much sang the songs as inhabited them, using gestures and facial expressions as effectively as a Kabuki master to bring us into her emotional world. The Dawes Roll was a census used to keep track of African-Americans either owned by Native Americans (think on that for a moment) or sharing their blood, so there were plenty of depths to plumb. While it is hard to imagine someone else singing these remarkable songs with the same commitment, they should be widely performed.

The Da Capo Chamber Players took the stage for the last premiere of the night, Freedman of the Five Civilized Tribes, a natural segue from the song cycle, in subject matter at least. Once again, Coleman's sure hand with orchestration utilized each of the players wonderfully for a rich piece that felt more expansive than its length. Like the other new works played, I'm hoping it's recorded soon so I can get to know it better.

Portraits Of Langston (2008) for flute, clarinet, piano and narrator was the penultimate work, a sort of call and response between poems and music. Tim Cain read the poems and, although he stumbled once, I felt like I understood Langston Hughes's use of repetition in a way that was never clear before. In short, Cain was a fantastic reader, the poems were well-chosen, and the music drew on the sounds of the Harlem Renaissance as an expert collage-maker might use printed materials of an earlier age.

Finally, the Imani Winds gathered once more to play Tzigane, full of energetic melodies and interplay. There was almost constant forward motion from beginning to end in this delightful work, which managed to avoid cliché while still being unmistakably inspired by Eastern European gypsy music. When it ended, there was a long, well-deserved ovation for Coleman and her players.
It had been a long concert and my head was still trying to make sense of all we had heard as we exited onto the rain-slicked streets of the upper west side. The blinking Don't Walk sign formed a pulse under the ostinato of traffic and when a cab stopped on a dime to pick us up I almost applauded. I was still in Coleman's utopia, where the world becomes music and music becomes the world. I hope to visit again soon.

There are still two more events in the Cutting Edge Concerts series, on April 21st and 28th. Go to their site for more information.

Das Kraftwerk Quartett

Around 1956, Buddy Holly established the quartet as the basic form of the rock band. In 1962, The Beatles made it de rigeur. On their 1975 tour, after a few years of line-up changes, Kraftwerk presented the rock quartet as an almost purely graphic concept. Granted, they may have actually needed eight hands on deck to play their music back then, but sequencers, computers and other technological advances have made that progressively less necessary. And when you consider the fact that Kraftwerk is now touring with precisely synced 3-D video, it almost makes more sense for them to have one person controlling everything. But they remain wedded to the four-man-band, if only for its visual power - and they are right to do so. The sight of the four podia (Keyboards? Decks? Desks?) precisely aligned on stage has become as iconic as the four heads on the cover of With The Beatles.

Although a longtime fan of Kraftwerk I didn't really get the point of seeing them until I heard Minimum-Maximum, their live album from 2005. The cheers of the crowd activated an energy in the music and the collective joy was apparent even without any visuals. Like all but a lucky few, I was closed out of their run of shows at MOMA a couple of years ago so when they announced a date (later expanded to two) at United Palace Theater I made it my business to get tickets. I was a bit surprised that they chose the elaborate former movie palace on 175th and Broadway as the venue, but the fact is that both concerts I've been to there (Bob Dylan, 2007, and Fleet Foxes, 2011) were highly memorable and I expected no less from Kraftwerk.

The vibe in the buzzing crowd led me to believe that many of the attendees had never been this far uptown before. Even though United Palace is in my backyard as an Inwood dweller, the pioneering spirit lent a frisson that was contagious. I was psyched and so was everyone there. Even though only one original member remains (Ralf Hutter) and Kraftwerk hasn't released anything new since 2003, this didn't feel like an excursion into nostalgia any more than going to Shakespeare play or a seeing a Picasso exhibit. Kraftwerk is simply one of the most influential forces in pop since Edison waxed the first cylinder and this was an opportunity to commune with their timeless music in circumstances fully within their control.

Finally, the lights went down and the red curtain parted to reveal the screen. The four members took their places and the introduction to The Robots began to a unanimous roar from the audience. The familiar figures of the band in red shirts and black ties from the cover of The Man-Machine (1978) went through their paces in 3-D, converted into robotic digital mannequins. Whenever an arm swept close to the crowd, there were more cheers. Clearly, nobody in the place was jaded by the effect. It didn't hurt that Kraftwerk's sound team had turned the antique theater into a gleaming sonic temple, with deep rich bass and well-differentiated textures. There were some rude folks who continued to arrive as the band moved seamlessly into Metropolis from the same album. I suppose the trip on the A train was longer than they anticipated.

Ralf Hutter's voice sounded a bit less substantial than in the past but still retained his tart, slightly bemused tone. He sang mostly in English, an unnecessary concession at this late date, but the lyrics are schematic enough that it hardly mattered. A little suite of songs from Computer World (1981), their last classic album, followed and it was hard not to get up and dance to the booming beat of Numbers, still as improbably, wonderfully funky as it was 33 years ago. Then they swung back and played the rest of The Man-Machine, with the bass of the title track especially revelatory - this was how it was supposed to sound - and the animation for Spacelab a whimsical delight. This brilliant album is inexplicably not included in Kraftwerk's Spotify discography - just buy it if you don't have it!

The visuals for The Model and Neon Lights cleverly harkened back to the glory days of UFA and German cinema, and the latter track segued perfectly in Autobahn, which was their American breakthrough in 1974 - even my mom used to sing it. We all went on a little drive on the titular highway, speeding past vintage Beetles and Mercedes-Benzes, before signaling properly and exiting. The sense of forward motion continued through Tour de France (1983) and selections from the album (2003) of the same name. We zoomed straight into the abyss of Radio-Activity (1975) and the mood of optimism palled, especially when the names of nuclear disaster sites, including Fukushima, flashed on the screen. Like a well-sequenced mix tape, however, they brought us all to safety on the Trans-Europe Express. While I would have liked to hear the Showroom Dummies or The Hall Of Mirrors, both slightly bitter tracks from the same album (1977), their medley was great, succesfully replicating the hypnotic flow of the record.

Nearly every band with a long career stumbles, and Techno-Pop (originally called Electric Cafe) from 1986, was Kraftwerk's fall from grace. With a labored genesis of nearly five years, and an equally labored sound - an ironically troubled adjustment to digital instruments for these sonic innovators - the album led to a 17 year hiatus. In concert, they played the first side in a substantially re-tooled version and it was much improved and very engaging, despite the fact that the songs still sound somewhat recycled. During Musique Non Stop, each member of Kraftwerk got a little solo spot before stepping away to stand in a spotlight and accept applause. Without going to multiple concerts it's impossible to say how much of what they played was improvised or pre-programmed, but it all sounded fabulous and the gestures of the other members showing appreciation for their comrades were well-choreographed and amusing.

Finally, Ralf Hutter was left alone to play his solo, injecting some drama into the song with dense washes of sound. Just as he seemed to be building to a crescendo, he stepped away to the loudest cheers of all, well befitting a living legend. The houselights stayed down and my mind-raced, trying to figure out what notable song they skipped. Pocket Calculator from Computer World would have made a great encore, but instead they played Aéro Dynamik, from Tour De France, and Planet Of Visions, the reworked version of their Expo 2000 theme song, which made its debut on Minimum-Maximum. The latter song is pretty terrific and sent everyone off into the night (or towards the besieged merch table) on waves of electro-euphoria.

While Kraftwerk's days of writing indelible, often prescient songs are likely behind them, the quality of every aspect of the concert showed them to be perfect stewards of their astounding legacy, which is in the DNA of all electronic music since their peak years. I've run into too many music fans who have no idea who they are; hopefully some of the noise generated by this tour will cause more people to investigate their amazing music. Even without songs from the three albums that preceded Autobahn, my Spotify playlist will clue you in nicely if necessary.