The Best of 2015 (So Far)

Isn't it wonderful when an album becomes like a public square and a huge variety of people come together to debate and celebrate its merits? Kendrick Lamar's extraordinary To Pimp A Butterfly definitely falls into this category and as such is probably the most important record of the year so far. 

But it is part of the critic's duty to balance the personal and the public and to speak from their heart, which is why To Pimp A Butterfly is not my number one album at this point.

That honor goes to Holly Miranda's self-titled second (or third, depending on how you count) album. While PhD theses may not be written unpacking dense political themes, hearing her completely blossom as an artist is a thrill in its own right. Also, watching a lesbian couple sing along to All I Want Is To Be Your Girl at Holly's recent concert does lend some weight to her place in the culture at this time in history. 

With that said, and with further ado shown the door, here's my Top 20 of the year so far. 

1. Holly Miranda - Holly Miranda We've known for some time that Holly Miranda is a genius interpreter. Now she finally has written a batch of songs consistently worthy of her gifts as a singer. 

2. Gecko Turner - That Place By The Thing With The Cool Name If I were king of the world there would be no more war because we would all be too busy dancing to Gecko. 

3. Father John Misty - I Love You, Honeybear With a novelist's eye for detail, a golden voice, and Jonathan Wilson as his producing partner in crime, FJM strikes again. Turning his withering gaze on himself as much as the American landscape, no one can make you laugh until you cry (and vice versa) like the former J. Tillman. And if there's a better performer hitting the stage in 2015, I'd like to know about it. 

4. Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp A Butterfly Much has already been written about the complexities of Kendrick's masterpiece but let's not lose sight of its simpler charms, such as the fact that it is the most groovalicious hip hop album in quite some time. Give some credit to George Clinton and the Brainfeeder crew of Flying Lotus, Thundercat and Kamasi Washington. But the star of the show is always Kendrick, a true virtuoso rapper who has made more than the most of his voice, which is not a naturally beautiful instrument. Believe it or not, I think he will only get better as he matures away from his focus on using dysfunctional relationships between men and women as a central metaphor for power and control. 

5. Natalie Prass - Natalie Prass As a fan of Matthew E. White's cosmic Americana for the last few years, I was pre-disposed to like Natalie Prass's debut, which was produced by him and features the brilliant cast of characters from his own albums. However, I did have to fight through a slight overreaction to her chirpy vocal quirks to get to the core of her greatness. It was worth the journey, though, to connect with her rock-solid songwriting, which finds common ground between Stax and the great American songbook. There's also a toughness under the vocal delicacy that keeps it from effervescent into the ether.  

6. The Amazing - Picture You Elegance and reserve are not often on the list of psych-shoegaze virtues but this Swedish quintet emphatically make the case for them on their third album. The long songs gradually reveal more of the band's depth and versatility with each listen. Guitars are the main focus, but the production eases in organ, horns, strings and woodwinds in a most beguiling way.

7. SWR Vokalensemble - Italia Marcus Creed leads the talented singers of the SWR in an intelligently programmed selection of Italian choral music with captivating results. 

8. Jamie XX - In Colour I don't care for the XX but I loved We're New Here, Jamie's full-album remix of Gil Scott-Heron's final work so I thought I'd give this a try. Gosh am I glad I did! Aggressively hip, kaleidoscopic and alternating between melancholy and joy - sometimes in the same song - this is easily the electronic record of the year. Guest appearances by XX colleagues are brief and work well in this context but I think Jamie has more fun without them. Good times. 

9. Patrick Watson - Love Songs For Robots Watson has always been an expert at creating moods but on his latest he sustains one across the whole album. I think of the album as one long piece, a sleek and cinematic epic, so lush and gorgeous that your neck hairs will be permanently tingling. Glorious stuff. 

10. Matthew E. White - Fresh Blood White is no stranger to lush textures himself and follows up 2012's Big Inner with another deeply felt set of songs. He's got some of Curtis Mayfield's touch for the dramatic, both in the way he deploys horns, strings, and backup singers, but also in the way he cares so much about people and their connections. He's one of the good guys. 

11. BADBADNOTGOOD with Ghostface Killah - Sour Soul In which the Toronto-based post-jazz trio hook up with Wu-Tang mainstay Ghostface and create a collection of noir-inflected tracks that don't compromise the agendas of either party. Ghostface sounds invigorated, spitting gritty tales over horns and strings  and BBNG go all in on embracing their dark side. The best hip hop album no one is taking about. So I'm talking about it. 

12. Missy Mazzoli with Victoire and Glenn Kotche - Vespers For A New Dark Age Night is falling in Missy's world, too, so grab on and soar the heavens on the wings of soprano angels. 

13. Ryley Walker - Primrose Green Dazzling acoustic player Walker plies his trade in some of the sun-dappled territory marked out by Tim Buckley on such albums as Happy/Sad and Blue Afternoon - a realm not visited enough in my opinion. 

14. Leonard Cohen - Can't Forget: A Souvenir Of The Grand Tour I'm not 100% sure why, but I have found Leonard Cohen's latest albums to be no more than intermittently satisfying. For every great song like Nevermind (now the perfectly doomy theme for season two of True Detective), there are a few that seem too self-regarding. It's as if he got so caught up in being LEONARD COHEN that he couldn't just be himself. This album, an unusual hybrid of live takes of old songs, new songs recorded at soundchecks, and covers, has completely cracked the code. He's in terrific voice and his band is with him every step of the way as he transforms such classics as Field Commander Cohen and Joan Of Arc while introducing witty new gems like Never Gave Nobody Trouble. Somehow it all works together for his best collection since Ten New Songs. 

15. Tom Holkenborg aka Junkie XL - Mad Max Fury Road OST George Miller's surprising return to brilliantly brutal cinematic form was ably assisted by Holkenborg's smashing score. Like a cyborg Wagner, Holkenborg welds electronics and symphonics into unstoppable heat-seeking missiles of sound. You might want to be careful about driving under its influence. 

16. Noveller - Fantastic Planet Sarah Lipstate wields her guitar and a raft of electronics to explore the tributaries left by the innovations of Fripp and Eno in the 1970's and Glenn Branca in the 1980's. Beautifully atmospheric. 

17. Pond - Man It Feels Like Space Again Mojo Magazine docked these guys a star for being too weird. If I need say more, I'll just refer to the 3-D production, sly melodies and their supremely rhythmic take on neo-psych.

18. Bob Dylan - Shadows In The Night This may be Dylan's most atmospheric album ever, wandering the dark corners of Tin Pan Alley in a hand-picked selection of songs associated mainly with Frank Sinatra. Dylan's engagement with the clever lyrics of another era have smoothed out his voice and brought out a delightful wryness in his delivery. The production is a minimal, charcoal sketch surrounding Dylan, who stands firmly in the spotlight. Old dog, new tricks - yet again. 

19. Courtney Barnett - Sometimes I Sit And Think And Sometimes I Just Sit The Aussie treasure returns with her first official full-length and slays with her carefully observed story-songs. She also plays a mean guitar and drives the band harder when it's called for. She's great live, too - catch her if you can. 

20. Ibeyi - Ibeyi These Parisian twins are descended from Cuban musical royalty. Based on this stunning debut, their deeper roots in Nigeria are also not too distant. Yoruba rhythms and themes collide with contemporary hip hop-based production and Ira Gershwin-influenced lyrics, all delivered as if it were no big deal by their heavenly voices. 

The new Apple Music has 19 of the 20 albums here - give a listen to a playlist of songs. 

Spotify has 18 of the 20 - listen below.

What's topping your list?

Conversing Across The Centuries Part 2: Italia

As NPR's Anastasia Tsioulcas recently detailed, finding classical music in the streaming era can be difficult, and the same goes for keeping up with new releases. I subscribe to The New York Times's classical playlist on Spotify, which provides the occasional lead but seems unfocused overall. I get some scoops from various label newsletters, as well as by signing up on the websites of new music ensembles. There are also a few excellent PR firms that update me in this arena, which definitely helps.

It was one of those firms that tipped me to Orli Shaham's excellent Brahms-themed collection, which I reviewed in part one of this micro-miniseries. Even with all those tributaries feeding my classical needs, I can't for the life of me remember how I found out about the album I discuss below, or even what drew me to it. Read on and remember that you heard about it from me!

SWR Vokalensemble Stuttgart - Italia Part of a series focusing on the choral traditions of various countries, Italia is a brilliantly sequenced survey of Italian compositions from the 19th and 20th centuries. While Italy doesn't have the same depth of choral music that Germany and England boast, it does have Verdi, who slathered his operas with choral music at every opportunity, with profound dramatic and musical impact. Also, his Requiem is one of three essential entries in the genre, alongside Mozart and Brahms.

So Verdi is a natural place for conductor Marcus Creed to begin, opening Italia with two of Verdi's 4 Pezzi sacri. A quick survey of other takes on this oft-recorded masterpiece immediately reveals the SWR's strengths as they deliver a performance of elevated clarity, seamless vocal blend, and transporting engagement with the subject matter. Before the first of the pieces is over, you know you're in good hands and ready to buckle in for a trip to wherever they want to take you. 

The next stop is in fact Yliam, a 1960's work by Giacinto Scelsi reminiscent of some of Ligeti's interstellar excursions, a sound that will be familiar to fans of Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. In this concise and intense piece for female singers, the sopranos and altos pursue separate lines that occasionally criss-cross like strands of DNA in the air. Scelsi was an autodidact in both composition and mysticism and he ties both interests together nicely in Yliam. Scelsi's work blends smoothly into another Verdi piece, O Padre Noster, which is not without its own brand of incense-laden Catholic mysticism. The baritones and basses really distinguish themselves here, singing with a veiled power that is all the more impressive for its restraint. 

Then we come back to 1960 with Luigi Nono's Sara Dolce Tacere (Such Sweet Silence, perhaps?), a setting of Cesar Pavese's La terra e la morte (Earth and Death) for eight soloists. Creed wisely chose something by Nono that fits with the preceding Verdi and Scelsi pieces rather than going with one of Nono's explicitly political works. Sara Dolce Tacere has the feel of a group dialogue or a study in dynamics, with voices rising and falling, seeming to appear and recede like waves on a stony shore.

Ildebrando Pizzetti was born in 1880, when Verdi was entering his last and possibly greatest decade, premiering operas such as Aida, Don Carlo, Simon Boccanegra (a personal favorite), and Otello. This extraordinary run may have had an effect on other composers born then  - the "Generation of 1880" - as they largely avoided creating operas. Pizzetti himself was unintimidated, however, composing more than a dozen operas, all largely forgotten, and even a Requiem. His Tre Composizione Corali, however is nothing so grand. While fairly conventional, it creates a peaceful atmosphere with song-like melodies and a chant-like blend of voices. The third piece, Recordare, domine, may be a little overlong at 10 minutes but that's a minor complaint. Nono the Marxist would probably object the loudest to Pizzetti's inclusion here, as the latter was occasionally cozy with Mussolini's fascist government. 

Pizzetti's conservatism is quickly blown away by Scelsi's TKRDG, also a three-part work, for six male voices, percussion and electric guitar. This is just a fantastic and fascinating piece, incorporating Japanese and Indian influences with both irreverence and respect, creating a ritualistic soundscape that the SWR inhabits completely. The interaction between the vocalists and the instrumentalists is more natural and assured than other recordings I've heard, aided in part by the excellent production, and may make this the definitive rendering of this important piece. In my mind, TKRDG connects the avant garde elements on Italia to that other Italian genius, Ennio Morricone, who is a big fan of Scelsi - your ears will likely agree. 

The album closes with Goffredo Petrassi's five-part Nonsense, based on limericks by Edward Lear and composed in 1952. Petrassi's long life nearly covers the entire period represented here, as he was born in 1904 and died in 2003. He was known for being open to new ideas and his writing in these short, lighthearted pieces seems tied to no particular era. It's a delightful way to end the collection and leaves you marveling at the SWR's versatility and verve. I look forward to exploring the other releases in the series and seeing what Creed and the ensemble do next. 

P.S. Creed is on a roll this year, having just released L'amour et la foi, a wonderful album of vocal music by Messiaen performed by the Danish National Vocal Ensemble. Even if you're familiar with 3 Petit Liturgies and the other pieces this is worth a listen.

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Il Mondo Musica Italiana

See Lucinda Williams

Though I've been a fan for 20 years, I've never seen Lucinda Williams on stage. This is not due to any edict on my part, just the means and motive never matching up with opportunity. 

So suffer this fool gladly, or at least kindly, if what I'm about to say is common knowledge: Lucinda Williams is a master. Or maybe she has only become more so now that she's getting close to a 30 year career. In any case, she is at that rare place as a performer where she is both completely herself, a true original, while never shutting the audience out. 

Her comfort zone includes areas of extreme power, enough to even be discomfiting at times. A case in point is Unsuffer Me, now quite a different beast than the version I remember from West, which was maybe a little overproduced and shy of itself. No more. It's a journey into the blackest heart of darkness, such that a chill went down my spine when she first intoned "Come into my world of loneliness, of wickedness, of bitterness, anoint my head with your kiss." This is longing and bottomless need, expressed with an utter lack of self-consciousness.  

In this, as in all things during the concert I just saw in Prospect Park, she is perfectly matched by guitarist Stuart Mathis, who must be one of the best six-stringers around now, on the road and on record. He came loaded for bear with about eight gorgeous instruments, which he deployed perfectly, fitting their strengths to each song. How Mathis comes up with one solo after another that feels fresh, emotionally engaged, virtuosic, wonderfully gritty and a little dangerous is one of the wonders of our age. The bassist and drummer were spectacular as well, locking into that groove that distinguishes William's best work. It's hard to imagine a better band on tour this summer.

The concert was also an expertly sequenced slice of her vast catalog of songs, showcasing a lot of the tougher side of her canon. This connected completely with her body language, which has her moving in a way that has nothing to do with display. This is the way I dance, she seems to be saying, get used to it. 

Her toughness always contains compassion, though, which allows her to deliver songs like Drunken Angel with a hard-won tenderness, as if she just wrote it yesterday. She can also have fun, belting out The Clash's Should I Stay Or Should I Go with a delightful insouciance during the encore. 

So here we have an American treasure, still propelled by the jetstream of one of her finest albums (Where The Spirit Meets The Bone), in excellent voice, phrasing like a jazz singer, and accompanied by an excellent and sympatico trio of musicians with plenty of personality of their own. What are you waiting for? See Lucinda Williams. 

Ornette And Self-Recognition

My parents were out at a museum opening. I hung over the side of the bed, watching the hall, waiting to hear the front door open. I wasn't a particularly needy kid but for some reason I couldn't get to sleep until they got home. It might have been a sort of silent protest against what I saw as an egregiously early bedtime. I was around 12 years old and not tired at all.

They eventually returned and there were all the usual noises of closets and coats before they headed down the hall to their room. They came in to check on me and were glad to find me awake as they had a little present: A postcard from MoMA featuring a great Roy Lichtenstein painting of military machinery. "Here," my father said, "we thought this would be something you would like."

The way he said it, I knew that they didn't think much of Lichtenstein but were happy to find something with which I would find affinity. And did I ever: it was art-love at first sight. I remember feeling a sense of recognition: here is something just for me, as if custom-made. My parents had found something for me that I didn't even know I was looking for - a tacit acknowledgment of something I didn't yet realize. I was different than them, and maybe from a lot of people. 

I pinned the postcard to the wall above my pillow, next to the autographed photo of Walter Koenig, and went to sleep. It was wonderful waking up in a world where I knew I could find art that would feed my soul and with a little more self-knowledge to help me find it. 

A few years later I was getting ready to leave a friend's house after an afternoon spent listening to music. "Here," he said, handing me an LP, " I think this is a bunch of noise but you might like it." It was Ornette Coleman's early masterpiece, Free Jazz. He was right on both counts - it was a bit noisy and I loved it. 

While there was a lot to absorb in the two side-long collective improvisations that made up the album, the thing that immediately grabbed me was Ornette's tone on alto, a sound as immediately recognizable as Jimi Hendrix's guitar, and filled with a feeling of complete exuberance. There was the sound of life itself coming out of that plastic sax and I had to hear more. 

Through a friend of a friend of a friend I found myself in a music critic's apartment (I thought it was Chip Stern, but he recently swore it was not him) where he was selling promo copies. Besides a white label copy of Remain In Light, I also scored Body Meta, Ornette's first album with his electric band, Prime Time, and Soapsuds, Soapsuds, a series of duets with bassist Charlie Haden. 

Body Meta was a revelation, from that first mind-blowing appropriation of the Bo Diddley beat, to the explosive tangles of sound when Ornette and his cohort achieved maximum liftoff. And it really felt like that, the room shifting around you as guitar lines shattered and reformed, the bass hovering just in front, then just behind, the beat, and Ornette's joyful squall slathered all over everything.

The first "new" Ornette album I bought was Of Human Feelings (still unconscionably out of print but at least available to stream), which was recorded in 1979 - recorded digitally, I might add - but not released until 1982. It was put out by Antilles, a subsidiary of Island records, and could sort of be seen as a pop bid by Ornette, like Star People by Miles Davis. While it has its catchy moments it was unlikely that smooth jazz radio was going to play this stuff, though. I loved it instantly and was by then a fan for life.

It was much later that I learned about his history of rejection, how he was denied entry into the academy, although he had a mind full of symphonies, then laughed out of L.A., and almost laughed out of NYC, his plastic sax and wild ideas magnets for derision. But he persevered, making a series of landmark albums and even getting the opportunity to record one of those symphonies, Skies Of America, for Columbia Records. But, unlike Miles Davis, who always managed to muscle into the center of the culture, Ornette remained an outsider and I can't deny that that's part of his appeal for me. 

When I first heard True Dat (Interlude) from OutKast's debut album, I nodded my head vigorously to Big Rube's words: 

"An OutKast is someone who is not considered to be part of the normal world

He is looked at differently

He is not accepted because of his clothes, his hair

His occupation, his beliefs or his skin color

Now look at yourself, are you an OutKast? I know I am

As a matter of fact, fuck being anything else

It's only so much time left in this crazy world."

I imagine Ornette might have felt the same way. But it's the music that helps us find each other, starting with the musician's self-recognition in the sounds that resonate with them. Never mind the pronouns, Lou Reed was talking about himself in Rock & Roll: "She started dancing to that fine fine music/You know her life was saved by rock & roll."

So I'm an Ornette person. I know this about myself as much as I know that he's not for everyone. The other album I bought from the music critic, Soapsuds, Soapsuds, featured a gorgeous fantasia on the theme to Norman Lear's mock-soap opera, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. As it happens, my family was obsessed with that show and it was in fact the catalyst to getting my bedtime officially changed so I could stay up and watch it. Hearing Ornette float those iconic notes alongside the ruminative bass of Charlie Haden was another startling moment of recognition. Sure I was an Ornette person but maybe - just maybe - Ornette was a Jeremy person, too.

I'll Never See The Who - And I'm Ok With That

In the year I was born, four arty scrappers who couldn't decide between the High Numbers and The Who as a band name were playing some of their first gigs in England. In one recording from those days, they repeatedly launch into I Gotta Dance To Keep From Crying in between covers of songs by Bo Diddley, Little Richard and their more advanced contemporaries, The Kinks. Like The Yardbirds, they also did Here 'Tis and Smokestack Lightning, but they didn't have the unstoppable energy of McCarty, Dreja and Clapton working together. They also couldn't match John Lennon's throat-shredding blast through Money - but they tried. Overall, they were pretty good, maybe a cut above your cousin's band, but only just. 

Imagine being there, watching one of the greatest bands of all time in their nascence. Would you be able to tell that great things were coming? Or would you think they were merely another noisy bunch of strivers like David Jones and the Lower Third playing just down the street? Of course, I'll never know, as crawling was still in my future and seeing music even further off. So I missed The Who in 1964 and I'm OK with that. 

When Keith Moon died in 1978 I was just on the cusp of my serious concertgoing years. During the decade prior, The Who had become perhaps one of the most formidable live acts in human history. Even Liszt and Paganini, who both tore it up in the 19th century, would have hesitated before following Townsend, Daltrey, Entwistle and Moon on stage. In performance they had excelled far beyond any of those they emulated in 1964, and minus The Beatles, in songwriting as well. This I knew full well from the Live At Leeds album, of which I knew every note, and fascinating studio works like Who's Next, Quadrophenia and Who Are You. But thanks to a combination of my age, lack of discretionary funds, and an older brother who was more into jazz than rock, I never saw The Who in those years either - and I'm OK with that. 

Kenney Jones was soon behind the drum kit, and while he had skills and pedigree, he lacked charisma and The Who were irrevocably a different band. While I could enjoy You Better You Bet, it took me years to realize that Face Dances is one of the best pop albums of the 80's. I think I considered seeing The Who at Shea Stadium in 1982, but it was probably too expensive and I was slightly disturbed at the idea of my heroes The Clash as an opening act, especially so shortly after they had ruled the stage at Bond's. Then The Who officially broke up for the first time and I spent the rest of the decade seeing Elvis Costello, Talking Heads, PiL, Dead Boys, Beastie Boys, Bad Brains, Gang of Four, Pere Ubu, Bob Marley, David Bowie, etc., etc. So I never saw The Who in the 80's - and I'm OK with that. 

I could go on, describing endless reunions, retirements and special appearances, but if it wasn't already over, the death of John Entwistle in 2002 sealed The Who's fate as a performing entity. They could no longer claim much more than a shadow's connection to their glory days. Even with the release of the terrific Endless Wire in 2006, which I played incessantly for several months, I felt no pull to see them live. Mounting their stadium tours left them too beholden to a past they could only hint at and I wasn't interested in watching them try. Daltrey and Townsend play Endless Wire at The Beacon? Two still-vital creative artists performing new songs? Sign me up. 

So I'm OK with never seeing The Who, or the Stones or Pink Floyd, to name a couple of other bands who have toured as a simulacrum of themselves. It's the same for me as Hendrix, The Doors, or The Beatles. I can accept that the time-space continuum just did not make it possible and I'm just too into the music to suspend disbelief that what I would be hearing could live up to the remarkable legacies of these bands. In the case of The Replacements, I was lucky enough to see them in their heyday, at The Ritz, and it was just as great as you can imagine. While I would love to see Paul Westerberg perform some of his most recent material (which is getting less recent all the time, dude), I didn't want to mess with my memories. Based on some of his remarks at ending the current reunion run, which only featured 50% of the original band, I think Westerberg may feel similarly.

All the above is not even to mention the need to husband the limited resources - of both time and money - I have to see shows. For the cost of one ticket to see Clapton on his 70th birthday, I can have infinitely more satisfying experiences seeing Matthew E. White, Father John Misty, Kate Tempest, Natalie Prass and Holly Miranda - and that's just this year alone. The time is now for these artists, not in the past.

Conversing Across Centuries, Part 1: Orli Shaham & Brahms

Assembling a collection of pieces from wildly disparate times and/or places can be a delicate operation. David Greilsammer triumphed in this area with last year's Scarlatti/Cage album, now firmly installed in my mind as one of the great piano records. So far this year we have two other recordings that successfully converse across the centuries - one is reviewed below and I'll get to the other next week.

Orli Shaham - Brahms Inspired I'll admit to being an inconstant Brahmsian. While I am devoted to his Clarinet Quintet and find Ein deutsches Requiem fascinating, not a lot of his other music has compelled me. I may even be guilty of selling back a CD of his songs, but digital music was expensive back then and I needed to husband my resources. Even now, if you don't move me you are gone. 

When I heard about Orli Shaham project, I was intrigued, however. She had obviously been on a very personal journey with old Johannes, even going so far as to commission works to aid her pan-optical view of his music. Also, the three Brahms pieces included were all late works and I thought I might find some of that spare and utter mastery found in the Clarinet Quintet with which to connect. 

The first piece on the album, a collection of six pieces simply called Klavierstücke, Op. 118, instantly pulls you into the world of romanticism, melodies and lush chords swelling and crashing like breakers on the beach. Listening to Shaham's assured and stylish performance I realized that, despite the efforts of the Second Viennese School and Stravinsky, the 20th Century was essentially romantic, at least until the Minimalists struck a chord (or an arpeggio, ad infinitum). This is the equivalent of realizing that all your favorite television character actors had already had full careers in vaudeville. In other words, the past is ever present and Brahms more than holds his own even now, in yet another century. 

After Op. 118, we get Bruce Adolphe's My Inner Brahms (an intermezzo), a short homage commissioned for the album. Adolphe is a New York based composer and educator known by millions of public radio listeners for his Piano Puzzler segments on Performance Today. A distillation of his improvisations on themes by Brahms, it's a lovely little bit of time travel. The three pieces that follow are all works that inspired Brahms - Schubert's Impromptu, Op. 90, No. 3, Schumann's Romanze, Op 28, No. 2, and Chopin's Berceuse, Op. 57. They all go down easily and give you an idea of what might have been swirling in Brahms's head as he composed. They also prove that I will always be a Schumann person - the clarity of his textures and conception is immediately evident and very attractive. 

Brahms's Drei Intermezzi, Op 117, follows and, if anything, it's Schumann's influence I feel the most. This leads me to start wondering how much Shaham's performances themselves might be influence by all the crosstalk between composers. Whatever the reason, the three intermezzos are simply, but never simplistically gorgeous. Shaham seems to find little stories between the notes, and to delight in their telling. 

Disc 2 starts with another commissioned piece, After Brahms - 3 Intermezzos for Piano, by Avner Dorman. Dorman is Israeli-a born and one of the most successful young composers in that country. He and Shaham have crossed paths before, with Nigunim, a violin sonata based on Jewish themes commissioned and performed by her and her brother, the great Gil Shaham. The first of his intermezzos really puts the "passion" in the Allegro con motto apassionato, with furious downpours of notes coming to a crashing halt on the left side of the keyboard. It's short enough that it's actually great fun and Shaham blows past the difficulties with aplomb. the other two pieces in the set profitably explore other variations on the "whisper to a scream" template.

After Dorman's romantic apotheosis, Bach's Partita No. 1 comes as somewhat of a relief, especially in Shaham's lighter than air performance. It feels like her fingers are just barely touching the keys. Even so, I admit to feeling a slight bit of ear fatigue at this point - but there is nothing saying you need to listen to all 120 minutes of piano music at once. However you get there, don't miss the Schoenberg miniatures that come on Bach's coattails. Schoenberg, one of my favorite composers, was a crucial bridge from the perfumed drawing rooms of the Romantic era to the spiky bustle of Modernism. He had cred in the new world partially because his early works were so accomplished. If he had composed nothing after Verklarte Nacht, Gurrelieder and Ewartung, he would be known as a major late-Romantic composer. 

Obviously, Sechs Kleine Klavierstücke, Op. 19, is not one of Schoenberg's big deals. But mashing up six tiny pieces into a work less than six minutes long without it ever feeling frugal is no mean feat. Shaham seems to use a magnifying glass to find the individual character of each little section, like painting a Kandinsky on the head of a pin. Put down your phone, slow down, and observe the process with your full attention - trust me, you will be rewarded. 

The final piece is a true mash up, with Brahms's Klavierstücke, Op 119 interleaved with Brett Dean's Hommage à Brahms für Klavier. While Dean's work was originally commissioned by Emmanuel Ax, like the other new music here, this is a World Premiere recording. Dean's work is probably the most radical of the new pieces, finding the connection between modern cacophony and the 19th Centuries cascades of notes. There's also a touch of knotty jazz to his writing, bringing us right up to date. But Brahms, and ultimately Orli Shaham, have the last word. The third Klavierstücke, Rhapsodie in e-flat major, is so tuneful and open-hearted that you may be inspired (sorry) to go back to beginning of this wonderful collection. Thanks to Shaham, I think I'll be a better friend to Brahms from now on.  Brahms Inspired is out on June 9th. 

Holly Miranda Is Here

I've probably told the story of how I came to Holly Miranda too many times. Suffice it to say that I've been a fan since 2009 and that being her fan seems to involve a lot of waiting. At first I was collecting the free songs she dropped on the Internet, waiting for her to release something official. Then I got Sleep On Fire, her first EP, and found myself waiting for her first album (or her first "real" album, as she had recorded one as a teenager). The album, The Magician's Private Library, came out and, while it was quite good, I still found myself waiting for a record that reflected all of her talent. I was also waiting to see her on stage, and finally did in Prospect Park  as an opening act. Then, of course, I was waiting to see her as a headliner. 

Somewhere in there she started a Pledge Music campaign so I was now waiting for an album in which I was essentially an investor. Actually, that was in 2011, so it was there was a lot of waiting ahead. During all that time, I did get to see her headline at the Knitting Factory in 2013, which was fantastic. That same year, she released Everlasting and Desert Call, two of her best songs yet, featuring the kind of singing and emotion that just stop you in your tracks. That made 2014 the hardest year of waiting, because I knew she had finally figured out how to reveal her full talent in the studio. While she did let us pledgers know about some of the mitigating circumstances behind the delay, I did start to worry that she was stalling out somehow, getting lost in side projects and backing other musicians. 

Then, earlier this year, the dam finally broke. Some songs appeared on Spotify and pledgers were notified that the album was coming in May. I tried not to get too hung up on dates, to just let it happen, but it all happened on schedule: Holly Miranda was released on May 18th and it is brilliant. The waiting is finally over. 

Mark My Words opens the album with chiming guitar and sleigh bells, and then Holly comes in, intimately singing "Sneaking words into your pocket, bleeding lyrics from my veins," a perfect invitation for all that follows. The song is a slow build and her singing instantly impresses with its clarity, control and soul-singer phrasing. The song ends with powerful, chunky guitar, and drops us into the breezy strumming that opens All I Want Is To Be Your Girl  This is an instantly hummable  singalong: "The days are shorter but the nights are long/We could fuck in the sun and dance till dawn/And all I want is to be your girl." Of course, our puritanical culture will keep the song in this form off the radio, but this should be a pop hit. It goes down so easy that all those Swedes who machine-tool the Billboard charts will look up from their Pro-Tools and say, "Damn. Why am I working so hard?"

Then we get Everlasting, a swoon in song with no small debt to John Lennon at his best. The vocal arrangement is elaborate, with a chorus of Hollies and some deep male underpinnings just above the subsonic. Bowie does stuff like that, but few others even try. Whatever You Want has a touch of the 80's but is cheese-free, with Miranda more than holding her own with an army of guitars and clattering percussion. Come On alternates from spare to full-on, and there's a bit of girl-group innocence and yearning: "I've been waiting for a blue moon to cover me/Get me through this lonesome night ahead of me."

Pelican Rapids has the feel of a bedroom recording, in the best way, with Miranda singing along to herself accompanied by electronic drums and keyboards. It's an overture to Desert Call, which like Everlasting was re-recorded for the album. It's both longer and more luxuriant than the earlier version while still retaining the same classic, elemental feel. That great baritone sax solo (by Maria Eisen) I heard at the Knitting Factory is well-represented here and Miranda sounds so at home singing alongside the throaty horn, her true musical foil. 

The Angelo Badalamenti songs Julee Cruise sang for Twin Peaks have become more and more foundational, most recently (and unfortunately) in the faltering attempts of Lana Del Rey, who sings like someone who is never quite sure what's going to happen when she opens her mouth. Holly Miranda definitely doesn't have that problem and brings some of Badalamenti's dark romanticism to both The Only One and Heavy Heart. Each song is lead by rich piano parts, with that bari sax droning underneath, and features a bit of theatrical flair. Music supervisors take note. 

The penultimate cut, Until Now, is so good I almost don't want to share it with you, or anybody else. In a way the whole beautiful album builds to this point. It's mostly just Holly and her acoustic, with gorgeous touches of electric guitar swooping in the spaces between. "Never opened my eyes until now/Never really realized until now," are the opening lines and we're instantly plunged into the white-hot moment when friends become lovers. "You've got some kind of sweetness," she sings in the chorus, her voice ascending in a curlicue of pure longing  "Tied up in that string I've been tugging on/ But I'm pulling now." This is almost Nick Drake territory, where you get wrapped up in the song and wind up feeling protective of the singer. Then again, I've always been rooting for Holly Miranda, and my cheerleading will continue. But I have a feeling the real cheering is about to begin, and it will be louder than ever. 

Join the applause when Holly Miranda returns to the Knitting Factory on June 13th.

Hi Sheriffs, Lo Fi

Ever since the first groove was inscribed on a wax cylinder, there were conscious efforts to improve sound, to increase the "fidelity" of the recording to the originating sonic material. And things did improve rather rapidly, with excellent sound becoming a common possibility in the 1940's, leading to the HiFi movement of the 50's, which saw a barrage of albums released strictly on the merits of how well they exploited the possibilities of the modern stereo system.

For sure, there were still lousy sounding records released, mainly in the realm of burgeoning rock & roll, which got by on the charm, passion and energy of the performers and the indelible nature of the songs. But that was not for lack of trying, simply the result of substandard equipment and low investment in technology. By the early 60's, however, good and even great sound was to be expected, from the crystal clarity of EMI's Abbey Road Studios heard on The Beatles albums to the punchy but crisp Motown Sound.

That all changed with White Light/White Heat by The Velvet Underground, which sounded "bad" on purpose and had some record buyers returning to the store to exchange their "defective" purchase. From then on, all bets were off as producers and bands realized that murk, muffle and distortion could actually be an asset, giving their songs weight, depth and mystery. Low fidelity was also a way to grab on to the slipstream of past masters from the realms of country, blues, etc.

One band that sits at the nexus of all this is Hi Sheriffs Of Blue which had an incandescent, elusive existence in the early 80's. They arose from the ashes of Girls, the Boston band whose sole released output was the extraordinary single, Jeffery, I Hear You, produced by Pere Ubu's David Thomas. Due to the provincialism of pre-Internet society, I was completely unaware of this backstory when I stumbled on the Sheriffs in either Tier 3 or the Mudd Club and was smitten with Mark Dagley and co.'s almost ridiculously discordant and angular take on blues and country. Years later, when "country punk" became a thing, I talked up the Sheriffs till I was hoarse, but to no avail.

This was partly due to their spare catalog, traversing three labels and consisting of merely three 45's (one split with John Miller) and a 12". Ain't But Sweet 16 was their first single, a semi-rockabilly number with a thin sound that made the record sound like it was already used. My Big Vacation was on the flip, an even odder song that slotted in with some of the No Wave stuff that was bubbling up. The third held Cold Chills, one song split on both sides like an early James Brown single, a malevolent grind that might have given Howlin' Wolf pause.

I saw them any time I could and even talked to Dagley around the time of what would be their final release, the 12" EP, which contained the incendiary 19-80 Now! and three other songs. While still unmistakeably the Sheriffs in all their lurching glory, the sound was a little cleaner and richer, filling my head with visions of an underground favorite poking its head aboveground. Dagley seemed to indicate that they were ready to ride the wave wherever it took them and that there were imminent plans for a full-length follow up. It was not to be, however. By the time I started investigating why their fairly regular gigs had evaporated, word came down (might've been Ed Bahlman at 99 Records who told me) that Dagley had broken up the band and moved to an ashram.

I tried not to take it personally, but if you were a Sheriffs fan, it was a personal thing in the first place. So last year when I saw that the eminent Byron Coley was releasing something called NYC 1980 my music fan heart went pitta-pat and I ordered the thing with only a minimum of info. I figured it would be a collection of all their releases with maybe a live track or two. Turns out that Coley dredged up seven cuts of live and rehearsal room tape, all from before that first Sheriffs single. Even better, he hopes that NYC 1980, released in a limited edition of 500 LP's (download code included), is the start of a series.

It's all rougher than raw, cassette-deck, single-mic stuff and I wouldn't have it any other way. The first track is 11 minutes of live mayhem, comprised of five songs, including My Big Vacation. The hi-hat sizzles like static, the guitar hacks out chords, the bass throbs, the vocals howl and you are there: NYC 1980. But this is not pure nostalgia (although it is a little) because the Sheriffs were so on the edge of what was going on back then. Dust My Blues is a gritty take on the Elmore James classic that makes the Black Keys sound like Journey, while Big Duke is a nasty, spectral little boogie that barely grips the rails for 1:39. Blue Door, Black Door is a skronk western swing that's even shorter, a perfect overture to the real find of the collection.

White Street Shuffle, maybe part of a longer jam, fades in, and like your eyes adjusting to the dark, gradually takes shape in your ears as an improvisatory workout of the type only true masters ever achieve. Moments of it sound like Miles Davis in 1973, the Velvets in 1969, or Fela in 1977. In short, it swings, in a fractured way of course, and makes me feel fully vindicated in my assesment that the Sheriffs were one of the great bands. The dry, unfiltered sound means that the playing has to stand on its own, with no help from reverb or any other sweetening. Where Were You When The Lights Went Out comes next, a below-Fi avant jazz blast that barely holds together - even the tape sounds near the breaking point.

The album closes out with a live take of Cold Chills that staggers along, steady but almost enervated, until it just stops. While the Sheriffs were great players in their way, I realize now that one of the radical things about the project was the removal of virtuoso instrumentalists from the blues, and studio slickness from country. In the decades that followed the demise of Hi Sheriffs Of Blue, countless artists have gone back to that well in an effort to revitalize rock music from the ground up. But no one did it like them.

For a while I was monitoring Feeding Tube Records losing a little more faith in Western Civ every time I found they still had unsold copies of NYC 1980. So when I saw Byron Coley at the WFMU Record Fair recently, the first thing I said to him was, "Did you sell out those Hi Sheriffs albums yet?" I tried not to make it sound like an accusation. He assured me that they had and that he was still talking to Dagley, who's mostly a painter these days, about further releases. Whew.

Even if you can't get NYC 1980, Feeding Tube has much to explore "on the fringe of obscurity," as their motto would have it. Coley pointed me in the direction of a couple of gems you might want to jump on.

Owen Maercks is a cutting-edge guitarist who put together a band of Bay Area heavyweights, including Henry Kaiser, and made an album of left-field rock in 1978 called Teenage Sex Therapist. All the copies they pressed went for promotion and when that marketing plan failed, the album sank without a trace. No longer. Coley has resurrected the record, on gorgeous red vinyl (digital download w/extra tracks included) and it's almost impossibly great. Fans of Pere Ubu, early Talking Heads, Captain Beefheart, etc. will find it essential, but anyone who digs avant-pop or post-punk sounds will be on the edge of their seats. Thrilling guitar, quirky vocals, and angles everywhere await the intrepid purchaser - why not let it be you?

The other winner Coley handed me was a 40th anniversary reissue of Lost At Sea by Glenn Phillips, the guitarist for the legendary Hampton Grease Band. Part of their legend is for having the second-worst-selling album in Columbia Records history, a music-biz nightmare that led Phillips down a path of total independence.

Lost At Sea was self-recorded and self-released but is only slightly self-absorbed. Phillips is a great proponent of the high-technique, high-emotion style that devotees of Carlos Santana and Duane Allman will find instantly appealing. The songs on this instrumental album are alternately pastoral and ferocious and have an open-air feel that is truly lovely. This is a record made by someone who cares and I can't help caring about him in response.

The reissue comes with a second album of previously unreleased material, a side of studio jams that presaged Lost At Sea, and a side of live takes played in its aftermath. The first side is especially wonderful but both are welcome additions to what I hope will finally take its place as an American guitar classic - at least in the 500 lucky homes that get to own one.

No fear if you get sold out of Phillips, though. Byron Coley and Feeding Tube will sure to have something else to fill the gaps in your collection - even the gaps you didn't know existed.

Missy Mazzoli: Lush Rigor

 

The theme of the night at Le Poisson Rouge was lush rigor. Or at least that was a theme that revealed itself at the conclusion of three extraordinary performances in celebration of Missy Mazzoli's new album, Vespers For A New Dark Age, last Thursday night.

The house band, if you will, was Victoire, the sleek chamber ensemble led by Mazzoli and featuring a versatile lineup of violin, clarinet, two keyboards and double-bass. This group has only grown stronger as a unit since I last saw them at the River To River festival three years ago. 

At LPR they first took the stage in support of Noveller  the nom de guerre of Sarah Lipstate, a guitarist and composer. Noveller's loops and layers, played on a gleaming Fender Jazzmaster with a full assortment of pedals and boxes at her feet, interleaved seamlessly with Victoire's rich palette of sound. The collaboration had me paying full attention immediately, shaking off what my daughter calls "Thursday tired" without a thought. 

The real fireworks began, however, when Victoire exited stage right and left Noveller to her own brilliant devices. Each piece, many from her recent album, Fantastic Planet  featured precisely assembled components adding up to monoliths of extreme beauty. A fuzzed chord progression would become the underpinning for a diamond-etched light show of arpeggios, which would in turn support a soaring melody, sometimes played with a bow. 

Naturally, I couldn't resist mentioning Jimmy Page in a Tweet. Let's face it, he is the icon when it comes to bowing an electric guitar. But we also have to face the fact that much of the mileage he got from breaking out the horsehair was due to a certain transgressive thrill in addition to the suitably evil sounds he made. By contrast, Noveller's use of the bow is both technically more solid and musically more purposeful. Not the first time a student has overshot the master, if only in this one aspect.

Other reference points in her music are the classic albums by Fripp & Eno - No Pussyfooting came more readily to her mind when I chatted with her after the show. She also mentioned Glenn Branca, although thanks to technology and her skill she only needs one guitar and some boxes to sound like an orchestra. Good thing, too, because when I saw Branca at the Mudd Club back in the day, I worried one of his many guitarists was going to fall off the tiny stage. I heard echoes of Bill Nelson's more abstract side in her music but she hadn't heard of him. His stuff is just in the air these days, I think. Although Noveller is more than happy playing on her own, she could also probably sit in for David Torn in Bowie's band should the need ever arise.

Noveller has been honing her craft since 2007 and it showed in her precise touch and command of electronics, which combined with an assured flair for rock rhythms (and rock moves) made for a consistently exciting and involving set. Unlike some other recent artists who started out as "solo loopers," she seems to have no eye on the pop prize, which is refreshing. Needless to say I bought her last copy of Fantastic Planet and highly recommend that you find a way to hear it as well.

Mazzoli and Victoire had been watching, rapt, as Noveller dazzled the crowd and returned to the stage with barely a pause, along with three singers from Roomful of Teeth, to perform pieces from Vespers. While Mazzoli described the eight movement work as "irreverent," the result of her fine-tuned compositions and the rich billows of sound created by Victoire was moment after mesmerizing moment of rapturous sounds, often producing sensations of soaring and falling. In short, it was transcendent, which is what religious music was supposed to do in the first place.

Instead of any traditional Latin or hymnal text, Mazzoli has used poems by Matthew Zapruder for the words of her vespers. However, without the poems in front of us, this was a purely musical experience. The vocals were often in a style derived from plainchant and the words were not intelligible. I'm looking forward to enriching the experience with the poetry at a later date. The singing was virtuosic, in any case - bell-clear and impassioned. All of the players were fantastic, but special note must be made of Olivia De Prato's violin work, which was outrageously good. She's also a member of the Mivos Quartet and Ensemble Signal, so there are plenty of opportunities to hear her.

The album features Wilco's Glenn Kotche on percussion, although he was not present at LPR and no attempt was made to recreate his contribution. Nothing felt lacking, however. Note must also be made of Lorna Dune's role in Victoire, as keyboard player and all-around electronics whiz. Dune produced the Vespers album, which ends with her remix of Mazzoli's A Thousand Tongues, an older work originally for solo instrument (viola or cello), vocals and electronics. Dune's take, which also closed Victoire's set, is wonderfully fleshed out with layers of pulsing keyboards and somehow achieves an effect of featherweight gravitas. Watching Dune and Mazzoli performing it, one couldn't help but be moved by what appears to be a deep collaboration - long may they reign!

There was a welcome pause in the proceedings after Victoire left the stage, giving me a chance to collect my thoughts after all the intense music we had heard thus far. The stage was reset and Glasser was soon before us. Glasser is Cameron Mesirow, a phenomenally talented singer, producer and dancer who has been making records since 2009. While her albums have done well on the Billboard Dance charts, they are a far cry from the EDM that makes up most of that list. Her music is highly rhythmic, but also seeks to do more than just provide uplift or move the crowd.

She started her performance on the contemplative side, singing in her clear soprano to a backing of koto and clarinet, which somehow managed to be simultaneously spare and richly atmospheric. Her movements were precise and provocative, emphasized by her well-designed costume of a form-fitting sweater and a skirt slit almost to her waist. There was no hint of burlesque, however: this was artistry of a high order and almost entirely devoid of kitsch. She seemed sweetly surprised by the audience's explosive reaction and quickly nodded to the sound engineer to start the next track.

 Song after song followed, all with beats that could compete with the best out there and singing that sounded effortlessly beautiful. It was hard to sit still, but I don't think my neighbors at nearby tables would have appreciated me standing up. In any case, Glasser was the star and I was riveted. An appearance by her would be an event under any circumstance, but this was Missy Mazzoli's night and we were eventually treated to another collaboration when Victoire came back and supported Glasser on a couple of new songs. Just as when they joined Noveller, it was a perfectly beguiling combination and those on stage seemed just as pleased as we were.

The overwhelming impression of the evening was of musicians at the peak of their talents, supporting each other and exploring all the ways highly structured compositions and richly orchestrated sounds can create music that satisfies on a number of levels - emotionally, intellectually and even spiritually. 

Perhaps all of these joint efforts will appear on future releases. I'm especially eager to hear what Glasser does next as her last album was in 2013, and she seems to have even advanced since then. But these are all protean artists and where they go from here will no doubt be a complete adventure. For now, the lucky people of Minneapolis and Cincinnati will be the only others to hear what we heard at Le Poisson Rouge. If I could defeat the time-space continuum, I would sign up to do it all again in both cities.

Gecko's Pleasure Principle

Some of my earliest musical memories are of the Cuban drummers who used to play in Central Park all summer long. The sounds would drift up to my 11th floor aerie, forming an ambient bed of rhythm on which to fall asleep. Many of the drummers were recent immigrants, forced out by Castro's revolution and seeking a better life in NYC. 

The percussion circles made music strictly for themselves, tapping into long-held traditions that were ingrained from an early age, and they merged into my musical DNA alongside The Beatles, Pete Seeger and other household music. 

While my musical taste is now extremely eclectic and spans the distance from the cerebral to the cacophonous, I reserve a special place for people who could sit in with one of those Cuban drum circles and be instantly locked into the groove - and just as quickly be accepted as one of them. Leon Parker has it. Of course the Buena Vista people had it. And Gecko Turner, the Spanish shaman who just released his fourth album, has it. 

Gecko Turner has been plowing his singular furrow for more than a decade. His first album, Guapapasea was a shot across the bow, featuring breezy covers of both Bob Dylan and Bob Marley, and two politically charged songs, Didja Black Up Today, and Guapapasea, which sardonically celebrated the dead end lives of teen prostitutes in Portugal ("Guapapasea" translates as "beauty walking," which is what people shout when one walks by). Somehow, Gecko's light touch and musically omnivorous approach prevented any of this baggage from feeling at all weighty.

Chandalismo Llustrado was the second record and had no big baggage at all, just a pure exploration of groove-based songs, some tinged with heartbreak, all put forth in the relaxed fashion of a master. Songs like Monosabio Blues were deeply rhythmic dance floor devastators and the finale, Jogo De Calidade, was a samba march that practically ordered you to get down. 

Over the course of the two albums you become fully acquainted with Gecko's voice, which can be sweet like a Brazilian crooner, when he pushes it up into his higher range, or a gently graveled croak when he talk-sings. The lasting impression of the one-two punch of those albums is that Gecko is all about creating an environment where he can be purely himself, without any concerns about genre, radio play, or the demands of the music business. 

While a steady stream of stunning remixes (some of the best are collected on Manipulado) kept me happy over the next couple of years, it would be five years before Gecko released Gone Down South, which I compared to a "mainline dose of Vitamin D" and named one of the best albums of 2011. Perhaps his most delightful record, Gone Down South also had Gecko singing better than ever, with the flexibility and phrasing of a mid-sixties Miles Davis solo, all slurs and elisions. Widening his palate further, there were traces of Motown in the mix, as well as folk and pop. 

Aside from a few more remixes and some cute videos, Gecko went quiet again until just recently. When he leaked the first track from his new album, That Place By The Thing With The Cool Name, he told me on Facebook that he would be touring and doing radio appearances, including  a stop in New York. I insist that you all join me at whatever venue he books - doctor's orders, as this is a prescription for pure pleasure. 

You can start dosing yourself immediately by putting the new album in high rotation. That Place... starts, appropriately enough, with the drums, a tidy little rhythm that leads to an an ultra-cool jam, with Fender Rhodes chords, gentle whoo-whoo backing vocals, and even some tasty Walter Becker guitar licks. I'll Do That is a smooth as silk opener and the perfect way to ease into the world of Gecko. Like all of his albums, the sound is warm and organic but with a crystal-clear studio sheen that puts all sounds in a three-dimensional aural space. Bee Eater is hypnotic and will have you nodding your head and chanting "Take me to Africa...then back home." So it's classic Gecko from the jump, but also feels slightly more expansive. Bee Eater has two sax solos and more complex horn figures - jazz is definitely higher priority here. 

Corazon de Jesus is sunshine folk-pop with a Latin tinge. This is the side of Gecko that is seeking answers and solace, and he finds it in a gentle dialog with his backup singers. The introspection doesn't last long, though. Chicken Wire is a party, with whip-sharp drums, wah wah guitar and a slinky disco bass line. You will dance wherever you are. Just as it comes to a head it slams into a stutter-step coda that should make for some interesting moves on the floor. Medium Rare puts me back in Central Park, all percussion and incantory vocals, but it's just a fragment leading to Did You Ever Wonder Why?, another jazzy treat that's lighter than air, even if he is singing about Machiavelli and the pot calling the kettle black.

Here Comes Friday is a sweetly melancholy paean to the end of the week, lushly outfitted with strings and flute, and I think I'll be singing it every Thursday for the foreseeable future. Oye Muchacha is a funky little sketch, like something the JB's would warm up with - pass the Spanish peas. Extremely Good brings some reggae flavors and Little Sonny is stripped down to two chords and minimal percussion. Juanita has even more space, with a little built-in hesitation in the beat, Benny And The Jets style. I'm not 100 percent sure, but I think Juanita done Gecko wrong and all I can say is How could you?!

Gecko doesn't dwell, however - he dances away the pain. Rockin' Diddley is almost comically high-spirited, but stays to the right side of silly. The piano sparkles like a Fania record, someone blows on a flute, and the trombone tells its own little story. 

Gecko has some new tricks up his sleeve, too. This Is The One comes from a place of deep calm, with hints of Lou Reed, and features an epic shimmer - and tympani. Those big drums lead directly into the last song, The Strange Adventures Of Two Runaway Elephants In Kentish Town. The wayward pachyderms are represented by saxophones playing intertwining solos over piano and tympani while sleigh bells and a shaker keep time. Coltrane seems to be observing approvingly from a distance but you will be right there, breathing along with Gecko. 

The Place By The Thing With The Cool Name takes a firm place in Gecko's pantheon of life-giving musical pharmacology. It feels a bit more substantial than Gone Down South so it could be a longer acting dose. You may become addicted, but you can't OD and there are no side effects. So take your medicine and I'll see you at the show.