wordsandmusic

Into the new year... Pete Morton/Gren Bartley gig...

2012-01-31T02:46:00.000-08:00

It's been a while... but I have been buried away working on a new project in between the usual annoying illness/fatigue. I have not been to any gigs recently either - but that changes on Friday incoming - 3d February - when I'll be down at the Swan in the Rushes, in God's Little Acre, for a gig headlined by one of my favourite musicians/writers etc. Pete Morton. Who will be supported by Gren Bartley, in what should prove to be a fascinating mix of acoustic styles. Couple of vids on the TappedButSettling site to give a flavour of both...

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Sunday, 13th February, 2011

2011-11-28T09:07:00.001-08:00

Woke up after not much sleep with an appalling hangover but realised that staggering into the hotel breakfast was going to be a good idea... Somewhat refreshed - we talk in relative terms - I scanned the program for the day – and went back to bed. But come 1 pm I was down at the Sallis Benney, determined to bear witness to as much as my knackered-up body could stand. Cat Hawed were first off the blocks – three musicians from Helhesten and Towering Breaker – and played a stunning set, I thought. Starting in chamber music mode, accentuated by the use of clarinet, perhaps, although it was played on the extremes of register, poised and balanced as they tested the day, building to a roar as the form spread to encompass wilder sounds, loosely corralled, as it were, by intelligence.Bad Orb (Sarah Albury's solo vehicle) – standing stage left to the side of the projections on screen at the ubiquitous rummage sale table holding her electronics, voicing: ur ur ur repeated/recorded into the mike (Ur-Sounds?) to be bounced back and manipulated as source material, backdrop to a film, triangular motif and bird image recurring – superb in the marriage of sight and sound here. My day was off to a good start (no sight of Hugh Metcalfe-ian strategies so far).Martin Klapper's take on home movies was fascinating, old footage transformed by his bespoke techniques, dragged down slightly by the music which was a trifle cartoony, but the general flow pulled it along beyond annoyance. Other films that grabbed me: Stuart Pound's 'Breath Dance,' a cool hokey cokey in which the film stops, jumps back, moves on to create a stylised dance of pedestrians in Trafalgar Square. 'I'll raise you like a mother,' by Violaine Bergoin was a disturbing meditation on the trial and execution of the Ceasescu's, live horrific soundtrack placed over images of family life. With Gaddafi's recent televised demise fresh in the mind, it's worth quoting Violaine's remarks about her film:

'This piece is a reconstitution of a precise moment of my life, as a 8 year old, during an everyday family dinner and the broadcasting of the Ceauescu couple being trialled and executed.When Elena Ceauescu cried for her life, screaming to the guards taking her "I'll raise you all like a mother", which was then dubbed in French, my heart stopped and these words have been haunting me ever since and has been bringing impressions of déjà- vu until now. Today it has become a banality to watch upheavals, wars, famines, executions, genocides at 8 o'clock news within a familial structure. Yet the conflicts in this world may reflect our disabilities to communicate which results in decaying relationships. Maybe wars start within families first and expand to massive proportions.'

Back down to the Old Market for the last leg of the festival. Just in time to catch Ninni Morgia and Silvia Kastel, great wild guitar and howled vocals, processed and chopped about. Abruptly moving into a hard thumping beat as they rocked out – one that got some of the audience idiot dancing.I missed the beginning of Maja Jantar's set. A slight, slim figure on the side stage who displayed a wide range of vocal techniques – singing in tongues avant scat which segued at one point into a cool version of 'Cry me a river.' And back again. Noticeable for being able to hold a large crowd with nothing but voice . Vom Grill was loud, vocal contortions put through the electronic shredder, turning his vocals inside out. (YouTube vid here of a performance in Paris a couple of years back).

Then on to Vinyl Terror and Horror, Camilla Sørensen and Greta Christensen's duo who upturn turntablism as they use records as source material for their manipulations. Breaking open the straight box of DJing to reveal many other worlds inside, which were then explored intensively, their collective intelligence produced some of the best music of the weekend for this old boy. Cracks, crashes, pops, scratches, sudden bursts of trombones, choirs, voices wrenched out of the grooves into new configurations. Superb!

Unfortunately for me, the last act of the weekend. Dog Lady. Mike Collino is from Detroit and I fancifully thought I could hear the ghosts of old machines from the auto assembly plants in the subterranean chunks of sound grinding against each other. Across which he lashes some fragments of violin to be tossed and processed through his electronics rig. Great set - after which reluctantly I had to go...

Final thoughts: a fantastic weekend. Large emphasis this year on sound poetry, hardly any jazz, lots of interesting films and multi-media, Colour out of Space back and firing on all cylinders. The new main venue at the Old Market looks like a winner, the crowds who turned up throughout must surely signal a success. Thanks to all who made it happen. And hopefully it will be on again next year

Another viewpoint here...
complete with ten minute snapshot overview.

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Saturday, 12th November, 2011

2011-11-25T05:29:00.001-08:00

Saturday: strolled somewhatpainfully from the hotel to the Sallis Benney (where the wholefestival used to be held) for the afternoon sesh of film and sonics. Too much walking over the previous couple of days had left mesomewhat hors de combat. I didn't stay for the whole event butcaught Blue Yodel (Fiona Kennedy's solo gig) which cleansed mysynapses suitably. Slew of good films: one that impressed me by itsunsettling weirdness was 'Trypps#6 Malobil' by American Ben Russell. Catch a glimpse here...http://vimeo.com/6975261A group of presumably white people in strange costumes come out of abuilding in a tropical village, soundtracked by drumming, walkthrough the assembled locals as off-camera sharp reports like gunfireoccur sporadically. Some simulated sex. Some collision of culturesgoing on. If the A Band ever go on tour to South America, it couldbe like this. Ho ho. Apparently shot in the Maroon village ofMalobe in Suriname. One of those films that lodge in your brain andwill rerun over and over. Disturbing in a way it is difficult todescribe.

Jeff Keen's movie was apsychedelic blast, fast moving streams of collage/images. But onebummer: never having seen Hugh Metcalfe live, I will never make themistake of doing so in the future. The movie of his trip to anAustrian festival was embarrassing, to say the least. He used toteam up with the late Bob Cobbing but his wanky repeating of phrasesalong the lines of: 'I fucking don't give a shit/Shit I fucking don'tgive/Give I fucking don't a shit' etc ad nauseam came across as somebad attempt at sound poetry/was just plain stupid. The barriers werebroken a long way back, old cock. He looked like a middle-agedgeography teacher trying to get down with the kidz. How trangressive it all was. Called his ad hoc group:'Turd Class.' Says it all, really. Maybe he should start a 'FeralChoir' (one of my other pet hates). Or as Bruce Sterling once said:'If you want asustained, independent and transgressive community that can’t beco-opted by society at large, you need to get out of the boho artscene, and right into organized crime.'

On a weekend burstingwith creativities of all kinds, this was pathetic. But thanks forthe warning...

Evening and back at theOld Market. Festivals are always over-loaded – it's difficult toget to every act, even when back to back in one place. Economies ofthirst, urination etc, plus in my case, juggling with fatigue. Sothe night became truncated – more by accident in the end, it has tobe said, when I ended up watching the boxing on Sky down theConqueror, then became engrossed in conversations/new meetings withinteresting people. But I caught Martin Klapper and Martin Jezek'sset: video backdrop with electronics which were loud and crunchy butalways moving forward, falling almost into conventional rhythms attimes which kept them on track. Again, the performance filled thetime with a logic that manifested through its form. Good stuff –and a Saturday feel now, hall crowded and buzzing early. This wasgoing to be a sweaty, uncomfortable night... yet even the mob wouldfall silent when impressed, which is the hallmark of this festival. Where I was standing by the merch stalls, I thought I had taken agood vantage point for PeterFengler's segment, but more andmore people pressed in – yet settled down quickly enough to enjoythe 'show.' Entitled 'Baroque/Non Baroque, I think. Which was as ifSamuel Beckett had scripted a surreal cabaret for Tommy Cooper. Completely deadpan, based on repetitions of actions, stances andspeech that seemed to inject obscure meanings into banal gestures,Fengler held this audience, slowly overcoming puzzlement and random chatter. And he was very funny. Suddenly jumping onto a low table, bendingforward on hands and knees, lifting a leg and holding the pose. Bouncing a ball on the stage – my OCD took over and I found myselfcounting the number of repetitive acts until I stopped myself –tapping bits of wood. Scrunching a plastic cup while wrenching hishead around in both hands to simulate colliding vertabrae. Again –difficult to describe why this was entertaining. He stretchedpatience to breaking point, then you realised that he was skilfullyand dryly hilarious.

YouTube to the rescueagain gives a flavour of the man...

The next section Icaught was PC Fencott (aided by Robin Fencott), veteran of sound/word experimentation for manyyears, another link to the late Bob Cobbing, one of the dominantspirits in the air this weekend, it seemed.

Playing with somecomputer graphics that manipulated words, he presented 'ParadiddleRox,' his voice processed into loops and echoes, creating a wildchoir from his solo readings. But his best piece for me was a poemabout the experience of sea-diving off the coast somewhere oop north. Foregrounding literally the poetics of breath, he simulated thegulps of air in a diver's mouthpiece in between the lines thatdescribed the experience of submergence and movement under water. Catching the paradox: freedom and the claustrophobia of being trapped in thebody's need for oxygen, the element of danger in navigating under thesea. He held the audience rapt – then brought them in to join inon the last piece which involved singing out lines that echoedacross the hall in overlapping waves. Like folk music almost, butmore interesting... How this generates its own order is ultimatelyfascinating and just using the most basic flexible units available –human voices. Superb.

Catch some of hisColour out of Space performance here http://www.youtube.com/user/CliveFencott

I moved forward and found a space by a door. The crowd was filling the hall now, with more and more pressing in. Leather jacket off as the heat was rising from the proximity of so many - upon which someone managed to spill beer. An accident, a jogged arm. I realised as more people were struggling toget in that this venue must be approaching somedanger limit for occupancy. We were waiting for Rainonbashi and Dylan Nyoukis: someone in a blindfold slipped by and crouched briefly asdisembodied noises and voices came through the sound system. Settingan eery atmosphere... The figure disappeared into the crowd, trackedby flashes that came from his seemingly randomly taking of digitalphotographs. An experiment in unease? I decided to go and left forthe Conqueror and the boxing. A fascinating and potentiallydisturbing experience but I don't like crowds when they are jammed soclose and figured with some incipient paranoia that it would justtake one psychedelic voyager in the crush to flip into bad vibesvilleand a stampede could have been on.

Not so much seen andheard, then, but most of it satisfyingly hitting the right spots.

For now - before the other reviews go up - collage from Colour out of Space Festival, 2011

2011-11-23T16:32:00.001-08:00

Lots of distractions this week but the remaining two reviews will go up by the weekend (honest). But just stumbled over this via Anthony Donovan out of Dylan Nyoukis. A reminder not so much of all the great stuff I caught but all the good shit I missed...

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Friday night, 11th November, 2011...

2011-11-19T10:17:00.001-08:00

Igot down to this new main venue for the first evening of 'Colour out of Space,' The Old Market, picked up my ticket andwristband, checked the schedules, had a drink in the bar and realisedthat: a) I don't really like Peroni and b) I would probably spendmore time between acts in the Conqueror just round the corner, a great old-schoolboozer with a friendly welcome, which I had scoped out onpsychogeographic reconnaissance the previous evening. (Butcombebitter, yum. Double Jack D – cheap. More yum).

Thevenue itself, a converted market hall, is high-ceilinged, a larg-ish space with a few chairsscattered which geriatrics/the knackered like myself would eagerly pounce on over the next few days. A bit like that kid's game, exceptyou grab a seat when the music starts... The running order looked astight as ever with quick turnarounds – everything was going to happen in the one space butrotating from the main stage to a small stage situated near the back,to the side, plus various performances that would take place out inthe open, as it were. Gave a bazaar-like quality to the listeningexperience, wandering round from each set. Tonight this would not betoo much of a problem – good crowd but not too oppressive.

Firstup: the Eisteddfod kicked off with TobiasKirsten and John Lunds, a sax/drum duo from Copenhagen. Shortrepeated phrases on baritone sax, hammered out in tandem with thecrashing drums. Free jazz meets Steve Reich, if that makes sense –improvised but hurled into repeating patterns that subtly shift,driven along by relentless drums. Lunds switches saxes, moving up totenor, the lines get longer, freer. An exhilarating start...

Next, Infinite Gaah, TomRoberts, a Northampton denizen transplanted to Brighton. I missedmost of this short segment and came in to see the small side stagesurrounded. Didn't have much idea what was going on – seemed likea good time as the crowd were enjoying it. And there was a lotof fun over the three days – Colour out of Space has always provides alarge variety of musics but is never too po-faced, unlike, say,Freedom of the City, which has become somewhat, shall we say,ponderous. The young crowd help – this is not a congregation ofold gits like myself, sat around scratching their beards in solemnwitness, thank fuck. (Although I wasn't the oldest here).

AnthonyDonovan and Clive Graham followed, on the main stage. I managed toget a good spot down front, stage left – not that position mattered much inthis hall as the sound was superb throughout. Duo electronics,sat at the table looking quite serious, they produced an orchestral, busy movementthat did not falter. Which is the test of all these improvisingartists/bands – to fill the time without noodling and to hold theaudience. I know Anthony's work from other areas but this was veryimpressive. They fitted together well, not getting in each other'sway.

Backto the bear pit – getting crowded now. I hovered on the edge ofthe crowd, got a few glimpses of Aki Onda inaction, who has a wonderful sense of the theatric/visual toframe his music. Which comes from manipulating cassette tapes. With minimal resources he produced amazing sounds, warm and organic, etched with harsher sounds further in. Starting in pastoral mode, a cuckoo calling, a bell sounding, tapeslooped and crossed. Very calm, meditative, the ritualistic feelingextended when he proceeded to walk round the edge of the crowd, somesitting, some standing, all in rapt attention, a small amplifier withWalkman attached, gently swinging like a censer, wafting sound. Ok,fanciful – but there seemed a spiritual aspect somewhere. Bringingin drones now and sharper fragments of song, things shifted into anedgier area. Nearing the end, he suddenly grabbed hold of alightbulb which hung down from the ceiling on a wire and swung it ina long looping arc just over the heads of the assembled, some duckinginstinctively as it described its swirling movements. Wonder whatElf and Safety would have said. The light spun round giving an eeryfinish to a superb performance. In a weekend when it was difficultto pick favourites – this came near.

Couple of short observations:

Wreckand Drool and Smack Music 7 – three piece ensemble. In my notebookI scrawled 'Brilliant! A BAND!' Vocalised sounds sprung acrosselectronic movements, the whole being loose in its expansivepossibilities and yet tight because of the artists' concentrations.

Lichenstarts walking round playing his sax, moving over to electronics andloops that produce LOUD throbbing music. Punchy.

Thelast act I caught ( I didn't stay right to the end) was a brilliantflourish: Crank Sturgeon and

id m theftable. A duo who truly tests one's abilities todescribe them. Vaudeville on acid? was one scrawled note. They wereextremely funny while producing a continuous barrage of intelligentsound, showcased by their intensely wacky visual éclatand their ability to engage the audience – such as crazed, bemusedchants repeated over and over by id, echoed back by the crowd in wild call and response mode asCrank used thick cellotape with a contact mike attached to produce abattery of sounds as he ran backwards and forwards across the stage,securing the tape to either side, producing several rows, on which hehung himself at one point, arms akimbo in an almost parody of theCrucifixion. Jesus on a washing line... Later, producing a numberof cut-out phalluses which were attached – cocks pegged out in arow. Some smutty interplay with these of course. Bizarre – andhilarious.

Loud,raucous, rude. Loved it. Some weird area where performance artcrashes into standup comedy, noise and home made electronics (Crankhad a merch stall throughout and was flogging his own custom builtcontact mikes. Nearly bought one but I've a drawer full already anda boy's gotta economise. But check out his web page - they look really good). Crank is a whispy bearded thin prankster, id, big, burly full-bearded with an air of outraged bewilderment at the world. The chemistry between them is superb. Of course, I share religious beliefs withCrank – also being an ordained minister. (Available for weddingsetc). A side thought: American acts, in the main, always seem tomake an effort to engage. A big difference usually between them andthe Europeans...

Iwas tired, run out of steam, left for a brief one in the Conqueror and walked back downthe sea-front, which left me even more tired when I got to thehotel! Further than I had figured...

But a great opening night.

Return to God's Little Acre... Colour out of Space reviews to follow...

2011-11-14T10:54:00.001-08:00

Back home in God's Little Acre... oh joy. Had a stroll round the Artist's Quarter and a slow pint in the Unicorn where I had a look at the usual mess of notes I make at festivals. This year's Colour out of Space has prompted even more bizarre scrawls/signs/smears in the old moleskine - given that there was a large theme of sound poetry etc perhaps the ghost of Bob Cobbing crept into my hotel when I was akip and vented his inscribed pleasures on those pages from beyond the beyond... (Stranger things have happened - he was certainly invoked a few times over the weekend). But reviews will follow, honest. Just to say - a big shout out to Dylan and co for another trailblazer of skronk and wahoo loaded with mucho epiphanies, which is as it should be - and hopefully will be again next year. They got the vote out in high numbers. The Old Market a good venue, in tandem with the afternoon stuff at the Sallis Benney. So much was enjoyed and now being mulled over. Fucking cold back here as well after such a brilliant few days...
Later...

2011-11-13T07:44:00.001-08:00

Jeez, am I hungover...i But a great afternoon of film and music at the sallis binney venue.

fest rolls...

2011-11-11T14:05:00.001-08:00

Colour out of space off to great start... limited comments as on phone ... reviews will follow...

Off to Brighton...

2011-11-09T01:38:00.000-08:00

Hopefully I am off to Brighton to Colour out of Space tomorrow. Best fest in the UK, for me... No doubt reviews will follow...

New Posts on the Book Blog...

2011-10-31T06:42:00.000-07:00

A couple of new posts on the book blog - including a review by John Bentham for the Tiger Folk newsletter.

One for Bert...

2011-10-16T06:08:00.000-07:00

Bert Jansch is dead andthat is both a very sad loss and a great shock as it had seemed that hewas up and about again, recovered from his initial problem with lungcancer. There you go... Bert was a big fixture in my younger life,helping me, (after Bob Dylan) convert to an interest in folk/acousticmusic and an engagement with the Brit folk scene of the sixties whichfor a brief few years was actually a cool place to inhabit, mainlybecause of Bert and his sidekick John Renbourn and a couple of otherfaces from the Soho scene, centred round Les Cousins in Greek Streetbut taking in the old Scots Hoose pub at the top of Old ComptonStreet where I saw him perform some stunning sets with a nonchalant,tousled grace. There were bad nights, apparently. Too much boozeand rumours of darker areas, the whole romantic troubadour schtick. But I don't remember seeing any: the occasional wobble but no more. Maybe this is selective, but Bert was probably no more or less of araker than the rest of us – and we were legion. The music was themain hit: he had, after all, written the late Buck Polly's epitaphafter he went down to smack – 'Needle of Death,' hardly acelebration of opiate abuse. But all this was and is irrelevant inthe larger sweep of things...

The music. Bill Broonzyis always quoted as a big influence but alongside that, I alwayswondered if somewhere down the line he had copped an ear to ScrapperBlackwell's percussive acoustic guitar leads from those classic bluestracks with Leroy Carr in the twenties and thirties – that snappinghit on the strings which gave his playing such an edge. Maybe not –maybe he figured it out for himself. But there was a lot of blues –and jazz – in his playing. Listen to the seminal'Bert and John' where Jansch and John Renbourne blend their guitars into a new style thatcould go anywhere. Called 'folk baroque' – which always seemed toopretty and limiting to me, but we need our labels, I suppose. Bertwas also, in my book, an underrated singer who knew how to place asong over his unique guitar accompaniments, maybe not the mosttechnical of vocalists, but what is technique? It is there to servethe song, and Bert had an intuitive feel for whatever he sang, hisslightly gruff delivery giving a vibrato-less edge that cut throughto the essence, the emotional weight balanced just right. Neverover-emoting, which especially suited his renditions of traditionalmaterial, as well as his own material... His voice was a paradox thatmirrored his persona – intimate and yet with a certain distance. Down to earth, yet possessing a certain mystique... Returning to hisguitar playing, yeah, sure, no doubt he copped some licks from DavyGraham, as who didn't? – but he had rapidly developed his own styleand Bert was a much better singer, whose records stand up better aswell, in my opinion. Davy, for all his hubristic wonder, lives on inmy memory as primarily a live performer, erratically brilliant, with one classic album thathe made with Shirley Collins - tellingly, a singer - the restunfortunately, for me, coming nowhere near capturing his magic on stage. Screw the comparisons anyway. They were both unique, as was and isJohn Renbourn who came at the music from another angle. Put it alltogether and you have a style that flows out of the narrow confinesof 'folk' into something new and vibrant. A fusion that meantsomething, as opposed to much of the vacuity performed under thatname when jazz met rock (Miles Davis excepted)...

I loved Bert's solosets and his duets with John R. Memories of nights down Les Cousinsmesmerised by the crisscrossing dance they created. But maybethe band Pentangle took the heights of their influences and originalities andexpanded them to a different level to create a musicthat looked back to folk roots without being overtly ridiculous,irrelevant or twee and forwards to the present and future. We allhave our prejudices – with regard to 'folk' music plus rhythm section and some amplification, I rate Pentangle very highly as the ones who got it best in the U.K. Fairport,for me, forever lumpy, clumping around like a bunch of cider drunksat a bad barn dance, only redeemed by the sublime Sandy Denny whenshe was with them. Pentangle were almost emblematic of the LesCousins cool strain of music that came out of London at that time,jazzy, subtle, blending the guitar styles into the bass and drums totake Bert and John's playing to new exploratory spaces. Although by the timethey were coming together, they had moved up the road a bit to theHorseshoe pub on Tottenham Court Road – probably for spatial reasons as much as anythingelse – bass, drums, guitars and singer would have been a crush downin Les Cousins. And then on to greater glories... But I stillcherish the fading memories of that scruffy old crucible of the newon Greek Street where I first was enchanted by Bert.

And Pentangle came backrecently, if only for a brief shot, now that one of the points on thestar has disappeared, not as nostalgia but a vital force still, ifthe reviews are to be believed. Coupled to Bert's resurgent profile, maybe there is some small consolation in the thoughtthat he died at the top his game, after several years of refound fameand recognition. Maybe.

Colour out of Space Returns...

2011-10-05T14:57:00.000-07:00

Can't really afford it - but now the book has been published, I feel that I should treat myself. And my favourite festival over the last few years has been the Brighton bash: 'Colour out of Space.' Last year it did not happen due to various reasons and there was deep sadness in my autumn. The previous couple of years - see reviews for 2008 here, here and here/2009 here, here and here - I'd gone down to Brighton for stimulating, exciting, weekends with loads of musics that I really like and some I encountered for the first time at a well run extravaganza, great sound good, great organisation, in a cool location. This year apparently the festival will split between the Sallis Benney theatre (afternoons) and the Old Market, Hove (evenings). Full details out later this week, apparently and you can get an early bird inclusive weekend ticket for a mere £25 (link on festival web site - I'm getting lazy). Been a hermit recently for various reasons so I looking forward to having my ears/brain/eyes stretched.

Here we go (at last!)... 'Don Partridge and Company' just published...

2011-09-26T15:58:00.000-07:00

Finally we got there... 'Don Partridge and Company' has just been published and is available online from my storefront on Lulu/RawMusicsHERE... Links also on the book blog HERE...

Available in either paperback hard copy or digital download pdf.

And here's the guv'nor - The Earl of Mustard - in action, 1968

Almost there... and a couple of vids on the blog...

2011-09-12T17:12:00.000-07:00

The proof of the book has printed and is on its way - once I've checked it, I'll do another, just to make sure everything is ok - then we should be able to go ahead and publish on 27th September. In the meantime, another teaser on the book blog, here...A couple of rare movie clips about the Albert Hall Buskers' Concert of 1969...

New Publication Date...

2011-09-09T07:56:00.000-07:00

I've had a problem with some of the embedded photo image files in the master document for the book 'Don Partridge and Company' so I've put the publication date back a couple of weeks while it gets sorted. I spent yesterday re-embedding the images and creating a new master document which has gone back to the on line publisher. Assuming no more problems, I still want to run a few test copies through before publishing, just to double check. New publication date (fingers crossed!): Tuesday 27th September.

Calum Duell...

2011-09-07T15:17:00.000-07:00

A buzz going round the extended families tonight - just been sent a vid of Calum Duell, my daughter's young (well, not so young anymore) brother, who is turning out to be an accomplished musician already.
He has a YouTube vid up:

A lot of poise in one so young...

New posts on Don Partridge and Company blog.

2011-09-02T04:24:00.001-07:00

A couple of clips of buskers, taken from the film 'The London that Nobody Knows,' have been posted on the Don Partridge and Company blog - plus details of the upcoming publication. Due to go on Wednesday 14th September...

Free downloads at The Lows and the Highs...

2011-08-28T05:07:00.000-07:00

Murray Ward of The Lows and the Highs sends this info - grab yourself a bargain!

We've now sold out (or have very limited stock) of a number of our early releases.

You can now download them for free:

HI/LO001 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward: The Alephs
HI/LO002 - dj_spleenbaby - Gone with the Wind vs. The Last Starfighter
HI/LO003 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward: Axiom of Choice
HI/LO004 - The (plexus) Collective -Ward: Ekstasis
HI/LO005 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward/Teledu: Differend
HI/LO006 - The (plexus) Collective - Warner/Ward/Teledu: A Hopeless Task
HI/LO007 - The Failed NASA Experiment - First Frost
HI/LO008 - The Failed NASA Experiment - Ap Helion EP
HI/LO009 - The Failed NASA Experiment - Ohrwurm

Visit The Lows and the Highs... and follow the links to the albums on the Catalogue page...

Stinking Badger...

2011-08-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

Then there was Stinking Badger... Dave Teledu, A-Bander and co-member of Plexus with myself and Murray Ward, has a solo album out under this moniker on The Lows and the Highs. Sonic explorations from north of where I am... Soiling Charge...

Some news: Lustfaust... Bitte Nicht Biegen...

2011-08-25T08:38:00.000-07:00

My head has been down these last couple of weeks. Under the radar, as it were...
With the book pretty much finished and almost ready to launch, I've been recharging the batteries. Reading a lot - and one book I just finished, William Gibson's latest, 'Zero History,' made me think of Lustfaust, James Shovlin's conceptual project from a couple of years ago. Then I remembered that one of the people involved with Mr Shovlin, Murray Ward, had just made some material available over on 'The Lows and the Highs,' for whom I sporadically record. Bitte Nicht Biegen. Meant to post this at the time but forgot... As there were only three of the handmade packages, these might have gone, but Murray has also released everything as digital downloads etc. ' One of the great art works of the last fifty years,' as Guido Van Baelen, one of the surviving members of Lustfaust, said in the Berlin Club Ausland one late night last year. (It was very noisy so I think that's what he said).

Lustfaust could have been managed by Hubertus Bigend, Gibson's enigmatic genius...

More teasers from Don Partridge and Company...

2011-08-13T03:01:00.000-07:00

Just got the proof copy back and it's looking good so far. There is a new post on the book blog here with a photo from Leicester Square in 1968 and three short extracts...

Poems Twenty Eleven by Rod Warner - now available...

2011-08-06T03:27:00.000-07:00

Alongside the book 'Don Partridge and Company' which I have been working on with Pat Keene (and the late Don Partridge up to his untimely death last year) I managed to publish a book of poetry. 'Poems Twenty Eleven,' now available from my Lulu/Rawmusics publish on demand outlet. Which is here...

Byron Coley reviews: kptmichigan/black stepdad split... from The Wire...

2011-08-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

Murrays Ward's label The Lows and the Highs (for which I record the odd album or two) getting more publicity out there. Byron Coley has some good words for KPTMichigan and Black Stepdad split above in July's Wire... Note: this is a co-release by The Lows and the Highs and MirrorWorldMusic.

The Lows and the Highs... new releases...

2011-08-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

Two new ones from Murray Ward's fine label -

Yajé

Go here...

And one from my alter ego: DJ Whitedog

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New post on Don Partridge and Company...

2011-08-01T06:17:00.000-07:00

A busy summer - there is a new post with some extracts from the book on the Don Partridge and Company blog here...

News from The Lows and the Highs later...

Almost there... Don Partridge and Company will be published in September...

2011-07-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

Edging towards the end now - Don Partridge and Company by Don Partridge, Pat Keene and Rod Warner will be published in the first week of September, if all goes well. I've launched a blog to act as a trailer for the book and that will have publishing details etc when the time comes - here...
The interlocking stories of three young street musicians, ranging from Bohemian Paris in the early 1960's to London - and beyond. One of them became famous...

Review: Charles Gayle/Bobby Few Quartet at the Cafe Oto, London, Wednesday, June 1st, 2011...

2011-06-04T07:41:00.000-07:00

A rum night... I got to the Cafe Oto and found a really good seat, couple of rows back from the stage, fairly central and sat in pleasant anticipation with a pint of the Oto's worthy but foul lager in front of me and somewhere to put it, for a change – the house was busy but did not get as full as it was the last time Gayle was here in January. I had wondered about the line-up: Bobby Few, legendary piano player, cohort of Albert Ayler, Steve Lacy, among others, expatriate musician in Europe for many years, coupled to the king of fire-jazz, the mighty Charles Gayle, my favourite musician of the last couple of years – who does not usually work with a pianist, as far as I know. The bass and drummer, in fact, are members of Bobby Few's current quintet lineup, so Gayle would be the odd man out. Scene set for some interesting accommodations...

First set: some high register trinkle tinkle from Few, then they hit the most conventional jazz groove I have heard for a while, drummer Ichiro Onoe keeping it steady, as Gayle pitched into an abrupt, blocky melody. Few's piano started to rise up, a water image appropriate as burly cycling ripples ebbed and flowed, broken by the occasional smashing chord – which seemed to nark Gayle, who visibly winced a couple of times. In fact, the first set was almost a Bobby Few extravaganza – as Gayle seemed to give up trying to find a way in after a while and left the stage area. Bassist Harry Swift, positioned next to Few, followed him gamely and they fell into freer rhythms when Gayle returned – briefly, as he still seemed unhappy and after a smashing, rattling drum solo from Onoe who was as adept at slipping into freer time as he was in more conventional four four, left again, this time not to return as they took it out as a trio. Maybe some of this had been preplanned to give the headliners adequate exposure? Who knows... Few is obviously a major pianist – yet I didn't quite engage with him on the night. Perhaps I am too much of a Gayle partisan and was influenced by what appeared to be his discomfort...

Second set: If they had started off originally back in the tradition, here, they were firmly on contemporary ground. More abstract sonically, Gayle using his breath to lightly brush at the back of the notes, foregrounding their production, as Few used the inside of his piano to good effect, laying some keyboard sonorities to match Gayle's excursions. Bass and drums equally at home in this world of sound texture – but I haven't seen Gayle go so far in this mode before, which was fascinating. They were playing as a band now, it seemed, the sax coming onto the notes more, abrupt phrases being stretched and toyed with as he started to take it onwards in some delirious flows of notes that went from high register – where he has immaculate control – to deep, dark burrowings – again slightly unusual for a man who often plays in the middle and higher registers and frequently doubles on alto. Tonight was all tenor – and a powerful statement, at that. Some of the passages here were amongst the best I have heard him play, heart-wrenching vocalised streams that went way beyond the conception of mere 'notes.' As the set progressed he crouched over his instrument, turning his back to the piano and bass, playing straight at the drummer who held his line smartly. Whether this was to block Few out of his ears – who knows? He left the stage again for the trio to take over, much of it piano backed by bass – Harry Swift, eyes closed with concentration a couple of times as he reached for the notes to support Few. The pianist has expressed his knowledge and love of classical music and his florid rolling rhapsodising displays this, disrupted by suddenly, abruptly lashing a crunching chord/cluster across the flow, like a boulder tossed into a stream. Few used hand signals to bring in the other two in accurate unison for these accents and I enjoyed this trio section more than in the previous set, the music seemed more focused. Gayle returned and they went out on a rocking blues, somewhat surprisingly, although it was fascinating to hear his take on a conventional form, oblique runs that stretched and tugged at the twelve bar structure. But the blues (and spirituals – secular balanced with sacred) are never far from the 'feeling' of his music.

I thought the gig was over so hurried off for a piss before I went in search of the 38 bus back to Travelodgeville and returned to discover Gayle at the piano, doing a solo encore – brilliantly. Fragments of stride piano came through here and there, cross-cut to long rolling runs that almost evoked Art Tatum. Some don't rate him as a pianist – but I like his style and find that I follow his logic well enough – tonight, it was as if something had to be proved. I don't know if there really was needle between the two headliners, but maybe this was some kind of a statement. Another criticism of his keyboard playing is that he doesn't leave a lot of space, which is unfair – you could say the same about Tatum, for example - but I have heard him play very simply and delicately when the material dictated, spirituals and folk material, for example. Tonight it was two-fisted take-no-prisoners time – a tour de force, pretty much, knocking on the door of a couple of standards in passing – 'Willow weep for me' and 'Body and Soul' I caught – which he referred to melodically but freely, not binding himself to the overall chordal structures. Free jazz, I guess they call it, of which there is currently no finer practitioner in my opinion. He was superb...

An odd gig, then – it would have been very interesting if they were booked on for another night, to see how these different approaches played out over another couple of sets. Maybe...

Here's a vid of the Bobby Few Trio from last year...

And one of Charles Gayle, taken at his last Cafe Oto gig in January...

Charles Gayle/Bobby Few...

2011-06-03T03:24:00.000-07:00

Back from London yesterday and exhausted - but review of Charles Gayle/Bobby Few gig at the Cafe Oto almost written - for a change! An extraordinary night in many ways... I'm off out with the family today to explore the wonderful sunshine etc - but should get it up by tomorrow...

Charles Gayle...

2011-05-31T14:59:00.000-07:00

After the excuses of the last post - onwards! Off to town tomorrow to see Charles Gayle, probably my favourite musician of the moment - at the Cafe Oto, of course. The band, with Bobby Few et al, looks fascinating and I'm really looking forward to seeing how he plays with a piano in the lineup

Onwards...

2011-05-31T14:51:00.000-07:00

I didn't put up the rest of my review from the Freedom of the City fest... usually I would have attended for a couple of days or more solid - this year just a scattering, due to other commitments. When I read back what I originally intended to post about the 'Feral Choir,' I thought: well, these I do not dig, to the point that I find them hilarious and for all the wrong reasons (maybe...). Some of the other stuff I caught was... o.k. - but I was tired when I got there that last night and left before the end. Exhaustion is not the best state to be in when listening to music, of whatever genre. Reviewing afterwards - well, it would have come out as very negative, when that would not have been my intention. I vigorously support the endeavours of all who are committed to the experimental musics I love, know what a battle it is to get finance and resources only too well - so I figured on this occasion, my critical faculties might not have been too finely tuned. I still find the concept of the 'Feral Choir' (whooo - we're scary) hilarious, and will mention the fact - but I don't want to take the piss in an unbalanced way that would reflect on the work of too many people I respect. Not that anyone or any organisation is above criticism - far from it, many dangers in living in a bubble - but the pluses of this year - new venue which may well turn out to be a good move for the future, the artists I caught who blew me away - and one who surprised me greatly, causing me to rethink old attitudes - and the plain fact that in hard times we need to pull together, made me think: not this time round. Most of what I got to I thoroughly enjoyed and look forward to next year...

Freedom of the City Festival, Cecil Sharp House, London, May 1st, (Day Two), 2011

2011-05-11T10:44:00.000-07:00

For several reasons I was unable to get to a large chunk of the Freedom of the City festival this year, so my overall impressions are somewhat fragmentary, maybe even more so because of the delay in posting them. But I caught some fascinating music, as ever, thought the new venue, the improbable Cecil Sharp House, worked very well, and was pissed off that I missed a couple of acts through arriving late on Sunday. Usually I immerse myself for at least two days, trying to catch as much as I can until exhaustion takes over – but this time round it was more a couple of hits, one quicker than the other.

Finally arriving at CSH – having gone the wrong way off Delancey Street, for some cognitive dissonant reason – got my tickets, realised I had just missed Agusto Fernandez, annoyingly, so went into the bowels of the joint to get a drink at the Cafe Oto-run bar. CSH at first sight has the look of a decaying Edwardian girls school but when I finally surfaced to go into the main venue room it was light and airy, (albeit with a very springy floor - as a dancing aid, apparently, but prone to mucho creaking for the unwary!) the acoustics proved to be good and there was a fair crowd ready to go with Toma Gouband. If you said to someone outside these musics that you had arrived, sat down ready to roll and a guy placed himself in front of an upturned bass drum plus a couple of cymbals/hi hats, and started his performance by breaking a load of rubble onto the drum – well, answers on the back of a beer mat to the Eagles Nest, God's Little Acre. But: this was, for me, the highlight of the sets I managed to catch. Gouband proceeded to use small broken stones to set up dry, clicking rhythms that seemed to move in some kind of ritualistic cycle, bringing them together, using them separately on his drum/cymbal surfaces, his feet playing pedals, one linked to a log/pipe? of some description to produce an insistent ticking. In his own words:

"In solo I use stones collected here and there and I try to play with multispeed, independent voices, numbers and their links arranged circularly. The circle is multi-directional [multisens in the original French - my approximate translation] and, depending on perspective and attractions from inside and outside, becomes line, triangle, square, star, face. Numbers, as symbols of quantities and proportions created by the different speed, are a strong inspiration to play, to find the energy sub-rising, the continuity, the trance. "

He slowly built up a unique sonic area for the duration of his performance, one that made natural sounds seem exotic, minimal in his use of materials/instruments, yet creating much complexity. An interrogation of the acoustic properties of natural elements – stones – that was also a celebration. If you wanted to get really cute, you could surmise that he was channelling older energies, rituals, sacred geometries even, given his remarks above. The next section involved mucho frottaging of stone slabs – on each other, on cymbal and drum head. A fleeting image of corn being ground? The fanciful thoughts abounded – yet this was truly a magical performance, taking the audience to a very unusual and unique space. Back to the two stones for another section and finishing by producing a bundle of tree branches with which he proceeded to whip and brush his kit. I kid you not... But brilliant, the rustling, whispering sonorities conjuring up everything from wind in the trees to jazz brushes on drums. A remarkable bridge built between something very primal and the sophisticated framing of experimental festival space, musics and cultural assumptions situated at this home of UK folk musics and dance. Cecil Sharp House aligned to May Day and free improvisation – if he had suddenly brought out a maypole I would not have been surprised... Something going on here...

Evan Parker/Matt Wright/Heledd Francis/Agusto Fernandez/Tomo Gouband/John Russell/Lawrence Casserley/Adam Linson:

Starting quiet, hesitantly almost – Evan P had invited the guests of the afternoon to join his advertised trio (Wright and Francis added to himself) in an impromptu gesture, so, suddenly, an expanded line-up. Two Apple Macs – not sure that another one made much difference. Laptop electronics at these gigs seem, well, restrained, never really partaking of the thrust of performance, more added colorations round the edges. Heledd Francis's bass flute was minimal but blended beautifully with Evan's soprano, the man himself in restrained mood. To unleash the long rolling flights of circular breathed lines in the wrong place would be overwhelming, but he always has his mastery under control in group situations. As their set progressed he did move from short figures to that trademark looping linearity which shifted the dynamic of the performance onto a slightly more urgent plane – but gently suggesting rather than bombastically pointing. John Russell had his head bent sharply forward over his guitar in a pose of utmost concentration and he was using a couple of pedals this year, one I assumed was for volume? Didn't seem to make a lot of difference – unfortunately his playing was semi-audible. Disconcerting to see him picking rapidly away with his left hand holding positions way up the neck, a couple of inches from his right hand. The resultant notes would have been very high-pitched and sharp – but you could hardly hear them. 'Not a strum was heard, nor a funeral note...' to misquote Charles Wolfe. Russell is a true original, someone who took a slightly different course to the once dominant late Derek Bailey – yet every year I go to this festival he is not miked up enough. Maybe his choice? Dunno, but for a me a shame. Again. Apart from my annual quibble - a subtle and intriguing chamber improv performance, very restrained apart from a couple of surges. Such an ensemble like this did well to keep out of each others way while producing dense music, but I think the acoustics would have allowed them more room if they had wanted to rip it up. Rivetting, all the same and much enjoyed.

Grab some Russell solo here to really hear what he is capable off -

More later...

Reviews... Don Partridge book coming soon...

2011-05-06T02:57:00.000-07:00

Back from London. A couple of excellent exhibitions and some good music at the Freedom of the City festival, which I only bounced across this year, unfortunately, rather than the usual full immersion. A couple of reviews to follow - then into the last lap with our book: 'Don Partridge and Company...' which Pat and I hope to publish very soon... watch this space etc...

Freedom of the City Festival, Cecil Sharp House, London, 30 April-2 May, 2011...

2011-04-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

It's that time of the year again... for the Freedom of the City festival. Only going down for a couple of days though, not the whole shebang. Off tomorrow early... bizarrely, this year the fest is being held at Cecil Sharp House. Hey nonny... Reviews will no doubt follow.

Review: Travis Reuter: 'Rotational Templates'...

2011-04-18T04:46:00.000-07:00

Travis Reuter (guitar, electronics)

Jeremy Viner (sax)
Bobby Avey (fender rhodes)
Chris Tordini (bass)
Jason Nazary (drums)

Available from New Focus Recordings.

On his debut album, 'Rotational Templates,' released by New Focus Recordings, guitarist Travis Reuter explicitly sets out to use techniques from modern classical music in his compositions for jazz quintet. The accompanying blurb states that he 'draws heavily on influences from the music of composers Elliott Carter, Brian Ferneyhough, and Jason Eckardt.' So: a brave and hazardous endeavour: this is an approach that has been tried many times, grafting classical to jazz and the history of the music, from Paul Whiteman onwards, contains, perhaps, many more failures than successes. Attempts to utilise formal devices and instrumentations from the straight music world all too often resulted in an uncool stiffness that impeded the rhythmic/melodic flows of the jazz to produce an often bloodless hybrid that was very much less than the sum of its parts. Whisper the name: 'Thirdstream.' So how does Reuter's album fare, against this backdrop?
Very well, actually. There is a skittery, jump-cutting intensity to the music that partakes of contemporary classical but the overall rhythmic field is expansive enough to enfold and make it flow. A small group helps, giving plenty of space and - perhaps younger musicians are not fazed by moving between genres these days? Reuter – classically trained but with an evidently superb jazz guitar technique would seem to prove that point. This is thoughtful, intelligent music, not afraid to foreground its techniques and influences, yet with enough grit and groove to lift it way beyond what could have been a stodgy mess. The distortions of electric guitar and Fender Rhodes give a rocky, funky edge, coupled with a sparing use of added electronics and a mix that moves instruments and sounds around more than would be usually found on a straightahead jazz record. If Thirdstream as was is Scylla, then Charybdis in this context would surely be: fusion/prog rock. Fusion being an attempt to make jazz more rocky and prog – well, trying to make rock more respectable and 'complicated.' That yearning for 'respectability' is what poisoned the musical oceans in times gone by. Much of the success of this album resides in the avoidance of past mistakes - the keyboard/guitar interactions hark back to Miles Davis at his electric best rather than the blandness that followed his pioneering after 'Bitches Brew.'. Reuter and his crew negotiate safe passage through this particular Strait of Messina...

SNAPSHOTS:

First track: 'Vacancy at 29,' bass leading in to be joined by flurries from Jeremy Viner's tenor saxophone and electronic colourations back in the mix. The sax builds as slow processional Fender Rhodes chording (Bobby Avey) combines with noise granularities. Jittery music, held together by the sturdy bass of Chris Tordini as the sax stretches out into more declamatory mode. Guitar takes over to solo in a tumble of notes, building up a head of steam, veering into a distorted rocky sound world as the keyboard chases. Then: a sudden end. And all the tracks finish in the same abrupt way, as if emphasising that there will be be no rambling, that concision is all at this session. The endings, then, emblematic of the whole, where composed material is balanced by improvisation under tight rein.

'Residency at 20 (Part One) starts with slow chording guitar in almost traditional jazz timbre then sax joins to spell out the melody, accents doubled and hammered into place by Jason Nazari's drums – which are slightly back in the mix, perhaps they would have benefited from a more up front posture? But one assumes that the placement is deliberate. Much thought has gone into the production, after all – as witnessed by the next section when the guitar goes into ghostly quasi-dubstep mode drifting out of the immediate sound space into an echoing background before returning up front to spin out some fast lines alternated with crunching chords. Another ensemble passage then more distorted guitar as the drums slowly edge forward. Again, a sudden stop.

'Singular Arrays.' A hint of sprightly Dolphyesque angularity in the melody. Guitar briefly solos before joining the sax for unison statements. Keyboard and bass repeat a phrase as the drums come through. Keyboard solos, coming off a wobbling figure, cranked up distortion, intersected by sax reiterating that phrase again. Keyboard in freer style over sparse bass and fidgeting drums that drive it along briefly. Guitar next up, some longer linear development that really start to go just before the again abrupt end.

One uses comparisons again – 'Flux Derivatives' opens on unison guitar and sax that distantly evokes Pat Metheny and Ornette's collaboration for these ears. Again, an interesting use of space - sax, guitar and spare, clipped drums, the keyboard does not arrive straight away then floats wafty chords, bass coming in last. The next section: warm sax laced with cymbals and various rhythmic shifts, Viner slowly burning to a climax propelled by cutting drums – followed by elegaic Fender Rhodes that suddenly jumps a couple of emotional notches. Guitar bubbles in, whiplash lines balanced by splayed chords. Reuter stepping out here. Viner returns very briefly, riding a note – then – you guessed it, sudden stop.

The last track: 'Residency at 20 (Part Two).' Opened by tenor over another stop/start bass riff, the top line proceeds to flow over busy drums, adding keyboards along the way – then a brief ensemble section as the bass riff continues. Third section: free-floating keyboards and some biting guitar as the drums bustle and push, keyboard taking it up alone. Sax and guitar back in unison, all dropping for the bass to essay a few solo bars then all together in a swirling finale. Then: that sudden stop.

'Jazz' just having gone through the gates of the twenty first century and approaching, perhaps, its centennial has covered so much ground during those preceding years. To riff off the Good Book: there are many mansions in the house, but no overall 'Father' in residence/ownership to guide/dominate in this age of suspicion/hostility towards metanarratives. The dynamic between improvisation and composition provokes many different solutions, as it always has, but the possibilities have multiplied drastically. But some things carry through. The key to all jazz, arguably, is rhythm, primarily the drums and their role in giving shape and space – and improvisational opportunity. (Jimmy Giuffre's early free jazz attempts got round this by dropping the drummer, which proves the point, perhaps). The avant garde evolved in the sixties once drummers worked out various strategies to expand their rhythms, offering more dimensions and expanded pulses that opened new doors. With such a wider field of rhythm available, perhaps it is easier now to produce music such as this, which has intellect and energy in balanced doses. Also: much of contemporary art music is not so far away from areas that have developed in the free improvisational worlds - often in practice their sound worlds mesh. Reuter's stated influences here - Fernyhough and Carter, Erckhardt - have all in their own ways rejected or moved on from the earlier ideology of strict twelve tone serialism which was usually a straitjacket when applied to jazz - and beyond, arguably. Their rhythmic/harmonic complexity is maybe not such a distance to travel now (think Cecil Taylor) - Fernyhough's extensive use of the tuplet would be a bridge maybe to the overlaid rhythms and syncopations that jazz has always bounced off. Well, OK, maybe I am stretching here? But: what is exciting on this album is that those areas of previous contention/misalignment, the formal compositional devices – tone rows, counterpoint, intricately notated shifting rhythms etc – are encompassed by this wider sense of expanded rhythm so that the charts are not stodgy, nor the improvisations impeded – everything sounds right and in place. And sounds fresh. 'Rotational Templates' is that rarity, a novel conception that works. The discipline of five relatively short tracks also gives a feeling that less is more. Nothing meanders, all pulled up suddenly in what seems a trademark ending which seems to say: that's it, enough has been said at this point. Reuter obviously has much confidence in his overall vision and did not feel it necessary to over-egg the pudding on his first outing. The no-doubt hand-picked ensemble helps - the ideas of individuals are there but they are bound into the greater whole of the band. My one beef? I would have liked a little more stretching out, perhaps, but that's a minor quibble. I suspect that live shows would have more room for soloing expansion – and this is a band I would love to see... A very surefooted debut from Reuter then. We await the next chapter...

Travis Reuter is interviewed here at JazzWrap...

More new stuff on The Lows and the Highs...

2011-04-17T09:40:00.000-07:00

April brings three new releases on The Lows and the Highs label:

An old session unreleased till now from Plexus(Teledu/Ward/Warner) and Ollie Betts (of Black Carrot fame): Songs from the old Grammar School

Black Stepdad: Trancers 2

and one from yours truly: 'One for Julie C.'

Follow the links to sample and buy...

Mr Ward also says:

'The Failed NASA Experiment recently participated in 'Six Glass Fingers: Bandscape' which was filmed as part of Chapter's 40th birthday celebrations.

Mars to Stay's track 'Staywell' was recently featured on Adam Walton's radio show.

2 reviews by 'Was Ist Das?'. First for 'kptimchigan / black stepdad' and the second for 'Mars to Stay'.

Upcoming... yajé debut... more from The (plexus) Collective... latest Whitedog... '

Go forth and dig...

kptmichigan/blackstepdad... are reviewed...

2011-04-06T15:47:00.000-07:00

Good review of the kptmichigan/black stepdad split cassette here...
(About time I started getting the owld critical faculties moving again...)

Don Partridge and Company - the book...

2011-03-20T05:36:00.000-07:00

The main reason (apart from my natural sloth!) that this blog has gone very quiet the last months has been because much of my time and energy has been involved in writing, editing and putting together the collaboration we are going to call 'Don Partridge and Company...' Patrick and I decided that I would publish it myself, via my internet outlet, if we could not find a publisher before the spring. Many polite refusals, some compliments - but no action, so forwards we will go on our own. The book is almost ready, just needing some fine-tuning and the photographs selected and added - Pat has a large amount of material which we still need to whittle down. But we plan to publish another book later on via the same outlet focusing on his photographs in more glossy form, which would obviously cost more but would allow the material to be displayed in sharper definition.
Watch this space, as they say... we are aiming at early June...

The Lows and the Highs... even more releases...

2011-02-22T04:34:00.000-08:00

A positive flurry of activity recently on the label. Here's another release, this time up, Mars To Stay, a cassette single also as ever available in a variety of download formats. Preview on the site: The Lows and the Highs. More to come over the next couple of weeks...

New stuff on The Lows and the Highs...Split release... kptmichigan/Black Stepdad...

2011-02-14T02:20:00.000-08:00

Some news on the owld label front - a new release on cassette with fine artwork by Ian Watson - go seek here and here for more info on he - a split between Black Stepdad and kptmichigan, a co-op endeavour between The Lows and the Highs and MirrorWorldMusic. Go to the links for audio samples of the trax. I am about to unleash some new stuff within the next couple of weeks as well... you lucky people, as the late and great Tommy Trinder used to say...

Pete Morton in Loughborough... Friday January 29th...

2011-01-28T16:42:00.000-08:00

Just back from a burning Pete Morton gig at the Loughborough Folk Club's new venue - which might just turn out ok for C. Mackie after the recent venue hassles...
more later...

Review: Charles Gayle at the Cafe Oto, Friday January 14th, 2011...

2011-01-24T10:20:00.000-08:00

Charles Gayle is one of my favourite sax players so it was a deep pleasure to get back down to the Cafe Oto and see him again, this time with a trio comprising Christopher Dean Sullivan and Michael T.A. Thompson. An expectant buzz as the time progressed towards 9 pm – the Oto by now jammed to the doors. Luckily I had managed to get a seat, front right positioning, so, with a pint of their dubious lager on the table, was ready to go. Charles Gayle joined the others, looking pretty much the same as the last time I saw him a couple of years back, black jacket and black trousers, an intense look on his face as he started playing. Using the tenor saxophone this time round, instead of the plastic alto he was sporting on previous occasions. One thinks of him as a tenor player, because that's what he is known for on his recordings, but Gayle stated in an interview (here...) that when he was busking on the streets of New York for many years, he preferred the lighter horn, using the tenor more for gigs. It seems to reflect in his playing as well – for such a tough and wild player, he has a fairly light tone and his exemplary technique means that even when he goes up into the extreme registers of his instrument, his articulation does not drop. In the first set, he played mainly within the middle to high areas, on average, later in the night going down deeper more frequently. Possibly this is also clever pacing: Gayle, while lean and fit, is not a young man and the tenor is a demanding instrument.

He started with a simple sparse melodic line floated over busy drums – the bass somewhat obscured from where I was sitting, unfortunately. A slightly desultory beginning, as if feeling their collective way. But they locked together eventually and produced free jazz of the highest order. Gayle fired off rapid strings of notes and played with his usual fervour but there is a more melodic edge to his music that has developed over the last few years, in evidence tonight and underscored, perhaps, by the occasional drops into beboppy time, when the drummer would swing in to two and four on the hihat. Interestingly, Thompson played these small segments of more conventional rhythm and then each time disrupted – or rather, expanded them rapidly. As if briefly lifting a veil to reveal the body beneath. Time travel, what? With Gayle's occasional use of plaintive folky melody, the continuations of the tradition were very evident here. Christopher Dean Sullivan had a couple of spots where his bass came to the fore – evidencing a very crisp player, clean articulations and plenty of technique – his first solo culminated on some rising chordal figures. The drums overbalanced the sound slightly, because apart from a small bass amp, they were not using amplification, and occasionally Gayle was struggling to get over the pounding rhythms. Yet this gave it more of a live feel, back to basics almost. And he is obviously the director of the flow – controlling with occasional abrupt barked comments or with a glance, moving from front of stage back to stand next to the drummer sometimes, as if to hear better or to prompt when needed.

Nearer the end of the first set, Gayle switched to piano which gave the bass more of a chance to come through because of its position further away rather than any drop in volume – there were points where he hammered the hell out of the keyboard, in between scampering runs and sudden placed single notes or clusters that hung in the air as he cocked an ear to consider their sonorities. This concern with sound made me think of Thelonious Monk and you could tease out the similarities, also perhaps a glance or two at Cecil Taylor in the ferocity of the powerhouse keyboard rhythmic bangings. Yet Gayle has his own style, when you are familiar with his piano playing, as free as his saxophone playing yet just as rooted in the past. Simple hymn-like tunes offset the denser chromaticism and it all felt just – right.

The second set began with busier tenor lines and the trio proceeded to grip the night in the assured hold of their collective skills and experience. Let us say: they rocked the place, whether by tenderness, occasional sly wit or the complex dazzle as lines were interrogated and dissected at the speed of fleet, fiery imagination and bravado, one section hauling back to folk-like melody and broader vibrato to evoke the ghost of Albert Ayler and bring a lot of smiles of delight and recognition up and down the rows near me that I could see. Maybe he was playing an actual Ayler tune? My knowledge of them blurs somewhat these days apart from the more famous – note to self: time to get the Revenant set out again perhaps and return to one of the great sources. He disappeared for a while to let bass and drums take over then returned to the piano sporting a rather dashing hat which gave a nod to Monk, perhaps, doubled with what sounded at one point like 'Epistrophy.' Again a display of density and light, hard hitting, percussive and also graceful – literally perhaps when he took it out on a beautiful, slow lilt shot through with gospel. Speaking finally to the audience, the poker face and thousand-yard stare disappeared as he introduced the bassist and drummer in humorous fashion, displaying a self-deprecating wit. The first time I saw him a couple of years back I noticed this change between off-stage and on, the severe concentration when playing offset by a smiling demeanour when the music stopped.
The encore signalled this again – saying that he had no idea what they would do, he returned to the piano and at one point waved his hands theatrically above the keys, gave them a quizzical wide-eyed look and shouted something about not knowing what he was playing. Ha ha – the essence of free jazz... and perhaps something of the joker coming out. (Remember 'Streets' the clown? Check his comments about this persona in the interview linked above).

In a very crowded room what was noticeable was that there was no chatter – this trio held the audience throughout. One of the reasons I like coming to this joint – intimate surroundings, informal yet not over-reverent, populated by a mixed audience, age and sex, rather than a preponderance of grizzled veterans (like myself) nodding into their beards. Only drag tonight was – it would have been impossible to squeeze out of my seat quietly to get a drink during the long sets so no extra lubrication was available. But I can live with that – as can my burgeoning flesh.
Another flier of a gig down the Oto – which has got to be (for me) the best venue around these last couple of years for a range of exploratory musics. Makes me think about moving back to the metropolis...

I found this vid of Sullivan and Thompson which shows off their skills...

and one of Charles Gayle at the piano - in his 'Streets' costume...

Better late than never (?)...

2011-01-24T05:37:00.000-08:00

Finally almost finished the Charles Gayle review - hardly hot off the press but been tied up with stuff... posting later...

Charles Gayle/Cafe Oto, Friday 14th January, 2011...

2011-01-15T13:02:00.000-08:00

Charles Gayle and his trio were an absolute blast last night at Cafe Oto... more to follow...

Gren Bartley at the Criterion, Saturday January 8th, 2011... plus belated happy new year greetings...

2011-01-09T08:55:00.000-08:00

Belated New Year's greetings to all... I'm off to see the mighty Charles Gayle at the Cafe Oto in a few days (see previous review here...) but ventured out on Saturday afternoon with Mr Marmion to Leicester, a kip of a place as we used to say in Dublin, but the Criterion is a great little bar and the attraction of a solo performance by one of our favourites, Gren Bartley was the main reason to drag us out of God's Little Acre for a few hours.
A fair crowd when we arrived, which would get bigger... the performance space is a relatively small room so lends itself to the intimacies of acoustic gigs. Gren was on good form – admitting that he had not played in public since before the New Year, he did not sound rusty at all. The usual exemplary picking on guitar and occasional banjo buttressed his voice which has been getting stronger down the years, a deeper emotional edge to it now. An eclectic mix of songs – from self-penned, old and very new, (i.e, the day before) to covers from Paul Curreri to Skip James via Leadbelly and Lonnie Johnson, among others. Criticism? One small one - perhaps a bit of throttling back on the mid-atlantic accent here and there, but that's a personal thing. What I do find fascinating is Gren's take on old blues numbers which he revitalises without slavish copying: coming at a diagonal almost from alternate bass 'folk' picking styles, the blue notes and runs are there but lightly inflect the songs rather than dominate. He's a fine writer as well, some interesting new stuff.

A lot of faces we knew there – these afternoon sessions are very much a meeting place for local musicians, especially now that the Phoenix lunchtime gig has gone down. Which means a lot of chat in the background but that's the nature of these gigs and the p.a. cuts through most of it – although we noticed Gren was turning it up as the afternoon went on and crowd lubrication levels rose. Nigel Lawson was at our table, asked up a couple of times to play some blues harp and acquitting himself well, some added value. (This is not Baron Lawson of Blaby, by the way, but the front man of local band Dangerous Dogs).
Relaxed, good vibes and good music...

Review: Ikue Mori/Lotte Anker/Steve Noble at the Cafe Oto, Sunday 28th November, 2010...

2010-12-03T05:46:00.000-08:00

In the bleak midwinter with a vengeance... But some warmth offered on the latest trip to town... Sunday night last at the Cafe Oto...

The first set, three duos: Lotte Anker with Ikue Mori, Mori with Steve Noble, Anker with Noble.
Anker opened on soprano sax, easing in although they were both in the same high sound range, laptop/electronics giving chirruping undulations as Anker fenced for openings. Sat just a few feet away from her, I saw the concentration and thought involved, part of the fascination of a live gig. She has played with Ikue Mori before so they know each other's work but it was interesting to see her sound out the room, as it were. They came together eventually – equally absorbing to witness Mori respond speedily from what can be an unwieldy set up, as she did throughout. This factor gave the night a special twist: during most improv gigs I've been to which have been weighted on the jazz side, the electronics never seem to mesh as equals. (Especially noticeable at 'Freedom of the City'). This has a lot to do with the technology – it's not difficult to set up drones/washes of colour/various granular scrabblings but realtime fast reaction – for some - is not so easy. Here, for example, Anker – or Noble, can change direction/inflection etc in microseconds to respond or lead/offer a path with small muscular/breath gestures. Unusually, in my experience, Mori was on the same footing, her small kit of electronics and her laptop leading, blending and following with no problems of response delay/latency etc. She came to the music via the New York downtown scene in the Seventies (starting off drumming with DNA - a great clip here of the younger Mori and co here...
), rather than from a jazz background and that often seems to be the way – that greater flexibility and imagination comes from the noise/rock/power electronics scenes, who do not sound as stodgy and unimaginative as many from more academic musical areas do. A great opener.

Anker switched to alto for her set with Noble, more within free jazz areas, probably because of the instrumentation. Some fine interplay, Anker a musician who is not afraid to stop and think occasionally – she has the technique down, sure, but does not seem to trot out any pet licks or coasting runs. One of the most original saxophonists I've heard for a while. They bent in and out of free-ish multi-level pulses and more abstract areas where sounds were sketched , layered, moulded.

Noble and Mori – different sonic spaces created yet again. Noble has a wide range of techniques – at first sight he is playing a very standard kit, snare, raised tom, floor tom, bass drum, hi-hat and a couple of cymbals. But as the evening progressed he produced more additions, various bits of ironmongery that are placed on drum heads, or sometimes scarily tossed aside to land with a crash. These are struck/rubbed with a variety of sticks, brushes, beaters and hands to unroll a wide carpet of colours and options. Small shaken instruments, maracca-like clacking What appeared to be a large tuning fork was also brought into the sonic fray. Noble is a tall guy with a wry face which betrays a certain sense of humour, I suspect – at one point in the night he produced a battered metronome which ticked away on a drum head as if in another universe of strictly measured time while all around it rhythms bent and stretched and multiplied. Mori shows her musical origins - starting as a drummer, she moved to programming drum machines – and her skill at manipulating a laptop with minimal added electronics, as mentioned above, is well displayed tonight. There is a sharp clarity and bite to her sounds, discrete pops and snaps unadorned by much effects decoration. Operating at similar speeds to Noble, she also started to dig in with lower registers crumps and rumbles that echoed the role of bass. I was too far away and in front of her to see what she had loaded on the laptop – apparently Max/MSP is the basis of her technique these days and she is obviously at ease with its deployment.

Second half – le tout ensemble. An amazingly well sustained piece that held the room tight throughout. Anker started on tenor but it seemed to get a bit muddied in the mix – those low roars from Mori especially blatting across that area - so she opted for alto and soprano, going back to the larger instrument when the air cleared for it later on. She was happy to breathe easily, riding a note or short phrase as well as firing off longer lines when the spirit called. It all moved together, freely improvised yet with much compositional intelligence. They seemed to be winding down a couple of times near the end, then suddenly set off again. Yet this was nothing superfluous, more afterthoughts that added value to the whole. The (well-deserved) encore saw Noble swivelling almost into straight time with a couple of insistent figures that were echoed by Mori, then quickly unravelled between the trio. And back. Stunning stuff. Despite the biting cold weather, agravated by the asinine tube strike, enough people came together to form a quorum who bore witness to some wonderful music, the Cafe Oto at its best, still my favourite space for music, despite the distance to travel involved...

Back home - after Gauguin and Ikue Mori/Steve Noble/Lotte Anker

2010-11-29T06:44:00.000-08:00

Just arrived home to God's Little Acre... Yesterday a wonderful double hit - finally got to the Gauguin exhibition at Tate Modern, which was predictably crowded but because of their special Sunday late opening, I managed to go round again when the mobs had cleared somewhat. Superb stuff, Gauguin not being a painter I have ever explored much in the past. My loss. The gig in the evening at the Cafe Oto was also wonderful, one of the best mixtures of free jazz/improv and laptop/electronics I've witnessed.... more later...

Review pending... Oto soon...

2010-11-19T07:15:00.000-08:00

Such a light few months musically - no gigs so no reviews. Hopefully all to change soon - I'm down to the Cafe Oto a week on Sunday to catch Iku Mori/Lotte Anker/Steve Noble so will write something after that gig. Also working on a review of two cds, GU4's Lean On One Another and Julie Tippets/Martin Archer's Ghosts of Gold - had the idea late one night that by writing about two seemingly different albums I could say something about folk music and other forms that may or may not be related. In parts, the Tippetts/Archer work seems to be operating within a re-defined pastoral mode that is very English and linked to older ghosts, wrapped in the digital/analogue mix of the music. Thus - two cds that on the surface seem drastically different have odd links and the exploration of the differences and similarities may prove to be interesting. (Or not). Definitely a heuristic project - I've no idea exactly where it will go. Which is the fun in doing it...

Onwards anyway... 'Don Partridge and Company'...

2010-11-11T10:02:00.000-08:00

Probably the main reason why my blog posts have been very sporadic this year is because I have been working on a book – provisional title: 'Don Partridge and Company' – with two friends, Patrick Keene and – Don Partridge, 'King of the Streetsingers.' Who, of course, sadly died a few weeks back. (I have also been busy on another project, a novel). Don and I started the book a couple of years back and very soon afterwards brought in Patrick, but our progress was understandably delayed when Don's partner Pam died about eighteen months ago. A lot of grief has been carried. The premise of the book: three interlinking stories, two fairly obscure characters, one who became very famous for a while, then left orthodox show business to go back to his original occupation, which we all shared. Busking – the art of being a street musician. Don, especially after he launched his one man band, inspired originally by Jesse Fuller (whom he had encountered in London when he booked him for a gig at Ealing Town Hall in the early Sixties) but with a more flexible mobile apparatus, had already made a lot of waves in London and beyond before he was discovered by Don Paul and subsequently became a pop star. He was earning a very good living on the streets and lived high, wild and well. Patrick Keene, who was playing with Don when I first met them, sometime in 1966, had started busking in Paris in 1960, mixing with the likes of Alex Campbell, the young Davey Graham, Derroll Adams, Richard Farina, Ralph Rumney and the Guggenheims (I kid you not). (Pat also recorded an lp with Don just before the one man band days). I started playing in London (having dipped my toe in the water here and there) in the summer of 1966. Pat was also a photographer and increasingly focused on his talent in that area to make a living. He did some freelancing for the Daily Mirror, the Sunday Telegraph and other mainstream newspapers – plus some work for the underground publication International Times. The idea of the book was to use our stories to bounce off the more famous one of Don, illustrated by the stunning black and white photos that Patrick took in the late Sixties on the streets and beyond – culminating on the night of the Buskers Concert at the Albert Hall in 1969. Which have never been published. Inspired apparently by Alan Young, Don's oldest friend and fellow busker, Don booked the Albert Hall and brought all the London street musicians, young and old, together for a unique event. Helped by his agent, Don Paul and his publicist Max Clifford, the show was a sell-out. An amazing night – yet one that now has been almost forgotten. The three of us were involved – myself playing with my then street sidekick Aidan Agnew and with The Earl of Mustard, a tap-dancer and street legend whom I had often worked with, when his accompanist refused to go on with him because he was in drag(!). Don, top of the bill of course – and Patrick, who did not perform but was there as a photographer and who also appeared obliquely. Pulled out of the audience by the escapologist who coaxed him to reluctantly stand on his throat! Pat, who was and is a tall, powerfully built man and who was wearing cowboy boots, was naturally a little reluctant. But this guy knew his trade (although there is a story that a couple of years later, another busker, whose name escapes me, obliged his prompt to the crowd for someone to tie him up at the Derby in front of a large crowd – and trussed him up too tight for him to escape!). But on this occasion, the show went to plan! (And Patrick was not arrested for involuntary manslaughter).
All of this was - and will be – the meat of the book. There are many stories and characters in the world of street music: ours just illustrate a particular time period, from the beginning of the decade to the next – by the seventies, London was becoming over-crowded with buskers and many of us had created other circuits in Europe where the pickings were better. Perhaps the Albert Hall concert stands as a unique event, the culmination of something wonderful and weird...
So Don is gone – but the book was almost complete and will be finished perhaps differently, relying on some other testimonies. The special flavour he brought to it I hope I have captured. We are doing the rounds of publishers at the moment, some more work needs to be done. But hopefully...

Don Partridge 1941-2010: In Memoriam

2010-09-24T13:30:00.000-07:00

So: where to start? After the initial shock of the phone call from our mutual friend Patrick – to relay the news of Don struck down by a massive heart attack – the re-grouping, the business: people to be informed across networks which might not be immediately available to the family, so you distract yourself by being busy. With words: which are useless, but you go through the rituals and realise as you do so – yet again – that rituals – the informal rituals of bereavement - have a purpose. To distract... Then a fitful night and more phone calls and the process of the human placing of death into something that can be manageable. Which of course it never is – which is the awesome power of death. Hence the rituals. But the force of it all finally drops down enough for you to decide that something should be written, especially as you have spent so much time over the last couple of years digging back into the past with Don and Pat as we slowly created the manuscript we called 'Don Partridge and Company,' our on-going project, a three-way chronicle (Don, Pat, me) of the sixties busking years culminating with the famous Buskers Concert at the Albert Hall in 1969. With suddenly a final chapter...

So you place yourself in the futile position of trying to apply measure.

So: how do you measure a person? Specifically: Don Partridge, such a unique character in the myriad groupings of your friends which comprise so many characters possessed of strength, talent, creativity, belief in themselves, humour, love and that blissfully undefinable sense of – FUN. Because Don was FUN to be with. So many people who knew him - read the testimonials already and at the funeral there will be a legion more prepared to step up and say: here was someone whom we enjoyed the company of greatly, who made an impression on our lives - maybe the the link between them all will be that sense of FUN as a counterbalance to the loss. A deep FUN, manifesting in a joy in life, despite the recent tragedy that he had to bear and the resultant dark hours, the loss of Pam from the ravages of cancer last year. When I was with Don a few weeks ago, the sadness and grieving were still there but he made me welcome as usual in his house as we worked on the book and took a drink or two and laughed over our reminiscences, the triumphs and absurdities all recounted with his good humour - and his wry, hard-won wisdom. That welcome he had always provided – from the crowded flat in Archway he shared with Alan Young, Jester and Joker, his oldest perhaps sidekick, where I slept on the floor with Barbara in 1966 before we found our first apartment off the Fulham Road where we reciprocated in equally cramped conditions. The house in Hastings where he wrote 'Rosie' and drove us all mad with the first drafts of the song that would propel him to fame – to the extent that when he came into the old 'Earl of Sandwich' bar, back of Leicester Square and said he had recorded it, the general consensus was: 'Bollocks, Partridge!' So we were wrong... in spades... that song we mocked, recorded in E.M.I.'s Studio Regent B for six quid, at the instigation of the man who found him in Brewer Street market and became his manager, Don Paul, that took him to the hit parade, a certain measure of fame and money which provided a bigger house in West London we dubbed the 'Mansion' where more welcomes were offered amid mucho craziness – the first time I went he somehow drove us back from central London (both of us and Paris Nat having been thrown out of the 'Troubadour' for alcoholic crimes against folk music), despite the onrush of the acid we had both taken as a chaser. Which freaked Nat out when he realised, somewhere down the Uxbridge Road... Those were the days, as they say... That house where I heard some of the nascent formations of 'Accolade,' the folk/jazz/rock band he formed with Gordon Giltrap that should have taken him beyond the One Man Band/novelty/variety act that the Biz saw him as and which he was rapidly wearying of. And not to blame the Biz too much for that, because that was the game then and they did not have the measure of many a musician who stepped across boundaries, let alone one as idiosyncratic and wilful as Don. A band who never got the launch, maybe, they deserved, for whatever reasons, but who stand up pretty well now against much of the crap and the twee of the time, something more than hey-nonny with a clumpy rock backbeat. Pentangle aside - English folk-rock: jeez. But he eventually turned his back on the Biz to follow his own footsteps that led back to the streets. Scandinavia and back, criss-crossing Europe, Canada, hitch-hiking down the 'Trans-Canadian Highway.' One of his better songs and it should also be put down here that he was a musician of talent way beyond the sometimes stifling if necessary repetitions/confines of the busking arts, beyond the confines of the Biz as stated above. A very good songwriter when he felt the muse, a brilliant arranger of others' songs and traditional material into different formulations – because Don was incapable of copying after he had acquired his mature style early on. For a recent example of skilful adaption: dig 'The Highwayman' if you can find it, his long riff on the old Alfred Noyes poem which works so well because he gets inside it so well. Maybe he was never truly captured on record – and for all that, you could say his art was that of the busker, which is transience, a song on the wind that produces enough temporary pleasure for the bung to the bottler or the open guitar case – and the larger the better, please. We have thirsts... Don said that ultimately he preferred the natural lighting of the streets, daylight and sunshine, streetlights and shop illuminations at night, the backdrop of arenas filled with people and bustle, to the artificial sets and lighting of the Biz and the compromises that go with it. That was his true stage, his realm. Remember this: he was The King of the Buskers. Others were buskers before him and others will no doubt aspire to the crown he has sadly vacated – but he was the first to get there, by the sheer chutzpah of self-coronation and he held his kingdom down the years, against all comers.

So: you come to the measure and find, as with all great people – and I choose my words carefully – that the idea of measure, however human and hot-wired into our heads, is a paltry thing, when we consider such a man. Yes he was fickle, infuriating at times, faithful to something beyond conventions of faithfulness, yes and that is romantic and could be seen as a cop-out but Don did not, in my experience at least, ever cop-out. Wherever the road led him, he was true to its directions and imperatives. Not an easy life, as all who have travelled it know well enough. Not an easy life perhaps, for family and friends at times. The King was no saint. But when he looked down that road he saw it clearly and followed it with no small measure of courage. And love. In the end, he overflows any measure you can make and that is the plain damn truth. He was too damn big to be defined easily. He leaves a large hole in our hearts and memories as we here extend our condolences to the family - and all who knew him. He was a true friend and I loved him and I will miss him.

'If you don't see me next spring, I'll be in Berlin.'

Don Partridge R.I.P.

2010-09-22T13:48:00.000-07:00

With a heavy heart to write this - my good friend Don Partridge died yesterday from a heart attack. The King of the Buskers has moved on... All our condolences to the family. I'll probably write more about this unique guy - but not tonight...

News... sort of...

2010-09-10T13:54:00.000-07:00

A fallow time for blogging recently... haven't been to any gigs so no reviews... travel plans buggered because of illness and other craziness. But the beat goes on...

So a quick gather - Black Stepdad (yes, I know) who have some material out on our label The Lows and the Highs scored a review by Byron Coley in the current Wire:

I think he liked it...

Whitedog has been playing around with deep drums, free rhythms and reverb - here's a rough edit of a possible new track on his forthcoming album on ditto label:

Freeforming go deep by rawmusics

figure of outward has a new album looming as well, playing off folk musics, sorta... this is 'fantasia on my lagan love' with the late Margaret Barry standing in for the singer who will eventually make it into the studio...

Fantasia on lagan love by rawmusics

Reviews will return - I'm off to a double header in London soon - alldayer at Cecil Sharp House (I kid you not) - 'Ghosts from the Basement' and John Tchicai at the Cafe Oto a couple of days later... hopefully I'll be more mobile by then... otherwise stretcher bearers will be called for...

I'm supposed to be in Ireland - but I'm not, which is annoying. Hope to get there in a few weeks...

Review: Tiger Folk/Grand Union Folk at the Shepshed Watermill, Saturday 31st July...

2010-08-07T05:33:00.000-07:00

There had been clouds all day, with a hint on the wind that we might get rain, but luckily the inevitable shower only hit late on and was mercifully brief. This was to be a unique event: organised between the Tiger folk club and the Grand Union with the co-operation of the owners Jeff and Kath, as a fundraiser for the ongoing refurbishment of the Shepshed Water Mill. An advance ticket job, barbecue provided, a tour of the restored mill and then music – an informal folk session, mainly unaccompanied, leavened with a smatter of guitars and accordion.

Venue: idyllic, to use an over-used word. On the backroad from Hathern to Shepshed, near to the M1 yet tucked away, folded into an older landscape, the ever-present swish of fast-moving tires a faint – and oddly soothing – soundtrack. What the writer Iain Sinclair calls 'motorway hymns.' A lot of work has been done here - refer to the web-site for more detail. Correction: a lot of hard work – restoring the mill has entailed much digging and humping, apart from the brain power to plan, the money to fuel the endeavour, the sheer will to see it through. When you meet the owners you get the vibe straight away. And it's not a dour cause, rather one carried through with enthusiasm and much good humour.

We got there early which gave a chance to wander round the grounds as the barbecue was being fired up. Yum. People drifted in as food was being made available – and a pleasant evening for al fresco eating. Then a tour of the project, narrated by Jeff, as a digestif.

We started to gather in the space allotted for the music. A small but high-ceilinged room, good acoustics. Intimate atmosphere, with the doors open to the evening at the back. Emcee for the night, Bill Wilkes, (GU4, Barrow folk club, all round good egg) decided that it was time to go and started singing one of his signature shanties – a strange experience with the water wheel of the mill still turning at my back before being shut down for the performance. The metallic creakings and splashing of water seemed to match the song, like marine sound effects. Synchronicity – the music meshing with an older technology, if you wanted to explore that fancy.

Bill always runs an informal but tight gig and a good balance of music was maintained. Not the least, perhaps, because this was not a hundred per cent hardball 'folk' crowd. A couple of surprises – the usually reluctant Ed, stalwart supporter of the Barrow Folk Club was coaxed into singing and how good he was, a light but supple voice, sure of its movement and no discernible wavering from nerves. More please. Going round the room performers acquitted themselves with their usual aplomb – some excellent singers here, of course, Farmer Dave, Corrine Male, Dave Walters, Joe Tormey and apologies to any I missed. They also serve: Karen Harris in good voice, dragged from her barbecue/cookhouse duties – as was Sheila Bentham, who essayed a story with a nice twist. Mr Bentham was late on parade due to his (and Ed's) sterling work with the liquid refreshments. His rendition of 'An evening in summer' seemed to select itself...

John Adams, with accordion and soft voiced song added to the variety – as did Mr Marmion – on bouncy form, his guitar abetted by myself. (Not having played together for a long time we had a rehearsal a few days before – somewhat on the conceptual side as ever, but I don't think I played too many bum notes).

Another milestone of the night – Mr Peter Burnham was apparently celebrating his retirement from the day job, (no doubt a move to derail the more clichéd hecklers, ho ho) and much cake was handed round. He performed solo, with his old partner Sheila Mosley and as one third of GU4, tonight minus Miggy Campbell. Sheila did the old McTell warhorse and a song I have uncordially hated for many years, 'Streets of London.' In the process making me realise that it is a much better song than I realised with a strong moral message that overrides the piety. Always a valuable experience to have one's prejudices confounded. Being such a good singer helps, of course...

But not a night to single out people as all gave of their best. This was very much a communal effort, coming together for a good cause - raising somewhere around £400, I believe – with excellent food and drink and to enjoy a variety of musics – mainly, but not exclusively traditional - under the broad 'folk' banner. A very good advert for two of our strongest local folk clubs which also proved that flexibility without compromise can pay off handsomely – take a bow, everybody. This is a superb small venue with a lot of potential for future events – so a good time to mention the next fundraiser. Saturday September 18th, Tiger Folk and Grand Union clubs again but a slightly different angle – 'Stories and Songs.' Jacket potato supper and real ale on tap for £7, which includes a tour of the mill and outbuildings etc. Tickets via email from John Bentham: the.benthams@ntlworld.com – note that there will be a limited number due to space considerations so book early...

There's an old mill by the stream...

2010-08-07T05:20:00.000-07:00

I've been incommunicado all week since the gig at the Shepshed Water Mill last Saturday - apart from a brief foray out for a rather good late lunch in excellent company the other day. Belated review of the evening to follow...

Happy Birthday...

2010-07-31T03:42:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday Dux!

Review: Magpie Lane/Habbadam at the Teignmouth Folk Festival, Central Theatre, Saturday, June 19, 2010

2010-06-28T06:54:00.000-07:00

Down in Devon for a few days on a mission but coincidentally I noticed a while back that the Teignmouth Folk Festival would be running on the same weekend. And that Magpie Lane were headlining on the Saturday night... So I bought a ticket with the hope that I could get to the gig. Luckily - I did.

The venue was the Carlton Theatre just off the beach in Teignmouth centre, a small joint but very welcoming. Backup on the night were Habbadam and Babylon Lane (no relation). The sound system was very good – a difficult balance to get in a space like this with the large selection of instruments being used. Lighting was somewhat surreal occasionally as was the occasional waft of dry ice – which was dryly amusing and received in good spirit.

Habbadam are guitar, violin and soprano saxophone – an odd instrument for a folk band perhaps but it blended very well – something about the lemony timbre coupled to the power of a sax which made me wonder why it's not used more often. (Again – I was reminded of the old gag – folk followers being often a conservative bunch. But no one suddenly unfurled a banner with the immortal words emblazoned: 'Go home, dirty bebopper!). (Scroll down). Dane Sigurd Hocking played fluent guitar, the odd fluff early on perhaps, but blending with fiddle and sax to provide an unusual, intriguing set. The occasional vocal thrown in to balance it out – I found them much more interesting perhaps than the usual WBD Oirish set. (Worthy But Dull). Ditte Fromseier-Mortensen, also from Denmark, provided violin and vocals, Hanna Wiskari, the lone Swede, took command of the soprano. The material was unfamilar to me – based on the traditions of the Baltic Sea island of Bornholm - but oddly enough not, on another level, reflecting links between Scandinavian music and the British Isles. Some pleasant surprises as well - the Lars Ipsen tunes were plain weird with strange melodic arcs, taking the listener into a distant and wonderfully unusual sound world. (Ipsen was apparently an 18th century fiddler from Bornholm). Towards the end, they brought on a local singer, Peter Huggins, to deliver 'Three score and ten,' the fishing disaster song from the East Coast that obviously resonates strongly down here as well. In fact, with proximity to sea and rural Devon, the traditional musics and street dance/morris displays of the festival took on a relevance that is not always obvious back where I live these days in the urban Midlands. Habbadam went out on a mainstream jazzy number to much applause - obviously a festival favourite and a band I'd like to see again.

Next up: Babylon Lane, a four-piece vocal group devoted to shape-singing. Interesting, but they didn't quite grab me, not sure why. I had to leave early in their set anyway – had a text message I urgently needed to reply to – so did not have time to settle in to their music to offer an opinion.

Magpie Lane. Mr Giles and band came recommended to me very strongly a few months ago when I was urged to attend a gig back home when they were playing just down the road from God's Little Acre. They blew me away – and few folk groups do that. Ian Giles has a remarkable voice and buttressed by the talent that surrounds him, this is a band with much firepower – instrumentally and vocally. In the present incarnation: Andy Turner/Sophie Polhill/Mat Green/Jon Fletcher play concertinas, melodeons, cello, whistle, fiddle, guitar, bouzouki and harmonica. And all sing – when they suddenly burst into five part harmony it is a joy to behear, offering a majestic swathe of sound. That first time I encountered them was in the upclose intimacy of a folk club, this go-round the more formal setting of a concert. Even though the Carlton Theatre is a relatively small venue and the band would have spent much of the weekend fraternising and playing on sessions in close contact with festival goers, amplification and stage still give a couple of degrees of separation. Which, tellingly, did not seem to make any difference. Big gig, small gig, there is tremendous skill involved here that covers all the bases, yet is not jammed in your face but subtly held back a notch or two. A lot of power under the hood... Much traditional folk music is ideologically conflicted for many reasons, historically, culturally – and often stupidly. Possibly, playing in the idiom is like learning a foreign language. For some people, surface accuracy and varying degrees of misplaced piety are enough and a certain stiffness is inherent to the delivery. For those who enter deeper into the cultural episteme(s) beneath, the rewards will be fluency and emotional engagement with the material and the audience they deliver it to. (This also goes for the listener: most of the folk audience come to the music from outside - some initial effort is usually needed to connect with the material). Giles sings with an ease and flair that subtly belies his technique and knowledge. As do they all. The references are backwards historically, based in the main in the English country dance and song tradition, yet the band's ease of technical erudition channels the material effectively . It lives and breathes before you, rather than being a ghost dragged reluctantly to perform at a séance. Opening with 'The Jovial Cutler,' a song from the cusp of the Industrial Revolution concerned with earlier work practices that still continued, a strategic piece that looks back at a dying world and forwards to a newer, problematic urban existence. The timbre of Ian Giles helps to keep these old songs fresh – resonant and flexible, not given to decoration and some of the more affected ticks of the 'tradition.' The achieved clarity and the warm emotion with which he delivers it front the band well. But this seems a democracy of many interlocking skills: Giles will disappear occasionally to let other line-ups play in varying combinations, down to duos – Sophie Polhill and Mat Fletcher gave up a stunning 'Turtle Dove,' for example. Hard to pick anyone out over their compatriots – they function so well on all levels it seems, held together by the dark threads of the cello's weavings. (An instrument I love and how fascinating to hear the ways in which it is deployed). Giles amusingly said that they 'mucked' songs about, finding different tunes to well-known words, that sometimes this worked and sometimes it didn't. This willingness to continually expand and experiment give them a bracing freshness. A couple of examples: 'A begging I will go' and 'The Foggy Dew.' The first floated across the dance tune 'Grimstock' in a fascinating reworking of an old chestnut, the second given a more delicate and plaintive reading than usual. Giles also dons a side drum occasionally which gives some added muscle in the rhythm department. Nothing 'folk rock' (mercifully – in most of its manifestations a lumpy mess) – rather than clumsy grafts of backbeats, he plays from the song itself. He uses two drums – one orthodox snare, the other a deeper military-looking artifact, sort of a quarter-lambeg on the diagonal, that looks like it was nicked from the set of 'Sharpe.'

They bow out on the encore unaccompanied: 'The Constant Lovers' aka 'Drowned Mermaid.' The five part harmonies here gave an amazingly full sound, the voice interactions on the verses – from solo to duo, adding another level of interest. I know they have been criticised for being too lush vocally but I love this expansion that seems to stretch until it fills the hall (and beyond). But I'm a fan. And look forward to the next time...

Teignmouth...

2010-06-27T07:09:00.000-07:00

I was down in Teignmouth last week on other biz, glancingly encountering the folk festival as the sun shone. Here's a couple of photos from the town centre in the afternoon. The Fabulous Fezheads were fun, keeping the old sand dance tradition alive - memories of my late old friend Ronnie Ross of the Roadstars and solo street fame. The guys below were playing some nice American Old Timey sounds as I stopped to sample Guinness alfresco... The only event I made it to was the Sturday night concert - the rather wonderful Magpie Lane. Review written but still being deciphered (very delayed...).

Thelonious Monk/Miles Davis/Doc Watson/Delmore Brothers/Max Roach

2010-06-17T12:19:00.000-07:00

The bloody World Cup is here again so I am in need of (much) distraction, although not having a television helps to a certain extent... But, despite the fact that football bores the bejasus out of me, it would be churlish not to wish for the best in South Africa – a big moment for them.

And I am off to Devon tomorrow for a few days r and r and some biz. So:

The curse of the blogger of course, is to make rash statements: 'Apologies for being away but now I'm back etc' – to then disappear again. I have not posted any mp3s for some time and reviews have dried up somewhat as I have been busy on an ongoing project that has taken much time and energy. But I like to think that I can still roll one or two out here and there... Some jazz, some folk blues, some bluegrass, eclecticism rules as ever...

I posted Jimmy Guiffre's version of this sometime back – so here is the original, a recording of 'Blue Monk' made by the composer in 1954 with a trio, himself on piano, Percy Heath on bass and the redoubtable Art Blakey on drums. Over seven minutes long, giving them a chance to stretch out. Monk takes this at a sprightly tempo – he always plays this tune a fraction faster, I think, than you realise at first, the brain seems to say that it's a slower drag blues. He leaves plenty of space, floating phrases then suddenly doubling back, clenched repeating figures that suddenly spring out in an unexpected direction. Solid bass springs the track and Blakey knows when to push with quick cymbal spats and those trademark rolls, the battering triplets. Giuffre's version caught the pull of the time-line in the theme – at once archaic and modern and Monk of course, even more so now at this distance, proves this even deeper. Heath takes a fluent solo over Blakey backbeat hi-hat cymbal clips that continue into his own solo. Some hint of parade ground cadence that swings off sideways. Monk still in his springtime, on the cusp of greater recognition. And still fresh.

Miles from 1966: 'Dolores' a track on 'Miles Smiles.' Certain people regard this album as the last TRUE JAZZ acoustic Davis recording. Each to their own. What you do have is Miles coming to terms with the new wave and rock, both of which inflect on this album. Davis's Fifties Quintet was seen as a pinnacle of his art and certainly the rhythm section of that band took some beating – Philly Joe, Red Garland and Paul Chambers. Here the young drummer Tony Williams moves the band into new areas – I've always contended that jazz could not evolve any faster than its drummers. A lot of fifties attempts at moving the music beyond bebop fell foul of this rule... 'Dolores,' a Wayne Shorter composition opens uppishly on a line by tenor that falls into bass, band then bass again. Miles takes the first solo, open horn swirled along by William's wash of cymbals and a fast bass walk. No Hancock at first – Miles was always a master of space but with this quintet he was to explore the frontiers anew. Shorter follows Hancock enters at last on a single note line, leaving his left hand at home. Without chords being sketched, the linearities can take unexpected directions Peppy and fresh...

Another American treasure - Doc Watson playing 'Deep River Blues.' Just the Doc and his acoustic guitar, some fine picking and that warm baritone voice. Recorded in 1964, the album this comes from was a staple round our house several years later as all the guitar players worked out their own versions of many of the songs.

Alton and Rabon Delmore, brothers born in Alabama, pioneers of country music, regulars in the Grand Old Opry from the thirties onwards. (The Opry is the longest running radio show in the U.S. I discovered on the Wikipedia entry – I knew it had been around a long time but not that long!). Like Doc Watson, interestingly they crossed styles as and when, no doubt confounding purists, who seem to have little understanding at a distance of the commercial moves a musician makes. Their version of 'Big River Blues' is an antecedent of the above 'Deep River Blues' and gives a fascinating contrast in linked but different styles. Singing in close harmony, straight out of the high lonesome, backed by interweaving guitars, whether it's because they come from an earlier generation, one can track the rhythmic differences. They are just that fraction more four-square than the Doc, albeit that the lead bounces nicely off the accompaniment. Much more country, as well, Doc's voice reminding me oddly of a folk blues Jack Teagarden. In another strange reversal, later in their career, during the forties, they added electric guitar and drums – Doc Watson had started his professional career playing electric guitar in a country/western swing band. I gather his superb flat-picking technique came in part from playing fiddle tunes on the electric, in later years moving them onto his acoustic guitar.

Searing stuff from Max Roach and company – 'Mendacity,' recorded in 1961, from his album 'Percussion Bitter Sweet.' Booker Little leads the ensemble in on soured trumpet before the Abbey Lincoln takes the song. A chorus then stopped by an ensemble surge. Then the incomparable Eric Dolphy's alto – talk about 'vocalisation of tone' – this reminds me of the musical conversations he had with Charles Mingus in the quartet that recorded equally biting music - 'Faubus Fables' etc. Another ensemble punctuation then Max takes his equipment out front, the most musical of drummers, chunks of silence after each statement. An unusual solo that stops and starts, stops and starts, yet with a narrative line throughout. Far from the ker-ching of orthodox modern jazz - the times were a-changing in many ways. Abbey Lincoln returns, the lyric darkly spelling out the racism these musicians and their people endured. Angry, righteous music.

Thelonious Monk
Thelonious Monk (p) Percy Heath (b) Art Blakey (d)
Blue Monk
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Miles Davis
Miles Davis (t) Wayne Shorter (ts) Herbie Hancock (p) Ron Carter (b) Tony Williams (d)
Dolores
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Doc Watson (g, v)
Deep River Blues
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Delmore Brothers (g, v)
Big River Blues
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Max Roach
Booker Little (tp) Julian Priester (tb) Eric Dolphy (as) Clifford Jordan (ts) Mal Waldron (p) Art Davis (b) Max Roach (d) Carlos "Patato" Valdes (cga) Carlos "Totico" Eugenio (cowbell) Abbey Lincoln (vo)
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Review: Day Two/Freedom of the City Festival, Conway Hall, London, Monday 3d May, 2010...

2010-05-10T04:01:00.000-07:00

Afternoon:

A crowded hall, ready for John Butcher and Mark Sanders, saxophones and drums, a palpable hum of expectation. Butcher out fast with greasy, smeary tenor saxophone as Sanders bounced rhythms and sounds around him. Not all sturm und drang – plenty of episodes where Butcher displayed his remarkable technique on both saxes, multiphonics, snapping/popping of the reed, digging deep into the ontology of the instrument, as it were. Sanders had small metal bowls and cymbals to bow and scrape and rub against his kit to match the granular excursions. Exploratory – and held together throughout, no meandering, each playing for the other. When they finished, the audience gave them a rapturous reception. Lot of lurve here...

Jennifer Allum/Grundick Kasyansky/David O'Connor/Eddie Prévost:
Eddie Prévost runs regular workshops for improvisers in London and this set showcases some of his participants. Electronics, baritone sax, violin and Mr Prévost at his kit – although tonight, as if in penance to Gods of Improv for his forays into straight time the night before (it would have been classic if someone had suddenly displayed a banner with the message – 'Go home, dirty bopper!' A gag for the older among you – see here...), he in the main concerned himself with finely graded texture – bowing a large gong and cymbals. This was thoughtful, austere (yet almost dreamy music at times) that flowed well – the obvious benefit of those workshop sessions. Again, violin suffered a bit from undermiking.

Adam Bohman/FURT (Richard Barrett/Paul Obermayer)/Ute Wassermann:
Phil Marks in on drums, depping for the indisposed Richard Barrett - started a wild barrage somewhat at odds with the others. They took a long time pre-set trying to get the balance right and... well... Ute Wassermann, one of my favourites from last year (when she played with Aleks Kolkowski see here), was struggling at times to rise above the mêlée . A superb singer with an operatic technique that she bends successfully into the wilder shores of vocal improv, covering a gamut of sounds that FIT... Some nicely abrasive laptop interruptions. Adam Bohmann back in the mix – despite his impressively large jumble sale table – getting some good textural noise when you could hear him. Somehow it didn't quite coalesce, but I enjoyed it. Perhaps a lot of the fun is the high-wire balancing acts that improvisation demands – sometimes you fall, but I'd rather be witness to that than tribute band banality...

Jean-Luc Guionnet/Ross Lambert/Philip Somervell:
I missed some of this set. Some fascinating piano sonorities, interesting alto playing – much of the acoustic guitar playing of Lambert was under-miked in the overall balance.

EVENING

Stellari String Quartet: John Edwards/Charlotte Hug/Marcio Mattos/Philipp Wachsmann:
The players assembled in front of the stage (again), this time I was a little better sited. Improvising essentially chamber music, with the odd jazzy nuance, one could argue that this is what 'third stream' music should have sounded like. They played through the gamut of contemporary string techniques – rubbing, scraping, attacking the instrument in places on the body other than the strings and neck – but these were flowing from the music rather than being grafted on artificially, propelled by a strong emotional force. Plenty of ideas here – a thicket of melody and sound at times, listening and looking to each other to come together or stand back. Mattos and Edwards locked in as and when to provide a thrumming bottom bottom end and middle as Philip Wachsmann and Charlotte Hug spun off each other with shards of melody and sonic exploration. Wachsmann wafted his violin about while bowing like an old-time hoedowner at a couple of points. To improvise music of this level of creativity and coherence is a mighty achievement. A gas, as we used to say... Unfortunately, this was the last of the festival for me – I had plans to get across town to the Cafe Oto to catch Carlas Bozulich but just ran out of energy...

Summation: some marvellous music, some that didn't quite work but I applaud the participants for their risks – and that's only my opinion anyway. A couple of other blog reviews - Mapsadaisical one and two and Daid Grundy's very details account here to consider... A festival – especially one like this, with so much concentrated in a relatively short time space of two days – will – and should - always offer a collision of styles and strategies. Put it this way - there was no musician or group of performers that I would not want to see again, either here (next year) or in other contexts/venues. Evan Parker shouldered much of the compering duties and he was both amusing and acerbic – rants aplenty. Despite his acrid observation that Time Out had not bothered to give them a mention, my overall observation was that the audience was out in force for demanding musics and seem to me to be much more of a cross-section in age and sex than when I first went to this event a few years ago back at the much-lamented Red Rose. Evan said that they will be back next year and I look forward to that. The only downside for me was that some of the miking seemed underbalanced, especially for the acoustic stringed instruments – violin, cello, guitar. Wish list? Same as last year... I think that the festival could benefit from some more interesting electronic performers. It would be interesting to see how the noise mob would fit in - after all many of them base their musics on improvisation. It's a little on the academic side here, compared to the fire and energy available in other areas. I'd enjoy someone like Aaron Dilloway on stage with Steve Noble, say, a power sax player and John Edwards (if his bass was balanced in the mix)... But let's be thankful this festival in still ongoing and congratulations to all who make it happen...

Review: Day One/Freedom of the City Festival at the Conway Hall, London, Sunday May 2nd, 2010

2010-05-08T06:17:00.000-07:00

Back to the Conway Hall for another Freedom of the City Festival... I skated in just in time to grab a drink and a seat, caught the opener, Peter Evans. One might think that solo trumpet was a bit on the austere side to start the fandango – however, Evans was revelatory, playing to a packed hall on amplified trumpet and cornet (I think) with some minimal adjustments via a foot pedal. Fancifully, you could consider this as a history lesson, linking back to the early days of jazz when developing an individual sound was paramount. The shift from the standard classical/marching band tone to 'vocalised' instrumental individuality. Part of the fun of being a 'jazz' fan was/is in blindfold tests - identifying a player by his sound. This was inherent in the music from the start, it seems. So when Peter Evans fires off a flashing bravura melodic line bending back in and out of bebop, or earlier, his tonal alterations – squeezed half-valve, a variety of muted effects – simultaneously are part of the contemporary 'avant garde' preoccupations with sound experiments and also deeply embedded in the line that goes back through Rex Stewart to Bubber Miley and beyond. He showed a lot of variation and a shrewd sense of dynamics - the brassy fire of the trumpet was contrasted by the smaller instrument, lighter, clarion pure. And Evans' participation in a trio with Evan Parker (and cellist Okkyung Lee) later in the day was perhaps prefigured by some occasional relentless circular breathed passages that reminded of the elder saxophonist's technique. An impressive start, then – to a fairly full hall.

Okkyung Lee and Paul Lytton:
Cello and drums/percussion, Lytton going from delicate to fiery, leaving space when necessary, as when Lee stopped strings with the left hand way down the neck near the bridge and bowed to produce dry, sharp sounds. When she went deeper in the cello range, richer textures emerged. Highly intelligent music where mutual listening was essential. Lytton – sporting a two-hihat setup, interestingly could so easily have overpowered, but had in his armoury a full range of ironmongery to produce high sonorities, rubbed, lightly struck or played on the drums and cymbals to produce interesting clashing/additional sounds. Bit more mike on the cello, perhaps... a small criticism I could make of the festival overall, where delicate textural balances were often not audible enough in the mix.

Tania Chen/Lol Coxhill/Dominic Lash:
Lol, of course, will never be too far away from jazz, even when he ventures into saxophone sound manipulations a rich flowing seam of melody is never covered for long. He is the dominant player here tonight, ably supported by a restrained Dominic Lash on bass. Chen is fairly minimal in her interjections with occasional forays inside the piano. Towards the end of their set she suddenly unleashed some smashing clusters, elbows to the keyboard, that changed the overall direction, shaking it up nicely. Not sure that this trio really hit the spot although they played some interesting music, maybe Lol is too 'jazzy' this afternoon to go into some of the areas implied by his partners. I'd like to hear them again – in a club situation perhaps, where the piano may come through more.

I missed the last set of the afternoon - the London Improvisers Orchestra - but got back in time for the evening session...

QuaQua – is John Russell's yearly ever-changing lineup, tonight featuring Chris Burn at the Bosendorfer plus electronics, bookended with Matthew Hutchinson at a Roland keyboard and added effects. In between - Stefan Keune, saxophone, Satoko Fukuda, violin, Henry Lowther, trumpet the leader on guitar and Jean-Michel Van Schouwberg, voice. The latter's gurning facial distortions were very distracting – I'm not a great fan of vocal improv with a few exceptions (one of whom would be playing on the next day) so am probably easily pissed off. Although putatively a collective experience – the leader's guitar is never dominant, although I wonder if this is deliberate or just that under-miking again – Lowther's declaratory trumpet led the show. Not that he overplayed – he is far too good a musician for that. This group proceeds by small increments of sound, splashes and scrapes of colour that suddenly coalesce into unusual shapes, at points erupting then suddenly falling again. A somewhat ascetic approach, perhaps, leavened by the trumpet and the Roland adding some nice rumbling electronic details. The gurning aside, I enjoyed it a lot.

Louis Moholo-Moholo/Steve Noble/Ishmael Wadada Leo Smith:

The famed trumpeter had apparently requested a two drummer hit to back him. He's a cool looker, dreadlocks and dark glasses, a player of flashing and assured brilliance. I've been listening to a lot of his recorded work recently so was looking forward to hearing him live. Steve Noble set the pace with a thunderous barrage from the off, leaving Louis Moholo looking a little puzzled, perhaps. He seemed to have difficulty finding his way in and Noble was not going to step back, it seemed. They were playing in front of the stage and from where I was sitting at the back, I didn't get a clear view of the set. Smith took care of everything thrown at him, as one would expect from someone of his stature, riding the rhythms with power and invention. Further in, Moholo set up an occasional groove, at one point with just the insistent ticking beats of two sticks. There was some vocal interchange that I didn't quite grab: Mapsadaisical records it thus:
'He even tried to cut the set short; “No, baby” he said at a quiet moment when Noble was threatening to drive things back up to another powerful rhythmic peak. “Yes, baby” said a clearly not-yet-finished Wadada, and off they went again.' From here...

Again, great to hear good musicians, but a little hit and miss, pulled along by Smith's experience. Hey, they call it improvisation...

SUM was Seymour Wright, Eddie Prevost and Ross Lambert on alto, drums and guitar. An odd line-up, given my previous experience of Seymour whom I have grown to greatly appreciate. Eddie was hitting straight time in places (!), Lambert played a lot throughout – too much perhaps, I felt that he didn't seem to handle silences very well. Seymour – well, he's noted for minimal and precise interrogations of his instrument, materially and, perhaps, philosophically/conceptually. Tonight he played more than I have heard him before – although given that most sax players will fire off a string of sixteenth notes and he might play – one, two, three if you're lucky – this was still not a great deal. He will hang on a note and repeat it, turning it around and about, tip it sideways. Tonight he would suddenly give a small flourish of something approaching melody. More flurries than one is used to – and some accurate high register stuff. I found it fascinating...

Evan Parker/Peter Evans/Okkyung Lee:

The guv'nor with two younger players, Evan on his usual tenor and soprano saxophones joined by Lee on cello and Peter Evans on his brass. No feints, stabs of jabs of sound to set things up – straight in with three superb players weaving and spinning complex interlocking/opposing lines in a glorious tapestry. They have played together before and it shows in their mutual understanding. I mentioned above that during his solo set Evans's circular breathing gave hints of where Parker has gone before: tonight in this tight trio, the saxophonist being generous and reining back his formidable technique to blend with the others. Sonorities changed between tenor and soprano and back, similarly Evans switched between his trumpet and the smaller instrument. A delicate balance necessary for more granular playing as it would have been – and was on occasion – easy to step into the cello's sound space (the miking again!) – luckily most of it came through. At one point Evan did launch one of his circular passages and sucked everyone along with him – Evans replying in kind to hit another level of exhilaration. Stunning music. Given my fanciful thought about the opening set and its link to the tradition, you could imagine this three-way contrapuntal blowout as similarly linked to the early collective tradition of New Orleans – via European avant garde chamber music. Oh play that thing...

Freedom of the City Festival, 2010...

2010-05-04T13:10:00.000-07:00

Finally back in God's Little Acre from the Freedom of the City Festival - which I thought the best yet... more to follow when I've had some sleep (honest - I've written most of it already)... Great and challenging music, good crowds, Evan P on fine ranting form (you had to be there)... But I missed Carla Bozulich at the Oto - had an idea I could do the double yesterday but ran out of energy... to get back to a hotel where they were digging up the road outside until 1.30 am this morning... loudly. Didn't even have a recorder with me to sample it...
Later... much later...

Review: Ken Vandermark/Paal Nielssen Love plus John Edwards at the Cafe Oto, Friday, April 23d, 2010...

2010-04-26T04:31:00.000-07:00

Back to the Cafe Oto again... and a good seat up close and personal – although with drummer Paal Nilssen Love nearer to me, some of Ken Vandermark's playing was a little muffled at times. According to his Twitter feed, 'Easyjet damages the baritone, can't play it' so he stuck to tenor and clarinet tonight. First set was as a duo and hurtled straight off into the fray, Vandermark using melodic fragments as his base, firing the permutations around at speed, gunslinging tenor sax, as the drummer cracked along mightily, in the main using hi-hat, snare and floor tom for the engine room. But for all his heavy hitting- even when he repeatedly favoured brushes, he got as much bite as swoosh - Paal Nilssen Love has an impressive grasp of dynamics, knowing when to drop back, using his high-hat, cowbell and cymbals for colouration or adding small cymbals, woodblocks, tambourine laid on the drum skins. Vandermark is a gutsy tenor saxophonist with a mastery of the ranges from deep down honk up to high squeal pushed through fast linearities, yet he will also hover over a phrase, chew it up and extract as much groove juice as possible, riding the riffs. Traces maybe of the the Chicago heritage he became a major part of, blues and then some, Southside to experimental and back. Given Paal Nielssen Love's similar propensity to slip from implied pulses back to almost Blakey-like hihat bebop ker-chings and at one point a lolloping 6/8, they provide plenty of common reference pointers back into the tradition. 'Free jazz' has come a long way in that respect, working now with such an expanded vocabulary, that a dash of 'swing' is quite refreshing. Vandermark is also a composer of note which gives his performance an architectural wholeness, form rising from improvised content but a flexible form perhaps shadowly implicit. This is music that communicates – without dumbing down. Eventually he switched to clarinet and was equally impressive, using circular breathing at times, judging by his facial movements, oddly avoiding the chalameau register in the main in favour of higher declarations. The clarinet seems to be edging back into favour these last few years. This higher register worked well over the swirl of the drums but it wasn't all squall and blatter – throughout the first set they edged into quieter episodes where melodic interrogation went sideways into colour and sonic texture. Vandemark ended their first set with a clarinet feature – maybe this was one of his compositions rather than a totally free improvisation? The melody seemed naggingly familiar, with a dash of Monk influence to my ears... Ending quietly, coming to rest...

Grab a bit of the duo flavour (with Vandermark on baritone - here...

Second set with John Edwards, bass about town, added. Vandemark had not played with him before but Edwards was at full throttle straight away, joining the tenor with his bow to arco along with the opening melodic statements and locking seamlessly in with the drums. Edwards' ferocious attack is powered by hands that seem to have superhuman strength in order to stand up to the assault of flesh and bone on string and wood. He plays with such ferocity that he broke a string (again – that's the second time I've seen this happen in a couple of months). Less flowing tenor lines here, more concentration on group interaction – again Vandemark would lock on various riffs and exploit their repetitions with small changes. Perhaps a wise move – in this context, with the added busyness of the bass and no direct miking, longer lines would tend to get a little lost in the thickets of sound being generated. The riff taken onwards... When they slipped into the more abstract areas of granularities, breath/embouchural manipulations, hands on drums, cymbals, added small effects, Edwards' large sonic canvas scored high, his rubbings, scrapings and expansions of the conventional sound world of the bass providing mighty additions to enlarging and enriching the immediately expanding terrain. Solos all round, Love providing some roisterous drums alongside his more contemplative forays into sonorities, Edwards using bow, hands to pluck, slap and pummel, in one passage skittering near to more conventional jazz lines with accurate and fast pizzicato walking. Vandemark deployed his clarinet to good effect again, the high register sailing over the clattering middle and bottom with elegant freedom. Near the end he gave a breathy held note on tenor that seemed to be a signal to stop – but the other two continued for another couple of minutes until another long note finally brought the performance to another quiet conclusion.

Great stuff. From his Twitter again: '...burning trio with John Edwards- great.' Succinct and accurate...
So: another extremely enjoyable night down at the Oto – flying the flag for free jazz... I love this place and the continuing variety of superb musicians they have been bringing in, the intimacy where you can see/hear close up the nuances and shifts that make up a successful improvisatory snatched-in-the-moment experience. The lager is crap, though, but a small sacrifice – the art not the booze, or something... ars longa lager brevis...
Next Sunday - off to Freedom in the City - and Carla Bozulich on the monday night...

Alan Sillitoe 1928-2010...

2010-04-25T07:25:00.000-07:00

Sad news that one the truly great English writers has just died - Alan Sillitoe. A hero of mine, especially coming from just up the road, Nottingham, and one of the few writers, in my opinion, to stand near his earlier neighbour, D.H. Lawrence. Tough, uncompromising, unique, an anarchic presence in the over-ordered house of Brit literature - where there aren't many great writers these days, apart from Iain Sinclair and a couple of others. I re-read his William Posters Trilogy recently and marveled at the freshness and hope, passages of stunning writing. Forget Amis, McEwan and co... We shall not see his like...

Vandermark/Love/Edwards...

2010-04-24T06:57:00.000-07:00

Just got back from London after attending another mighty gig at the Cafe Oto - first night of Ken Vandermark/Paal Nilssen Love's gig, with John Edwards in attendance. Maybe review to follow - not making any more rash statements of intent, given the last few weeks!

Arkestra...

2010-04-13T08:29:00.000-07:00

Just back from London and my head is still spinning from the fantastic gig last night - The Sun Ra Arkestra (directed by Marshall Allen) at the Cafe Oto. More later...

figure of outward...

2010-04-06T06:22:00.000-07:00

It's my birthday - so what better time than to launch a new album/venture: figure of outward/one which will be on the RUU label - sited now at Bandcamp.

Music and info here

Pete Morton at the Musician...

2010-04-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Over to Leicester on a raw, miserable night - to be uplifted by Pete Morton, previewing new material for an upcoming album. Stirring, brilliant, maybe review to follow... This man is always moving, never content to fall back on nostalgia/safety, and his new songs are well up to his own high standard...

Eartrip 5 out...

2010-03-24T15:44:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a damp Sussex and discovered that David Grundy has just upped
Eartrip 5... worth a read, folks - a labour of love... download links are on the site...

Review: Joe McPhee/Chris Corsano with John Edwards/Paul Dunmall at the Cafe Oto, Tuesday 9th March, 2010...

2010-03-15T10:21:00.000-07:00

Wordsworth famously wrote in his introduction to 'Lyrical Ballads': 'poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.' There was plenty of 'spontaneous overflow' flying around on Tuesday evening last at the Cafe Oto, the first leg of Joe McPhee/Chris Corsano's two night residency and the end result was: instant poetry. Joined by master bassman Jon Edwards and Paul Dunmall on tenor saxophone, a fascinating gig unfolded – one of the best of the year in a year so far full of them. Tranquility a plenty here this morning... but the recollection scenario may be a trifle more complicated. A few days back and no notes taken, only the snapshots and aural fragments remain in this ageing bundle of synapses. And I am not the poet but the inadequate carrier, the origins and immediate results were on the night. But here we go:

Opening with the headliners, drummer/percussionist Corsano and McPhee on alto saxophone, starting quietly with discreet noises, taps and rattles, breathy ghost notes, they soon started to stretch out across the territory available. Which given the majestic pedigree of Joe McPhee and the younger Corsano's awesome technique is a wide, wide open space. McPhee is a master of multisonics on his instruments and Corsano uses an expanded kit and often electronics to buttress his rhythmic muse. Their explorations moved from small gestures - some on the brink of audibility, a fascinating move in this crowded room but it worked, forcing you to concentrate - to the wilder polyrhythmic shores of Corsano unleashed, with McPhee hard-blowing over the top. McPhee's experiments with sounds and granularities were balanced by a strong melodic anchoring throughout. A modal/folkish feel at times.

They were eventually joined by John Edwards and Paul Dunmall, the bass player starting in with clicky, fast finger-picked figures high up the neck, one hand plucking and fretting as the other chased it, before he went deeper into the range and locked in with the drums. Dunmall up, for a trio at first as Mcphee dropped back, tonight playing more fully, I thought, than the other week with Matthew Shipp, in the first set unleashing torrents of long lines, a big brawling warm-hearted sound. McPhee eventually joined them, going between his alto and his pocket trumpet, this last a high-scrabbling that ran in exhilarating tandem with Dunmall. Onwards, they veered between fire music and filigree: smaller, quieter interludes – a master exercise in dynamics over this long set, finishing on a fantastic duo section between saxophone and trumpet.

Second half. Dunmall more oblique in places, short abrupt phrases tossed rhythmically about - although he unleashed plenty of longer line linearity, there was a more jagged feel, spiced with some deep blats and honks out of the classic r and b playbook. A varied set again, with the musicians splitting into trios, duos and occasional solos. McPhee hauled out his soprano to add to alto and trumpet, giving a more powerful weaving with Dunmall's tenor – the pocket trumpet struggled a little throughout due to its relatively lighter sonority. Again – what was striking was the ability the band had to move between sonic abstraction and more 'jazz' pulse orientated improvisations. Solos all round, of course – Corsano brought the house down with his and Edwards was his formidable self, McPhee and Dunmall equally assured in their expositions, the older man pushing further outwards on his instruments than the tenor saxophonist yet always returning – as did Dunmall – to primal melody. What was fascinating was the expanded space created where movement freely crossed the usual barriers – it was not 'jazz' with added sonics unsteadily grafted on or the reverse but a music in the moment that moved fluidly between these vaguely signposted areas and beyond. Several times throughout I suddenly realised that one section, say a duo between drummer and bassist which had been digging deep into expanded technical sonic gestures, bowed cymbals, frottaged bass, for example, had suddenly edged back in to the whole band rocking at full blast – with no perceived 'join' or Zornian jumpcut - rather a natural movement of mutual authority and widened vocabularies.

If a word summed up the evening, it would be 'generosity.' McPhee shared his sets equably and amicably, giving each performer plenty of opportunity to strut their considerable stuff while displaying the generous range of his own talents. A pure master. Put this all together and you have a satisfyingly/stimulatingly generous range of music – that 'spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings,' the instantaneous musical poetry of which is later commented on – here - in hazardous recollection and some 'tranquility.' The memory does not create the poetry. In this case – it was already there in the moment... Trust me on that at least...

Without generosity, there is no adventure... let Joe McPhee have the last word:

'This music...call it jazz or whatever, is a living thing, not museum music...it needs to take risks in order to adapt and survive.'
(From here... )

Almost there...

2010-03-15T05:16:00.001-07:00

At last - almost finished the (incredibly) belated review of last week's Joe McPhee/Chris Corsano first night... upping it soon...

Joe McPhee and co...

2010-03-08T14:36:00.000-08:00

Off to London in the morning for a couple of days - Cafe Oto tomorrow for another go round - this time, the mighty Joe McPhee in fast company: Chris Corsano, John Edwards and Paul Dunmall. It doesn't get a lot better than this... review no doubt to follow...

Review: Matthew Shipp with John Edwards/Paul Dunmall/Mark Sanders at Cafe Oto, Friday February 12th, 2010...

2010-02-16T04:27:00.000-08:00

At least it wasn't raining... but another grey day when I arrived in London with any idea of getting down to see the Arshile Gorky exhibition given up when I got out of St Pancras.

Got to the Cafe Oto in good time – I had mentally earmarked my position on the bench by the back wall so wanted to get through the doors early enough to grab it. Mission accomplished. Another crowded night for the first leg of New Yorker Matthew Shipp's three day tenure here, tonight supported by the mighty John Edwards, Mark Sanders and one of my all-time favourite horn players, Paul Dunmall.

Shipp starts, leading off slowly down low and the band come in. Dunmall plays a repeated short motif that I'd heard while they were doing a soundcheck and it pops up throughout the sets. At first Edwards' bass was struggling in the mix due to the deep thunder of Shipp's monster chords tangling up the sonic levels between the two instruments. You could feel the bass more than hear it. Mark Sanders was ticking along lightly, occasional flurries and sudden timbral rips coming through, a drummer who plays as much with expanded sonorities as well as rhythm. The bass became clearer as the bottom levels settled down – adjustment on the p.a.? Or just the band feeling their way through, perhaps? Shipp is a two-fisted player, introducing a reiterated thumping march-like series of chords that became another anchor for this set, echoed by the bass in places. The quartet divided up into occasional duos, or Dunmall dropping out for the piano, bass and drums, sections that occasionally evoked earlier modern jazz conventions with comping left hand and right hand spinning oblique melodies. As the set progressed Sanders became louder, more assertive, probably realising that the lower register hammerings of the piano needed more rhythmic stridency to balance up. Shipp was playing tough stuff, lightened up with occasional quieter flourishes. As the bass and drums balanced up, Edwards really started to drive it along – taking a short solo at one point that demonstrated all his skills – arco crossed with up-the- neck pizzicato one hand pinches and flurries, slaps to the instrument's bodywork, a dazzling display. As ever.
Dunmall inserted small chunks of melody into the fray, spinning into more elongated lines when the spirit moved, mainly within the standard tenor range, with some throaty lower register honks and blats.
An intriguing set, this first night, it was fascinating to witness these four musicians finding their places in the available spaces – or creating fresh areas to explore. The piano, of course, adds a verticality that had to be coped with. High energy stuff, nevertheless...

Second half. Shipp inside the piano, plucking bell- like tones for bass and the drummer to respond to. A game these guys know well – answered and echoed, Sanders moving to smaller instruments – brass bowls struck with mallets and cymbal manipulations. Creating a totally different sound environment from the first set which was intelligent planning. Dunmall stood benignly to the side for a while until he joined them with a breathy single repeated note, varying the timbre to fit the mood being evoked. Almost imperceptibly they moved back into band mode and 'free jazz.' Again, passages between the piano, bass and drums that approached a conventional 'jazz' swing – nothing as blatant as bebop and beyond cymbal ker-ching ker-ching and finger snaps on the off beats but a fluid rhythmic movement. Getting towards the end, they started to roar, Dunmall finding his feet on these thorny paths with some hard blowing negotiations. Ending on storms of applause. Rightly so. An intriguing night and I wish I could have gone to the next two to see how this all developed. Shipp did not play much solo piano which was a shame, perhaps, but obviously he had decided this was a communal effort. His piano, however, dominated the ensemble, powerful sonorities rising from hammered-out chords, never afraid of grabbing a chunk of clusters and banging them out repeatedly with great ferocity or using the ominous descending march-like progression which occurred several times and this vertical density dictated to a greater extent which way the music would move. Edwards and Sanders – and Dunmall perhaps to a fractionally lesser extent – rose to the challenges offered. I'm starting to fall in love with the Cafe Oto...

En passant... Matthew Shipp is noted for the variety of his collaborations, not just inside the 'jazz' continuum but beyond... Mapsadaisical has a good review here of his Saturday night performance with J Spaceman, John Coxon and Steve Noble...

Back...

2010-02-14T05:59:00.000-08:00

Back from London... a mighty gig at the Cafe Oto on Friday night - the first leg of the three - Matthew Shipp on fine piano pounding form, buttressed by John Edmunds, Mark Sanders and Paul Dunmall. Review to follow at some point - deciphering the Scrawls, as it were... sometime after early doors, one suspects. It's one of those days...

See below...

2010-02-03T12:45:00.000-08:00

Forgot to mention below - there is a good review of the Brötzmann residency's
third night here...

Review: Peter Brötzmann with Tony Marsh, John Edwards, Roland Ramanan at the Cafe Oto, London, Thursday 28th January, 2010...

2010-02-03T12:39:00.000-08:00

I went to London for a couple of days last week in search of much-needed r and r. Already had a ticket for the Peter Brötzmann gig at the Cafe Oto and was looking forward to hearing him again. Arrived somewhat exhausted and had to have a rest before I went out in search of Dalston and the venue – by which time the rain was lashing down. An unpropitious start... I arrived a little too early and was reduced to huddling in a door outside the club where I met a young guy who had driven down from Manchester for the gig – a big Brötzmann fan who also truly dug Albert Ayler so we struck up a conversation, occasionally peering into the Oto where the band were having a quick run through and the staff laying out the room for the evening. By the time the doors opened there was a sizable bedraggled mob outside... Brötz remarked, rather wrily, at the end of his London Jazz Festival gig in 2008 (review here) that he didn't get invited to London very often. Looking at the horde who turned up on a foul night, hopefully this will change in the future. I managed to get in fairly quickly and grab my position for the night – a table against the wall facing the bandstand with easy access to the bar and the toilets, old hand that I am... This was my first time at the Oto and it's a good room, a blocky L shape with the bar in the L. Nothing fancy and who needs it – I had a seat, very quickly a drink to warm me up and was ready for the shindig as the place got more and more crowded.

Herr Brötzmann came out to play a solo set first off – starting on alto then moving onto what I assume was the taragato. Straight away, what struck me was the throaty power he generated up close. I've seen him in concert at the crap South Bank in a larger space (as mentioned above) but here you are never far from the bandstand. The conversation outside had generated the reminder of Milford Graves talking about Albert A, that he could blow the house down with his formidable sound and Peter Brötzmann reminded me here of his lineage. (The late Ayler's vibrato could have matched Joshua's trumpet section at the battle of Jericho in the shaking-down-the-walls scenario, one suspects). The lungpower, no doubt built up from playing tenor all these years, added to a lot of lower range playing made the alto sound more like his once-main horn at times, although he played all over its range and balanced the deeper moments with plenty of screeching through the registers to rip out some high flying squalls. Yet it wasn't all granularity – he has a melodic, quieter side that contrasts with the sturm und drang he is noted for. Fast tough-blown scrabbles were balanced by long, yearning notes, giving a folk-ish sound, a touch of Eastern Europe perhaps, opening up some different spaces. More so on the taragato which is an instrument that originated in Hungary. He also engaged in some interesting distortions on this horn, doing a curious rubbing/strangling motion across the top keys while his other hand fingered more conventionally lower down that produced some interesting sonics. Whether it is the years taking their toll – although he looks remarkably sturdy and a level of fitness is a prerequisite for playing wind instruments – or just a musical tactic, his lines are choppier than I remember, the melodies breaking quicker, statement and comment more delineated by this into shorter units.

The second set was freejazz blowout time – with a rhythm team of Tony Marsh and John on bass, what else? Edwards and his drum partner set a fierce pace, from the off, the bass thrummed, pummelled and slapped to provide a massive sound. Joined by Roland Ramanan on trumpet, Brötzmann commenced on tenor before switching his horns around, alto, taragato, clarinet. Wild and heady stuff, everyone looked as if they were enjoying themselves, the heat of the moment at one point bearing down on Edward's bass – he broke a string early in, but kept on going. A man who plays as much bass as he does, losing a string hardly counted, annoying though it must have been. Maybe Brotzman sends out a vibe – I remember the same thing happened at the Purcell Room when his electric bass player, Marino Pliakas, snapped a string! Unusual occurrence on either instrument, I would have thought... Ramanan was an exemplary partner, stabbing and probing, commenting on the sax action and unleashing occasional forays of longer lines when the spaces emerged for his solos. By and large staying within the usual range on his horn. There was a sense of good-natured rivalry, the locals taking no prisoners, but Brötzmann is still a world class player, capable of riding any storm and replying in kind - and more. Yet although the overall vibe was wild and abandoned, there were occasional moments of calm where he brought out his more lyrical side – these brief episodes pointed up all the more by the surrounding fire.

My first visit to Oto – and I left wondering why it had taken me so long... accident, really. But I enjoyed both the music and the venue, impressed by a London audience who, on a crowded, standing room only night, listened throughout with rapt attention. Who says that free jazz can't communicate? They loved it all and applauded heartily. I'm already booked in for Matthew Shipp and the Arkestra... can't wait.

Soon...

2010-02-03T12:18:00.000-08:00

Everything is belated at the moment - but I hope to finally get some kind of a review of Peter Brotzmann's first night at the Cafe Oto up asap...

We get requests... re-ups...

2010-02-02T11:06:00.000-08:00

I had a request for some re-ups from the other week so here they are... Original post is here...

Evan Parker
Evan Parker (ts) Barry Guy (b) Paul Lytton (d)
Geometry
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Gene Ammons/Richard Groove Holmes
Gene Ammons (ts) Richard Holmes (org) Gene Edwards (g) Leroy Henderson (d)
Exactly like you
Download

Buy

Ornette Coleman
Ornette Coleman (as, tp, vln) David Izenzon (b) Charles Moffett (d)
Clergyman's Dream
Download

Buy

Jimmy Giuffre
Jimmy Guiffre (cl) Bob Brookmeyer (v-tr) Jim Hall (g)
Blue Monk
Download

Buy

Review... Future of Folk Concert at the Grand Union Club, Barrow, Monday, January 25th, 2010

2010-02-01T13:34:00.000-08:00

Down to the Soar Bridge Inn on Monday 25th January for their young folk musicians feature, compered by Tom Kitching and Gren Bartley who also closed the show. Back in the day... many folk clubs used to be like this, a mixture of ages, old and new musics, a mélange that worked – and drew a large audience... One of my beefs with the current scene is that there is too often a preponderance of older people, playing and audience, a demographic factor that bodes ill for the future, tempered perhaps by the fact that the audiences are still around but are fragmented, go to different venues – acoustic sessions etc. Overall, there are plenty of young musicians using 'folk' either as a mainstream or a springboard to experimentation, yet you don't always see this in the average 'folk' club. Tonight was some proof indeed that the heart is still beating in the old body. House sold out and Bill Wilkes looked a happy man as we were treated to a sample of the moment. Starting with Andy Parr who seemed absurdly young but managed the opening spot with quiet panache – he kept his nerves in check on what must have been a daunting evening. Andy plays concertina, flute, whistle and sings in a high plaintive voice. His instrumental skills passed the test – a couple of fluffs here and there not detracting from his energy and skill. For me, his singing was the highlight of the set – I don't engage with instrumental folk music in the same way so freely declare my bias – but his choice of song was interesting and intelligently placed for this crowd who have firepower to spare in the choruses but know when to rein back and not overwhelm – as tonight. The Graham Miles song 'Snows of Winter' was given a sensitive reading buttressed by the assembled voices and the surprise for me – 'Wild Mountain Thyme.' A song that I remember hearing by the McPeake Family in the mid-sixties when, as a young jazz buff, I first became acquainted with folk music, which became one of those anthems that got sang to death. Yet: tonight given a totally fresh reading. Parr's voice was especially poignant here I thought and gave a marvellous link backwards for many here tonight in a natural rather than schmalzy manner.

Like I said, instrumental folk music is not my cup of meat but the duo next up played a vibrant, bouncing set, fluency coming from their paired melodeons that demonstrated an empathy beyond just knowing the notes – apparently they have played together for a good few years and this comes over in their music. Great stuff from Claire Haliday and Lauren Kluge and a nice contrast to keep the night rolling. Could almost convert me into moseying along to a ceilidh...

The advertised band apparently had to drop out late but Gren had a dep handy – Jess Morgan, from Norwich. A singer-songwriter, thrown into a folky audience – she said self-deprecatingly 'My link to folk music is a bit tenuous' – but she made out ok and they are not a shut-down puritan audience here, in the main. Interesting mixture of fragility and strength, songs spun out from her life experience with an emotional edge that carried them along well. I thought she was great – a lucky accident that provided another dimension to the theme of the night.

Lucy Ward up to the plate. I saw her a couple of months ago at this venue and was bowled over by her energy and confidence. Very up-front – 'Ay up, you all right.' Derby neat, me duck - her accent gives a natural channel to the 'tradition' without the usual linguistic contortions. (Inverted commas used to indicate the uneasy and disputed ground that word alludes to). Lucy is very much a force of nature with an abundance of sheer good-natured energy. Like all the musicians here tonight, she has a sharp intelligence and is obviously destined for a succesful career in music - or beyond. A wide range on display – 'The Fairy Boy' and Alex Glasgow's fierce 'Close the coalhouse door,' the raw Lal Waterson song 'Red Wine and Promises,' her own compositions – from the bawdy poignance of 'The Canny Lad' to the sensitivity of 'Adelphi' and contemporary relevance of ''A Life backwards.' Lucy also gave a tribute to the late Kate McGarrigle with 'Heart like a Wheel' which hit a strong emotional chord. Going out by inviting the mighty GU4 to join her on an impromptu 'House of the Rising Sun,' which was a coup de théâtre – and another resurrected war-horse with some new breath pumped into it.

Gren and Tom – I declare my interest, knowing both these gentlemen somewhat and having reviewed them often before. As they have been building their careers – as a duo and in their separate endeavours – every time I have dropped in on various points along the road I have been impressed with the speed of the learning. New material assimilated, stage personas solidifying, technique allied to emotion, energy and commitment of course – but also the plain fact that they are diamond geezers. So I'm a star-fucker – shoot me... Onto the music. A paradigmatic start: 'Green Bed' was an old English song that travelled to the US, which justifies the backbeat on two and four. Gren and Tom have evolved a fascinating and varied repertoire that incorporates English, American material - and beyond - plus self-penned songs and tunes that flows seamlessly as guitar and banjo are swopped round. Veering more towards the U.S. tonight with a wild version of the 'Levi Jefferson Rag,' Tom's rampaging fiddle daring Gren's fingerpicking to keep up – which it did. Followed by the old Gus Cannon song 'Walk Right In' with Gren switching to banjo. Then a sensitive reading of Blind Willie Johnson's 'You're going to need somebody on your bond.' They vary their sets with solo spots that showcase the variety of their interests. Tom first tonight with a dazzling rendition of a tune the name of which I didn't catch. Apologies to Mr Kitching... Slap ma ears... Tonight an added bonus – an old friend, Big Dave, back from his travels and invited by Gren to join him in a song they used to perform a while back during university days – a raucous version of 'Barratt's Privateers.' Tom returned for Gren's own 'Fly Fly.' After which, a swing back into the tradition with 'Old Sir Simon the King' - helter skelter words to a jogging rhythm. Then the moving 'No More Auction Block' which is a brave song to attempt but they have worked out how to do a sympathetic rendition without being self-conscious about the subject matter - slavery. 'The Jolly Wagoner' was given a brisk run, the old cart bouncing on syncopation and hoe-down, as it were.
The evening went out on another old favourite of yesteryear, with all the musicians present invited up to play along on 'Long John.' Another link in the chain... the ghosts of skiffle evoked via the shadow of 'Long Lost John etc...

The balance they achieve between the traditions is interesting - there's a strong American influence rhythmically and an obvious debt to the blues but avoiding obvious clichés - you don't hear many bent/blue notes for example, as if the African-American streams are filtered back across the English tradition to eliminate any obvious 'blackface' renditions.

So: a great night - and one that perhaps bodes well for the future...

Back from London...

2010-01-31T06:16:00.000-08:00

Back from London with everything backed up... the review of Monday's gig hopefully will go up today... dunno about Peter Brotzmann at the Oto thursday - a brilliant evening... Trip finished off nicely with visit to the Turner and the Masters exhibition at the Tate Britain- amazing selection of paintings here... reserve judgement on Chris Ofili...

Future of Folk concert...

2010-01-26T05:48:00.000-08:00

Great gig last night over in in Barrow - the 'Future of Folk' concert at the Soar Bridge Inn. Photos and possibly review to follow - off to London on Thursday for a couple of days - Peter Brotzmann ticket booked for the Cafe Oto that night...

We get requests... Cecil Taylor/Evan Parker/Barry Guy/Tony Oxley... re-up

2010-01-11T15:07:00.000-08:00

I had a request for this from Wayfaerer (who is a contributor to an interesting blog here) and actually found it quicker than I thought I would do... after another move a few months ago I've still got boxes stacked up and unsorted but the gods guided my hand swiftly... so, this is a quartet, Cecil Taylor, Evan Parker, Barry Guy and Tony Oxley, playing 'Last.' Recorded in Berlin on September 26th, 1990, I wrote at length about this track here in 2006 so... that's it...

Cecil Taylor Quartet
Cecil Taylor (p) Evan Parker (ss, ts) Barry Guy (b) Tony Oxley (d)
Last
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Three times three... Evan Parker... Jimmy Giuffre... Ornette Coleman... plus Gene Ammons and Richard 'Groove' Holmes...

2010-01-10T12:42:00.000-08:00

A belated happy new year to everyone... and three trios plus an organ and tenor combo to greet 2010...

Evan Parker Trio and 'Geometry.' Starts off busy, fragments of saxophone and bass running round each other as the drums lay out a broad sweep underneath to carry them. Dropping back to solo drums, intricate use of space and silence, a sparseness that builds back into more layered and complicated rhythms then eases again into pointillist dabs of sound at the high end of the range, spliced with sudden runs into the lower sax register. Parker coming from small pieces of sound to build a knottier line, disrupted by sudden register leaps, his trademark illusion of playing several lines at once. Fast clattering from Lytton, cymbals occasionally lashing through like sabres, who falls out to leave Parker strafed by Guy's prodding and speedy pattering. Sometimes hard to distinguish who is playing what in an area where rhythm, melody and sound disrupt conventional boundaries. Going to the end on some throaty blowing and quick-walking bass, Lytton sure-footedly booting it along. Three as one, post-Euclidean definitely...

Another trio... Jimmy Giuffre with Bob Brookmeyer and Jim Hall, their version of 'Blue Monk, from 1958 and the album 'Western Suite.' Jumping across time and genres, shadowing the 'archetypal' nature of the original, they come in on an easy swing propelled by Hall's guitar in a chugging straight four that echoes the likes of Freddy Green. This timeless feel reinforced by Guiffre on clarinet, blending with the trombone as a two thirds approximation of the classic New Orleans front line. Giuffre solos first, chalameau register with the odd piping move into higher registers, occasional trombone shadowing. Brookmeyer solos after the leader, in turn swathed in Giuffre's woody obbligatos. Hall chordally thunks out a couple of choruses with ghostly support from trombone and clarinet before spreading out melodically but staying within basic bluesy parameters. A masterly minimal and original look at one of Monk's greatest tunes that takes it back to its roots without being preciously retro. This trio manage to create a large airy space to move through – while generating a full sound that belies the numbers. Hall is the backbone for this strategy – his deep moving notes offer the illusion of a bass while his chord work fills out the middle. Giuffre dropped the drums in his ground-breaking trios of the fifties, probably because his own visions of freedom in jazz would have been shackled by most conventional modern jazz drummers of the time... I always see a link between him and Ornette Coleman, not least their Texan connection...

... which leads to: Ornette and his 1965 trio on tour in Europe, recorded at the Tivolis Koncertsal, Copenhagen, Denmark, November 30, 1965. One of my favourite lineups, Izenzon on bass and Charles Moffett on drums to support the leader, on fine form that year. This is 'Clergyman's Dream,' one of those odd yet memorable Coleman tunes, combining a brief slow slurred section with a sprightly answering. Ornette takes an exhilarating solo, bluesy combined with unfettered freedoms - themselves grounded in the logics of the blues? Izenzon plays fairly solid four throughout then moves outwards in his own solo – fast runs and pauses that indicate his thought processes, subtly backed by faintly hissing cymbals. Moffett up next for a swinging section that combines those old jazz virtues with a new linearity and melodic sense, new in the sense that although his antecedents – Max Roach and Kenny Clarke to name two who explored the extended rhythmic melodic possibilities given by bop but one could go further back to Warren 'Baby' Dodds for the sake of inclusion – had done similar, they were still playing in the main across set chorus structures. Moffett has the wide open spaces in front of him to explore... and does. Ornette returns and the track goes into some intriguing stretching and contracting as the rhythm breaks up. Back into the theme for the last minute of so ending on a rapid run through. Cue applause and rightly so...

Going out on some Gene Ammons and Richard 'Groove' Holmes from a live recording at the Black Orchid Lounge in Chicago in 1961... I've mentioned before when putting up a couple of tracks from the album that I bought this when I was a teenager and have that obsessive fondness for it still, remembering how it was when young, with little money and no great range of stuff to buy anyway in the jazz racks of the local shops, so that each album became a small treasure. This is a joyful bounce through 'Exactly like you,' 'meat and potatoes' jazz I called it before, the classic organ and tenor combo. Swinging, soulful, social music – yet with some bite to it, due to the skills involved. Ammons solo combines big-hearted r and b rawness with some hurtling bebop flurries later in, Holmes ice cool organ, like the joys of a menthol cigarette in more innocent days. Some trading between the constituents at the end to keep the crowd happy – the applause sounds as if they succeeded. The whimsical thought just occurred to me that Groove Holmes sounds like a hip building company specialising in real estate for bohemians...

Evan Parker
Evan Parker (ts) Barry Guy (b) Paul Lytton (d)
Geometry
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Buy

Jimmy Giuffre
Jimmy Guiffre (cl) Bob Brookmeyer (v-tr) Jim Hall (g)
Blue Monk
Download

Buy

Ornette Coleman (as, tp, vln) David Izenzon (b) Charles Moffett (d)
Clergyman's Dream
Download

Buy

Ammons/Holmes
Gene Ammons (ts) Richard Holmes (org) Gene Edwards (g) Leroy Henderson (d)
Exactly like you
Download

Buy

Christmas Greetings... and some music... Howling Wolf... Paul Butterfield... Steve Lacy...John Zorn... Funkadelic... Thelonious Monk... Lennie Tristano...

2009-12-26T04:30:00.000-08:00

Seasons greetings to all. It's been a while... but I've decided that there might be some life in the mp3 free download and obscure chat formula still - maybe a concentrated look at a track or two could still be interesting in this age of mass album downloads - well, before they shut us all down, or try to... I live in the hope that the Internet can resist the fools and thieves - i.e. politicians - and their attempts at policing the Anarchosphere...

To the music: here comes the Taildragger – the mighty Howling Wolf performing 'Shake for me.' Taken from a live recording from the American Folk Blues Festival on tour in 1964. Guessing at the lineup, Hubert Sumlin contributes some stinging sharp guitar, comping and single note lines that lock nicely with Sunnyland Slim's piano. Classic Chicago blues...

Some rocky white blues edging into r and b/soul stylings with the addition of the horn section – Paul Butterfield and his band at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967. Playing 'Driftin' Blues,' I'm guessing this is the same lineup that recorded 'Resurrection of Pigboy Crabshaw,' so Keith Johnson on trumpet leading it in before the vocal takes it up, shadowed by Elvin Bishop's guitar. Butterfield takes a harp solo, three eloquent choruses that build nicely. Video of the performance here

Steve Lacy with bass and drums playing 'Blue Jay' from his album 'The Holy La,' recorded in France in 1998. Despite all his years playing, there was always an early morning fresh jump out of bed feel to his work.

John Zorn in 1998. From the album 'Downtown Lullaby,' this is '228 West Broadway.' Bit of a curiosity, interesting in the sense that the musicians: Zorn plus Wayne Horvitz, keyboards, Elliott Sharp, guitar and Bobby Previte on drums freely improvised the material in the studio and then added the titles – all New York addresses that refer, I think, to loft spaces where they have played. Oddly eastern feel to it - Elliott Sharp's electric guitar weaving in and out of Zorn's alto over minimal drums that build into a backbeat that stops just under four minutes in as Horvitz drops in some sprinkles of keyboard, reforming again after half a minute, adding some cymbal splash. Starting to get more interestingly tangled together, Previte mixing up the rhythm, keyboard dropping in some chordal crashes. Ebbing away and down as Zorn plays with a fragment of melody, tossing it around gently. Out on faint scuffling drums and a dying guitar note.

Mr Clinton from 1974. 'Alice in my fantasies,' from 'Standing on the verge of getting it on.' I first got into George C when I bought a copy of Parliament's 'Chocolate City' in a Dublin cut-out bin, circa 1976(? - That was a heavy Black Bushmills year). Not sure how the new prez will work out after a decidedly jumpy start, but let's be charitable in hard times: 'You're the capital, C.C.' This is a wild ride which cuts through a few genre barriers, rock colliding with funk in a heavy guitar-laced track, some weirdo vocal giving way to the mighty 'Smedley Smorganoff,' the criminally unsung Eddie Hazell blasting out some fierce wah wah, fading out somewhat abruptly. A bit of fun...

Monk, the first album he made for Columbia – 'Monk's Dream' – and take one of 'Bye-ya.' Another album which is important to me – I bought this when I was living with my first wife in some glorious boho dump in London – our first 'apartment.' Used to play this on a portable record player... it was my birthday present from her that year. Frankie Dunlop's drums open by spelling out the rhythm of the theme, when the band come in they accentuate Monk's compositionary vision - a seamless mix of rhythm, melody and harmony. Charlie Rouse takes a jaunty solo, followed by Monk in expansive mood, prodding and flowing in equal order, jumping off a riff to roll down on his patented whole note runs. A solo that amply demonstrates how he respects his improvisational start points. But everything on a good Monk track (which was most of them) always comes together - not always on first listen if you don't understand his vocabulary but there is always a supreme musical intelligence at work. Tunes are never just vehicles for blowing - over the years that I have been listening to his work, since that mind-blowing performance in 'Jazz on a Summer's Day' which opened my very young ears further to the possibilities of modern jazz and beyond, I have never bought into the myths that he was some kind of mad primitive. Monk was an exotic character, which is part of his appeal, but the vision behind the music and the man should be acknowledged more. It looks as if the new biography may go some way to rectify some of the idiocies - can't wait to grab a copy in the New Year. Apparently Bill Evans thought that Monk's singular vision was due to not being exposed to Western classical music, some kind of idiot savant... which demonstrates my point. Yes he was, Bill...

Another pianist/visionary who suffered at the hands of critical myopia - ironic, given his own disability - was Lennie Tristano. While Monk had at least a good measure of success in his life and is still acclaimed critically, Tristano was never as highly regarded - yet he was one of the great pillars of modern jazz with a unique take on linearity and melody. Here he leads a powerhouse lineup - Warne Marsh and Lee Konitz on saxophones, Billy Bauer on guitar, Arnold Frishkin, bass and Denzil Best on drums. One of those corny titles: 'Sax of a kind' - ha ha - which disguises a fleet and intricate theme. Bauer solos first, fluently - he was a fine bebop guitar player - followed seamlessly by Tristano, over to Konitz then Marsh, a brief trade between the saxes then into the theme before you realise it. One flowing whole, no joins - fascinating, how Tristano taught his methods of improvisation to pupils who remained of his school while developing their own distinct approaches.

Back soon...

Howling Wolf
with possibly Sunnyland Slim (p) Hubert Sumlin (g) Willie Dixon (b) Clifton James (d)
Shake for me
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Paul Butterfield
Paul Butterfield(v,hca)
with possibly Elvin Bishop (g)David Sanborn (as) Brother Gene Dinwiddie (ts) Keith Johnson (t) Mark Naftalin (keys) Bugsy Maugh (b) Phillip Wilson (d)
Driftin' Blues
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Steve Lacy
Steve Lacy (ss) Jean-Jacques Avenel (b) John Betsch (d)
Blue Jay
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John Zorn
John Zorn (as) Wayne Horvitz (keys) Elliott Sharp (g) Bobby Previte
228 West Broadway
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George Clinton/Funkadelic
Spaced Viking; Keyboards & Vocals: Bernard (Bernie) Worrell
Tenor Vocals, Congas and Suave Personality: Calvin Simon
A Prototype Werewolf; Berserker Octave Vocals: Clarence 'Fuzzy' Haskins
World's Only Black Leprechaun; Bass & Vocals: Cordell 'Boogie' Mosson
Maggoteer Lead/Solo Guitar & Vocals: Eddie 'Smedley Smorganoff' Hazel
Rhythm/Lead Guitar, Doowop Vocals, Sinister Grin: Gary Shider
Supreme Maggot Minister of Funkadelia; Vocals, Maniac Froth and Spit;
Behaviour Illegal In Several States: George Clinton
Percussion & Vocals; Equipped with stereo armpits: Ramon 'Tiki' Fulwood
Rhythm/Lead Guitar; polyester soul-powered token white devil: Ron Bykowski
Registered and Licensced Genie; Vocals: 'Shady' Grady Thomas
Subterranean Bass Vocals, Supercool and Stinky Fingers: Ray (Stingray) Davis
Alice in my fantasies
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Thelonious Monk
Thelonious Monk (p) Charlie Rouse (ts) John Ore (b) Frankie Dunlop (d)
Bye-ya take one
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Lennie Tristano
Lee Konitz (as) Warne Marsh (ts) Lennie Tristano (p) Billy Bauer (g) Arnold Fishkin (b) Denzil Best (d)
Sax of a kind
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Review: Anni Fentiman/Dave Webber/Brian Peters: The Road to Mandalay... Monday, 23d November, 2009...

2009-11-25T02:32:00.000-08:00

Monday night: over to the Grand Union now that the rain has eased... an unusual gig, Anni Fenterman, Dave Webber and Brian Peters coming together for their take on Kipling's 'Barrack Room Ballads' and beyond via the settings of the late Pete Bellamy. Supported by the usual high level of singing from the floor and two veterans of the scene, Tim Garland and Geoff Halford, a veteran's veteran perhaps but still a deep power in his lungs and heart that belie his years.

A slightly different format for a folk gig and one that worked very well – contextual readings in between the songs to situate them in their time and to subtly point out the continuing relevance of the way that the 'brutal licentious soldiery' are still treated. Check out 'Tommy,' for example...

'For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot.'

(As if to demonstrate the continuing relevance of Kipling, I have seen this poem quoted extensively over the last couple of years – for obvious reasons).

Kipling was(is?) deeply unfashionable for years for a variety of reasons, locked out of the canon until some brave souls – and Bellamy was in the van – dug deeper than the cliches engendered by sadarse literary departments. Slowly the ripples went out and I can remember hearing many of the songs delivered tonight down the years, one here, one there as tastes slowly changed. Although – I see that Neil Gaiman was attacked recently when he disclosed his love of Kipling's work. The usual claptrap – 'fascist apologist for Empire' – by the usual thought fascists who have a limited conception of free speech and even less understanding of a man like Kipling and his time. See here... As Paris Nat Schaffer would have said: 'xxxxing schnorrers.' But enough of my diatribing...

The robust rhythms of the 'Ballads' lend themselves to musical settings and Bellamy's skill adds another dimension to them. Brian Peters mentioned the speculations that Kipling was writing with folk and music hall tunes in his mind and it's a reasonable bet – although I would wager more on the music hall side, not that it matters. Kipling had the rare gift of getting inside his subjects and channelling their hard, rough, often boring and frequently dangerous lifes. Capturing the elusive joys of hard drinking – and the consequences - in 'Cells:'

'I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick:
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink
and blacking the Corporal's eye.'

Or the harsh punishment that befell 'Danny Deever' for murdering one of his NCO's – a vivid portrayal of a military execution.

'They are hangin' Danny Deever, they are marchin' of 'im round,
They 'ave 'alted Danny Deever by 'is coffin on the ground;
An' 'e'll swing in 'arf a minute for a sneakin' shootin' hound
O they're hangin' Danny Deever in the mornin!'

This is hardball stuff, hardly glib hoorahs for imperialism, but a raw delineation of what a heavy load the Empire rested on the backs of the common soldiers. As brought out further in the biting ironies of 'The Widow's Party,' which balances the broader political narratives: 'We broke...goed' with the price paid by the anonymous dead and wounded of the Widow's (Queen Victoria) army: 'And the river's...flowed.'

'What was the end of all the show,
Johnnie, Johnnie?
Ask my Colonel, for I don't know,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
We broke a King and we built a road --
A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed.
And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed
When the Widow give the party.'

Loving a soldier was/is a risky venture... In 'Soldier, Soldier' the returning survivor gives sharp comfort to his comrade's sweetheart:

'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love,'

and

'The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im
An' you'd best go look for a new love.'

A bullet in the head and tossed into a mass grave far away. Kipling catches the incongruities, the contradictions of a soldier's life, the savage reality of battle or the diseases that can be equally fatal, alongside the pride in being part of something bigger, the Victorian army and beyond, perhaps to the aspirations of Empire - however flawed that imperial endeavour seems with the benefit of hindsight. It's not one-sided, which gives his work such power, he's not trying to second-guess his subjects.

Kipling was proud of the Empire, in which he was but a man of his time. But he sounded a warning against petty jingoism and hubris in 'Recessional' which is often forgotten, again that point well-driven home tonight that empires also fall:

'Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet.
Lest we forget—lest we forget!'

Worse was to come when the imperial certainties of Victorian England were broken on the battlefields of the Great War. Using his army connections he helped his son, Jack, to enlist even though he was under age. He died at the Battle of Loos in 1915, which devasted his father:

'Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?”
None this tide,
Nor any tide,
Except he did not shame his kind —
Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,
This tide,
And every tide;
Because he was the son you bore,
And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!'

Yet there was also adventure to be had, exotic warm places to visit, remembered fondly through the brute reality of leaving the army for drab poverty-stricken existence back home, wistfully captured in the last song, somehow fittingly 'Mandalay:'

'I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;'

contrasted with

'Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;'

Encored by 'Follow me 'Ome' which also served as a tribute to Johnny Collins, who died not so long ago, sadly missed by all present, describing the interpersonal bonds that hold an army together, which we non-combatants can only get a small glimpse of, the comradeship made all the more precarious when sudden death intervenes:

'There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died,
Which is just what the best men do.'

A lot of quoting above – but I think that with the thickened layers of poetry set to music and a controversially misunderstood author, some textual setting is necessary to give a flavour of the richness on display. Fairly spartan backings from concertina and violin, the performance rested on the readings interlinking and binding the songs into a satifying continuum, done skillfully but informally. A small room like the Soar Bridge enforces intimacy anyway and with the formidable battery of singers in the audience to join in on the choruses you are up close and personal all the time here.

This intimacy also carried you along with the narrative, pulled you into an essentially alien world which is both exhilarating and disturbing. The crowd respond to the bugles and drums as it were, which can be uncomfortable if one analyses it. Not a glorification of war – hardly that – yet a small glimpse of the seductions of 'glory?' Maybe that is what Peter Bellamy saw initially, that folk music allied to a degree of theatre could still provide a relevant message to move people – certainly brought out tonight when Brian Peters read out a couple of contemporary parodies of 'Tommy' from serving soldiers in Baghdad a while back. Links inserted in an ongoing chain of resonance, given the disgraceful treatment of the contemporary army both abroad – ill-equipped and stuck in dubious conflict – and at home. Oddly, there was probably more consensus during Kipling's time for the wider aims of Victorian foreign adventures than exists now for our current entanglements/wars. But the world was a different place then... Yet: tonight's performance was not a museum piece, like much folk music has become, whatever the intention... there was an emotional edge that is often lacking in trying to connect to past experiences of a gone world, spanning quiet pathos, raw rowdy humour, vivid and often brutal description and something else - a surging power that came through especially at the end, that locked musicians and audience into a bizarre collective experience where one could almost feel a big marching drum beating somewhere.

'Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',
Follow me -- follow me 'ome!'

As Bellamy said, in reply to the critics of his day: 'Rudyard Kipling made exceedingly good songs.' Tonight done great justice to by Webber, Fentiman and Peters, three stellar talents who subjugated their individual techniques to produce an ensemble performance of great subtlety, power and beauty...

Weather... Folk Music... Kipling...

2009-11-23T16:00:00.000-08:00

Had to go to Leicester for throat supplies - run out of valves (don't ask)... got wet going and coming back so not really in the humour to go out again this evening and re-enter the god-damned November weather - but glad I made it to the owld Soar Bridge Inn and Bill W's monday bash - this time up, Dave Webber/Anni Fenterman/Brian Peters doing their Kipling show - via the late Peter Bellamy's arrangements etc. Stirring stuff - more to follow tomorrow... don't think I've ever been to a bad gig at the Grand Union... no links/exhausted... if in doubt, Google...

New Magazine... Recognition...

2009-11-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

Another project I have been involved with... co-editing the online/print mag Recognition with my compadre in Berlin, Mr Dominic Coutts... follow the link for details of free download of first issue... There is also a print version available from RawMusics... Mixed bag of stuff - a long essay on Malcolm Lowry in his centenary year, photos from Palestinian refugee camps, poetry, fiction in German and English, a couple of reviews...
And we are looking for submissions for the next issue to be published May 2010...

Mervyn Gould,,, RIP...

2009-11-13T16:38:00.000-08:00

When I was at the Brighton Colour out of Space festival recently (see below - too tired to post more links!), I received a phone call to inform me that my dear friend Mervyn Gould had died from a heart attack a couple of days before, linked apparently to his diabetes problems. I had only spoken to him on the Tuesday that week and taken a rain check (a phrase he would have hated! - 'An Americanism, dear boy!') on meeting him the next day because I was busy. We agreed to convene on my return to the manor... this was not to be... Up until today I have not felt up to the task of writing about such a larger than life, irascible yet lovable, loyal, smart, wonderfully idiosyncratic person... But his passing needs a humble marker or two - at the least... Today, his friends came together for his funeral in Loughborough, vicar in attendance - as would be appropriate for Merv - yet oddly no hymns - and three wonderful eulogies were delivered that sketched out the variety, the depth and breadth of the man, his working life in theatre, academe (his years in the department he dubbed 'Stress and Trauma' - English and Drama - Tee Hee - situated on the university campus of God's Little Acre), his energetic involvement with the Mercia Film Society. Further - what stood out was the affection that people had for him... Earlier, I had a phone call from a mutual friend who could not attend the funeral due to geography and work - he sent me an email which I was supposed to read out to the assembled... Due to the circumstances of the wake this proved to be impossible - people scattered across bars and no focal point - Merv would have loved the confusion: Fair Week in Loughborough, a Beer Festival on the premises, although the landlord kindly gave us precious space on an insanely crowded day - and Friday the 13th, for the superstitious. (Include me in, to reverse Samuel Goldwyn - the succession of stupid accidents/fuckups earlier today is beyond mere statistics). But Simon's comments deserve a wider audience - they convey the essence of our friend far better than I can achieve. So here they are:

Simon Black

For those who know me, my profound apologies for not being here in person, since family commitments make it impossible for me to get away from Cardiff for this sad day. It was with great regret that I heard about the passing away of Mervyn Stockbridge Gould. A great leading light of the theatrical scene has gone out for good and remains forever dark. Of course, if he were here, he would be telling me off for using the word ‘light’. “It’s a lamp or a lantern, you stupid boy” would be the cry, for which misdemeanour I would almost certainly have to pay the price of the next round.I had the delightful experience of learning the technical workings of the stage under Mervyn’s tutelage at the Department of Anguish and Trauma at Loughborough University in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s. I also have it on good authority that it was Mervyn himself who coined the very term, which is still in use today. I also believe he is responsible for the term ‘shabby-genteel’.

There were a couple of us who steered clear of the bitchiness and backstabbing that came with actual performance of drama and tended to take on all the technical and back stage work on a regular basis. Mervyn was always delighted when a student came forward in this way, since it freed his time up and gave him an opportunity to check on the flow levels of the hand pumps at the ESB bar.

Incidentally the ESB building at the University did have a small technical and lighting capability, which fell under Mervyn’s due care and diligence. It was on just such a mercy errand for a ‘special bulb’ with Mervyn that I discovered the ESB was the only bar on campus which still served beer from old fashioned jug handled glasses. These special bulbs required much diligent care and attention.

After university, I spent several years working as a stage lighting technician for a number of theatres including Nottingham Playhouse (which Mervyn lauded) and for a number of touring rock bands (which Mervyn derided as “new –fangled skiffle”). I would not have done this were it not for his support and guidance, and the all important three-fold rule of theatrical timing:

"Never forget, Black, that there are three vitally important times in this business: Opening Time; Closing Time and with appropriate brevity in-between ‘Show Time.’"

Mervyn remains forever in our memory – a light house in a sea of mediocrities, and one who sadly must remain bright only in our memories. Please raise your special bulbs to the last and finest example of the old school.

Kind Regards

Simon Black

Well - closing time appoaches and the parting glass... One of the sadder ironies that I was made aware of earlier tonight was that Mervyn had just paid off the mortgage on Gould Towers at Blackbrook Court recently and would have had consequently enjoyed a reasonable measure of financial security in his property investment. He would have had a good few bob in his pocket... if he had been spared - which was a gag we had between us, old battered bohos that we were. In a year that is marked by much personal loss, I leave it to Simon's eloquence above and the last stanza of Yeats's 'In memory of Major Robert Gregory' below which expresses my feelings better than I can, sat here high up in the beatnik hovel reclension of the poet's tower, looking at the foul weather outside, storm and rain rattling the windows, surrounded by my ghosts, calling up my dead:

I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind
that shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind
All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved,
Or boyish intellect approved,
With some appropriate commentary on each;
Until imagination brought
A fitter welcome; but a thought
Of that late death took all my heart for speech.

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Sunday 1st November, 2009...

2009-11-05T02:16:00.000-08:00

The last day. John Wiese and Karen Constance first up in the hall – big sound from the start: noisepower electronics at their dandiest. Full-blooded – the auralspace crammed with events, crushing smears of sound interspersed with what were either samples of quickcutting short wave radio fragments or done live - looped. On the outer edges of the mix scattershot punctuations, pops and sharp rips, like electro rimshots. A deep storm of bass rising steadily to sail it on with some higher tones held to give almost melody. Again – a set that uses the available time allotment to the full, content producing form just so. Boding well for the rest of the night, a very good start and mood setter.

So: Hector's House for refreshment then back to position myself for Audrey Chen, whom I have heard a lot about so was prepared to get a good spot up close. Not to be disappointed – her performance was one of the high spots of the weekend. Cello, voice and some minimal electronics, this was more the acoustic side of improvising, nakedly so in such a crammed space. She came across as very poised, sure of her ground. Using what looked like a chopstick jammed in to the cello strings, flicking it to produce a clunky ostinato as she vocalised through a wide range of sonics, pure tones mixed with more distorted granularities from throat and lip movements. Apart from her orthodox musical training at the Peabody Conservatory in her home town of Baltimore, as Chinese-American, I wondered if her technique was enlarged further by the other half of her cultural background, the Chinese family of languages using a higher vertical range of sounds than English/American and subtle tonal shifts. With the bow, she utilised all the surfaces of her instrument beyond the strings, a vigorous rubbing that produced more extensions of sound. She also introduced two connected rubber/plastic balls – maybe a toy? - to scrape on the back of her miked-up cello to give further extension/possibilities – in fact, one could say that it is surprising how much variety such a basic set-up can produce. This was a sublime performance that held the tightly-packed audience for its duration, coming to final ground on a vocal shift nearer to the western orthodox, perhaps a slight hint of jazz/blues in the held notes?

Compelling and, for all the expertise and control, deeply and rawly emotional...

Joseph Hammer sat at the back of the hall in front of his Apple Mac and other equipment, his left hand swathed in a white glove (which I assume was not some homage to Michael Jackson but needed to handle the tape spooling through the recorder he was manipulating), as his right focused on his laptop. He produced short snippets from various recorded sources one assumed, a voice here, a drum beat there, a shard of guitar, looped, processed and slowly moving to build a complicated piece, layers moving in and out, the minimal nature of the individual fragments and their slight duration when thrown together giving a complex carnival of sound that echoed earlier pioneers like Steve Reich. This approach tonight just made it to the end of the set without palling – the repetitions on the edge of needing more development. High wire – but great stuff...

Sten Hansen I had seen wandering around the festival over the weekend favouring a walking stick but tonight he gamely walked out on stage, with some obvious difficulty. A historical figure, self-taught as a composer, active in the electro-acoustic scene and beyond since the early sixties, a pioneer who is 'one of the forerunners in the field of multi-media art.' He spoke amusingly as he explained and cued off various works that exploded words and fired them all over the joint, speeding, slowing, spinning the recorded voice wildly and joyously through the space of the hall. There is a selection of his work available on Ubu .

Coming from the more academic side of experimental music, but his work never seemed dry or dessicated as much of that genre can be. A lot of fun among the intelligence here...

Which leads neatly to the last act of the festival and the night. Ju Suk Reet Meete and Oblivia, both members of Smegma, the wildly innovative Portland grouping and the wild eclecticism that fuels that worthy band is on display tonight. With a vengeance... one clumsily wrestles with words trying to tease out the mash of genre streams on display here... Oblivia (AKA Rock and Roll Jackie) resplendent in blue wig gave out on 'found sounds through modified and weighted turntables,' while Ju Suk did his stuff on cornet, some kind of lap guitar and a rig of sound processing equipment. They played against a stunning visual back drop, close-up images from nature – a bubbling tar pit/hot spring, barnacles on rocks by the sea – and a barrage of abstract and surreal juxtopositions giving an amazing density. Added to the music, you had a complete show that went the distance without flagging. Oblivia turntabling a variety of musics – at one point hillbilly guitar and violin hee-hawed through – as Ju Ju Suk alternated free jazz spluttering lines on his horn with slide guitar figures that evoked the blues, country and rock and roll. Hard to describe how all this fitted together but it did – maybe an object lesson in how Keat's 'Negative Capability' - 'I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact and reason' meets Ornette's harmolodics, where disparate lines create enough space to both accept incongruities and resolve them on other levels. Mind-blowing, as we used to say and a fitting end to another great festival here.

The next instalment...

2009-11-04T16:17:00.000-08:00

... of the festival review will be tomorrow. Notes deciphered (more or less) and written up but overwhelmed with exhaustion. In the morning hopefully...

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Saturday 31st October, 2009...

2009-11-03T13:04:00.000-08:00

Saturday – a straightener in old Hector's House then over the road for tonight's fandango. Starting with Chora – very much an acoustic improvising band with minimal electronics, violin, little instruments, clarinets – driven by supple and strong drumming to give them a steely yet flexible framework. A keyboard of some description (I assume – he was at the back of the stage slightly offsighted from where I was sitting) set up a drone some way in, coming in and easing back, providing a bottom line of structure. This was a well-paced set, using the time allotment efficiently to build to a crescendo of a clarinet duosquawling around each other before finally ebbing away. Superb – they should maybe have been further up the bill... There is a hand-hewn freshness to their work that pulls drones, free jazz rhythmic gestures and a folky dance into a unique space. I was thinking about when I first saw the Incredible String Band back in the back of the day at the Cousins club, how they exploded acoustic folk with so many different instruments and rhythms, the road that perhaps they did not travel, of further explorations into the free jazz explorations that were also such a feature of London and beyond in the late sixties, is one that fancifully leads to... Chora, who are doing it now...

Struggled into the gallery which was jammed for a related band via the Sheffield connection, The Hunter Gracchus' anarcho-collectivist counter hegemonic succour.' Blimey. A trio, upended drums on the floor, a sax player, some kind of exotic stringed instrument. They seemed to be aiming for a ritualistic performance, as if trying to reinvent music from the ground up via rhythms, scrapes and breaths – the sax mouthpiece was utilised as a sound source more than the complete instrument was played, like a psychedelic hunting horn. I don't know if they were consciously named after the eery Franz Kafka short story but there was some attempt at calling up another world, something primal, going way back like archeologists of morning, maybe, to slightly bend that phrase from Charles Olson. At one point one of those Indian drone thangs that Allen Ginsburg used to intone over got a severe pounding - Omni Mani Padre...SQUAWK! Ending up all crouched over the drum head blowing into several odd looking metal objects. The folk influence, veering away from electronics to produce raw 'natural' sounds? Good stuff – but again, I would like to see them in a more friendly space. Don't dig the gallery...

Back to the main venue for an epic performance by Simon Whetham, sat at the mixing desk to use the darkened hall as a canvas – a mix of electronic sounds and processed field recordings that used all the available acoustic area in a powerful set that truly evoked the name of the festival – colour out of space...

Always ready for a divertissement but Justice Yeldham was somewhat unlucky when his power supply kept cutting in and out – I couldn't hear a lot of what he was shouting to the nearby audience as he was off-mike, a lot of swearing it seemed, but he gamely tried to persevere with his bizarre act – using a contact-miked jagged piece of glass pressed to his face and blown on/manipulated with his fingers to produce, when it worked – some extraordinary sounds. It looked as if it might be somewhat dangerous – children, don't try this at home – and I think he smashed the glass in the end as the set was totally buggered. Shame – he almost pulled through by sheer personality – well, if you're going to blow through broken glass it implies a certain wry take on things. Cue for mucho H and S activites as several people earnestly swept the stage to remove all the fragments. One shouldn't laugh...

Some free jazz... Steve Noble/Alan Wilkinson unfortunately playing without the mighty John Edwards who was indisposed. But a stunning set nevertheless, coherent free improvised jazz with the pair coming straight at ya – high-powered blowing on baritone sax and splattering drums, interspersed throughout by Wilkerson's vocal outbursts of wordless wahoo – giving me the fanciful thought that he was like an avant garde version of the late Lennie Hastings ( a reference that will only make sense to older Brit jazz buffs – 'Ooyah Ooyah!'). The vocalising sound poetry gave a broader line of attack which linked up to many other acts over the weekend – an intelligent move – and also fitted seamlessly with the movement of the music, jazz sax playing being particularly close to the human voice, if you think about it. Noble parried, prodded and accompanied as the sax player switched to alto and back – demonstrating a sure technique on some rapid yet accurate high-register blowing. Hi-energy stuff played with fire and some wit, yet more than just scattered squalling – some fascinating development and interplay here. Went down a storm to a packed house...

Then über-weird jumped in... Kommissar Hjuler and Mama Baer, rigged out in cod-tropical knaki and pith helmets, gave a shattering deconstruction of the old pop song, 'The Lion Sleep Tonight.' Deconstructed? They smashed it to pieces, in the old phrase, 'from arsehole to breakfast time,' and scattered the bloody fragments far and wide – and long... long... long... Jesus, the Kommissar hurled himself about on stage re-iterating 'Wimoweh,' over and over for what seemed like eternity to the point where I wanted to kill him... His partner similarly writhed about the stage singing(?) mangled bits of the song, howling, shrieking... against a hilarious yet somewhat poingnant film projection of a bloke in a scruffy lion suit walking on and on through some black and white shoreline and scrubland. On and on and on. Very funny and very clever and it pushed the joke to the utmost – and then some. The relief was palpable when bloody 'Wimoweh' finally stopped...

A lot of anticipation for the final act, guitar and drums duo Bill Orcutt/Paul Hession. Master percussionist and six string hero – Orcutt, ex Harry Pussy, given a big write up/review in the current Wire on his return to the scene with a highly rated solo album. I wondered how this would work out – interestingly, there are many links with free jazz and the punk/noise underground, which were played out here. There was a nagging thought that Orcutt might not have quite the chops needed for this level although Hession's open polyrhythms gave multidirections to move about in with plenty of space to float or dig in. A certain amount of repetition developed – maybe intentional as rock works more from repetition than free jazz. Yet overall an interesting experiment. Orcutt is certainly a fluent guitarist and it proved that the barriers are more artificial perhaps than real – free jazz, which does not spin through cycles of harmonic changes that force certain directions and techniques, by its openness should be well capable of mixing with the rawer, more avant rock/noise without either side compromising (a spectre of 'jazz-rock' looming from the old days – 'let the shipwrecks of others be your seamarks,' what?). A thought I had – another guitar would have been interesting and someone like James 'Blood' Ulmer who does the new voodoo folk blues and can also rip it up on side orders of bebop-inspired chromaticism that takes his playing into provocative areas.

But leave us not carp – another act I'd like to hear again to see how they develop. And they went down mightily...

Back the hotel through the madness of Halloween on the Brighton streets. Ah-woo, Werewolves of Sussex... Soundtrack in the bar tonight – Funk – James Brown to Chic. Up on the one, y'all...

Review: Colour out of Space Festival, Brighton, Friday 30th October, 2009

2009-11-01T06:04:00.000-08:00

The kick-off – I missed the beginning of the first show – a selection of Fabio Roberti's dryly hilarious spoof movies - because I was over the road in Hector's House, but caught the one with the goateed dark glasses beat poet accompanied by sax and bongoes which was a hoot – the film stock deliberately stressed to make it look as if it had been shot in 1958, complete with out of synch moments and copious cigarette smoke. Good fun...

Next up Duncan Harrison and Ian Murphy. More serious fare here – starting with a high tone drone against crunchy electronics, adding voice sounds through a mike to mingle with what resembled scampering scratching march-like robotic insects. A whistle added, looped and processed – good mixture of noise and human processed sound.

Into the gallery part for HereHareHere – whom I could not see as the room was always full throughout, with the tall people at the front! A spartan sounding duo – just two voices moving with and against each other using extended vocalising techniques – ullulations/throat granularities etc. Came out sounding like a mix of Jewish liturgy and East European folk music in places. Interesting stuff – would like to hear them again in a more sympathetic setting. Re this: the success of the festival in part relies upon the alternating of the main hall and another performance space – last year in a large marquee outside at the back, which was slightly scuppered by the rain and mud underfoot but at least gave plenty of room to wander into – so that each act can change over/sound check efficiently and the schedule runs more or less on time. Unfortunately I missed much of what went on in the smaller room because it got too crowded... but that's always a problem at festivals, when so much is on display –plus: ya gotta eat – and drink... Hector's House over the road has a wider selection...

Morphogenesis next in the hall. The jumble sale ethic, ho ho... Four guys sat at tables piled up with their various electronic/music producing equipment. Adam Bohman stood out visually stage left, a jovial presence as he manipulated his plunderings of the curio shops – glasses, bowls, various unidentified objects – which he scraped, bowed and struck. They eased into their long set, slowly building a powerful momentum – added to by a bearded figure lugging some kind of portable amplifier and mike to just below the front of the stage among the audience where he variously squalled, hooted and howled in and out of the progressing sound stream. A bass throb coming in to almost ground them in a set rhythm. Maybe they went on a tad too long as some of the sounds produced started to be a wee bit repetive. A small criticism – I enjoyed this very much, the fragile sonic world created, a good balance between the participants holding it together well.

Damien Romero, moved over from sunday night, for some reason. Power acoustics, tough stuff, the way I like it... Long drone that slowly built in force, crossed with syncopations/twists of rhythm and sudden jagged shards. Wild stuff but intelligently paced/structured... the night was building well...

To be really lifted up by Kodama, who were awesome. A two piece, another mix of flutes/recorders/home made instruments fed into various processing units. They were set up at the back of the hall, with the sound coming from sources in front of them and from the pa on stage to produce a strong immersive experience. Some way into their set Michael Northam produced an instrument that looked as if it had fallen off the back of the late Harry Partch's pickup truck, a zither from the ninth dimension perhaps which produced sounds to match. Hitoshi Kojo countered with a length of what resembled plastic piping which he blew into mightily. Come to think of it, plumbing would be a lucrative day job for a struggling experimentl musician - and provide material for instruments... They produced – I don't know, a kind of folk music for the 21^st century, in that it was organic, made on simple/self-constructed/appropriated instruments and hot-wired into digital tech processing – I spotted my friend the Boss Loopstation in among the effects. Intelligence and emotion combined. They were fucking brilliant and I just did not want them to stop...

Ending on: Trevor Wishart. Who came on stage and did a solo voice thang, which demonstrated his years in the avant game well – tongue/throat twisting streams of words and sounds that resembled a selection of languages – I made out German, Dutch and Japanese – led by his bodily and facial gestures to hint at meanings – sad, happy, quizzical etc. Clever stuff as a demonstration of how meaning can travel across linguistic barriers – or be manipulated by visual cues which may or may not be accurate in their leading to order. Then he disappeared – leaving the stage to retreat to the mixing desk at the back and fill the darkened hall with a dizzying barrage of sounds: 'Globalalia' – 'universal dance of human speech as revealed in twenty tales from everywhere, spoken in tongues. 26 different languages' apparently. We were surrounded and dunked in a massive conjuration of choirs and populations, stretched, bent, teased, the LOGOS invoked in the infinite variations that the human voice is capable of. A great end to the first night.

Which continued bizarrely at the hotel where I sat overlooking the pier and the late night crowds over Guinness and Jameson while the sound system pumped out a retro selection of Doors/Monkees and some vintage ska... not a bad way to finish the evening.

Colour out of Space Festival 2009...

2009-10-31T09:48:00.000-07:00

Down to Brighton for the Colour out of Space festival. First night (friday) was a great start - packed hall - and, for my money, Kodama shaded it. A stunning set... Review of evening to follow when time permits, hangover ebbs farther and the will to decipher illegible gonzo notes returns... Off soon for today's section...

Review: Len Graham at the Tiger, Sunday 25th October, 2009...

2009-10-29T16:17:00.000-07:00

Down to the Tiger in Long Eaton to see Len Graham... what struck me overall on this excellent gig was the infinite flexibility of the human voice. Tonight I encountered a battery of solo singers, one story teller and one duo, stripped of accompaniment, delivering an eclectic variety of material from the traditions of the British Isles/Ireland and beyond. Which might, to a casual observer, seem somewhat arid – but believe me it was not. The diversity of songs was matched by the wide tonal ranges of the voices, tonight predominantly male but leavened by the compere, Corinne Male (ha!) and Jackie Perry who sang in tandem with Nick Burdett – demonstrating my point: Corinne, lyrical yet with a raw emotional edge, Jackie a harder, harsher granularity, well suited to the rugged rawness of the hunting song 'Swartfell Rocks' and balanced by the deep baritone warmth of her partner. So: a fascinating, wide ranging swing through sonic field and narrative content. Humour, tragedy, weirdness, especially – the ghosts that loom out of those bizarre old ballads to cross the centuries alongside the familial abuse, violence and murder – merrie olde England this ain't and wasn't. Performed with sensitivity, buttressed by deprecating wit and good humour that floats easily on a collective reservoir of deep knowledge. A special club, then, to be able to front any gig with such firepower from their ranks. As I didn't catch a couple of the names I won't give a list of the singers because they were all that good...

If the locals provided a feast, what of Len Graham? A guy who has been around, from when he grabbed a rucksack and guide to the Youth Hostels of Ireland North and South in the sixties and hit the road 'in the quest for song and fun.' Ireland, of course, lived nearer to its traditions with such a small population (due to the linked devastations of famine and exile), unlike the cultural dislocations caused by the Industrial Revolution in the U.K. and the movements from the land to town and city. The lines of dispute are of course there – only the most deluded paddyphile (bejasus) would refuse to acknowledge their existence. Yet by stepping back into the tradition, or diagonally, even, Graham avoids getting snared in these thorny issues. Even his overt reference to wider conflicts in the song ' I wish that the wars were over,' that memorialises the sacrifices that North and South made during both the World Wars of the twentieth century, by coming from a different angle makes a wider point that transcends mere sectarianism. Interestingly, the last time I was in Dublin, my old buddy Jon to me the War Memorial Gardens that commemorate the 49,000 or so Irish soldiers who fell in the Great War. We were chatting to the attendant who took us inside to view the books with the names of the war dead. The first one I saw gave an English address in East Leake – a spit from where I am sitting writing this. It gave me an odd frisson... The attendant said that not many people ever came out there, which was hardly surprising I suppose – the 'terrible beauty' of the Easter Rising still maybe overshadows the tragedies of the Somme for obvious reasons in the founding of a new state. Perhaps Len Graham, as an Ulsterman, can stand slightly to one side of these controversies. By celebrating the cultures of both North and South, arguably he makes a subtler point...

Thinking about polarities again – if the late Luke Kelly, say, whose wounded, vulnerable raw power splashed his emotional delivery right in your face – and this not a criticism, rather an approximate attempt at delineation, because I loved his singing mightily – can stand on one point of the continuum, Len Graham, perhaps, would be somewhere opposite. Graham is a subtle artist with a high pure lyricism and easy delivery, that hints at hidden power to spare, maybe something to do with the Ulster culture and accent, a certain closure, a slight throttling back. The emotion is there, sure - as Yeats said: 'Great poetry is not possible without passion' - but holds the songs together on a different level under the surface of the narratives, woven into the folds of the words in a cunning blend. His introductions are just as important to the overall performance, simultaneously amusing and erudite, the sharpness of his intellect covered by the warmth of his demeanour. Finely honed skills that add value to the individual songs by placing them in the wider context(s) of the traditions they come from. For a brief period of time the audience is taken into another world, a coherent topos where older voices co-exist with the contemporary, or rather step out to bear witness to times and people and places long gone – but still familar. Songs of sport: 'The Galway Races,' of exile, lost love and regret – 'The Bourlough Shore,' celebrations of simple joys in spinning lines of bantering nonsense: 'The Crocodile' and the sly double-entendres in 'The Taglioni.'

To say that a performer takes you on a journey is a cliché, certainly – but Len Graham offers this to his audience, an opportunity to travel on an elliptical trajectory where the subtle relations between story and songs conjure up a landscape and its various peoples grounded in the realities of history and life lived but laced with, perhaps, a utopian yearning... Fanciful – yep... but that was the feeling I came away with. The encore gave the flavour of the man... 'The Parting Glass,' that perfect but admittedly overdone song of farewell over the last drink - here sung in a totally different version (to me) - Graham providing a subtle spin on the familiar which serves as a paradigm for his artistry...

It was that good...

With regard to my reference to Owld Luke:

Contrast and compare...Len
and Luke with Paddy Kavanagh (and the young Al O' Donnell).

Slight return...

2009-10-28T13:29:00.000-07:00

It's been a while - moving to new apartment has taken the wind out of my sails somewhat plus the other couple of projects I'm involved in have taken up a lot of time and energy... yet hoping to get this blog back on track (yeah, I know, I know)... some good music this week already with two great folk gigs - the lyrical subtleties of Len Graham at the Tiger, the kick out the jams vocal powerhouse that is the Wilsons at the Soar Bridge Inn... with maybe a review to follow of the first one... then I'm off on friday to the Colour out of Space bash in Brighton - my current favourite festival after last year... 'three days of unstructured, experimental music and art' - yowzer! My reviews of the last one here...scroll down...

New Label... Woe Betide Records...

2009-10-15T08:14:00.000-07:00

David Grundy of Eartrip fame and Wire mag contributor (he has a fascinating article in the current issue on German psychedelic/space rock) has launched a new label for improvised musics - Woe Betide Records. Worth checking out...

Beats...

2009-10-05T15:10:00.000-07:00

A cool vid of my old prof, Clive Meachen, late of Aberystwyth American Studies Department, UCW, Aberystwyth, talking the talk - and walking the walk... I say 'old' - we're the same age... but he's better looking... ho ho...

Folk Music...

2009-09-28T16:22:00.000-07:00

Just got back from the Soar Bridge Inn - a fascinating night with various strands of the English Folk Tradition on display with the Keelers and a cut down version of Dolphin Morris- plus a lot of fun and some pathos... blimey... Maybe a small review tomorrow if things are not too hectic...

Spammed...

2009-09-14T04:36:00.000-07:00

Grrr - just been mightily spammed by some imbecile advertising watches or something - so have to put comment mod back on, unfortunately...