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umbrahighpriestofgiratina · 4 years ago

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Mother Of DOGARS!

I, somehow, never posted this here. Well I’m fixing that now. This was written for @ ChloboShoka on the Serebii forums years ago for a gift exchange that went down there. it involves unusual headcanon parentage and aliens.

Mother of DOGARS!

Fantina was busy cleaning out the gym, along with her Pokemon and several Gym Trainers. The last Gym battle had been hectic, and everyone was working hard to make sure the scorch marks, toxic sludge, and such were all removed carefully. Fantina herself was removing some errant Grass-type vines from the wall when her Mismagius approached with a ringing cellphone levitating before it.

"Oh, it's Paul!" Fantina said. "I wonder how his career at Pokestars is going..."

She answered the phone, with "Paul" quickly replying.

"Fantina, honey! I need your help!"

"Help?" said Fantina. "Paul, what could you possibly need my help with all the way over in Unova?"

"Call me Pop Roxie, that's my stage name! I'm talking about our daughter!"

Fantina froze. All color seeped away from her skin. She double-checked to make sure the chill in the air wasn't from her Mismagius, which was merely looking at her with concern.

"Our- Our daughter?"

"Yes! It's near Christmas! And we've been so many Christmases apart! Please, Fantina, I'm begging you to win her over so we can be a family again!"

"But... Juan, dear, why can't you help? She's our daughter, not just mine!"

"That's the thing, honey! I would! But I'm stuck filming a big picture! And you know how persnickety my director gets!"

"I heard that!" said another voice from the phone.

"I know!" said Pop Roxie

He addressed Fantina again with a sigh.

"So I'm booked! Fantina, you're my only hope!"

"A-alright... Pop Roxie." said Fantina. "I shall."

"Thank you, honey! Good lu- I told you to keep an eye on those SFX Zoroark!"

The phone abruptly hung up, and Fantina promptly groaned and collapsed to the floor, her Mismagius floating over and futilely attempting to prop her up. A gym Trainer came over to her, concerned.

"Fantina, are you OK?"

"Physically, pretty much fine," she said. "Psychologically not so much."

"Do you need me for anythi-"

"Yes. I need help with getting a plane ticket to Unova."

"Er, all right?"

The Gym Trainer left to get what was needed as Fantina picked herself up and sighed, her Mismagius dusting her off as she placed a hand to her forehead.

She had no choice. She was going to have to reason with Roxie.

------

At the Virbank City Gym, a punk rock band was playing at its loudest and screechiest as a Garbodor and Scolipede looked on.

<Do you think Roxie's backups are ever gonna improve, Algernon?> said the Scolipede.

<I hope so Socrates,> said the Garbodor. <Right now it's like Roxie's backing them up!>

Algernon and Socrates gave hearty laughs.

Meanwhile, as the band was playing, the guitarist looked up at a gaping hole in the ceiling.

"...Are we ever gonna fix that?" he said.

The singer and bassist, Roxie, shrugged. "Eh, probably not. Adds to the grunge-y look of this place."

"But didn't it happen after that weird hole on the sky opened up?" said the drummer. "While freaky shit was going down in Alola?"

"That got cleared up by someone else, didn't it?" said Roxie. "Why should it be my proble-"

At that very moment Fantina burst in through said hole in the ceiling atop her Driftblim.

"Roxie, I'm here!"

Everyone in the Gym froze. The drummer and guitarist stared. Roxie, however, glared at her mother, and made a dismissive motion toward the others.

"Leave."

"But-"

Roxie gritted her teeth. "This is personal."

At that the drummer and guitarist panicked and fled off into side doors leading into back rooms. Fantina descended upon her Drifblim and jumped off directly in front of Roxie, the two entering a silent staredown as the Drifblim floated over to Socrates and Algernon.

<Ay, Antoinette!> said Socrates. <What're you doing here stirring up old family feuds?>

<To ensure that both parties are kept in line,> said Antoinette. <I do hope you two can assist.>

<Sure thing,> said Algernon. <We wouldn't want Rox to be smothered by her mother!>

The three Pokemon took their places behind their Trainers as Fantina broke the silence with a sigh.

"Roxie, it's been ages..."

Roxie growled. "And I'd rather it'd had been ages longer."

"Sweetie, I've always wanted to make up with you... Didn't you have a fight with your father and have that work out?"

"That did. But that was different. Dad was being a dim-witted, dense, dumb daft dippy dorky doltish doofus, sure, but he was only being a dim-witted, dense, dumb daft dippy dorky doltish doofus. You are on another level entirely."

Fatina finally scowled back at Roxie and put her hands on her hips. "Sacre bleu! What did I ever do to you to deserve a status as lowly as that?!"

Roxie rolled her eyes to the point they almost reached the back of her head. "Oh, where do I begin... Well, first, you never let me be myself. I always wanted to live the punk dream, but you never liked that. You wanted me to be graceful, majestic, fabulous, glamorous - hell, I think it would have been death by glamor for me if you kept it up! But it wouldn't matter to you because my last living moments would have been absolutely beautiful, would it?!"

"Honey, you're a budding young woman who can make her own choices now, and you know I would never neglect you to such a lev-"

"You never respected what I wanted in Pokemon either! You kept talking about the unearthly grace and majesty of Ghost-types when I wanted the grungiest of Poison types!"

Fantina pointed to Algernon. "Well I have reason to take offense if that means raising things like living garbage and getting yourself sick!"

<Hey!> said Algernon. <I'm made of refined garbage, lady!>

Only hearing growls and a "Garb!", Roxie still scoffed at Fantina. "Algernon takes offense to that, mother."

Fantina scoffed back. "Well even so I don't see why you'd treat me this way even as I try to apologi-"

"That's not even the clincher!" said Roxie. "You spent so much time focusing on your contest and gym leader careers that aside from when you were disapproving of me you never paid attention to me at all! It was to the point when Dad took his sailor career off to Unova I went right off after him! You are a horrible mother and I don't think you'll ever change, you bitch!"

She started storming off; Antionette, Algernon, and Socrates stared off in shock while Roxie's words finally struck a nerve in Fantina and she started heading after her.

"R-Roxie, sweetie, wai-"

The front door busted open as Pop Roxie charged in.

"Roxie! Honey! I need your help!"

The two stopped and whiled around to face him.

"Dad?"

"Sweetheart?"

"I'm so glad you're both here, but making things up for Christmas needs to wait! There's a disaster in Pokestar Studios!"

"Merci!" said Fantina. "What sort?"

"The SFX Zoroark - they're rioting!"

"What?!" said Roxie. "Why the hell would they do that?!"

"The more and more Pokestars pushes for CGI everything, the more people and Pokemon they piss off!"

said Pop Roxie. "Zekrom, I remember when the animators rioted..."

He shuddered.

"But the Zoroark had only one job anymore: To sub in for any live Pokemon the studio couldn't get! And now they've gotten that taken away from them they're on a rampage!"

Roxie and Fantina stared in awed silence at Pop Roxie before the former gave the latter a glare.

"...We work together. Just this once. That's it."

She headed off with her father and Pokemon. Fantina and Antionette sighed before doing the same.

------

Pokestar Studios was in chaos.

Most humans and Pokemon had retreated elsewhere or deep inside buildings. Everywhere else, however, were yowling, frenetic Zoroark, Night Dazing buildings and ripping panels off the roofs with their sharp claws.

Roxie, Pop Roxie, and Fantina charged into the situation looking on in horror before Pop Roxie grabbed a Pokeball from his belt.

"They can make themselves invisible, but I've got something for that... Go, Darrin!"

He sent out a Lucario, which immediately flared his Aura feelers to sense out the Zoroark. The Zoroark gave a frenzied collective snarl at the appearance of a natural enemy, and began hiding themselves with their Illusions.

At the sight of her father's main Pokemon Roxie got to thinking.

"Fighting type... Wait..."

She immediately rounded on her mother.

"Hey! Why'd Dad drag you along for a Dark-type invasion? You just have Ghost types, you're literal dead meat!"

Fantina cracked her knuckles. "Ohohohoho, Roxie, don't underestimate me; I've had plenty of experience with Dark types and know my workarounds...

She sent out her Mismagius to accompany Antionette, then addressed the latter. "Communicate a bit with Darrin, please?"

<Where are the cloaked Zoroark?> said Antoinette.

~Trying to close in on our location in front of and behind us,~ said Darrin.

Antionette swung her body in both directions to send Gusts at the hidden Zoroarks, damaging them lightly but breaking their Illusions.

"Joan!" Fantina shouted to her Mismagius. "Give them a Dazzling Gleam!"

The Mismagius cackled and produced gleaming rays of pink light from the gems on its body, hitting the Zoroarks and sending them sprawling. Those who tried to duck out of the way were met with Aura Spheres from Darrin.

Several of the Zoroark tried to take a third option and leap at Roxie, but they were met with the thick antennae of Socrates in a Megahorn.

Roxie pumped her fist. "Hah! We got thi-"

Suddenly Darrin's eyes widened as his aura feelers tremored violently and he started looking around wildly.

~Guys! Something's very wrong here... The Zoroark, something else, something wrong, is driving them crazy! And it's approaching fast!~

<What the hell do you mean by tha-> said Socrates.

He was cut off by a critical Power Gem that sent him skidding to the ground..

"Socrates, no!" yelled Roxie.

She stopped and stared in horror as an otherworldly, translucent jellyfish-like creature descended before her.

"What is..."

The Zoroark were thrown into a further frenzy by the sight of the creature, and began lobbing Dark Pulses, one of which hit Antionette. Sensing her weakness, the creature lobbed a second Power Gem at Antionette, sending her crashing into the ground.

"What in Giratina's name is going on?" said Fantina.

"I don't know, but I'm taking this thing down!" said Roxie. "Algernon, use-"

She was interrupted by the creature lobbing a third Power Gem at her, the gems of light cutting into her skin and clothing hard enough to draw blood and knock her to the ground, helpless.

"Roxie, no!" yelled both Fantina and Pop Roxie.

Fantina saw the creature start to advance towards the prone Roxie and scowled.

"Not my daughter, you jelly bitch."

She, Joan, and Algernon moved toward the beast. Pop Roxie and Darrin moved to follow, but the Zoroark began encircling them en masse, and they were forced to keep them at bay with volleys of Aura Spheres.

Fantina, meanwhile, pointed at the creature with a gim expression on her face. "Joan? Nasty Plot into Shadow Ball!"

Joan's power grew with wicked thoughts as she lobbed a ball of dark energy at the creature; it was hardly phased, however, and retaliated with a Venoshock that sent her reeling back.

While the creature was distracted, however, Algernon picked up a piece of Pokestars rubble, which he tossed up and down. "Hey creep! Rox taught me this for dealing with floaty types!"

He threw the hunk of rubble at the creature for a Smack Down, taking it by suprise and leaving it stunned by a following Psychic from Joan, leaving it dazed and reeling.

Fantina looked up at the sky; it was night, with stars faintly glimmering. "You know, whatever kind of Pokemon you are, I could just end this mercifully..."

Joan charged a Nasty Plot into another Psychic.

"...But given you hurt my daughter..."

Algernon lobbed a Gunk Shot.

"...You need to learn a more proper lesson."

The strange creature was blasted to the floor by both attacks, and feebly twitched and crawled around, barely moving otherwise.

The Zoroark stopped what they were doing, dazed and confused; having forgotten what they were mad about they all shrugged and made their way back to their homes, giving Pop Roxie and Darrin time to catch their breaths. Fantina, meanwhile, glared at the near-unconscious creature before seeing Roxie again out of the corner of her eye and rushing over to caress her.

"Roxie, dear, are you alright? I'm so sorry... So sorry for everything..."

Roxie coughed and looked up at her mother weakly. "No, I... I'm sorry... You... You saved me... You actually cared..."

Fantina smiled and stroked Roxie's face protectively as ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

----------

In the hospital, Fantina and Pop Roxie sat by Roxie's bed, having idle conversation with her as she rested. Eventually a nurse came up to them.

"The results are in; she's going to be all right. The creature's neurotoxins didn't get to her, so the stitches she got will be all she needs."

The others sighed in relief.

"Speaking of that creature, however..."

She made way for a man with graying hair in a brown trenchcoat that caused Fantina's eyes to light up upon seeing him.

"Bonjour, Looker!" said Fantina. "It's been a while."

"It has!" said Looker. "But I'm here to tell you that creature you defeated was an Ultra Beast - a strange type of Pokemon that resides in the Ultra Dimension! The one you caught specifically was UB-01 Symbiont - otherwise known as Nihilego, a Rock/Poison type. The Ultra Beasts gave us a hell of a time in Alola, and if they're spreading elsewhere we'll have to keep an eye out..."

"So what do we do with it now?" said Pop Roxie.

"Usually HQ wants us to bring those Ultra Beasts back for study or... extermination..."

He shook his head, then smiled at Fantina and handed her a strange, blue, striped Pokeball with gold ringlets. "But we've made exceptions for powerful yet compassionate Trainers before and can do so again. I feel that Ultra Beast will be in good hands with you, Fantina."

Fantina smiled back. "Thank you, Looker."

Looker nodded and left the room with the nurse; as soon as they were out of eyeshot and earshot Fantina gently nudged Roxie.

"Psst! Sweetie!"

Roxie blinked. "What Mom?"

Fantina pulled the strange Pokeball out of her dress and handed it to Roxie.

"It's a Poison-type, right? Then it's my gift to you!"

Roxie started. "Really?"

Fantina winked. "I beat it down so it so it could be taught a lesson for hurting you, didn't I? Why don't you deliver a further lesson personally?"

Roxie grinned. "Then oh hell yeah I will!"

----------

The Christmas tree and lights were shining in Pop Roxie's house, as Pop Roxie, Fantina, and Roxie sat together talking and laughing.

"So," said Roxie. "On that week to Alola to find out more about my Nihilego I got you both something."

"Oh?" said Pop Roxie.

"What are they?" said Fantina.

Roxie tossed a Quick Ball towards her father, revealing a small, purple, crablike Pokemon that scuttled up his back.

"That's a Crabrawler. Like climbing things, so watch out for that, but I think he and Darrin will get along. They evolve in cold places too."

Pop Roxie petted the Crabrawler, which gave a happy chittering noise and a "braw!".

"And for you, Mom..."

She tossed a Lure Ball to summon a strange spectral creature that seemed like an animate, moss and rust-encrusted anchor.

"That's a Dhelmise. Ghost/Grass type, but it can power up its Steel moves with its Ability too."

Fantina looked the Dhelmise up and down. "Fascinating..."

The Dhelmise gave a creak and groan that seemed vaguely approving in response.

Fantina then approached Roxie. "Now, if that Nihilego isn't too much of a handful, I've got a present for you as well - my Gengar Olympia was being a bit feisty and..."

She handed Roxie a Pokeball, which Roxie opened to reveal a young Gastly, who giggled and danced around Roxie's head, making her laugh. She then turned and smiled at Fantina.

"Thanks, Mom. You're pretty great."

***

Here's an added OLD ART bonus kindly donated by @daydreart (she still had the file after all these years, which is good, because I sure lost it)

#pokemion\#fanfiction #roxie #fantina #nihilego

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dustedmagazine · 5 years ago

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Dust, Volume 5, Number 12

Matthew J. Rolin

Ned Starke was right. Winter is coming, and maybe, for our Chicago and Eastern Seaboard contingent, it’s here. That’s a good excuse to find a big comfy chair near the stereo and dig into some new music. This time we offer some hip hop, some finger picking, some music concrete, some indie pop and, just this once, a Broadway musical. Contributors include Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake, Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer and Andrew Forell. Stay warm.

ALLBLACK x Offset Jim — 22nd Ways (Play Runners Association)

ALLBLACK and Offset Jim have collaborated on a few tracks before, but this is their first release together. Their differences, which are significant, make the disc enjoyable through and through. Offset Jim has a poker face delivery that can fool anybody into thinking he’s deadly serious when he’s clearly having fun. ALLBLACK, on the other hand, is known for his goofy humor, but his goofiness is a mask that obscures a poetic psycho killer. Their combination of a healthy dose of humor and true-to-the-streets seriousness—seen here— makes a case for tolerating all kinds of oddball pairings:

“Don't leave the house without your makeup kit Diss songs about your real daddy just won't stick Hey, bitch, say, bitch, I know you miss this demon dick Please comb Max hair, take off them wack outfits”

Ray Garraty

David Byrne — American Utopia (Nonesuch)

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If you live long enough, everything that seemed edgy and electrifying in your youth will turn safe and comfortable in middle age. You’ll buy festival tickets with access to couches, tents and air conditioning. Clash songs will turn up in Jaguar ads. Kids at the playground will run around sporting your Black Flag tee-shirt. You may even find yourself in a $250 seat, at a beautiful theater, with your beautiful wife, seeing “American Utopia,” David Byrne’s new jukebox musical, and, to borrow a phrase, you may ask yourself, “How did I get here?” And look, you could do worse. These are wonderful songs, still prickly and spare even now in full orchestral arrangements, still booming with cross-currented, afro-beat rhythms (Byrne got to that early on, give him credit), still buoyed with a scratchy, ironic, ebullient pulse of life. It’s hard to say what plot line stitches together “Born Under Punches,” “Every Day is a Miracle,” “Burning Down the House” and “Road to Nowhere,” or how absorbing the connective narrative may be. It’s not, obviously, as kinetic and daring as the original arrangements, stitched together with shoe-laces, stuttering with anxiety, bounced and jittered by the back line of Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz, clad in an absurdly oversized suit. And, yet, it’s not so bad and if I had three big bills to spend on a night at the theater, I might just want to see it re-enacted. Because I’ve gotten safe and comfortable, too, and anyway, better that than the Springsteen show.

Jennifer Kelly

Charly Bliss — Supermoon EP (Barsuk)

Supermoon by Charly Bliss

Charly Bliss’ latest release Supermoon, collects five tracks written during the Young Enough sessions that didn’t make the final cut. The EP showcases the band transitioning from the grungy edge of their debut Guppy to the more polished pop sound of its successor. Eva Hendricks is one of the moment’s most distinctive voices, and these songs find her grappling with the themes so tellingly addressed on Young Enough. Although the songs here deserve release, the interest is in what they don’t do. More than sketches, they are less lyrically formed than those on the album, more guitar driven and without the big pop pay offs. The band, Hendricks on guitar and vocals, her brother Sam on drums, guitarist Spencer Fox and bassist Dan Shure still produce a hooky, engaging record which will appeal to fans. Newcomers might want to start with the albums but Supermoon is not without its moments.

Andrew Forell

Cheval Sombre — Been a Lover b/w The Calfless Cow (Market Square)

Cheval Sombre - Been a Lover b/w The Calfless Cow by Market Square Recordings

Cheval Sombre teamed with Luna/Galaxie 500’s Dean Wareham last year for a haunting batch of cowboy songs that found, as I put it in my Dusted review, “unfamiliar shadows and crevices in some very familiar material.” Now comes Cheval Sombre, otherwise known as Chris Porpora, with a brace of soft, dreamy folk-turned-psychedelic songs, one a gently sorrowful original, the other a cover of Alasdair Roberts. “Been a Lover” slow-strums through a whistling canyons of dreams, wistfully surveying the remnants of a long-standing relationship. It has the nodding, skeletal grace of Sonic Boom’s acoustic “Angel,” perhaps no coincidence since the Spaceman 3 songwriter produced the album. “The Calfless Cow” anchors a bit more in folk blues picking, though Porpora’s soft, prayerful vocals float free above the foundations. Both songs feel like spectral images leaving traceries on unexposed film—unsolid and evocative and mysteriously, inexplicably there.

Jennifer Kelly

Cigarettes After Sex — Cry (Partisan Records)

Cry by Cigarettes After Sex

Cigarettes After Sex’s 2017 debut album was a quite lovely collection of slow-core, lust-lorn dream pop. On the follow up Cry Greg Gonzalez (vocals, guitar), Phillip Tubbs (keys), Randall Miller (bass) and Jacob Tomsky (drums) double down on their signature sound with half the effect. The melodies are still here, the delicate restraint also, Gonzalez’ voice whispers seductively sweet nothings but this time around it is largely nothings he’s working with. It’s not that this is a terrible record, it’s more that the wreaths of gossamer amount to not much. Lacking the humorous touches of the debut, Cry suffers from Gonzalez’ sometimes witless and earnest lyrics which are mirrored in the lackluster pace which makes one desperate for the sex to be over so one can get back to smoking. Cry aims for Lynch/Badalamenti atmospherics and hits them occasionally but too often lapses into Hallmark sentimentalism. For an album ostensibly about romantic and physical love Cry is dispiritingly dry. There is only ash on these sheets. Serge Gainsbourg is somewhere rolling his eyes, and a gasper, in the velvet boudoir of eternity.

Andrew Forell

Lucy Dacus — 2019 (Matador)

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Between Historian and boygenius, Lucy Dacus had a pretty memorable 2018. It makes sense that she'd want to document 2019. What she did instead was release a series of holiday-ish tracks over the course of the year and then collect them as the 2019 EP. The covers will likely get the most attention, whether her loving take on Edith Piaf's “La vie en rose” or the rocking rendition of Wham!'s “Last Christmas.” Dacus doesn't perform these songs with any sense of snark; she's both enjoying herself and invested. Counting Bruce Springsteen's birthday as a holiday might be silly, but she nails “Dancing in the Dark,” turning it to her own aesthetic. The weird one here is “In the Air Tonight,” which smacks of irony and whatever we call guilty pleasures these days, but she plays it straight, arguing for it as a spooky Halloween cut, and sort of pulls it off.

Focusing on the covers might lead listeners to forget how good a songwriter she is. The Mother's Day “My Mother & I” feels thoroughly like a Dacus number, opening with contemplation: “My mother hates her body / We share the same outline / She swears that she loves mine.” Holidays aren't easy. “Fool's Gold” (stick this New Year's track first or last) falls like snow, laden with regret and rationalization. Dacus works through holidays with care and concern. The covers might be fun (even the Phil Collins number works as a curiosity), but when she lets the more conflicted thoughts come through, as on “Forever Half Mast,” she maintains the hot streak. The EP might be a bit of a diversion, but its secret complexity makes it more surprisingly forceful. Justin Cober-Lake

Kool Keith — Computer Technology (Fat Beats)

Computer Technology by Kool Keith

Naming an album Computer Technology in 2019 is like calling a 1950 disc A Light Bulb. Ironic Luddite-ness is a part of the charm of the new Kool Keith’s album, his second this year. The record has a cyberpunk-ish (circa 1984) feel, thanks to wacky, early electronics-like beats that no sane hip hop artist today would agree to rap over. But who said Kool Keith was sane? He’s like a computer virus here, infesting a modern culture he views with disdain. His kooky brags could be written off as old man rants if he been in the rap game since day one. On “Computer Technology” he says: ‘You need to sit down and slow down’, yet he himself shows no signs of slowing down.

If Kool Keith’s 1980s science rap messed around in a high school lab, he’s now a tenured professor in hip hop science blowing up the joint.

Ray Garraty

Leech — Data Horde (Peak Oil)

Data Horde by Leech

Brian Foote’s work has a knack for showing up in slightly unexpected and subtly crucial places, whether it’s behind the scenes at Kranky and his own Peak Oil imprint, or as a member at times of Fontanelle or Nudge, or even just helping out Stephen Malkmus with drums. On Data Horde, his debut LP of electronic music under his Leech moniker, Foote works with his customary quiet assurance and subtly radical take on things, delivering a brief but satisfying set of bespoke productions that somehow evoke acid and ambient tinges at the same time, feinting towards full-out jungle eruptions before turning the corner and somehow naturally going somewhere much more minimal. Whether it’s the skittering, pulsing “Brace” or the lush and aptly-named “Nimble”, the results are consistently satisfying and the six tracks here suggest that we could stand to hear a lot more from Leech.

Ian Mathers

Midnight Odyssey — Biolume Part 1: In Tartarean Chains (I, Voidhanger)

Biolume Part 1 - In Tartarean Chains by MIDNIGHT ODYSSEY

Midnight Odyssey’s massive new record sounds like what might happen if Gary Numan’s Tubeway Army smoked up a bunch of Walter White’s finest product and decided that they must cover Pink Floyd’s Live at Pompei, complete with ruins and really big gongs. It’s interstellar. It’s perversely grandiose. The synths soar and rumble, the vocals come in mournful choral arrangements, the low end thunders and occasionally explodes into blast-beat barrage. It’s almost impossible to take seriously, and it’s presented with what seems like absolute seriousness. In any case, there’s a lot of it: seven tracks, all of which exceed the eight-minute mark, and most of which moan and intone and resonate well beyond ten minutes. You’ve got to give it to Dis Pater, the only identified member of Midnight Odyssey — he really means it. But it’s often hard to tell if Biolume Part 1 (Pater threatens that there are two more parts to come) is the product of an unchecked, idiosyncratically powerful vision or just goofball cosmological schmaltz. To this reviewer, it’s undecidable. And that’s interesting.

Jonathan Shaw

Nakhane — You Will Not Die

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South African singer Nakhane Touré has a voice that can stop you in your tracks when he unleashes it, and a willingness to tackle uncomfortable topics (homosexuality, colonialism, and the way the imported Presbyterian church interacts with both) that’s seen him both praised and threatened in his homeland. You Will Not Die marks a shift in Nakhane’s music, both in terms of how directly and intensely he engages with those places where the sacred rubs up against, not so much the profane but the disavowed, even while sonically everything is lusher and brighter, whether it’s the slinky electroglam of “Interloper” or the bell-tolling balladry of “Presbyteria.” For once it’s worth seeking the deluxe edition, for the Bowie-esque Anohni duet “New Brighton” and the defiantly melancholy cover of “Age of Consent” alone.

Matthew J. Rolin — Matthew J. Rolin (Feeding Tube)

Matthew J. Rolin by Matthew J. Rolin

Matthew J. Rolin steps to the head of the latest class of American Primitive guitarists on this self-titled debut LP. He is currently a resident of Columbus, Ohio, but his main inspirations from within the genre are Chicagoan. Reportedly a Ryley Walker concert sent him down the solo guitar path, but the one time this reviewer caught him in concert, Rolin only made one substance-oriented statement throughout the set, and it was more of a shy assertion than an extravagant boast. His sound more than pays the toll. Bright and ringing on 12 strings, pithy and structurally sound on six, he makes sparing use of outdoor sound and keyboard drones that bring Daniel Bachman to mind. Like Bachman did on his early records, Rolin often relies upon the rush of his fingerpicking to draw the listener along, and what do you know? It works.

Bill Meyer

Claire Rousay — Aerophobia (Astral Spirits)

Aerophobia by Claire Rousay

To watch Claire Rousay perform is to see the process of deciding made visual. You can’t put that on a tape, but you can make the tape a symbolic and communicative object. To see Rousay repeatedly, or to play her recordings in sequence, is to hear an artist who is rapidly transforming. This one was already a bit behind her development when it was released, but that can be turned into a statement, too. Perhaps the title Aerophobia, which means fear of flying, is a critique of the tape’s essentially musical content? It is a series of drum solos, unlike the more the more recent t4t, which includes self-revealing speech and household sounds. If so, that critique does not reproach the music itself, nor should it. Even when you can’t see her, you can hear her sonic resourcefulness and appreciate the movement and shape she articulates with sound.

Bill Meyer

Colin Andrew Sheffield & James Eck Rippie — Exploded View (Elevator Bath)

exploded view by colin andrew sheffield & james eck rippie

Colin Andrew Sheffield, who is the proprietor of the Elevator Bath imprint, and James Eck Rippie, who does sound work for Hollywood movies, have this understanding in common: they know that you gotta break things to make things. The things in question don’t even have to be intact when you start; at any rate, the feedback, microphone bumps, blips and skips that make up this 19-minute long piece of musique concrete sound like the product of generations of handling. It all feels a bit like you’re hearing a scan of the shortwave bands from inside the radio, which makes for delightfully disorienting listening.

Bill Meyer

Ubik — Next Phase (Iron Lung)

Next Phase MLP (LUNGS-148) by UBIK

Philip K. Dick’s whacko-existentialist-corporate-satire-cum-SF-novel Ubik turns 50 this year, and serendipitously, Australian punks Ubik have released this snarling, tuneful EP into the world. There’s a whole lot of British street punk, c. 1982, in Ubik’s sound, especially if that genre tag and year make you flash on Lurkers, Abrasive Wheels and Angelic Upstarts — bands that knew how to string melodic hooks together, and bands that had pretty solid lefty politics. Ubik’s songs couple street punk’s populist (in the pre-Trump sense) fist-pumping with a spastic, elastic angularity, giving the tracks just enough of a weirdo vibe that the band’s name makes sense. The combination of elements is vividly present in “John Wayne (Is a Cowboy (and Is on Twitter)),” a hugely fun punk song that registers a fair degree of ideological venom as it bashes and speeds along. Somewhere, Horselover Fat is nodding his head and smiling.

Jonathan Shaw

Uranium Club — Two Things at Once (Sub Pop)

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Uranium Club (sometimes Minneapolis Uranium club) made one of the best punk albums of this year in The Cosmo Cleaners. “A visionary insanity, backed by impressive musical chops,” I opined in Dusted last April, setting off a frenzy of interest and an epic major label bidding war. Just kidding. Hardly anyone noticed. Uranium Club was this year’s Patois Counselors, a band so good that it made no sense that no one knew about them. But, fast forward to now and LOOK at the heading of this review! Sub Pop noticed and included Uranium Club in its storied singles club. And why not? The bluntly named “Two Things at Once,” (Parts I and 2), is just as tightly, maniacally wound as the full-length, just as gloriously, spikily confrontational. “Part 1” scrambles madly, pulling hair out by the roots as it agitatedly considers “our children’s creativity” and whether “I’m too young to die.” It’s like Fire Engines, but faster and crazier and with big pieces of machinery working loose and flying off the sides. “Part 2” runs slower and more lyrically but with no less intensity, big flayed slashes of discord rupturing its meditative strumming. There are no words in it, and yet you sense deep, obsessive bouts of agitation driving its motor, even when the brass comes in, unexpectedly, mournfully, near the end. This is the good stuff, and no one wants you to know about it. Except me. And now Sub Pop. Don’t miss out.

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists— Come on up to the House: Women Sing Waits (Dualtone)

Come On Up To The House: Women Sing Waits by Dualtone Music Group, Inc.

Tom Waits’ gravelly voice is embedded deep in the fabric of how we think of Tom Waits songs. You can’t think of “Come On Up to the House” without sandpapery catch in its gospel curves, or of “Downtown Train” without his strangled desolation; he is the songs, and if you don’t like the way he sings, you’ve probably never cared much for his recordings. And yet, here, in this all-woman, star-studded, country-centric collection of covers, you can hear, maybe for the first time, how gracefully constructed these songs are, how pretty the melodies, how well the lyrics fit to them. You cannot believe how different these songs sound with women singing. It is truly revelatory. Contributors include big stars (Aimee Mann, Corinne Rae Bailey), living legends (Iris Dement, Roseanne Cash), up-and-comers (Courtney Marie Andrews, Phoebe Bridgers) and a few emerging artists (Joseph, The Wild Reeds), and all have a case to make. Phoebe Bridgers distills “Georgia Lee” into a quiet, tragic purity, while Angie McMahon finds a private, inward-looking clarity in “Take It With Me.” Courtney Marie Andrews blows up “Downtown Train,” into a swaggering country anthem, while Roseanne Cash infuses “Time” with a warm, unforced glow. These versions transform weird, twisted reveries into American songbook classics, which is what they maybe were, under all that growling, all along.

Jennifer Kelly

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pandajames59-blog · 6 years ago

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Let the Music Sweep You Away in Bohemian Rhapsody, a Biopic Fit for Queen

Queen were more than just one of the most exceptional rock & roll bands of all time. They represented theatricality, larger-than-life soundscapes, taking chances and — as shown in Bohemian Rhapsody, the new movie about the band and lead singer Freddie Mercury — embodied a family, a dysfunctional one sometimes, but a family nonetheless. This is all fairly common stuff to portray for a rock & roll biopic, and though it doesn't break new ground on the genre, it still does what it sets out to do very well. Does it avoid cliché? No, but the best movies about music usually don't. By design, a film that seeks to celebrate true rock star mojo tends to follow a familiar path: It starts with youthful exuberance and the desire to express it creatively, then arcs with some sort of challenge, tragedy or downward spiral, and ends with redemption. This vibrant and at times surreal flashback film does all of the above as it should, so I'm not sure why some critics are demanding more.

Perhaps it's because Freddie Mercury was one of the most daring and unapologetic figures in pop culture — a queer man fronting a straight band with a moniker that winked at this truth, with an utterly wondrous voice and a stage presence that mesmerized to the point of possession. Whether it was in a small '70s nightclub filled with too-cool Brits in beautiful boho-glam threads or a stadium filled with hundreds of thousands of fans from all walks of life clapping above their heads in unison in the '80s, nobody put themselves out there onstage like Freddie. He rocked hard and apparently he lived hard, too. For that to ring true on film, some expect a rawer depiction of his debauchery, snorting lines, gay sex and all. For hard-core Queen fans, however, it's just not necessary.

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Malek embodies Mercury.

20th Century Fox

Despite concerns after Bohemian Rhapsody's first trailer came out that Mercury's homosexuality might be glossed over, it's dealt with straight on, first subtly showing the singer's gazing exchanges with various men while on the road, later in a kissing scene with the band's nefarious handler and, finally, with the man who ended up being his boyfriend in his final years. There's also a pivotal moment between Freddie and his first girlfriend, Mary Austin, that really happened. He gave her an engagement ring but as the band became more successful, and he was away a lot, his true preferences became clear. He finally tells her he's bisexual midway through the film, but she corrects that. "You're gay," she tells him and he doesn't deny it, though the relationship and affection between the two feels tender and real. Austin is still alive and, based on interviews with her over the years, the woman who inspired "Love of My Life" was given her due as an important and grounding part of Freddie's world.

As for his bandmates, they all come off as good chaps, guys whose love for creating music allowed them to not only accept their lead singer's idiosyncrasies but understand that they were part of what made Queen so special. Intra-band arguing is shown, usually for comic relief, but it illuminates the chemistry that created some of Queen's most unforgettable music, from the audacious masterpiece A Night at the Opera to the immersive clap and stomp of "We Will Rock You" to the rhythmic bass-driven "disco" hit "Another One Bites the Dust."

Gwilym Lee captures Brian May in particular astonishingly well, and it's not just his uncanny resemblance to the curly-haired guitarist, it's his go-with-the-flow vibe and obvious reverence for his frontman, something May always seemed to possess. Ben Hardy as Roger Taylor and Joseph Mazzello as John Deacon round out the band impersonations nicely, conveying just the right amount of nerdy excitement as their dreams of fame and fortune start to come true and swelling egos after they actually have. Mostly they help capture the fun, friendship and fearlessness that fueled this phenomenal band, helping them surpass their peers in popularity and output and ultimately evolve into visionaries. No surprise May and Taylor have been heavily involved in this project for years, even having input into the long-buzzed-about Sacha Baron Cohen version of the movie, which fell through, May has said, mostly because of Cohen's fame. Freddie deserved a believable portrayal without even a hint of distraction.

Which brings us to Rami Malek's gorgeous, transcendent performance. You want to smile almost every time he's onscreen. Even with an enhanced jaw via a tooth-filled mouthpiece, he doesn't always look like Freddie Mercury without the signature mirrored aviators (sometimes he looks more like Mick Jagger, others he sort of recalls Z-Man from Russ Meyer's Beyond the Valley of the Dolls), but he channels Freddie with everything he's got and pulls it off even when the scene itself is a little corny. Don't get me wrong: There are some corny scenes in Bohemian Rhapsody but they're knowingly so; a couple of chuckler scenes with Mike Myers as record exec Ray Foster come to mind (he even makes a subtle ref to Wayne's World's head-banging car scene). Purple Rain, Walk the Line, Sid & Nancy, The Doors and Almost Famous (the latter of which is most similar in tone and authentic feel) also have these kinds of romanticized takes on people who make music and those of us so in awe of them we are moved to tears. Some pull off the magic better than others; Rhapsody is as good as any of the above in doing so.

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Queen's performance at Live Aid circa 1985 is re-created in Bohemian Rhapsody.

20th Century Fox

As with many biopics, some facts are tweaked and the chronology of events switched up for dramatic effect. Here the opening scene and climax make it all about Live Aid, Bob Geldof's concert/TV telethon, in which Queen famously blew away everyone else on the bill (including Mick Jagger, David Bowie, The Who, and U2 to name a few) with their incredible set. Mercury apparently didn't reveal his AIDS diagnosis to the band until 1989, a full four years after the band's epic Live Aid performance, but in Rhapsody he finds out just before that show and shares the news with bandmates during rehearsals, where he also seems in frail health. This makes the Live Aid show seem even more triumphant, something that might be manipulative if the movie's motivation as adoring tribute wasn't as transparent as it is. May and Taylor OK'd this factual adjustment for a reason — Live Aid was a pinnacle performance that served the climax well — but showing the struggles Freddie dealt with getting onstage and knowing he might not have long to live was a very real thing, no matter the timing. Director Bryan Singer (who was fired before the movie's completion due to sexual harassment charges) really highlights Malek's most nuanced moments, as does Dexter Fletcher, who finished the film in his absence (he gets credit as a producer).

Of course the most memorable of these moments are the musical ones (he's lip-syncing the real Freddie's beauteous vox throughout, and even if his acting had sucked, hearing that voice in a movie theater would be a thrill), but it's more than that. Malek plays the icon with passion and bravado but his confidence has cracks, too — it's layered with what might be insecurity, what definitely manifests as loneliness and what was surely a sense of existential struggle, brought on by a disconnect from his family and immigrant background (his real name was Farrokh Bulsara) and possibly coming to terms with his sexuality even before he became a superstar.

He's so over-the-top in certain scenes that it might come off as caricature, but one suspects Freddie himself was similarly complex. He was flamboyant onstage and off, donning tight, colorful clothing, and punctuating sentences with "dah-ling," while conveying poetry and emotion with his lyrics and blissful singing, even as he maintained an air of hyper-masculine rock god cockiness, the kind that made even straight dudes sing along and shake their bodies with abandon.

As with a concert or favorite record, sometimes it's best not to overthink things but simply let the visceral power take over. That is what made Queen and Freddie Mercury so special and that is why Bohemian Rhapsody will rock you, if you let it.

Source: https://www.laweekly.com/film/let-the-music-sweep-you-away-in-bohemian-rhapsody-a-biopic-fit-for-queen-10010719

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 6 years ago

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Bob Dylan - The El Rey Theatre, Los Angeles, California, December 18, 1997

Neverending Tourists! We’ve made it to the 10th show in our NET crawl. Only 20 more to go! Are you exhausted by all the Bob yet? Weirdly I’m not. Maybe that’s not weird at all, I don’t know.

In late ‘97, Bob’s live show got a shot in the arm thanks to Time Out Of Mind, which was released to wide acclaim that September. Suddenly, he had a bunch of great new songs to add to setlists -- he could finally drop “Silvio”! Actually, they still play “Silvio” at this particular show. But whatever. There are also four TOOM tracks, and Bob and band lean into them with vim and vigor. The tumultuous maelstrom of “Cold Irons Bound,” the funky choogle of “Can’t Wait,” the sleazed out groove “Til I Fell In Love With You,” and the doom-laden “Love Sick” chug ... they all sound awesomely atmospheric. Where the album versions are blurry and woozy, the live interpretations are explosive and razor sharp -- Bob is clearly enjoying spitting out the nastiest of the lyrics. Great stuff.

And not only did Bob have excellent new songs to play, he had an excellent new guitarist, Larry Campbell, who would be at his side for the next seven or eight years. Campbell deserves to be mentioned alongside Dylan’s best guitar foils, thanks to a sensitive, textured approach that had been missing from previous NET players. Larry is right at home during this show, weaving his intricate lines effortlessly in with Bucky Baxter’s pedal steel beauty.

The more well-traveled material played this evening is marvelous, too, whether it’s the slow-burn of “I Want You” or the passionate delivery of “Born In Time.” Even “Like A Rolling Stone” is worth your time -- stick around for the delightfully breezy instrumental coda Baxter leads everyone into. How does it feel? Pretty fucking good, apparently.

Choice Cut: As good as the live Time Out Of Mind songs are, I’m going to have to give it up for “Blind Willie McTell,” which was finally getting played live during this period, almost a decade and half after Bob decided it wasn’t good enough for Infidels. (“‘Neighborhood Bully’!” he thought. “That’s the real classic.”) The arrangement is perfectly ominous and Dylan’s vocal is perfectly craggy.

Bob Dylan (vocal & guitar), Bucky Baxter (pedal steel guitar, mandolin & electric slide guitar), Larry Campbell (guitar), Tony Garnier (bass), David Kemper (drums & percussion)

1. Maggie's Farm 2. I Want You 3. Cold Irons Bound 4. Born In Time 5. Can't Wait 6. Silvio (Bob Dylan & Robert Hunter) 7. Stone Walls And Steel Bars (Ray Daniel Pennington / Roy E. Marcum) 8. Mr. Tambourine Man 9. Tangled Up In Blue 10. It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry 11. Blind Willie McTell 12. ´Til I Fell In Love With You 13. Like A Rolling Stone 14. It Ain't Me, Babe 15. Love Sick 16. Rainy Day Women # 12 & 35

#bob dylan #the neverending tour

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krispyweiss · 7 years ago

Video

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“Chicago: The Terry Kath Experience” Coming to Home Video Dec. 12

In-concert footage, color and black-and-white photographs and tons of music - tracks such as “25 or 6 to 4,” “Free Form Guitar” “Introduction” and “It Better End Soon” - will feature prominently in a new documentary about the late Chicago guitarist Terry Kath, who played with the band from its 1969 debut The Chicago Transit Authority until his death in 1978.

Kath died when his daughter, first-time filmmaker Michelle Kath Sinclair, was 2. She crowdfunded her film, interviewing family, friends, bandmates and fellow musicians and the result is, “Chicago: The Terry Kath Experience.“

“I never really got a chance to know him, so I decided to take this journey on discovering my father,” Sinclair says in a trailer for the forthcoming movie, “and also giving him the recognition he deserves as a guitarist, which I felt he never really got.”

”The Terry Kath Experience,” - most certainly a play on Jimi Hendrix, who is rumored to have proclaimed Kath “better than me” - premiered on AXS-TV in November and will be released on home video with 30 minutes of bonus footage Dec. 12.

In in trailer, the surviving original members of Chicago alternatively describe Kath as “bigger than life,” “one of the more amusing guys I ever met,” “the heart and soul of the band,” an “in-your-face-type of a personality” and a “big teddy bear.”

But what most amazed everyone most about Kath was his ability with a six-string.

“Hendrix was completely dumbfounded by Terry,” trombonist James Pankow says.

A master of the wah-wah pedal who played lead and rhythm simultaneously and is perennially under-recognized in part because he played in a large band best known for its horns and the saccharine pop songs it turned to after Kath’s death, the guitarist is nevertheless revered by fans and colleagues alike, as Joe Walsh says in the film.

“It’s a sound that no guitar player could get,” Walsh says of Kath’s playing. “How in the world does he get a guitar to sound like that?”

Trumpeter Lee Loughnane breaks down in tears, keyboardist Robert Lamm says he wouldn’t have these conversations with anyone but Sinclair and former drummer Danny Seraphine asks her if she really wants to know the story of Kath’s final years and the slow spiral that led to his death by accidental, self-inflicted gunshot wound on Jan. 23, 1978.

“I used to get angry with him about doing too much drugs,” Seraphine says as the trailer melts into “Hope for Love,” a Kath ballad that closed Chicago X, the guitarist’s penultimate album with the group.

Available now for pre-order, “Chicago: The Terry Kath Experience” will be released on DVD, Blu-Ray and streaming platforms.

11/28/17

#chicago #chicago the band #terry kath #the terry kath experience #peter cetera #robert lamm #walt parazaider #lee loughnane #james pankow #danny seraphine #jimi hendrix #the jimi hendrix experience #joe walsh #the james gang

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ferrybaker0-blog · 5 years ago

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Let the Music Sweep You Away in Bohemian Rhapsody, a Biopic Fit for Queen

EXPAND

Malek embodies Mercury.

20th Century Fox

EXPAND

Queen's performance at Live Aid circa 1985 is re-created in Bohemian Rhapsody.

20th Century Fox

Source: https://www.laweekly.com/film/let-the-music-sweep-you-away-in-bohemian-rhapsody-a-biopic-fit-for-queen-10010719

0 notes

peacebus6-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Let the Music Sweep You Away in Bohemian Rhapsody, a Biopic Fit for Queen

EXPAND

Malek embodies Mercury.

20th Century Fox

EXPAND

Queen's performance at Live Aid circa 1985 is re-created in Bohemian Rhapsody.

20th Century Fox

Source: https://www.laweekly.com/film/let-the-music-sweep-you-away-in-bohemian-rhapsody-a-biopic-fit-for-queen-10010719

0 notes

avanneman · 6 years ago

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Sphericity

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Thelonious Sphere Monk probably did not drink as much bourbon as William Faulkner. He probably did not shoot as much heroin as William Burroughs, or smoke as much marijuana as Norman Mailer, or get as many “vitamin shots” from feel-good Manhattan doctors as John F. Kennedy. But he had his share. He had his measure. And the wonder is perhaps, not that he died so young, but that he lived so long. Born in 1917, Monk outlived many of his contemporaries, like Charlie Parker, Fats Navarro, Serge Chaloff, and John Coltrane, dying in 1982, though spending the better part of the last decade of his life in deep emotional and physical decline.

Nine years ago (nine long years) Robin D. G. Kelley wrote Thelonious Monk The Life and Times of an American Original, one of the best books on jazz that I’ve ever read.1 At the time, I conceived a plan to write a long (or longish) piece on Monk, but I was, naturally, distracted, not perhaps from distraction but by distraction, for quite some time. Last year, 2018, proved to be a very auspicious year for Monk fans, and for myself in particular, first of all because I learned of a fascinating project that I could have/should have learned about long ago, the commissioning of 21 contemporary composers by Italian pianist Emanuele Arciuli to create compositions inspired by Monk’s most famous tune, Round Midnight. I posted a video of Spanish pianist Ricardo Descalzo playing the longest of these, “Eine Kleine Mitternacht Musik”, a nine-part suite/“rumination” by George Crumb.2

Equally exciting (if not more so) was the release in 2018 of two complete sets of all of Monk’s compositions, one an extraordinary solo triumph by guitarist Miles Okazaki, called simply Work, available from his own website and the other, equally impressive, from a group led by pianist Frank Kimbrough, Monk’s Dreams. So if the whole world wasn’t telling me to get my act together and write that Monk piece, enough of it was for me to get the hint.

Naturally, my first impulse, after reading Kelley’s book, was to complain about all that Kelley left out! Yes, critics are ridiculous parasites, with all the dignity of a horse fly. If only authors had tails to swat them!

Anyone who is familiar with, and appreciative of, all of jazz (a dwindling few, I am sure) must be struck by the similarities, and the differences, between Monk and the other great “contrarian” of jazz, Lester Young. Just as Monk went out of his way to be the opposite of all the boppers on the scene in the forties, Young went out of his way to be as unlike as possible as the greatest saxophonist on the scene in the thirties, Coleman Hawkins. Both Monk and Young began their recording careers quite late (27 for both), yet both were, among musicians, already famous. Young in particular managed to have an extraordinary reputation even though he was largely based in Kansas City rather than the Big Apple. While still unrecorded, Young was invited to fill the most famous sax chair in all of jazz, that of Coleman Hawkins himself, with the Fletcher Henderson band, even though Young’s style was the precise opposite of Hawkins’.3

But the differences are significant as well. Young did not record with the Henderson band, making his first recordings with a small group drawn from the Basie band, which he joined in 1935. Young’s solos on “Shoeshine Boy” and “Lady Be Good” are among his very best, and among the very best in all of jazz.

Monk’s first recorded solos, in 1943 with a small group led by Coleman Hawkins, are, in contrast, entirely unremarkable, and even his first recordings under his own name, in 1947, sound awkward, though that may be more the fault of the band than Monk. It isn’t until the next year, in the session with Milt Jackson that produced the first recordings of both “Misterioso” and “Evidence”, that we begin to hear the “real” Thelonious, and the “real” Thelonious doesn’t emerge in quantity until 1951, when he recorded with Jackson again.

Yet Monk was already “famous” among the musicians of New York. He was mentor to Bud Powell, who became the first famous bop pianist, even though Monk was seven years older and had been the house pianist at Minton’s, the Harlem night club forever famous as ground zero of the bop revolution. Powell instantly realized, as Monk refused to do, that the way to become famous in the bop scene was to become “the Charlie Parker of the piano” (or whatever instrument one played).

Monk, of course, was not interested in being the Charlie Parker of the piano. He wanted to be the Thelonious Monk of the piano, which he already was, so, in effect, his work was complete. He expected the world to come to him and, when it did come to him, to accept him as the genius he indubitably was.4 He disdained entirely the cult of virtuosity, the surest ticket to recognition for any musician, and the virtuosity of the early boppers—the early famous boppers, like Parker, and Dizzy Gillespie, and Bud Powell—was legendary.

Charlie Parker was, of course, Monk’s great rival. While Parker was alive, at least, Monk’s attitude seems to have one of jealousy, that Parker was getting credit for all of Monk’s innovations. The contrasts between the careers of the two men could scarcely have been more complete. Parker, starting out in Kansas City, like Young, was a featured soloist with Jay McShann’s “territory” band (i.e., not nationally recognized) at age 18. At age 20, in a private recording session, he produced two brilliant solos on two tunes closely associated with Lester, “Honeysuckle Rose” and “Lady Be Good”, sounding very much like Lester on the alto. By age 25, Parker had made some of the most important records in jazz.

Still, Monk had his chances. Despite their rivalry—for Monk felt that Gillespie had “stolen” from him as well—Monk took the job as pianist in Dizzy Gillespie big band, formed in 1945 (live recordings of the band exist, available on the CD Dizzy Gillespie Showtime at the Spotlite, though Monk is rarely featured). In true Monkish fashion, he messed everything up, almost invariably skipping the first set of each performance, a “habit” that persisted even for the most important date of his life, the legendary engagement at the Five Spot Café with John Coltrane in 1958.5

Monk was replaced with John Lewis, who had all the discipline Monk lacked, though little of his genius, and who took the opportunity to employ three of his bandmates–Milt Jackson (vibes), Ray Brown (bass), and Kenny Clarke (drums), all three the leading bop musicians on their instruments–to form what was originally called the Milt Jackson Quartet, later morphing into the famous Modern Jazz Quartet, a group that could have been Monk’s.

Monk’s suspicions and resentments plagued him throughout his career. He was almost always on bad terms with his labels, first Blue Note and then Prestige. Blue Note was probably just disappointed in the poor sales of his records, but Prestige seems to have been actively trying to push Monk off the label, frequently using him as a sideman. Yet, again, Monk himself often didn’t seem to be paying attention. He recorded one of his most striking works, an elaborate arrangement of Jerome Kerns’ “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” for Prestige, an almost guaranteed crowd pleaser, yet never, so far as I am aware, performed it live or ever recorded it again. In the famous Dec. 24, 1954 session led by Miles Davis, he recorded his legendary solo on the Milt Jackson composition “Bag’s Groove”, which he thereafter consciously excluded from his repertoire.

Even when Monk signed with Riverside Records, teaming him with a producer, Orrin Keepnews, convinced of Monk’s genius and determined to bring Monk the recognition he deserved, there was endless friction. Keepnews believed that the combination of Monk’s unorthodox compositions and his unorthodox piano style was too much for the masses, a theory which he “explained” (probably to excess) in the copious liner notes that were the fashion of the day and which led him to devote Monk’s first two albums to compositions of other composers. The first, a salute to Duke Ellington, was a success, and a fascinating album, for Ellington, unsurprisingly, was one of Monk’s heroes. The second, The Unique Thelonious Monk, devoted to (white) standards, was less successful. When “forced” to play other people’s music, Monk would almost invariably play the melody straight, perform a brief, perfunctory improvisation, and then conclude with random dashes at the keyboard to express his disdain for such trivial fare.

Since Keepnews “wasn’t interested” in his own compositions, Monk took four of them with him when he served as a sideman on a session led by saxophonist Gigi Gryce, which surely irritated Keepnews. When Monk was finally allowed to play his own music by Keepnews, the results were excellent, but the bloom quickly faded from the rose. There were endless delays, failed sessions, and missed dates. Monk was “offended” by the success of other musicians in Riverside’s stable, like pianist Bill Evans and saxophonist “Cannonball” Adderley. The fact that Adderley, an excellent musician and a serious student of jazz, aggressively courted popularity meant nothing to him, nor did he think that Evans’ “exquisite” renditions of Gershwin and other Broadway composers might prove both more accessible and more popular than his own mysterious compositions, not to mention his patented counter-intuitive virtuosity, which consciously discarded everything that appealed to the untutored sensibility.

Despite a large number of classic recordings, by 1960 Monk had lost interest in working with Riverside, providing, to Keepnews’ increasing frustration, nothing but “live” recordings, using the same format over and over again, a quartet featuring the always excellent Charlie Rouse as the only other solo voice, a format that, in fact, Monk retained for the rest of his career.

By the early 60s, Monk was far more famous than he had ever been, recording with one of the biggest labels in the country, Columbia. He put a great deal of effort into his first album for Columbia, Monk’s Dream. Like many jazz musicians, Monk very often insisted on “first take, best take,”6 but on Monk’s Dream he was willing to pursue as many as eight. Thereafter, however, his energy declined. Throughout his years with Columbia, he refused to take any advantage of the many opportunities his long-delayed fame offered him, clinging to the same performing format and repertoire and very rarely offering any new compositions. His passivity was such that he even complied with Columbia’s insistence on a big band album, Who’s Afraid of the Big Band Monk?, with utterly abysmal arrangements by a totally clueless Oliver Nelson. It’s more than painful to hear Monk striving against Nelson’s syrupy settings, even worse than the “Parker with Strings” and “Parker With Voices” albums cooked up for Charlie Parker by the well-meaning (but stupid) Norman Granz for the great Bird.7 Yet even here Monk managed to wrest greatness from the wreckage: his solo on “Brilliant Corners”, the famously “impossible” tune that he never recorded after its premiere on the Riverside album of the same name,8 is magnificent.

Many years ago, I heard Charlie Mingus say in an interview that Monk and Duke Ellington were the only two “compers” (accompanists) he admired.9 Every other pianist in jazz, Mingus said, simply played the same chords over and over. Only Ellington and Monk showed thought in their accompaniment, only they understood that a solo is supposed to show development. But the differences between Ellington and Monk are, if anything, even more pronounced than their similarities. Ellington was fascinated by listening to his soloists, understanding their capabilities and sensibilities–which he understood better than they did–and leading them where in effect they wanted to go, bringing out the best in them in harmony with his own overarching conceptions.

Monk, in contrast, played the accompaniment that his soloists ought to have wanted, if they had Monk’s sensibility. Not only did Monk want what he wanted, he never bothered to explain what it was he wanted, and he frequently changed his mind. Monk wanted everything to happen both the way he wanted it and of its own accord.

Monk composed a mere handful of pieces, somewhere between 70 and 75, depending on how you count them, while Ellington wrote over 1,000. At the same time that Monk was struggling to be recorded, “establishment” composers like Irving Babbitt and Ned Rorem received massive subsidies and prestigious critical recognition. Yet Amazon lists over a hundred albums each for Babbitt and Rorem, but over a thousand for Monk, an unfair comparison indeed, but one I’ll make nonetheless.10 Many of Monk’s compositions were reworkings of popular tunes of little consequence, yet almost fifty years after his death his reputation seems to grow with each passing year, and recordings of his work are almost without number. The wind bloweth where it listeth.

Afterwords Hundred of jazz videos, most of them performances of Monk’s tunes, are available from my website here. “Mostly Monk” has hundreds more and is a wonderful source. Ten years ago I wrote a piece about “Salute to Thelonious” albums, discussing about 30 of them. A few years later I added four more but then gave up, a little overwhelmed. I also reviewed The Jazz Baroness, a documentary on the life of jazz patron Pannonica de Koenigswarter, who cared for Monk during his last years, for the Bright Lights Film Journal.

Another is Scott DeVeaux’s Bebop A Social and Musical History, a near-microscopic study of developments in jazz from about 1940 through 1945, published in 1997. ↩︎

You can get an album from Amazon, ’Round Midnight, of Arciuli playing all of the variations except Crumb’s, and you can get Arciuli playing “Eine Kleine Mitternacht Musik” on another album, Complete Crumb Edition 9; Ancient Voices of Children, Madrigals Books I-IV, Eine Kleine Mitternachtmusik. (I say “album” instead of “CD” because it’s a lot cheaper to download these.) ↩︎

Young’s first influence, apparently, was Frankie Traumbauer, a white musician who played a very obscure instrument, the C-melody sax, falling mid-way in size between an alto and tenor. Trambauer’s “fame” was closely tied to that of once-legendary cornetist Bix Beiderbecke, who is still something of a name (go here to download his music). ↩︎

Monk often refused to answer interviewers’ questions. Why speak with ignorant people? Yet with musicians he trusted, he could be compulsively, though no doubt elliptically, voluble, in conversations that ran all through the night. ↩︎

Live footage of this session exists, though unfortunately you won’t find it on YouTube. Multiple ironies are involved. In 1957, Monk appeared on a CBS special “The Sound of Jazz” (available on YouTube, with the Monk footage mysteriously deleted). In 1958, CBS did another special, on “Youth”, and took their cameras to the Five Spot. No one associated with the production seemed to have the least idea of who Monk or Coltrane was. The Five Spot was apparently chosen because that’s where “the kids” were going. The kids, in this case, were Ivy Leaguers, the guys in suits and the Seven Sisters gals in little black dresses and pearls, all of them smoking and drinking up a storm, while the “adult” narrator talks all over the great music we’re hearing, absolutely bewildered as to how or why anyone could or should listen to such “noise”. I saw this footage in a Monk documentary, probably The Jazz Baroness, about Monk’s patron (one of them, at least), Pannonica de Koenigswarter, which I reviewed here ↩︎

However, this was not always the case. The CD reissue of the great Riverside solo album, Thelonious Himself, features a 25-minute cut of Monk struggling to get “Round Midnight” to come out the way it ought to. ↩︎

These hopeless monsters—arrangements of standards whose chord changes, in many cases, served as the basis for Parker’s own compositions—are, at least, “funny” (for those possessing unusually jaundiced sensibilities), particularly the “voices” album, as Parker, who adopts a “golden’ tone for the occasion (the “real” Parker always played sharp), swoops and swirls his way around the pathetically square arrangements. But Oliver Nelson was desecrating not Gershwin but Monk, and it’s far too ugly to laugh. ↩︎

According to the liner notes of the latest reissues of this classic album, most of the musicians on the date found the tune incomprehensible. Monk, in classic Monk fashion, refused to offer any explanation, simply yelling at them whenever they got it “wrong”. After hours of takes and retakes (and yelling), Keepnews had to splice together two takes to produce what’s heard on the album. Now, of course, there are any number of excellent performances available. ↩︎

Dizzy Gillespie said that Ellington was “the best comper ever.” ↩︎

I am no judge of “establishment” music, whatever that is, but I’ve listened to several albums of Rorem’s “songs”—musical settings of classic poems like Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening”—and felt the music only distracted from the poetry. However, I am very much indebted to Rorem for a very odd reason. His diaries, which began to be published sometime in the late sixties (I believe) gave most of us straights our first peek into the swinging life of a gay man about town, enjoying all the pleasures that Paris had to offer, anonymous sex in particular. The diaries prompted the funniest parody I ever read, appearing in the New Yorker. I’ve forgotten the author’s name, but I haven’t forgotten the following passage: “Happened to run into X, who told me I’m the handsomest man alive. Catching sight of myself in a store window, I had to agree. How often are beauty and genius allied! How they will hate me when they read this, and I only speak the truth! How few can say as much!” ↩︎

#Thelonious Monk #Miles Okazaki #Frank Kimbrough #Robin D. G. Kelley

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devils-gatemedia · 7 years ago

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This latest set of dates will mark the fourth visit to these shores in eighteen months for Whiskey Myers. Since making their UK debut in January 2016 opening for The Cadillac Three, the East Texans have graced festivals, completed their debut headlining tour, and are now back for an encore performance. The venues are getting larger, the crowds bigger, and the buzz growing. When their tour bus parked up outside the venue earlier on, news was breaking about the tragic death of Chris Cornell. Halfway through the evening, news was filtering through that Cornell had indeed taken his own life. At the merch stand, the bar, and of course, the last bastion of traditional debate, the men’s toilets, the overall feeling was one of disbelief.

The subdued atmosphere was still prevalent when Welsh outfit Buffalo Summer took the stage early on… very early, actually. So early that the beer gardens of the surrounding pubs were still overflowing with punters eager to catch some rays on a glorious evening. The band could be playing to a packed house for all they care, as they quickly set about rewarding those that chose a darkened room over a beer garden. Blues based, classic rock meets Southern rock with a UK tinge, that’s the order of the day. The short set is a mixture of tracks from recent album ‘Second Sun’ and the self titled debut from 2013. They’ve got some fans in the house tonight, as howls of delight greet fan favourite ‘Down To The River’. Audience participation is called for by vocalist Andrew Hunt, and he succeeds in getting the hands in the air. ‘Heartbreakin’ Floorshakin’’ from ‘Second Sun’ features some gorgeous riffs from Jonny Williams, who spends most of the set bathed in darkness in what must be one of the darkest venues that I’ve ever been in. By the time that their set comes to an end, the venue has started to fill up and the band exit to warm applause from way more fans than greeted their arrival.

The stage fills up as the six members of Whiskey Myers saunter on to the last few bars of the Rolling Stones intro tape. Expanded to a six piece for the live shows with the addition of percussionist Tony Kent. Not content to sit like the norm for a percussionist, Kent is a whirlwind to watch, a mass of hair, flared trousers and a cowbell… more of that to follow! Latest album, ‘Mud’, was released last year to incredible acclaim and live. The songs sound massive, as the band stretch them out�� thankfully not to the Grateful Dead-like extent that the Black Crowes felt necessary. Their shows started to border on being marathons! Opener, ‘On The River’ is a perfect way to start the show, a slow, soft intro to the song before drummer Jeff Hogg brings the band in. Whiskey Myers are all about the guitars. It’s sheer heaven for six string aficionados, as the band number not one or two, but three superb guitar players amongst their ranks. Best exemplified by the incendiary playing on the title track of latest album ‘Mud’, guitarists Cody Tate and John Jeffers take turns to impress, while vocalist Cody Cannon proves that he hasn’t merely strapped on a Gibson just to look good. The heaviest track on the album, live, it’s intensity is ramped up to the max, as bassist Gary Brown combines with Jeff Hogg to bring the thunder. There is a surreal moment as the three guitarists all change guitars, meaning three crew members have to come on with new ones, it’s like in American football when the coach changes lineup depending on the play!

Chatter is kept to the minimum, with Cannon rarely speaking other than to thank the crowd on a few occasions, but with the back catalogue that these guys have at their disposal, who needs time-wasting banter? ‘Early Morning Shakes’, ‘Lightning Bugs And Rain’ and ‘Some Of Your Love’ all get the heads bobbing, the glasses raised skywards, and the asses shaking. Tate and Jeffers are incredible to watch as they regularly swap lead guitar duties. The best comparison I can make is with the famous film of Lynyrd Skynyrd playing ‘Freebird’ live at Knebworth 1976. The last five minutes of Allen Collins, Gary Rossington and Steve Gaines all trading licks as each tries to outdo the other is a timeless piece of musical history that still gives me goosebumps to this day. I get that same feeling with Whiskey Myers. These guys know what the guitar is for and don’t hold back. Cody Tate also provides sterling lead vocals on ‘Different Mold’, which shuffles along like a mean old one-eyed ‘gator. ‘Happy Gilmore’ was robbed for ‘best picture’ Oscar that year, dude. Robbed, I tell you!

The band’s ode to their birthplace, ‘Ballad Of A Southern Man’ is a sublime piece of songwriting and the band seem genuinely taken aback when the crowd sing it back to them. Well, the cider had kicked in by then. After nearly ten minutes of jaw-dropping guitar playing, which featured some sweet slide action from Jeffers, the band crash into ‘Home’. Midway through the song, Tony Kent leaps his bass drum and takes control as he unleashes… a cowbell solo! I’m talking full on, swinging legs like a loon, no holds barred, going for it big time. Imagine Will Ferrell’s famous skit, but a thousand times more manic and without the belly dancing. If ever there was a night that needed some light relief then it was tonight. The passing of Cornell was marked by a tribute from Cannon before the band launched into ‘Stone’… “One of the best damn singers in the world, Mr Chris Cornell” A heartfelt tribute to go with a heartfelt and genuine song, one of the many highlights from ‘Mud’.

A fantastic way to end a horrible day. We’ve lost so many heroes over the last few years, but this one pulled the carpet out from under everyone’s feet. Music heals everything, and Whiskey Myers pulled a blinder out of the hat. This band deserves every damn plaudit coming their way.

Review: Dave Stott

Images: Dave Jamieson

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Live Review: Whiskey Myers – ABC, Glasgow This latest set of dates will mark the fourth visit to these shores in eighteen months for Whiskey Myers.

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coldsoupy · 8 years ago

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The Deadly Desert - Interview Transcript, December 2016

The following is an interview transcript with Chris Stern of The Deadly Desert and The Sterns for an upcoming feature in Providence Monthly. He said some great stuff in great length and I wanted to let his full words and thoughts be heard. Enjoy.

The Deadly Desert

Providence Monthly: There's so much going on with your new album in terms of instrumentation, percussion and vocal arrangements, what was your writing process like? How do you compose your music?

Chris Stern: Songs, for me, always start with a melody or a lyric. Some people write at the piano or with their guitar and actively ‘work’ at a tune by fiddling with chords until something happens. I get easily frustrated if I sit down to write and I can’t connect all the dots right away. Great songs sound effortless, so if you’re pulling your hair out to write something magical, the effort shows and the song suffers. The best tunes come when you’re not expecting them, so melodies and lyrics arrive throughout the day. I might start humming something in the car. If I’m still humming it the next day, I know it’s a tune worth working on. If a melody or a lyric is really special, I’ll rush to the piano to start mapping it out immediately.

Home recording is where the bulk of ‘composing’ happens. Once I have a melody and a few chords, I’ll record a demo with just acoustic guitar and vocal to the 8-track. I might do 3 takes or a dozen, and every take, I’m changing the chords, editing the lyrics and fixing the structure. Once there is a solid form, the fun part begins: I’ll add keyboard drums, vocal harmony stacks, lead guitars, piano or organ, maybe a bass line. While I’m building the arrangement I’m evaluating the song and editing, mostly just ditching stuff that doesn’t work. After maybe 10 hours recording and rerecording parts, I’ve seen what’s possible within the song and I can be confident it’s finished.

I am a sucker for big, bold arrangements. Give me horns and strings and back-up singers, 4 pianos, triple-tracked guitars and 3 tambourines and I’m happy. In The Sterns, I was notorious for over-arranging and over-producing. Our third album ‘Savage Noble Steals The Ancient Riffs,’ had a few songs in excess of 100 tracks in pro-tools, which can give you a certain sound, or it can be an awful mess, especially in the mixing process. Tambourine is my favorite instrument, so almost every song has that jangle. Most of the songs were written on piano instead of guitar so I challenged myself to play all the keyboards, which is a joke because I am a terrible keyboard player. I set out to make this album ‘stripped down’ and almost completely failed. ‘Sob Story’ has female vocals, a horn section, vibraphone, timpani and 3 pianos to give it the Phil Specter ‘Wall of Sound’ so ‘stripped down’ went out the window but it’s probably my favorite song on the album and the most fun to record, so go figure.

Chris Stern

PM: There's a big range of influences on your album as well, I hear some Bell & Sebastion, Weezer, some Brit-pop...who inspires you?

CS: I worship the crazy geniuses: the guys who literally drove themselves insane and ruined their lives in pursuit of music like Brian Wilson, Daniel Johnston, Andy Partridge, Sly Stone and Syd Barrett etc. There is something so romantic and relatable about that obsession. I am a disciple of The Beatles and The Beach Boys specifically because those guys wrote songs designed for the studio. All the innovation and all those classic albums happened because they were writing music that didn’t have to be performed in concert. 4 guys on stage can’t play ‘A Day in the Life’ and do it justice. Andy Partridge of XTC quit touring due to crippling stage fright while XTC was still up and coming. They never got the fame they deserved, but they wrote ‘Skylarking’ which is my all-time favorite album. So that ethos of limitless studio creativity and crafting albums that are lush and carefully orchestrated with a broad palette of sounds and colors is important.

Lyrics are so crucial and I think they’re overlooked by a lot of musicians. My favorite artists combine a beautiful melody with meaningful and resonant words. Most lyrics in pop music are garbage; I’ve always been a bit of a snob about this. Some of my favorite songs have dumb or dull or lazy lyrics. Maybe they are bubble gum or just undercooked, I can still love the song. But great lyrics make a song three-dimensional and it’s that intersection of compelling melody and meaningful words that birth real emotions. Some of favorite lyricists are Paul Simon (my musical hero), Ray Davies of The Kinks, Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell, Bruce Springsteen, Elvis Costello, Morrissey, Michael Stipe of REM, Jarvis Cocker of Pulp and Stuart Murdoch of Belle & Sebastian. Belle & Sebastian is my favorite current band, maybe my all time favorite band. Morrissey, in spite of his obvious faults, is unparalleled as a lyricist.

Films and books are a big inspiration. David Lynch, Woody Allen, Hal Hartley, Stephen King and Kurt Vonnegut spring to mind. 2 songs on this album even have lyrics ripped from television comedies, but I won’t divulge which songs or which shows. Many songs on this album were actually inspired by specific musicians and I name them in the songs: ‘The Best of The Dead Composer’/Morrissey, ‘Flames’/Daniel Johnston, ‘Stay Out of The Sunshine’/REM, ‘Are You Staying The Night?’/Bruce Springsteen. ‘The Assassination of Love’ is actually a murder ballad about me killing Mike Love of The Beach Boys. Mike Love is, honestly, the greatest villain in pop music history, if you’ve followed the saga between him and Brian Wilson that started in the 60’s. The song is upbeat and tongue-in-cheek, but I’m dead serious, Mike Love is the worst person. Total Trump voter. I’d love if he heard the song and hated it.

Jarod Cournoyer

PM: Tell me about The Sterns, I noticed some "Sterns" appear in the credits. You were featured on Rock Band? What have your other musical endeavors been?

CS: In high school, all I wanted to do was play jazz saxophone. In 1998 friends asked me to join a ska band called Shanty Sounds, which was my first introduction to the Providence Music scene. We played The Met, Lupo’s, The Living Room, The Ocean Mist etc. and did pretty well for a bunch of 16 and 17 year old white French kids from Woonsocket. Our finest hour was playing the final Providence Payback, which was a mini festival that The Amazing (Royal) Crowns hosted every year. I still think The Crowns are the best Providence band of the last 30 years. That show was a really big deal for me. After Shanty Sounds broke up, I saw Westbound Train at a Slackers show at The Wetlands in NYC and was blown away. They were based in Boston and when their sax player quit I was asked to audition. It’s hard to forget because I auditioned on September 12th 2001. They hired me and I spent over 2 years with Westbound Train. We toured with The Mighty Mighty Bosstones and I learned how to sing and front a band.

Westbound Train released an album and our guitarist was robbed of all his gear so Alex Stern was hired to replace him for a three week tour. We hit it off almost immediately. I had just started trying to write songs and Alex already had a full-length album with his ska band Mass.Hysteria and his songs were just brilliant. We were both obsessed with British pop. We wrote our first song together on that tour. Later that year, I joined Mass. Hysteria on sax so Alex and I were now in 2 touring bands together and we were basically joined at the hip. By the end of 2003 we had a bunch of songs we were really proud of. We formed The Sterns with Emeen Zarookian (Spirit Kid), Andrew Sadoway (Bent Shapes) and Michael Gagne. I took the stage name Stern because I wasn’t fond of my dull very French last name and Alex and I wanted to show Ramones-esque brotherly solidarity. (Adam please don’t use Brunelle. I am using Stern, you can say it’s a stage name but just don’t use Brunelle to avoid confusion )

We self-released our first album ‘Say Goodbye to the Camera’ in 2005 and shockingly, it cracked the CMJ top 100 albums chart which was sort of unheard of for an unsigned band. We started getting a lot of good press around Boston. Music writers liked the album. We weren’t going to succeed on our looks; we were a critics band. All my favorite bands were critics darlings, so we were in good company. The Boston Herald included the lead-off track from our album, ‘This Will Only Hurt for a Minute’, in a round robin reader’s choice of the top 100 Boston songs of ALL TIME! We had no business being in there, but amazingly, we made it through the first round but lost in the second round to ‘Hangin’ Tough’ by New Kids on the Block. I still think that is fucking hilarious.

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This Will Only Hurt For A Minute by The Sterns from the album, "Say Goodbye to the Camera"

We were courting some record labels when we started recording album 2. A local startup media company and label approached us while we were in the studio. They had a lot of money and they were going to focus on us and one other artist exclusively. We needed tour support and a van and we were swept off our feet really, but we signed our first record contract in the summer of 2006 and the label released our second album, ‘Sinner’s Stick Together’ in March of 2007. We were nominated for 2 Boston Music Awards (we didn’t win, but I did meet Bobby Brown at the ceremony) and AllMusic.com called the album “a pop masterpiece” which was very flattering. After that, it was touring, for what seemed like forever. Some highlights were opening for Apples in Stereo at SXSW and a string of tour dates with Meat Puppets, who are best known for playing 3 of their songs with Nirvana on the legendary ‘Unplugged’ album.

Touring became exhausting and we came off the road and went right back into the studio to start album number 3. Our record deal turned out to be too good to be true: they were very generous and gave us tons of tour support but they were very controlling in the recording process. Alex and I started to fight and I hated it, because I was living out every rock and roll cliché, and I saw it happening, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. They hired an outside producer for the sessions. Alex and I had produced the first 2 albums alone with Richard Marr and I was skeptical. I was constantly at odds with the label because they weren’t giving us the freedom we earned in the studio. I didn’t like how the album was shaping up at all. I refused to record the lead vocals until we resolved our issues with the label, but the band was falling apart. I was under contract but I was miserable and I thought about quitting the band. This was the hardest decision of my life and I went slightly nuts in the process. The longer I refused to sing and continued to postpone recording sessions, the worse things got. In March 2008, I tried to bargain with the label; I would record the vocals and release the album but I needed 6 months off from touring. I was burnt out, completely, and my health, mental and physical was suffering. Alex and I were barely speaking. After a show in Boston, Alex and I had words that escalated into the lamest fist fight that you’ve ever seen. Bouncers pulled us apart. I quit The Sterns that night via email and I didn’t speak to Alex for nearly 3 years. Album cancelled, band broken up, Rock and roll cliché complete. The kicker, of course, was that we didn’t know there was already a deal to include our song ‘Supreme Girl’ on Rock Band 2. Millions of people were going to know our song and our name but now there was no band.

Alex and I reconciled in 2011 and we were both haunted by the unfinished album. The record contract had expired but the label still owned the work we started in 2007 so we went back to Galaxy Park and started the whole album from scratch. Life had pointed us in different directions, so we weren’t back as a full time band but we chipped away the album in 2012 and 2013. We finished album 3, ‘Savage Noble Steals The Ancient Riffs’ in the spring of 2013 and that is when my mom got sick. My mother was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer in late June of 2013. A few weeks later in July, my girlfriend of 7 years left me amidst all the stress and turmoil of my mom’s illness. My Mom died unexpectedly on August 2nd , 7 weeks after diagnosis. So The Sterns were back but everything else in my life collapsed at once. That is the story of ‘Poor Me and The Pity Party…’ This was the darkest time in my life and I started writing music again for the first time since the Sterns breakup in 2008. I needed music to deal with the grief, the depression and the anger. I listened to all the great records about breakups and death and loss: ‘Rumours’, ‘Sea-Change’, ‘Automatic for the People’, ‘The Queen is Dead’, ‘Armed Forces’ etc. Most of my favorite music is somber or melancholy anyway, I am sort of a closet goth. But I found that during this horrible time, I didn’t really want to hear the sad songs that would let me wallow. I was seeking out upbeat music. And I found the self-consciously gloomy stuff that I loved (The Smiths, The Cure, Joy Division etc.) to be almost comical. As I wrote tunes, some were very heavy emotionally but there was something almost lighthearted about writing something so gut-wrenching, so I was sort of laughing at my own misery as a way of coping.

As the songs started happening, I knew I had the makings of a great breakup record, a great death record but weirdly, also an upbeat pop record. The music was too personal to bring it to the Sterns and attempt to resurrect that band. So that was the first time I thought about a “solo” project. I hate the term “solo project”, nothing about it is solo except that it’s my first full-length apart from my established band. The original idea was to record 3 ep’s, each on a theme and create fictional bands for each of the ep’s. The darker, heavy tunes were going to be released under the name “Poor Me and The Pity Party”, a dig at the self conscious gloom rock bands, but also at myself. But after recording commenced, I started feeling like all the songs would work together really well as an album. So instead of releasing them cryptically under false names, I decided I was ready to start an actual band again and that is The Deadly Desert. Ryan Tremblay and Jarod Cournoyer deserve a lot of credit for making this band a reality, because at the outset when we went in the studio, I had no real designs of coming out of musical retirement, but they loved the songs and gave constant support and we loved playing music together, so hats off to them. We have Kathleen Dona-Zavalia playing drums, so now the band is a real thing, and I’m still not quite sure how it happened.

Ryan Tremblay

PM: What brought you to PVD? What attracts you to the scene?

CS: Providence has always been home. Growing up in Woonsocket was rather dull from a creative standpoint. I love my hometown but as a teenager there were no all ages music venues, no bookstores, no cinema, no ethnic food, no decent record stores or music stores so it was very isolating and if you wanted to see a show or buy a certain record, you hopped on 146 and came to Providence. By the time I graduated high school, I was spending most of my time in Providence, working at an east side record shop and going to school at URI downtown. I think we’re all incredibly lucky to live here and most of the time we don’t realize it. Culturally, we have the best features of

Boston or New York without the hassles of big city life. I lived in Boston for 3 years and it’s a beautiful city, but personally, Providence is more my speed.

I think one benefit of the compactness of Rhode Island and Providence specifically is that the music scene is very incestuous. Everyone knows everyone else so I think it helps foster a stronger sense of community without the competition. The music scene is Boston for example is more fractured and there are so many musicians vying for the attention of a dwindling live music audience that it becomes a competition. And I don’t think art should ever be competitive. A band that gets a buzz in Boston starts thinking nationally very early because Boston, like Austin, New York, Seattle, Nashville and L.A. is viewed as one of the big music towns where young bands are plucked from obscurity and vaulted to stardom. So there is a lot of posturing and jockeying for status within the music scene. There is none of that pretense in Providence, it’s more about the show, the record, the song. The focus is on the audience, not starting a career as a pop star.

PM: Where did you record the album? What was the process like? Are you very hands on?

CS: The album was recorded at Galaxy Park studios in Watertown, Massachusetts by my close friend and collaborator Richard Marr. He recently relocated the studio to downtown Salem. This is the fifth full length album I have recorded with Richard so we have a process in the studio that revolves around a lot of goofing around, drinking coffee and gossiping and then gradually we get down to work. He recorded all 3 of the Sterns albums so we communicate by osmosis because he knows what sounds I like and which sounds I don’t like, so we are able to skip a lot of hand wringing and debating because he instinctively knows what I’m hearing. It helps that he was raised on gloomy 80’s British guitar rock that I love because if I tell him, “You know that guitar tone on ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’?”, he’s already twisting knobs and dialing in the sound we need.

I am a control freak in the studio. Richard and I have been making records together since 2003 so he gives me free reign, like any good engineer or producer should. Most of what I know about recording comes from Richard anyway, so I am intimately involved in every part of the process. Richard runs pro-tools because I am somewhat computer illiterate when it comes to recording. It’s necessary, but it’s my weakness, so I focus on the sounds and we limit the use of digital tricks. We will spend a few hours finding the perfect combination of room sound, amp, microphone and analog effect rather than fishing around the computer for a digital plug in. I insisted that we record to tape, because, apparently, I like burning studio time and money. Richard hesitated but we did it, putting drums, bass, some acoustic guitar, piano and even some vocals to the tape machine. This only works because all the parts, including overdubs, are mapped out in advance. There is no composing or arranging in the studio. All the parts exist on the home demo, so when I’m behind the fancy studio mics, it’s about executing the parts and finding the sounds I can’t get in my bedroom with my 8 track and one mic. There is some improvisation, but not much. I pushed myself to learn theremin because I was fascinated by it and I wanted to use it on 2 tracks. I practiced for a few weeks before the session, went in and recorded theremin tracks for 6 or 7 hours. We ended up using maybe 10 seconds of theremin on the entire album, mostly because I performed it terribly. So ideas don’t always pan out, but we don’t experiment with parts, just sounds.

PM: Where would you like to see this album go? Why record it now? How will you translate the lush instrumentation live?

CS: I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I would love to sell a million copies of an album. That’s not going to happen. I always thought that The Sterns were sort of a cult band. We had a very small audience, but maybe 10 or 15 years later people would rediscover the albums and we’d be the great lost indie band that time forgot. I think anyone who is serious about music and works hard at it craves the validation and adoration of an audience, whether that’s 50 people at a concert or 1000 downloads on iTunes. But there is really no point doing the real work of writing, recording and releasing records if you don’t absolutely love to do it. If only 20 people hear this album, that’s alright, I’ll make another one. If we play shows and only 5 people come, that’s ok, we’ll book another show. So the album doesn’t have to go anywhere, it can just exist. On the other hand, I know it’s very trite, but in 2016, you can name your life a success if you can make a living doing what you love. So, of course, there is still that elusive dream of doing ONLY music and still paying my bills. I haven’t figured out that trick yet, but if I do, I’ll let you know.

I can live without playing live. I enjoy it, but it’s temporary. And honestly, as an introvert, playing live can be utterly exhausting. A recording lasts forever. I have great memories of my favorite concerts, but there is nothing like putting on your favorite song or album when you NEED to hear it. After years of touring, playing 100-150 shows a year, I realized the writing and recording process was my greatest strength. I don’t need “success” to spur me on. We started recording this album in September of 2014 and finished it in October. It took over 2 years, not because I was unmotivated or scrambling for ideas, but because the studio is expensive and I would work my day job, save up and then schedule a block of sessions every 6 weeks or so. I self-funded the recording because I love being in the studio and building the songs. Nothing for me is more fulfilling than starting with a tiny notion of a song and watching it blossom over time. So regardless of how this album is received, I already have another albums worth of songs that I am slowly working out. I’ll save up and when we’re ready we’ll go back into the studio and do it again and always try to improve on what came before.

-Cold Soup

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