Roll in Peace

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Blaring my favorite music through open windows while driving a freshly washed car is enormously pleasurable.  After spending a good part of a recent trip sitting on the front porch of a home in Hamtramck, a densely populated Muslim-majority city adjacent to Detroit, Michigan, I decided to permanently curb the selfish impulse.

It’s not merely inconsiderate.  I now recognize the practice is a mild form of societal violence.  The imposition of one’s taste in music on others is part of the point, but I hadn’t previously considered that I might be insulting the cultural and religious sensibilities of blameless innocents.  Witnessing the little girls of Yemeni and Cameroonian descent who were my temporary neighbors being repeatedly subjected to lurid raps booming from passing vehicles was infuriating.

I’m hedging my bets even though I now feel terrible about each of the times I may have offended passersby with similarly intrusive behavior.  I listened to the invaluable reissue of my favorite Sun Ra album in a remote corner of a commercial parking lot yesterday.  The two puzzled shoppers who inexplicably parked near me were treated to my theme song.

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I reviewed Robert Castillo’s Music for Art Show at Plastic Sax.

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Howard Mandel’s remembrance of Bob Koester rings true. I had a few prickly interactions with the late Chicago legend in the 1990s.

Film Find: Les Parapluies de Cherbourg

Exasperated by my obsessive investigations into arcane cultural niches, my life partner recently asked “how do you find these things?”  She immediately forgets about my frequent commercial hip-hop and professional sports binges when our home is overtaken by Evan Parker’s free jazz or is monopolized by the experimental films of Bill Morrison.

With an increasingly tenuous ability to differentiate between approachable and inaccessible forms of art, I was pleasantly surprised when my partner stuck around for a screening of Les Parapluies de Cherbourg (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg).  The loopy 1964 French film is unlike anything either of us had encountered.

Sung-through by a cast of remarkably attractive actors including Catherine Deneuve, the lush color schemes captured by cinematographer Jean Rabier and director Jacques Demy are stunning.  Every element of the romantic tragedy is captivating in spite of the preposterous premise.

Michel Legrand’s ingenious score circumvents seemingly inevitable disaster.  I’d previously thought of Legrand only as the composer of “The Windmills of Your Mind.”  No more.  Having abandoned attempts to exterminate Les Parapluies de Cherbourg earworms including "Chez Dubourg" and "A L'Appartement", I added Legrand’s sublime soundtrack to my regular rotation.  The film streams on YouTube here.

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The sixth episode of my In My Headache podcast is available for streaming.  Aaron Rhodes and I ponder Flying Lotus’ Yasuke, Origami Angel’s Gami Gang and Ted Nugent’s 1975 debut solo album.  Caveat: I remain annoyed by my collaborator’s decision to punk me with his selection of unflattering audio teasers.

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The notes I posted five days ago at Plastic Sax are still the sole published analysis of the Billie Holiday at Sugar Hill: Photographs by Jerry Dantzic exhibit at the American Jazz Museum.

Space Jams: An Appreciation of Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

I envy Deadheads.  Not only are they part of an interactive community open to all like-minded enthusiasts of the Grateful Dead, their single-minded obsessiveness simplifies their leisure time.  I fret over whether to invest four hours in a production of Parsifal (the last “major” opera I have yet to see), investigate the new 10-hour William Parker boxed set, luxuriate in Whodini’s "Five Minutes of Funk" or brace for a round of Kansas City punk. Deadheads merely have to decide which vintage show they’d like to hear next.

A fresh slate of old Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey recordings arouses a related form of reassuring nostalgia in me.  The first two of the scheduled five albums were released on May 7.  The previously unreleased 2008 studio album Winterwood is a cheeky update of Ellingtonian swing and juke-joint boogie-woogie.  The Spark That Bled: Tour '05 includes live interpretations of compositions by the Flaming Lips and Charles Mingus, a representative reflection of the ensemble’s sensibilities.

A corresponding 27-minute documentary champions the manic intensity, wild eclecticism and unlikely evolution of the band from Oklahoma. I’ve long flirted with full-on fandom. I interviewed front man Brian Haas for Plastic Sax in 2009. The band’s ambitious concept album Race Riot Suite was my favorite album of 2011. Come to think of it, I could do a lot worse than listen exclusively to Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey. Deadhead? No man, but I’m perilously close to becoming a Fredhead.

Concert Review: The Kansas City Symphony’s Mobile Music Box at the Jewish Community Center of Greater Kansas City

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Several hours after news broke that an instrument of evil died in prison seven years after murdering two people at the Jewish Community Center of Greater Kansas City as part of a hateful rampage, a life-affirming concert was held on the grounds of the same site on Tuesday, May 4.

Limited to an audience of 100, the free outdoor concert by three young musicians from the Kansas City Symphony provided a vastly superior experience to my initial foray into live music in the post-quarantine era.  Given the glorious weather and tranquil atmosphere, I wasn’t surprised to see a robin refuse to abandon a tree planted in a parking lot median even though a pair of loudspeakers were placed directly under its nest.

The amplification of the 45-minute performance on the symphony’s mobile stage added an unavoidably metallic but not unpleasant edge to works by the likes of Johann Sebastian Bach and Zoltán Kodály.  Tears of joy soon dripped into my facemask.  In spite of the disconcerting coughs and sneezes of a couple seated nearby, I was overcome with gratitude for merely being alive to savor the immortal flare of a Ludwig van Beethoven string trio.

A yellow finch joined the steadfast robin during a lively reading of an arrangement of a gospel-inspired piece by Adolphus Hailstork.  The transitory symbol of a harmonious world signaled that good repeatedly triumphs over evil, beauty is more powerful than ugliness and the resilience of a loving community is capable of overcoming unimaginable horror.

Album Review: Michael Wollny- XXXX

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

I’m 200 pages into Alex Ross’ dense 2020 tome Wagnerism: Art and Politics in the Shadow of Music. The altercations in defense and denunciation of Richard Wagner’s controversial innovations at eventful performances described by Ross fascinate me. One hundred and fifty years later, another German is making similarly divisive sounds, albeit in a far less prominent realm. Many of Michael Wollny’s brash revisions to improvised music are as discordant as Wagner’s work must have sounded to his contemporaries. The keyboardist is joined by Emile Parisien (soprano saxophone), Tim Lefebvre (bass and electronics) and Christian Lillinger (drums and percussion) on the magnificently abrasive XXXX. The album consists of aggressive manipulations of live recordings made at Berlin’s A-Trane in 2019. XXXX fills in the gaps between Ludwig van Beethoven’s piano sonatas, John Coltrane’s Ascension and Aphex Twin’s I Care Because You Do without seeming beholden to the disparate works. Participating in the Wagner festspiele in Bayreuth is near the top of my bucket list. It would be inconsistent with Wagner’s visionary spirit to not also attempt to pay my respects to Wollny when I finally make it to Germany. And with any luck at all, I'll manage to instigate a brawl about the validity of revolutionary glitch-jazz at A-Trane.

April 2021 Recap: A Monthly Exercise in Critical Transparency

Screenshot of the trailer for King of Jazz by There Stands the Glass.

Top Ten Albums (released in April, excluding April 30 titles)

1. Damon Locks and Black Monument Ensemble- Now

Another urgent missive from Chicago.

2. Dopolarians- The Bond

My review.

3. Brockhampton- Roadrunner: New Light, New Machine 

The worst album by the world’s best boy band.

4. Max Richter- Voices 2

My review.

5. John Pizzarelli- Better Days Ahead: Solo Guitar Takes on Pat Metheny

My review.

6. Bryce Dessner and the Australian String Quartet- Impermanence/Disintegration

Street hassle.

7. Toumani Diabaté and the London Symphony Orchestra- Kôrôlén

Stunning 2008 concert.

8. Arooj Aftab- Vulture Prince

Secular adhan.

9. Florian Arbenz, Hermon Mehari and Nelson Veras-  Conversation #1: Condensed

My review.

10. Field Music- Flat White Moon

My review.

Top Ten Songs (released in April, excluding April 30 titles)

1. Cupcakke- "Mosh Pit"

Watch your step.

2. Georgia Anne Muldrow- "Unforgettable"

That’s what she is.

3. Trineice Robinson and Cyrus Chestnut- "Come Sunday"

Blessed balm.

4. Cello Octet Amsterdam- "8"

Circular strings.

5. Bree Runway- “Hot Hot”

Sizzling.

6. Tierra Whack- "Link"

Connected.

7. Rubén Blades and the Roberto Delgado Orchestra- "Paula C."

Swing-infused salsa.

8. Sons of Kemet with Kojey Radical- “Hustle”

Show you something.

9. Sonder featuring Jorja Smith- “Nobody But You”

Quiet storm.

10. Bill MacKay and Nathan Bowles- "Truth"

Gimme some.

Top Ten Movies (viewed for the first time in April, in lieu of live music)

1. Journal d'un curé de campagne/Diary of a Country Priest (1951)

Tristesse existentielle.

2. Captain Salvation (1927)

Gospel ship.

3. Agnes of God (1985)

Montréal miracle denied.

4. Bianco, rosso e…/Red, White and... (1972)

Sophia Loren plays an emancipated nun.

5. Imitation of Life (1959)

Annie isn’t okay.

6. The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956)

Que sera, sera.

7. Foreign Correspondent (1940)

Let’s go to war!

8. King of Jazz (1930)

My review.

9. Castle in the Air (1952)

Cheerio.

10. Honeysuckle Rose (1980)

Righteous music. Wretched movie.

March’s recap and links to previous monthly surveys are here.

Aaron Rhodes Is In My Headache

Original art for In My Headache commissioned by Bill Brownlee and Aaron Rhodes by Andres Hedrick.

When I arrived at the Blue Room for a Roy Ayers performance in 2016, a member of the venue’s staff informed me my assistant already was inside.  I didn’t have an assistant.  The aspiring music journalist Aaron Rhodes used whatever limited cachet my name possessed to weasel his way into the show.

Of all the nerve!  Rhodes’ impudence didn’t end there.  Knowing Tyler, the Creator was in town, he invited the nonconformist rapper to Ayers’ show.  I was consequently distracted from my work by the surreal sight of Tyler’s animated reactions to Ayers’ set.

Five years later, I teamed up with the jackanapes for the In My Headache music podcast.  The premise- an old head spars with a young punk- is exemplified by an emotional argument about the merits of the new album by ILoveMakonnen in the latest episode.

In My Headache isn’t my first collaboration with Rhodes. I was featured in his vlog in 2017.  I’ve since watched him forge a miniature media empire under the Shuttlecock Music umbrella.  His initiatives include a print publication, an active blog and performance bookings.

I once told Rhodes’ father that I might someday find myself working for his ambitious son.  The prediction will be fulfilled only if Rhodes leaves town or if Kansas City’s music scene manages to snap out of the doldrums.  Until then, I’ll gladly continue to allow Rhodes to infuriate me on In My Headache.

Album Review: Field Music- Flat White Moon

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Even though my brain tells me I no longer care about “this kind” of music, my heart compels me to keep Field Music’s Flat White Moon on repeat. Listening to the titillating new album by the self-deprecating British band is like riding on a magic bus with an AM radio tuned into a station playing nothing but melody-minded rock weirdos of the 1970s. The roll call of usual suspects discloses the DayGlo sound of Flat White Moon. The influences of Lindsey Buckingham (Fleetwood Mac), Jeff Lynne (Electric Light Orchestra), Ron and Russell Mael (Sparks), Bill Nelson (Be Bop Deluxe) and Todd Rundgren are present and accounted for. Those references may not mean much to younger readers. I’ll put it this way for them: should Death Cab for Cutie or Haim improve considerably they might one day create an album as rewarding as Flat White Moon.

The Alleged King of Jazz

I’m not particularly interested in condemning the overt racism and shameless cultural appropriation displayed throughout the 1930 film King of Jazz. The preposterous title of the Paul Whiteman vehicle exposes the absurdly disgraceful premise. Needless to say, little in the vaudevillian revue has aged well. Yet King of Jazz offers extremely instructive insights into the popular culture of 90 years ago. I learned a great deal when I watched it for the first time this week. The most essential segment- a visually lavish rendition of “Rhapsody in Blue”- begins with Whiteman’s terribly offensive introduction of George Gershwin’s composition at the 51:38 mark of the embedded video.

Book Review: Adam Gussow- Whose Blues? Facing Up to Race and the Future of the Music

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Prior to reading Whose Blues? Facing Up to Race and the Future of the Music, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to my enjoyment of Chris Cain’s new album Raisin' Cain.  The journeyman revives the classic sound of B.B. King with uncanny accuracy.  Yet Adam Gussaw’s searing examination of the racial aspect of the blues permanently annihilated my capacity to nonchalantly indulge in such simple pleasures.

The implications of a white American- no matter how talented or well-intentioned- reworking a black art form inextricably linked to oppression of African Americans is fraught with complication.  While I was initially resistant to Gussaw’s assertions, his profound personal experiences and exacting scholarship convinced me that unmindful appreciation of blues power is morally irresponsible.

Gussaw lays out cases for the competing claims about the music.  The proprietary “black bluesist” camp is diametrically opposed to the historically agnostic and ostensibly colorblind “blues universalists.”  The extensive research Gussaw references makes it clear neither side has it entirely right.  Whites encouraged and contributed to the development of the music from the onset.

In addition to discrediting the commonly held notion that the blues was forged on Mississippi plantations, Gussow mocks the rockist mythology that elevated Robert Johnson from a virtual unknown into an iconic figure.  Obviously, the cultural appropriation he documents recurred in additional forms including jazz, rock, soul and hip-hop.

While he generally treads lightly, Gussaw sometimes can’t hold back.  He openly mocks the tone-deaf culture of blues societies and is unable to hide his disdain for white blues artists ranging from Janis Joplin to Marcia Ball.  He suggests the likes of Aki Kumar and Komson represent the best hope for a meaningful blues revival.

More than a third of Whose Blues is dedicated to literary criticism.  Gussaw’s extensive analysis of the writings of W.C. Handy, Langston Hughes, Zora Neale Hurston, Ralph Ellison, Richard Wright and August Wilson is a surprising but welcome tangent.  Grateful for Gussaw’s insights, I’ve since picked up a Library of America anthology of Hurston’s work.

Gussaw would almost certainly be pleased by my interest in Hurston, but he’d surely find fault in my inability to adjust my sincere affection for the music made by white boogie-crazed blooze-rock stalwarts in Kansas City.  Most of these artists are so far removed from the blues tradition that reflective self-authentication would be pointless.  Should Gussaw analyze this thriving subgenre, I suggest he title the book What Blues?: The Whitewashing of America’s Musical Roots.