Blind Spots

The predictable backlash to the sharing of Spotify Wrapped reports by subscribers of the streaming service is becoming increasingly annoying. Bitter killjoys who claim “Spotify doesn’t pay artists” clearly don’t care to read financial statements. Besides, the fact that the overwhelming majority of  artists and record labels employ Spotify speaks for itself.

Spotify hasn’t paid me a penny for my “content” (ugh!) at the service. Instead of deflecting the blame for my unpopularity, I’m thrilled my work is just a click away for anyone with an internet connection. With a more marketable concept I might be among the more than 10,000 artists earning more than $100,000 a year through Spotify streams.

Yet I’ve noticed an even more troubling trend. Citing principles, an increasing number of individuals claim to boycott all music streaming services. When I hear the audacious assertion, I’m forced to believe that either these people don’t really care for music or they limit their listening to highly specialized niches.

The internet killed my career twenty years ago, but there’s not point in being bitter. The capacity to hear almost everything on demand fulfills a lifelong fantasy. I consume hundreds of newly released songs and albums every week. It’s not a coincidence that I spent an unprecedented amount of money on tickets to more than 100 music events in 2024. That’s among the reasons why the 2024 edition of my Spotify Wrapped represents a dream come true.

Back in the day, I bought CDs, DVDs and VHS videos directly from Rich the Factor O.T.T. (out the trunk) or at the Kansas City retailer 7th Heaven. Now the groundbreaking local hero has more than 100 titles posted at Spotify. I almost certainly wouldn’t have become enamored with Grupo Frontera without access to music streaming. The band’s buoyant songs were my go-to party soundtrack throughout the year. As a dozen Hank Williams CDs moldered in the Museum of Dead People and Obsolete Music Formats in my basement, streaming versions of his pain songs were staples of my roadtrips.

Here’s a concession to the naysayers: obviously, I didn’t listen to Johann Sebastian Bach or Henry Purcell. That’s impossible. Spotify apparently prioritizes the composers’ tags over the performers’ labels. That’s presumably why the likes of Hilary Hahn, Anja Lechner and Brad Mehldau don’t show up here. I can only assume their representatives are aware of the anomaly.

Earache My Eye

Since bonding over our mutual admiration of the music made by Kanye West and the members of the Odd Future collective several years ago, Aaron Rhodes and I have shared intimate components of our personal lives with each other. And from time to time, we fuss and fight like father and son. We conduct ourselves with admirable civility in the latest episode of our In My Headache podcast. The 33-year difference in our ages leads to largely respectful disagreements about albums by the Mexican pop star Sofía Reyes, the indie-folk band Big Thief and the reggae ruffian U-Roy.

We’ve Wandered Many a Weary Foot

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Even though this site has evolved into a personal music diary in recent years, I’m pleased people continue to monitor my musings.  Thanks for reading.  An audit of recent activity follows.

New episodes of the In My Headache podcast continue to appear intermittently.  My collaborator Aaron Rhodes and I discuss Tyler, The Creator, Willie Nelson and Harry Nilsson in the latest installment.

My friends at 90.9 The Bridge recently gave me a forum to share highlights from my many year-end music lists.  The episode should show up here soon.

There Stands the Glass may be an automonous endeavor but my Kansas City jazz blog Plastic Sax is a public service.  The journeyman guitarist Rod Fleeman is The Plastic Sax Person of the Year.

I participated in the The 2021 Jazz Critics Poll. The complete tally and my ballot are here. The sheer volume of titles- 510 of the approximately 6,000 jazz albums released this year received votes- is staggering.

What I Should Have Said

Screenshot of the trailer of the Dutch National Opera’s production of Der Zwerg by There Stands the Glass.

My friend and colleague Aaron Rhodes gently poked fun at my recent focus on avant-garde jazz, opera and classical music at There Stands the Glass in the new episode of our In My Headache podcast.  He characterized my recent rotation as “old man music.” I failed to properly defend my inclinations, mumbling something about the value in bringing attention to neglected sounds.  I’m sure Aaron hoped I’d respond with more vitriol.

I’m not ashamed of my age but I look askance at my peers.  The listening habits of most people of my generation are calcified.  It’s embarrassing.  The graying people immersed exclusively in disposable pop are only slightly less mortifying.  As I recently noted in this space, I embrace the present even as I acknowledge my years.

I reject the conventional wisdom that jazz, opera and classical music should be of interest only to old folks even though the audiences for the forms are disproportionately elderly.  And to be sure, the music is frequently stale and corny.  Yet there’s nothing inherently decrepit about the most exemplary representatives of the forms.

The pretensions closely associated with opera are particularly egregious.  I’m committed to helping dismantle the unhealthy affiliation.  I implore There Stands the Glass readers to take a look at the Dutch National Opera’s stylish new production of Alexander Zemlinsky’s forgotten 1922 opera Der Zwerg. The tide is slowly turning.

On the jazz tip, I stand by my recent endorsements of imaginative albums by the European artists Mathias Eick and Nala Sinephro. The underground rebellion on Kansas City’s improvised music scene is no less encouraging. Nonetheless, Aaron and other advocates of popular music needn’t worry about me. I’m going to get my kicks at Marc Anthony’s arena concert tonight.

Concert Review: Flooding at 7th Heaven

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Rendered senseless by my enchantment with Flooding’s self-titled album, I was involuntarily drawn like a moth to the glaring lights in the basement of 7th Heaven to catch the Kansas City debut of the young Lawrence trio on Friday, October 1. 

Flooding overcame harsh optics and an awkwardly demure audience of about 50 to successfully reproduce the recording’s haunting sound.  The convincing display of loud/soft, fast/slow dynamics validated my suspicion that Flooding is the region’s most promising new rock band.

Overlaying the downtempo elements of ‘80-era Sonic Youth with subsequent post-punk developments, Flooding has an engaging- albeit somewhat anachronistic- sound.  Rose Brown’s disarming whisper and effective guitar attack, Cole Billing’s reserved bass and terrifying screams and Zach Cunningham’s spare drumming revealed gobs of raw talent.

A few more rehearsals and additional gigs will almost certainly allow the trio to overcome the tentativeness and endearingly amateurish aspects evident at 7th Heaven.  I’m looking forward to bragging about having seen ‘em when.

Perfume opened the show.  The Kansas City trio’s recent release Charlie's Angels sounds like the Smashing Pumpkins gone wrong, but a couple promising moments of Perfume’s set approached the grandiosity of Billy Corgan’s band.

As the promoter (and my In My Headache podcast partner) confesses in his notes at Shuttlecock Music Magazine, the Louisville based headliner Sidestep was shortchanged. I wasn’t able to form an opinion of Sidestep’s sound as the musician raced against the retailer’s curfew.

James Harman, 1946-2021

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

In a recent discussion with my In My Headache podcast partner Aaron Rhodes, I proclaimed that not a single artistically important blues artist has emerged in the last 25 years.  I stand by the assertion, with the caveat that “important” and “good” are often two different things.

I developed an affinity for the blues after happening upon a Son Seals track on Lindsay Shannon’s weekly blues program when I was ten.  The early conversion allowed me to catch multiple performances by since-deceased blues giants including Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, Albert Collins, Johnny “Clyde” Copeland, James Cotton, Lowell Fulson, John Lee Hooker, B.B. King, Jimmy Rogers, Otis Rush, Koko Taylor, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eddie “Cleanhead” Vinson, Junior Wells and Johnny Winter.  Sadly, I added James Harman to the list today.

By inserting his enormous personality and distinctive talent to the tradition rather than merely mimicking the masters who inspired him, James Harman worked at a similarly high level.  Harman was best known as an outstanding harmonica player, but his witty songwriting and deft touch as a bandleader distinguished him from his peers.

Most of Harman’s catalog is out of print and unavailable on streaming services.  Extra Napkins is arguably his strongest work, but I also recommend all of the albums he recorded for Black Top Records.  I periodically set up in-store performances for Harman when I represented the label in the early ‘90s.

I still marvel at the man who ignored Harman’s tremendous band as he methodically shopped the blues cassette section of the Kansas City record store at 4128 Broadway. Harman overcame many such slights in an admirable career. He last came through town in 2019. Much of the considerable swagger he displayed as a young man remained near the end.

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: Jimmy Edgar- Cheetah Bend

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

The leaky filter allowing foolish thoughts to flow unimpeded from my lizard brain to my scratchy vocal chords regularly gets me into trouble. I inexplicably felt obliged to validate pop music in the first episode of my new podcast In My Headache. Pop doesn’t need me to defend it, particularly when innovative artists like Jimmy Edgar continue to keep the form vital. Cheetah Bend, the sound scientist’s latest full-length release, features winning appearances by like-minded collaborators including Danny Brown, Rochelle Jordan and the late Sophie. The album contains more interesting tones, textures and rhythms than the plugged-in jazz group and the extreme noise band I praise in my initial endeavor for In My Headache.

In My Headache

A couple friends and I collaborated on one of the first 100 podcasts more than 15 years ago. The endeavor was such a juvenile mess that I won’t even link to it here. I’m back at it. The first episode of In My Headache, a partnership with Aaron Rhodes of Shuttlecock Music Magazine, will be available next week. The trailer is embedded above.