Archive for March, 2011

March 30, 2011

Arthur Jones

Scorpio (BYG/Actuel)

Africanasia (BYG/Actuel)

Arthur Jones is one of the forgotten men of free jazz. An alto saxophonist out of Cleveland, he made his mark during the Parisian summer of 1969, when a horde of American free jazz players (and a few from other places) made their way to France for gigs and recording contracts with the upstart label BYG/Actuel. He appeared on several albums by other artists, including Dave Burrell‘s EchoJacques Coursil‘s Way Ahead, Frank Wright‘s Your Prayer (for ESP-Disk), Sunny Murray‘s Sunshine and Homage to Africa, Clifford Thornton‘s Ketchaoua, Archie Shepp‘s Yasmina, A Black Woman, and Burton Greene‘s Aquariana. But he only recorded twice under his own name, and on one of those albums, he shared billing with drummer Claude Delcloo. Wikipedia says he died in 1998.

Scorpio is a four-track album, kicking off with the energetic “C.R.M.” The rhythm section—bassist Beb Guerin and drummer Delcloo—interact in a manner reminiscent of Gary Peacock and Sunny Murray on Albert Ayler‘s Spiritual Unity, from five years earlier. Guerin yanks at the bass strings so hard, they seem at risk of coming unwound, or flying off the neck. Delcloo works mostly with cymbals, hi-hat and bass pedal, rarely touching the snare drum. On this track and the next one, “B.T.,” Jones’ phrasing and tone recall Ornette Coleman, though he’s a little more inclined to go for a deep, bluesy honk at the bottom of the alto’s range than Coleman is, and at the height of his solos he lets his lines run longer, and get more repetitive and shrieky, than the Texan would do in a similar situation. He’s also less concerned with melody and more with maintaining an overall feeling of eruption. Delcloo takes a drum solo on “B.T.” that’s fairly energetic in a Max Roach sort of way, with lots of toms. The album’s second side offers two ballads, “Sad Eyes” and “Brother B,” making it sort of a free jazz equivalent to Dexter Gordon‘s Dexter Blows Hot and Cool. On “Sad Eyes,” Jones gets quite emotionally raw, sounding at times like he’s wailing over the coffin of a loved one, before regaining control of himself and blowing bluesy lines that wind up, toward the piece’s end, in a very Ornette-circa-1960 place. Guerin’s bass solo is also worthy of note. And the album’s final track, “Brother B,” is possibly its most interesting, as it starts out morose and slow before Delcloo establishes an almost march tempo on the drums and things become much more incantatory, Jones returning again and again to a fanfare-like phrase and alternating it with a scrabbling, screeching line that’s like Ayler attempting to imitate Ornette. It’s no surprise that this was the piece chosen to represent Scorpio in the astonishing 3CD JazzActuel box released a decade(!) ago.

Africanasia, despite being co-billed to Jones and Delcloo, is not a sax-drums duo album. In fact, it’s more of an unofficial Art Ensemble of Chicago record than anything else—Joseph Jarman, Roscoe Mitchell and Malachi Favors all appear (the former two playing flutes, the latter log drum). The two side-long tracks are much gentler than one might expect; a simple flute melody is blown over and over, then delicately expanded upon by Jones, as Delcloo leads the rhythm section (which also includes Clifford Thornton on conga and Earl Freeman on gongs, bells and other percussion). At no point does it erupt into raucous free blowing; none of the other saxophonists (in addition to Mitchell and Jarman, Kenneth Terroade is also playing flute) ever picks up a man-sized horn to solo, or challenge Jones in any way. And his style here is very calm, even romantic; he rarely indulges in the hard-bitten shrieks that were the dominant saxophone language of the time and the place. He seems much more influenced by Charlie Parker than by Ornette or Jimmy Lyons; his lines are long and limber. Notes seem to slide, rather than leap, out of his horn. At about the 11-minute mark of the second track, he takes an unaccompanied solo that’s just lovely; there’s no other word for it. Then the rhythm section and the flutes come back in, and he murmurs some more gentle, introspective phrases over the band’s steady pulse until it all winds down.

Neither of these albums is in print on CD. But JazzActuel is available from Amazon’s MP3 store (you have to buy each disc separately: Disc 1, Disc 2, Disc 3), and so is Africanasia. Both are highly recommended.

March 28, 2011

Britney Spears

Femme Fatale (Jive)

by Phil Freeman

Buy it from Amazon

The Yamaha Corporation first released the Vocaloid software program in January 2004. Vocaloid utilizes sampled phonemes to permit composers to create unique vocal tracks by typing melodies onto a piano roll-like interface, then inputting lyrics note by note. The software allows the user to change the stress of the pronunciations and add effects like vibrato, or change the vocal tone. Japanese, Chinese and English-language versions are currently available.

One of the most popular Vocaloid “singers in a box” is Hatsune Miku, originally released by the awesomely named Crypton Future Media in 2007. Miku is visually represented by an anime girl with aquamarine pigtails and a short schoolgirl-like dress, and has released hit singles and even performed concerts using 3-D holographic technology. Now, Vocaloid music has come to the U.S. pop market, with the release of Femme Fatale, the new CD by “Britney Spears.”

The voice of “Britney Spears” is easily identifiable—a haltingly coquettish, mall-girl chirp, with an extremely narrow range but a reasonable degree of pitch control. On albums like …Baby One More Time and Oops! I Did It Again, recorded by a Louisiana-based voice performer not coincidentally also named Britney Spears, there were few egregiously wrong notes. This was to be expected: when you’re only working with about a half-octave’s worth of range, it’s hard to fuck ’em up, and the fact that she never went for a big scream, choosing instead to croon, whisper, or murmur, helped too. And, of course, all Spears albums have been released in the ProTools era, where fixes are seamless and invisible.

On Femme Fatale, though, that original voice (let’s call it “source code Britney”) is tweaked into anonymity by software. Every single song finds her Autotuned, digitally chopped and stuttering, to the point that it’s obvious she did not perform these songs as they are heard, because it would be physically impossible for a human voice to do so. The pitch alterations and robotic repetition of phrases are entirely the creation of a producer at a computer keyboard, and have nothing to do with audio recording as it was known for most of the 20th Century.

Almost every track on Femme Fatale is an uptempo dance number (the sole exception is the closing “Criminal”), with thick, squelching synth lines and thumping drum machines providing all the music. The word “lines” is the only suitable choice; “melodies” would imply more variation than is present. Most of these riffs could be played on one finger, and harmony is almost entirely absent—indeed, harmony is subverted by the alien chirping of the Autotuned voices (not only “Spears,” but the anonymous backup singers that pop up on a few tracks, as well as the unnamed male voice on “How I Roll,” which might even be the “Spears” voice again, digitally pitched down). The only vocal presence with any personality is the female rapper Sabi, who delivers a verse on “(Drop Dead) Beautiful.” That song also features a breakdown during which “Spears” giggles, and even the laugh is digitally manipulated in a way reminiscent of similar sounds on songs by Ke$ha, a Spears imitator whom the Spears production team is now imitating.

Femme Fatale is fun, but it’s not a flawless product. There are a few glitches. At one point during the first single, “Hold It Against Me,” it sounds for a second like the Vocaloid software has been haphazardly programmed—“Britney” pronounces the spoken phrase “If I said I want your body, would you hold it against me?” in a way that sounds oddly non-American. Not necessarily Japanese, but definitely not the product of the American South (remember, source code Britney is a Louisiana native). And on just about every other song, the voice is manipulated to sound very slightly different. There are tinges of the original Britney personality remaining, but they’re diluted to an almost homeopathic degree, serving more as signifiers than manifestations of a genuinely human presence. On “Big Fat Bass,” produced by will.i.am, the voice sounds less like any previous version of Britney Spears—and, indeed, more like Fergie—than anywhere else on the CD.

Femme Fatale is ultimately more of a synth and vocoder demo reel than an album in the traditional sense of that term. The creative team has done a superb job of demonstrating the capabilities of their software. Some of the songs are quite good (“Till the World Ends,” “I Wanna Go,” “How I Roll,” “(Drop Dead) Beautiful,” “Trouble for Me”), and are so lyrically vague and generic, they could have been hits under almost any brand name. This is the problem, though; the total impersonality of the lyrics ultimately chips away at the value of the “Britney” brand, as it ceases to represent any kind of recognizable human personality.

Pop in the aggregate always represents the most basic human feelings: being in love is good, we broke up and I’m sad, I’m in the club and everyone’s looking at me. But the best pop artists have always personalized these tropes, sometimes in confrontational ways (Madonna at her late ’80s/early ’90s peak, and Pink starting with her second album) and other times by making them a platform for hyperinflated mythmaking (Lady Gaga). Frank Sinatra made albums in the 1950s that felt as personal as anything the confessional singer-songwriters of the 1970s ever came up with; Elvis Presley was able to inhabit the songs his producers brought him to a sometimes transcendent degree, especially during his most artistically self-conscious period (roughly, 1968′s From Elvis in Memphis through 1975′s Promised Land). Britney Spears never did this, and “Britney Spears” obviously can’t.

By severing the link between Britney Spears, the person seen in tabloids and on TMZ, and the voice heard on the “Britney Spears” records, the music is rendered meaningless, disposable, and—most damaging to an industry still fixated on a rapidly collapsing star system—ignorable. Femme Fatale is impossible to see as an artistic statement by a human personality, and that illusion of artistry is all that gives pop what little meaning it has. The entire “Britney Spears” product line may be at risk if the manufacturers don’t get this factor under control, quickly.

March 25, 2011

Interview: ELEW

Interview by Phil Freeman

ELEW (the artist formerly known as Eric Lewis) is striking out at the artificially imposed boundaries of jazz. On his debut CD, Rockjazz Vol. 1, he delivers pummeling interpretations of songs by Nirvana, Radiohead, Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Killers, Coldplay, the Rolling Stones and more. His technique is ferocious—he attended the Manhattan School of Music on a full scholarship, won the Thelonious Monk piano competition in 1996 and has recorded and performed with Wynton Marsalis, Donald Byrd, Ornette Coleman, Betty Carter and Cassandra Wilson, among others. Some criticize his theatrical, standing-at-the-piano-wearing-metal-wrist-plates style and his pounding technique as mere showbiz hackery, but if you listen closely, there’s not a whole lot of difference between his heavy block chords and repetitive melodies and those played by, say, Matthew Shipp. So he seemed like an ideal subject for a BurningAmbulance.com interview. Here it is.

When and how did this idea of blending rock and jazz first occur to you?
I first noticed these chamber music-sounding tracks on Brad Mehldau records. I would look on the CD and see the name “Radiohead,” which meant nothing to me except that, since it was of rock culture (which I never respected or bothered to follow), it was part of the basic politics of tightly budgeted jazz labels overtly but covertly trying to horn in on “college kids”’ tastes and dollars by using someone who “looked the part” and Pied Piper-ed their musical fancies. I, having won the Thelonious Monk Competition only to be ignored by the aforementioned jazz labels like a non-connected jerkoff outside of a chic nightclub trying to get a bouncer to bend the admission rules, was pissed off and growing increasingly disenchanted with touring the world with the likes of Wynton Marsalis and Elvin Jones, ruminating in a musical cone of ’60s-era activism pathology. My disenchantment became crippling depression, panic attacks, shame about being a poor steward of precious time and money, and betrayal issue-mongering. So I got through it, Rumpelstiltskinned into Navy SEAL-inspired aggression and determination, and cut emotional ties with my jazz world. I woke up. I saw Kanye West and others living loudly and decided that for all of my training and education (full scholarship to Manhattan School of Music), it was the non-formally trained who were successfully converting their passion into livelihoods and then into major retail interests. It was the hypocrisy and meritocratic garbage that made me decide that music education was just another hustle. All big decisions were clique-oriented. When I didn’t get a deal and nobody said anything, I began to see that nobody liked me. Ouch. OK. Time to get to work the gangster way. I started listening to Jay-Z about the facts of business. I decided that piano and hip-hop would never work because hip-hop is about stories in spoken word. Then I finally checked out rock, on the suggestion of some prep school kids. They recommended Linkin Park. So I bought Meteora and something special happened. I heard the basic ProTools computer perfection and the parade-style beat, but the lyrics cut into me and were allowing all the putrid pus of the neurosis of my jazz disease to spill out. “Somewhere I Belong.” Then I shooed away all the dialectical differences between the volumes and instrumentation between rock and jazz and focused on the congruent emotional sincerities that existed between the musics. I was ridiculed by the New York Times for stating that the screams of Chester Bennington reminded me of late-period John Coltrane‘s wails on the saxophone. Anyway, once I exposed myself to rock, I noticed that the techniques being used in my jazz peers’ versions of piano rock left a lot of room for me to insert my version of rock. It’s workin’.

There’s a lot of instrumental technique on display on this album, and some of what you’re doing reminds me of recent solo piano work by Matthew Shipp—the same heavy chords, etc.—but he is firmly identified with jazz and you are said to be “abandoning” jazz. What specifically do you think sets your work as ELEW apart from the outer fringes of jazz, other than image/marketing (which is, of course, crucial)?
Ironically, I am more congruent with nostalgic jazz tradition than most of the modern jazz practitioners. My work is quite conceptually identical to the work of Erroll Garner, Fats Waller, Duke Ellington and Art Tatum. Pop tunes; maintaining a singable melody throughout a contrapuntally expressed contemporary song form; familiar emotional delivery/execution/syntax; superior physiological technique; superior left hand rhythm pulse manifestation/integration/implementation; superior jazz piano technique with an emphasis on stride-style one-man-band vaudeville methods; basic understanding of sociological provocation for the purposes of entertainment; branding whether on the piano or off. Also I have more reason to be pissed off, which fuels my determination and creativity in the face of abject hopelessness and socio-economic roadblocks.

Were the songs recorded in single pure takes, like a jazz record? Does the idea of more elaborate production techniques, as in rock, appeal to you at all?
This particular record took a month of incessant sub-adequate attempts. Finally, in the last two hours of the last day that my producer was willing to pay for, I did all the songs in one or two takes. I plan or doing some electronically enhanced club tracks with vocals along with the one-take acoustic demonstrations for the purists on Rockjazz Volume 2.

By what criteria do you select the material you perform? What causes a song to perk your ears up and demand reinterpretation?
The lyrics need to capture my attention by cutting enough through the miasma of poetic possibilities regarding a particular emotion or situation. I like intricate but groovy bass lines to showcase my left hand, and also because tunes like that typically have the “pop friendliness” built in. Usually the rest of the material works harmoniously when these two basics are in place. Then I go to work on replicating emotions and sounds.

Do you plan to add musicians on future recordings, or will this continue to be a solo piano project?
Well, initially I had planned on the Rockjazz series as being a solo piano vehicle. But the next one needs to be a little more commercial in places for the purposes of mass attention and support. So yes, there will others musically involved on some parts of the recording. I will still make sure some extreme alternative rock tunes will be done solo, just to keep the dissonant fires burnin’ bright.

Your former boss, Wynton Marsalis, is somewhat famously conservative. Has he offered any thoughts on your current direction?
No, he is the type that refuses to encourage people like me. People like me make people like him hostile. As his type should be about people like me. His type knows that my type refuse to be discouraged or ridiculed out of our visions and destinations. So his type just clam up and do their thing with their friends, etc. Now of course, the only reason this subject has any relevance is because part of Wynton’s current brand is that of the Ever Stalwart Educator. Some of his conceptual/meritocratic hypocrisies are readily discoverable, and his economic visions for practitioners of jazz are rather pale and anemic compared to the loftiness of his assertions about the relevance/necessity of jazz as he plays it. Some stuff he is simply wrong about. But branding eclipses righteousness or being correct. So now that my branding and clout is bigger than anybody else that worked for him in the last few decades, when we see each other, the subject ain’t the music business, it’s just me kicking his butt in chess or us reminiscing verbally and musically about the intrinsic foibles of our race and romantic relationships. We jam sometimes and get some mutual laughs and musical curiosities goin’.

You’re currently working on Rockjazz Vol. 2—what songs does it include, and how is it different from Vol. 1?
This recording will have some original club beat vocal pieces, as well as some favorites from the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Linkin Park, Thrice, Mute Math, the Cranberries, etc. My technique is way better, so the execution will be smoother and the danceability/singability factor way stronger. The record will be my first hit. It’s conceptually going to be about the color grey. It will be a further exploration into the musical depiction of the overlapping blacks and whites of our external/internal existence: political, neurological, and galactic.

Buy ELEW’s Rockjazz Vol. 1 from the Amazon MP3 Store

March 23, 2011

Help Burning Ambulance – Buy From Amazon

You may have noticed Amazon links attached to many of our reviews. If you buy stuff from Amazon—items we review or other things entirely—by clicking through those links, Burning Ambulance gets a tiny, tiny chunk of money. If enough of those tiny, tiny chunks of money pile up, we can do things like pay the writers. (Money generated by purchases of the magazine itself also gets divided up among the writers—nobody gets a dime up front for their contributions, and anybody who’s read the magazine knows said contributions are awesome.) If a review intrigues you enough to make you want to purchase the music in question, or if you’re gonna be buying stuff from Amazon anyway, please click through via BurningAmbulance.com. Thank you in advance.

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