Devoted readers,
Once again I have neglected this humble blog. If you are eager to hear inklings of my music ramblings in the future, please refer yourself to The Post-Rockist instead. There you will be much better served.
I may continue to update this site with indecipherable mutterings about my daily life, but I haven't made up my mind on how I plan to keep this going.
Best wises,
The Well Respected Blogger
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Lovelee Sweet Shields
Chanced upon this news tidbit this morning. Needless to say, I'm intrigued. We once had a connection, he and I. Eyewitnesses remarked that it was stunning.
Like most reasonable individuals, I'm still patiently waiting for the next MBV album. In the meantime, though, I'm willing to tolerate the remix work he's done for lesser artists. For example:
Primal Scream - If They Move, Kill 'Em (My Bloody Valentine Arkestra)
Lush - Sweetness & Light (The Orange Squash Mix)
DJ Spooky, w/ Kevin Shields - Rapper's Relight
Placebo - Pure Morning (Kevin Shields Remix)
Curve - Coming Up Roses (Kevin Shields Remix)
Sadly, his remix work on Mogwai Fear Satan is much too long to upload. Sadder still, I cannot seem to locate some of his other remixes that I had once worked so hard to accumulate, such as "Autumn Sweater" and "Only the Strongest Will Survive." I suppose Bow Wow Wow will have to do for now.
----
This past weekend Over-the-Rhine played host to the unfortunately named event Jammin' On Main 2.0. Something like 70 local and area bands performed to roaming packs of wristbanded and slightly intoxicated in the historic Main Street district. [Please take note: When I call my neighborhood "historic" I am not simply falling into the come-hither marketing language that pervades these events. I honestly mean that my neighborhood has been recently named one of the 11 most endangered historic sites in the United States, according to the National Trust for Historic Preservation.]
The event I would call a surprising success. With the help of Cinti guru and concert buddy Jilly, we managed to stake out some exceptional regional talent. Outside at Neon's, I kicked off my evening with indie rockers The Turnbull AC's. With cooler weather sneaking in, I headed off to alchemize to catch the magnificent Fairmount Girls, whom I later termed "'60s bedroom pop." They said they had never heard that one before. With that, Jilly sent me along to Jefferson's, where we caught the end of The Swarthy Band's set. I couldn't help but smile at the sweat and gymnastics put into their performance. The real reason we came to Jefferson's, however, was to witness The Sundresses, who were also quite good, but Wussy was playing at the same time in Mr. Pitiful's, so we had to wander across the street to get the best of both worlds. Back at alchemize the night devolved into drinking and dancing and dj's and one final unremarkable band.
Saturday took greater effort to get moving. And for good reason, too. MOTH, who started out my night, are technically from Cincinnati, Ohio, although they would have you believe they were Pete Doherty's buddies from across the pond. At least Dayton's Lab Partners, with their Verve idolism, ended the weekend with a blissful touch of the delay pedal.
As much fun as that was, I doubt it will hold up to this. Anyone planning on visiting the tri-state this June?
Like most reasonable individuals, I'm still patiently waiting for the next MBV album. In the meantime, though, I'm willing to tolerate the remix work he's done for lesser artists. For example:
Primal Scream - If They Move, Kill 'Em (My Bloody Valentine Arkestra)
Lush - Sweetness & Light (The Orange Squash Mix)
DJ Spooky, w/ Kevin Shields - Rapper's Relight
Placebo - Pure Morning (Kevin Shields Remix)
Curve - Coming Up Roses (Kevin Shields Remix)
Sadly, his remix work on Mogwai Fear Satan is much too long to upload. Sadder still, I cannot seem to locate some of his other remixes that I had once worked so hard to accumulate, such as "Autumn Sweater" and "Only the Strongest Will Survive." I suppose Bow Wow Wow will have to do for now.
----
This past weekend Over-the-Rhine played host to the unfortunately named event Jammin' On Main 2.0. Something like 70 local and area bands performed to roaming packs of wristbanded and slightly intoxicated in the historic Main Street district. [Please take note: When I call my neighborhood "historic" I am not simply falling into the come-hither marketing language that pervades these events. I honestly mean that my neighborhood has been recently named one of the 11 most endangered historic sites in the United States, according to the National Trust for Historic Preservation.]
The event I would call a surprising success. With the help of Cinti guru and concert buddy Jilly, we managed to stake out some exceptional regional talent. Outside at Neon's, I kicked off my evening with indie rockers The Turnbull AC's. With cooler weather sneaking in, I headed off to alchemize to catch the magnificent Fairmount Girls, whom I later termed "'60s bedroom pop." They said they had never heard that one before. With that, Jilly sent me along to Jefferson's, where we caught the end of The Swarthy Band's set. I couldn't help but smile at the sweat and gymnastics put into their performance. The real reason we came to Jefferson's, however, was to witness The Sundresses, who were also quite good, but Wussy was playing at the same time in Mr. Pitiful's, so we had to wander across the street to get the best of both worlds. Back at alchemize the night devolved into drinking and dancing and dj's and one final unremarkable band.
Saturday took greater effort to get moving. And for good reason, too. MOTH, who started out my night, are technically from Cincinnati, Ohio, although they would have you believe they were Pete Doherty's buddies from across the pond. At least Dayton's Lab Partners, with their Verve idolism, ended the weekend with a blissful touch of the delay pedal.
As much fun as that was, I doubt it will hold up to this. Anyone planning on visiting the tri-state this June?
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
We could use the wood
So, for the past few days - weeks even - I've been scratching my head, wondering why the jackass who runs this website doesn't update his content more regularly, like every other responsible jackass in cyberspace. It was with no small amount of guilt that I realized that the jackass is me. Truth be told, it's hard work maintaining the international presence of the Well Respected Blog bureau. There are all the little things that can easily be taken for granted: concocting my weekly conceit to justify why I'm blogging to you; hand-selecting choice tracks from a variety of tunes I'm currently grooving to, uploading the songs, and making them available for your previewing pleasure; and presenting it all in a package that is informative, entertaining, and at the very least not entirely self-indulgent and boring. I hope you appreciate the labor and criminal risk that goes into this endeavor.
I bleed for this. I lay awake at night beating my chest, ashamed of the neglect this comely corner of the internet has had to endure.
If you get no other satisfaction out of this weblog, please savor the delicate care with which I lay down my run-on sentences.
It is possible, you realize, for me to update more regularly, but with admittedly less substance.
For instance:
Tuesday, 5:40 p.m.
My new spectacles seem to suit me well. However, several people at work asked whether they were only decorative. Do I really seem like that type of character?
Current mood: Ambivalent.
Currently listening to: Os Mutantes, Everything is Possible
Or:
Saturday, 7:02 p.m.
Sanctuary! Relief is finally in sight as the wedding plans are starting to materialize after five months of dawdling and second-guessing.
Current mood: Overwhelmed.
Currently watching: Iron Jawed Angels
Or:
Thursday, 2:36 p.m.
Safely exited my 2:00 conference with Janet Ashcroft. Boy, was she pissed.
Current mood: Flirty.
Currently reading: An editorial that has caused me to lose all respect for Sasha Frere-Jones.
So, there are possibilities. Not that I'll ever fall into that trap.
Two weeks ago (has it been that long? I believe it has) Dan came down to visit. We dallied about rooftops and art galleries and Northside, talking enthusiastically about music and life and rhythm, as if there was a difference. Before we know it, Dan and his little missus will be packing up their covered wagon and leaving behind the fair and fertile grounds of the Midwest for the golden coast. And as much pleasure as I took in warning him of the near certainty with which poverty will meet the pair in Oakland, a small fire in me believes that, like a cat, they will land on their feet.
It's been over a year now since our band released our finest recording to the public at Mac's Bar. Thankfully, for the rest of us, Daniel has kept up with his true love.
Listen, learn, and love:
Fancy Dan - So Long
Fancy Dan - I've Had Enough
Fancy Dan - Plenty
As we parted, we exchanged mix CDs. What else would you expect? He included the Tom Waits track "Come On Up to the House" somewhere in the middle. My strongest memory of that song was when I played in loudly in front of my piano class at State, showcasing Waits as an example of a modern piano player I admired. I smiled smugly at Tom's absurdist humor, his booming voice knocking out lines like "You're singing lead soprano in a drunk man's choir" and violently thrusting in Hobbesian imagery. Listening to it recently, it struck me how powerfully sincere the song is. It's a genuine appeal to acknowledge the flaws in your life and your lack of complete control of those events, and still to not be crushed by those burdens. This song has become my mantra of late - it's so compelling to want to plan everything out, listen to every record that sounds remotely interesting, read every book that you've been told is great or inspirational or enjoyable, constantly explore new territories, make new friends, become a better cook, exercise, learn a new instrument or skill, find better jobs, write everything down, get an advanced degree, and still make time for the Amazing Race, a bowl of popcorn, and a meaningful conversation with someone you care about. It's just too much to keep up with it all; sometimes you just gotta let go.
The world is not my home, I'm just a-passin' thru:
Tom Waits - Come On Up to the House (from Mule Variations)
I bleed for this. I lay awake at night beating my chest, ashamed of the neglect this comely corner of the internet has had to endure.
If you get no other satisfaction out of this weblog, please savor the delicate care with which I lay down my run-on sentences.
It is possible, you realize, for me to update more regularly, but with admittedly less substance.
For instance:
Tuesday, 5:40 p.m.
My new spectacles seem to suit me well. However, several people at work asked whether they were only decorative. Do I really seem like that type of character?
Current mood: Ambivalent.
Currently listening to: Os Mutantes, Everything is Possible
Or:
Saturday, 7:02 p.m.
Sanctuary! Relief is finally in sight as the wedding plans are starting to materialize after five months of dawdling and second-guessing.
Current mood: Overwhelmed.
Currently watching: Iron Jawed Angels
Or:
Thursday, 2:36 p.m.
Safely exited my 2:00 conference with Janet Ashcroft. Boy, was she pissed.
Current mood: Flirty.
Currently reading: An editorial that has caused me to lose all respect for Sasha Frere-Jones.
So, there are possibilities. Not that I'll ever fall into that trap.
Two weeks ago (has it been that long? I believe it has) Dan came down to visit. We dallied about rooftops and art galleries and Northside, talking enthusiastically about music and life and rhythm, as if there was a difference. Before we know it, Dan and his little missus will be packing up their covered wagon and leaving behind the fair and fertile grounds of the Midwest for the golden coast. And as much pleasure as I took in warning him of the near certainty with which poverty will meet the pair in Oakland, a small fire in me believes that, like a cat, they will land on their feet.
It's been over a year now since our band released our finest recording to the public at Mac's Bar. Thankfully, for the rest of us, Daniel has kept up with his true love.
Listen, learn, and love:
Fancy Dan - So Long
Fancy Dan - I've Had Enough
Fancy Dan - Plenty
As we parted, we exchanged mix CDs. What else would you expect? He included the Tom Waits track "Come On Up to the House" somewhere in the middle. My strongest memory of that song was when I played in loudly in front of my piano class at State, showcasing Waits as an example of a modern piano player I admired. I smiled smugly at Tom's absurdist humor, his booming voice knocking out lines like "You're singing lead soprano in a drunk man's choir" and violently thrusting in Hobbesian imagery. Listening to it recently, it struck me how powerfully sincere the song is. It's a genuine appeal to acknowledge the flaws in your life and your lack of complete control of those events, and still to not be crushed by those burdens. This song has become my mantra of late - it's so compelling to want to plan everything out, listen to every record that sounds remotely interesting, read every book that you've been told is great or inspirational or enjoyable, constantly explore new territories, make new friends, become a better cook, exercise, learn a new instrument or skill, find better jobs, write everything down, get an advanced degree, and still make time for the Amazing Race, a bowl of popcorn, and a meaningful conversation with someone you care about. It's just too much to keep up with it all; sometimes you just gotta let go.
The world is not my home, I'm just a-passin' thru:
Tom Waits - Come On Up to the House (from Mule Variations)
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
I knew right away that I had to get my hooks in you
Iggy & The Stooges - Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell (from Raw Power, mixed by David Bowie)
The White Stripes - Cannon (from The White Stripes, co-produced by Jim Diamond)
The Blanks - I'm Feeling Bad (from Love You Too, co-produced by Jim Diamond)
This article raises numerous questions, out of which the obvious legal ones I will strictly avoid.
1. Of the numerous relationships played out between producer and musician, is not one of the roles of the producer to accentuate the natural strength of the musican(s) in the studio? Or even, in some cases, to capture the naked talents of the performer? British glam-rocker David Bowie once famously, and sloppily, gave this treatment to a Detroit band known as the Stooges. I don't hear him complaining now that James Osterberg has given that record a heavy-duty remixing in recent years.
2. The Blanks recorded with Jim Diamond. Suspiciously, we were never asked to sign a contract. When asked whether he would mind receiving "co-producer" status on Love You Too, Diamond shrugged and said that it would be fine. In fact, he seemed so uninterested by the prospect that we probably could have titled the album "Jim Diamond and The Blanks Present... Love You Too" and photoshopped his image onto our cover, and he still would have been fine with it. We will see who laughs last, Jim Diamond. We will see who laughs last.
3. By the way, does anyone else notice the East Lansing connection? I think we all know where the real talent lies...
4. Did Jim Diamond have anything to do with this?
5. You say I'm your lover, baby, then why you lovin' Dan?
The White Stripes - Cannon (from The White Stripes, co-produced by Jim Diamond)
The Blanks - I'm Feeling Bad (from Love You Too, co-produced by Jim Diamond)
This article raises numerous questions, out of which the obvious legal ones I will strictly avoid.
1. Of the numerous relationships played out between producer and musician, is not one of the roles of the producer to accentuate the natural strength of the musican(s) in the studio? Or even, in some cases, to capture the naked talents of the performer? British glam-rocker David Bowie once famously, and sloppily, gave this treatment to a Detroit band known as the Stooges. I don't hear him complaining now that James Osterberg has given that record a heavy-duty remixing in recent years.
2. The Blanks recorded with Jim Diamond. Suspiciously, we were never asked to sign a contract. When asked whether he would mind receiving "co-producer" status on Love You Too, Diamond shrugged and said that it would be fine. In fact, he seemed so uninterested by the prospect that we probably could have titled the album "Jim Diamond and The Blanks Present... Love You Too" and photoshopped his image onto our cover, and he still would have been fine with it. We will see who laughs last, Jim Diamond. We will see who laughs last.
3. By the way, does anyone else notice the East Lansing connection? I think we all know where the real talent lies...
4. Did Jim Diamond have anything to do with this?
5. You say I'm your lover, baby, then why you lovin' Dan?
Thursday, April 20, 2006
All I want to do is bugaloo
My neighbors must be very impressed. For the past hour and a half I have been working myself into a furor over James Brown. Dancing, by myself, until my feet ached and my brows carried big, salty dollops that blurred my vision.
Drivers on interstate 71 must be equally bewildered; watching cautiously as a well-groomed white boy emerges suddenly from their blind spot, pounding his hood until his knuckles purple and spitting rapturously to some inaudible rhymes.
Admittedly, this situation I have put myself in is more than a little absurd. (But don't most addictions begin in private? Who knows, I can't be bothered to follow up on that assertion.) Still, this obsession is nothing to be embarrassed about. Although my discriminating readers may have greeted my repeated offerings of black American music with mute disapproval, perhaps they mistook the brevity with which I introduced soul brother number one, James Brown, as a lack of enthusiasm. How little they realize that sometimes the matters of the heart can't be expressed by words, and only by grunts and squeals. You think I'm finished? I'm only previewing it. This ain't the show I'm only EQ'ing it.
Just to be clear, you're not getting any James Brown tonight. But I have introduced myself to soul singer Don Covay and I thought I would introduce him to you as well. Covay started his career opening for Little Richard, went on to record this little number with an unknown guitarist named Jimi Hendrix, and was later imitated successfully by a Brit named Mick Jagger.
Don Covay - Mercy, Mercy (from Mercy/See-Saw)
I can't explain my recent obsession with '50s R&B, '60s soul, and '70s funk. Maybe the southern heat of this spring is just loosening my joints. Maybe the recent string of drug-related murders and assassination of an outspoken local activist, with the resultant police crackdown in my neighborhood, is causing me to seek an appropriate outlet. Listening to the music is a good start. Shuffling and singing along with the music can be an even better release. Lately I've been getting the itch to get back into performing again. Since I've moved down here my poor bass has been neglected. Nothing's sadder than a solo bassist plucking quietly out of tune. Now I'd give anything for a patient drummer to pound out some simple rhythms - "Give the bass a taste, give the drummer some." Two weeks ago I nabbed a free six-string, minus a few strings. It's still out of tune. I feel like I've been attacking it with clay hands.
I really ought to abandon any notion of playing R&B, soul, or funk, because nothing's worse than white R&B, white soul, and white funk. At work I've been toying around with Pandora and surprised myself with some of the gems you'll now find in the margins of my blog. You can offer suggestions for the type of music you want to listen to, rate it, pause and fast-forward it. The only tune I gave the big thumb's down to was some white gent singing soul. It's unnatural, innit?
Drivers on interstate 71 must be equally bewildered; watching cautiously as a well-groomed white boy emerges suddenly from their blind spot, pounding his hood until his knuckles purple and spitting rapturously to some inaudible rhymes.
Admittedly, this situation I have put myself in is more than a little absurd. (But don't most addictions begin in private? Who knows, I can't be bothered to follow up on that assertion.) Still, this obsession is nothing to be embarrassed about. Although my discriminating readers may have greeted my repeated offerings of black American music with mute disapproval, perhaps they mistook the brevity with which I introduced soul brother number one, James Brown, as a lack of enthusiasm. How little they realize that sometimes the matters of the heart can't be expressed by words, and only by grunts and squeals. You think I'm finished? I'm only previewing it. This ain't the show I'm only EQ'ing it.
Just to be clear, you're not getting any James Brown tonight. But I have introduced myself to soul singer Don Covay and I thought I would introduce him to you as well. Covay started his career opening for Little Richard, went on to record this little number with an unknown guitarist named Jimi Hendrix, and was later imitated successfully by a Brit named Mick Jagger.
Don Covay - Mercy, Mercy (from Mercy/See-Saw)
I can't explain my recent obsession with '50s R&B, '60s soul, and '70s funk. Maybe the southern heat of this spring is just loosening my joints. Maybe the recent string of drug-related murders and assassination of an outspoken local activist, with the resultant police crackdown in my neighborhood, is causing me to seek an appropriate outlet. Listening to the music is a good start. Shuffling and singing along with the music can be an even better release. Lately I've been getting the itch to get back into performing again. Since I've moved down here my poor bass has been neglected. Nothing's sadder than a solo bassist plucking quietly out of tune. Now I'd give anything for a patient drummer to pound out some simple rhythms - "Give the bass a taste, give the drummer some." Two weeks ago I nabbed a free six-string, minus a few strings. It's still out of tune. I feel like I've been attacking it with clay hands.
I really ought to abandon any notion of playing R&B, soul, or funk, because nothing's worse than white R&B, white soul, and white funk. At work I've been toying around with Pandora and surprised myself with some of the gems you'll now find in the margins of my blog. You can offer suggestions for the type of music you want to listen to, rate it, pause and fast-forward it. The only tune I gave the big thumb's down to was some white gent singing soul. It's unnatural, innit?
Sunday, April 09, 2006
"Count Basie just sat there, staring at me."
The Thelonious Monk Quartet - Body and Soul (Re-take 2) (from Monk's Dream)
The Thelonious Monk Quartet - Bye-Ya (from Monk's Dream)
The Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane - Bye-Ya (from the Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall)
"He [Thelonious Monk] paints gigantic, colorful pictures with sometimes very few notes, then again with many. His improvised melodic lines remind one of Picasso's paintings: flowing movement, rich textures, striking contrasts. His rhythms are perhaps the most unusual of any jazz player. Sometimes they are jagged, but they are always pulsating and full of rhythmic drive."
-Teo Macero
"I say, play your own way. Don't play what the public want - you play what you want and let the public pick up on what you doing - even if does take them fifteen, twenty years."
-Thelonious Monk
The documentary Straight, No Chaser opens with a bizarre scene, which, for lack of better words, features the "High Priest of Bebop" dancing during a live performance of the Monk original "Evidence." While the rest of the band keeps the rhythm steady, Thelonious Monk moves awkwardly around an invisible axis down the length of his spine, sweating and spinning. As much as you are tempted to write this behavior off as an isolated incident, it turns out to be his signature move, one which he pulls off enthusiastically and at other times mechanically in a variety of settings: night clubs, kitchens, European airport lobbies.
Watching him at the piano - loafers scuffling arrhythmically on the floor, sustaining notes long enough to reach one hand into his pocket to grab a kercheif for his damp brow and drag on his cigatette with the other, only to resume by pecking at the ivory with a crooked claw - is an altogether other sort of mesmerizing experience. While I won't claim to know much about jazz music, it is a project I have unwittingly taken on by means of slow immersion. It would seem that Monk was more concerned with the personal, meditative aspects of his music than what the audience would understand anyway. When I first listened to Monk's Dream, I thought my speakers were so damaged from blasting Jay-Z and Liars on my commute that they were rattling with the lightest of bass touches. It turns out that what I thought sounded like a track of distorted kazoo mixed way down was actually Monk murmuring the melody to himself, which was being picked up in the bleed.
Also, it occurred to me while watching John Ore that I would love to own a double bass. If anyone knows of someone who is selling one for dirt cheap, or who is willing to take an apprentice, please let me know.
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