Hallock Hill

Susan Alcorn, “People Get Ready,” Curandera (Fleece, 2006)

Sometimes someone comes along and reinvents how we think of an instrument. Jimi Hendrix for guitar. Glenn Gould for piano. John Bonhams for drums. And Susan Alcorn for the pedal steel guitar, taking it out of the background of country bands and turning into a churchly, organ-infused power. What she does on this album with Olivier Messiaen’s 1937 motet “O Sacrum Convivium” smashes all conceptions of both that piece and the instrument on which it is played. Here, on the Curtis Mayfield Civil Rights-era classic “People Get Ready,” Alcorn twists and turns the melody, adding a microtonal critique on the emotion of its melody. While she has virtuosic abilities, she never sacrifices a performance to them, and her ability to maneuver her instrument into deep psycholigical territory will astonish you.

Alcorn’s recordings, many of which are available on CDR, are difficult to find, but are usually in stock at the Downtown Music Gallery.

Susan Alcorn on MySpace

Susan Alcorn’s official site

Dirty Projectors, “Two Doves,” Bitte Orca (Domino 2009)

Dirty Projectors are a divisive bunch. Founder and song-writer David Longstreth seems to divide listeners into factions. This hits other original artists, from Captain Beefheart to Joanna Newsom. At the end of the day, listen to his music and you’ll see that he is an intelligent guy, that he cares to make something well, and that he is trying to express a vision. I’ll leave the varying breakdown blow-by-blows to Pitchfork and Dusted, but here I will just say that there are moments of sheer beauty, such as this song. Don’t get bogged down in musicological stamp collecting, don’t try to find references to other songs and other poems and other whatever. Just lose yourself in the quirkly, rhythmically dynamic guitar and the lush, completely enrapturing voice of Angel Deradoorian. Other songs display the musical chops at this band’s command, but this song takes it all down to the elements: and the string arrangement works through it like a Greek chorus, commenting on Deradoorian’s glorious melody. Hers is one of the best voices in modern rock, and just let it be and take you to a different place.

Domino Records

Dirty Projectors on MySpace

Sir Richard Bishop, “The Pillars of Baalbek,” The Freak of Araby (Drag City 2009)

Sun City Girls founder, Sir Richard Bishop, has built a career on continual variation and change. As inflective of Ennio Morricone as Dick Dale, of blistering six-string slingers as somber melancholics, Bishop’s arc proves that one doesn’t have to be pigeon-holed to thrive. His brother, Alan Bishop, who formed another third of the Sun City Girls, founded the currently critical Sublime Frequencies label, which single-handedly turns the idea of “World Music” on its head.

The Bishops, despite their Anglo-ecclesiastical surname, are half Lebanese and sat at the feet of their oud-playing grandfather when they were young. Sir Richard Bishop formed the Freak of Araby Band to record this album of half Middle Eastern covers and half originals. Guitarist Rasheed Al-Qahira, percussionist Mohammed Bandari, bassist Ahmed Sharif, and hand drummer Abdulla Basheem masterfully back up Bishop, whose guitar histrionics are kept in bay on The Freak Of Araby. Here, the melody and mood rule. Bishop and the band are due to tour North America this year.

Sir Richard Bishop official site

Sir Richard Bishop on MySpace

Drag City

Here We Go Magic, “Tunnelvision,” ST (Western Vinyl)

Here We Go Magic put on a terrific show opening for Grizzly Bear at Town Hall on the 29th of May. I particularly liked this song, which live was beautifully swirling and rich. Band leader Luke Temple has himself released a number of fine recordings, but in Here We Go Magic he has found an ensemble that delivers a more powerful experience.

Here We Go Magic official site

Here We Go Magic on Myspace

Western Vinyl

Hallock Hill, “Invention,” unreleased

An improvisation based around a series of patterns on the piano keyboard.

John Luther Adams, “at the still point,” the place we began (Cold Blue 2009)

I was having trouble starting this review with a sentence that did not originate with some form of the verb “to be.” “There is in the place we began…” “It is hard to situate…” And perhaps that is (forgive me) instructive. The four pieces that comprise this work are very much a state of being, or a state of experience within our being that cannot be rendered effortlessly in words. I’ve written about this before, especially in relation to the works of Richard Skelton. The art can and should have its own landscape. The artist seeds the garden, and then the plants somehow tend themselves.

Not to be confused (though he often is) with the California composer John Adams (Nixon in China, Harmonielehre, On the Transmigration of Souls), John Luther Adams has created a body of work that incorporates the sounds and silences of his adopted Alaska. Quite literally, as he has recorded numerous soundscapes in the Alaskan wilderness and used them as building blocks in his compositions. the place we began is built from audio fragments that Adams collected circa the early 1970s and reappropriated into completely new works.

He writes: “Last summer in my studio I discovered several boxes of reel-to-reel tapes that I’d recorded in the early 1970s. Using those ‘found objects,’ I sculpted these new soundscapes from fragments of my past. The tape that got me started was labeled ‘Scrap. Unknown.’ When I listened to it, I could neither tell which direction was forward nor determine its proper playback speed. In both directions and at high and low speeds the sounds was intriguing. After trying it all four ways, I began to superimpose tracks. Then I began exploring the other found tapes.”

“at the still point” is a “tempo canon that sustains the relationships 13/14/15/16 throughout. The piece is made primarily from two tapes I recorded in 1974 on my Fender Rhodes electric piano.” So while it may appear on the surface a bit of neat flowing ambience, “at the still point” is in fact a thoroughly composed piece, built rigorously to achieve Adams’s compositional, and emotional, effect.

This work, for one thing (and it is no small thing), is undeniably beautiful. These four electro-acoustic works are each quite distinct in flavor and yet form a coherent unit, a music that is visual and evocative. Adams has done several installation pieces around visual arts ideas, perhaps the most expansive being “The Place Where You Go to Listen” covered by Alex Ross in the New Yorker. The four works in the place we began are equally cinematic and visual, echoing Alex Ross’s comparison of Adams’s music to the effect of the aurora borealis.

As to the seeming insistence of the verb “to be,” it seems apt. These works offer an alternative to pressure and stress, for one thing, that makes for a better state of being. While tempting to situate these works in a broader framework of modern composition and influence, it is preferable to let them act as their own reason for being. And therefore, be.

Cold Blue Records

John Luther Adam’s official site

Alex Ross on JLA in the New Yorker

Grizzly Bear, “All We Ask,” Veckatimest (Warp 2009)

Perhaps it was easier for some to love Grizzly Bear when they were (even) younger and before the numerous accolades from various quarters—from Radiohead to the New York Times—elevated them to their current indie plateau. Some of the flood of press, in print and online, related to the May 26th release of their latest album, Veckatimest, shows a deeply conflicted view of how to approach this band. Some accuse the record of being too ornate, too orchestral and layered. Would you say that the Chrysler building is too shiny, or that there are too many trees in the Adirondack Park? Of course not. Others say that the record is a bit clinical and sterile. While I did find their recent performance at Town Hall (Friday May 29th) a bit this way (they just seemed to lack any joy, though how can that be quantified?), Veckatimest more than justifies its own architecture.

For one thing, Ed Droste and Dan Rossen have never sounded better vocally. The crystalline production and mix serve their voices well, and they both seem to have hit a sweet spot where their characteristic detachment and pathos can co-mingle productively. The opening lines in “All We Ask,” are classic Droste lament-melancholy-thinking out loud. The harmonies that ensue amplify the sense of mystery, and are what truly make Grizzly Bear the modern inheritors of Beatles, Byrds, Beach Boys vocal theatrics. The 2:49 mark in the single “Two Weeks” is a clear high point of the record, where the instrumentation recedes and the four quite unique voices wrap round themselves. Chris Taylor provides some incredible multi-reed accompaniment, and his engineering and producing are as always spot on, bathing the record in a richness and depth that few have these days. Where Radiohead, for instance, create equally voluminous layers of sounds and structure, Grizzly Bear takes on a wider array of timbres. The four-part harmonies add depth to their constructions, in a way not dissimilar to, but in a completely opposing way to, say, the Fleet Foxes. If you follow me.

The opening “Southern Point” swings as few modern rock songs allow themselves too. Not your grandmother’s swing, though, but Rossen’s accented upbeat leading to Reichian pulse swing. I am most amazed by Chris Bear’s percussion—and it was he who stood out most live in their show at Town Hall. A real texturalist, Bear both grounded the band and gave them their subtle accents. He reveals a deep knowledge of both his kit and his body, using both to explore the subtle variations of sound that are available through minute changes in location and attack. Watching Chris Taylor play his many instruments in performance, while kneeling, recording a part into a looper and then changing to another instrument, shows how the band builds its songs in graphic fashion.

The one criticism levied against Grizzly Bear that seems to resonate with many is that they betray a certain preciousness. I don’t hear this at all in their recordings, but their detachment on stage did tend in that direction. For me, though, the artifact is the album, and Veckatimest will stand the test of time, once all the hoo-ha has subsided and all that is left is the history of a young band that made records. Grizzly Bear has taken all that was magnificent in Yellow House and moved into new territory. To say it is precious or overwrought or overdone misses the entire point: since the consistency of their vision is so fully formed throughout the 52 minutes of these twelve tracks, Veckatimest roots itself completely in its own plan. Yes, some worlds are claustrophobic and occasionally constrictive, but then they open and bloom. This album is a bloom. And “Foreground” may be one of the best album-closers of all time. Think of the development from Rubber Soul to Revolver. And we all know what came next. Grizzly Bear imply a similar trajectory. Let’s just hope Allen Klein doesn’t get involved.

Warp Records

Grizzly Bear Official Site

Grizzly Bear MySpace

Ed Droste’s Blog on Grizzly-Bear.net

Grizzly Bear’s YouTube channel

Grizzly Bear on Kanine Records

Baby Grandmothers, “Somebody keeps calling my name,” Baby Grandmothers (Subliminal Sounds 2007)

Originally released in 1968, this track is a classic piece of Swedish garage rock. Amazing guitar that brings Hendrix and Cream to mind, and the band’s live show was known for its extended, modal, improvised playing. The emphasis on the blistering lead guitar work of Kenny Håkansson (who later went on to found Kebnekajse) does not undermine the amazing rhythm section of Bengt Linnarsson (bass) and Pelle Ekman (drums). The band supported Hendrix during his December 1967-January 1968 gigs in Sandviken, Gothenburg, Copenhagen and Stockholm; this the tour where Hendrix was arrested in Gothenburg for trashing his hotel room and cutting his hand on a broken mirror. This track is one of the rarest garage/psych Swedish singles of the era, released in Finland rather than their native Sweden, and believed to have been pressed in about 300 copies. Subliminal Sounds lovingly re-released it, with six other tracks, in 2007, the project painstakingly collected and researched by Dungen’s guitarist Reine Fiske.

I realize this is a far-out non-sequitur from Richard Skelton, but that is how my mind works.

Carousell, “Black Swallow,” Black Swallow and Other Songs (Sustain-Release, May 2009)

Memory brings us those welcoming and unsettling moments in our lives, within a present bending. Moments of introspection or retrospection can pull one away from the present, aft towards a distance that was, but in its way never was: for this present lens has distorted that time, made it into something new. The present is always new, though its filters cause refractory bends that cast shadows.

Perhaps more than any other cycle in his oeuvre, Black Swallow and Other Songs reveals Richard Skelton mining memories, heard through these lenses of the present. It is almost as if we are listening to the process of memories develop: a motif arrives, disappears, mutates, reappears, is contrasted with a new phrase or timbre or sound. The effect is feeling. A music that itself feels and forces one to feel. Under the name Carousell, Skelton finds (perhaps) his most immediate and raw mode, and one that is more overtly melodic than many of his works. While earlier works often emphasized a dense layering of instruments and sounds, Black Swallow and Other Songs is stripped. But not barren. Improvisation takes a much more prominent role, one that to these ears emphasizes the sensation of memory and mind at work. It is raw, but round and full and beautiful.

At the 2:05 mark in “Black Swallow,” for instance, the bowed violin recedes, leaving the plucked instrument (is it guitar?, it is disguised in this timbre) to face a stronger silence. At this same time is what sounds like a female sigh—a haunting and very moving application. It takes on a Japanese-infused motion and melody, rhythmically complex and tactile. Then at 3:14, the bowed strings return and eventually force the staccato notes away—an elegiac moment where the memory of one thing in particular overtakes the stutter-stopping of thought and sweeps things away in a cascade.

When the following track opens, “And the Orchard,” the tone of the piano is startling, a marked contrast to all of the strings (and opening church bells of the album), and subtle scrapings that are a hallmark of Skelton’s sound. The hammers of the piano adumbrate the staccato plucked passage in the previous piece, acting as a kind of passage of thought through ideas that then again open more broadly. This happens with the transition to the next piece, “Which is the Blood,” with a laughing woman (or is it a girl?) flowing into Skelton’s characteristic wavering bowed and scraped strings. Then again an arpeggiated piano seems to add clarity to the moment, providing a focus to the thought that has been evoked.

I could continue in this vein, “reading” each piece, at the very least reading “into” them. Skelton though gets so many variations of tone and sounds out of his palette of instruments and recording techniques that this is of course reductive and unnecessary. Black Swallow and Other Songs primarily renders its power as an accretion of reflections, thoughts and feelings. Skelton often emphasizes the importance of landscape in his art, and how place influences his compositions. I would suggest that memory is inexplicably linked to place for him—and that to listen to him is to listen to him remembering worlds of so many yesterdays.

“A change in the weather,” wrote memory’s literary caretaker Marcel Proust, “is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.” He also wrote that “It is always during a passing state of mind that we make lasting resolutions.” Black Swallow and Other Songs sounds like eight glorious passing states of mind, each forging a moment of such great purity in the present, a kind of purity that seems to rarely exist. But one need only play the record again to sustain it. Skelton strikes me as someone who cares deeply about this intersection of place and time, wishes to both preserve that which was and always, always make new, and renew. There is something of the American Transcendentalist in him, perhaps akin to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s transparent eyeball, a current of universal energy, a vital process rather than a reified object. But as I have written here before, he also seems the consummate Modernist.

In the end, Skelton is singular, and irreducible. His music needs no justification or explanation. And its beauty has no boundary in place, nor in time.

You may order a copy of Black Swallow and Other Songs directly through Richard Skelton’s Sustain-Release Press. You may also read about Skelton’s recently commercially re-released A Box of Birch (on Tompkins Square) previously on Hallock Hill.

Tompkins Square

Sustain-Release, Richard Skelton’s private press

Sustain-Release on MySpace

Landings on MySpace