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… I indulged in the pleasure of seeing last Friday night Phil Lesh & Friends, that is, the bassist for the Grateful Dead and his new band. So in my years, particularly those within and immediately following college, I amassed a hefty knowledge for the Dead’s catalogue, and found Phil & Friends the Dead offshoot most likely to deliver the deep-cuts.
Friday night was, for the hard-core at least, a pleasure to behold. Of course, I don’t get the feeling that there are many visitors to this site of that ilk, so I’ll spare you the tales of the mind-fuck it was to hear ‘Viola Lee Blues > Big Boss Man > Viola Lee > About Cell Block #9 > Viola Lee’, and that was just the end of the first set.
Nor will I delve into Levon Helm’s opening set, which made a case for The Band’s endurance as the quintessential ‘American Band’ (never mind that they were Canadians, not counting Helm), and also the Grammy he scored for last year’s Dirt Farmer. But I didn’t come here to tell you about that…
I love deodorant, okay? The hippie contempt for hygiene was one of many things that I could never understand that would eventually turn me off of the scene. Seriously, my buddy and I stood next to a dude (he resembled a tattooed bean-sprout) who reeked so bad that I had to bum one of his own cigarettes to keep the funk at bay. There’s that, and the issues of remaining solvent and functional had something to do with my change of lifestyle. Nevertheless, I continue to like the music.
But across town at Schuba’s was something much closer to the mid-60’s Frisco scene from which the Dead sprang, and the hopeless Heads endlessly romanticize. I’m talking about a Mexican-American-psychedelic pop outfit that operates under the name of Alla’.
So a 1/2 hour after P&F closes, I stumble into the CD release party of Alla’s debut Es Tiempo, an impressive disc seven-years in the coming. Trust me, go see the very next show, listen to their music… not later, but now. The hybrid of mind flower noise, pop melody and Mexican folk may, on paper, seen like too much to handle, just as to read their instrumentations appears overwhelming… not so. It is disciplined w/o being sanitized, and is full of astonishing feats that don’t beg for attention. The guest string section, appearance by the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International, and the zillion other friends that provided musical muscle to the night’s set were recipe-perfect parts impact, body and balance.
The lyrics, I’m told, take on bold topics, but they are sung in Spanish and, without the benefit of a translation, uni-linguists such as myself are at a disadvantage. Still, listening to an opera in English is nary as powerful as that which is sung in foreign or even ancient tongue, and so too do Alla’s songs take on a mystical tone as sung in the members’ native language. It seems highly unlikely that the songs, were they sung in English, would have such a momentous affect. They are too pristine, veridical, captivating in a way that can only come from great vision and love for heritage without slavishness to the past.
But the unfortunate ethos of Now is to see a band because they’re about to be big. That may be the case with Alla’ (pronounced ‘Aie - ya’, means “over there”), but that’s not the reason to perk up. Go now because they’ll torque your mind and their show is a thing of beauty (which applies to their lead singer Lupe Martinez as well). Latin music tends not to be my thing, being exposed to it largely against my will from the open windows of passing cars, but this has nothing to do with that madrepore of commercial drek on La Ley. In the hands of the Ledezma Brothers, Martinez, and the many other members and guests, the Mexican folk traditions are particularly potent. Alla’ makes me want to know more about the source of their inspiration, and also the extent to which they take this extremely promising experiment.
And in an era where businesses and bands are trying everything they can to get the buyer’s attention w/ gimmicks, it’s refreshing to see a band doing so with pure music.
What is it to be original? To throw out everything that worked before and start anew to grab attention? It worked so well for U2 that they had to return to trite pop tunes to recover their fanbase. How about breathing new life into an existing format? Hell yes, when it comes to the likes of the blues, Tom Petty and Mason Jennings. The latter, on his latest release, goes beyond making fresh the groove we’ve been hearing for years… he toys with the pedantic and makes it grand, cathartic even.
In The Ever is mostly an album about faith. Not that Jennings is proselytizing… it’s a praise album that addresses both the joy of belief and the struggle to transcend. It’s also peppered with a few hit singles, political numbers and regular love songs that Jack Johnson - who appears on the album - would be doing if he would get over that dopey beach bum malaise. Take ‘Never Knew Your Name’… the name and chorus could mislead the casual listener into thinking that it’s about finding the elusive Dream Girl, but it’s Jennings’ tale of a life spent loving the Benevolent Creator and discovering one day that He can be called by name.
It’s far from being filed under ‘Christian Rock’, thankfully. The name itself dignifies what is mere Suck Music about Jesus… this makes life hard for those of us who want something of substance when it comes to the image of the Eternal in art. 100’s of years ago Christ was inspiring the Sistine Chapel and Handel’s Messiah… now it’s Jars of Clay?
And not that Jennings’ beliefs will ever get the Pope’s endorsement, what with ‘I Love You [Jesus] and Buddha Too’, which contrasts the rigid interpretation of the axiom “a man cannot serve two masters”. A closet deist, perhaps? Nevertheless, his is an album not of religious music but music made religiously. Strange that such a simple thing as expressing love and wonderment of Jesus (and other theophanies) can be so stunning, but Jennings’ states it plainly and powerfully without getting weird or alienating an agnostic audience.
And he can swing a good jingle too, lest we forget that life is also about things like sing-alongs, beer and chicks…
The conventional love songs are worthy of Jennings’ most enjoyable material. ’Memphis, Tennessee’ and ‘Your New Man’, remind me of that rare playful side of Bob Dylan that shines on tunes like ‘If You Got to Go, Go Now’, apropos of Jennings’ deft contributions to I’m Not There. ‘Fighter Girl’ is the album’s big single, and is a little too contrived for my taste, but I would probably like it fine were it not destined to be on every Mix CD For [New Girlfriend’s Name] of ‘08.
As expected from Mason Jennings, that mid-range voice w/ just a hint of asperity, and raw-yet-inspired instrumentation makes for ’08’s best road music to date. But the real reward is paying attention and being consumed by such well-guided sincerity and timelessness. This guy is good.
Brushfire Records, May 20, 2008
And apropos to nothing, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Joie!!!
Yeah, so that happened.
I didn’t like the kid from the start, getting involved where she doesn’t belong and all. Twirling a rabbit’s foot on a long chain, dressed predictably for a neophyte to this kind of work and swaying back and forth on her heels – there was baggage. No idea where that wardrobe came from either… from the shoes to the neck was high-end Good Will material – probably the donated wardrobe of the wife of a made man magna cum whacked - but the neck up was Daryl Hannah from The Pope of Greenwich Village.
“Red Johnny,” she introduced and extended her hand. Weak handshake and wouldn’t make eye contact, but I told her I was glad to meet her just the same. “I guess you know what we’re doing, but what say we get an Old Style first?” she offered. That voice and outfit would have been sexy were I not annoyed at having to do with this kid a job that I’d rather do with Frank, but a beer was a better idea than making small talk outside in the goddamn early-spring cold.
Has it already been fifteen years? Frankly, I didn’t take too much notice then, nor do I now (just not my thing, eh?), but It’s a Shame About Ray has been out for almost as long as it takes a person to go from birth to driving age. And they’re celebrating at the Abbey Pub, but what’s really happening is…
The Ladies & Gentlemen, a highly reputable local outfit, opens for the Lemonheads. You’ve seen their name a million times before, and said to yourself, “These guys are always at the Double Door/Reggie’s/Martyrs, maybe someday I’ll check ‘em out.” Say ‘yes’ to a Brit-ish, power pop, new wave fix. The songs are catchy as hell, and tailored to the ADD demographic, but if that’s not your thing… there’s a bar in the other room where you can state into your beer in peace.
TLAG is building up steam, and if you’re already in for the Lemonheads, get there in time for the opening act (which also includes Canasta). Maybe not headlining at the Sears Center any time soon, but get a look at these guys as their base continues to grow (which is, amusingly, directly proportional to the rate at which the band’s hairline recedes. 80’s kids on instruments in the 21st Century…).
Damn it, Zak, that was fast! But you nailed it and found Evil Urges even more agreeable than I did. Still, I feel the urge (pun intended, now that I think of it) to make a few things clear about MMJ’s new album that just won’t do as a mere comment…
1) I hated this album on first listen, or at least I was wary of it. True, it is a brave departure, but it seemed silly, full of Jim James giggling and impressing us with his voice. His upper-range, by the way, now officially surpasses Rev. Al Green on the ‘No Way Should a Manly Man Be Able To Sing That High’ chart.
2) Even as I was smugly explaining to people that, “Man, Evil Urges eats it,” I was secretly jonesing for it. I couldn’t help but come out of the MMJ closet after dinner on Friday when I begged the DD of our group, to whom I had just moments earlier been defaming the album, to let me hear the opening track and namesake of the album just one more time before we arrived at the party.
3) It’s all I’ve been listening to for days now.
4) There are still flaws I can’t quite get over. ‘Thank You Too’ sounds like a cover of a Delphonics b-side, but without the romance of those falsetto crooners. ‘Librarian’ sets-up like a celebration of those who prop up literacy, but devolves into a puerile sexual fantasy. It, I suppose, fits into the theme of the album, but is kind of creepy and cheap.
5) None of that ruins the album. Maybe lacking the lyrical weight of a masterpiece, its varied yet consistent musicality and melody are worthy of MMJ’s catalogue, and are a step above the very good work that James and Co. have already done.
The dynamism of Evil Urges is going to cause a lot of Big Talk, and some blogger will go to sleep tonight after impressing himself by being the first to smell a rat. But screw prescience… it’s all about preference anyway.
