Welcome to 2014! Let’s celebrate another trip around the sun with a few discs left over from last year (meaning I meant to cover them but kept running out of space) and a few brand new offerings.
Mick Turner
Don’t Tell The Driver
Drag City Music
It’s been nearly a decade since Dirty Three guitarist Mick Turner has stepped out on his own but it’s evident the relative layoff (Turner has continued with both band and session work) has served him well.
Continuing in that band’s knack for combining traditional and modern folk essentials with exploratory jazz and prog rock, Don’t Tell the Driver is Turner in full investigational mode, showing off his fusion guitar dynamics with meticulously constructed loops, ambient percussion, and echo chamber theatrics. There’s even a bit of vocal accompaniment—a rarity for any Turner associated project—courtesy of fellow Aussie musician/visual artist Caroline Kennedy-McCracken.
The end result is an album that, while it occasionally tends to veer into ethereal irreverence for its own sake, has a lot going for it. The opening two tracks, “All Gone” and “Sometimes”, are reflective images one of the other, dabbling in rapid fire acoustic guitar and keyboards with whispering background voices (more recitation than singing) that seem to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. “Long Way Home” tosses in some whispered horns—again, a first for Turner—that seem a bit out of place but you can’t blame him for trying.
In many ways Don’t Tell the Driver is a bit reminiscent of the duo of records Robert Fripp and Andy Summer made in the early 1980’s: there’s a certain duality going on that sometimes works, sometimes falls flat, but never fails to interest. That’s really not a bad formula and while Don’t Tell the Driver might be seen as a stopover for the ever adventurous Turner it’s certainly not a bad place to spend a fortnight or two. ***1/2
Roy Harper
Man and Myth
Bella Union Music
Talk about an early Christmas present! By my count the aptly titled Man and Myth is Roy Harper’s 34th album, starting with a phenomenal career dating back to 1966. And what a joy it is. Harper, adored by the likes of Page and Plant, Johanna Newsome, and Kate Bush has always stood on the sidelines of rock music legend. He’s far more a poet than pop star, and while he plays a pretty good guitar and concocts highly agreeable melodies his lyrics can be as baffling as they are opaque.
Man and Myth, his first studio recording since 2000, displays Harper in all his peculiar glory and helps explain why (those of us who know his music really, really, love it) I’ve yet to meet a casual Roy Harper fan. Recorded in both California and Ireland it is vintage Harper, and could have just as easily emerged from 40 years ago.
Harper, at age 72, sounds as clear and haunting as ever, and shows no interest in recreating either his image or sound. His voice and guitar are up front—with longtime fan and friend Pete Townsend adding some very tasty licks—and the usual metaphor rich cryptic poetry is strewn across the album’s seven tracks.
“January Man”, a poignant look back to early days and loves lost, is as gorgeous as anything he’s ever written (which is saying something) while the exhilarating bombast of “Cloud Cuckooland” gives us a glimpse of Harper the rock and roller. “Heaven is Here” is the albums masterwork, a sixteen minute allegory that is simply stunning in its beauty, romantic imagery, and mythological underpinnings. Drums, guitars, and mellotron converge, clash, and conspire in a breathtaking unification that must be heard to be believed.
There’s not a thing about this album I would change. It immediately becomes one of my year’s favorite releases and should restore Harper’s name to the lofty heights to which it should be attached. Man and Myth is as great as it gets. *****
Thelonious Monk
Paris 1969
Blue Note/Capitol
The latter half of the 1960’s was not a good time for Thelonious Monk. Ongoing economic problems, made worse by his deteriorating health, were only part of it. Columbia Records seemed determined to reclassify him as a rock musician (take a look at the cover art for Underground) and while other jazz giants were willing to share a bill with rock stars—Miles Davis had recently opened The Fillmore for Neil Young and Crazy Horse!—Monk would have none of that.
If that weren’t enough his longtime rhythm section of bassist Larry Gales and drummer Ben Riley had departed for more lucrative gigs, leaving Monk out there on his own.
As he began his eighth tour of Europe, excursions which traditionally ended in Paris, he was forced to work out young unknowns. In this case accompanying Monk and saxophonist Charlie Rouse was a Berklee music school student, Nate “Lloyd” Hygelund on bass, and 17-year-old drummer Paris Wright, the son of Chet Baker bassist Herman Wright.
This show, the last night of the tour, at the Salle Pleyel (the very same venue as his disastrous 1954 show in which a younger Monk arrived drunk and surly) was recorded for French television; for which we should all be grateful, as the sound quality is astoundingly robust.
The band had been on the road for six weeks and had just completed a triumphant three night stand at Ronnie Scott’s in London. They were in high groove and while they don’t often add much to the arrangements—Monk was keeping the improvisation to a minimum—there is an almost brutal force to their playing that comes through loud and clear. The familiars, “Straight No Chaser”, “Bright Mississippi”, and “Light Blue” are played pretty much note for note.
Wright is a perfectly competent hard bob drummer, still discovering his own style, while Hygelund keeps ideal time. Rouse, who had played with Monk for the better part of a decade, might seem as if he’s dialing it in but such is not the case. He’s simply so familiar with his boss that the two seem as one.
For his part Monk, despite his age and declining health, remained a monster. There’s no playing around the edges as he dives right into the gut and soul of each song. His sense of timing, harmony, and swing, are just astonishing. His long stretch on “Ruby My Dear” must have been jaw dropping to see up close. 44 years later it is no less so.
Does any of this make Paris 1969 essential Thelonious Monk? Not really. There are so many highlights to his herculean output that this release, welcome as it is, doesn’t quite make that cut. Still, for the new initiates, Paris 1969 should give them some sense of how Thelonious Monk was a true giant of jazz while dispelling the oft repeated notion that towards the end he’d lost the swagger that was his. ****
RocketNumberNine
MeYouWeYou
Small Town Super Sound Music
While RocketNumberNine are generally mentioned in connection with their demigods Radiohead and their pals Four Tet they are more than capable of standing on and carving out an identity all their own. With the streamlined MeYouWeYou, band members Ben and Tom Page have done just that. It’s a more intently focused version of the band, one that doesn’t let go of the organic improvisation that is their stock and trade but keeps it to a level that emphasizes edifice over ambience.
That’s not to say their honored mix of jazz, electronica, and dance floor pulse aren’t present, just fine tuned. Tom Page’s rhythms are pushed front and center—where they best serve the songs—while the interaction between Tom and Ben, as well as drummer Steve Reid, is finely nuanced and tempered.
Take for instance the cleverly built “Rotunda”, wherein electronica giddily meets South American world beat, or the delightfully coy “Black and Blue” in which the brothers show off their jazzier notions (after all the band does take its name from a Sun Ra track) with confident ease. Other highlights include the rock heavy “Lone Raver” and the more coolly intellectual “Symposium”. Like other electronica bands, RocketNumberNine do occasionally place brash over brawn (and I admit to this being an unfairness on my part) but by and large MeYouWeYou reflects a nice step forward for the band, a direction I hope they continue to survey. ***
Eric Clapton
Give Me Strength: The 1974/1975 Studio Recordings
Polydor/Universal
Following the implosion of Derek and the Dominoes, Eric Clapton essentially lay fallow for three years; a handful of session work and the Rainbow Concert in London were about it. Confused, exhausted and in the dark throes of heroin addiction Clapton came perilously close to being just another Rock and Roll casualty (15 years later booze would nearly do him in).
Released in July of 1974 461 Ocean Boulevard was his comeback, a near perfect record that helped him reclaim his standing as one of the biggest rock stars in the world. Those sessions, produced by Tom Dowd and recorded at Criteria studios are the nucleus of this five-CD/one-BluRay box set documenting a vital chapter in the Eric Clapton discography.
If nothing else this substantial collection of tracks gives evidence to how incredibly productive the original sessions were; apparently 461 was the mere tip of the iceberg. Disc 1 is the entire original album plus various alternate takes and unused songs, the best of which are a scorching reworking of Big Bill Broonzy’s “Lonesome Road Blues” and a lilting acoustic slowing down of “Please Be With Me”.
Disc two settles in There’s One in Every Crowd, an album not highly regarded but one I admit to having a deep fondness for. It’s a bit of a rag tag effort, and those hoping for Clapton’s fiery dynamics are going to be disappointed, but for me its leisurely reggae/funk groove has always struck a chord. The addition of several previously unheard tracks, including a pair of Peter Tosh songs, makes it essential.
Next up (discs 3 and 4) is an extended version of the live EC Was Here, unwisely trimmed to a single disc upon its initial release. We’re also treated to a disc of various jams, including a sublime extended session with Freddie King (disc 5), and a somewhat superfluous pair of remixes of 461 and TOIEC (disc 6).
Did we really need all this? Probably not, and Give Me Strength might easily have been trimmed down to a “mere” four discs without losing any of its potency. Much of the live material, largely subdued and slow burning, is quite different from that previously collected on the Crossroads boxed set which more than justifies its inclusion. The 60 page booklet is a treasure trove of Clapton trivia while the Freddie King sessions give a hint of what might have been had the pair made good on their promise to make an album together.
Taken in its entirety Give Me Strength is an exhaustive and at times exhausting overview of a slice of Clapton’s career that has been largely overlooked. It nestles nicely between the 2011 super deluxe Layla boxed set and this year’s equally overstuffed reissue of Slowhand, creating a historical context that only Clapton diehards might fully appreciate. ****1/2
Good Ol’ Freda
DVD
Magnolia Pictures
Before they became the biggest band in the world, Freda Kelly, an admittedly shy Liverpool teen, took a job—and a chance—by becoming the all-around “Gal Friday” for The Beatles. She had an insistent faith in the boys, having no way of knowing how far they would go and what her pivotal role, largely off stage, in that amazing journey would be.
For just over a decade Kelly answered correspondence (boy did she ever!), ran errands, and helped keep the Beatle ship afloat. Others entered and left the inner circle but Kelly was there for the duration. Surprisingly her story has never been told; countless books and documentaries about the Fab Four have been made but Kelly’s role has been either glossed over or outright ignored. Which is what, for all its faults, redeems Good Ol’ Freda.
The story is so fascinating, filled with bits of trivia and asides that one cannot help but be drawn in. Rarely do we get such an up close look as history unfolds. We play witness to the personal and artistic evolution of the band from a perspective that was rarely offered, and 50 years after the fact it remains as fascinating as ever.
Made with the blessings of Paul and Ringo, Yoko Ono and Olivia Harrison, it features a number of carefully chosen (and wonderfully placed) Beatle tracks, creating a soundtrack to their lives and ours. Yet despite all this there is something lacking, a particular deficiency that’s hard to pinpoint. Filmmakers Ryan White, Kathy McCabe, and Jessica Lawson, who collectively wrote, directed, and produced Good Ol’ Freda, pour a lot of love into their brainchild but despite extensive interviews we never really get to know what makes Freda tick. As the subject of the film, Kelly plays things cautiously, never revealing more than a quick glimpse of life with The Beatles. I suspect this is out of respect and deference but more than a few times I wish she’d drop her guard and let the interviewers dig a bit deeper.
One gets little sense of the wonder of The Beatle years, and I suspect anyone who didn’t live through that time won’t have their understanding of the band and the phenomena that surrounded them enhanced. Still it’s hard not to love Good Ol’ Freda for what it is; a thoroughly pleasant trip through Pepperland. But somehow I wanted and expected a bit more. ***