Recent Acquisition = Abdullah Ibrahim, Senzo

For the last 48 years Abdullah Ibrahim has been releasing albums at a rate faster than one a year. There is no question he is prolific. But it is the rich content and singular synthesis of American and African jazz influences that make Ibrahim the profoundly important player he remains today.

A talented black musician under apartheid, Ibrahim recorded one of the first jazz LP’s in South Africa, with an ensemble The Jazz Epistles. Soon after, he took advantage of an opportunity to play in the European tour of the South African musical King Kong, a production that helped launched the career of some of his country’s most revered musicians—Miriam Makeba, Hugh Masekela, and Ibrahim himself among others.

Remaining in Europe, and chance, provided a golden opportunity for Ibrahim (who at that time went by the name Dollar Brand, years before his conversion to Islam): Duke Ellington, touring Switzerland at the time, was talked into seeing Ibrahim’s set one night by his future wife, Sathima Bea Benjamin. The Duke was so impressed he recorded Ibrahim on some European labels before insisting he come back to New York with him to record for Reprise.

His tenure at Reprise lead to collaborations with some of jazz’s greatest names (Coltrane, Ellington, Coleman) and catapulted a career that would see him return briefly to South Africa before touring the world over and settling in both Europe and New York. Only after his country’s reunification could he live there again, playing at Mandela’s inauguration in 1994.

Nearly fifty years later, and approaching 75, I find Ibrahim playing as strong as ever, but sounding ever more contemplative and liberated. It could be the solo format or just the sageness of a man with his experience.
Overall, Senzo is more aligned in tone and feeling with his African Suite than other albums. Yet it lacks many of the trio’s defining grooves and beats that kinetically connected many pieces on Suite or African River.

Though there is no predominant meter throughout the album—and no percussion—Ibrahim pulls emotion out of the subtle, but abundant, polyrhythms.

“Banyana” is joyous and verdant, while the opening track, “Ocean & The River”, is beautifully pastoral and light. Some breathtaking portions and runs sound like a Chopin nocturne.

Nowhere is there a dedication to Thelonious (unlike Coltrane and Ellington), but he certainly alludes to Monk’s “I Mean You” in the many dissonant passages and runs of “Blues For A Hip King”—(specifically 4:13). In many ways Senzo mimics Monk’s Thelonious Alone in San Francisco: stylistically, structurally, and emotionally. Ibrahim inherited Monk’s percussive fingering technique and jarring accents. They confront and surprise; then melt away, finally leaving the listener provoked yet soothed. And like Monk in San Francisco, Ibrahim sounds recluse and melancholy with spurts of blithe reflection.

Though “Dust” is a strangely graceful, impressionistic interpretation of the sediment—conveying grit, lightness and whimsicality—portions of melody have a very Bernstein-ian quality. In other words, Ibrahim manages a beautifully delicate balance between dissonance and melody, color and texture.

While “Third Line Samba” is a titular allusion to the African Diaspora (the first and second lines leading, and following, a New Orleans brass band), Ibrahim repeats the main triad of “When The Saints Go Marching In” throughout “Mediation/Mummy.” As each track flows into the next—the record, I’m assuming, consists of a single take—the energy of “Mediation/Mummy” emanates into “Jabulani,” which sounds like a celebratory fanfare.

The melody near the beginning of “Dust (Reprise)” evokes Maynard Ferguson’s “Coconut Champagne”—its descending and syncopated riff—without sinking to its saccharine structure and melodies. But then as the left-hand transitions to a cyclical and gently syncopated pattern over which his right-hand played bursts of notes it settles into a typical South African Marabi sound with overtones of bop: a perfect example of Ibrahim’s culture, and genre, bending playing and compositions.

Near the end of the album, “In A Sentimental Mood” expansive chords are filled with bop flourishes, allowing for the piece’s melody to trickle into the wide spaces left by the chords. It’s concurrently enchantingly elongated but dynamic,

The CD’s cardboard packaging is minimalist and standard, but after each title Ibrahim has written some descriptor, elucidating the sentiment, mood, motive or inspiration behind each composition. Overall, it’s a pleasing glimpse into the thoughts of a living legend.


STATS
artist: Abdullah Ibrahim
album: Senzo
label: Sunnyside Records
US release date: March 3, 2009
IMHO? 91/100

My man, Kutiman

I have no idea how late to the game I am with this, and don’t care, but the below video showed up in my inbox (thanks to my favorite email listhost) and predictably sparked a vigorous debate as to whether it constituted a feat of artistic genius—which it is—or not.

Naturally, the work is entirely composed of other people’s creations, content and performances; it manipulates their likenesses, sounds and expressions; it is purely a remix of video and sound. Many argued it was definitely not genius because the author, Kutiman, simply rearranged tangible creations, kind of like a community organizer does nothing I suppose. They claimed had Kutiman created this piece, live, directing each of the composition’s components in tandem, he would be merit such praise. Others argued that like an architect, the process, and its subsequent reliance on others to create a product, manifested genius.

That music/art is derivative is given, assumed, reality. Whether copyright holders are willing to come to grips with it or not, they’re not original. They’ve copied, mimicked, and emulated (consciously or subconsciously) at least someone, at some point, along the line. But how one interprets the various inputs of one’s life, and how this synthesis translates into a tangible expression, is entirely unique—as demonstrated below, albeit more explicitly.

Ultimately I think Kutiman is just a brilliant example of how content has shifted from commodity to utility in our generation. (It has for me anyways.) Think if you experienced the transition from candle light to electricity, or handwriting to printing. Similarly, a once laborious task has now become practically ubiquitous and easily accessible to anyone, not just those with a wax and wick or scribe. At least this is the impact the internet is having/had on me. In my mind Kutiman is a genius composer.


Link to all videos here.

on repeat = Alla Addu Jam

The Met’s recent African textiles exhibit was NOT where I would expect to find my new favorite track (I didn’t even stop by my favorite gallery: musical instruments). But alas, its treasures are vast and a random video installation commenting on the multiple uses and interpretations of a piece of cloth by some Kenyan woman--performing choreographed demonstrations of its function--caught my ear.

Though she had looped the second (and best) part of the track, Baaba Maal’s “Alla Addu Jam” was piercingly melodic and rhythmic in all the right ways. Now my mother does teach an African language but I know nothing about/can’t say anything in Pulaar. Still Maal sounds resilient in the face of darkness, first singing solo and then joined by a rowdy vocal and drum chorus in the second half that kicks the song into gear.

I also love the stringed instrument’s stickiness and grittiness. I can practically smell the animal gut strings--which somehow remind me of kudu jerky, mmm…

Allah Addu Jam - Baaba Maal

Blitzen Trapper, Plants and Animals @ Bowery Ballroom w/ pics

February 27, 2009

It was one of those nights when the headliner legitimately got outplayed and outperformed. Which isn’t to say that Blitzen Trapper put on a bad show. It was a solid performance with their sound and set well balanced, along with all the other trimmings that one comes to expect from a band coming off their most successful year and most lauded album to date, Furr (8.5/10 on Pitchfork; #13 album of 2008 on Rolling Stone; #4 single of 2008 on Rolling Stone, if you’re keeping tally.)

But the Montreal trio, Plants and Animals, was in it to win it. They played one of the most broadly satisfying sets I’ve heard from anyone in months. Its scope was large enough for each song to feel new and captivating, but consistent enough with their natural idiosyncrasies to know that it flowed from the same spring. So post punk numbers ended up sounding like jam-band musings and vice-versa.

Though no battle of the bands, they played with a feverish reckless abandon yet compelling earnestness and epic, carefully constructed, songs became filled with intuitive improvisations. Drummer Matthew Woodley was prolific and at once contemporary and old school with his traditional grip. On “Faerie Dance”, his hard beat evoked the laissez-faire groove of Sublime, as did the harmonic “la-la-la’s” in the fading chorus. Singer Warren Spicer was an amalgamation of Kurt Cobain’s dissonant melodies and blonde hair and Freddy Mercury’s flamboyant exuberance and epic vocals. The latter was particularly true because I was convinced that their song “Bye Bye Bye” was a Queen cover. It was not. But its contrapuntal chorus (“Bye bye bye”) and main lyrics (“What’s gonna happen to you”) over piano power chords was a total characterization.

With each member perspiring out of sheer intensity, they still had their heads on right and seemed genuinely unpretentious. At one point Spicer even asked, “You guys are feeling this, right?”

His question put the pressure of pleasing ephemeral tastes in perspective immediately, and the source of their uncertainty became obvious: everyone was talking, seemingly not paying attention. But after their finale, “Bye Bye Bye”, the crowds’ roaring delight assured them that they, in fact, were heard and well liked.

All this made Blitzen Trapper’s task, for me, nearly impossible. Their scattered sextet simply could not match the drive and flowing harmonies of Plants and Animals. Despite having twice as many band members on stage, their southern sound seemed empty and flat, with singer Eric Earley dominating the workload. He even took over completely for a two-song solipsism, playing “his grandma’s favorite song”, “Cocaine Blues”. Cute.

Furr's best songs, “Black River Killer” and the title-track, were also the best received. But they were also played more or less verbatim on the album. The set was reserved and controlled in exactly the ways that Plants and Animals’ wasn’t. Instead of an exhilarating live experience, it was a reprise of their album. That album was pretty great, but when an Allman Brother’s-esque band comes up short live, it’s always a let down.

Plants and Animals...

Warren Spicer




Matthew Woodley






Nicolas Basque







Blitzen Trapper...





Eric Earley



Michael VanPelt



Erik Menteer

Ida @ Joe's Pub w/ pics

February 28, 2009

The minimalist folk music of Ida was so ethereal, concentrated and beautiful at times, it’s as if they had coaxed their sounds from the earth’s elements—air, for the bellows of various sound-boxes and the music’s lightness; fire, igniting and electrifying Dan Littleton’s guitar; earth, procuring their instruments’ bodies; and water, the common solvent, generating a lyrical flow. No other sources would be sufficiently raw or beautiful.

The intimate setting of Joe’s Pub was ideal to listen to Ida’s delicate harmonies and sentimental melodies. Though a time-constrained set, the group—consisting of Littleton, singers Elizabeth Mitchell and Karla Schickele, violinist Jean Cook, and percussionist Ruth Keating—relished the venue’s sensitive acoustics and the crowd’s attentiveness.

Their first song didn’t start so much as emerge. Littleton and Mitchell played complimentary rolling patterns on mini hand-held xylophones, and as they ebbed and flowed together they slowly added harmonies, singing, “I have not been here before.”

The somber lucidity of Mitchell’s vocals were arresting and soothing at the same time. And when paired with Littleton’s parallel intonations, or the entire band’s gentle backing vocals, their sound was sonorous and lush.

Ida sounded equally fragile and sparse too. The majority of their instrumentations and accompaniments began with faint strumming and would eventually swell into all-encompassing droning tones, with the help of Cook’s even-handed violin bowing or Mitchell’s harmonium. Their attention to sonic textures made for really interesting combinations of tones and layered together made Mitchell’s plain but increasingly gorgeous voice float above it all.

Their tactile focus made their song structure become increasingly repetitive, however, and one had to scrutinize the lyrics or melody to find distinctions between numbers.

Littleton added density with electric-guitar cadences on “Late Blues”, creating monstrous distortion and feedback during the chorus and bridge. It was a jarring contrast to the verse’s introspective shell.

The best song of the night used to be a about America, we were told, but instead had simply become another Dolly Parton cover, “The Pain of Loving You.” The treat was that they ditched their mics and exploited the small room’s acoustics singing a cappella.

Ida’s last song was the closest they’ll “ever come to ‘We Will Rock You’”. They got everyone tapping the song’s simple beat in unison on tables/people, revealing their elemental nature.

M. Ward @ Apollo Theatre w/ pics

February 19, 2009


Bad news first; M. Ward seemed only marginally enthusiastic for his quick, first ever show at the esteemed Apollo Theatre and was beset with sound problems all night. The good news; Zooey Deschanel was nowhere to be seen. Thus, any She & Him songs would be less lionized, if M. Ward even felt the need to go there. Which he did, briefly, with “Never Had Nobody Like You”.

In general, M. Ward’s hazy country-infused vocals were equal parts sentimentality and robustness--rustling and gliding over a gently strummed chord (“Lulllabye & Exile”) or guttural and assertive (“Vincent O’Brien”). His band, when summoned, perfectly paralleled his dynamic shifts and expressive gestures, sounding heavy and hard or light and soft depending on the song. Each time their balance and touch was superb.

Tech problems showed up during Ward’s most delicate portion of the set (of course). During “Oh Lonesome Me” and the solo “One Hundred Million Years”, crackling cables plagued the bubbly flow of his guitar’s twang. Though he tried to overpower the obvious sound issues, even his forceful yet deft finger-picking blues could not defy the jolting crunches of misconnected mic cable.

Time, and audio problems, practically paused for “Post War”, as everything seemed to melt into the song’s gentle shuffle and Ward’s exposed baritone. We believed him when he sang, “I know when everything feels wrong”.

Maybe cause something was. Not that I could pinpoint its cause, but my +1 and I seemed to narrow it down to the incessant technical errors and an overly belligerent crowd—one that would not let Ward’s tranquil indie-folk rock be and kept demanding requests. Just let the man’s fragile muse work!

This made the set anxious and rushed, clocking in at just over an hour.

On the other hand, the pacing of his set didn’t of come as a shocker. An animated windowpane, projected onto the black backdrop behind the band, gradually progressed from dusk to starry night to dawn, an explicit indicator of where the night was going and when it would end. Conversely, it did give the impression of being included in some sort of late-night jam session with Ward.

Ward was at his best when loudest. The Daniel Johnston cover “To Go Home” (which included hollering Vivian Girls, the opener), “Big Boat”, and encore “Roll Over Beethoven”--during which he summoned his inner Little Richard to play some Chuck Berry--all had an air of indifference and movement that made them potently rock ‘n’ roll.