Hello, welcome to a special Friday Audio Files column that exists for the sole purpose of wishing “happy birthday” to the great Herbie Hancock. (h/t to pal Ethan.)
My favorite Herbie album is probably Secrets, though the man has a huge catalogue of great material from which to choose, making any attempt at a “favorites” list something of a fool’s errand.
I’ve been listening to vintage Michael Jackson lately. The ancient stuff.
And I continue to be struck by the transformation MJ went through over the years.
This has been documented ad nauseam, but it still makes for compelling speculation, mostly because the metamorphosis was so stunning. How exactly does one go from wholesome teen idol to David Cronenberg creature? What forces must conspire to create such a mess?
A lot of big hits have been racing up the summer pop charts in recent weeks.
Unfortunately, I can’t name any of them.
So I’ve decided to create a super-great SUMMERTIME PLAYLIST of my own.
Some of you may recall the catchy viral strains of Rebecca Black’s “Friday,” which was popular on the Internet last year.
This year, journalist Jon Ronson visits “Friday” producer Patrice Wilson to conduct a viral experiment. Ronson’s theory is that journalists wield too much power in the subject/chronicler relationship. To subvert that dynamic, he submits entirely to the whims of Wilson.
The results, which are very funny, can be seen below.
This post started out as a piece about the band Riot, whom I vaguely recall reading about in such magazines as Hit Parader and Hit Parader when I was a metal-obsessed youth.
Riot’s album covers were notable for featuring some kind of humanoid, polar-mammal guy. At first I thought the guy/creature was a snow owl. But then I looked closer, and the features revealed themselves as mammalian, not avian.
The Internet informs me that the Riot guy is called “Johnny.”
So I’ve been reading The Air-Conditioned Nightmare by Henry Miller, which has an entire chapter devoted to French-born composer Edgard Varese. And it’s some great music writing.
“Some men, and Varese is one of them,” writes Miller, “are like dynamite. That alone, I suppose, is sufficient to explain why they are handled with such caution and shyness.”
I’m back with a rare Thursday night edition of the once weekly and now sporadic “Audio Files” column. And look out, because I’m armed with the contents of my Google Reader, namely…
We’re all familiar with the genius of YouTube; how it lets the unknown masses contribute to pop culture as freely and often as they’d like. But lately I’ve taken a particular shine to YouTube’s vast array of fan-made music videos (i.e. fan-chosen footage splattered onto musicians’ songs).
A few such gems recently caught my attention.
In my time on Earth I’ve had some silly, stupid encounters with rock stars.
Backstage at a Triumph concert in the 1980s, I witnessed Yngwie Malmsteen stick his tongue down the throat of an appreciative female fan.* During that same backstage experience, Triumph’s Mike Levine shooed me away as I tried to get an autograph.
I got to attend several of these events because the dad of my best friend worked for a local concert promoter. For a few nights each year, half-deaf pal Jesse G and I rocked out at the Brown County Arena. Denim and leather.
One of my favorite songs of the past decade or so is “Star Witness” by Neko Case.
And you know what one of the most overlooked qualities of this great, amazing song is?
The drums.
John Convertino from Calexico bring its. Nothing showy but he’s got the right touch — warm, understated cymbals. Deft use of bundle sticks, a tasteful command of the kick drum. The works!
(Click image below for the YouTube version.)
I cannot stop watching Katy Perry‘s “California Gurls” video. It’s addictive. The production values are sky-high. Gleaming.
See, as time rolls on, I find myself really liking vapid mall pop. The more insipid the lyrics, the better. The more it feels like I’m in a department store, the better.
I call this genre “Impressive Tripe.”
Snoop Dogg‘s appearance in the Perry song/video is a stroke of genius. You’ve gotta admit that Snoop makes selling out look like the greatest thing ever — a commendable, ennobling act. Purposeful, wise.
Today’s post wraps up my three-part “Audio Files” series devoted to Miles Davis’ musical tree.
Part One focused on former Miles drummer Tony Williams.
Part Two explored Planet Davis — as in Richard Davis — and though I originally intended to share one more Richard Davis story, I’ve decided to leave the old man alone.
That’s because there’s other things to discuss, as today’s post will be the last of my weekly “Audio Files.”
Today’s post continues last week’s meditation on Miles Davis, Tony Williams, and incontinence among jazz musicians.
A quick recap: Recall that Absurdity and Despair govern our world. Recall further that these overlapping magisteria often surface in the realm of jazz music, particularly whenever someone conjures the words “Miles” and “Davis.”
Last week I discussed this phenomenon in the context of a performance by the late, great Tony Williams. This week, we move from a surly drummer to a no-nonsense bass player.
Enter Richard...
Throughout his life, the late Miles Davis struggled to cultivate a decent relationship with WhiteDevil Honkey-Caucasians. He once reportedly said:
“If somebody told me I had only one hour to live, I’d spend it choking a white man. I’d do it nice and slow.”
Personally, I think that may be the greatest quote ever. It’s funny.
But then I have no problem mining a laugh from something that might be direly offensive. Call it a 21st Century reflex, but I accept the fact that two frequently overlapping magisteria, Despair and Absurdity, govern our tragicomical world.
But how far do these magisteria extend into the realm of music?
Bjork, Bjork, Bjork — it’s so fun to say.
Below is a four-ply suite of Bjork information — a “Bjorkalogue.”
I enjoy the music of Bjork. I also like her old band, the Sugarcubes.
Recently my appreciation for these Icelanders resurfaced in a random way.
It’s rare that I stumble upon an album in the same year it’s released. That happened more often when I was younger. Back then, time moved more slowly. Polaroids and phone booths were the proud faces of instant gratification. If I wanted some gossip on the pending divorce of David Lee Roth and Van Halen, I had to wait for Rockline or buy an issue of Hit Parader while grocery shopping with my mom at Cub Foods.
These days, the tsunami of instantly available information makes it tough to stay current. Moreover, bands and labels package and distribute music in more abstract ways than in 1987, when Debbie Gibson made your Jim Dog quiver.
So what follows is a list of albums released in 2010 that I never sat down and gave proper attention to. They zipped right by me. Had they come out 25 years ago, I would’ve known every track by heart.
Like so many others, I like to take personal inventory at year-end — examine data; review numbers; analyze.
Luckily for stat nerds and music geeks like me, that process is more data-intensive than ever. Last.FM, for instance, has charted my music-listening habits since 2007. And in the past year, I integrated my libraries from Mog and Pandora into Last.FM’s “scrobbling” machine, so my database of listening trends is far-reaching and vast.
Join me as I immerse myself in the data bog. The wiggly abyss of sound.
It’s no secret that this reporter loves the Russian Web site Pravda.
Pravda distills world news and current events into an aggregate of truth and beauty. Blood-red, Putin-flavored beauty.
Thus it comes as no surprise that Pravda contains the world’s greatest music coverage.
Some excerpts are provided below.
